This pandemic had been hard on everyone, but this week we had some light at the end of the tunnel. Our area has finally got the pandemic a little bit under control, so the kids can go back to school. Exciting! They've been out of school since last March. It's January. Oh, they went back to school for a couple weeks in September, but that was over quickly enough. Now, however, things are looking up.

So now I will have 2 less people in the house all day every day. My sister is still not back to working in the office and my retired mother will still be home, but it's a start. With the kids returning to school, I can start diagramming what my week will look like. Last week I'd made the decision to return to nonfiction, and I still intend to do that. It's quick and easy and a little annoying but a good way to make some money. But fiction is my first love.

Still, can't dive too deep too quickly. Fiction doesn't work that way, at least for me.  I need to ease back into it. I had wanted to return to my Fallen Romance series, but that takes a little more time, a little more research, a little more attention. So I'm turning back to romantic fiction. Historical romance, actually. That's always a fun genre to write and there's quite the market for it. 

My idea for right now is still simple. I'll flesh it out later. Just a girl, running away from home, and getting into more trouble than she rightfully should. Formulaic, I know. But it works. It works well enough that I'm certain to find it a home as soon as it's written. How long will that take? Anyone's guess, really. But it's somewhere to start and it should be fun to write. 

And I won't have the kids home 24 hours a day to interrupt me. Monday, here I come!

Writing Through a Pandemic

Coronavirus has touched us all. Covid-19 has ripped around the globe, disrupting the lives of everyone. It hasn't been fun, that's for sure. Many people have lost their jobs. Countless others have lost their lives. And it's not over yet. Though a vaccine has arrived, delays and problems with distribution means it could be months before enough people are vaccinated to make a difference.

And in the meantime, we all have to find a way to manage, to get through the pandemic in whatever way we can. In my case, I went from being at home alone all of the time, to being able to get work done on a regular basis, to having a house full of people at every moment of every day. We've been in lockdown here for nearly 10 months. We live in a multi-generational household that includes my two children, my younger sister, and my aging mother. The boys were usually in school, my younger sister works in an office, and my mother was typically at an appointment or a small gathering with her group of friends. Sometimes she would visit my older sister for a few days. For the most part, I was alone. I could work in peace.

And then the pandemic came. Everything was locked down. My younger sister had to work from home. Schools were closed. Everything was closed and visiting each other was no longer recommended by our public health officials. Eventually, getting together at all with people outside your household was severely restricted. All we could do was stay home.

At first, that was fun. It was great. The kids and I built a barn, a rabbit hutch, and we had a fence installed for our growing hobby farm. At some point, however, I realized I had accomplished little work. In fact, I stopped writing for 4 months. How could I write? I had both my children at home and my house was crawling with my mother and my sister. I couldn't possibly work like this. And it would pass soon anyway. Wouldn't it?

As it turns out, no. I tried waiting it out, but it's now January of 2021 and we're not even close to out of lockdown. I can't not write any longer. I need to get paid, after all. But after months of not writing, it was going to be hard to get back into the habit. Did I have a choice? No, not really, but it would be tricky.

You'll often hear writers moan that we can't possibly write on command. We can't possible just sit down and get it done. I've been one of them from time to time, but it's just whining. I have to get something done. It's not an option anymore. I still have a house full of people and working with all of them wandering around is definitely not easy. And the libraries are closed so I can't wander off and write there. But not working is simply unacceptable.

I'm primarily a fiction writer. Tamora Rose is my pen name for romantic fiction, but I write fantasy as LAQuill as well. Writing fiction really does take some inspiration, and I simply don't have any. So I'll turn back to nonfiction. Not as exciting, maybe, but there's money to be made there and I have children. 

It's been a while since I tackled nonfiction, and it's not my favorite. But it's an infinitely easier task than creating stories out of thin air. And it will get me back into the groove of writing every single day. Plus, if I get interrupted for the 9th time in a row, it's so much easier to reengage. I've been interrupted 4 times since I started writing this post 45 minutes ago. Long stretches of detailed plotting just isn't going to happen until people go back to work.

I'm not abandoning fiction. I'll work on my next romance when the house is quiet and the people are still. But right now, I need to write full time. Time to hunker down and get something done. Anything.

