#WriteTip - Goal, Motivation, and Conflict by @CeliaBreslin, spotlighting her @DecadentPub #Shifter #PNR

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Creating compelling characters is the key to a good story. As such, I'm delighted my Decadent Publishing pub-buddy stopped by to give me pointers on characterization. Without further ado, I present Celia Breslin

Characters Need a GMC by Celia Breslin

When creating characters for your story, it’s important for them to have a GMC, aka a Goal, Motivation, and Conflict.

  • Goal:  what does your character want?
  • Motivation: why does your character want it?
  • Conflict:  what stands in your character’s way?

Personally, I like my characters to have two sets of GMC:  internal and external.  Internal GMC is your character’s personal, emotional journey. The external GMC is the plot, the external forces moving your character through the story. The internal and external plots can intertwine.

Here’s an example from one of my books, Diamond Moon.

Meet Darci, a 23-year-old computer nerd and college grad. She’s half human, half wolf shifter.

Internal GMC

  • Goal:  Darci wants a place to belong and someone to love. 
  • Motivation: She’s lonely, having spent her life hiding her true identity.
  • Conflict:  She’s afraid to trust.

External GMC

  • Goal:  Darci wants to find a cure for her life-threatening shifts.
  • Motivation: She almost dies from shifting forms during every full moon.
  • Conflict: She must find and convince shifters to help her.

Happy writing!

xo,

Celia

Diamond Moon

Black Hills Wolves

by Celia Breslin 

Human-wolf hybrid Darci Diamond spends every full moon locked in auntie’s basement in Southern Oregon. Her excruciating shifts terrify her, the last one causing her heart to stop beating. Seeking a cure, she journeys to Los Lobos.

Ross Luparell returns to the struggling Tao pack, using his millions made in the tech industry to build homes for pack families in need. He never imagined he would also find his one true mate. But when a hybrid with the biggest green eyes he’s ever seen lands on his doorstep in the middle of a wicked summer storm, there’s no denying it. She’s the one.

She wants a normal human life, free from pain-filled shifts. He won’t give up on her Wolf, and will do whatever it takes to help her accept her true nature. But can he convince her to trust him with her heart?

Excerpt

He reached out with his Wolf senses. The feedback froze his fingers on the doorknob. Female. Damn, she smelled good. Human. Wolf. Wait…both? The copper tang of blood hit his nose. And injured.

He flung open the door. His abrupt move caught his visitor off guard, one small, white fist raised to knock. The woman startled and fell forward. Catching her, he pulled her inside, kicking the door shut with his foot.

She sagged against him, a shivering bundle of wet woman. Underneath the dampness, her scent drop-kicked his gut. Apples and cinnamon. Roses and honey. His body perked up, taking extreme notice. He fought the growl of possession threatening to tear out of his throat. Holy hell, had his potential mate just walked into his home in the middle of a storm?

The scent of her blood jump-started his brain into action. He lowered her gently to the floor. “Jesus. You okay?”

His instincts urged him to check her for wounds, but he was a stranger and didn’t want to spook her. But goddamn, he wanted to touch her. Peel off her wet clothes. See all of her. With a jacket covering her torso, tight jeans hiding her legs, and her ball cap pulled low on her face, all he’d seen so far was her quivering pale chin, full red lips, and those delicate, trembling hands.

“S-s-sorry, d-dripping all ov-v-ver your f-f-floor,” she said, teeth chattering. Her snow white fingers curled on the hardwood, arms trembling with her effort to keep herself upright. Blood streaked the wood. A line of liquid crimson slid down her jaw and dripped from her chin onto her jacket.

To hell with propriety. “You’re injured. Let me help you.” He pulled off her cap and damn near swallowed his tongue.

Big green eyes blinked up at him from a face so pale it made him think of moonlight. Drenched, short black hair lay plastered to her head, the ends framing features reminiscent of the fairies his sister loved to draw for the hidden-object games she designed. Ethereal beauty. My beauty. He stroked a knuckle down her cheek then ran his thumb over her soft, full lower lip.

She flinched and batted his hand away, falling to her side in the process.

Ross snapped back to reality with a healthy hit of guilt. “Shit. Sorry.”

