Good morning, y’all!
I’m super excited for today’s post, because my dear friend (and fellow Loose Id author) has agreed to write a guest blog post.
She’s discussing how art influences her writing, and also giving us a little sneak peek into her new book, Batten Down the Hatches, coming your way October 25th.
You’ll love her, as do I.
So without further adieu, the fabulous…Roxanne D. Howard. Enjoy!
How Art Influences Writing
Hello, I’m Roxanne D. Howard, and I write erotic contemporary and paranormal romance novels. Thanks for having me on your blog, Erica! Quick story to everyone reading this – around the time when my first novel, At the Heart of the Stone, came out last February, I was a total bundle of nerves. Erica introduced herself to me as another new author to Loose Id. Another author, Shannon Nydia, all came out of the woodwork at around the same time, and we all became friends. With the support and virtual handholding of these two amazing writers, I got through first-novel-jitters. Always introduce yourself to other authors and make friends; you never know what kinds of amazing friendships will come of it.
Today I’d like to discuss how visual art can influence writing. I didn’t quite get into art until my husband and I visited the Louvre over ten years ago. I went on our Paris trip obsessed with the Eiffel Tower, but what really blew me away was the beauty and majesty of art. Each painting has a story to tell, and by simply standing still in an art gallery and looking at a painting, we can draw influences for stories, characters, and settings as writers.
In my new holiday series coming with Loose Id out on October 25th, Batten Down the Hatches, during the summer as I wrote it, I had two very gifted friends, Natalie and Bianca Duarte, commission artwork of the main characters. During times when I was stuck or had a bout of writer’s block, I would look to these beautiful pieces and feel inspired. It was also special to have art of the actual characters I envisioned, rather than a depositphoto model who simply looks good. These pieces have soul, and I love them. Enjoy the artwork of Piper and Jack below.
It’s easy to forget that writing is an art itself. We breathe literary life into our characters as we write, and have a very specific idea of what they look like in our imagination. But sometimes if we look at a photograph of an actor who resembles our character, or a picture of London or Paris or wherever our works are set, we can glean a different type of inspiration than we would normally have. Such inspiration can make all the difference in writing a scene.
What kind of art inspires you as a writer?
Excerpt:
IN TYPICAL HOLLYWOOD fashion, the idiots talking to Legs obviously had no idea she was upset, but Jack saw her pain, plain as day. Whatever they’d said had transformed her radiant smile into a thin line, which paled her pretty face, and it pissed him off.
He stalked past them and yanked a bottle of wine out of a bucket from a nearby table when the attendant had his back turned. She had her coat slung over one arm and appeared to be leaving, but then she paused and went into the billiards room instead. She left the door partially ajar. He waited a minute, then nudged the door farther open and stepped into the room. She had her back to him and was clutching the edge of the pool table on either side of her, her head hung low. Her coat lay sprawled out on the pool table, as though she’d flung it there in haste. Jack closed the door behind him.
He should have tried to make conversation while they danced. He knew he should have; after all, this woman had all but stepped out of his most private fantasies and been delivered right into his arms. But he didn’t want to break the magic that seemed to permeate the air tonight. As was the case when he spotted a rare, beautiful whale out in the deep-blue sea, he needed to hold on to the moment and cherish it. Hopefully she’d talk to him now.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice low.
She gasped and turned, her hand over her heart.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her chest heaved as she took in some deep breaths, then he saw her visibly relax.
“It’s okay. I just…thought I was alone.”
Her strong New York accent and throaty voice shot straight to his cock. He lifted the bottle of wine like a white flag. “I can leave you alone if you’d like. I thought it looked like you could use this. I’ll leave it here. Have a nice night.”
He didn’t want to come off as a creep, even if it meant blowing whatever chance he had with her. He set the wine down on a side table and turned to go.
“Wait.”
He turned back around. She bit her lower lip as she appraised him.
“You can stay for a while.”
