Samhain Publishing Ltd Weblog

Modus Vivendi by Emery Sanborne

One year and approximately two months after I typed the last word, Modus Vivendi has been released into the world. My “first” book and my first release day—it’s as thrilling as it is a relief. As I’m certain many of you know too well, writing is the easy part; it’s what comes next involves the real work. Every author has an Achilles’ heel, and I learned that mine is most definitely the synopsis. I have never loathed a piece of my own writing more than I do that. Give me a choice between writing a synopsis and repeating organic chemistry, I’ll choose the latter every time. Hell is writing a synopsis. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Though, I will say it made everything after a veritable cakewalk in comparison. Waiting and edits and going to the dentist…easy peasy.

But enough about the bad, you’re here because you want some real insight, aren’t you?

Such as, what in the heck is up with the Latin title. As I have two feet, I think I’m allowed two Achilles’ heels. One is synopses. The other is titles. When they click, they click. But ninety-five percent of the time it’s sheer agony trying to find a few words that suit the story and also grab a potential reader’s (not to mention your own) attention. Modus Vivendi was a title that clicked. Once I found it, that is. It means “way of living” and was bandied about during World War I, leading up to Armistice. So, bam, right off I have the historical connection nailed. The phrase is about reaching compromise, finding a “way of living” with a change in situation between involved parties. Nothing better sums up the journey that Drea, Virgil and Aidan make throughout the course of the book—childhood friends trying to redefine the bond they share under the shadow of attraction and adulthood. Plus, I’m a sucker for Latin.

Every bit as important as the right title is the right cover. And I adore my cover. It was the one thing that I fretted about the most, but I needn’t have worried. My artist did a remarkable job of avoiding everything I dislike about covers and gave me exactly what I didn’t know I wanted. The backdrop reminds me of the area where I grew up in northern Michigan, and there’s just the right amount of person on the cover to have a presence without influencing how the reader will imagine the heroine. What I love the most about the cover is how tame it is in comparison to the contents inside. The cover contains elements from the story, as any good cover should, but gives absolutely nothing away. It could be an Inspirational. And that makes me grin every time I look at it. Modus Vivendi is definitely on the other end of the spectrum. It inspires plenty, though. Oh, yes. Below is an excerpt that, I believe, proves the old adage that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

And please stop by www.emerysanborne.com if you have a moment.

Excerpt
_Drea cut through the field between her house and Virgil’s. The boys were due to ship out the next day, and she had yet to see or hear from Virgil, which left her no choice but to make sure he heard from her. She’d expected him to come to her, especially after the stunt Aidan pulled. Maybe Virgil didn’t know. Or did he know and was pissed at them both? No, he would have shown up on her doorstep in high dudgeon, possibly dragging Aidan in tow and wanting to know what in the hell they were thinking.

She cursed Aidan again as she opened the door to the Craigs’ carriage house. As expected, she found Virgil busy tinkering with his motorcycle. Whenever he had time to spare, he could be found either riding the bike or trying to make it run better. The bike had been a gift from his uncle on his sixteenth birthday, along with his first trip to Madam Violet’s brothel in Grand Rapids to mark the occasion of finally becoming man.

Virgil looked up as the door shut, strands of dark hair falling loosely over his eyes. Brushing it back, he grinned, gray eyes dancing. “Figured you’d come by eventually.”

“The road goes both ways, you know,” she said tartly.

“How long have we known each other, Drea? Give me some credit.” Attention back on the bike, he switched one wrench for another. He continued speaking, tone mirthful. “One too many tongue lashings and well-aimed punches have taught me well. Knew it was a bad idea when we taught you how to fight. It’s always best to let you cool off and come to me.”

“You’re the damned pot calling the kettle black.”

He set the wrench down, wiped his hands and stood, turning to face Drea. “I never said I wasn’t guilty of the same. And being that I am of admittedly similar temperament, if I can’t judge you, who can?”

She couldn’t argue with that. And so far, things seemed normal. No awkwardness or anger. He didn’t know. And he wouldn’t ever know, if she could help it. She’d let Aidan have his peace of mind and, when he got back, she’d give him the ring and it would all go away. Until then, she would wear it around her neck to keep an eye on it. It wouldn’t do to lose the ring, would it?

“Drea, you fall asleep on me?” Virgil came to stand next to her.

“Huh? No, just thinking,” she replied. “So you’re really going through with the enlistment?”

“Yeah, we are.” He frowned. “Aidan’s dead set on going, and I can’t let him go alone.”

“No, I guess you can’t,” she sighed. “Don’t know what I’m going to do around here with both of you gone.”

