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I’m the mother of twins. Twin sons and twin genres. My stories are my babies, just like my real kids, but neither my sons nor my genres resemble each other.
One of my sons is a brunette who plays guitar and loves baseball. He wants to be a marine biologist or a computer programmer or (fill in the flavor of the day). The other is a blonde who plays drums and loves skateboarding. He wants to be Albert Einstein, period. People who meet them for the first time don’t believe they’re twins. If I hadn’t been there for the c-section that followed twenty-two hours of labor, I might not believe it either.
My stories are just as opposite. I write romantic suspense and both dark and light paranormal. Why? Romantic suspense and dark paranormal let me explore the darker side of life and light paranormal lets me have fun with that side. Two sides of the same coin. Also, I’m a Gemini, so using my split personality to its fullest potential is second nature to me. LOL.
I’ve had folks ask how I can switch gears from one to the other. For me, it’s more like tuning in a different radio station. Some days I’m in the mood for Creed or Bon Jovi. Other days, Celtic Woman. Luckily, my voice accommodates both.
There are advantages to having fraternal twins. People don’t mix them up or assume they have the same likes and dislikes. Each boy has an independent identity. They don’t fight much because their personalities are different enough that they click instead of butting heads. If one is struggling with his science homework, the other can help. If one wants to learn how to do a kick-flip, he has a teacher in the bedroom next to his.
The same applies to writing two distinct genres. Wicked Souls, my recently released paranormal comedy, doesn’t compete with the latest book in my Super Agent series, PROOF OF LIFE. The two genres reach different niche readers and draw more fans to my writing. A win-win for readers, too, who enjoy reading both genres.
For me, there’s a built-in bonus with writing multiple genres as well. Paranormals continue to be popular while romantic suspense novel sales are flat. But as we all know, publishing is cyclical. One day, suspense may boom again and paranormals will go flat. Either way, I can sell stories and keep my readers happy.
Disadvantages with twins like mine arise, though. As toddlers, one boy hated time outs and would become an angel the second I threatened him with one. The other loved to spend time by himself, even if on a chair in a bare corner. I had to be more creative with his discipline.
So, too, with my genres. Humor can lessen the impact of a dramatic moment if overdone. Tension can take over and turn a lighthearted conflict dark and suspenseful. Each story is unique, and while all genres can incorporate humor, drama, and love, sprinkling the right amount of those elements in the perfect spot is key.
Readers, how many different genres do you enjoy reading? Do you have more than one favorite? Do you have a favorite author who writes in more than one genre?
WARNING: Welcome to temptation. Sexy Lucifer is going to enchant you. The original Adam is going to charm you. And the angel Gabriel is going to scare your socks off!
“…one supernaturally sexy incantation from beginning to end.” Long and Short Reviews
Can a bad witch go good in thirteen steps? Not if Lucifer has his way with her!
Amy Atwood is a witch. Not the harm-none kind…the Satan-worshipping, devil-made-me-do-it kind. But after catching Lucifer in a particularly wicked hex act with her goodie-two-shoes Wiccan sister, Amy does what every self-respecting witch would do. She pops a Dove chocolate in her mouth, ends her affair with the devil, and swears an oath never to use magic again.
She wants to be normal. Human. Even if it means no more fun—and she’s looking for a nice, normal guy to complement her new lifestyle. And ice-cream-loving firefighter Adam Foster looks like perfect hero material.
Lucifer, however, isn’t about to be nice about letting her go. Stalked by Satan, manipulated by the angel Gabriel—and surprised by Adam’s true identity—Amy finds herself up to her black hat in trouble of Biblical proportions…
In a room full of witches, you’d think I wouldn’t stand out. You’d be wrong.
My name is Amy Atwood and I’m a witch. Not one of those goodie-two-shoes Wiccans. No, I’m a Satan-worshipping, Devil-made-me-do-it witch.
However, after catching Lucifer performing a particularly wicked hex act with Emilia, my sister—a tried and true Wiccan—I turned my back on the Devil. I didn’t exactly expect him to be faithful, but bewitching it with my sister? High ick factor. So, no more casting spells to entertain him. No more curses to carry out his desires. No more witchery of any kind.
