Jan Irving joins us today and tells us about one of her passions. I must confess to having the same one myself!
I have a confession—I only semi like face book and find twitter only a little better. For years I’ve blogged on live journal and I think the depth with which you can talk to people has spoiled me. I prefer a diary like system where you can get into subjects with some depth. I’ve never felt that on either of those social networking sites. They’re more like sound bites.
But I love Pinterest.
I think why I love Pinterest is because it’s visual, and I’ve always been extremely visual working in the interior design field and as an artist. And I’ve found so many links to make things from felting to cooking.
I have also used it to build files for upcoming books. I’ve been packing it like mad for Paris, for example, since I’m setting a book there in future. I’ve been to that city, but of course there is a lot I missed, so seeing pictures helps me to think of where I might want to visit in both my story and in real life.
My obsession with Pinterest has overshadowed my other social networks. I don’t drop in very often anymore in the others and although at first glance it doesn’t seem like a place to connect with people, I’ve made a friend there, a felter who lives in my city, and we intend to meet up some time in future. Through images that we both are drawn to, we’ve discovered we have a lot in common and we’ve graduated to email. She even bought some of my books—yes, I have them pegged—as well as books I’ve read and loved and upcoming books I’m looking forward to reading.
When you communicate and get to know another pinner on Pinterest, it’s kind of like going back to a time to when people used images to communicate instead of written words. When I visit another pinner’s collections, I can see if we are simpatico. Do we both love quilts—colorful ones made up of batik fabrics? Are we drawn to the same cities? Does the pinner like Japanese ceramics, ancient Greek ruins, and knitting?
Pinterest is also a pep talk. On any day if I’m feeling unsure of myself in my new ventures—I’m currently setting up an Etsy shop and writing a YA series—I can get a little zap of confidence from some of the bright slogans of wisdom that pop up.
And sometimes Pinterest hits me right in the heart, like when I see a picture of a rescued abused animal and read their story.
I think it’s a writer and artist’s dream.
Of course this all comes around to my books. I have over 30 of them now and when I had to choose my favorite cover to highlight, I chose Forbidden Fire.
Take a look at the cover for yourself—the story was inspired by an image I’ll share here which is very close to the cover dreamed up by Total E Bound.
And here’s a little snippet from Forbidden Fire:
Tonight he found himself holding his breath, holding it almost like the sound of the world falling still. It was a moment when anything seemed possible, when stars could collide, when the sand below the posh beach house where they lived could be engulfed by flood waters that would rise and take back the palm trees, the sprinkler-fed grass… When she might walk into his darkened bedroom and lie down beside him on his lonely bed.
Instead, she walked past his door. Of course she did. He let out a breath as the world realigned back to the same routine. It hurt, knowing she’d been out dancing with some guy. It always hurt so goddamned much. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he could endure another night, keep his secret.
It would be worse if he didn’t have her at all.
Sian Blaine was his stepsister. She could never be his girlfriend. She could never see herself as his lover. She was ten years older than he was and she thought of him as her little brother.
It didn’t matter that he was in his mid-twenties now and they’d lived in this house alone together since their parents had passed away. During the day, he worked at San Diego Fire Station 57 and she worked behind the counter of Coffee Dreams near Solana Beach. He often went in for coffee.
They practically spent twenty-four-seven together unless Sian had one of her dates.
So here was another Friday night and he was lying in a bed that might as well be a twin for all the action it saw and she was walking past his bedroom door. Yay!
Suddenly he erupted from that bed, stalking across the darkened room in his boxers, swinging open the door so he could glare down the empty hallway.
Weirdly, she was just standing there, looking over her bare shoulder at him, as if she’d somehow known he would appear.
“Can you help?” Sian asked, solemn grey eyes on his face, her brown hair caught up above her neck. He told himself she was too skinny, the ‘bird bones’ she’d been called in high school, but her long arms seemed perfect as she tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. And he knew why she was having trouble. This wasn’t some kind of come-on, despite how his body immediately reacted.
Sian’s left hand was curled like a withered leaf. She automatically tried to hide it in the folds of her dress, which pissed him off.
She didn’t need to goddamn hide from him. Not ever.
“Yeah, all right,” he grumbled, as if his heart wasn’t racing at the thought of touching her intimately. He’d have to pretend she didn’t move him, but her skin would be under his hands…
He couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Not that she needed to. She had small, delicate breasts. He knew when they were growing up she’d lamented her slight figure, but he liked everything about her—from the way she smelt to the way she walked.
“I think it’s busted,” he said, after pulling her zipper up and down, trying to get it to unfasten. “Probably my slip got caught in it. Can you check?”
He looked up and some of her hair slid free of its clasp. The slinky bit of brown curled between them, caressing his neck. He caught his breath.
Sian stared at him and then jerked her gaze from his.
Just what had she seen in his eyes?
He swallowed around a dry throat. “What colour is this dress anyway?”
“Why do you ask?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. “Going to splurge on one on Valentine’s Day for Maggie?”
