Where do you get your ideas?
The question most authors dread because they can’t explain where the story came from or what inspired them, especially for someone like me who’s a self-proclaimed panster; writing by the seat of my pants.
Usually I hear my main character speak up with a single line and I have to pay attention to see where the story goes from there. Although telling someone the voices in my head told me might elicit a raised an eyebrow, unless they know it’s a writer talking. That makes it okay. (Hopefully)
As for Destiny Calling, I can remember the exact moment the story called out to me. I was sitting in the parking lot of a convenience store and a rusty, old payphone attached to the side of the building started to ring. I’d never noticed the phone before, because no one used them anymore in the age of cell phones. I fought the urge to run out and answer it just to find out who was calling and what they might say. Instead I watched to see if someone picked up the receiver but no one did. The ringing subsided, the message left unspoken.
Then Hope, from Destiny Calling, spoke to me (in my head, of course). “Today was the day I stopped being a redhead.”
You’ll find the payphone made it into the story with a snippet of
Chapter 2 of Destiny Calling.
A phone rang, shattering the silence. The birds called out, then exited en masse from the treetops.
I absently patted my cell phone in my pocket, but it wasn’t my ringtone, and my battery was dead. Scanning outside the bar, I located a lone payphone barely hanging on to the corner of the building as if in homage to a past era.
I struggled to stand, moving my legs toward the summoning ring. The scent of cinnamon began to lessen and subside. The ache in my head faltered, and the assault on my senses reached a plateau.
I’d found my pain reliever.
Unable to restrain the unexplainable urge any longer, I sprinted to the phone. Once I placed my hand on the phone, it stopped ringing. The headache subsided like a beast retreating into its cave until summoned again.
I put the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
“Hope. Don’t trust him.” A soothing and somewhat familiar male voice whispered.
“Who? Don’t trust who?”
Static filled the line.
“Who is this?” I pressed the receiver tighter, squinting toward the woods and around the parking lot.
“Come to us. I’ll show you the way,” the caller beckoned.
“Take a chance. You’ll see it’s your destiny.”
Chief opened the bar door. “Just what in tarnation are you doin’?”
The line went dead in my hand. I stared at the silent receiver. “I was on a call.”
Chief scowled. “That darn phone hasn’t worked in years. I reckon the whole side of the building would cave in if I tried to take it off, so I leave the bucket of rust there.” He spit tobacco on the ground. “How could it work since some critters done chewed through the cord a while ago?”
He eyed me with suspicion. “A call you say, um, who was you talkin’ to, then?”
My anger deflated as the severed, twisted wires from the cord brushed against my leg. “I don’t know.”
Maureen L. Bonatch
Genre: Paranormal Romance
subgenre: suspense, fantasy. Theme: New Adult, demons
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Date of Publication: December 22 2014
Number of pages: 310
Word Count: 80,630
Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor (DCA Graphics)
Hope only wants to find out if her ability to infuse euphoria or despair with her touch makes her the devil's spawn, or his exterminator. But when the woman who raised her is murdered by something not human, she loses the only family she knew and discovers one she might wish she hadn’t.
Drawn back to the home town she vowed never to return to, her ability is seen as an asset to everyone but Hope, and she doesn't know who to trust. Her family wants her to help them overcome an enemy oppressing the human population, while the man of her dreams is courting her for the Underworld.
Time is running out, and Hope’s choice may be made for her, as she discovers she’s a pawn in a bigger game played by a merciless ruler who doesn't lose.
I strained to release my arm from Griffith’s vise-like grip while scanning the surrounding trees, trying to determine which was less of a threat, the beast of a man holding me or those who might be waiting for me in the woods.
“You will come inside, now.” Griffith spoke slowly and deliberately as if I were a small child.
I batted at the hand Griffith placed on my head. “I’m not a puppy, quit petting me.”
“I will protect you.” Griffith’s warm breath caressed my ear. “If for no other reason, to find out what I’m giving up and why she wants you so badly.”
I inhaled his masculine scent, like musky earth. It washed over my face, and the tension in my jaw released. I stopped struggling. “Are you the devil?” My tongue was thick and heavy so the words came out slurred.
“Not even close.” His words soothed and comforted, like having a weighted blanket cocoon me. Each movement was an effort. It wasn’t the same as the thing in the woods. This was more like the feeling after a long massage or bubble bath.
“It’s not safe.” Griffith wrapped his arms around me, and I rested against his broad chest.
“It’s not safe.” I nodded. My muscles relaxed and my eyelids grew heavy.
“It’s cold. We’re going inside.” Griffith kept his arm supporting me as he steered me toward the house.
“We’re going inside.” I parroted and walked up the steps, leaning heavily on him.
Out of the corner of my eye, something was cautiously moving at the edge of the woods. Branches snapped as whatever was observing us crept closer.
About the Author:
Growing up with four siblings had Maureen familiar with escaping into a good book, or the recesses of her mind. She realized later in life everyone didn’t have characters telling stories in their heads, or weren’t envisioning magic and mayhem within the everyday. This, and long walks in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania spawned a love of writing.
Since her desire to become a Solid Gold Dancer was thwarted when the show was discontinued, Maureen opted to pursue other paths. Attempting to conquer new endeavors proved fruitful with her first novella, while other attempts, such as challenging a fear of heights with parasailing, were unsuccessful.
Therefore she’s chased other interests, though none-the-less-daring, but closer to the ground, such as belly-dancing, becoming a self-proclaimed tequila connoisseur, fulfilling her role as biker babe to her alpha hubby and surviving motherhood to twins (so far).
Penning stories boasting laughter, light suspense and something magical in the hope of sharing her love of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary world.