1. What does Steampunk mean to you? When I think steampunk I think of that old movie ‘Wild, Wild West’ starring Will Smith LOL!

2. What is your favorite thing about steampunk or writing about steampunk? I love that I can let my creative juices flow. I am actually a historical romance author so I love the 1800’s time period but sometimes it is hard to have my characters bound by all those society rules.

3. What is your favorite steampunk accessory? Definitely the boots! There is a scene in Inventing Love about Alexandra’s boots that I love.

4. What turned you on to steampunk? Well, I was in author forum one day @ MuseItUp publishing and the cover artist mentioned they hadn’t accepted a steampunk for publication yet and she so wanted to do a steampunk cover. I had a MS I was working on about a female inventor so I Googled steampunk and thought I could manipulate the story quite easily to fit the steampunk genre. Of course there is still a lot of romance in Inventing Love, just the way I like it.

5. Do you have any upcoming Steampunk stories you can tell us about? No, but I haven’t ruled out trying another.

6. Who is your favorite character of all from one of your Steampunk stories? Alexandra Evans. She just always seems to have a sassy come back, and you have to love a gal confident enough to wear work boots with a silk dress.

7. What’s the hardest thing about creating a Steampunk universe? Inventing a steam powered invention. Luckily I have an author friend who works in a steam train museum. He explained how a steam engine works and that gave me the mechanical basis for the ‘killing machine’ in my story.

8. What’s the easiest thing about creating a Steampunk universe? The fun you can have with a mythical invention, sky’s the limit as they say.

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Inventing Love

Alexandra Evans is a female inventor. Unusual, unconventional, assertive, and definitely not a lady. Lord Weston Grendal is your typical London gentleman. Dependable, stiff, stuffy and out of place in America. When they are thrown together to build a killing machine they must decide if the price of the innocent is worth their own freedom. Together they can re-invent love, but apart? Does love stand a chance?

EXCERPT:

He strolled by her and picked up another crate. “The name is Weston. I am a military strategist.”

“Really?” Alexandra observed him through new eyes.

“Really.” He headed for the door with his load and stacked it neatly on top of the first one.

“I never figured you for the intelligent type,” Alex smirked. He certainly didn’t seem the type, though if truth be told he didn’t seem any type, just plain, boring and unassuming.

He glanced at her and frowned, the look in his eyes frosty and guarded. “Strange, I never figured you for the intelligent type either.”

Maybe he wasn’t as dull as she first thought. “That is typical of your gender I suppose. Men always underestimate a lady. Rest assured, my lord, we are not all swooning, confections of lace and ruffles, you know. Some of us actually have intellect.” She bit her lip, not meaning it to come across quite as sarcastic as it sounded.

With a shrug he crossed the room and picked up another crate. Alex finished sorting the pile then tossed the parts she wanted to take in another one. After nailing the lid in place she began to scoop the undesirable pieces into a pile. She glanced at Weston as he walked back and forth carrying the heavy wooden boxes. “Everyone calls me Alex.”

He paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“My father.” She hated to admit she really didn’t know anyone on a personal level.

“I see.” He continued with his job. “And your friends?”

“I don’t have any…that is to say most people don’t appreciate a woman who is confident and speaks her mind.”

“I see.” He grinned “In other words people see you as an oddball of sorts.”

Arms akimbo she scowled at him. “You would work faster if you refrained from making ill-informed observations.” Again he grinned and headed for another box. The man is an arrogant rake. Imagine having the gall to…she sniffed…point out the obvious. She sighed and headed for the shelf of uncompleted and non-working inventions. Lovingly she touched each of her father’s projects she had not the heart to toss out or try to get working on her own. Her fingers came away coated in dust and grime. She would crate them up and take them with her, rather than part with the reminder of him, she decided.

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