That’s why I was attending my first Witches Anonymous meeting. Glancing around at the faces staring back at me, with their raised eyebrows and thinned lips, I suddenly realized the last part of my introduction, about the Wiccans, I said out loud. In a room full of the goodie-two-shoes sisters.
Way to go, Amy. Stepping on broomsticks in less than thirty seconds. A new record, even for me.
Too bad I couldn’t cast a spell and enchant them all, but I’d sworn an oath to stay clean. Because magic is a slippery slope. Even one small curse or spell could put me on the downhill slide back to Lucifer. So far, I was sticking to my oath. I was good now. Normal.
Yeesh. The thought made me shudder.
Anxiously caressing the square of Dove chocolate stowed in the pocket of my jacket, I gave the witches in the room my most charming smile, full of ear-to-ear goodness. I’d promised myself if I got through the meeting, I could have the chocolate.
And there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for a Dove.
The door behind me opened, saving me from making a false apology. A tall, good-looking guy with a determined look on his face pulled up short as he took in the circle of women. His T-shirt was a bit too tight and his jeans a bit too loose, but his boots were high-quality leather with snappy silver toes peeking out from beneath the frayed hems of his pant legs.
That’s what I call goodness.
His intense brown eyes looked intelligent when his gaze locked with mine. “Uh, hi,” he stammered, his focus dropping to my mouth. It stayed there a second too long before returning to meet my eyes. Thank the devil I’d worn my plum lip gloss. “Is this room 12A? I was looking for the Harley Brothers meeting.”
Men and Harleys? Now that was my kind of group. “I’m Amy.” I stepped forward to extend my hand. “I was looking for that meeting, too. It must be down the hall.”
The grin that passed over his face showed me one perfect dimple. He took my hand with confidence, his warm skin kissing mine like a lover as he pulled me toward him. I noticed an apple with an arrow piercing the core tattooed on his right arm.
“Let’s get out of here, then,” he said, “and let these fine women get back to their…whatever meeting.”
Out in the hall, I put my hand over my mouth and giggled. “Your timing is perfect. You just saved me from being burned at the stake.”
Up close, his brown eyes looked like the color of the Dove in my pocket. The dimple reappeared. “Rescuing damsels in distress is one of my specialties.”
I’d never considered myself a damsel in distress. However, the dimple won me over, saving him from a sharp rebuke. I found myself wondering if his eyes got darker, like melted chocolate, when he got mad.
He took my hand again. Soft warmth enveloped it. “I’m Adam Foster.”
Instantly, I thought of Bananas Foster. Yummy. My mind was already casting a circle of lust around us when I caught myself.
No spells. No charms.
“Nice to meet you, Adam Foster.” I took my hand back, wishing I could curse Lucifer and Emilia for forcing me to embrace goodness and normalcy. “I better let you get to your meeting.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No.” I glanced at the door to Room 13C and shuffled my feet. “I swore an oath to be good. I have to go back to this one.”
“Back to the stake, huh?”
“You could say that.”
He gave me a nod. “Maybe after our meetings, we could grab an ice cream?”
A Harley-riding, tattooed man who wanted to go for ice cream? Normalcy wasn’t all that bad.
And revenge on Lucifer, whether by stake or by mortal torment, was extremely satisfying. “I’d love to.”
“Meet you outside later?”
“I’ll be there.”
As he walked away, I watched the back of his dark brown hair brush his neck and thought about touching that same spot with my fingers. When Lucifer discovered I’d taken a new boyfriend—a human one, no less—he’d be mad as hell.
Who says being a good witch isn’t fun?
Misty is currently at work on the next books in all her series. She likes her coffee black, her conspiracy stories juicy, and her wicked characters dressed in couture. When not reading or writing, she enjoys hanging out with her husband of twenty-two years and their twin sons. Learn more and sign up for her newsletter at www.readmistyevans.com. Like her author page on Facebook or follow her on Twitter.
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Thank you, Misty, your article was great fun, love your cover, the blurb and excerpt.
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Until next time . . .