What’s in a Tag Line?

When I first began writing romance, I never intended to be an erotic romance writer. Even after publishing 7 books, I often feel I don’t fit the image. It is why I chose the tag line I’m not bad. I just write that way. That line is a play on dialog said by Jessica Rabbit, in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. 

She said, “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way.” Made sense for her.

For me, though….

It’s time to change the tag line. What if people think that I write badly or that my stories are bad? I so need to change it. But, I have no idea what my new tag line would be. Most of of stories are set in and around New Orleans or other parts of the south. Do I change it to “Ursula Whistler, Writing Hot Southern Romance”?

I don’t know. Branding is a bitch, y’all.

Today’s the Day! Wright Place Wrong Bed can by yours to read!

The Wild Rose Press has new releases, including Wright Place Wrong Bed, for 50% off. I don’t know how long it will last, so get your copy while it is cheaper!

Law student Amanda Fanconi, daughter of a district attorney, heads down the Mississippi River to Wright Place to get away from the hubbub surrounding her father’s latest high-profile case. When her wild friend urges her to hook up with a guy they meet over drinks, Amanda goes for it, glad to burn off some tension with the sexy contractor.
Rory McNeil shows up at Wright Place to celebrate a buddy’s new job far away from the swamps of New Orleans. He never expects to catch the eye of a sleek city girl hot for excitement. Stolen kisses lead to an erotic fantasy that leaves them both breathless and Rory searching for a way to meld his simple life with Amanda’s complicated one.

Romance turns to danger when shots are fired, and their night of passion becomes a race for safety and a quest for the truth.


“Are you sure you’re real, and I’m not in my own fantasy?”

He pressed his forehead against hers as his hands explored her back. She arched at his touch. Damn, how she wanted him. Her entire being tingled with anticipation. Her hips jutted forward toward his. Longing pulled inside her, bringing wetness between her legs.

She smiled against his lips. Her thoughts had brought up the same question. Blond hair, rough hands of a worker, and a voice laced with enough country that he had authenticity. This wasn’t a city boy parading as an outdoors guy. Real. “As real as the post behind me.”

His mouth devoured hers with renewed tongue thrusts and nips on her lips. With a bit of force, he guided her backwards. Wetness spread between her legs when his hips pressed her into the post. The rough wood on her back contrasted to the silky smoothness of his lips still crushed against hers.

She grabbed behind her to steady herself as he continued his passionate assault. Images of her tied to the post as he did what he wanted flashed through her head. Submission, at least for sex. Wanting to give into her fantasies, she put her other hand behind the post as well.

He left her lips and rained kisses along her jaw to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “Are you going to let me do as I wish?”

She wouldn’t deny herself this opportunity to give herself completely to this man. She had a friend here. She was safe. Finally, nothing impeded her from filling a desire. Her heart beat a furious rhythm as she answered. “Yes.”

Available on 6 March 2015

Available on 6 March 2015

I DO Exist! It’s been an odd summer for

I DO Exist!

It’s been an odd summer for me. I got off my routine of writing every day due to life. I know there are writers out there that understand, and I’m sure there are plenty of you who have a hobby occasionally ruined by the way life progresses. I did my best not to be frustrated. Instead, I managed to severely edit a story I’ll be submitting this morning. I’m amazed at how much I ended up cutting from the story. It’s tighter, and I hope much better.

Wright Place, Wrong Bed Inspired by a Writers’ Retreat

Two years ago, my chapter of RWA hosted a retreat for whoever could make it to a plantation south of New Orleans. We’d done it in years past at another plantation upriver, and it was time for a change. I’m not sure it was a good change, but the trip did inspire a story that’s will be published by The Wild Rose Press.

We began our evening at the plantation by finding our rooms, which were scattered all over the place. Some were in the big house. Others were in what was probably once the caretaker’s plain home, and still another group were in an elevated modern house. We settled in, saying hello to our roommates and getting the lay of the land, which included a few rooms with sketchy latches on the doors. When we convened in the former chapel turned dining hall and bar, we all had a tidbit to tell about our rooms. Some were happy. Others were rather less so. Eh, I thought. We’re way down where no one cares.

We forgot all about our rooms when a certain friend of mine pointed out the four rather handsome men enjoying dinner at the next table over. They all had suntanned or sunburned necks, fishing shirts, and boat shoes. They were four men on a weekend away from whatever, whether it be wives, girlfriends, bad jobs, or a family reunion. My friend mentioned something. My brain got to twirling, and a little while later, I mapped out a plot.

This is where I admit to having more ideas for stories than I have time to write them. So, Wright Place, Wrong Bed languished into skeleton plot land until I finished some other projects, moved from New Orleans, and set up a new life in Florida. Yet, I completed it, and now I’m dealing with edits. 

If there’s a message to this story, I would say that it is to look for inspiration wherever you go and to keep with your ideas. They will eventually bear fruit.

I’m terrible at this

Way back when I was a wonderful blogger. I posted so many ideas, thoughts, photos. 

Then, another life fell under my umbrella–my mom. She’s now one of my primary responsibilities. I still take care of my family, but I ditched the day job and moved. I live in a beautiful place. Beer and oysters remain a part of my life as does writing, but there is less time for those activities. 

I complain, no, write about my mother more on Facebook than I do here. Perhaps I should switch that? If you’d like to read more about what happens to me on a weekly basis (because I’m also terrible about posting each day on FB or Twitter) please friend or follow me on either of those places. The link for Twitter is on the sidebar. For FB, click here.