A life-long Oregonian, Collette Cameron was born and raised in a small town along the northern Oregon coast. Today she makes her home in a rural community, 30 minutes west of Portland. Her Victorian farmhouse sits on a one-acre certified wildlife habit, interspersed with a plethora of gardens: English, rose, butterfly, rock, water, and of course, vegetable.
A voracious reader of romance since her teens, she even named her daughter after a heroine in her favorite romance novel. An enthusiast of times gone by, and anything related to romance, she writes Historical Romance, with a dash of inspiration, a pinch of humor, and a liberal portion of suspense.
Having dabbled in interior decorating in her youth, Collette returned to school, graduating summa cum laude from Oregon State University, and went on to obtain her Master's Degree in Teaching. She is member of Romance Writers of America, Rose City Romance Writers, The Beau Monde, and Love Faith and Hope, Inc., and a whole slew of other author/writer groups.
Some of Collette's favorite things include unique blends of coffees and teas, trivia, Cadbury Milk Chocolate, inspirational quotes, and scented candles. Her Christian faith, husband, three adult children, and five miniature dachshunds round out her life quite nicely! When she's not teaching or writing, she enjoys amateur photography, bird watching, gardening, interior decorating, rock-hunting, boating or fishing on the Columbia River, and reading of course.
To connect with Collette, please visit www.collettecameron.com or http://blueroseromance.com/
My Typical Writing Day-Sort Of
I’d love to be able to tell you I have a regular writing routine…and I do. Sort of.
Ideally, I’m out of bed by 5:30, and after doing a few chores and working out—oh, and drinking a couple cups of coffee flavored with crème brulee creamer (yummy!)—I’ll get dressed and make myself presentable. Or not. Some days I do stay in my jammie pants and wear my glasses all day instead of putting in my contact lenses. Hey, only the hubby and the dachshunds are around to see me, and after thirty years, I don’t think hubby really “sees” me anymore.
Anyway, I digress.
With all those other things out of the way, I try to be at my computer by 8:00 or 8:30. I converted one of my adult son’s bedrooms into a shabby chic writing room. I have a fabulous view of my backyard and it’s a perfect environment for me to write.
I check emails, blogs, and other social media, and yes, sometimes Pinterest. That way I can concentrate on writing for a nice long stretch—which usually gets interrupted when one of the doxies (dachshund, not streetwalker) needs to go out. Speaking of doxies, Ayva, my miniature, thinks she needs to be with be all the time, so she’s either in my lap (which causes me to get a numb bummy) or curled up in an overstuffed chair.
I’ve been trying something new lately, setting a daily writing goal, which I try to get in by early afternoon. Notice I said try, ‘cause it hasn’t happened yet. I’m a pantser, so more often than not, my characters do something unexpected, or the plot takes a turn I hadn’t anticipated, and I have to do additional research. Research is one of the things I enjoy most about writing historicals.
I’m pretty disciplined about not answering the phone while writing, but not quite as disciplined about refraining from checking emails. I’m getting better though…sort of.
I also have to find some time during the day to take a peek at my critique partner’s manuscripts, and I’m frequently beta reading or reviewing for another author too. Oh, and I have my own blog that I spend far more time writing for than I probably should. I haven’t been too successful at keeping my evenings free for “family time” but hubby falls asleep the minute he sits in front of the TV anyway, so he doesn’t miss me. A couple of times when he’s been feeling neglected, I’ve been the dutiful wife and cuddled beside him while we watch something wholly entertaining like Duck Dynasty.
Shhh, promise not to tell; I sneak upstairs after hubby falls asleep.
By-the-way, this whole routine is tossed out the window if I get a call to teach. Though I’ve cut way back on substitute teaching, so I can devote more time to writing, I still teach more often than I should. Between you and me, I like writing better than teaching, and that’s something I never thought I’d say.
So, that’s it in a nutshell. I didn’t bother you with all the distractions that happen while I’m writing. I wrote another article on that, which probably explains why I don’t meet my self-imposed deadlines.
