Monday, April 29, 2013

Plus One by Brighton Walsh: Interview and Excerpt: Bewitching Tour Stop


When in the day/night do you write? How long per day?
This varies, depending on what day of the week it is. Unfortunately, I can’t write whenever inspiration strikes (which can sometimes pose a problem). I write in the mornings on days my youngest has pre-school, and every night after the kiddos are in bed, save for Saturday because that’s date night. J The amount of time I spend per day fluctuates so much. And it’s not always writing I can focus on, but maybe edits or promos or blog posts, something like that. If anyone has a way to add a couple more hours in the day, that’d be super.
Do you have critique partners or beta readers?
Absolutely. I have both, and I think they’re invaluable. I can’t imagine trying to submit to an agent or a publisher without first having honest feedback from the people I trust enough to send my rusty, unpolished work to. That’s a necessity for me as a writer.
If you were to write a series of novels, what would it be about?
I’m currently writing a series of novels, actually! The first is finished and in the querying stage right now, and the second, I’m maybe a third of the way through it. They’re companion novels and revolve around three very different sisters and their paths to—you guessed it—finding love.
I also really like series set in small towns, and have one sketched out (and also may have written one or ten chapters in the first of that series) for sometime down the line.
I’m really sad that all my favorite TV shows are no longer on the air. Friends, Angel and Gilmore Girls are my all-time favorites, and I can never not watch reruns. Now all I seem to tune in for is Chopped.
Are the names of the characters in your novels important?  How and why?
Yeah, I think they are. It takes a lot of time finding the perfect name to fit a character and what your image of them is. For instance, in the novel I just finished, I went through six names for the oldest sister and didn’t love any of them. A lot of times, I have to write and fill in with [heroine/hero/sister/friend] until something sparks and comes alive. Other times, like with Ian and Olivia in Plus One, the names are one of the first things I know about the characters.
What would we find under your bed?
Two Rubbermaid tubs filled with Christmas wrappings—one for ribbon only and one for bows. (I may have a problem with pretty wrapping.) And on my husband’s side…Lord only knows what’s under there.
Say your publisher has offered to fly you anywhere in the world to do research on an upcoming book, where would you most likely want to go?
How great would that be?! *waits for a call* I would absolutely love to go to Italy or France (or, hey, both!). I think there’s just something so romantic about the location and the culture. It’d be amazing to write a love story set there.
Do your friends think you are an introvert or an extrovert? Why?
Definitely an extrovert. I’m assertive, I’m not at all shy, and I will talk to a lamppost.

Plus One
Brighton Walsh
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Carina Press
Date of Publication: May 6, 2013
ISBN: 978-14268-9555-5
Number of pages: 100
Word Count: 22,000
Amazon     BN

Book Description:
Olivia hates the singles scene, so when her best guy friend, Ian, offers to be her plus one to a series of weddings she has to attend, she agrees. Although she doesn't want to complicate their lifelong friendship, she can't pass up the chance to have a steady date without the dating drama. What she doesn't expect is to now find Ian so incredibly sexy.
When Ian sees his old friend Olivia dolled up for wedding #1, the boyhood crush he once nurtured transforms into smoldering attraction. It doesn't take long for their no-strings arrangement to turn physical. But as Olivia's desire to stay "just friends" becomes clear, Ian's feelings are deepening. In the time they have together, how will Ian convince Olivia that one plus one can make for a lifelong pair?


Given how their afternoon had unfolded, the heat that ricocheted between them throughout the evening really shouldn’t have been a shock. Olivia had felt Ian’s want since she’d emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a sleek, fitted, black dress. Through the wedding ceremony, tucked into his side as his arm rested innocently against the pew behind her, she thought she’d burst at the feel of his finger tracing her bare shoulder. It had been a mindless touch, something she hadn’t even been sure he’d been aware of, and yet it had set her entire body aflame.
And now. Now, she was pressed against him as they danced, his hand touching her bare skin thanks to the low, open back of her dress. He held her close, closer than he ever had before, and even though she was two martinis into the night, she still found herself tongue-tied.
His fingers slowly slid up her back, following the line of her spine, and though she tried to hold it in, a shudder ran over her body. Her nipples hardened, and a tingle grew low in her belly. All from a single caress against her bare back. Jesus, if an innocent touch like that had her wet and ready to go, what would happen if he stroked her not so innocently? 
She looked up into his eyes to find him staring directly at her. His eyes bounced over her face, no doubt taking in her heated cheeks, eyes heavy with desire, and parted lips. He pulled her close, and brought their clasped hands up toward her face. He brushed a single finger down the line of her jaw, and instead of moving away, swept his finger over her lips. It was scarcely a brush of skin on skin, but she moaned. It was low and breathy, and barely loud enough for her to hear, let alone Ian. Yet she knew the exact moment he did.
His eyes, scorching with a want she knew all too well, bored into hers.
“Liv.” He managed to convey so much want and need with that single word.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and tried to not sound breathless when she answered. “Yes?”
Ian’s finger was still on her lip, caressing it back and forth, and his focus switched between her mouth and her eyes. When he didn’t say anything more, she couldn’t take it any longer. Her tongue darted out, lightly brushing against his finger. With their eyes locked, she took the tip of his finger into her mouth and sucked gently.
“Jesus Christ.” It was a low rumble, spoken under his breath, but she heard it clearly. With a soft pop, she released his finger, her eyes imploring him. 

Brighton Walsh is a storyteller at heart. Whether through words or pictures, she's been weaving tales for as long as she can remember. After decades of cultivating her writing, she finally decided to give life to the voices in her head and set forth to write her first novella. Love is her first love, and writing about it is a dream come true. When she's not writing, you can find her with her nose buried in a steamy book or partaking in some retail therapy. She lives in the Midwest with her swoony husband and two energetic kids who (fortunately) know nothing about the naughty things she puts down on paper.

Find her online at 


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