Shadows of His Mind (The Shadows Series Book 2) Romantic Suspense by Loree Lough ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway
Shadows of His Mind
The Shadows Series Book 2
by Loree Lough
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Jase Brooks had been a 26-year-old Marine, stationed in Afghanistan when his parents were killed in a head-on collision. His anguish was compounded when, at the reading of the will, he learned they'd made him sole guardian of his 11-year-old brother. Jase gladly walked away from a promising military career to step into their shoes, a tough job made tougher by the boy's risky behavior: Petty theft to fund the addictions that led to the birth of his son, Luke... who also became Jase's responsibility.
Through it all, best friend Samantha (Sam) Finnigan set aside her own heartaches to stand beside him--even when he made the dangerous decision to become a professional recovery agent. It isn't until one of the criminals he'd rounded-up escapes prison--and kidnaps Sam and Luke as part of a twisted scheme to even the score--that Jase realizes Sam is more, so much more than a friend.
Now, he faces the greatest challenge of his life: Staying alive long enough to save them, so that he can finally admit just how much she has always meant to him...
Loree Lough, a USA Today bestselling author, has published over 140 novels. This is the second novel in The Shadow Series.
Amazon * B&N * Rising Phoenix Press
Beyond the Shadows
The Shadows Series Book 1
Elice Glasser is a widow with three young children to raise. Cabot Murray is an ex-cop who returns home to Freeland, Maryland, to deal with the pain of his own tragic loss: the death of his wife and daughter in a fiery explosion intended for him.
Grieving, their sorrow brings them together, and a friendship develops that leads then to explore the possibility of finding love again. But vengeful enemies and jealous rivals are determined to destroy the peace and happiness that Elice and Cabot have found in each other’s arms. Why are their rivals so intent on keeping Elice and Cabot apart? Loree Lough's latest suspenseful romance is a page-turner!
EXCERPT #1 --
THE OPENING (intro featuring Jase and Luke, and the fact that Jase’s brother Jesse seems to be missing):
Elbows on knees, he held his head in his hands. What awful thing would life throw at him next!
By now, ten month old Luke’s cries bordered on screams.
“Jesse,” he growled, “are ya deaf? Luke is bawlin’ his lungs out!”
Most days, that was enough to get his brother up, stumbling and grumbling and chanting, “Shh, Lukey, shh,” on his way to the crib.
Not this morning.
Jase crossed the hall, opened the door to the room where Jesse had slept for nearly ten years. Luke greeted him with a big, four-toothed smile and said, “Duke up, Case?”
His nephew hadn’t yet mastered his L’s and J’s, and Jase had grown fond of the boy’s nickname for him, so fond that he wasn’t looking forward to the day when Luke could finally say ‘Luke’ and ‘Jase.’
“Dah-dee s’eep?” He pointed at his father’s bed.
Jesse had always been a restless sleeper, moreso since Connie left him to raise their boy, alone. The neatly-made bed proved he hadn’t slept here last night.
He thumb-dried fat tears from the baby’s cheeks. “Where is that daddy of yours?” he wondered aloud, and lifted him from the crib.
Damp blue eyes met his, held the gaze for a moment. On the heels of a shaky sigh, Luke snuggled against Jase’s chest and whimpered, “Dah-dee.”
“Someday he’ll realize what a gift you are, li’l man.” He hoped it was true, for both their sakes … before it’s too late.
According to the Ford Thunderbird wall clock, it was nearly six in the morning. The kid was probably wet. And hungry. Jase went back to the crib, released the side rail, and gently deposited him on the matching T-bird sheets. “Let’s get you changed, and then Uncle Jase will fix you some oatmeal, okay?”
The baby grabbed his favorite toy—the stuffed monkey Jase purchased in the hospital gift shop the night Luke was born—and began gnawing on the long, once-fuzzy tail. “Got another tooth comin’ in, huh, kiddo?”
Any worries that Connie’s drug use might have caused birth defects disappeared that first night, looking into those alert, innocent eyes. He’d vowed, right then and there, to do everything in his power to make sure the kid stayed innocent. He hadn’t done a very good job, protecting Jesse from the world’s evils, but maybe with Luke, he’d get a second chance to do things right.
