Mini interview with author Cynthia Roberts

Historical Romance author Cynthia Roberts was kind enough to answer some questions. I am not a big historical romance reader but I'm thinking I may have to go and hunt it down. 




When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

The passion was sooo inherent I just had to.  I truly think it started in the womb. I mean, ever since a Crayola was placed in my hand, I scribbled on paper.  Sadly, life just got in the way and it has taken until my more mature years (chuckle chuckle ) before it was time for me.


How long does it take you to write a book?

It's hard to gauge because I'm working on so many other projects as well.  If I was to focus on just one novel from research to finish non-stop ... probably two months.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

I created a play list of 70 songs ... my pure romance collection from Michael Buble', Peabo Bryson, Lionel Richie, Brian McKnight, Andy Williams, Perry Como, Tony Bennett ...   Can't write without my boys crooning to me. 
I have a home office.  I just can't get into laptops for some reason and I do love the fact that they're so portable.  Even though I can type almost 100 w.p.m. once I get going, on those keyboards though, my fingers get all befuddled and I hit the wrong keys ... it's ugly.  I invested in a good ergonomic keyboard for comfort and try to devote at least 20 hours a week to my projects. 


Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

Would you believe me if I told you it just comes?  I mean sometimes I think it just flows from my finger tips.  I carry a small spiral pad in my purse, have one tucked between the seats in my car and of course, by my bedside table.  When the idea hits me, I jut down my thoughts and bada-bing bada-boom a story line is born.

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Why read romance novels, of course **wink ** wink.  And I do … seriously.  But I also love to spend time sucking the faces of my beautiful grandchildren ages 11 – 6 months Tyler, Ayden, Connor, Nicholas & Addison.  I try and exercise every other day, take long walks when the weather allows (helps get those creative juices flowing)and cherish my closest and dearest friends.

What does your family think of your writing?

It's great when your kids are in awe of you for all the right reasons, you know?  At first I think they took it with a grain of salt .. that it was more of a hobby.  But when the book came out of print their jaws hit the floor ... as did mine.  Writing for me is such an explicit joy.  I was sooooo excited when the publishing process started.  It was like one of those first timers in your life ... you know the ones ladies ... the first kiss, getting married, the first pregnancy.

What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?

I had this intimately beautiful conversation with someone who was blind some years back about their disability that has always stayed with me.  She told me that loosing her sight was a blessing because she learned how to see the world through her other senses, which is something the seeing world takes for granted most of the time.  It made me become more aware of sound, color, taste, texture and so many others which inevitably allowed me to be a more descriptive writer.  I’ve also learned that I can accomplish anything if I simply believe in the essence of who I am.




Cynthia Roberts
www.romanceauthorcynthiaroberts.com
Wind Warrior ~ Historical Indian Romance

Wind Warrior ~ The Iroquois Series ~ Book 1

Leslie Michaels is a visionary, and only those close to her know of her special gift and the visions that come when her mind and body surrender to sleep. Fate has a way of righting many wrongs, and for Leslie it is a destiny that changes her life dramatically. But not before she is forced to flee into the wilderness to escape a murderous trapper bent on claiming her for his very own. Faith and a strong will to survive are her only companions, until she encounters Winnokin, the handsome Seneca war chief who first came to her in her dreams. Not only does he prove to be her rescuer and protector, he teaches her that tragedy can breed happiness and the passion to live and love deeply once again. 

Wind Warrior plunges readers into the intimate depths of a relationship that unfolds like a live drama before their eyes while painting an insightful and intriguing portrait of Native Indian life in the 1800s. It is a story of longing, of a wanton need to survive all odds, and a love so strong it conquers human evil. Wind Warrior expresses with cunning words the simple, raw human emotions that hold readers spellbound and captivates their hearts. 