His gaze shot to her forehead where a two-inch cut sent blood trailing over her prominent cheekbone with its silky-smooth skin he’d so enjoyed caressing—

Shit. He gave himself a mental ass kicking for scaring her. “I’m Ross. You’re safe here. Promise.”

About Celia Breslin

Celia lives in California with her husband, daughter, and two feisty cats. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and has a particular fondness for werewolves, vampires, and the Fae. When not writing, you’ll find Celia exercising, reading a good book, hanging with her family, or indulging her addiction to Joss Whedon’s TV shows and movies.

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#WriteTip - Give Your Scene Room to Breathe by @Eve_Dangerfield, spotlighting her @LSB_lsbooks #Romance

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Anyone who has read Operation Owl knows that I have a soft spot for geeks (of the male and female variety). Having heard that Eve Dangerfield's heroine is a fellow IT girl (yes, tis my not-so-evil day job), I couldn't wait to learn more. Now that her book is officially on store shelves, I've invited her over to offer a writing tip. This one is short and sweet, giving me more time to dig into the excerpt. 

Whenever I think a scene is stagnant I up the dialogue and make it funny rather than dramatic. Not taking the writing too seriously tends to give the scene some space to breathe, which ironically often makes it more insightful. - Eve Dangerfield

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Locked Box

by Eve Dangerfield

Julia Bennett isn’t having a great day. Funding for her video game is running low, her IT job is sucking her dry and to cap it all off she’s locked in a police station with the very handsome, extremely married guy she’s been avoiding at all costs. Max Connor isn’t having a great year. He’s getting divorced, his best friend is squatting in his spare room and his inappropriate crush on the IT girl is getting dangerously out of hand. And that was before he locked the two of them in an evidence room for the weekend. Surrounded by three decade’s worth of drugs, guns and floppy disks, Max and Julia are forced to confront the heat that lies between them with dangerous, funny and occasionally toe-curlingly sexy results.

Excerpt

Without thinking he seized both her wrists, pulling them down to her sides. Julia drove her forehead into his and sparks exploded behind Max’s eyes. “Ow, fuck!”

Instinctively he forced Julia back, pinning her body to the floor and parting her legs with his thighs. She jerked her hips, trying to throw him off. He pressed down, trapping her under his weight. “Gotcha. Not so tough now are you?”

Julia’s smile was wicked. “No I’m not Max.” 

Oh no. Oh fuck. He was on top of her, his hips were bearing down on hers, their eyes were level, their mouths were level. The curve of Julia’s upper lip was inches from his, her. He couldn’t kiss her could he? His heart would give out if he even tried. He waited on the edge of everything for a sign, some confirmation of what to do. His head was pounding, his cock was pounding, his hands still holding her wrists were shaking.

“Max...” Julia’s breath was coming out in light shallows pants. “I-I want you. I’ve wanted you for ages.”

She kissed him soft and slow. Bright spots popped behind Max’s eyes as pleasure twisted like amphetamines in his blood. This is it, he thought. This is fucking it though what that meant he couldn’t begin to explain.

Julia’s hands stroked through his hair and he pulled away, unsure of what was happening.

“Was that bad?” she asked.

“That was the furthest fucking thing from bad.”

He raised a hand to his lips, stroking his tingling mouth. They’d kissed. The girl he liked kissed him. The sensation was as fresh as it had been at fourteen. This is it. This is fucking it.

Before he knew what was happening they were kissing again that graceless, all-consuming way teenagers kissed, like you needed swallow the other person whole and fuck them through their clothes at the same time. Julia stroked his back and shoulders, reaching between them to caress every muscle she could find. She was greedier than he could have possibly imagined and the idea got him hot enough to melt steel. He did a little exploring of his own, sucking on her tongue as he cupped her breasts, kneading the sweet little mounds until she sighed into his mouth. They consumed each other, hips moving restlessly and Julia wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her jeans against his aching dick. “More.”

Max kissed her neck. “More what baby?”

“Just more. I need more of you.”

He held back, needing to hear her say the words. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

About Eve Dangerfield

Eve Dangerfield has loved romance novels since she first started swiping her grandmother’s paperbacks at the age of fourteen. Now she writes her own unapologetically sexy tales about complex women and gorgeous-but-slightly-tortured men. Eve currently lives in Melbourne with her lovely sister and a rabbit named Billy. Locked Box is her second novel. 

