Sharon
Ashwood is a free-lance journalist, novelist, desk jockey
and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English
literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests
include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the
toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely
admits the whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle fantasy would
never work out, so she writes paranormal romances instead.
Sharon lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by
the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.
***
"Ms. Ashwood's characters leap from
the pages, the romance is hot and passionate, and the
monsters make me want to check under my bed. Superb and
highly recommended! "- Romance Junkies read
rest of review
***
If you would
like a signed bookplate Contact
Sharon with your name and mailing address.
Faced with a custody battle for her daughter,
monster-killer Ashe Carver has hung up her stakes and
taken a job at the public library. But then after centuries
guarding a supernatural prison, the dashing Captain Reynard
strides into her world. He has only weeks to live unless
Ashe finds the thief who took his soul-and he's too drop-dead
gorgeous to die...
****
RT gives UNCHAINED 4.5 stars!
"Ashwood has a real gift for developing
flawed and intriguing characters—and plenty of action.
The tragic nature of these star-crossed lovers' pasts
adds depth and urgency to their developing relationship."
Question:
What happens when you mix generally-accepted accounting
principles with flesh-eating ghouls?
Answer:The
first three books of the Dark Forgotten series were written
at the same time I was taking a Financial Management Certificate
course for my day job. This meant that I was slogging
through university-level courses on economics, taxation,
marketing, accounting, and business law. Not exactly light
and fluffy material, but it was extremely valuable background
for the books because the paranormal stuff kind of sloshed
together with the course texts. I began to think, "Well,
what would the real-life, nitty-gritty implications be
if the paranormal world impacted ours?"
If
you were a politician, it would matter whether or not
zombies got the vote and whether they would believe a
"Brains for all!" campaign slogan. If you were
a cop, you'd wonder about the type of firearms you had
and whether they could stop a werewolf. Pension planners
would scratch their heads when it came to vampires. And
zombies? Surely they all went into customer service.
This
is where I got the inspiration for much of the series.
My other great resource is, of course, the characters.
Each person has their own perspective on my paranormal
world. Mac is a cop, Reynard is an eighteenth-century
aristocrat and soldier, Ashe is a monster-slayer, and
Holly is a student and small-time witch assessing insurance
claims. They each have a very different world view based
on very different life experiences.
What
these individuals need from their romantic partners is
going to vary, too. (Sex? Blood? Milk bones?) None of
my characters are perfect-they have their challenges,
but they've got courage, humor, and a strong sense of
justice. What if the hero's a little bit furry once in
a while? Or chases the neighbor's Dalmatian? If he holds
down a job, loads the dishwasher, fights the bad guys
AND looks great in leather, a girl could do worse.
The
more complete and grounded I can make the characters,
the more depth and truth I can bring to the romance. This
is where the real fun begins. Flawed, funny, passionate,
or tender-these relationships flow from the same heartfelt
joys and challenges we recognize from our own lives.
When I'm writing, I have the usual: Oxford Dictionary,
Roget's Thesaurus, Roget's Familiar Quotations, and my
own books for reference.
Other non-fiction books I've recently pulled out for writing
purposes include:
The Novel Writer's Toolkit by Bob Mayer
Police Procedure and Investigation by Lee Lofland
Penguin Book of Superstitions of Britain and Ireland by
Steve Roud
Bulfinch's Mythology
Weapons and Equipment of the Napoleonic Wars by Philip
J. Haythornthwaite
If
you would like a signed magnet, Contact
Sharon with your name and mailing address.
Q:
What are the traits that make up a "real life"
hero?
A
hero is someone who makes a significant sacrifice for
the sake of another. We hear about police and firemen
and soldiers, but there is also a lot of quiet heroism
out there. Someone who kicks an addiction for the sake
of his or her kids. Someone who works two jobs to keep
the family together. It's the stuff that doesn't make
the papers that is often the most profound.
I grew up in northern prairie snow country, where Halloween
to Easter could be knee-deep (or more) in the white
stuff. Now I'm living along the coast, where we might
get a week of really cold weather. Most of me appreciates
the kinder, gentler climate, but there's a piece of
my heart that longs for a real winter and a white Christmas.
Why? The appeal is hard to understand. Somewhere in
my box of childhood memorabilia is a certificate issued
by the local paper when I was about seven. It verified
that the holder had survived six weeks of forty-below
temperatures. My dad took pictures of snowdrifts that
reached the eaves of our house, and I remember the drifts
in the back yard looming like icebergs, blotting out
the clear, sharp-edged winter sunshine. The cold literally
took my breath away. You'd think I'd be glad never to
experience any of that again. And yet ...
A lot of my childhood is tied up with the cold. I remember
standing by the garage watching the northern lights
like veils of bright silk against the stars, the sound
like the snapping of flags in a stiff breeze. That only
happened when it was so cold and clear your very bones
hurt, as if somehow there was no atmosphere left between
the earth and outer space. It was one of the most beautiful
and strange things I've ever seen.
I remember the winter bazaars, my grandmother dragging
me through church halls that smelled like wet wool and
tobacco. Tables would be piled full of mittens and shortbread
for sale, the pine floors soaked with melting clods
of mud and ice. My grandmother's friends would ply me
with china cups of tea and old-fashioned humbugs and
somewhere there would be a Christmas tree with real
gingerbread men hanging from the branches.
It all comes back when I'm least expecting it, sometimes
in daydreams, sometimes when a random occurrence triggers
the jackpot of memory and a flood of images tumbles
out. My ballet studio, with the smell and crunch of
rosin and the soft winter sun streaming through windows
shot with frost. Walking down the street after Saturday
morning class, bundled in boots and parka, squeezing
into the bakery for doughnuts and hot cocoa and the
bakery door gasping fragrant steam into the street.
My grandma's apartment-at that time one of the highest
in the city-and the panorama of old-style, animated
neon signs that danced along the streets below her balcony.
Seeing the cowboys who came through the city on their
way to and from the real north-far beyond the point
where trees would agree to grow-and thinking they looked
nothing like their counterparts on TV. Getting a pale
blue transistor radio for Christmas and discovering
rock and roll.
Always in those memories is snow. I live like an exile
from the winters of my childhood, lingering by the temperate,
rainy seaside, steadfastly certain I don't want to ever
actually require a parka again for the sake of survival.
And yet when the sprinkle of snow comes for that day
or two in January, it feels like a post card from home.