It hadn’t been easy, straddling the line between big brother and disciplinarian, partly because he had no idea what he was doing, and partly because Jesse fought him every step of the way. But for a while there, while working together to fix their dad’s classic Thunderbird, their brotherly bond strengthened enough to distract Jesse from bad company, drugs, and booze. He’d been clean a year when the car was finally roadworthy, and he’d driven it to daily AA meetings. Ironic, Jase thought, that the following year, Jesse met Connie at one of those meetings. Her influence had been stronger than AA’s. Stronger than Jase’s. When she announced her pregnancy, Jase had hoped that fatherhood would end Jesse’s slow, downward spiral, but the empty bed across the room said otherwise.
Downstairs, he strapped Luke into his high chair. “That oughta keep you busy,” he said, sprinkling a handful of Cheerios across the tray, “while I heat up your oatmeal.” And when I put you down for a nap, I’m gonna hunt up that father of yours …
EXCERPT #2 –
Scene that introduces Sam (Samantha) and establishes her years-long friendship with Jase:
The security mirror did a great job, showing the big picture of the store’s interior. Not so great, however, for details … like how haggard he looked.
“Sam,” he said, “good to see you.”
Even his voice is tired! He’d hate seeing pity on her face, so Sam put her attention on the baby. “Well lookit you! Four teeth already!”
Jase unpocketed a white handkerchief, wiped drool from the baby’s lips. “And more coming in.”
“Aw, you’re getting to be such a big boy!”
Grinning, Luke raised both arms and yelled, “Duke big!”
That, at least, put a smile on Jase’s face. Not the kind that lit up his eyes, but she preferred it to the sad, lost expression it replaced.
“It’s almost a shame that one day soon, he’ll learn to pronounce his L’s, and we won’t get to hear him say ‘Duke’ any more.”
“I was thinking that myself, just this morning.”
Sam pointed at the groceries in his cart. “You know you can get it all at Walmart for half the price. Especially the baby’s stuff.”
“Yeah, but that’d take time, something that’s in short supply these days.”
“Oh?”
Jase’s lips formed a taut line, the way it always had when he disagreed with something … or didn’t feel like talking.
Luke reached for her nametag. “Sorry, sweet boy. But that pin’ll stick you.”
The baby, looking almost as sad as his uncle, began chewing on a dimpled fist. Sam plucked a teething ring from the shelf, tore off the plastic wrapper, and handed it to Luke. Feet kicking and grinning again, he put it straight into his mouth.
“My treat,” she told Jase. And before he had a chance to decline the offer, she added, “You remember how long we’ve known one another, right?”
“Yeah …”
“So you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
Jase hesitated, hung his head and said, “Jesse’s missing.”
She heard the unspoken again in his heartbroken voice.
“Dah-dee?” Luke said.
Jase finger-combed blond hair from the baby’s forehead. Life hadn’t been gentle with this man. He’d dealt with some grisly things as a Marine, stationed in Afghanistan. And after losing his parents, it hadn’t been easy, trying to be father and mother and big brother to Jesse.
She searched her mind for something, anything that might offer a thread of comfort. But he needed more than weak platitudes like “He’ll turn up, he always does” or ”Jesse’s like a cat … nine lives, and always lands on his feet.”
“How long has he been gone this time?”
“Almost two days.”
Days that probably felt like weeks, because this time, Jesse had left his ten month old son behind.
“Sorry to hear it. He was doing so well.”
“Tell me about it.” Jase faced the shelves, tossed another package of diapers into the cart. “Last week, I baked my first cake to celebrate his two year chip.”
“You? Baked a cake?” Sam laughed, mostly to take the edge off the seriousness of the situation. “I would’ve paid good money to see that.”
He managed a smile.
“So who’s taking care of this little guy while you’re at work?”
“I took a couple days off.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “I’m hoping Jesse comes home soon.”
Admitting it opened the tight lid he’d been keeping on the story:
“Doesn’t make sense, no sense at all. Like you said, Jesse was doing great. Even started talking about going back to school, to get his Associates in automotive technology.”
Sam remembered how proud Jesse had looked last time he’d come into the store, showing her the community college brochure as he explained his plans.
“And then Connie came back, like an awful virus.”
Jase sounded disgusted, and she couldn’t blame him. Jesse had met Connie at an AA meeting, and for a while there, Sam thought they’d be good for each other. But the lure of drugs was more powerful than the call to motherhood, and within weeks of Luke’s birth, Connie slipped back into old habits, reconnected with wayward friends, and disappeared.
