Hi!
My name is Denisea Kampe and I’m a recovering pen name user. (It’s okay to
laugh at this point!)
When
I first approached Jennifer about hosting me for my little release blast party,
I asked if there was anything she’d like me to blog about for her and brought
up the subject of who I was, who I became, and who I am now. We first met
working through a small press in Wyoming a couple of years ago and I introduced
myself as Lila Munro. That was pen name. I’ve always been Denisea, but when I
first aspired to publish a few years ago, I was asked what pen name I’d be
using and without much thought, I came up with Lila Munro on the fly and so it
was who I became. It wasn’t until a bit later Jennifer actually found out what
my real name is and not long after that I was faced with several decisions
about my career at once.
I’ve
written as long as I can remember, and when I wasn’t writing I was making
stories up. I loved books long before I could spell and I can’t remember a time
I didn’t know I’d be published someday. There was even a point during my
college days I was a journalism major. Just think, I could have been anchoring
the evening news somewhere, but news wasn’t my bag and after many years of
trying to figure out what was through writing and shredding, writing and
shredding, I figured out romance was. And that’s where I started out, in
contemporary adult romance. Then things took a turn and before I could say,
“That’s all from Denisea Kampe this evening, tune in tomorrow for highlights…”
Lila Munro decided she’d bend to a trend and go from contemporary to erotic.
Then from erotic to something just shy of erotica.
The
problem was, even though I was pretty darn good at it, I became quite
discontent because I knew in my heart it that genre wasn’t really where I
belonged. I’ll leave my blog address with my links and if you’d like to know
more about why I was so discontent, please come by for a much lengthier talk on
that. But for here, we’ll go with my heart was quite discontent. And while I
was trying to ignore the feeling in my heart which was giving me such problems,
my nieces started wondering what their aunty was writing—they’re eleven and
thirteen. Uh, yeah, when faced with the stark reality what you already know
you’re not happy writing is out there and your precious nieces could find it,
let me tell you, it’s just shy of sickening really. Then the final blow…
My
best friend came clean, I found out she was also unhappy writing
erotic/erotica, and she went a full 360 and landed in the inspirational scene.
Gee…how
much more guilt does one person need before they give?
I
guess about that much because it was around that point I decided enough was
enough and my entire career shifted left. I took down all my erotic/erotica
titles and started cleaning up my website and getting rid of several social
outlets that weren’t doing me a bit of good and were in fact making things much
harder for me. But it still didn’t seem like enough. I knew the only way to
hold myself accountable and be true to me was to BE ME.
What
was left of my once long list of back titles amounted to six stories. My editor
and publisher’s graphic arts department worked their butts off making all the
necessary changes and I am forever grateful for that. I’m now Denisea Kampe,
Contemporary Romance Writer and I have six back titles that reflect that and
the most exciting thing has happened.
My
first title to come out solely under my real name just debuted!
I’ll
leave you with a bit of an excerpt below and where you can find For His
Country. For now, I’d like to thank each of you for spending part of your day
with me, and thank you Jennifer for hosting me and letting me tell my story.
Have
a realmantic day!
Denisea
Kampe
Twenty-seven
years, more than a dozen deployments, five kids…and one missing wife.
After
twenty-seven years of marriage and service to his country, Gavin McIntyre
returns from what he hopes will be his last deployment before either reaching
the highest attainable enlisted rank in the Marine Corps or retiring. But what
he returns to leaves him flat aback with a busted mast and broken rudder. His
wife is a no show for the homecoming. Using the ages old adage of improvise,
adapt, and overcome, he makes his way home only to discover, she hasn’t simply
forgotten to pick him up from the bus, she’s gone. In her wake, Gavin finds his
home set up boot camp style and twenty dollars in the cookie jar, but any
evidence he’s ever had a wife or five children with her is deplete.
Pregnant
at sixteen and married to a marine in a less than romantic ceremony courtesy of
the local Justice, Raylyn McIntyre has spent almost three decades playing the
dutiful patriotic wife, catering to the whims of the military. She’s lost track
of how many places she’s lived, how many deployments she’s endured, and how
many tears she’s shed. But most of all, she’s lost track of herself. With a
husband who’s so wrapped up in saving the world he can’t see he’s losing his
family, Ray resorts to the one tactic he might understand…a full frontal attack
with extreme prejudice, which proves to get Gavin’s waning attention.
