Author Interview: Elisa Dane + Excerpt

Posted June 29, 2014 by Ana Love in All Posts, Author Interviews, Books / 0 Comments

I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to speak with and interview Elisa Dane. I am a member of her street team and she is such a blast to talk to!

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ELISA DANE is a self-proclaimed book junkie. A lover of handbags, chocolate, and reality television, she’s a proud mother to three All- Star cheerleaders. Writing is her absolute passion, and it’s her mission to create stories that will not only take you on a romantic journey that will warm your heart, but help you find a new respect and interest in the sport of All-Star cheerleading.

Elisa is no stranger to the publishing world. She writes steamy paranormal romance under her real name, Lisa Sanchez. Her adult works include the Hanford Park series (Eve Of Samhain, Pleasures Untold, and Faythe Reclaimed), Obsessed (an erotic suspense), and a paranormal novella, Cursing Athena. Elisa lives in Northern California with her husband, three daughters, and a feisty Chihuahua who stubbornly believes she’s human.

You can connect with Elisa at the following places on the web:
Facebook – Elisa Dane, and Lisa Sanchez Romance Author
Twitter – @ElisaDane, and @LisaSanchez3
Website – elisadane.com, and LisaSanchezRomanceAuthor.com

Here’s the interview:

1) What was the inspiration behind your book Ex-Factor?

My daughter was privileged to participate in the Every 15 Minutes program at her school during her senior year. I was lucky enough to be able to watch the mock crash and assembly. Both were so moving and incredibly powerful I knew I needed to write about what I’d seen.

2) How do you connect to the characters?

I really enjoy writing female relationships. I’ve got three daughters, and their friends are always around. I’ve also got some amazing friends of my own, all of whom inspire my characters. Certain phrases, characteristics, etc from my friends and the people I care about latch onto my fictional characters and bring them life.

3) What is your writing process like?

I’m a panster all the way. I can’t outline to save my life. I usually know a bit about my characters before I start writing, as well as have a general idea of the plot. Everything else is as much of a surprise to me while writing as it is to the reader.

4) Favorite thing about writing?

The sense of relaxation and escape I achieve! I’m a reader first, and have found that I get the same sense of satisfaction from writing a story as I do when I read. It’s a blessing.

5) Who are your inspirations?

Oh goodness. There are quite a few authors I look up to and respect. Colleen Hoover, Aleatha Romig, Karen Marie Moning, J.R. Ward. Sara J. Mass… The list could go on and on, lol!

 

Elisa was also nice enough to provide an excerpt of her book! Enjoy!

 

“Ahh… Mr. Scott!” My gaze automatically swept to the front of the classroom, Keltar’s loud, obnoxious voice almost impossible to ignore. “So good of you to grace us with your presence today. I trust you’ve learned something during your time away from school? Violence is never the answer, young man.” Frowning, the surly Santa wannabe begrudgingly swept a pink slip of paper from a tall, muscular boy dressed in dark clothing.

My heart jumped a little in my chest as I surveyed the colossal mass of male student at the front of the class. What the hell were the people of Indigo Falls feeding their sons? Some type of über growth hormone? Over half the guys in the school looked as though they belonged on the cover of a weightlifting magazine—chiseled, as if cut from granite. And what was that about violence, and time away from school? Had he gotten into a fight? From his size, he looked like someone who could deliver massive amounts of pain with ease.

The new guy stood in complete silence as Keltar continued on, delivering the same tired speech he’d given me upon entering the room. The same nervous feeling that had plagued me when I entered the school just a short time ago returned with a vengeance, and I caught myself struggling to breathe. What the hell? The new guy, whoever he was, had a bizarre effect on me, and to be honest, it was freaking me out a little. I mean, hell… I hadn’t even seen his face and I had butterflies whirling in my stomach. How was that possible? What kind of person had that type of effect on people?

He turned around then, and the answers to my unspoken questions all but slapped me upside the face.

Holy Mary, Mother of Pearl…

If boys were classified into two shades: light and dark, my Paper Thief, Eli would hover somewhere in the realm of ivory or beige. But this new guy was dark. We’re talking black down to the very pit of his soul type dark. Ebony eyes void of emotion swept over the room before finally settling on his seat: the empty chair next to Erin. Short, dark hair hugged his skull, bringing attention to the chiseled line of his jaw. His features were strong, hard, and entirely masculine—beautiful. No joke, he looked like an avenging angel hell bent on mayhem and destruction. Bad. The boy was bad to the bone.

Heat scorched my neck and cheeks and my pulse ratcheted up another notch.

Electricity arced through the air as he neared the table, and the oxygen in the room seemed to thin even more. Incapable of speech or movement, I sat open-mouthed, gaping at him like an imbecilic fool. The black T-shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest like a second skin, and revealed a set of arms, one of which sported a wicked tribal tattoo. His gait was confident, yet lazy, and clearly shouted “I don’t give a fuck. I’m only here because I have to be, so stay the hell out of my way.”

Erin cleared her throat and cast me a knowing “Well, well, well. Look who thinks the bad boy is hot” smirk.

The boy’s most stand out feature was a jagged scar which ran from the center of his skull, down along the top of his left ear. It ended just below the left half of his jaw. The skin was thick, raised and silvery pink making it obvious that whatever trauma had placed it there hadn’t happened that long ago.

Heat scored the base of my skull, and I reached, as if on autopilot, for the fat, rigid bump that crawled across my hairline. How had he gotten his scar? A hundred different scenarios played out in my head, none of which included the circumstance that had earned me mine.

 

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