Shannon here: Revell Debut author, Lorna Seilstad shares a glimpse into the fictional romance of her characters and an excerpt. Leave a commen on any post dated Aug 30 – Sept 4 for a chance to win her book Making Waves. Deadline Sept 4, 8:00 PM Central. New rules: I’ll post the winner’s name in the comments on Sept 4. If you find your name, go to the contact page on the website and send me your address. Here’s Lorna:
1. What’s the most romantic thing your hero ever did for your heroine?
The most romantic thing Trip does, in my opinion, is love Marguerite enough to let her go. He wants her to be happy. It’s a swoonworthy, but heart breaking moment.
2. Where is the most romantic place your hero and heroine have ever been?
Making Waves takes place at Lake Manawa. The area had been developed into a resort, catering to the wealthy. The whole place has that swept away, gilded age feeling.
3. Do your hero and heroine have a favorite song?
In one scene, Trip sings the words to “The Band Plays On “ in Marguerite’s ear while they are listening to a band play it on stage. He’s falling for her and the words fit so well.
4. What’s the most romantic present your hero ever bought your heroine?
A strawberry sundae, but you’ll have to read the book to find out why it’s so romantic. It’s one of my favorite scenes in the book. I smile just thinking about it.
5. What simple gesture does your hero do that melts your heroine every time?
Trip just smiles and melts Marguerite’s heart. It’s the dimples. They get her every time.
6. What simple gesture does your heroine do that melts your hero every time?
Marguerite is so Marguerite-ish. She’s witty, bold, and strong. Sometimes Trip wants to throttle her, but at the same time, he can’t help loving her.
7. What is the most caring thing your hero has ever done for your heroine?
Trip has to bail Marguerite’s dad out of jail, but it’s the discussion with her dad afterward that is so touching, and Marguerite never hears a word of it.
Excerpt for Making Waves (Revell, 2010):
Council Bluffs, Iowa 1895
If forced to endure Roger Gordon for five more minutes, Marguerite Westing would die. Dead. Gone. Buried. Six feet under Greenlawn Cemetery.
Her parents would need to purchase a large headstone to fit all the words of the epitaph, but they could do it. Money wasn’t an issue, and after bearing this unbelievable torture, she deserved an enormous marble marker complete with a plethora of flowery engravings. She could see the words now:
Here lies Marguerite Westing.
Only nineteen, but now she’s resting.
Strolling through the park with Roger Gordon,
Once full of life, she died of boredom.
Roger stopped on the cobblestone path of the park and frowned at her. “I don’t see anything funny about my uncle Myron’s carbuncle, Marguerite.”
“I’m sorry. My mind wandered for a minute.”
“You do seem prone to that. Perhaps you should work on your self-control.” He patted her hand, lodged in the crook of his arm, like a parent would an errant child.
And perhaps you should work on making yourself more interesting than milk toast. She bit her lip hard to keep the words from escaping. Good grief. What did he expect when he was talking to her about a boil?
Come back Sept 4 for my favorite blog post from last quarter.