Nothing
good ever comes easy, though, and just when her choice of battle plan seems to
be working, tragedy befalls their family. As Ray and Gavin struggle to find
center, they also struggle with the notion that forgiveness of self is often
the only path to forgiveness of another, and that path is not only bumpy but
filled with pitfalls.
Excerpt:
“Meatloaf?
Dear God,” Ray mumbled, buckling up.
No
wonder Gavin looked at her like she’d sprouted an additional head. Meatloaf.
Good grief. If she’d have been herself this morning instead of some woman she
hadn’t recognized since the first of the year, she’d have skipped the meatloaf,
had the curtains hemmed by noon, and would have had one of Gavin’s favorite
meals ready and waiting at five o’clock on the dot with a card, a box of
cigars, and a bottle of wine. And all the cookies and cards and candies would
have been mailed days ago.
But Ray
wasn’t herself. Hell, she wasn’t even the woman she was almost a year ago when
she went on a tirade and decided enough was enough and she had to find herself.
Who she’d become since the rift between her and Gavin had widened was an empty
shell of middle-aged flesh who couldn’t remember what she’d gone to the grocery
for without two detailed lists in case she lost one in the process of getting
to the store.
“Forget
about the damn meatloaf,” Gavin said, merging into traffic and heading for the
front gate. “Forget about the meatloaf, the pizza, the movie, the cookies and
the damn cards. Forget about my cigars. Tonight we’re taking care of us. Period. We, I, should have been doing that more often all along. My fault…”
“So this
has everything to do with making yourself feel better? Not me?” Ray accused,
happy for the reprieve of wallowing in her own guilt and even happier to be
able to poke at someone else’s. “To ease your own guilt because you’ve missed
so many special occasions? You think one nice dinner out is supposed to fix
years of forgetfulness?”
“If it
makes you feel better to yell at me, go ahead,” Gavin said. “It beats the dead
silence that’s hung over us ever since the first of the year. My fault? You bet
your sweet ass, woman, but I’m not going to sit and stew in the guilt I could
lay on myself. I’m going to fix it. And you’re going to stop feeling guilty,
too. We deserve a life and damn it, we’re going to start living it.”
“You
think it’s that easy?” Ray shot at him. “You think we can just decide one day
okay, let’s just forget the last twenty-seven years and pow, everything is just hunky-dory?”
“No, I
don’t think it’s going to be that easy, but it could be easier if you’d let
it.”
“Now I’m the one being difficult?” Ray huffed
and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Let me tell you, mister, you’re the
one who’s been difficult.”
“Yes, I
know that,” Gavin agreed.
“Oh, that’s great,” Ray snipped, steam building. “Now you
think to take the wind out of my sails by being agreeable and stealing my
reasons for being angry? Stop agreeing with me, it makes it difficult for me to
stay pissed off!”
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Born
and raised in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains, Denisea Kampe was spinning
tales before she could even spell and once her sixth grade creative writing
teacher encouraged her by leaving a most prophetic comment on one of her
assignments, the wheels of destiny were set in motion. But those wheels would
need greased again and again as her writing would take a back seat to life and
her jobs of mom and wife many times over before she’d finally see her dream of
becoming a published writer come to fruition in 2010. Denisea is a military
wife who’s traveled the world over. She’s lived in four states and Okinawa
Japan and held more drivers’ licenses than she can count. Her nest is empty save
one furry and quite mischievous Siberian Husky and one spoiled rotten Rat
Terrier mix. Denisea takes much of her inspiration for her heroes from the
marines she’s lived around since marrying her very own fairy tale prince in
dusty cammies. Coining the term realmantica, she strives to produce quality
romance in a realistic setting. Her genre of choice is contemporary romance and
when she’s not writing, she enjoys reading everything she can get her hands on,
trips to the museum, taking field research trips, crafting, and sewing. Her
works include One Tear, The Executive Officer’s Wife, Private Pirouette, and the Slower
Lower series. Denisea loves
to hear from her readers and can be found at deniseakampe.blogspot.com
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