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#WriteTip - Save a Book, Kill a Dialogue Tag by @LeoRosanna, spolighting her @LSB_lsbooks #Shifter #PNR

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This writing tip by repeat guest Rosanna Leo takes me back to one of the few "writer group" meetings I've ever attended. I was about to launch into a monologue on the slaying of dialogue tags, before I shut myself up and allowed the person focus on their creative process. This isn't to say the issue is trivial--it's just something I feel deserves focus in the revisions/editing stage (as opposed to first draft). Of course, my internal editor has gotten rather adept at zapping these critters as I write. Who knows? In a decade or two, I might manage to annihilate the majority of them. *cue evil laughter*

Ahem. Sorry, Rosanna tends to bring out my theatrical side. I'll let her take over before this devolves any further. 

Save a Book, Kill a Dialogue Tag

by Rosanna Leo

Thanks so much to Tara for hosting me as I continue my blog tour for Predator’s Rescue, Gemini Island Shifters 7, my latest release!

Dialogue tags. If you’re a writer, you’re probably already sighing with me. They’re evil, little creatures, aren’t they?

What on earth am I talking about? For those who haven’t heard the term, a dialogue tag is what we call those pesky words at the end of a piece of dialogue. For example, “He said” or “She replied.”

These are words writers use many times per day. Many writing experts agree we should use them as little as possible.  Why? After all, people speak. Wouldn’t we want to show them speaking in a work of literature?

That is exactly the point. We want to SHOW them. Many agree there are more effective ways of describing a character’s actions than by simply stating what they said. I use dialogue tags here and there, but I prefer to show what the character is doing or thinking at that moment. Reiterating “He said” or “She said” tends to slow down the pace as well. It’s unnecessary. If have a piece of dialogue, we generally know who is speaking. Take this example from Predator’s Rescue:

He stopped pacing. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Fleur...”

“I need a shower,” she blurted, blinking over itching eyes. “I smell like fish dinner leftovers someone forgot to put in the fridge.”

“We can shower later.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you can shower later. We need to talk.”

“Talk, talk, talk. I’ve never known any other man who wanted to talk so much.”

Here, I use one dialogue tag (She blurted) to point out heroine Fleur’s state of mind, more than the fact she is responding. It’s a quick sequence and the reader doesn’t lose track of who says what.

Have you ever read a piece of dialogue that distracted you with its use of tags? Chances are, there were too many of them.

Save a book. Kill a dialogue tag today.

Predator's Rescue

by Rosanna Leo

Tiger shifter Jani Fodor should have washed his hands of Fleur Bissette long ago. However, when she disappears from the shape shifter sanctuary on Gemini Island, he can’t forget her, and launches a fraught two-week search to find her. He thinks she’ll be grateful but the petulant she-wolf resents his intrusion in her life.

Jani recently liberated Fleur from a vicious cult of shape shifters, where she was brainwashed by the sadistic August Crane. The wolf shifter terrorized their friends at the Ursa Fishing Lodge and Resort on Gemini Island. Labeled a “bad girl” all her life, Fleur knows she’ll never fit in with the good guys at the Ursa, no matter how much Jani tries to convince her of their regard. Besides, she can’t stay with Jani. Although he’s the closest thing she’s ever had to a friend, their chemistry is explosive in the worst way.

When a new menace arises, in the form of a vicious drug dealer with a grudge, Jani is adamant Fleur accept his help to rehabilitate her addict mother and remove her from the influence of her dealer. Fleur accepts Jani’s assistance but as they work together, friendship erupts into passion. Neither can deny their lust-struck spirit animals and before long, they realize their connection runs deeper than they ever expected.

Despite the threats posed by the drug dealer, the worst danger of all dwells inside Fleur. Haunted by the spirit of August Crane, Fleur is inundated by visions that torment her. She is consumed by guilt and plagued by old hostilities. Can this bad girl make good? And is Jani’s love enough to save her from her demons?

Excerpt

Once again, Jani’s temper flared but he swallowed his simmering rage. He stood and raised his voice so he could be heard over Loretta Lynn’s tinny warbling as it emanated from the jukebox. “Now I’m going to ask everyone in this shithole one more time. I’m looking for Fleur Bissette. Where is she?”