Maggie. Luke had to search his brain to remember who that was while he was peeling cloth away from Sian’s back, his fingers actually—Christ!—touching bare skin. She had a mole just above her ass that he’d always wanted to kiss whenever he’d seen her in a bikini. Just put his mouth to it and suck until she laughed and turned around and he could put his mouth somewhere else…
“The receptionist in the building next to the station, right,” he said. “She’s seeing someone.” “Oh. I thought you had a thing for her.”
Irritated, he said, “No. And if I did, why would I give her a dress?” The idea baffled him. Sian laughed. “Because you actually asked me the colour of mine. I thought you liked it.” “I like it because it’s yours and tiny.”
Oh, shit. Way to be subtle. But he was kneeling at her feet and if she turned around his boxers weren’t going to hide just how much he liked her dress.
She was quiet until he cursed.
“This is not caught on anything! It’s broken, Sian.”
He pulled away and had to let his hands drop. He balled them into fists so he didn’t just give into temptation and yank the thing off her like a wild man. Sian liked charming men, he knew. Men who were smooth and educated. Nothing like Luke, who had always been so physical, so rough-hewn.
“Okay, thanks.” She paused, looking down at him. “I saw you’re Mr February this year.” His cheeks heated. “Yeah. I’m also Mr April.” He’d posed with his surfboard and nothing else. “I didn’t know you’d seen it.” “Are you kidding? It’s up in the kitchen at work.” Sian’s cheeks were also flushed now, he noticed. “Since we’re all gals, we’re shamelessly exploiting hot young men in our calendar art.”
Hot young men? Wait, forget the young part, she thought he was hot?
“Well, sorry I woke you up,” she said. “I’ll try to be quieter next time.” “You didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t sleeping.”
Her body swayed as if she were on the verge of heading into her own room, closing the door and leaving him on the outside again. Tonight he just couldn’t let it happen.
“I’m not the street kid who moved in when your dad married my mom,” he said. “I’m…” He spread his fingers, wanting her to see him. He was an adult now. He’d made something of himself. He helped people. And some part of him knew it had been for her. He’d worked so hard, wanted to be someone she’d respect. For her, all for her.
“If I were in one of your favourite Jane Austen books, I’d be a man of substance, like Edmund Bertram, the parson in Mansfield Park.”
“I’ve always seen you more like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights.”
“Because of my working class background? But I don’t brood as much as he did.”
“Yes, you do. Sometimes…you’re so quiet, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I wish you’d take me to see where you come from. You never talk about it, but I know you think about it.”
He could have told her, but then she’d run from him and lock her door. The dirty things he wanted to do to her… “I’m proud to work with the guys at Station 57.”
Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, reaching out to grip his hand. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Luke… You’ve come so far. You broke my heart, even my Dad’s heart. We both wanted you to have opportunities.” She studied him, her gaze running over his shoulders, his chest. He hoped like hell she liked what she saw since he worked out like a maniac.
“Now you’re a hero.”
He blinked. “Did you just call me a hero?”
A crooked smile touched her lips. “I’m so going to pay for being sappy, huh?”
“You totally are.” He liked the hint of green in her eyes. They were large in her small face and her mouth was a little off-centre, the top lip fuller than the bottom. He liked it, he wanted to kiss it.
“It feels like forever since we really talked,” she said. “Why is that?”
“Maybe because you’re always out with some guy. Who was it this time? The architect or the gym owner?” “Luke—”
“Don’t tell me it’s none of my business, Sian. We’re all we’ve got.”
“No, I don’t accept that.” She climbed to her feet, her dress sagging like a sail without any wind, putting her back on display. Firm skin, small bones, strong. Strong like the way she’d been when his mom had had cancer—holding him, letting him know with her body against his that he would never be alone.
“Then why do you still live here? Why are we both living under the same roof?” Fuck it, he was pushing things, he was probably ruining things, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was on his feet, hands on his hips, looming over her. “It’s just easier—”
“That’s bullshit. It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I still live here because I need to be close to you.”
Sian Blaine grew up as firefighter Luke Cade’s caring older stepsister-it is forbidden to want his body covering hers-but when Luke takes her against the wall of the house they share, she can’t turn away from this persistent younger man.
Coffee shop owner Sian Blane is firefighter Luke Cade’s stepsister. He knows the shy older woman will never allow herself to see him as her lover, even after a sexy calendar is hung in the back room of her work place with Luke featured as Mr February sporting nothing more than his surfboard.
Luke has always been forbidden to Sian, but one night when she comes home from another endless, empty date, he stakes his claim, making her his woman. Now Sian must deal with the consequences of giving in to the beautiful, persistent younger man she’s always wanted.
And you can find me here: www.janirvingwrites.com
And my Pinterest page is here: http://pinterest.com/jancie65/
Jan Irving has always been a super creative person, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing is her passion. Her perfect day she’s writing a chapter and also painting a yoga mat or dyeing silk with marigolds.