At the Beginning: That Dreaded First Chapter

Well, after a prolonged absence to deal with my declining health, I've started a new novel. The idea arrived in a rather timely fashion, so I've got that going for me. It should be smooth sailing, though not quick sailing. A book should essentially fall out of my brain now, as it usually does once the idea has manifested in my brain. Except for one small problem.


The first chapter. I am not a fan of first chapters. I know they're the hook, the way to draw readers in. I know they are for catching attention, for giving the reader just enough information to want to continue the story. But I don't like them. I find them endlessly annoying to write, though typically a joy to read. I'd rather jump into the meat of the story, a place where I can weave plot and dump exposition because it makes sense and it continues the spell for the reader.


But before I can continue the spell, I have to start the spell. And that's a real bummer. Introducing characters and settings when I already know them by virtue of thinking them up in the first place...it's just so boring. And while I could write the book out of order, that never works for me. I have to start at the beginning or there won't be a beginning. I'll just never go back and write it.


So here I am. About to introduce Sorcha, a girl who's lived in my head for the past six weeks. I know her, I know her story. I want to write her story. But before I can do that, I have to orient my readers to the story I'm about to write. I have to make sure they can find there way.


It's important. I know it's important. But I don't have to like it.

Except From "Siren of the Sea" by Tamora Rose

Scheduled to be released on August 1st, 2016, Siren of the Sea is the second historical romance written by emerging author Tamora Rose. Currently available for preorder, this novel is set in England during the reign of King John. Nimue, only legitimate child of the powerful Earl of Richford, is forced into a marriage not of her choosing. When her brutal husband is accidentally killed, she flees her childhood home to search for a new life. It will be available in most ebook formats, including Nook, Kobo, and Kindle.

Read on for an excerpt from the book:

Nimue took five steps inside the massive chamber, stopping once Asher’s hand no longer rode the small of her back. While he closed the door with a quiet click, she took the opportunity to look around the chamber they would share this night.

Despite the luxury of Cliffside, this room was unassuming. Comfortable, but unassuming. There were plush carpets in muted colors, comfortable chairs that managed to be both handsome and practical, and silk bedding in deep blues and greens. There were three great windows, each with glass to protect from the elements, and two of the windows had cushioned benches built into the castle itself. Two great wardrobes lined one wall and a small door led to some inner chamber. Her curiosity was instantly aroused.

“Where does that door go?” she asked as Asher came up behind her.

He chuckled and led her to it. Thrusting it open, he let her precede him. When she stopped, he gave her a little push until she was out of the doorway.

Nimue barely noticed. Instead it was this room that had captured her attention. It was tiled from floor to ceiling with tall candles burning to illuminate the space. One horizontal row of tiles had tiny pictures painted on them. There were benches along the wall, also tiled, and a sunken bathing tub built into the floor. It was large enough to swim across in several strokes, which was exciting for someone who loved the water as much as she did. Steam rose from the water, but there wasn’t another door to indicate servants had recently escaped. All Nimue could do was blink at the unexpected sight.

“It’s a bathing chamber,” Asher explained as he pulled her back against him. “Modeled after the old Roman baths. The water is kept warm by a series of pipes beneath the tub. We’ll bathe here, together, every morning.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to do that, but the chance to slip into the expansive tub might prove too much to resist. So it was with some reluctance that she followed Asher back into the bedchamber when he took her arm.

The first thing she saw was the bed. That was where they would soon be. Together. Her breath came in short gasps as memories flooded her. The last time she’d been abed with a man—

Strong arms spun her around until her back was to the bed. “Don’t think about him,” Asher demanded, green eyes flashing.

“It’s…hard.” Impossible, really. “Please, my lord…if we could wait…I would like to wait. Please?”

Her pleas touched him, but still he shook his head and pulled her closer. This wouldn’t be any easier on her if they put it off until tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. She was his wife and he would not let her fears keep him from her bed. But, in deference to her past experiences with men, he resolved to go slow, to be gentle with her. He’d had virgins before, and experienced women, but he’d never tried to seduce a woman who had had rather violent sexual experiences. It was uncharted territory for him, so slow was just as much for his benefit as hers. He’d have to find his footing with her.