Amidst murder and betrayal, destiny and hearts collide when scandal forces a nobleman and a gypsy to marry in this Regency Romance.
Half Romani, half English noblewoman, Evangeline Caruthers is the last woman in England Ian Hamilton, the Viscount Warrick, could ever love—an immoral wanton responsible for his brother’s and father’s deaths. She thinks he’s a foul-tempered blackguard, who after setting out to cause her downfall, finds himself forced to marry her—snared in the trap of his own making.
When Vangie learns the marriage ceremony itself may have been a ruse, she flees to her gypsy relatives, declaring herself divorced from Ian under Romani law. He pursues her to the gypsy encampment, and when the handsome gypsy king offers to take Ian’s place in Vangie’s bed, jealousy stirs hot and dangerous.
At last, under a balmy starlit sky, Ian and Vangie breech the chasm separating them. Peril lurks though. Ian’s the last in his line, and his stepmother intends to dispose of the newlyweds so her daughter can inherit his estate. Only by trusting each other can they overcome scandal and murderous betrayal.
Wedding Reception Scene.
“You didn't eat much, wife.”
They were alone on the dance floor. Ian deftly twirled Vangie around his aunt's smallish ballroom, mindful of the interested eyes watching them.
Stealing a glance at the smiling and nodding onlookers, he suppressed a frown. He felt like a curiosity on display at Bullock's Museum. He wished others would take to the floor, so he could dispense with the devoted bridegroom facade.
The twelve courses at dinner had been tortuous. His wife hadn’t taken more than a dozen bites nor said as many words. He'd tried to eat the succulent foods Aunt Edith had gone to such efforts to have prepared, but his anger made everything dry as chalk and every bit as tasteless.
“I'd not much appetite, my lord.”
He chuckled. “Don't you think you might address me by my given name, wife?”
“Why?” she asked pertly. “I've known you but four days, certainly not long enough to be so familiar with you.”
He lowered his head, breathing in her ear, very aware every eye in the room was trained on them. He'd give them something to gossip about. “Because I want you to, wife, and you did promise to obey.”
He nipped her ear.
She jumped and a tiny yelp of surprise escaped before she clamped her lips together. Her eyes were shooting sparks again, only this time they were directed at him.
“What's my name, wife?”
“Please, don't call me that. I too have a name, as you well know.”
Drawing her closer, her breasts pressing against the breadth of his chest and cresting the edge of her bodice, he murmured, “Indeed, but Evangeline sounds . . . angelic, and we both know you're no such thing.”
“Pardon?” She stiffened, trying to shove away from him. “I don't under—”
His head descended again. “Say it, or I'll trace your ear with my tongue.”
He grinned as her breath hissed from between clenched teeth. She stumbled, her fingers digging into his shoulder and hand. A very becoming flush swept across her face.
“Will you cease?” Her worried gaze careened around the room. “We're being watched.”
Voice husky, he said, “Say my name, sweeting.” Giving her a gentle squeeze, he started to dip his head, caressing her elegant neck with his hot breath.
“Ian, your name is Ian,” she gasped breathlessly, twisting her head away.
Also by Collette:
Regency propriety and Scottish boldness clash in this Regency romantic suspense flavored with a liberal dose of humor and a dash of inspiration.
Here's a short blurb:
Not a day has gone by that Ewan McTavish, the Viscount Sethwick, hasn't dreamed of the beauty he danced with two years ago. He's determined to win her heart and make her his own. Heiress, Yvette Stapleton, is certain of one thing; marriage is risky and, therefore, to be avoided. At first, she doesn't recognize the dangerously handsome man who rescues her from assailants on London's docks, but Lord Sethwick's passionate kisses soon have her reconsidering her cynical views on matrimony. On a mission to stop a War Office traitor, Ewan draws Yvette into deadly international intrigue. To protect her, he exploits Scottish law, declaring her his lawful wife—without benefit of a ceremony. Yvette is furious upon discovering the irregular marriage is legally binding, though she never said, "I do." Will Ewan's manipulation cost him her newfound love?