Showing posts with label Navy SEAL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Navy SEAL. Show all posts

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Writing Military Romance While On Vacation

I've just spent the last 30 days traveling between California, Italy and Brazil. I took a cruise ship from Savona, Italy, across the Atlantic, ending up in Rio and Sao Paulo, Brazil. Most of these days were at sea, but we got to spend several days before and after both in Italy and in Sao Paulo. Brazil has become my must-go-back-and-explore place. I'll probably wait until after the World Cup or the Olympics, or just stay away from those venues, but I will definitely be back.

I've been told I'm a method writer, and, like a method actor, I get a feel for the story by being in places where it takes place. My newest release, SEAL The Deal, was written about Sonoma County, California, where I live -- in the heart of the wine country. Although I've used scenes from restaurants and favorite places like Healdsburg and Sonoma, as well as Santa Rosa in my scenes in other books, this one was almost entirely based in Sonoma County. You can see some of the beautiful places in my book with this gorgeous book trailer, done by the talented J.D. Hart: SEAL The Deal Book Trailer.

Book 5, Cruisin' For A SEAL will be out in January 2014. It takes place in and around a cruise and cruise ship similar to my vacation. In my story, several members of SEAL Team 3 go on a cruise with their wives and girlfriends just before the Team is to deploy overseas. They are also to perform the task of spreading one of their members' ashes out to sea, on the Equator, as per his instructions. While on this cruise, the ship gets taken over by terrorists.

It was surreal imagining all the things that could happen on this ship while I was "having a good time" innocently inspecting places this story could take place. I also interviewed security staff and crew members, and interviewed a pilot and a ship captain (not on this cruise). The cruise itinerary helped with the story too, since we did cross the Equator, where a major scene in my book will take place, and we traveled to exotic places like Marrakesh, Casablanca, Tenerife and Cape Verde. Wandering through the stalls at the souk, watching the whirling dancers and snake charmers, all brought color and life to my story in ways impossible to imagine on my own.

So, with the new release of SEAL The Deal occurring during my trip, my new book goes to nearly half way around the world to distant and ancient lands. Home to celebrate Christmas and the New Year with my family, my mind is still wandering those new-found hauntingly beautiful places in Italy, Canary Islands and Brazil.

That we can have such an amazing life is due in large part to the brave men and women in uniform who have made this world safe, and made all these things possible. I've said it before and never get tired saying it, we owe our freedom and our "normal" lives to those that often sacrificed everything for us. And for that tremendous gift at Christmas time, I say thanks, and vow to live my life with all the fullness and intensity I can stand.

Thank you vets, from all countries. You are my real heroes.



Sharon Hamilton
Life is one fool thing after another.
Love is two fool things after each other.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Saving Captain Phillips

They had AK-47s. But he had his wits.

There is a new movie coming out on October 10th, Captain Phillips. Like Act of Valor, I can't wait for this film. It tells the true story of the Captain and his crew who were boarded by Somali pirates in 2009.

You can read more about this true story and see the movie trailer here:


movies.yahoo.com

My husband and I got a chance to see the real red capsule at the UDT/Navy SEAL Museum in Fort Pierce, Florida. If you look at the picture closely, you can still see the hole the three Navy SEAL snipers shot through to kill the pirates. They did this simultaneously, bobbing up and down in swells up to ten feet. One mishap could kill the Captain. They couldn't miss, and more importantly, they didn't.

As most of you who read this blog know, I write Navy SEAL Romance. My stories are made up, and mostly take place stateside, when the SEALs are home, when they get to be the normal "Joes" they most certainly are not. When they get to wrestle around in their Superman underwear with their kids. Or when they first find that one little lady that turns their big strong macho life on its ear and no specialized training in the world can save them from falling. And they fall hard.

These men are heroes in every sense of the word. They don't ask for much. They like to do what they do in secret. They are the ones who get it done. They don't need the tickertape parade and certainly don't want the accolades from any podium.

If you get a chance, pay homage to the history of the US Navy SEALs by visiting the museum at Fort Pierce. This museum was founded by former SEALs who felt there should be a place where the beginnings of the UDT/SEAL program was birthed during the Vietnam war. You'll be amazed at the stories of valor and bravery, men whose names we don't remember but should never forget. It will make you proud.


 
Sharon Hamilton
Life is one fool thing after another.
Love is two fool things after each other.

Sharon's new release, Book 3 in the SEAL Brotherhood series, SEAL Under Covers is available now.