Talking seemed the place to start. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised as he moved his hands up and down her arms. “Just trust me. And relax. You’re tense as a bowstring.”

Nimue let out a harsh laugh. He was right, she was tense. And trembling. And not ready for what he would do to her. But since he wouldn’t wait…

Asher saw her mind churning and sought to distract her before memories of her first husband could truly overwhelm her. His lips found her forehead, then kissed down along her temple until he tasted her jaw. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t relaxed, but at least she wasn’t fighting him. And when his lips met hers, she didn’t whimper or pull away. He did have to coax her lips apart, but that was far easier than he’d expected it to be. She even sighed as he explored the depths of her mouth. A promising start.

Nimue leaned into him, trying to banish her fears. She did like being kissed. If he would only kiss her, and not do those other things, she would be more than happy to be his wife. His mouth moving over hers was…nice. Nice enough that she raised herself up on her toes to get closer…

Only to have his break their kiss and look into her eyes. “I’m going to pick you up,” he warned. Then he reached down and lifted her gently into his arms.

Grateful for the warning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and glanced over her shoulder at the expansive bed. She didn’t want to go, but she knew that was where they were heading. So it came as some surprise when he took her to the blazing fire instead.

Asher grinned at the shock on her face. “I thought perhaps you were not ready for the bed.” He sat in the largest of the chairs and placed her on his lap.

“Thank you,” she said with all earnestness. She wasn’t sure she could bear to be in bed with a man. In a chair…maybe that wasn’t so bad. Especially if he would kiss her again.

But instead he reached for her gown. “You have far too many clothes on.”

Nimue went still as his fingers found the laces of her gown. He moved slowly, deliberately, trying not to frighten her, but Nimue still gave a little sob.

“Easy,” he whispered against her ear, nibbling just a little as he revealed the soft shift beneath her silken gown.

Afraid, Nimue tried to cover herself, but Asher was insistent. He peeled the gown down her arms and over her hips until he could toss the silk confection to the ground.

“I should hang it up,” Nimue protested, and not just to avoid his touch. It was such a lovely gown and deserved better treatment.

“Later,” Asher murmured as he went after her slippers. When they had dropped to the floor, he slid his hand up her leg, intent on snagging her stockings.

But Nimue was having none of it. As soon as his hand passed her knee, she kicked her legs and whimpered. Asher immediately removed his hand.

“Hush,” he urged, cupping her face. “Nothing I do will hurt.”

Every inch of her tiny body shook as she gasped, “Promise?”

He chuckled as his lips brushed hers. “If anything hurts, I’ll stop. I swear it.”

Hope blossomed. “You will?”

“It will probably kill me,” he grinned, already in dire straits, “but I promise. I will stop. But you have to relax and trust me. Now, I’m going to take off those stockings. Hold still.”

His voice was gentle, but it held a note of command she was afraid to disobey. When his hand returned to her thigh, she barely moved, but she did clamp her thighs firmly together. Which effectively trapped the stockings he was trying to remove.

“Open up, sweetheart.” When she didn’t, he traced a finger over her joined thighs. And when that didn’t work, his finger found its way to the curly strands protecting her most secret place.

She whimpered under his ministrations, but he didn’t stop. He felt a little guilty, taking advantage of her fear, but she had to learn to relax and obey. That would only happen if he persisted.

“Open,” he repeated with a little more force.

Another whimper, but she did as she was told. With a final tug on her maiden’s hair he moved his hand, removing first one stocking, then the other. Once she was clad in just her shift, he smiled down at her, taking note of her fiery face.

“Now we can get started.” He let a little satisfaction creep into his tone as he ran a hand over her dark hair.

Nimue regarded him with suspicious confusion. “We’ve already started,” she protested. He’d had his hand between her thighs! Her blush deepened as she thought about it.

Her husband chuckled. “All I’ve done is undress you, and I haven’t even finished that small task. Lean back, sweetheart, and trust me.”

Trust him? How could she? But she did lean back as he had instructed. A little uncomfortable, she shifted about on his lap until she was on her back and nestled in his arms. Her position displayed her barely-clad breasts and made it difficult to keep her thighs together, but he seemed satisfied.

When he leaned over her and brought his lips to hers, she tensed and whimpered.