Iām often asked where I get my story ideas and was recently asked if I got them from watching soap operas—which drew immediate laughter from me, because frankly (aside from the fact that I write westerns), I couldnāt watch a soap to save my life. Nothing 
against those who enjoy them, I simply donāt possess enough patience to enjoy a never-ending story. I need closure. In fact, Iām rather obsessed with the guarantee Iāll get closure even with my own stories and tend to write my last chapter early on…often times long before I finish the first chapter. I actually wrote the last chapter first for THE GUNSLINGERāS UNTAMED BRIDE. I knew the story would take place in a logging camp, and though I knew next to nothing about the characters as individuals, I knew exactly how their story would end in reference to the setting.
For me, setting tends to dictate my stories. I always start with a location first. BRIDE OF SHADOW CANYON was 
my first completed manuscript, a story that I built around a journey. My mind already envisioned all the locations I wanted to share with readers, I just had to come up with reasons to get my characters there and incorporate them into the scenes. So, as one might guess, most my stories start with me staring at maps, deciding where I want to go, where I want to take my readers, and how I can work a love story into the trip. I still have the maps for BRIDE and MUSTANG WILD, pinpointing each leg of their journey, as well as collages I made with a clockwise placement of snippets showing the changing landscapes as their story progressed.
Iām currently at work on a new series, but for months after finishing my last WILD book a new storyline refused to surface in my mind. I bought a ton of reference books on characters, pioneers, orphan train children, school 
teachers, doctors, miners, hoping to plant a seed and characters would take root and blossom into a story. I should have known better—it took stumbling across a book of Civil War maps to make the first strike in fertile ground. While pouring over the maps and reading about cartographers, I unearthed the era of the first book…whoever my heroes were, they were going to emerge into the chaos of Post Civil War. The maps reminded me that location was key in growing my books (It had been a while since starting a new series, I had forgotten!), and since I already had a vague notion that I wanted to explore Montana I found the textbook used to teach Montana history at the UC, dove into all the social and political turmoil happening in my chosen era, of which there was an abundance, and BAM! My heroes started taking shape and talking to me š
My heroes are always the first to stomp an impression into my mind, their temperaments defining the type of heroine theyāll require to get them under control š Once I have a course set and a solid hero, everything else tends to spiral from there and fall into place. The first hero to arrive ended up being the hero of the second book for this series. Iām working on four books at present—they always come in a lot, and I tend to fall for the whole cast, and thereās always that secondary character that tries to steal the spotlight, ensuring heāll get his own book. The loudest in this bunch has become my favorite, though he doesnāt get his own story until book three. Heās the rowdiest and most rotten, so of course his name is Gabriel. Hereās a little snippet from book two, the first time he wrangled me into his head, ensuring heād get his own story. Heās tormenting Lake, the hero in book two, which is one of his favorite pastimes:
Gabriel Quaid crouched beside the entwined couple sleeping soundly beneath the low shelter. He hated to wake them, and wished to hell he had one of them picture cameras. Heād sell his right boot for a still frame of Lake holding the fair-haired woman, wrapped in each others arms, her pretty pink lips pressed against his neck, Lakeās fingers tangled in her hair. Hell, heād ride barefoot and bare-assed to possess such torment. Laughter escaped his throat at the mere thought.
Eyes dark as demon coal sprang open, Lake pinning him without moving another muscle. Quaid grinned so wide it hurt.
āEasy, pardner,ā he whispered. āI wouldnāt make any sudden moves if I were you. Then again, if Iās holding that bit of softness, Iād be doing my damnedest to slide my hands across those smooth curves and warm valleys while I had the chance.ā
Lake stiffened, the slight move stirring Miss Fairchild. She shifted against him, her sleepy moan sounding like a contented purr. Watching sweat bead on Lakeās brow was the most fun Quaid had had since the brawl back at Fort Smith. In the five years heād ridden with Lake, the stiff-necked half-breed didnāt cotton to white women, not one bit. The unfamiliar trace of fear etched across his friendās expression told him this little woman had put a chink in that particular prejudice.
āPerty, aināt she?ā he taunted, his voice no more than a low rumble.
Oh hell, look at the murder in those eyes.
*Sigh* I do love the bad boys. I think mostly because they require the strongest breed of feisty heroines, and Quaidās Lady Love is about as headstrong as they come.
Sadly, my new crop of westerns is still a ways off from being harvested and packaged up for the massesābut after an unintended detour from writing over the past year Iām downright giddy to be back in the fields!
My house is currently throbbing with blaring amps, pounding drums and the deep rowdy voices of a whole gang of teenage boys — a steady chaos I know I’ll be missing before long.Ā Tomorrow their cousin and some of their closest friends will graduate, another friend leaving for the Army in in just a couple weeks. Huge changes, the constant motion and evolution of life, and suddenly, myĀ babies, who’d seemed securely tucked into our nest a few short months ago, are teetering awfully close to the edge, so to speak. Conversations have shifted from games, toys and movies to colleges, careers, hopes and goals. And DRIVING–egads!Ā SoĀ much to be accomplished in just a few years!Ā There seems to be this new urgency combined with the usual impatience of youth *lol*.
