Find more from this author on:
About the author:
Chris Stevenson, originally born in California, moved to Sylvania, Alabama in 2009. His occupations have included newspaper editor/reporter, front-line mechanic and federal police officer. He has been writing off and on for 36 years, having officially published books beginning in 1988. Today he writes science fiction, fantasy, paranormal romance, young adult, thrillers and horror. He has a total of 10 titles appearing on Amazon. He was a finalist in the L. Ron. Hubbard Writers of the Future contest, and just recently took the first place grand prize in a YA novel writing contest for The Girl They Sold to the Moon. He writes the popular blog, Guerrilla Warfare for Writers (special weapons and tactics), hoping to inform and educate writers all over the world about the high points and pitfalls of publishing.
What inspired you to write your book?
It was rather a triple dog-dare-me challenge to finally write a romance novel after 28 years in the business. I researched, read and got help from a pixel princess. I'd written sweet romantic elements in all of my published books, but had never attempted this genre. I found I love it, and convinced other men that it was a worthy category to read and explore.
Here is a short sample from the book:
He strolled toward his favorite oak tree, the one that had the largest
trunk and thickest boughs. He could stand in the cooling shade, the
canopy overhead wiping out all but a few slivers of sunlight. He arrived at
his usual spot next to the trunk, pulled out his pack and lit up one. He
looked down and noticed a pile of dirty butts he had dropped in the past,
too close to the tree to be chopped up by the church’s huge riding mower.
Ryan brought his eyes around to the church between the trees. The
parking lot was filled with expensive late-model cars and SUVs. There was
no service on Saturday. But there was definitely an activity going on.
Something hit his shoulder. Dust specks fell in front of his eyes. Now
there was a tap on his head. A piece of bark hit the grass. He looked up
expecting to see a squirrel, but then furrowed his brows and stepped
A female crouched on a thick branch ten feet up from the ground. She
was wearing a fluffy bridal dress. A long bridal train was tied in a knot
around her neck. Her face looked elfish, framed by short, black, pixie-cut
hair that sported purple ribbons.
Ryan flicked his cigarette away. “What in the fuc…damnation are you
doing up there?”
“You’ve got to help me,” the bride said, nearly losing her balance, and
sending down a shower of bark bits and wood dust.
“Climb down out of there. Are you trying to kill yourself?” He looked
around, expecting to see someone catching him talking to a bride in
“I can’t get down,” she said, “It’s too hard with all this on. Help me.”
“How’d you get up there?”
“Then climb-shimmy back down.” He couldn’t believe he was having
this conversation. He wondered if he was the target of some hidden
“Do you have car?” she asked as she looked through the tree limbs.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Okay, good. You’ve got to get me off the property.”
The bride turned, dropped her train, and hugged the trunk. She
bowed her legs; her heels pressed into the bark. She began a slow duck
Ryan had the good grace to avert his eyes—his vision offered a straight
shot up her wedding dress. He glanced up, giving in to the curious
spectacle. Of all things, she wore a racy purple thong.
Ryan heard an “Ohhh!” and saw her falling backward. He threw his
arms up, fashioning a cradle. He braced his legs for the impact. When he
caught her, it was like a small child had alighted in his arms. He caught a
glimpse of her and saw a beautiful face that was screwed up and flushed
pink. She looked very young, which made him feel like a pervert for
checking her out. She kicked and wiggled out of his arms, pulled her train
up and ran for his car.