In Celebration Of Found Manuscripts

So, the last few days I've been reworking a manuscript that I thought was lost forever...I wrote it between 1996 and 1998. It is a time-travel with paranormal and historical elements...and is actually the second novel I wrote.

When I first opened it, I planned to just clean it up a bit..punctuation, grammer and such...but I just couldn't leave well enough alone and having now been tweeked by Roxy, it is bolder, more erotic, and has some fairly sinister BDSM moments along with a lighter, playful BDSM moment...

Now, I'm not so sure that I want to release it under a pen name other than Roxy Harte...still waiting on opinions in the comments section...so if you have one...share it soon...

Alternate pen names include: Rona Anderson, Roxanna Heart, or Isabella Randall.

Here's an excerpt from When Lightning Strikes Twice:
“Vacations are supposed to be relaxing.” Jetta Martinelli sighed and huddled deeper into the homespun quilt that wrapped around her shoulders. Ice crystals fanned cheerily across the hand blown glass panes, candles cast a soft glow around the cozy, rustic interior, and a fire crackled merrily in the stacked stone fireplace. It would have made a wonderful photo shoot backdrop for her latest sinfully seductive fashion designs, and she, herself, made a fine portrait of serenity with her waist length blond hair knotted at the base of her neck and secured with red lacquered chopsticks. The simple white kimono, shrouding her lithe frame in flowing silk, only added to the illusion. That is, had she not been pacing the width of the cottage like a caged lioness.
The tour brochures had guaranteed atmosphere.
Atmosphere, she could appreciate, but currently the atmosphere was quite literally falling from the sky…a million metric tons by her calculation. The radio announcer had called it, “the worst blizzard of the century,” just before the automobile she’d rented got stuck in a snow drift, putting an abrupt end to the sightseeing adventure of a lifetime. It was only lucky in that Jetta had been returning to the cabin for additional film at the time and the miscreant snowdrift was just across the moor from her cabin.
Unlucky was the fact that her cell phone had gone dead leaving her with no way of phoning for help and the road she had been driving on was deserted. She assumed because all of the sane people had already tucked themselves in front of a roaring fire with a good book and an even better brandy. An hour had passed, and then another. The novelty of watching the big, fat flakes dance to the ground wore off in the second hour. With dusk quickly approaching and the cabin in view, it had seemed ridiculous to stay in the car; besides, it wasn’t that far to the cabin; and, it didn’t really feel all that cold. The fact that her reasoning had been based entirely from the safety of her car didn’t even vaguely play into the decision to walk to the cabin. Then she trudged through waste deep snow to return to it. That had been six days earlier and she hadn’t been warm since.
Worse, snow continued to fall. She was trapped. However, it wasn’t the storm that had her upset. It wasn’t even the dreadful case of cabin fever that had set up during day three of her captivity. No, it had been a ghost, a spirit, though she hadn’t seen anything, not even a shadow…just a voice. “Come to me.”
Jetta had thought of nothing else since.
The beauty of the quickening twilight, enveloping the moor, drew her attention to the window. She stopped pacing and let out a shaky breath, and tried to still an even shakier hand. An icy breeze blew in through a cracked window sill and lifted the soft tendrils around her face and Jetta mumbled to herself for the umpteenth time just how happy she would be to return to Miami. Closing her eyes, she envisioned home—warm, sultry Miami.
She was losing her mind trapped here in the snow. Intellectually, she knew she’d imagined the voice, but her heart, her gut-instinct knew the voice was real. Worse, she’d only heard it the one time…not that she wanted to hear the voice again, or feel the desperation behind the cry—but it would be confirmation that she wasn’t losing her mind.Jetta shuddered and huddled deeper into the quilt. The chill creeping down her spine having nothing to do with the arctic blast, seeping in through every crack and crevice of the ancient structure, and everything to do with the decision she had to make. Her frustration level mounted with every passing second and she’d already argued with herself for hours.
Coming here was a good idea, I’m glad I came. It’s secluded. Quiet.
It’s too secluded! Too quiet!
I needed time to think things through. I made the right decision. Breaking up with Paul was the right thing to do! He scared me and the men I date have no right to do that.
God, I miss him!
No, no I don’t! How many red flags does it take to say enough is enough? His dominance? His jealousy? His temper?
Jetta sighed and closed her eyes. I made the right decision.
When she opened her eyes again, the view through the window had changed, proving she’d argued with herself long enough. Night had fallen and the day was gone. I will not take him back. With a weary nod, Jetta rested her head against the icy pane. Through slit eyes she watched her breath steam the window and with a shaky finger she drew little hearts in the mist. With the inkling of a smile, Jetta stepped back and eyed her handiwork. She gasped at what she had written under her tidy row of hearts. I MISS YOU. Jetta’s hand flew up to cover her mouth as she faced the truth.
I do miss you, Paul, I won’t lie, but enough is enough and fleeing The States to take this vacation to hide the bruises you gave me is definitely enough! Yes, I admit it, we started out consensually. I like it a little rough, but my god…not that rough!”
Jetta rubbed out the message and saw through the pane that only a light flurry of snow remained falling. Shadows played off the tracks of animals winding through the snow. Rabbits, maybe even a deer. She sighed and focused on her reflection, dark circles played under her eyes. She traced their reflection with her fingers against the damp pane and promised herself she’d at least make the effort to get some sleep.
At least he didn’t follow me here.
He called.
And my phone died. So he’ll think I hung up on him. It’s for the best. I cannot see him ever again!
He called! He said he was sorry.
Exploding sap ended the argument, making her jump. Jetta knew she had to be strong, stand firm with her decision. Slowly she walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, a heavy weariness seeping into her bones as she accepted her decision. “God, why did the sex have to be so good? Addictive?


Elegant Goth said...

Hi Roxy, I appreciate the fact that you would like to have a pen name,but I am a concerned that my name is one of the 3 you're thinking of. I am a ghost hunter and investigate the paranormal. I have a website and people might think that with your paranormal references, it is me on the blog if you change your name to Rona Anderson. You deserve something a little more "exotic" than my name. I do tend to lean toward the dark side myself.

Roxy Harte said...

Funny, I'd actually forgotten about this blog post...and Rona was a typo...I'd meant to type Rina (my daughter) and Anderson (my maiden)...lol...

I have since decided to use my own name...no pen name...for my paranormal writing...

But I do thank you for sharing this, I'll have to check out your site:)