Jen: Today we welcome Maeve Greyson to Romancing the Book. Maeve, will you share a short bio with us?
Maeve: No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s been Maeve Greyson’s mantra since she was a girl. When she’s not at the full time day job at the steel mill, Maeve’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long suffering husband of over thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
Jen: Please tell us about your newest release and where the idea came from.
Maeve: My Highland Bride is my newest release in the Highland Hearts series that follows the modern day time-traveling Sinclair sisters through the delicious chaos Granny stirs when she gears into matchmaking mode to pair them with the perfect Highlander from the thirteenth century. This is Kenna and Colum’s story—and their rather challenging path to finding that heart-thumping happily-ever-after.
Here’s a short excerpt:
Colum stopped dead in his tracks. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding settled in his gut, then took to churning like a great serpent stirring the bowels of the sea. “Mother Sinclair, ye say?”
“Aye.” Galen solemnly nodded.
“And the Lady Trulie?”
“Aye.” Galen pulled up short, easing back a step as they reached the arch leading to the stairwell up to the chieftain’s private rooms. The man eyed the narrow doorway as though it were the gateway to hell.
“And yer certain ye’ve no idea of what it might be?” Colum glanced toward the winding stone steps leading up to the MacKenna’s solar and swallowed hard. With the Sinclair women plotting against him, he’d feel more at ease going to the gallows.
Galen gripped Colum’s upper arm, then hurriedly motioned the sign of the cross over his chest. “I dinna ken. But I will say a prayer for ye and I’ll also make a sacrifice to the old gods as well. Here’s to the hopes that all the entities watch over ye. I feel ye’ll be a needin’ the lot o’ them.” Galen jerked his chin toward his chest, squeezed Colum’s arm one last time, then turned and barreled back down the hallway.
Colum watched Galen disappear through the arch. A deep-seated sense of survival strongly advised him to follow the man. Nay. Colum shook free of the urge. He’d saved the MacKenna’s life several times; surely his chief would protect him from whate’er the women plotted.
He traced his fingertips along the cold rough stones of the tower wall as he slowly climbed the winding stairs. Aye. The MacKenna will protect me. A delayed flash of pride surged through him. What the hell is wrong with me? Afraid of two women? Colum sucked in a deep breath and took the remaining steps two at a time. Nay. I’m no’ a coward. As soon as the words crossed his mind, he felt a bit sheepish. He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of his own courage.
Colum sensed the tension in the room as soon as he walked through the door of the chieftain’s private solar. He paused a moment, wiping his damp palms against the coarse wool of his plaid. Well, mayhap not tension—’twas more like the gut-tightening feel a man got the night before battle. There was damn sure somethin’ ill a stirrin’, and he didna care for the feel of it at all.
Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna and Colum’s best friend since they were both snot-nosed lads, lounged comfortably on one end of a pillowed bench with an unreadable look on his face that could only mean trouble. His wife, Lady Trulie, sat at his side, one hand slowly stroking her great rounded belly as though comforting the child within.
“M’chieftain,” Colum greeted him, nodding as he studied Gray’s expression closer. He couldna pinpoint exactly what it was. What the hell was the man thinking? Verra strange. More oft than not he knew Gray’s thoughts before the man e’er spoke them; they’d fought side by side that long. But he had no idea what the man was thinking this time. Sucking in a deep breath, Colum turned and politely bowed to Lady Trulie. “M’lady.”
Lady Trulie didn’t say a word, just lowered her chin in a polite nod and continued rubbing the wool-covered mound of her belly.
Colum got the uncomfortable feeling he was being sized up for prey. He widened his stance, sent up a prayer for divine protection, and hoped like hell Galen was in fact making that promised sacrifice to the old gods.
Gray blew out a noisy exhale and shifted among the pillows. He still didna speak, just appeared to be struggling against some inner turmoil. Whate’er it was had to be serious. The man looked as though he was about to explode. What the devil had come o’er the chief? Had the clan been attacked? Was the king on the rampage again? If that was the case, why would the Sinclair women intervene? Had the Fates sent them one of their visions?
Colum caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Senses on edge, he jerked and faced it. Nothing moved but the slight shifting of the MacKenna colors hanging beside the great stone fireplace. Lady Trulie’s huge beast of a dog, Karma, rolled to his side on the hide stretched before the hearth and groaned in his sleep. Colum swallowed hard. Damn them all. What the hell was afoot? He turned back and faced his chieftain.
Jen: How do you remember ideas that come to you at odd times?
Maeve: If able to actually take the time to write the idea down, I’ll jot down notes on anything handy: sticky notes, odd bits of paper, tissues, and yes, the inside of my forearm. I don’t write anything in the palm of my hand anymore—smears too easy. I’ve also been known to text myself, email myself and call myself to leave a voice mail.
Jen: Is there a genre you’d like to write? Is there one you’ll probably stay away from? Why?
Maeve: I’d like to try my hand at a humorous southern contemporary romance—if that’s a genre. Sometimes it’s hard for me to “write inside the lines”. You should’ve seen my coloring books when I was a child. <wink>
I don’t believe I’d ever attempt a true romantic suspense. I can’t keep a secret worth a rip and my readers would know “whodunit” before I did.
Jen: What’s the most challenging aspect of writing? Easiest? Most rewarding?
Maeve: Challenging? Not frittering away valuable writing time. Sometimes I’m worse than a kid staring out the classroom window the day before summer break. My mind wanders off and my hands “forget” to capture all the daydreams on the keyboard.
Easiest? I haven’t found an “easiest” yet. Writing is not for the timid soul. It’s hard. It’s takes work, sacrifice and perseverance because there’s a bazillion potholes in the writerly path just waiting to trip you up and make you fall flat on your face.
Most rewarding? When a reader takes a bit of their valuable time to contact me because they want me to know how much they enjoyed my stories.
Jen: Who are some of your favorite authors? What are you reading now?
Maeve: My goodness—I have too many favorite authors to even begin to name them all. I’m currently reading A Touch of Passion by Bronwen Evans and LOVING IT. I adore a good Regency / Victorian novel and The Disgraced Lords series is fantastic.
Jen: What’s next for you?
Maeve: There are two more installments in the Highland Hearts series. Book three is Mairi’s story and book four makes sure Lilia finds her “happy”. Look for those two stories in 2016.
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