May 31, 2013

What Do You Write About?

The two most asked questions I get, when people find out I’m a writer. “Where do you get the ideas for your stories?” and “Do you write about people you know in real life?” 

To address question one first: I get my inspiration everywhere! My first release, Heart of a Soldier, was inspired by my two best friends. They each had a son entering the military and shared their concerns and proud moments with me. I thought the idea of a single mother, losing her son to the military was a great premise for a story.

But, not inspiration can come in many forms, and it doesn’t have to be personal experience. Sometimes a line from a song can spark an idea. A television show or a magazine article… in the case of one of my works in progress, it was a Facebook post.

 I was trying to decide what novel I wanted to read next, so I posted the question to my friends. “Should I read dragons, firefighters, wolves, soldiers?” I had several responses. One was from my friend Beverly (she is dragon crazy) so of course she said “Dragons” someone else said “firefighters”, she replied “Firefighting Dragons” and from there we stating PMing. We ended up plotting a whole series called The Windy City Dragons!

If you are a writer, inspiration can sneak up on you any time or place. I always keep a notebook in my purse so I can jot down an idea before I lose it! (I am getting old you know and I sometimes forget why I walked into the kitchen)  As for question two. No, I don’t write about the people in my life, per se. That wouldn’t be nice. (or in my case, safe! Lol) But if you are in my life, you may see something you said or did, or bits and pieces from your personality showing up in my work.

There are little bits of me in all my heroines. Like Charlie’s love of coffee creamer in Heart of a Soldier. I am addicted to flavored creamers. In Roping Love the heroine, Carrie is a former rodeo rider and competitor at the All American Quarter Horse Congress. I didn’t ride rodeo, but I did show horses, and I did compete at Congress. My newest heroine, Sharon Daily, has my critique partner, Sharon Buchbinder’s first name, and she is the mother of an autistic child, as am I. 

But, I can assure you, Sharon Daily is in no way me nor is she based on my friend Sharon. So, NO, my characters aren’t real, and they won’t be you. However, it’s always been said “to write what you know” so…

Would you like to inspire a story or a character? Leave me a comment telling me something you think is inspiring: A funny story, a sweet gesture, a personality quirk. And you may just find it in a novel one day. Maybe mine, or maybe from the mind of someone else who reads it and is inspired!


Ten Years ago love slipped through Chance’s lasso. This time “He was going after her and she didn’t stand a chance, just like a calf in a chute, he was going to rope her with his love and ride back into her life.”

Carrie Stewart is a dedicated horsewoman. She runs a successful breeding and training program. She is a good friend, a good sister and a favorite aunt, but she has been burned by love. Carrie has never gotten over her first love, Chance Ryan. After ten years of absence Chance shows back up in her life. Should she risk her heart again, with the man who left it broken at her feet in the past? Chance has some serious work ahead of him to win back the one woman he could never forget.


Chance felt like he’d been thrown from a bucking bronco. Ten years. He hadn’t seen her in ten years. And it was just like before. God, she was even more beautiful than she had been at eighteen. Time had matured her body, her curves a little fuller than they had been. Her hair was short now, almost boyish in length, but curling softly around her face it looked feminine and flirty. It was a deeper shade of blonde now too, a golden honey color that looked stunning against her sun-bronzed skin. What the hell was she doing here? And who the hell was the kid with her? Chance was busy doing mental math, the kid looked nine or ten. Carrie had called him several times in the months after he left. He’d never returned her calls. Could she have been trying to tell him she was pregnant? No it couldn’t be, she would have told him. Wouldn’t she have?

“I’d say small world, but since it really is a small world and we haven’t run into each other in ten years…”

Carrie arched one eyebrow, he always loved when she did that, it looked so haughty and hot.

“What brings you here?” Chance asked

“Same as you I guess, looking for some brood mares.”

“Actually, we’re selling this mare.” Nodding at the other, nearly forgotten man in the stall. 

“This is my brother, Chase.”

“Nice to meet you,” Carrie said, looking down at Tyler, “Well, we need to get to the Coliseum, Tyler wants to see the cutting.” Keeping her arm around his shoulders they turned to leave.

“We should talk,” Chance said

Carrie looked over her shoulder and stared him straight in the eye. “I think the time for talking is long past.”

The phrase she was so mad she could chew nails and spit screws ran though his mind at her look. Damn. He had really fucked things up between them. Why hadn’t he taken her calls again? 

Oh, yeah, to give her a chance at a good life. 

“I really need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”



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About Tamara:

Tamara Hoffa lives in central Tennessee, with her husband of 30 years, her three grown children, two grandchildren, 5 dogs and 1 cat. Tamara started reading when she was four years old and has rarely been seen without a book at hand since. At home you will usually find her in “nana’s chair” with her kindle, her laptop or one of her precious, precocious grandson’s in her lap. Tamara is a reviewer, a professional reader and can now add author to her repertoire.  Tamara is proof positive that it’s never too late to reach for your dreams.