“He took it hard,” Jase was saying. “Being laid off from a job he loved so soon after Connie ran off …” He exhaled a shaky breath. “It’d be easy to blame her for everything, but the truth is, Jesse’s weak. Always has been, and I’m partly to blame for that. I was always too easy on him.”
“You aren’t to blame for anything!” Sam insisted. “Jesse is twenty-five, not fifteen. He’s one hundred percent responsible for the choices he’s made.” For the choices he’s making now … “You sacrificed so much for him. Your freedom. Your career in the Marines.”
She couldn’t bring herself to add your marriage to the list, because in Sam’s opinion, that union had been all wrong from the get-go, and would have ended even if Jesse and Luke weren’t such a big part of Jase’s life.
“I was there for all of it, remember. I saw how difficult Jesse made things for you. Too often, it looked to me like he didn’t realize that you lost your folks, too. You were younger than he is now when the accident took them from you, and yet you stepped up, did your best to be a mother and a father to him. You’ve been a great parent, Jase, and don’t you ever forget it!”
“Case!” Luke echoed, waving the teething ring in the air.
That’s when an idea dawned in her mind …
EXCERPT #3 –
JOE MICHAELS, ESCAPED KIDNAPS SAM AND LUKE TO LURE JASE INTO HIS VENGEFUL TRAP:
Michaels had to give himself credit. If you’d been this good at surveillance two years ago, Brooks never would’ve gotten the drop on you.
The woman and kid were in the store, and one of her two part-time employees. The mechanic was gone. He knew, because he’d overheard him, yelling into the phone, “It’s about time that part is in. I’ll pick it up in five minutes.”
Michaels parallel parked near the curb and exited the Ford, left the driver’s door open, opened the back passenger door, and pulled on his mask.
Inside, he grabbed the woman, pressed the gun barrel to her temple and snarled, “Open the register.”
She struggled, but only for a minute, before hitting the blue button on the keypad that released the cash drawer. He grabbed the twenties, stuffed them into his left front pocket.
“Get on the floor,” he ordered the teenage boy. “And you,” he growled, tightening his grip on the woman, “pick up that baby.” Increasing the barrel’s pressure on her temple, he growled, “Give me a reason, and I’ll shoot the boy, the baby, then you.”
She nodded, and he turned her loose. The instant she had the baby in her arms, he took it from her, which unleashed ear-piercing wails. “Get outside,” he ordered, and using the .44 as a pointer, added, “You’re driving.”
But she didn’t move. “You didn’t take all the money. Take it. There’s more in the back. You can have that, too.”
“Money ain’t the main reason I’m here, lady. Now get in the car.”
By now, the baby was screaming and lunging for the woman. Never would-a guessed a kid this small could be so strong!
“Please don’t hurt him. He’s just scared. So am I. We’re all scared. But thanks to your disguise, we can’t identify you. So take the money and go.”
“Shut up and get in the car or I’ll do more than scare the bunch of you.”
Eyes wide and lips trembling, she said, “Will you at least let me get his diaper bag?”
He almost shouted No!, but thought better of it. Anything to keep the kid quiet . . . and keep it from stinking up the car or the motel room.
“Fine. Grab it. And grab your cell phone, too.”
She took her sweet time, shouldering the bag’s strap, tucking the phone into a front pocket, walking out the door.
“What are you tryin’ to pull? Stop stallin’ and get a move-on!”
“If I run, I’ll draw attention to myself. You don’t want that, now do you?”
Good point, he thought. Joe stood in stunned disbelieve as she stopped beside the teenage boy, still trembling on the floor behind the counter, “You’ll be all right, sweetie,” she told him. “Wait five minutes after we’ve left, then lock up and go home. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, voice cracking.
It was smart, telling the kid to wait. Smarter still, not dropping a hint that he should call the cops. Maybe it wasn’t intelligence, but the Magnum that made her seem smart. He’d learned that looking down the barrel of a gun had a tendency to turn people—babies, teenagers, women, even grown men—into willing puppets. Why should she be an exception?
The instant she was in the car, he slammed the driver’s door and climbed into the back seat. Not an easy feat, holding the hefty handgun and a squirming, shrieking baby. After slamming the rear door, he leaned forward, and this time, rested the gun barrel on her shoulder.
“Now drive. And remember. Give me a reason, and I’ll use this.”