There was a crash and a feminine cry from behind one of the closed doors. Jani didn’t hesitate. He launched himself off his stool and toward the door, already on the verge of shifting. His tiger hairs danced in anticipation under his skin, ready to burst through his pores.

The two men who’d approached him grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him back.

“Hey, asshole,” the grizzly man shouted. “You’re not allowed back there. Private parties only.”

Jani glanced at the hand on his shoulder and then at the man. “One warning. Take your hands off me.”

The idiot snorted and looked at his pal. “Why waste your time lookin’ for Fleur anyway? That girl’s nothing but trouble. Trouble loves her. In fact, she’s probably spreading her legs to trouble right now.”

Jani reached for the man’s arms and spun him around. “What did you say?”

“It’s all the bitch knows how to do. That’s all women like her are good for anyway.”

Jani reared back and let his fist fly, cracking it against the man’s face. The grizzly shifter flew across the room, hitting the back wall, collapsing to the floor. The grim satisfaction of seeing the man crumple overrode any pain in his knuckles. In fact, it felt so good to hit the jackass he had to hold his hand behind his back so he wouldn’t hit him again.

No one, no one, insulted Fleur. The man was lucky Jani didn’t kill him for the slight. Fleur had been called too many names in her time, and he’d made it his mission to see she was never belittled again.

Jani nodded toward the other men. “Don’t even think of stopping me.”

He tried the closed door, relieved to find it unlocked. He flung the door open and his tiger senses homed in on her immediately.

Fleur had clearly been serving drinks to the small group of shifter bikers inside, but one of them had gotten a little too close to the new waitress. Her tray of drinks lay on the floor, smashed, and one of the men had her over his lap. His large hand caressed her ass as she squirmed in his grip.

As time seemed to freeze for Jani, Fleur turned to glance at him. She mouthed his name.

The silent plea made his heart twist in his chest. Had she actually spoken aloud? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear her voice. His ears were ringing too much as his tiger roared her name.

Her dark eyes seemed to grow darker, black with emotion, but he didn’t take time to analyze the sentiment flitting behind her irises.

With a noise that must have sounded more animal than man, Jani raced toward her and pulled her off the man’s lap. He moved her toward the door, so she wouldn’t be hurt in the melee. He then turned to the shithead who’d grabbed her, a growl emanating from his furious core.

The biker, startled and likely drunk, didn’t react quickly enough to shift. Jani hauled him off his chair and thrust him toward the wall.

“Jani,” Fleur called, her voice loud and clear now. “Don’t. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“His hand was on your ass. I know enough.”

One of the other men was foolhardy enough to try to stop him. He tried to yank Jani away but Jani snapped his arm back, using his elbow to hammer the man in the face. Cradling his bloody nose, the man retreated.

Jani turned his attention back to the shifter who’d groped Fleur. “That was the last time you ever touch her.” Bracing himself, he head-butted him. A sickening crack sounded in the room. The man moaned, his eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the floor.

Ignoring the pain exploding through his forehead, Jani marched toward Fleur, picked her up, and hauled her over his shoulder.

“Hey. Put me down! You have no right.”

No right. He might have laughed if he wasn’t concerned about getting her out of there in one piece.

Holding out his free arm to warn off any others who might consider having a go at him, Jani carried the writhing Fleur out of the room and out of the bar. His heart thumped against his chest just from holding her. Granted, he hadn’t quite envisioned holding her like this, her ass high in the air near his face, but it pleased him more than he cared to admit out loud. Something about the scenario made his inner caveman very happy.

About Rosanna Leo

Rosanna Leo is a multi-published, erotic romance author. Several of her books about Greek gods, selkies and shape shifters have been named Top Picks at Night Owl Romance and The Romance Reviews.

From Toronto, Canada, Rosanna occupies a house in the suburbs with her long-suffering husband, their two hungry sons and a tabby cat named Sweetie. When not writing, she can be found haunting dusty library stacks or planning her next star-crossed love affair.

A library employee by day, she is honored to be a member of the league of naughty librarians who also happen to write romance. Rosanna blogs at www.rosannaleoauthor.wordpress.com

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