Nicole Walker-waiting for copy

I’d like to thank Desiree for having me on her blog today and for being a part of my blog tour!

Today I’m talking about research.

Authors quite often joke about “research” and how X-rated pictures and videos are classified as research. And sometimes it is. Let’s not joke about that. Sometimes we need to get the lines of muscles right when stretched in certain positions, we need visual on body/limb placement, or the way a neck might stretch, what is possible, and of course, what is not.

But there is a serious side to research. Authors need to know what they’re talking about! If a character is an architect, a doctor, a plumber, a hairdresser, then the author needs to research the basics (at least) so the character doesn’t look like an idiot, or do something that belies what the author is trying to build.

It doesn’t need to be a step-by-step guide, or an info dump in the chosen profession, just enough to make it sound credible. In my stories so far, I’ve researched such things like comminuted open fractures, pulmonary embolisms, abstract art, advertising, a range of sex toys, Braille, visual aides, bridge cabling, weather patterns, flight patterns, bird migration patterns, LAPD hierarchy… the list is long and varied.

In Breaking Point, my latest release with Totally Bound, my research was focused on MMA (Mixed Martial Arts). And I’m not talking about watching a few episodes of MMA or UFC on Fox Sports. I’m talking about exercise routines, conditioning and endurance, dietary requirements, fasting requirements, mental and physical preparations and most importantly, the psychological impact of guilt.

I watched documentaries on undercover agents and read about the psychological impacts they struggle with, which helped me get into the mindset of someone going through that very ordeal.

There is truth in the adage of “write what you know” but sometimes it’s just not enough. Sometimes we have to spend countless hours researching for the smallest details that add credibility to the story and could be the difference between a good story, and a great one.

BLURB:

A fight for what’s right becomes a fight for his life.

As guilt plagues him, Matthew Elliott’s world begins to spiral out of control. The harder he holds on, the more it slips through his fingers, and he’s helpless to stop it.

Entering into the underground cage-fighting scene, he starts out fighting for what’s right. The deeper he gets, the more guilt consumes him—the more pain he takes for his penance—and he’s soon fighting for more than justice.

He’s fighting for love.

He’s fighting for his life.

EXCERPT FOUR:

I walked downstairs to find Kira cleaning up and putting things away. He wouldn’t look at me. His voice was quiet. “You sleep okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You?”

He didn’t answer my question. “We need to head back this morning,” he said instead. “I have to work tonight.”

“Okay,” I said, turning around. “I’ll just go pack my things.”

“You can have some breakfast first,” he said. His eyes met mine then. “Your eye’s better.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it.”

“You haven’t seen it, at all?”

I shook my head. “No.” I scratched my not-sore cheek through the four-day grown stubble. “I haven’t been game enough to shave, so I haven’t looked at myself…” I let my words trail off because I knew how pathetic I sounded.

I suddenly wasn’t very hungry. “I’ll just grab a shower.”

I’d no sooner walked into the bathroom when Kira was behind me. He surprised me. “What are you doing?”

He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me around in the small bathroom so I faced the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

I kept my eyes down. “Kira,” I started.

“Look at yourself,” he said again, interrupting me. “Why won’t you look at yourself?”

Because I don’t like what I see.

Because I don’t know the man staring back at me.

I shrugged, still unable to look at my reflection.

He stood behind me and putting his hands on either side of my head, he forced my head up. I saw his reflection first, his beautiful, sad and resigned eyes, and couldn’t bear to see the pain in them. It was easier to look at me.

My hair was a dirty mess, my face unshaven, and the left side of my face from my cheek to my temple was dark purple. I had a cut above my eyebrow and dark red grazing beside my eye. My nose was swollen and cut along the bridge, with dark purple bruising from my nose down under my right eye. My left eyeball was bloodshot, the whole area was still swollen and the skin stretched tight.

I looked like fucking hell.

Kira just stood there, behind me, watching me. He didn’t need to say anything. It was written all over his face.

I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking back tears. My gaze fell to him and nodded.

I was a mess.

Kira turned me around, and I was expecting him to tell me I was a disgrace and that I’d ruined everything. But he didn’t. He leaned me against the bathroom counter, and turned the tap on with hot water to fill the sink.

He took the shaving cream and spread it over my stubble, then with a love that almost broke my heart, he started to shave me.

Without a word, he turned my face, lifted my chin and with such care and a gentle hand, he ran the blade over my face. He concentrated on his task at hand, studying me, and taking the most gentle care with the left side of my face. There was nothing but love in his eyes, in his touch.

I fought tears the entire time.

He tapped the razor on the side of the sink one last time and pulled the plug. “All done,” he said softly. “Have a shower. I’ll start packing.”

I nodded again, and by the time I could finally say “Thank you”, he was gone.

BUY LINK:

https://www.totallybound.com/breaking-point

BIO:

Who am I?

Good question…

I am many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer.

I have pretty, pretty boys who live in my head, who don’t let me sleep at night unless I give them life with words.

I like it when they do dirty, dirty things…but I like it even more when they fall in love.

I used to think having people in my head talking to me was weird, until one day I happened across other writers who told me it was normal.