Karen: Welcome Vonnie! I had the pleasure of reading Storm's Interlude. What a wonderful read and the hero—definitely caught my attention. lol Let's give Vonnie a warm welcome. Please feel free to leave a comment or a question. Vonnie loves to hear from the readers.
Behind the Scenes with Vonnie Davis:
I might be coasting into sixty-four, but I have more men in and out of my bedroom than women half my age. I’m also lucky my husband Calvin doesn’t seem to mind. No, we aren’t into ménage a trios, but we’re both writers and understand how characters from our stories come to visit us at night.
Take the tall, wide-shouldered Texan who sauntered into our bedroom, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a pair of boots. Calvin barely noticed, but I was certainly all eyes. He became my hero in my debut book, Storm’s Interlude.
When an ex-Marine roared into our bedroom on a Harley, I merely groaned and rolled over. I was too tired to be bothered. Not to be ignored, he drove into our bedroom again, took off his helmet and struggled to adjust his stance to accommodate his prosthesis. Now, he had my attention. How had he lost part of his leg? What or who put that haunting look into his eyes? His name was Win, he told me, and would I write his and Evie’s story? Those Violet Eyes will be out June 27th.
I was writing my first romantic suspense, set in Paris involving a band of terrorists, an older American woman and a younger French government agent. Somewhere around three in the morning, someone slammed our bedroom door. I sat straight up. What the heck? Bleary-eyed, I glanced around; everything was fine. I must be dreaming. I lay back down and snuggled next to Calvin.
Once more, the bedroom door slammed shut and Niko charged in, mad as hell. What is his problem? He stood there glaring at me. I was dead tired, so I glared right back. At least until I fell asleep on him. Determined to get my attention, he charged into my bedroom again and slammed the door.
“What is it?” I moaned.
“Watch,” he commanded.
He shared a vision of his walking down a hall, his fists clenched. Then he opened the door to an interrogation room, stepped in and slammed the door. My heroine was blindfolded and tied to a wooden chair. Her head swung in the direction of the noise. That quickly the vision was gone.
“That’s it? You woke me for that piddlin’ little bit? Why are you angry? Why is she tied to a chair? If you want me to write about that scene, I’m going to need more info.” I realized I was talking to air; air punctuated by my husband’s snoring. It took me four chapters to set up that door slamming scene in Mona Lisa’s Room.
Tumbleweeds blew into our bedroom one night, chased by a cowboy and his three-year-old son. Tumbleweed Letters is with an editor. I’m waiting for that “yay” or “nay.”
I was struggling with the beginning of Rain is a Love Song, the book in my romantic suspense series after Mona Lisa’s Room. One night I dreamed of Calvin and me sitting at a sidewalk café in Paris, across the street from the Pompidou Museum. A man coasted by on his motorcycle, his angel wings trailing on the pavement. It was a comfortable dream since we’d seen that very thing while in Paris. Then the man got off the bike—all muscles and attitude. He strolled over to me and got down on his hunkers. “I’m here for you, Vonnie. Your hero for your next book.” Now, we’re talkin’!!!!
Book three of the series has a saxophone player wailing out some soulful jazz notes, the kind that make you want to sigh and cry. One night after playing a song at the foot of my bed, he told me he was also a German counterterrorism agent. Really? Oh, the possibilities. I’m on chapter four of Jazzbeat of Surrender right now.
Unfortunately, that book is sharing my writing time with a pair of eyes that glowed fiery golden in our bedroom one night. I nearly wet the bed when I first saw them—especially when I realized they were set in the head of a huge bear. Then the bear morphed into a Scottish man in a kilt. I shook my head. “Sorry, you’re in the wrong bedroom. I don’t write paranormal stuff.”
He lifted the covers and slipped into my bed. “Aye, I am in the right bed chamber. Let me tell ye why bears are extinct in Scotland and about me family’s curse.” Did I listen? Of course! I mean, what woman would chase a man in a kilt out of her bed?
Then there’s the polite World War II pilot who occasionally sits on the edge of my bed, leans over me and whispers, “Let me tell you about my gal, Pearl. She’s really swell.” I run my fingers through his dark hair. “Not yet, Ben, you’ll have to wait your turn.”
You see, a woman can only handle so many men.
About the author:
Vonnie attended Penn State University and Wilson College where she majored in both Business Administration and English. Like most writers, she started penning stories in elementary school with the hope of becoming an author. Then life got in the way--marriage, children, job, college and, after twelve years of being alone, a new love. She is now retired, embarking on her second and long-desired career--writing. She lives in Lynchburg, VA, with her husband Calvin, a man she met online. Ah, now there's a romantic story.
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