Welcome H. C. Brown to the Plotting Princesses. We can't wait to get to know you.; so here goes:
How did you get from your day job to writing romance? I have no idea. Writing snuck up on me.
Who is your favorite author(s) and why? Diana Gabaldon. I totally immerse myself in her historical novels. They are a great form of escapism.
Do you prefer writing in the morning, afternoon or evening? Afternoon. I write every afternoon from noon until six.
Do you write with music, and if so, what do you listen to? No, I write in silence although I do get inspiration from music. Many songs will trip a storyline or an emotion.
Do you juggle multiple projects or one at a time? Yes, I do. Four to six at a time is quite usual for me—not on the same day. I never edit and write on the same day either, I find this counterproductive.
What's harder to write: the beginning, the middle, or the end? I hate finishing a story, saying goodbye to my characters, so I would say the ending,
How did you come up with the title? I usually have a title before the storyline.
Can you share three writing tips?
- Never assume the reader knows what is in your mind—show them.
- Ambiance—adding those words that make a scene real.
- Have your work critiqued and always print your work for a final edit then correct to avoid word blindness. Our brains tell us words are okay. In print, this is partly eliminated.
Fill in this blank: My ideal fictional hero would think me gorgeous no matter what I looked like… because he's Batman, and his mask slipped over his eyes.
What's your favorite dessert? Strawberries and ice cream.
Lord Reynold Wilton, fearing exposure after a public argument with his sex slave, Lord David Litchfield, leaves England for the Americas. On his return, he finds his delicious man in the hands of a brutal sadist. In a time when homosexuality is a hanging offense, Reynold must use every trick in the book to regain the possession and trust of his young lover.
Lord Reynold Wilton opened his pocketbook and paid the tailor's account, grateful to be finally out of uniform. He met the gaze of Mr. Joseph Brown. The man had produced every inch of clothing he had worn since a boy. "Have everything else sent over to Spencer Street. There's a good man."
Donning the new hat he'd purchased from Locks in Bond Street, Lord Reynold pulled on his gloves and turned to look in the mirror. The new, delightfully comfortable, clothes fit well. Soft and fresh against his skin, the linen provided a welcome change from his stagnant, uniform shirt and stiff smalls. At last, after three despicable years, he resembled a gentleman again. The new clothes, ordered by letter some three months prior, had surprised him with their elegance. Mr. Brown had tailored each garment in the height of fashion, right down to the fine, lawn ruffles and silver buttons. White silk stockings and a cloak of the finest, black wool lined in silk completed his dress.
He rubbed his chin and smiled ruefully at his reflection. The breeches stretched tight about his thighs and bottom, and Mr. Brown had pinched the jacket in at the waist to enhance the width of Reynold's shoulders. The cravat lay in exquisite folds. Dressed as such, in blue velvet, with his hair tied in a neat queue, he knew how men of his predilection would react to his appearance.
Christ, I look like a peacock.
In truth, his body had changed from soft to hard and muscular, but a commission in the Americas did that to a man. His face had altered too, but not in a bad way. He had not suffered any serious injury during his time abroad, but the man with haunting eyes in his reflection had replaced the innocent expression of youth.
Although, relieved by the sale of his commission and consequent arrival in England, his thoughts were not on returning immediately to his country estate in Surrey. Rather, he had spent the last two days in his townhouse close to Hyde Park, not wanting to endure the immediate duties of lord of the manor.
Lord Reynold stepped from the shop and glanced down Oxford Street. Nothing of note had changed in London during his time abroad with exception of women's fashion and the volume of carriages barreling along the dusty roads. He drew a deep breath to enjoy the scents of normality after enduring an eternity of stinking jacks and sweat. The smell of gunpowder and the unforgettable stench of a military camp had combined with horrors a man could never forget.