“Drive where?”
“Brown’s Motel.”
Her hand shook as she shifted into gear. Looking over her right shoulder, she said, “It’s okay, Lukey, please don’t cry.” Then, meeting Michaels’s eyes, she added, “Would it kill you to be a little gentler with him?”
“Shut up and get going!”
“Fine!”
She sounded more angry than scared. Good, he thought, because the whiny ones had always been trouble, and not nearly as much fun to break. Michaels had to give it to her for holding it together. In similar circumstances, he’d seen hardened criminals blubber like babies.
As she turned onto the highway, Michaels pulled off the mask and tossed it into the front seat. “Izza big skawy bad man a wittle wess skawy now?”
She said something under her breath, and he decided to let her get away with it. “Number twenty-seven,” he said once she’d completed the U-turn.
Except for the occasional hiccupping sniffle, the baby sat, stiff and quiet during the short drive to the motel.
“Okay,” she snapped, braking in front of the unit, “we’re here. Now what.”
“Now you cut the engine and get out, real slow, and give me the keys. Then you take this brat and look like you’re happy to be here while I unlock the door. Got it?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
He gave her shoulder another tap, a gentle reminder what would happen if she stepped out of line. Joe needed the reminder as much as she did: This was the make-or-break moment, when she could take off running, bellowing like a banshee, and attract attention. To his knowledge, the motel had just one other guest; the car in front of #29 was gone, but the guy could still be in there.
Once inside, she relieved him of the baby. Instantly, he realized that before leaving the room, he’d forgotten to close the curtains … because she’d planted herself right in front of the big window. In the bright sunlight, he got his first real look at the kid, red-faced and puffy-eyed, huffing ragged breaths as clung to her. Like baby monkeys cling to their mamas.
“You’re okay, you’ll be fine, it’s all good,” she crooned, and the baby buried its face in her throat.
Michaels snapped the curtains shut and she unshouldered the diaper bag. It landed on the bedspread’s playing cards … a royal flush. Had Lady Luck decided to switch her allegiance?
“Why are we here.”
A snarling, whispered demand, he noted, rather than a pleading question. It made him laugh a bit that she actually expected him to give her a straight answer.
He extended a hand, palm up, and wiggled his fingers. “Phone.”
“You know where it is. Get it yourself.”
Better be careful with this one. She was tough and smart, and that spelled trouble. He gave a thought to cracking the side of her skull with the gun, remind her who was in charge here, but then who’d keep the brat quiet?
Michaels helped himself to the phone, saw right away that the battery was low. No matter. He only needed to make one call.
“Is his number programmed into this thing?”
“His …”
He watched, grinning as she put two and two together. Finally, he thought, she looks a little scared. Maybe now she’d be easier to keep in line.
“Three,” she whispered.
Now, it was his turn to put two and two together: One, the old man; two, the store; three, Jason Brooks. It told him she knew how to prioritize, information that would come in handy … soon.
Brooks answered after just two rings.
“Hey, you,” he said. “Were your ears ringing? Jesse and I were just talking about you.”
It took considerable self-control to keep from pitching the phone against the wall … no, at her … because she was the reason Brooks sounded so content.
I can fix that in one second flat:
“Hey, yourself,” he growled. “Recognize my voice?”
Beyond the Shadows
Excerpt
“Sounds like a fair price to me.”
The guys on the force had nicknamed him Speedy Gonzales because he’d always moved with lightning speed.
When he reached for his billfold, Elice flinched. Cabot froze. He’d seen that reaction, too, in his street cop days. It told him she’d been abused. He wanted to tell her she’d never have anything to fear from him. At the same time, he wanted to throttle the man who’d put such fear into those beautiful brown eyes. The clock tick-tocked some more while he tried to think of something clever, something soothing to say. His big hands trembled as he thumbed through the bills in his wallet.
“I. . .uh. . .1 seem to be a little short…”
“You’re not short,” Annie said. “You’re tall. Very tall.”
He’d been so involved in Elice’s fright that Cabot hadn’t even noticed the little girl enter the workshop. As she stood there, looking up at him with those big blue eyes of hers, he wanted to scoop her up, give her a huge hug, and kiss that Popsicle-red smile of hers. He met Elice’s eyes. She’d composed herself quickly, he acknowledged. If he hadn’t seen it himself, he’d never have guessed that only moments ago, she’d looked for all the world like a terrified child.
