Author Bio:
Lyn Horner resides in Fort Worth,
Texas with her husband and several very
spoiled cats. Trained in the visual arts, Lyn worked as a fashion illustrator
and art instructor. After quitting work to raise her children, she took up
writing as a creative outlet. This hobby grew into a love of research and the
crafting of passionate love stories based on that research.
The author says, "Writing a book is much like putting
together a really big jigsaw puzzle. It requires endless patience and stubborn determination
to see your ideas come to life, and once hooked on the process, you're forever
addicted."
Who inspired you to become a writer?
First of all,
thank you, Rain, for inviting me to your lovely blog. I’m delighted to be here.
Who inspired
me to write? It was a group of ground breaking romance authors, women such as
Rosemary Rogers, Kathleen Woodiwiss and LaVyrle Spenser. I fell in love with
their stories and when I quit work to raise my children I decided to try my
hand at writing books in the same vein as theirs.
You mostly seem to write paranormal
type historical romances. Have you had experiences in your life that led you to
these stories?
Yes, I
experienced prophetic dreams when I was younger that led me to give the heroine
of my first book, Darlin’ Irish, the gift of second sight. For instance, she has
a vision of the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 several weeks before it occurred.
From that beginning, I decided to give her brother and sister other psychic
gifts.
In that vein, do you believe in
reincarnation, ghosts, mystical experiences in reality?
Again, I have
to say yes. I was influenced by books about reincarnation in my youth, and for
me it just makes sense. I think our creator gives us repeated chances to learn
from past mistakes until we “get it right.” As I said above, I believe in
psychic gifts because of my own experiences. Additionally, I’m fascinated by
myths from ancient times about legendary races such as the Celts and their
Druid mystics.
When it comes
to ghosts, I’m on the fence. I’ve never met a spirit from beyond the veil, but
I have heard enough credible stories to at least concede ghosts may be real.
What do you think in your life has most
led you to write the kinds of books you do?
Well, there
were those early romances I read as a young adult, but long before that I was
greatly influenced by my dad. Coming from Texas, he loved western movies, TV series
and novels. I watched many an old western with him as a kid and, instead of the
usual “girl’s” books, I devoured novels by Zane Grey, Louis L’Amour and other
great western authors.
This
long-standing interest in the Old West, plus my belief in extrasensory talents
and my love of historical romances, led me to combine the three things in my
writing.
Do you ever get depressed about the
marketing end of writing?
I sure do.
Juggling writing time with marketing demands is not easy, and all too often a
day passes without me writing a word in my current WIP (work in progress). I
envy authors who have help from family members or who can afford to hire an
assistant to handle promotional commitments. Like many writers, I’m basically a
hermit. I love alone time when I can draw out the stories in my imagination.
Not writing is what really depresses me.
When you have time to read for pleasure,
what kinds of books most attract you?
My favorites
are still historical romances, not only westerns, but stories set in other
periods and locations. I also read an occasional mystery or police procedural.
However, most of my reading time is spent on research, either on the internet
or with my nose in a history book. Most recently I’ve been studying Ireland and the workings of motorcycles for my
new series, which is a total break from my western romances. This one is
contemporary with, as you might expect, a dose of paranormal.
From where do you find your inspiration
for heroes and heroines?
That varies
quite a bit. Jessie Devlin, the heroine of my first book, was inspired by
reading about the Irish immigrants who settled in Chicago during the 1800s. She’s a
stereotypical Irish colleen with fiery hair and a temper to match. (I’ve been
criticized for that, but she’s still my favorite female character.)
Jessie’s hero,
David Taylor, grew out of all the bigger than life cowboy figures I idolized in
movies. (Think John Wayne and Clint Eastwood.) The ensuing books in my Texas
Devlins trilogy feature heroes and heroines who were secondary characters in
the preceding book(s). I enjoy showing how these people evolve from Darlin' Irish.
With that in mind, I’d like to tell you about Rose Devlin and Choctaw Jack, the
stars of Dearest Irish, Texas Devlins, book three.