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May 26, 2013

Young Males and Sagging Pants--Its History, Not As Cool As You Think

I'm not sure but I think it's still considered stylish by teens and young males in their 20's to wear their pants hanging down underneath their butts.

I overheard my mother talking to my aunt.  She warned in a stern voice, "You better tell you're son to stop wearing his pants around his legs.  That's was they do in jails."

Stunned, I turned to my sister (in-law who has been in the family so I long, I consider her just my sister as I have no genetic ones) and asked, "is this true?"

"Yep.  That's why I tell mine to pull up his pants."

Fascinated, I did a little investigation on my own.  I thought this fashion mistake originated in the Rap and Hip Hop community but they were the ones responsible for making it popular.  But its origins date back to American prisons.

In prison, American inmates are not allowed to wear belts.  Why?  Because belts (along with shoestrings) are a popular way to commit suicide by hanging oneself, to hang others, or to use as a weapon in fights.

But here's where it gets unnerving.  For an inmate, the pants below a man's bottom, is a sign that he is available for sex.  As in easy access.

It has also been known that in the prison system, wearing ones pants around the hips so that they sag down and bunch up around the ankles was a prison thing that signified that you were another prisoner's property, i.e., bitch.

Punks were forced to wear their pants this way so it would be easier for their masters to pull their pants down and take advantage of them.

If you think about it, some of the hardcore Rap, especially gangsta Rap receives credulity or street cred through the rappers run in with the police via past or present.  Often it would lead to jail or prison time...

But here's the thing, whether a rapper concocted his/her background of being hard ass or whether it was real, why would he want to walk around to signify that he's another guy's bitch?  Or a bitch available to all the guys?

Just wondering and putting it out there.

May 15, 2013

Can’t take the Trekkie outta the girl!

Okay, this is dating myself here, but I was actually alive during Star Trek’s initial run. Yep, probably not old enough to know what I was watching, but it must have burned a path through my retinas to my brain. My mom even met Leonard Nimoy at the small local airport when I was a little kid. He signed her grocery list! But the clincher that sealed my fate as a sci-fi girl was the fact mom sat me down on a chair and made me watch the moon landing on TV on July 20, 1969. Yep, I remember it well. That and Watergate – which was horribly, horribly boring to my youthful mind. But back to scifi.

As I got a little older, Star Blazers came on the TV before school. I loved it! I totally dug that show. I still do, as a matter of fact. Remember Derek Wildstar and Nova?  Now that was an early SciFi Romance I got into.  It started showing in 1979 and ran until 1984.

Then came Battlestar Gallactica. What can I say? Yum! Sexy men. The galaxy a hot mess. What’s there for a girl not to love? I think I even had a Dirk Benedict poster! Was there romance on that show? Probably a little. But there certainly was on Star Trek The Next Generation. TNG pretty much kept me in SFR for a long time to come. True, it didn’t always end well for the lovers … but it was TV, not a book.

Later on, I think the SciFi got harder and the romance a little riskier. A little more UF in feel perhaps. Aliens paired with other species. More violence on the shows (such as Andromeda). Or so it seemed to me. And sometimes the lovers were never truly united – like Mal and Inara on Firefly.

Star Trek Voyager, Deep Space Nine and Enterprise had some good love stories too. Which brings us pretty much to present day. (Let’s just skip over Farscape, shall we?) I think the last SciFi show I watched on TV was cancelled after five eppies or so. Does anybody else miss Defying Gravity? I was totally hooked!

Thankfully we have a slew of SFR romance authors to keep us reading these days and give us our HEA’s or HFN’s. And to inspire us would-be writers of SFR. I have serial story in the works – I actually have the cover done already! – that will be coming out soon. In the meantime, I have straight SF (okay, yeah, there’s penetration – twice! *cheeky grin*) book out with two other authors called “Tentacles.” If you have time to check out it out, do. The book is now FREE on Smashwords to coincide with the May 16th release of the new Star Trek movie, “Into Darkness.” Coupon code is: SU36K.

I hope to come back and visit Clare soon when the first installment of my SFR is out. In the meantime, here’s a snippet for y’all and I’m sure you can spot the areas where Star Trek was a huge influence! (Oddly, so was ZOE IDOLO).

Happy reading!

Eva Lefoy




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The Trouble with Memories

Aviation Base Vault 9, Huldra Cliffs, Thalius Prime
February 14, 2353
0800 Standard Time

Lucy stood outside the door to the viewport room, her body braced and stiff, as though her life might end as soon as the door opened. In a way, it would. In just a few hours, everything she’d dreamed of, worked for, and the life she’d planned for, she’d throw away forever. The person to blame for that was Cal Sykes and in under thirty seconds, she’d set eyes on him for the very last time.

