Please welcome Jessica Cale to the blog!
Most writers I’ve known say that writing is invigorating, while some say that it’s their therapy. How does your writing serve you? Do you express your life through the story or does the theme come from your vision?
It’s a little bit of both. It’s incredibly calming to disappear into a world of my own and as long as nothing reminds me of where I am (phone calls, neighbors, etc), I can stay there for hours without realizing it. It’s achieving something that’s invigorating. If I can finish one good scene, I feel great. Certain parts of my books are definitely drawn from personal experience, but the themes are more reflective of my vision and who I am. For example, I feel very strongly about equal rights across the board, so I try to write varied and interesting characters from all walks of life, while trying to keep things as historically accurate as possible. It’s my little attempt to correct history by representing the marginalized. It’s satisfying!
Who or what inspired you to write?
I don’t think I had a choice. There’s a picture of me sitting in front of a typewriter before I could walk. My grandmother wrote romance novels and children’s stories, and she was always writing or reading something when I went to her house. She gave me a typewriter when I was twelve, and I probably started writing creatively then. That typewriter (and the horror stories I wrote on it) got me through high school! I’ve always had stories in my head, and it made more sense to write them down than to let them drive me nuts.
What is the best way a reader can express their gratitude for the experience they had reading your work?
I would love it if readers would review my books on Goodreads, Amazon, or any other site, because reviews are wonderfully helpful to authors. Recommend it to your friends if you enjoyed it. You can also connect with me on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, Tumblr, Tsu, or even just through my website. I would love to hear from you. I’m really nice!
What advice would you give a new author?
Don’t give up! Keep writing! Writing is a process and it can take a long time, but don’t let that scare you. Anything you write can be edited later if you don’t like it, and just because one person passes on it doesn’t mean that it’s bad. Writing, like all art, is subjective, and somebody will enjoy your work. Keep working on it until you think it’s perfect, and then submit it until you find the right publisher or agent. I was very lucky to find my publisher as quickly as I did, and I’m thrilled to be with Liquid Silver. Submit to them and join the family! 😉
Have you done all the things in your book with your partner? That’s what I want to know 🙂
Well, we never tried to break somebody out of prison…
From toiling for pennies to bare-knuckle boxing, a lady is prepared for every eventuality.
Lady Jane Ramsey is young, beautiful, and ruined.
After being rescued from her kidnapping by a handsome highwayman, she returns home only to find her marriage prospects drastically reduced. Her father expects her to marry the repulsive Lord Lewes, but Jane has other plans. All she can think about is her highwayman, and she is determined to find him again.
Mark Virtue is trying to go straight. After years of robbing coaches and surviving on his wits, he knows it’s time to hang up his pistol and become the carpenter he was trained to be. He busies himself with finding work for his neighbors and improving his corner of Southwark as he tries to forget the girl who haunts his dreams. As a carpenter struggling to stay in work in the aftermath of The Fire, he knows Jane is unfathomably far beyond his reach, and there’s no use wishing for the impossible.
When Jane turns up in Southwark, Mark is furious. She has no way of understanding just how much danger she has put them in by running away. In spite of his growing feelings for her, he knows that Southwark is no place for a lady. Jane must set aside her lessons to learn a new set of rules if she is to make a life for herself in the crime-ridden slum. She will fight for her freedom and her life if that’s what it takes to prove to Mark—and to herself—that there’s more to her than meets the eye.
Pre-Order from Liquid Silver for 20% off: http://www.lsbooks.com/pre-order-coming-soon-romance-books-c322.php
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JessicaCale @JessicaCale
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Jessica-Cale/e/B00PVDV9EW/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9819997.Jessica_Cale
A key popped into the lock and the door opened with a creak. A turnkey stood guard in the narrow entrance, as if he was afraid Mark would escape.
Mark almost laughed. They’d put him in the heavy shackles they reserved for those who had escaped and been recaptured. It was Harry who was the escape artist, but Mark wouldn’t correct them. It was good that they thought he was a threat.
The turnkey carried a lantern bright enough for Mark to see his shining eyes and a shit-eating grin. “Someone likes you,” he said.
Mark rolled his eyes. “You tell Tilly that there’s not enough bread in Christendom—”
He trailed off as he saw a slender white hand emerge from the shadows of the hall to drop a coin into the turnkey’s palm. “For his shackles,” said a girl’s voice in a coarse accent he didn’t recognize.
“You want them on or off?”
“Off!” she snapped.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got the wrong cell, mate. I’m not expecting anyone.”
The turnkey leered. “Can I keep her, then?”
“Can you hell!” the girl protested. “I was sent for Mister Mark Virtue only. Bought and paid for. Hands off!”
The girl stepped into the light. The thin cloak she wore over it was for warmth more than modesty; a man would have to be blind not to see the body beneath it. Her lush curves were cinched into a scandalously low-cut dress the color of burnished gold, her flawless skin glowing in the warm light of the lantern. A yard or so of shining auburn hair spilled out of the hood that shadowed her face. Even had she kept it covered, he would have known her from the way his blood sang in her presence.
She glanced up at him from beneath the hood and he saw it.
The glint of steel in her eyes.
“This is only a shilling,” said the turnkey. “That’ll get you the hands or the feet. Not both.”
She arched an eyebrow at Mark. “Which is it? Hands or feet?”
Mark didn’t take his eyes off of her as the turnkey bent to unlock the shackles around his ankles.
“The lantern’s extra,” he said as he stood.
“Don’t need it,” Mark dismissed, rubbing his ankles.
“That’s a shame. She’s a treat! I’ll come get her later then. Wish I had friends like yours, Mark.” He closed the door behind him, and Mark heard the bolt slide into the lock with a heavy click.
He was locked in a cell in near perfect darkness with Jane Ramsey.
“It’s not my birthday.” He smiled.