In her spare time, Tina loves to read, hike, camp, bike, garden, take photographs, and spend time with her five grandchildren.
She can be found at tinasusedik.com or follow her blog at tinasusedik.wordpress.com.
GUEST BLOG FROM TINA SUSEDIK:
Authors are often asked where we get our ideas, anyway I do. For me they come from anywhere and everywhere. The idea for my first book, “Riding for Love,” came to me when I was taking riding lessons. There I was, sitting on the top of this huge horse, miles and miles from the ground. The instructor was showing me how to move my hips to the sway of the horse. Bam – story idea. What if a man who is petrified of horses (as I was that day), wants to win back his high school sweetheart who owns a horse ranch. He decides the best way to get closer to her was to take riding lessons. Throw in some suspense, and, boom, story.
I think authors also throw in personal experiences in their stories. So far, each of my books has at least one, or maybe two things that have actually happened to me. In “Riding for Love,” it was the scene mentioned above. In “Never With a Rich Man,” a romantic mystery, there is a scene that was taken from something that happened on my first date with my husband. In my stories written as Anita Kidesu, I added a few things that my husband and I experienced. In my book, “A Trail to Love,” there is a scene that, when my sister read it, she said, “Oh, my gosh, that was so funny. Which brother did that happen to?”
Here is a snippet of a scene from “Never With a Rich Man” that was taken from real life. In the story, the couple are at an up-scale restaurant. In real life, my date and I were at a family restaurant. We were in college, so money was an issue. It was homecoming and I wore a borrowed dress. To my surprise, and delight, even after this embarrassing episode, Al asked me out again, and again, and again. We’ve been married forty-four years! I also have to admit that the scene that follows the restaurant scene did not happen in real life. After all, it was our first date!
A comfortable silence settled around them while the waiter took away empty salad plates and set their main courses before them, along with fresh, hot bread, and a variety of condiments to accent their meals. Hogan was about to cut into his steak when he noticed Cassie finger a bottle of steak sauce the waiter had left on the table.
“Do you put steak sauce on roast beef?” he asked.
Cassie gave him a small smile. “No. It’s just . . .”
“What? You can tell me.”
“When I was little my parents would make steak on Saturday nights after Bess and I went to bed. I’d lie under my blankets feeling warm and secure, listening to the hum of their voices, smelling the cooking meat. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I’d sneak down into the kitchen and watch. My father always knew I was there because suddenly he would grab me and set me on his lap.”
“What then?” Hogan asked when Cassie paused obviously reliving pleasant memories.
“Dad would cut small pieces of steak and feed me.” She fiddled with her napkin. “One of the things he loved on his meat was steak sauce, but he’d never let Bess and I have any. He said it would grow hair on our chests, and he didn’t want any of his daughters looking like orangutans. The funny thing is, for as much steak sauce as that man used, I seem to remember he had the barest chest of any man I’ve ever seen. Redheads don’t have hairy bodies.”
Hogan pointed at her chest with his fork. “I, for one, am glad he wouldn’t allow his daughters to have steak sauce. I can’t imagine hair all over your lovely chest.” Her chest turn pink, the blush rising to her neck, then her face. The sight caused his body to perk up and take notice.
He turned his attention to slathering butter and sour cream on his baked potato, much like he would like to slather his tongue over her bare breasts. He wondered if they also blushed when she was embarrassed. He adjusted his napkin on his lap as he grew hard. Luckily Cassie wouldn’t see his discomfort beneath the tablecloth. Painfully, he ignored his crotch and went back to her story.
“Anyway, after he died when I was twelve, we moved in with my mother’s parents for a short time,” Cassie continued as she sliced her roast. “I don’t know, it must have been a man thing or something because my grandpa wouldn’t let us girls have steak sauce, either.”
It shook Hogan to hear her father had left when she was so young. Girls needed a father until they were . . . well, until they were old and gray. If he ever had a daughter, or son for that matter, he planned on sticking around forever. Hogan gave Cassie an encouraging smile.
“Go ahead, have some. I don’t think you’ll start growing hair on your chest at this point in time.”
Cassie laughed and picked up the bottle. “I can still hear the smack of the bottle hitting the palm of Dad’s hand when he shook up the steak sauce.” She picked up the bottle and jerked it upward.
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