Her schedule pad beeped, and she made the mistake of glancing down at and seeing today’s date: February 14th.  Fragg almighty, how had she done this to herself? In all the weeks of careful planning she hadn’t noticed her off-date was freakin’ Valentine’s Day?  “How ironic,” she muttered.

She shook her already aching head and curled her fingers around the tray so hard her fingers went numb. Let’s get this over with. There’s no point in hoping for a change in him anyway. It’s been too long.

Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her chin and angled her access badge towards the door’s scanner. The doors whished open without hesitation, giving her a good view of his backside. The only side she’d seen in the last eighteen months. She clenched her teeth and stepped inside.

Captain Sykes stood in the same position she found him every morning when she delivered the day’s orders: next to the high windowed wall watching the sleek faster-than-light fighters he’d once flown roar past on their training runs, engines glowing in the early twin-sun dawn.

As usual, he did not acknowledge her arrival. Didn’t twitch a muscle anywhere on his rigid frame. However, his eagle-like eyes followed every dip and swoop the fighters made as though he could force his consciousness into one of their cockpits by sheer force of will and fly it, if only he concentrated hard enough.

He’d looked at her with that intensity once, too. But in the eighteen months since he’d been back from the Mars mission he’d never even glanced at her – no matter how she’d tried to entice him. Long-standing frustration created a knot in her stomach that traveled upwards, picking up anger before settling over her shoulders like a mantle, causing them to tense. This is it. He’s obviously made his choice. Now I’m making mine.

She glared at his reconstituted mashed potato, sauerkraut and bratwurst breakfast, then at him. How in the hell could he live on that diet and expect to see the ass end of 60 anyway? Not that it should matter to her anyway. He’d made it quite clear he didn’t want any further involvement.

“Your breakfast.” More quietly she hissed, “Sir.”

When he didn’t respond – not even his usual grunt – she stepped closer. “I said, your breakfast, sir. Where would you like me to put it?” Her teeth ground together as her mind instantly supplied a few suggestions.

The fighters made another pass and he seemed to sway in their wake. In fact, he closed his eyes as if savoring the moment. As if lost in some invisible lover’s embrace. Not hers.

Damn but that hurt.

“How about here?” She didn’t merely drop the platter, she slammed it downward, adding an extra helping of gravity to the potatoes, mustard, and ketchup, so that the tray crashed onto the floor and sent ceramic shards scattering. The tray’s destruction echoed off the windows, crooning sweet vengeance to her ears.

He at last turned his head, one eyebrow raised, cold eyes assessing.

“Breakfast is served, sir,” she snarled, hands fisted at her sides. “Enjoy. Your. Meal.” Quick, purposeful strides carried her to the door. Her bags lay packed on her bed and ready, her resignation already drafted and in her outbox.

“One moment, Lieutenant.”

Oh hell.

Eve thanks for stopping by!  And don't forget to check out her free read on Smashwords.  

May 10, 2013

Airplanes: Or, You Can Learn the Weirdest Stuff While Writing Romance- Plus a Giveaway!

My new release, Lapses of Memory, is the story of love on a plane. Sort of. It does follow the adventures of hero and heroine as they meet every few years flying to exotic places.
In our story, Sydney Bellek’s love for Elian Davies is reignited each time they meet, but in the long years following each encounter she forgets him. For his part, Elian knows from the age of seven that they are meant for each other, but when she finally understands he has lost his memory—literally.  Can she make him remember her? Will their new love be enough to replace the old one?

Meanwhile,  her daughter Olivia chronicles the ups and downs of her parents’ romance, making it difficult to concentrate on her own dilemma—how to choose between the rich and dashing Rémy de Beaumec, who wants to take her around the world, and the strong, silent, American-to-the-core, Benjamin Knox, who only wants to make her happy.

Since the story is spread out over about forty-five years, I had to do quite a bit of research about aircraft—i.e., which planes would be in service and routed to my required destination in any particular year. The characters generally met every six to eight years, and I wanted to coordinate that both with world events and with advances in airplanes. Amazingly enough, it all fit very well.  It was fascinating to discover how quickly airplane technology and design had evolved. And each airplane came with a colorful nickname, just like a boat.

Sydney’s first flight in 1958 took place on the Boeing 377 Stratocruiser. Based on the B29 bomber, the Stratocruiser, known as the “Ocean liner of the air” epitomized luxury air travel in the 1950s, complete with sleeping berths and lower level lounge. Eight years later the Boeing 707, the first civilian jetliner, harbinger of the Jet Age, took to the skies along with our Sydney and Elian. There are many myths surrounding the naming of the 707 (based on the prototype called the Dash 80)—the most likely being that the marketing department thought Seven-Oh-Seven was catchier than plain old 700. Only seven years later, in 1974, Sydney takes the DC 7C, the “Seven Seas,” to Egypt. McDonnell Douglas' largest and last aircraft powered by piston engines, the Seven Seas was one of the first airliners capable of nonstop transatlantic crossings. 