“You’ll figure something out. I wouldn’t be surprised if you discovered we’ve been holding you back all these years.”

“From what? This is Morton’s Pointe, not Detroit or even Grand Rapids. You get this far north in Michigan and about the only excitement you can look forward to is the yearly influx of summer tourists from those cities.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said with conviction. “There are plenty of opportunities here if you know where to look.”

“Well, the one opportunity I want, Daddy’s against letting me have. I’ve helped him out in that store since I was old enough to see over the counter, yet he refuses to let me take on more responsibilities.” She grinned. “I suppose I could go work for your uncle in your place this fall.”

Virgil glared. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“What, because I’m a woman and have no place in business?”

“No, because you know as well as I do what an insufferable, pigheaded asshole Uncle Raymond is.” Smirking, he added, “And you’re a woman who has no place in business. He’s worse than your daddy that way.”

“Your uncle’s had a few good moments.”

“Few and far between…” His words trailed off as his gaze fixed on her neck and traveled down.

Her hand immediately went to the chain, trying to tuck it away. It must have slipped out on the walk over.

But Virgil grabbed it and raised the ring to get a better look. “What are you doing with Great-Gran Morrison’s ring?” he asked, his voice too controlled, the way it got right before he exploded.

“Nothing, I, um…” She couldn’t think of a plausible excuse. Virgil would recognize it. She had, too, once she got over the shock of what Aidan had done. It had been Aidan’s second most treasured possession for as long as they knew him, next to a battered copy of Shakespeare. He’d inherited it from his great-gran “to give to a special someone someday”.

Virgil tugged hard enough that the metal dug into her neck.

“You’re going to break the chain!” She tried unsuccessfully to free it from his grasp.

He dropped the ring with disgust. “I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not. And he never actually asked.” Drea tucked the ring under her shirt, rubbing her neck where the chain had cut into it.

“And you probably didn’t actually reply,” he said bitterly. “But he gave the ring to you, and you’re wearing it.”

Drea’s temper, which had been on constant simmer since this whole mess began, finally exploded through the shock of it all. “It’s not as if I wanted him to!”

“I am going to kill him,” Virgil growled. “He had no right do to that to us.”

“To me, you mean.”

“No, to all of us. He went and fucked everything up.” His fist slammed into the stable wall, sending dust down from the rafters.

Even the first time she had seen such a display of Virgil’s temper, she hadn’t been surprised. Probably because she had indulged in such displays of temper too many occasions to count. Drea knew that if she didn’t hit or throw some inanimate object, she’d likely take it out on anyone around her.

Virgil turned on her, his gray eyes smoldering, strands of dark hair falling unheeded into his face. He was as pissed at her as he was at Aidan.

And he had no right to be.

“Don’t you dare blame me for this. You’re the ones running off to war, not me.”

“If you don’t want the ring, why haven’t you given it back?”

“He didn’t give me a chance to.”

“You’d have found a way if you wanted to.”

Drea felt her blood rise. She could hit Virgil and scream at him, but it wouldn’t make a difference. Much as she hated the idea, she had to walk away. Before either of them did or said something they would regret.

She brushed past Virgil, intending on a stormy, door-slamming exit, but he pulled her back with a viselike grip on her upper arm.

“You are not walking away from this,” he snarled.

She looked at him, looked at the hand restraining her, and at him again. She snorted derisively. “Yes, I am. And you know full well I’ll make you regret it if you don’t let me go right now.”

A tense silence settled, stretching taut between them as they stood there immobile. Virgil moved first, pulling Drea against his chest, his mouth crushing down over hers. Surprise opened her mouth, allowing his tongue to gain entrance and claim her. It overwhelmed her and made her weak in a way that was far from unpleasant. She’d been kissed before, by Virgil, by Aidan and a few forgettable others. But not like this. Never this all-consuming, ache-inducing kind that drove all thought but one from her head. More.

When he pulled back, out of breath, Drea reacted on instinct. She slapped him. Hard enough to make her palm sting and the force of the blow reverberate up her arm.

“You goddamned bastard! How could—what in the hell, Virgil?” she shrieked.

He watched her darkly but didn’t say a word.

“Virgil. What were you thinking?”

Still nothing. Maybe hitting him again would get a response. Before she could put thought into action, he grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her, pulling her tight against him. He kissed her again, swallowing her protest. This kiss was more intense. She found herself responding. The desire for more had taken hold again, and she wasn’t going to wait for him to give it to her. She kissed him back, hungry, demanding and pouring out every bit of anger she could no longer give voice to._