For me, writing is like marriage.
When I begin a new project/series I’ll admit I get excited. I get goosebumps, feel flushed, and daydream about the story, the setting, the characters. * Sigh * That is the courtship phase of writing.
Then there’s the honeymoon phase. You know, the early planning, the mapping out of story threads, plotting twists and scenes. Here is where synopses of scenes are born. However, they are fleshed out in the next phase.
The actual writing process comes after the honeymoon phase—it’s the nuts-and-bolts, give-and-take of my writing marriage. I always work out my story’s beginning and ending before I begin to write. Usually, I’m a linear writer—one who goes from beginning to end. If I get stuck (and I always get stuck), I will change directions and work from the story’s end back to the beginning. It’s like injecting a bit of spontaneity into a relationship. It shakes up the writing log jam.
When I finally finish the first draft, I transition into edit mode. Think of editing as the old married couple with their reading glasses propped on their noses, the wife with her cross stitch in her lap and her husband clutching the day’s newspaper. It’s like you know you love your story, you’re just not in love. Sometimes the editing phase can seem to go on and on and on, still it’s worth it—just like doing the work to keep your marriage afloat. Remember, anything worth keeping takes work. Believe me, after eight published books, I tell myself this often.
Who am I?
I’m an odd mixture of one-part dreamer, one part realist, and two parts stubborn–which can be a positive thing if you’re a writer. Not content to write in just one genre, I write dark paranormal romance, time travel, light science fiction, romantic comedy, and gritty romantic thrillers. Told you I was stubborn (that and a little crazy!). Besides, doing the same thing day after day can become boring and we can do with a little less boring, right?
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Title Midnight Delight, Book One in the Wicked Palate Series
Author Cadence Denton
Genre Cozy Mystery, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
Call me Contessa. Forget my name, you couldn’t pronounce it. I’m a professional chef—actually, I’m the LeBron James of chefs. Bobby Flay, Gordon Ramsay even Julia Childs have all been my students, and that’s just a few. I’ve probably forgotten more about the culinary arts than any chef alive has learned. I was in the thick of things when today’s conventional culinary techniques were first being developed. You ever used the three basic steps in dicing an onion? Prego. That was me. Ever heard of clarified butter? Bingo. Me again.
How can that be? I was born in Genoa, Italy in the year of our Lord 1642. That’s right. I’m an Eternal, a creature of darkness, a vampire…and I’m obsessed by what I cannot eat. Food.
Ironically, I’m the star of my very own cooking show on the Foodie Culinary Channel. My dream job! Where I get to create the recipes I adore and share them with my audience and one lucky dinner guest. Which is where my troubles began. And will end.
I was caught partaking the red jungle juice from the neck of my dinner date. I was threatened, attacked with Holy water, and finally blackmailed by my mild-mannered joke of an Associate Producer. As it turns out, she isn’t so mild-mannered.
Now I have two choices: turn her into a child of darkness or risk exposure to the human world.
I’m thinking there’s a third choice. His name is Rocco Guadagnino.
It’s funny what runs through your mind when facing death. You know the old saying about your life passing before your eyes? Well, that’s just a crock. At least it was for me.
If my life was a movie reel to play out on the Megaplex screen of my mind then Death had best opt for the jumbo bucket of popcorn and Big Gulp-sized soda because we’ll be here a while.
You see, I was born in Genoa, Italy in the year of our lord 1642 and unless I miss my guess, Death, in the form of the stern looking young man straddling my hips and holding a jagged piece of pine to my throat, wasn’t prepared to wait for the opening credits to roll. The cheapskate. He could have at least sprung for hardwood. It’s not that the visual wasn’t bad enough but what dominated my thoughts was the simple fact that it had been words—mere syllables, consonants, and vowels—that brought me to this point.
Not an excess of words. Not a War and Peace amount of words. Three words to be precise. Just three little words. How had they gone from I want you to Die, vampire bitch?
It was easy, really. Too damn easy. And it all started with a marinara sauce.
Title Hungry Like the Wolf, Book Two in the Wicked Palate Series
Author Cadence Denton
Genre Cozy Mystery, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
With her racist rant going viral, Foodie Network star, Marla Sheen aka America’s favorite grandmother, was having a bad week. Marla didn’t know what the fuss was about. She’d only spoken the truth—humans are inferior to lupo manaren. The problem is the human world knows nothing about werewolves, red drinkers, or any of the other Shadowlands citizens. When her attempts at damage control blow up in her face, she decides that appearing on the Dr. Bill show may not have been the best move, but hey, what else can possibly go wrong?
A whole lot as it happens.
The Captain, her mate and co-Alpha, is challenged for pack leadership by a much younger male and winds up in the hospital. A prickly wizard is sent in by the Shadowlands Congress to make certain Marla doesn’t out the supernatural community, and a man-stealing Jezebel of an ex-best friend shows up at her door. And that’s just the beginning.
When Marla turns to her friend, Contessa, for help, she discovers the Contessa is a continent away and has troubles of her own.
“What is it now, Eugene?” I snapped, the tears vanishing like a Death Valley mirage.
“Did you even read the script, Nana?” He asked tugging off his glasses.
“Gosh darn-it, Eugene! Yes, I read the danged script but with all this…” I swung an arm wide and gave my head a toss encompassing the cameraman, sound man, and the other hangers on, “foolishness I’ve been a little distracted. I mean, what did I do that was so wrong? I didn’t fire a handicapped person. I didn’t bad mouth the President. Please tell me, what did I do that warrants me giving a world-wide apology?”
“Really, Nana? You were caught in the middle of a racist rant. Even worse, the video of your rant was leaked to TMZ and Radar Online and is playing non-stop on CNN and MSNBC.”
“Poo!” I said rolling my eyes. “I only spoke the truth. Compared to the lupo manaren, humans are an inferior race. Their senses of smell, sight, hearing, and taste are equal to a slug’s. Don’t frown. You know it’s true!”
He cast a glance over his shoulder, and said, “I know Nana, but the humans…”
“Are a nasty, smelly race,” I finished in my because I said so tone.
Eugene plowed both hands through his hair as though he wanted to rip it out and said through gritted teeth, “You’re angry because a human chef won the Culinary Arts Outstanding Chef Award.”
I growled—an involuntary reflex in a lupo manaro when threatened or sassed by a young pup that needed his pants dusted. He knew that was a sore subject for me. He also knew we were in mixed company and was thus safe from said dusting of pants.
Sniffing, I smoothed a wrinkle from my skirt. “The award should have been mine—Stuart Poser stole it from me. He bribed the judges.”
Eugene clapped a hand to his mouth. “He did?” He gasped.
“Well, he must have,” I hedged casting him a sullen gaze from beneath my lashes. “It was the only way he could possibly win.”
Book Three in the Wicked Palate coming Summer 2017
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