Excerpt 

Leslie Michaels detected the immediate transformation in the stranger’s eyes after she reached out and stroked the tips of her fingers slowly along the strong, angular curves of his chin and jaw. She looked for a change, some kind of reaction that told her he found her to be too bold or forward. However, his calm reserve gave away no emotion at all. She was pleased that he did not draw away from her touch or display any signs of displeasure. More than anything, she wanted to know what was going on in his mind. Did he find her attractive? Would he want to know her more intimately? She could not believe that those thoughts were even running through her mind. By God, she thought, I’m thinking just like one of those dance hall girls always standing outside the saloon at the settlement. She certainly was not the kind of woman to just throw herself at a man. She was generally shy and reserved, and it normally took a while before she warmed up to someone, especially a man like the one right there in front of her. And to think, she sighed, that his lips may just taste sweeter than sugar. She could feel her cheeks flush and patted them with her palms. This man certainly made her feel brazen. She wondered if he found her touch as pleasing as it was for her. When the moments passed with words unspoken between them, Leslie was afraid she truly overstepped her bounds. There must be someone else in his life, a wife or betrothed, she thought. She searched his eyes to see if disinterest reflected in their depths, but he was too difficult to read. Leslie leaned back slightly and pondered if his lack of response was more out of duty or respect and not wanting to offend her. I am such a––a fool––a stupid, crazy ninny, she chastised silently and lowered her head to hide her embarrassment. Just because I am drawn to him like a bee to honey does not mean he feels the same about me, she argued with herself. After all, we are from different cultures. Those in my world would never approve of such a union. Leslie’s heart began to pound rapidly in her chest when he moved slightly and reached out for her. She gasped faintly when he tenderly clasped her chin to raise it and gazed into her eyes. A lump caught in her throat, and she knew she could not swallow even if she tried. Joy filled her heart when she watched as his beautiful, full lips began to slowly curve into a smile. The pleasure she felt overwhelmed her and she pressed her fingers to her lips and sighed softly. She did not know his name, where he came from, or what kind of person he was. What she did know was that she felt no fear, no apprehension, in his presence. She did not hold back and drew herself up from her squatting position to kneel before him. His beautiful, amber eyes were captivating, and Leslie knew at that very moment that she could get lost in their depths for an eternity. She wanted nothing else. He clasped a hold of her tiny wrists and placed her right hand upon his shoulder. She reacted instantly and did not hold back. She needed, wanted, to touch more of him and slowly ran the flat of her palm down the length of his naked chest, feeling the strength of hard muscle beneath his light copper skin. It amazed her how such a masculine man could feel as soft as a rabbit’s pelt. Her eyes drifted again to the fullness of his lips, and she craved to have her own held captive by them. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and even though he was Indian, it did not sway her from wanting to share something more with him. The comfort and safety she felt was far from odd, even knowing it would prove disturbing to others. Leslie dismissed all doubt and worry from her mind. She never was a person to be affected by what others thought. And she was not about to start now. If he was an admirable man with a kind and compassionate heart, that was all she needed to know. She felt an immediate connection and shivered slightly when he reached forward to tenderly move a tendril of her hair away from her face. It seemed natural and right to rest her cheek against the palm of his hand. His thumb glided softly against her skin, and she shivered slightly as she tilted her body to nuzzle the side of her face against the warmth of his touch. He reached his other hand to cup her face and draw her nearer. Leslie could feel his breath caressing her skin, and she knew he was going to kiss her. “Come. Let us ride the wind together,” he whispered softly in her ear. Slowly his lips brushed across her cheek, barely touching skin, causing her body to tremble in response. This was the moment she hoped for, and she leaned her body closer and raised her chin to meet the pressure of his lips. His powerful arms were tender as they softly folded about her until their bodies were pressed together in a heated embrace. The loud, shrilling chatter of gray squirrels playing outside her bedroom loft window jolted Leslie from her sleep as though cold water had just been thrown upon her face, and she bolted upright, into a sitting position. “No!” she cried softly. She realized it was just a dream as she ran her palm softly across the spot where she could swear she still felt the warmth of the stranger’s touch. Her eyes scanned every corner of her room, and her heart sank from the disappointing realization that she did indeed dream of the beautiful stranger once again. She turned and watched the humorous antics that continued outside her window. Shoo––shoo, you two,” she scolded. “Did you have to choose this very moment to wake me?” she continued as she shook her head and stretched her limbs like a contented feline. For a moment she played back the memory of the dream that had haunted her over and over again for the past two months. When is this going to end? She wondered. What does it all mean? It was not just this particular incident that bewildered her. For as long as she could remember, Leslie had always been taunted by such riddles. Early in her childhood, she had learned not to question her special ability to see what would happen in the very near future through her dreams. She never feared them, because they were so very much a part of her life, and she naturally assumed every one had the same experiences in their life. That is, until she was old enough to speak and express what she saw with her parents. Leslie was nearly seven when she finally began to understand what was happening to her, what she was born with. Her mother, Olivia, had sat her down and carefully told her of the special gift they both shared. It was a guarded secret that had been passed down for five generations by the feminine line on her mother’s side. Still, the dream she had just experienced was so different and more personal than any she had before. This dream involved her emotions. She knew this particular stranger would play a major role in her future. She just did not know what, or when, or where. Each time he entered her sleep, it became more real, and her attraction for him grew stronger. She was becoming drawn to his long, dark hair and a physique, which looked as though it had been chiseled from stone. He was a mystery for now, and she was certain it was one that would be solved sooner rather than later.