Hi, my name is D. V. Stone. I am a multi-genre author who also enjoys reading across genres. On this page you'll meet a great group of writers and get an insider's view into their lives and books. I hope you enjoy this special peek and find new and exciting reads.
W: My name is J. Arlene Culiner, I live in a small village in France, and I write about unconventional, lighthearted heroes and heroines, people who refuse the roles society sets out for them. No super-heroes or super-heroines in my stories. No impossible rescues, no ideal families—just real life and real characters. For me, what’s important in a romance is that first, very tentative gentleness, those early stirrings of love, and all that terrible doubting.
I: I am an amateur musician and play several instruments: Oboe, baroque oboe, baroque taille, English horn, tuba, flute, piccolo, recorder, and Breton bombarde. However, the lockdown has meant no rehearsals and no concerts and playing alone just doesn’t have the same kick as playing with others! So what am I doing instead? Growing my own vegetables in a little patch of land beside a tiny river. I’m having a great time.
N: I am a secretive writer. I don’t want anyone to read what I’ve done until I’ve finished. After that, I’m open to comments from editors and publishers. No, I have no one around me who reads enough English to look over my manuscripts, but that’s fine. I rewrite so many times, I’m pretty confident that my stories hold together.
D: Okay, I’ve tidied it up for this photo of my writing space, but my desk is usually a horror with heaps of books, papers, coffee cups, toy animals, pens and pencils, notebooks, photos, and anything else that doesn’t have a set place in the house. (Please don’t look inside my closets, drawers, or pockets.) You can also see that I keep my desk far from my window, otherwise I’d be looking out all the time, dreaming.
O: Outrageous talent? Well…I’m rather scatty and I get lost a lot, but only in cities. Even if I’m three minutes from where I’m supposed to be, I’m lost. When I lived in Paris, I was lost for most of the time, and I had to call my partner and describe where I was. He knows his city inside out, so he would direct me back through the streets. However, in the country, out in fields or in deep woods, I’m never lost. Strange, huh?
W: What do I see outside my window? I’m very lucky. Right across the village square is a thirteenth century (but much modified over the years) church. All around the square are the stone buildings from the 1700s and 1800s. Just a street away, are open fields. My own house is a former inn built in around 1700 and you can see it in this photo.
A Swan’s Sweet Song by J. Arlene Culiner
The air sizzles when a country music star and renowned playwright meet, but can opposites fall in love?
Smart-talking Sherry Valentine has fought her way up from poverty to stardom as a country music singer. Ever surrounded by clamoring fans and paparazzi, her spangled cowboy boots carry her from one brightly lit stage to the next. But Sherry's been on the star circuit for too long, and she wants a change: is it too late for an acting career?
A renowned but reclusive playwright, Carston Hewlett cherishes his freedom, the silence of the deep woods surrounding his home, and his solitary country walks. So why is he fascinated by a flashy country music singer? Perhaps a short passionate, fling will resolve the problem.
When their names are linked in the scandal press, and Sherry's plans to become an actress are revealed, Carston feels betrayed. Is their budding relationship doomed?
A Peek Inside
Perhaps she could avoid meeting Carston Hewlett again and circumvent disaster. Yes, she had enough on her agenda. A fling at a conference like this? That was positively banal.
“There he is,” said Charlie, ripping into her thoughts. “On the left. You see?”
Of course, she saw. How could she miss him? Mighty easy on the eye, he leaned against a plaster pillar, listening to the people surrounding him.
“Don’t make plans,” she warned Charlie. Yet she couldn’t avoid looking in Carston’s direction again. Didn’t he look delicious in that brown silk shirt and elegant tweed jacket; how those jeans hugged his long legs. He was just the way she’d always imagined a successful playwright should be: cool, intelligent, strong, and sexy.
As if aware she’d been watching him, Carston turned, caught her eye. She tried forcing herself to look away. Failed. For an eternity, their gaze held. Then detaching himself from the group, he headed in her direction.
She commanded herself to pretend indifference, but her heart thumped a sensual jungle beat. She swallowed, tried to summon up some zen-like calm… realized she didn’t have any available.
Why come over anyway? They had nothing in common. Here he was, tiny inches away, his jaw a definite line, his body that tight, sinewy stretch she’d thought about too often during the night. But it was the expression in his eyes, warm humorous, that confirmed her instinct: the immediate, deep reaction was mutual. Try as hard as they could to avoid it, something would happen. It was inevitable.
Web site: http://www.j-arleneculiner.com
Storytelling Podcast: https://soundcloud.com/j-arlene-culiner
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7158064.J_Arlene_Culiner Twitter: https://twitter.com/JArleneCuliner
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/jarlene.culiner
Get your copy here ⬇️