Hello Readers! Today I have a special guest, Author Abigail Barnette, the alter-ego of USA Today Bestselling Author Jennifer Armintrout. Abigail was born during a conversation with author Bronwyn Green, who encouraged Jennifer to develop an elaborate fantasy persona– complete with nom de plume– under which to pen erotic romance. Abigail enjoys long naps in fairy-filled glades, running through corridors in tragically romantic haunted castles, and drinking goblet after goblet of spiced wine.
Abigail/Jennifer is one of the featured authors attending Author’s After Dark in New Orleans. For more information about AAD2012, click HERE.
Be sure to check out the middle of the post for a GIVEAWAY! Please help me welcome Abigail to That’s What I’m Talking About. Take it away, Abigail (Jen)…
Years ago, when I thought I would be a famous Broadway actress and not a USA Today Bestselling Author (forgive me, I have to work that in some how. No one is wholly without ego), I was cast as Julia in a local production of Two Gentlemen of Verona, by William Shakespeare. My roommate at the time was cast as Proteus. If you’re unfamiliar with the play, suffice it to say the two characters were love interests, and the people playing them were not. Never have there been a Proteus and Julia with less chemistry. Also, we looked a little like brother and sister.
I’ve always had a fondness for Shakespeare (and the Pulitzer for most pretentious sentence in guest blog goes to…). So, when my alter-ego Abigail Barnette was invited to contribute a novella to Resplendence Publishing’s “As We Like It” anthology, which also features stories by Brynn Paulin, Bronwyn Green, Simone Anderson, Katie Blu and Dakota Rebel, I jumped at the chance to re-imagine one of his amazing plays as an erotic romance. Two Gentlemen of Verona won, hands down. After all, two gentlemen? It could be a M/M. It could be a M/M/F. It could be a M/M/F/F! And I would have a cute story to share about how I was writing a book based on a play I’d actually played a significant part in, one upon a time.
The only problem was, I couldn’t write it. Because every time I wrote the name Proteus, I thought of my old roommate. Now, I’m not saying he was a hideous troll of a person or anything, he was perfectly good looking. But our friendship was not such that I would ever want to write racy scenes while being continually reminded of him.
So, I turned my sights on The Tempest, instead. Updating the classic was a little challenging. After all, how many people grow up stranded on a deserted island, like Miranda, the heroine of The Tempest? To solve that, I turned The Tempest into THE TEMPTRESS, a contemporary erotic romance/romantic comedy set on Michigan’s Mackinac Island. It’s available today from Resplendence Publishing!
I’m looking forward to meeting many of you at Authors After Dark 2012 in NOLA! Thanks to Twimom227 for having me!
Thanks for stopping by, Abigail. Abigail is graciously giving away one (1) electronic copy of her newest release The Temptress. Please leave your comments for Abigail by Friday November 18, 2011, at 9:00 PM EST to be eligible for the contest. One entry per person, winner will be selected from eligible entries using random.org. Contest is open internationally; please leave your email address so she can send you the book. Thank you to Abigail/Jennifer for this fun giveaway!
For more about Abigail’s latest, The Temptress, here is an except:
Wow, this is really happening. I’m going home with Miranda.
Of course, he didn’t know why he was there. She said she needed help. Maybe she had a backed up drain or something. Just because he was drunk, going to her apartment late at night, that didn’t mean there was definitely going to be sex.
It didn’t mean there definitely wouldn’t be sex, though.
He followed her up and into her apartment, enjoying his view of her round little backside as she climbed the steps ahead of him. He raised his hand to give it a little slap, but he didn’t have the courage, and that was, he reflected, for the better. He swayed on his feet for a moment at the top, and before he could pitch down the stairs headfirst, he stumbled across the threshold. The apartment was surprisingly small. He wondered why she bothered living there, when her dad’s house had eight bedrooms and plenty of space.
Then he saw the completely naked blue dude lying casually on her bed, and it all sort of explained itself. But not really.
“What the hell, Miranda?” he demanded, before he could think to stop himself. “Who’s this?”
“He’s what I need help with,” she said, blowing out an exasperated breath that stirred her hair.
Greg took a step back, reaching for the doorknob. “I think you might have gotten the wrong idea about me.”
“No, no, you’re not understanding.” She waved her hand at the guy on the bed. “Do that thing you do.”
“What thing?” the guy asked innocently.
Greg shook his head, his hand falling on the doorknob. “You know, I’m going to just…it’s not that long a walk—”
With a growl of frustration that she’d usually reserved for their gym teacher, she stomped across the floor and stuck her hand out. Right through the guy. “Look!”
Well, that wasn’t something he saw every day. Closing the door, Greg walked as near to the bed as he was comfortable, since the dude was still completely naked. When Miranda waved her hand, the guy’s torso vanished into a grayish-blue mist.
“Oh, I know what that is,” Greg said, the world seeming somehow right again for a split second. “That’s a ghost.”
“I prefer spirit.” The dude sat up and extended his hand. “It is very nice to finally meet you, Greg.”
His stunned expression must have begged an explanation, because Miranda supplied one instantly. “He lived in the tree. For like, two hundred years. He knows about you and me, stuff going on around the island. It’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous,” Greg agreed, panic setting up in the back of his mind. This wasn’t right, at all. Trees did not fall over and produce ghosts, and Miranda did not ask him back to her apartment. Everything was out of sync with reality.
“Sorry,” Greg apologized. “Shaking hands with a naked man is a little too awkward for me.”
“Oh, of course.” The ghost’s form wavered, and before their eyes he transformed. A very blue British soldier rose from the bed– more like walked through it– and stuck out his hand once more. “Private Ariel Hammersmith.”
“Ariel?” Greg took the ghost’s surprisingly firm hand. “Isn’t that a mermaid’s name?”
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