Rose Devlin, like her
older siblings, possesses psychic talent inherited from a hidden line of Irish
Celtic Druids stretching far back in time. Rose is blessed with the
extraordinary ability to heal with her mind, a secret gift which has caused her
great pain in the past. She also keeps another terrible secret that may prevent
her from ever finding love.
Choctaw Jack, a half-breed
cowboy introduced in Dashing Irish, book two of the
trilogy, straddles two worlds, dividing his loyalties between his mother’s
people and the family of a friend who died in the Civil War. Like Rose, he
keeps shocking secrets. If they ever come to light, he stands to lose his job,
possibly his life. Yet, after his chance discovery of Rose’s unique gift, he
risks everything, kidnapping her from her brother’s Texas ranch in the belief she can save his dying mother.
Excerpt:
Rose Devlin stood outside the corral
fence, tensely watching her brother Tye struggle to stay on the brown stallion
he was attempting to subdue. Horse breaking, he called it, but man breaking
seemed a better description. With head down, the infuriated animal kicked out
both hind legs, raising his rump high in the air. Somehow, Tye hung on, but
when the stallion performed a wild twisting movement, he succeeded in throwing
his rider. Rose cried out in alarm, but to her amazement, her brother hit the
ground rolling to avoid the horse’s hooves and rose nimbly to his feet.
Brushing himself off, he cornered the
horse with help from a ranch hand named Micah Johnson, an older cowboy who
mainly worked around the homestead. Mr. Johnson had lost the use of his left
arm in the War Between the States, but he deftly threw his lasso over the
horse’s head with his good right arm. While he controlled the animal, Tye
climbed back into the saddle.
Rose clutched the small gold cross
suspended on a delicate chain at her throat and whispered a prayer as the
battle between man and beast resumed. She gave a start when a man walked up
beside her. Going rigid, she stared at him as he folded his arms along the top
rail of the fence. She’d never laid eyes on him before. If she had, there’d be
no forgetting him. Almost a head taller than her, with copper colored skin and
long black hair, he wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a black-tipped white
feather jutting from the leather hatband.
“Howdy, Miss Devlin,” he said, casually
glancing at her.
“Ye . . . ye know who I am, sir?” she
asked, wondering who he was and where
he’d come from. She thought she’d met all the Double C hands over the past
three months.
He turned his head and studied her with
eyes as dark as night. “Everybody on the place knows you’re Tye Devlin’s little
sister.”
Embarrassed by his close inspection,
she looked away, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Who are ye?” she
blurted. Then, instantly regretting her bluntness, she stammered, “I-I mean
I’ve never seen ye before. Are ye new here?” Darting a sidelong glance at him,
she was relieved to see him watching Tye and the bucking, snorting horse
instead of her.
“Depends how you look at it,” he
replied. “I just rode in yesterday. That’s why we haven’t crossed paths before.
I return about this time every year to help out with the roundup and the drive
north.”
“Oh, I see.” Rose knew he referred to
the yearly cattle drive to Kansas.
She’d listened to Tye and his in-laws discuss plans for this year’s drive
several times. Herding thousands of cattle over such a long distance sounded
like a daunting task to her.
“I heard you fixed your brother’s
eyes,” the stranger remarked. “How’d you do it?”
Rose licked her lips and clasped her
cross again, seeking an answer that wouldn’t require mentioning her unusual
ability. Before she could find words, the horse Tye was on emitted an enraged
shriek and ran straight at the fence where Rose and her companion were
standing.
“Look
out!” Tye shouted.
Frozen in terror, Rose
stared at the charging animal. She gasped when two arms closed around her from
behind and whirled her aside just as the crazed horse reared and slammed his
front hooves down on the top rail of the fence. The wood split with a loud
crack, accompanied by a pain-filled neigh from the horse. A hiss of pain also
sounded from the man pressed to Rose’s back, his broad shoulders hunched around
her.
*******************
Lyn Horner blog: http://lynhorner.blogspot.com/
Amazon Central: http://www.amazon.com/Lyn-Horner/e/B004CY506Y
Darlin' Irish
Dashing Irish
Dearest Irish
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