“Thank you.” He moved further into the room, picked up the bottle, and held it up. “Hey, you want to see a cool trick?”
“Sure.”
“Fifteen years at sea taught me this.” He grinned.
“Sea?” She paused, then eyed his costume. “Oh, that’s right, you’re Captain Jack.”
“Argh. I am, lass,” he quipped in a pirate voice. He slouched beside her and parked his rear end against the pool table as he began to remove the foil on the bottle. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to pass me your shoe, wench.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “What? Why?”
“So I can open this thing. I didn’t manage to grab a corkscrew. But I know an old sailor’s trick. Bear with me. I promise, I’ll give it back in pristine condition.”
“Um, okay.”
She steadied herself against the pool table with one hand and unlatched her right flat with the other. He hooked his finger beneath the strap and examined its craftsmanship. “You have dainty feet for such a leggy woman.”
“Charming. You always start conversations this way?”
“Only with beautiful women I’m trying to impress, Legs,” he said as he flirted with her, leveling a heated glance on her impressive breasts. He turned his attention back to the bottle. “Not from around here, are you? New York?” Her dark, intelligent eyes followed his movements as he removed the foil covering.
“Jersey, originally, but I grew up in New York.”
“You don’t strike me as an actress. You’re too with it. You would have told me your life story by now.”
She laughed. “No. I’m the anchor of a late-night cable news show.”
He nodded and hummed with this new information. He didn’t watch television and had no idea who this woman was, but he could believe it. She looked the type. “I see you’re a rebel too.”
“Excuse me?”
He motioned with his forefinger to her elaborate eye makeup. “The unconventional approach. Nice butterfly mask.”
“Oh.”
She smiled and ducked her head. God, her wide and beautiful mouth. He stifled a groan at the image of what her succulent lips would look and feel like around his cock.
“Thanks. My mom was a makeup artist for Cats on Broadway for seven straight years. She gave me some pointers, and they kind of stuck. She did all kinds of makeup experiments on me, like fairy eyes, animal faces… I asked her to do a big bruise once, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I went around the block and showed it off to all my friends.”
He chuckled. “She sounds pretty cool.”
“She’s the coolest. And anyway, if you can’t be original on Halloween, when else can you be?”
“I’ll drink to that.” He turned his attention to the flat in his hand. He nestled the slim bottle in the base of the shoe, and using both hands, smacked it against the pool table.
Her eyes widened, and she stretched her hand out. “Whoa. Here’s an FYI, Captain Jack. Those are expensive. You won’t impress me by ruining perfectly good shoes.”
“Trust me.” He winked at her and smacked the shoe on the pool table three more times. The cork loosened and came almost all the way out. He grabbed it between his teeth and yanked. A loud pop filled the room. He gave her the bottle of wine. “Milady. You take the booze. I’ll put your shoe back on.”
PIPER RAISED HER eyebrows, impressed. “Damn. I knew women’s footwear were instruments of power, but this took it to a whole new level.”
By all rights, a man on his knees before her with a cork between his teeth shouldn’t have been sexy, but he was. This guy had confidence coming off him in waves, but in a more organic sense than one of the manscaped Hollywood peacocks who frequented these type of events. He exuded confidence. And boy, those boulder shoulders of his begged to be touched.
Author Bio:
Roxanne D. Howard is a romance novelist who resides in the mid-western United States. She has published At the Heart of the Stone, Chicks Dig the Accent, and now the Costa Mesa Series with Loose Id. Roxanne is a U.S. Army veteran, and has a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and English. She loves to read poetry, classical literature, and Stephen King. She is also an avid Star Wars fan, musical theater nut, and loves everything related to marine biology. She is the proud mother of two beautiful girls, several pets, and loves to spend time with her husband and children when she’s not writing. Roxanne loves to hear from her readers, and she can be contacted at [email protected]. To find out more, please visit her website at http://www.roxannedhoward.com.
Social Media Links:
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