PP Guest: Amazing, award-winning author, CARA MARSI & Franco's Fortune

The PPs welcome one of Vicki's TRUE friends today. She's an amazing award-winning author and loves to write short fiction-CARA MARSI!!!

How did you get from your day job to writing romance?  I fled my fabric-covered cage a few times, but they found me and brought me back. It wasn’t easy, but I finally managed to escape the corporate world for good. I wrote for years while working fulltime. Reading and writing romance fed my soul and kept me sane.

What are your three favorite books of all time? Green Darkness by Anya Seton; A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux (Vicki's too!!!); Captains and the Kings by Taylor Caldwell.

Morning, afternoon, or evening person? Afternoon. I pretty much stumble around in a daze in the morning until I’ve had a few cups of coffee. Then I exercise, do email and promos, and finally in the afternoon my mind is sufficiently free to allow my imagination to take hold and I write.

Music--with or without? What kind? Without. I don’t like distractions. However, my Australian cousin Luciana’s partner Michael is an international tenor, and he made me a CD of him singing opera. When I’m stuck on a scene I like to listen to Michael.

First or third POV? Mostly third, but I enjoy writing first person also. I’ve published around a dozen short stories in the confession magazines, all in first person.

How's tricks? Do you juggle multiple projects? Actually, I’m not too bad at it. After spending my life in the corporate world, I learned to handle multiple projects.

What's harder: beginning, middle, or the end? Middle. I always know how a story will begin and end. It’s the darn sagging middle that gives me trouble.

Revisions: Love 'em or hate 'em? Love ‘em. You almost have to drag me to the computer kicking and screaming to get that dratted first draft out.

How did you come up with that title?  Best advice anybody ever gave you? One of my critique partners came up with the title of my latest, Franco’s Fortune, Redempton Book 2. My hero’s name is Franco Callahan (half Italian/half Irish). The heroine’s name is Jo Fortune. Hence, Franco’s Fortune. Best advice ever was something I read early on--“Writers who give up never publish.” That’s been my mantra. 

Fill in this blank: My ideal fictional hero would think me gorgeous no matter… If he sees me with my hair half-dried. All wet or styled is okay. Halfway through styling, not so much.

What's your favorite dessert?  Crème Brulee

Do you write at home or someplace else? Home. My desk overlooks a small rose garden. Most exciting thing to happen out there was when I watched a fox bury a dead squirrel under a rose bush. It’s an improvement over writing in the dark, crowded basement, as I used to. Or in that fabric-covered cage at work.

What's your favorite type of hero/heroine and why? I like heroes and heroines with flaws (don’t we all?). I like them to be vulnerable in some way, but totally redeemable. I don’t want to read about women or men who are perfect, especially the women. Perfect men? I could take a few of those once in a while.

Excerpt below:

“Heard you need a bodyguard, Callahan.”

The sultry female voice jerked Franco’s attention from his computer. He swiveled his chair and glanced toward the doorway of his office. A thrill shot through him at the sight of the petite redhead, arms folded across her chest, leaning impudently against the doorjamb. He tamped down the excitement she always aroused in him and narrowed his eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t Josephine Fortune. What are you doing here?”

She stepped into the room and deposited her duffel bag on the floor. “I’m real glad to see you too, Callahan. And the name is Jo.”

The tough little spitfire never wore anything other than camouflage fatigues, T-shirts, and combat boots. He couldn’t help noticing the way her khaki-colored T-shirt stretched over her firm breasts and the way her full, pink lips--kissable lips--parted. She wasn’t his type he reminded himself. His type was tall, blonde, leggy, and a tigress in bed--not a fiery redhead more comfortable on the shooting range than between satin sheets. He shot her an insolent smile, retreating into the playboy persona he showed the world.

Her green eyes, translucent and light as a spring leaf, studied him. “Logan and Doriana sent me to protect your sorry ass.”

His eyes never leaving hers, he stood. “I told them I don’t need protection. I’m sorry you had to come all this way. Go back to Tucson.”

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Thanks, Cara, for being here today.

You are wonderful!