Author Guest Post: Kieran Kramer and the Power of Love

The first time I heard of Kieran Kramer is when she went out of her way to send me an email. Since then we've chatted back and forth and when I was sent her historical romance debut, When Harry Met Molly, I was very happy to give it a read. When Harry Met Molly left me with a big smile on my face because it's so cute! The epilogue alone had me in stitches and the hero Harry is this great beta/alpha combination as well as Molly who is endearingly sweet and innocent, but not where I wanted to smack her. And yes, there's hot sex . (Cheers for tent scene)

When Kieran asked if I would be interested in being a part of her blog crawl, as I like to call it, I said yes.

This may bring a tear to your eye...

I'm in the mood to tell a kinda more serious story for Katie's blog. I'm thrilled to have been on so many websites answering interview questions since When Harry Met Molly came out, but I want to try something new. I usually follow my instincts, which means that when ideas pop into my head, I can't shake them easily. I trail after them like a dog following crumbs. And today, this came to me: I believe the people who are the most colorful and opinionated are often the ones with the biggest hearts--and so I want to honor the bravery and empathy I sense in Katie. I'll do my best to by being a little more introspective on her blog--less "author face" and more "Kieran heart."

When people ask me why I became a romance writer, I give them the short answer: because I like to read. But I leave out an important part of the "why": my growing up years. My dad was a colonel in the Air Force--a pilot--and out of the blue when I was eleven, he retired early and moved us out to a remote property on a rural sea island near Charleston, SC. This was Pat Conroy country--saltwater creeks, lots of marsh grass, huge oaks with hanging moss. No neighbors you could see. They were there, but the quickest way to get to them was to float down the creek on your back and climb up their docks. Dad decided he was going to clear the land and build our house himself. While he was doing this (with our help), we would live in an ancient mobile home with two small camper trailers sitting next to it. The campers, one of which I shared with my two sisters, were connected by a wooden sidewalk Dad built.

We were going to have the Walton experience.

And the funny thing was, we were a kind of Walton family--seven kids born in nine years to two very loving, fun parents with high standards when it came to character. My mother, being 100% Irish, was kind of crazy and dramatic. Dad was the stoic, of English ancestry and with his military self-discipline always in the background.

By age 12, I'd used a machete to cut through thick vines and had learned to drive a tractor. We had giant bonfires to burn all the brush we'd cleared, so before Dad lit them, we'd cover ourselves with thick pluff mud from the creek and dance around the bonfire. We had free-roaming chickens and a rooster named Phred, who would chase you and try to sink his spurs into your calf. We had two mean geese and a crazy mule and a goat that jumped on people's cars and pooped on the hoods; we had a horse named Ozzie who broke loose from the pasture one day, and when I opened my little camper trailer door one morning, Ozzie was standing there on the wooden sidewalk. He merely stretched his neck into my trailer in search of a carrot in my pajamas.

It was an adventurous but hard lifestyle for a burgeoning teen. I had a lot of time on my own to think about all the things I was missing in real neighborhoods. But I also had a lot of time to develop my imagination. I would sit on an empty dirt road next to the pasture or on the dock and think about life--including wondering about when I would fall in love.

It was sometimes hard on Mom and Dad, too. The six months we were supposed to be in the trailers turned into five years. Money was very tight. My siblings and I wore all hand-me-downs. Mom would, on rare occasion, get very upset with my dad that the house wasn't finished (they didn't take out a mortgage and were building it paycheck to paycheck). So occasionally, there was misery. Despondency. And a sense that our "adventure" had soured.

One night, under a full moon, a day or so after my mother had voiced her discontent about not being in the house yet, Dad ordered us kids to stay in the trailers and not come out. And then he invited Mom out to the beautiful, two-story log house, which was nearing the completion stage but still lacked a roof. He led her up the stairs and into the bathroom he'd built especially for her. Mom had never had her own bathroom.

Somehow that night, to surprise Mom, Dad had managed to fill the cast-iron tub with hot water. So Mom got to take a bath in her new tub--under the moonlight!--while we kids huddled in the trailer and wondered what was going on out there. When Mom came back in, we immediately sensed that things were all right again. We'd make it into that house someday, was the feeling we all shared. We'd do it together.

And we did.

I think it's stories like that that helped make me a romance writer. I do believe in the power of love to get you through the rough patches in life. I believe it because I've lived it.

Now I have a copy of When Harry Met Molly and an ARC of Dukes to the Left of Me/Princes to the Right to give away.

Thanks for stopping by, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Hugs,

Kieran

For your chance to win these two books, one that isn't even out yet, leave a comment here for Kieran by Friday November 26th. Do you have your own experience to talke about where the power of love helped you get through the day? Or how about the love of family and friends being there when times get tough?

This is open for everyone to enter!

When Harry Met Molly is now available... (and a USA Today best seller)

He’s always been a player.

Dashing Lord Harry Traemore is perfectly content to live out his days in the pursuit of pleasure. But when he’s named by the Prince Regent as one of society’s “Impossible Bachelors,” Harry is drafted into a ribald romantic wager. The rules of engagement are scandalously simple: The bachelor whose mistress wins the title of “Most Delectable Companion” gets to remain unmarried. Harry is utterly unconcerned about his status…until his latest lightskirt abandons him.

Who will win this game of love?

Enter Lady Molly Fairbanks. Harry’s childhood friend—actually, “foe” is more like it—is the most unlikely companion of all. She’s attractive but hot-headed, and in no mood for games. Besides, what could the self-indulgent Harry possibly know about what makes a woman delectable? It’s time for Molly to teach him a lesson once and for all…but will it lead to “happily ever after?”

And coming November 30th...

Their engagement was a fake.

Most women would not be pleased to be labeled a spinster. But Lady Poppy Smith-Barnes isn’t most women. In fact, Poppy has invented an imaginary fiancé, the Duke of Drummond, to deter unwanted suitors. A very useful fellow, this duke, until the real Drummond turns up and uses Poppy’s ploy to trap her in a betrothal.

Will their passion make it real?

A good spy flies below the radar. Which is why being named one of the Prince Regent’s “Impossible Bachelors” is so inconvenient for Nicholas Staunton. Every society female will be out to ensnare him. Nicholas needs a fiancée—and Poppy’s ruse is the answer. How could he have known she’d be a brazen, sensual siren with an irresistible taste for adventure? Now nothing less will do than to convince his fiery Poppy to revoke her spinster status…for good.