“It won’t take but a minute to run home and get my checkbook. My cupboards are as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s,” he said, chuckling, “and I have to do some grocery shopping anyway. I’ll be passing right by—”
‘“Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to get her poor dog a bone,”‘ Annie said, grinning, as she recited the nursery rhyme. “Do you have a dog?”
Cabot laughed. “No. I don’t.”
Annie shook her head and frowned. “Me, either. Mommy says she doesn’t have time for a fuzzy kid with four legs.” She headed for the door, stretching the pink straps of her bathing suit as she faced her mother. “Emi says to tell you the table is set and Danny’s on his way home.” She gave Cabot a quick once-over, then looked back at her mother. “Is he eating supper with us, Mommy?”
She glanced from her daughter to Cabot and back again. ”He just stopped by to order a sign, sweetie,” Elice said. “I’m sure he has better things to do than eat day-old bread and soup.”
Maggie had called Lindy “honey” using exactly that same motherly tone of voice. The dull ache in Cabot’s heart grew as Annie planted herself directly in front of him and asked, “Do you have any kids?”
Cabot shook his head, then squatted to make himself child-sized. “1 had a little girl once, but she died.” It surprised him how easily the words came tumbling out. What surprised him more was that saying them didn’t hurt this time. Not as much, anyway.
“Couldn’t you and your wife get another one?”
He swallowed. Hard. “I’m afraid she’s dead, too.”
She placed a tiny hand on his cheek. “Aw, that’s too bad.” Blond brows rose sympathetically over huge blue eyes.
Cabot didn’t dare look at Elice. If he saw even a trace of pity on her face, he’d flee the workshop like a man being chased by a nightmare. Because that’s exactly what he was.
Her hand clamped on her daughter’s shoulder, the sweet, maternal tone replaced by one of no nonsense: “Annie, go inside and wash up.”
Annie’s brows rose high on her forehead as she folded tiny hands in front of her chest. “Oh, Mommy,” she said, turning to hug Elice’s knees, “he’s all alone. Can’t the nice man stay for supper? Please?”
Cabot resisted the urge to bolt from the workshop, fire up his Jeep, and head back to Foggy Bottom as fast as he could. Then he realized he was still holding his wallet. Standing, he closed it and cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll stop by later with the money,” he stammered, stuffing it into his back pocket.
Annie’s bare feet made tiny slapping sounds on the concrete floor as she followed him to the door. “What’s your name?” she asked, grabbing his fingers.
He stared at the tiny hand in his. “Cabot. Cabot Murray.”
Frowning, Annie looked at the big hand that surrounded hers. “How’d you get so dirty, Mr. Murray?”
“Annie, if I have to tell you one more time to go inside…”
Smiling, he met Elice’s eyes at last. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He faced Annie. “This stuff is called axle grease. You see, I’ve been working on my tractor all day.”
Annie shook her head and frowned. “Mommy doesn’t like dirty hands. ‘Specially at the table. My grandma gave me some neat soap for my birthday. It will make you smell like flowers. Maybe once you’re clean, Mommy will let you stay for supper.”
“Annie…” Elice’s voice was a mixture of warning and amusement. “I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not inside washing your hands by the time I say—”
Immediately, the child released Cabot’s hand and headed for the door. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”
When she was out of earshot, Elice frowned. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what gets into her sometimes.”
“There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. I think she’s adorable.” And so are you, he thought. Already, Twin Acres had a strange and mystical hold on him. He knew if he didn’t get out of there, and quick, he’d lose all control over his emotions. He needed time to get things straight in his head. Lots of time.
If your book had a candle, what scent would it be?
That candle would deliver the aroma of a spent match: Crisp and pungent, with a hint of danger.
What did you edit out of this book?
Not much, because, ol’ tyrant me follows my plot outline very carefully.
Is there an writer which brain you would love to pick for advice? Who would that be and why?
Jack London. Or Dean Koontz. I’d love to ask both men how they learned to tweak readers’ emotions.
Fun Facts/Behind the Scenes/Did You Know?'-type tidbits about the author, the book or the writing process of the book.
In one scene, Jase is looking for his missing brother, Jesse. He drove down a dangerous street in Baltimore’s ghetto. I wanted to describe what he saw, how he felt, alone on a rainy night. So I took that drive, all by myself. (Don’t tell Larry!)
