 (Sarah Hegger is one of my Romance Writers Weekly friends. She has just released a new medieval romance with Lyrical Press. Keep reading to find out more...) One of the reasons I read and write romance is the happily ever after. You know going into a romance novel that it’s all going to work out in the end. And the genre delivers. No nasty surprises – anvils falling on the hero’s head, sinkholes swallowing the heroine. The couple go through some trials and tribulations, learn their lessons to emerge as better people and get the ultimate rewards of the happily ever after. I have been known to toss book across the room when I didn’t get that happily ever after. Take GONE WITH THE WIND – I’m still convinced if I read it one more time, Rhett will turn around and come back. How about if he goes to the end of the block, stops, rethinks and turns around. How bad could that be? Yes, I know Scarlett was impossible for most of the book – but still! I especially like those books where the hero has to work really, really hard to win his lady in the end because he screwed up badly about half way through. Don’t you love that delicious feeling when you know that boy has some serious groveling to do? In SWEET BEA, I start Garrett off as a total jerk. No, seriously, I make him coarse, vulgar and cruel. Then, Sweet Bea (aka Beatrice) leads him into one adventure after another. It takes a while, but he suddenly realizes the worm has turned and he is now in too deep to get out. I want to hear what you think. Are there any books you would have changed the ending to? Or endings that you love, because the hero has to work so hard to earn that redemption? While you're thinking, here's a look at SWEET BEA:
****Excerpt**** Time to be wooed. Wooed with honeyed words and sweeter touches. Delightful tingles spread to Beatrice’s fingertips, rushed back again, and pooled in her stomach. Spring filled the air with scents of new grass and wildflowers. The sun beamed from a cloudless arc of blue above her. Birdsong serenaded her, as cornflowers merrily bobbed beside the path. Even the insects buzzed encouragement. Only one thing was missing. Garrett. She dare not tarry much longer. Someone from the keep would soon come looking for her. Beatrice shifted her basket to the other arm and investigated a patch of what might be vervain. From the keep, anyone would see her picking wildflowers. Just as she intended. A footpath disappeared between the dense green beech thickets. It crossed a small stream before meandering through the trees and down to the village below. Was he still down in the village? She tried to picture what he’d be doing. Working at the forge, perhaps? She gave up on the plant and straightened. She wouldn’t know vervain from, well, anything. Opposite the village, a path shot straight as an arrow through the meadow toward the castle. For certain, Garrett wouldn’t come from that direction. Perhaps he wasn’t coming at all. He’d made her no promises. There was no understanding between them. But, she dearly hoped all the same. Hoping, however, didn’t make him appear. The sun blazed down harsh on her face and she’d freckle. “Wish, wish, planted a feather and wished a bird would grow.” Nurse’s voice sang in her head. It was nonsense, pure and simple. Nonsense, like lingering alone on a path, pretending to pick wildflowers, whilst waiting for a man she barely knew to appear. A man with dark and mysterious eyes that whispered of secret places and forbidden pleasures. She was a goose. When she pictured the scene in her mind, it went thus. A beautiful maiden, garbed in her finest blue samite, engrossed in the gentle occupation of picking flowers by the roadside. The sun gleamed off her flaxen hair and brought roses to her alabaster cheek. Her slender form, bent like a reed to her feminine labors... Roses be damned, she was sweating beneath her silk. It would leave stains on the fabric. She’d never hear the end of it from Nurse. A soft whistle jolted her. Her heart leapt. There he stood, by the thicket. Smiling to warm her from the inside, one shoulder propped against a tree, arms folded across his broad chest. **** If this sounds like your thing, you can pick up a copy at AMAZON or BARNES & NOBLE or pop along to KENSINGTON PUBLISHING for your favorite format. ****  Who is Sarah Hegger?
Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble. Mimicking her globe trotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother. She currently lives in Draper, Utah, with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books. She loves to hear from readers and you can find her at any of the places below. Website
2 Comments
Brenda Margriet
9/17/2014 03:24:51 am
My pleasure! Leave a Reply. |
