Today I’ve given Darry Fraser, author of Anything for Love, permission to take over my blog. Darry will be awarding a $25 Amazon gift card and an ecopy of Berry Flavours to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
The most romantic place in the world … even if I wasn’t there for romance.
Thank you so much for having me as part of your blog.
Gee, that is a hard one. There have been many places, some here in my home country Australia and some overseas (I haven’t been to too any places – but high in the Swiss alps springs to mind).
The cabin in the area I write of in Anything For Love is probably the most powerful on home soil. Well, Australis Island is a little bit not real, but I think the atmosphere of the real place it’s fashioned on would have to be the most romantic I have ever been.
Old castles in England (not the draughty sort), the Swiss alps, the New Zealand south coast wilderness walks – they’re all romantic, but nothing like the power of isolated wilderness, wild weather, roaring log fires, the berry flavoured deep red wines and the excellent food offered on Kangaroo Isl- I mean Australis Island.
The rugged, untamed wilderness of the north west coast is quite spectacular, and spectacularly lonely.
But really, if you’re with your romantic hero or heroine and you’re warm, well fed, well loved and safe, any place is the most romantic place in the world.
Tilla is the managing director of a temping staff agency who finds herself enmeshed in Kent Taylor’s business world, which includes an IT takeover. When she decides to work in his office as one of his temporary staff members they clash, so she keeps her identity to herself. When they both decide to take a break from their crazy business lives, they have no clue it’s at the same place, in the same house and at the same time, on the isolated north west coast of rugged Australis Island
She tells herself she can’t bear to be near him one moment longer ... until they find a way to be together. But when he has to suddenly leave their hideaway and doesn’t give her a backward glance, she realises she shouldn’t have done just anything for love.
Her dream was a loud one. There was stumbling and cursing, unlike any of her dreams before, but she was reluctant to come awake ... too tired. She tossed and moaned her protest, but when she heard the crash of a dozen bottles of wine she bolted upright, wide awake, heart hammering and her throat suddenly constricted.
She clutched the bed-clothes to her chin, gulped in great breaths of air. Tried to shake herself fully awake.
The cursing and snarling continued, the bottles crashing and clanging on the slate floor.
Terror struck her very soul.
There was a drunk in her little haven.
Oh no, oh no ...
She couldn’t see a thing—it was pitch outside, no moon. She leapt out of the bed dragging the sheet with her and groping in the dark for her clothes. Where were her clothes—? Oh God—in the bathroom ... how’d she possibly defend herself ... ?
Another curse and then another. “What the bloody hell—?”
Stopped her frantic panic, covered her mouth with one hand. She knew that voice. It was unmistakable. Tilla shook herself. It couldn’t be. She must still be asleep … It just couldn’t be. Her heart pounded.
“Who the bloody hell put that there?” the gravelly voice boomed.
She tried to distil the solid block of fear which weighed on her chest like a sack of potatoes.
There was no mistaking that voice. No mistaking it at all.
I have been writing since a very young age. I was the one at school with the home-penned plays and stories, the entertaining ideas and the grand vision, believing I had great talent. Wrong.
I believed that because I could put words on a page in a grammatically acceptable way and tell a reasonable story that I was ‘an author’. Technically, I suppose I was, but the apprenticeship as a ‘writer' – to labour the difference - is a long and hard road.
One day, I had what I still call a little ‘thing’ – I saw my late grandfather in his World War One trench gear talking to ‘me’ at my desk and suddenly the words flowed and so did the short story which was published within two weeks in an Australian national women’s magazine.
So I revisited all my short stories and my novel-length stories and found success again with four short stories and then two short novels in 2001/2.
Alas, life got in the way once more. I kept writing, but in the dark so to speak. I used it as a means of escape, as a retreat and I was able to create my own HEA or HFN.
Then life took another turn and I figured that I had nothing to lose. I dusted off quite a number of manuscripts and began to whip them into shape. At a serendipitous meeting with my current publisher, Nicola at SteamEreads, she agreed to read my current work at the time. It was a 67,000 word unedited novel, which she accepted. It was published in June – Money For Blood.
Since then I have had three other novels and two novellas accepted, all HEA/HFN.
I currently have four books published with Steam eReads.
Make sure to follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: