by Judi Fennell guest blogger and author of Wild Blue Under
Thanks so much for having me here to talk about my latest release, Wild Blue Under, the second of my Mer series.
When I first started writing this series, there actually hadn't been a series. I was writing my "little talking fish story" just for myself. So, when I sold it as part of a series, I had to come up with those other stories and work them into my world.
This shouldn't have been that hard because I actually had started writing a series; just not a Mer series. My first book, In Over Her Head, was part of a twist on fairy tale series. The fourth, actually, after Cinda Bella, Beauty and The Best, and Fairest of Them All. (Beauty and The Best got some cyberwaves air play during the 3rd American Title Contest, so you might have heard of it. But it's still in the drawer, hoping for "some day.")
So, now I sold the fourth book of a series, except that it wasn't the series I thought I'd sell. I worked up a blurb on the next two stories which became Wild Blue Under
Why? Because once your book is in its accepted form within the publishing house, once it's going through all the processes it needs to go through to get to the final published version, you can't really go back and change a World Rule just because it doesn't work for the next story or the one after that. So I was stuck within the parameters I'd created for that one book, which now had to fit two more books (and, hopefully, a few more).
Surprisingly, it wasn't all that difficult. It helps, though, to be writing paranormal and have already set a precedent for Greek gods' involvement in the first story. 
The key is to make your world rules broad enough so that you can fit them to your next scenario - you know, the one you haven't thought of yet? It's all fine and good for me to have set up the fact that, in In Over Her Head, Reel had to get back into the water before two sunsets passed so he could get his tail back, but for Wild Blue Under, Rod has to travel across half the continental US in a car while dodging dive-bombing peregrines and a mercenary albatross who'll go to any lengths to stop him from getting to the coast. Including not letting him get on a plane. Which increases travel time beyond the boundaries I'd already set practically in stone, so to speak. So I had to come up with a plausible way for Rod to keep his legs for longer than two sunsets without endangering his tail because he is, after all, the ruler of their world who's been sent by the Council to bring the lost half-Mer princess back to their world. He's going to need his tail.
Should be a piece of cake, right? Stick him on a plane, tell her she's got untold riches coming to her if she heads to the coast, and voila! He's back in the ocean in no time. Except…
We've already annihilated the plane thing by sticking vulture thugs at local airports to interfere with any plane Rod gets on, and what modern woman is going to follow some guy with a cockamamie story about an inheritance left to her by her deadbeat, take-off-before-she-was-even-born, father? To the ocean, which, as an added bonus, she's allergic to.
Not so many. Matter of fact, not any that I can think of. The evening news is full of reasons why. So, now, not only did I have to work around Rod's tail/legs thing, but also common sense. And we all know that it's far easier to believe a story about mermen than it is to believe a modern woman is going to get in the car with a stranger. That's just too fantastical.
It all worked out in the end with a little help from the bad guys, the good guys, busybody sparrows and the IRS. ["IRS? They're heroes?" you ask. Sorry, I'm not telling. You'll have to read for yourself how that happens. ]
But it did make me realize as I sat down to write my next series (about genies, releasing beginning Fall, 2010), that the broader I make the rules, the more easily I can manipulate them.
And speaking of manipulating…
Val adjusted the rearview mirror to look at the talking bird. “Okay, you guys are starting to freak me out. What are you? Some specialized branch of the FBI? CIA? What?”
Livingston shook his head. “I’m Chief Special Agent, ASA.”
“ASA? Never heard of it.” She looked at Rod.
“As well you shouldn’t,” he said, his eyes hooded—but not in the same way as they’d been during that kiss last night. Those lips that had been so pliant and urgent against hers now thinned to an almost invisible line—
“But you will,” Livingston said. “Air Security Agency.”
“Don’t you mean the FAA?” She pulled her mind back on the conversation—with a bird!—and off the kissability of Rod’s lips.
“No. ASA. I don’t work for your government.”
“You’re a foreign operative? A spy? Oh, hell, what have you two gotten me into?” One of the tires hit a pothole when she half-turned to gape at him.
“Eyes on the road, Valerie.” Livingston turned his attention back to the sky. The clouds were growing darker. “Technically, yes, I am a foreign operative. But not to you. And that’s all the explanation you’re getting from me until I know what’s what.” Livingston readjusted his hold on the seat.
