Dear Author: Romance Book Reviews, Author Interviews, and Commentary

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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Serena was pacing around her hotel room for the second time when her cell phone rang. She picked up on the third ring.

“Miss Chirk?”

“Yes.” What a stupid question. Only Jones knew where to find her. But if she didn’t answer, he might send someone to this faceless hotel to check on her.

“Not good enough,” the male voice snapped. “Ms, not Miss. Remember your persona. Young, sassy, independent. Get it right every time, you hear me?”

She sighed. “Sure.”

Jones continued to harass her, as he always did, treating her like a child. “You can speak freely if you wish, but only on this phone. You understand?”

“Yes.” She was new to this business, not stupid. But she knew if she tried to tell him that, he’d only repeat what he’d told her a thousand times before and make her recite it back to him so she didn’t think it …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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I first saw him when he was probably in the eighth grade, the Shoppette had a program for kids where they’d bag your purchases and you felt obligated to drop money in a box for them. He was a kid with brown hair and round glasses, and a sweet smile, and I think I stuffed a buck in the box and walked out. It was early summer, my family planned traveling over Europe - living in Germany had its advantages, the great cities were only a few hours away. At the end of that summer, the phone rang, and it was Steve, known universally as Coach, reminding Will that cross country practice began in a few days.

Will was a sophomore now, his first year of competing had been somewhat frustrating for him, but he’d found a mentor and a hero in Coach, he had the worst case of hero worship I ever saw. We went to the base exchange and …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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Tor hadn’t planed on killing anyone today but a male at the back was earning himself a future measured in minutes. What the eternal bells was she doing in his audience hall? Bastard had better not touch her.

Soft leather shifted as his body tightened with tension. Claws extended to grip the throne arms then disappeared. She did this, forced him to think about controlling his reactions. Low in his gut burned more than lust. It was need he couldn’t escape and couldn’t endure forever.

Tall for a pure humanoid, her perfectly proportioned body drew male eyes no matter how simply she dressed. It was probably impossible to disguise firm muscles giving her sleek curves. Tor wouldn’t mind if she tried though. The simple dress highlighted natural beauty instead of concealing it.

Elegant bone structure created perfect features. It was just unnecessary over-kill that each feature also embodied whatever it took to rouse …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.

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Sophie Reid’s car inched onto the Laurel Canyon entrance ramp, slowing to the usual crawl to enter the Hollywood freeway heading east. The hot, dry Santa Ana winds blew across the San Fernando Valley, causing waves of heat to shimmer on the asphalt. She flipped down her visor and looked at herself in the mirror while waiting for the cars to creep through the light metering traffic at the top of the ramp. She snapped her fashionably oversized shades over her gray eyes, and smiled, knowing she looked good. She pushed the appropriate button with her French manicured finger, and the convertible top glided down with a whisper.

On a whim, she had dyed her chin length bob sunflower yellow to match the color of her new Volkswagen Beetle convertible, and she felt like showing off a little. She’d gone braless as usual, and wore a raspberry colored Henley top adorned …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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Misogyny has been very, very good to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a woman hating woman by any means. I love my sex (although not in the bedroom sense: totally hetero in that arena) but I’d even go so far as to say that I believe in most things, excepting upper body strength and math, women are generally superior to men.

So how has misogyny been my friend? Well, have you ever heard of Jackson Horner? Yes, the same author whose Dodge Hart series is the biggest load of feminist bashing, Neanderthal male propagandizing piece of crap to ever find a publisher. It might come as a surprise to learn: I am Jackson Horner.

Actually I’m Terri Mitchell, 34 years old, single, and aspiring romance author. At least that’s what everybody thinks. The truth is that Dodge Hart has paid for my house, my car (although it is a used BMW) and he continues to pay my way. If the teenage boys and potbellied …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.

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Prologue

The small boy was lost in the depths of the huge tester bed. The room stretched out around him, full of mysterious shadows that seemed to move for no reason at all. His nurse had begged his father for a night light and for once his father had acquiesced - for whatever reason. Hannah was sure it wasn’t to ease a small boy’s fears, and the sense of abandonment he’d had since his mother had left; she wasn’t sure exactly why José Aguilar had agreed, but she had taken her victory and scuttled back to the room with it.

His father had said there were no such things as monsters, only monstrous people who ought to be horse whipped. You have to be a man in this life, he’d said, and quit believing in monsters under the bed or in the closet. The boy wasn’t too sure about that; surely the closet door had opened just a bit more? …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.

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GAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

Daphne Delaney looked to the doorway to see her assistant Cloe McBride having a mini-freakout over the floral delivery for the engagement party they were in charge of organizing. Giggling to herself, she took her time walking to the table that held the flowers and plants before they were arranged around the room. Although Daphne and Cloe had only known each other since Cloe had come to work at Daphne’s event planning business, Excellent Events and Occasions, six months ago, one of Daphne’s main sources of entertainment in life was tormenting her friend. Sometimes bordering on evil (affectionately of course), this pastime was, at times, too easy but it was great fun damn it and Daphne took pride in rattling Cloe.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Daphne as she approached the flowers, watching Cloe panic further. “Those topiaries look amazing!”

“Are you blind in addition to being out of your mind?? They’ve got brown spots on the leaves, they’re kind of droopy, they’re too short, and…”

Laughing, Daphne …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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She turned around, saw him, and her world suddenly went still.

Iain was back!

Her heart began beating in triple time as she moved toward him through the crowd of six-year-olds. She met him in the middle of the room, supremely conscious of many things, not the least of which was the eighteen pairs of young eyes that surrounded them.

The chatter and play of the children melted away, and for just a moment, nothing existed except the two of them.

“I didn’t know you were back!” she heard herself say.

“I just got back today,” he replied with the same wonderful smile that had made her heart skip beats since the first time she saw it, so long ago.

She nodded and willed her heart to return to normal and her voice to remain steady. Now was not the time to go off into dreamland over Iain’s smile. She had eighteen kids waiting for a birthday cake that was still too frozen to cut, and the …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.

Added note: Last week, our comment thread moved quite astray from the original point which is to provide critique on the first page offered here. Any comments about the critiquers do not add value. It is up to the author to decide what commentary is useful and what is not. That said, I do hope that everyone watches the line between blunt honest criticism (which is absolutely welcome) and insulting (which you can be but I think your message gets lost and the purpose of posting is negated, unless the purpose of posting is to be, well, not helpful).

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The Anatta left her alone to watch Bren die. Cyri Naadhira, caretaker of the young Lourvain prince, stood by his bedside, her legs barely keeping her upright. A trembling hand brushed across Bren’s hot cheek, her fingertips smoothing the damp, copper strands. He moaned under her touch, his head moving from side to side. Agony etched deep lines into …

Welcome to First Page Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. You may comment anonymously.
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Jody was not surprised the evening her husband failed to come home from work. Nor was she surprised the next night or the next or the even night after that.

At the start of the second week with his presence at neither meal nor bedtime, Jody took herself down to First Trust Bank on Crestmont Street. There she learned that the inner voice telling her not to bother with the police had been right. In the moment when the blameless clerk flushed deeply and fixed a stare firmly at the bank’s computer screen, refusing eye contact in answering questions of the state of the marital bank accounts, Jody knew that her husband had not been not the victim of foul play. He, and her money, were well and truly gone. The sputtering hope that he would not join the list of men who had let her down died with the knowledge that he was most assuredly alive.

That night as she …