Five years after that Sydney boarded the brand new Boeing 747-100, the “Queen of the Skies.” The first wide-bodied airliner and at the time the largest and heaviest, the Queen of the Skies opened up international travel to millions with its great carrying capacity and fuel-efficient turbofans, allowing our heroes to arrive in Iran just before the revolution breaks out. In 1983, they take the “the Big Top” (Boeing 747-300) named for its stretched upper deck, to Beirut to cover the civil war in Lebanon. The new version could reach  much longer distances at twice the speed as the 747 they’d flown in 1967. On the return trip she tries the new Airbus—a big lumbering plane, the workhorse of the skies. By 1987 the supersonic transport—the Concorde—took her to Paris, and her last trip finds her on the 787, the “Dreamliner.”

I hope everyone enjoys the excerpt. I’d like to offer a pdf of Lapses of Memory to the reader who comes up with the most imaginative name for an airplane. Be sure to leave your email address in the body of the comment.

Lapses of Memory
Secret Cravings Publishing (May 2013)
70,000 words (244 pp)
Romance, Action/Adventure, M/F, 3 flames

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EXCERPT (R): Gurney Sex 

She walked into a small storeroom. A wheeled gurney sat in the middle and the walls were lined with shelves of medical supplies. “This must be the first aid closet.”

Elian picked up a box marked TONGUE DEPRESSORS and hefted it. “Let’s hope no one needs these for a while.”

She sat on the gurney and bounced. “Seems comfortable enough.”

He said nothing. 



“I might remember a boy in Tangier. He had a cowlick, and pointed ears like an elf’s, and…and…a sharp chin. And he smelled like licorice.”

He moved toward her. “Anise.”

“All right, anise.”

Their eyes locked. “Sydney?”


“Kiss me.”

She floated toward him, fetching up against his chest, where she rested, bumping gently. Her head rose like a helium-filled balloon, her lips drawn inexorably toward his. She hesitated, suddenly afraid. What if this is real? 

“It is real, Sydney. It’s always been real. You just refuse to recognize it. Or me.” His hands went to either side of her face. 

The wall crumbled. Tears falling, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. They stood swaying, holding on only by mouth, only breaking apart to allow a frenzy of kisses to rain on each other. Hand between her breasts, Elian bent Sydney back and gently pushed her onto the gurney. He kissed her throat and planted kisses down her sternum as he unbuttoned the safari blouse. Motionless, she concentrated on the burning spots where his lips had touched her skin. When he reached her belly button he undid the zipper and continued on.

She writhed on the bed, hoping, hoping he wouldn’t stop. Her pussy dribbled, soaking the silk panties. She said not a word. He tugged at the pants, letting them drop on the floor and buried his face in her vagina. She felt the orgasm approaching, a fast train on a slow track, and pushed his face away. “Come to me.”

He lifted his head to look at her face, his own muddied with desire. In one swift movement, he tore his jeans off and threw them aside. He climbed up on the gurney. As in her long ago dream, his cock pulsed red, beating against her belly. With one hand he spread her thighs and let his penis run up along the inner flesh and deep into her. The gurney began to roll but neither of them paid any attention. He pressed into her, a steadily accelerating motion, reaching ever closer to her heart. She closed with him, so near her nipples grazed his chest, her knees touched behind his back.

They rolled back and forth, a symbiotic wave crashing against the shore, until she whispered, “Elian, we’re there…oh….Elian.” Her clitoris trembled and gave in, just as the gurney hit the wall with a crash. They heard a shout. 

“Quick, quick.” He tossed her clothes at her and quickly pulled on his jeans. Except for a slight puffing, he showed no evidence of what they had just done. Sydney stifled the stab of pain his cold dispassion gave her—blue-lined by Elian—and followed his orders.

The shouts had died down, and the two quietly left the room, sidling along the wall until they reached the main terminal. “You have your ticket?” he murmured. She nodded. “The Middle East Airlines counter is down to the left—now run!” and he gave her a mighty shove. She didn’t have time to argue. Behind her a uniformed brigade marched into the terminal, singling out foreigners and checking their passports. She handed the stewardess her boarding pass and hurried out to the plane. 

As she reached the bottom step of the airstairs leading up into the plane, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Elian!” She turned in relief, but before her stood a stranger, a young Iranian boy. He held out a folded note.
She took it and read. “Sydney, I forgot something in the room. Go quickly, don’t look back. 

I’ll find you again. I’ve always remembered you. Someday you’ll do the same.”

I’d love to hear from you!


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