“We need to know who he’s working for, Rod. I’ve been over the lists of known anarchists and I can’t come up with one. We’ve got the top wrasse working on it. They’ve studied those wires, the method of ignition planned, the locations they were stolen from, patterns of known movement among those on the list, and no one fits. It’s got to be someone else, someone new. Someone who doesn’t want you to take the throne.”
“What?” Val yanked the car to the right, almost hitting Mr. Morris’s 1957 Chevy, his pride and joy.
Rod grabbed the wheel, avoiding an accident at the last second. “Valerie, please. You must retain your composure.”
“Retain my composure? Are you insane? Yes. Yes, I think you are.” Val shoved the car into fifth and zipped onto the highway. “Anarchists? Throne? What throne? Who are you? What are you?”
“He’s a prince, Valerie.”
“Really? Whose? England’s? Monaco’s?” The porcelain god’s? She had to be dreaming this.
Rod glared at the bird then turned to her. “While England’s throne once sought to rival the territory of mine, today they don’t compare. As for Monaco, it has acceptable beaches, but the buildings, overabundance of Humans, and many conveyances have ruined the shoreline.”
She gaped at him.
“Watch it, Valerie,” the bird—the bird!—said from the backseat. “You don’t want to catch any flies with that open mouth.”
Wake up, wake up, wake up.
She pinched herself.
Ouch. Dammit. She was awake.
“So you’re really a prince? And I’m going along with the program as if heading off into the wild blue yonder with talking seagulls and royal princes is normal?”
“Valerie, we’ll explain everything later. Right now we need to find a way to go faster. We’ll never outrun JR in this.” Rod patted her arm, and, amazingly, that settled her rattled nerves.
Until she realized what he’d said.
“Are you saying that an albatross—and I can’t believe I’m even asking this question—can fly faster than a car?”
“He doesn’t need to keep up with us,” Livingston said from his regained position on the backseat. “Besides the operatives he’s been amassing, he’s able to find a meal miles away on the open ocean, so I’m sure he boned up on Rod’s scent before embarking on this mission. This damp air is only helping matters, though I’d be surprised if he did anything but report on our progress.”
“Report to whom?”
“That, my dear, is the fifty-thousand clam question. And once we know the answer to that, we’ll know the threat.”
“What threat?” She slowed down to veer around cattle that had escaped from their pasture and had decided to amble down the highway. Mr. Stromer had better check his fence line.
“If we knew why this was happening, we’d stand a chance of figuring out who’s behind it. Until last evening, I was under the impression this was a simple recovery mission.” Rod’s fist thumped the seat.
“Recovery mission? Okay, now I’m totally lost.” Val swiped a trembling hand across her forehead, brushing the hair that had adhered to the sudden perspiration. “Why don’t we just go to the nearest police station and let them handle this? Or the embassy if you really are a prince.” Or the Funny Farm for her…
“Oh, he’s a prince all right,” said Livingston. “You can count on that. As well as the fact that a lot of M—er, people are going to be upset if anything happens to him. And you.”
She pinched herself again—just to check.
Still awake.
The blare of a semi’s horn as it passed confirmed it.
She looked in the mirror. Yep, that most definitely was her. Behind the wheel of her old Sentra, barreling down a two-lane highway with Rod and a talking seagull as her passengers, toothpaste and a cup of coffee only a wish on the horizon.
© Judi Fennell, Sourcebooks Casablanca, 2009
***
WILD BLUE UNDER—book 2 in the Mer Series—in stores November 2009!
The underwater kingdom is his as soon as he claims his queen…
Rod Tritone has the looks and charm to snag any queen he wants for his Mer kingdom, but unfortunately, it's not up to him. As fate would have it, the one woman destined to rule with him is terrified of water…
She lives in land-locked Kansas and has no idea she's a princess…
Valerie Dumere thinks Rod is gorgeous and irresistible—but why does he keep insisting she has another side to herself that only he can show her?
Somehow, Rod has to prove to her who she really is. But when she finds out the truth, will she ever forgive him?
About the Author
Judi Fennell is an award-winning author. Her romance novels have been finalists in Gather.com's First Chapters and First Chapters Romance contests, as well as the third American Title contest. She spends family vacations at the Jersey Shore, the setting for some of her paranormal romance series. She lives in suburban Philadelphia, PA.
Giveaway: 2 sets of Judi’s book so far are up for grabs. That means two lucky individuals can win a copy of each book: In Over Her Head and Wild Blue Under. Open to US and Canadian readers only. Enter by answering Judi's question about book series. One entry per relevant comment. Multiple entries allowed. Ends November 30, 2009.
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