How long have you been writing?
Started writing, mostly for fun, in the mid-80s, and professionally, since the late 80s.
Do the characters all come to you at the same time or do some of them come to you as you write?
They come to me before I start Chapter One. I need to know who the ‘players’ are, so I can get deep into my characters’ heads and hearts as they interact with one another and react to each other.
What kind of research do you do before you begin writing a book?
Lots. I mean, lots. Hours and hours of reading about the time period. Interviewing people who hold the jobs my characters will perform. Visiting the places where some of the scenes will take place. Studying the weather, the business climate, and finding just the right type of home and car for the hero and heroine.
Do you see writing as a career?
Yes, and I have, since the late 90s.
What do you think about the current publishing market?
It’s crazy out there, I tell ya. Between book pirates and companies going belly-up, or merging with other companies, it’s tough to find publishers that’ll pay a fair wage. Editors come and go. So do distributors. Bookstores. Writing organizations. Despite all that, the competition is fierce.
Do you read yourself and if so what is your favorite genre?
I’ll read anything and everything, from the back of a cereal box to a matchbook cover. I don’t have a favorite genre, though.
Do you prefer to write in silence or with noise? Why?
Silence is my preference, but because it’s such a rare commodity, I’ve taught myself to tune out background noise. I’m not one of those writers who listens to music, either. (See? Tyrant!)
Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time?
Right now, I’m working on 3 separate projects. Fortunately, they’re all fiction.
Pen or type writer or computer?
When my trusty laptop isn’t handy, pen and paper work just fine.
Tell us about a favorite character from a book.
Gee, that’d be like admitting which child or grandkid is my favorite!
What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?
Letters from readers, telling me why they enjoyed a story, a character, a setting, definitely whet my whistle for more. Often, readers share personal stories to explain why they identified with a particular character or storyline. Hearing that I helped someone, even in some small way, makes me certain that yes, I made the right decision.
A day in the life of the author?
Up early. Say my prayers. Coffee and breakfast. Shower, dress, make the bed and clean the house. Make a ‘to do’ list for the day. Then, fire up the computer; read and edit the last chapter written, and add scenes until Life interrupts.
Do you have any advice to offer for new authors?
Read. Your favorite genre (and stuff you think you’ll hate), and how-to books.
Attend classes and workshops.
Network at conferences.
Join a critique group, either in person or online.
And while you’re doing all that, write. And writewritewritewritewrite.
Describe your writing style.
Casual, down to earth, easy on readers’ eyes (I hope).
What makes a good story?
Something that grabs you by the throat on page one and doesn’t let go until that last satisfying page.
What are you currently reading?
Nonfiction research for my next novel.
What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first?
1. Outline
2. Characters
3. Characters’ motivations/backgrounds
4. Setting/time period
5. Characters jobs, families, friends
6. Objective of main characters
7. How each character helps/impedes other characters’ objectives.
8. Title
What are common traps for aspiring writers?
Invitations to attend far-away, expensive writers conferences, or register for online classes. And published authors who, with just a book or two to their credit, consider their advice THE pathway to publication. Most offensive are people—whether published or not—who sabotage writers with meanspirited critiques.
What is your writing Kryptonite?
Family obligations.
Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?
I believe that to give readers what they want, authors must be original. That isn’t as tough as it sounds, thanks to the fact that each of us, coming from varied backgrounds, forms one-of-a-kind opinions and viewpoints.
If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?
Stick to the plan, no matter what … don’t give up!
What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from other genders?
Despite the world’s nonstop attempts to make us all exactly alike, we’re not. Men use different words to describe things than women do. They react to life differently, too. Keeping that in mind when writing from a male character’s point of view, or when crafting dialog for him, makes it easier. A little. Usually.
How long on average does it take you to write a book?
I once wrote a 55,000 word novel in a weekend (and it won Best Contemporary of the Year after its release). Normally, it takes about 4 months, from Idea to Research and Interviews to typing The End.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
Nope! (Told ya … tyrant!)
With more than 14M copies of her books in circulation, USA Today bestselling/award-winning author Loree Lough has 125 books in print (contracts for 6 more), 7 book-to-movie options, 68 short stories and 2,500+ published articles. She and her real-life hero split their time between a home in Baltimore's suburbs and a cabin in the Alleghenies. She loves interacting with readers and answers every letter personally.
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