But is she underestimating him?
When confronted with the true Ellie, his seductive response suggests her steamy fantasies could last forever. Get A Copy. Mass Market Paperback , pages. Published October 1st by Harlequin first published September 1st More Details Original Title. Sex on the Beach 2. Other Editions 8. Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Shock Waves Harlequin Blaze , please sign up. Be the first to ask a question about Shock Waves Harlequin Blaze Lists with This Book. Community Reviews.
Showing Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Aug 25, Vanessa Wu rated it did not like it. No, no, no. This is not how to write erotica. This is not how to write romance. This was supposed to be Gothic, dark and dangerous. Instead it was insipid and stale. There is no passion in any of these sentences.
Publisher Series: Harlequin Blaze
The characters are so under-developed they are hardly there at all. The sex is as tame as a glass of tepid milk. Let's try another one, quick. Jul 10, Insertnamehere rated it did not like it Shelves: dnf , romance-trash. I can't.
Colleen Collins · OverDrive (Rakuten OverDrive): eBooks, audiobooks and videos for libraries
I'm sorry, I just can't. There is a plot, and it's extremely boring. The prospect was interesting, but the execution fell flat. I'm 50 pages in, and I feel like nothing happened at all so far.
I'm not going to stick it through. Karyn A. Szymanski rated it liked it Jan 11, Rachel rated it liked it Jul 18, Mary rated it really liked it Aug 16, Raycad15 rated it really liked it Jul 25, Mary, Mary, Just a bit contrary rated it it was ok May 09, Wendy Heckman rated it really liked it Jun 13, Reva rated it it was ok Sep 23, Chantal Vazquez rated it really liked it May 14, Cheri-anne Watson rated it really liked it Jul 27, Dating back to the sixteenth century in parts, with Georgian modifications, it is the family home of Bill and Lois Breckon, who run regular painting and writing courses.
I'm here for a weekend course on romantic fiction. Our tutor is Gill Sanderson, a successful romantic novelist with no fewer than 30 published books under her belt. Over the next two days Gill will be our guide in a strange new land, a land where men are men and women swoon - the land of Mills and Boon. Refreshingly, Gill does not fit the popular stereotype of the romance writer feather boa, bouffed hair, lapdog.
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For a start she is a man. A burly Yorkshireman called Roger, to be more precise.
Retired schoolteacher and father of five, Roger took up romantic fiction because he wanted to try something 'different'. If Roger fails to conform to my preconceived notions of a romantic novelist, then so do the other aspiring writers on the course. There are seven of us, all female, ranging from early thirties to seventies in age. Among our number are a lecturer, radio journalist, TV producer, charity worker and funeral director.
Three have books in progress, the rest are here because they enjoy creative writing. Notepads on laps, we sit in armchairs around a blazing fire in the elegant Georgian drawing-room for our first tutorial. The publishing company has 16 editorial offices worldwide producing an astonishing titles a month and selling five books every second. With such a turnover, it's always hungry for new manuscripts and, for new authors who can stick to the formula, suspend their cynicism and 'write from the heart', there's a tantalisingly real possibility of having their work published.
Therein lies the rub. Cynicism is not that easily discarded. As we begin to read through some sample passages from novels, words like 'cringe-making', 'insulting' and 'sexist' start to burble up from around the room. Heads are shaken. Feet jiggle with irritation.
Shock Waves (Harlequin Blaze #354)
Elizabeth, a Scot with a passion for literature, is not amused. The plot dynamics are pretty straightforward. The hero and heroine meet in the first chapter and by the final chapter they will be married, or at the very least engaged. The intervening 55, words are all about placing obstacles between them to keep them apart. Simple enough. Roger runs us through the do's and don'ts.
Liberal-minded, Observer-reading types should probably look away now. No inter-racial relationships 'though sheikhs are OK' , no adultery, no one-night stands, no politics, religion presumably the sheikhs are of the non-muslim variety or other gritty social issues, no subplots, no same-sex couplings.
The hero must be an 'Alpha Male'. He cannot be bald, ginger or short. He cannot be German. The heroine must be of childbearing age ideally , she's allowed one illegitimate child, she cannot smoke and she cannot be the man's superior socially or financially. I realise with a stab of disappointment that not only am I unlikely to make it as a romantic writer, but, as a 35 year old, I don't even qualify as a romantic heroine. Elizabeth has worked herself up into a righteous lather by this stage.
We are saved by lunch, after which we regroup for some writing exercises. Roger has cut out pictures of men and women from magazines. He shuffles them up and gives us one of each sex.
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I get Tommy Walsh from Ground Force and a woman from a dieting magazine who has lost 15 stone. Our task is to describe an encounter between the couple. I retire to a window seat overlooking the garden and gaze at the picture of Tommy. Where to start?
This is much more difficult than I imagined. Tentatively, my pen starts to scratch across the blank paper. The words come slowly at first. My cheeks burn. But before I know it, Tommy's muscular, denim-clad thighs are driving spades into yielding soil while the Diet Queen admires his courgettes Maybe it was the wine over lunch, but everyone has relaxed a bit now. There are no more disapproving comments, just lots of laughter as we take it in turns to read our work to the rest of the group. There are plenty of chiselled jaws, stray strands of hair brushed gently aside, and even an 'echoing nipple' don't ask.
It quickly becomes apparent that a couple of members of the group have a real talent for this. It also quickly becomes apparent that I am not one of them. There's time for an early evening stroll through the woods before I retire to my bedroom. Up a narrow winding stone staircase, it is a huge semi-circular room with bow windows, tartan drapes, crimson walls and a giant four-poster bed. If I can't find romantic inspiration here, there's no hope for me.
I open it and read a chapter on getting yourself in the mood for writing: 'Take a single red rose, place in a vase on your desk. Smell it. Light aromatic candles.