Tuesday, September 10, 2013

High Octane Heroes - Erotic Romance for Women


Last week was the anthology launch for High Octane Heroes. I was proud to be asked to participtate in this group of authors who write about heroes in and out of uniform. Just about all branches of service are represented, to Army Ranger, Navy SEALs, Marines, police and fire, as well as special EMT and rescue squads.

What’s different about this anthology is the erotic nature of the stories. Meant to be something you could take to bed with you, resulting in hours of luscious dreams, or as an afternoon delight. Our authors cover it all.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who loves seeing a man in uniform. The fantasy of loving a hard bodied man, with the training, the sense of duty and honor against unspeakable odds, is more than a pleasant one for me. They are the true definition of heroes. They come home to unleash this passion in the bedroom in our stories. I think it is a classic for women everywhere.  We delivered the goods here. But see for yourself.

Maya Banks is quoted on the cover:


Our readers here are already fans of military romance. I know they’ll enjoy getting their shot of adrenaline in High Octane Heroes.

Excerpt, SEAL Destiny:

Special Operator Chief Luke Paulsen had that dream again.
Her red lips pressed like tiny pillows against his cool mouth. Though he was buried in his Afghan dugout bunk, he could feel the delicate vibration of her moan as her lust for him whispered things. Unmentionable things. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall her words. He could only remember the heat washing over him as she breathed life into him. Again. Like she did every night.
A sharp crack of gunfire forced him to open his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Carson’s scared face in profile just before the young Marine got the round in the chest that exited out between his shoulder blades. In a graceful dance performed all too often, Carson fell into his arms and Luke watched the youngster’s life bleed out onto the sandy pit and all over his boots. He held Carson’s clear blue gaze, and, without saying a word, told him he’d see him again one day.  The boy’s eyes remained open and fixed after his soul had departed. Luke became witness to the young Marine’s passage from his arms into the arms of death.
A split second later, Luke remembered who he was and why he was here. A day’s ride by donkey from anywhere. He lifted the tiny mirror on a wire, the sun to his back. 
Still clutching the body of the lifeless Marine, he followed the trajectory of the round that killed his young apprentice, and caught the glint of dark blue steel disappearing into a blackened doorway. Laying the Marine down gently, he picked up his H&K MP5, counted to five while he clicked the safety once. Before he saw the barrel of the ragman’s rifle again, he fired off several rounds that landed exactly ten inches above the protuberance and saw the red spray of a kill.
Was it wrong that the color of the spray reminded him of her crimson lips? That he died a thousand little deaths with each of her kisses?
His dreams were stealing his present.

A week later, SOC Luke watched the sun pour itself into the horizon on one of San Diego’s white sand beaches. The afterglow felt good. So did the blush on his face from the three beers he’d finished. He usually drank with the rest of his SEAL Team III. But this last DT, Dissociative Tour, in Afghanistan had given him a cadre of young Marines eager to prove themselves, along with Carson, the medic-in-training.
But Carson had drawn a different card and would be taking the short flight home. Luke raised his long-necked IPA to the sunset and toasted the man.
“To all the young hearts you won’t break,” he whispered to the soothing waves and the sunset.
It was a damned shame. He thought Carson would have made an excellent doctor.
Luke heard laughter as two lovelies in shorts ran past him to splash in the surf. Slender tanned legs kicked droplets of white foam into the air. He loved watching the girls’ carefree spirit, just being goofy and lacking an ounce of self-consciousness. He couldn’t help but smile.
The dark haired one with the cutoff inside-out sweatshirt that showed her muscled midriff stopped and turned to face Luke. Her brown eyes were wide set. Her thin nose lead to full lips that were stained bright red. She licked those lips and pushed her chocolate brown hair from her forehead, exposing a delicious ridge of little lines on an otherwise smooth and flawless forehead. With a tiny angle she tilted her head to the side and waved in that embarrassed way her mother must have told her never to do. Especially to a strange sailor sitting alone on the beach with empty beer bottles at his feet.
Luke waved back, using the same three middle fingers she used, sending his communication off with a shy smile. He imitated the angle of her head and felt the dangerous curiosity and wonder of their chance meeting.
He wanted her in the worst way.
The blonde was pulling her friend, pleading, but she wasn’t having any of it. Luke’s unspoken message had touched her, and those golden tethers of his thoughts drew her to him, just as if he had special powers. It was lovely when that happened. He could almost believe in the supernatural, like those paranormal guys his sister read about in her romance novels.
The exquisite young thing with the well-defined legs came to within striking distance. If he wanted to, and hell yes he wanted to in the worst way, he could reach out and bring her to his arms and he could tell she wouldn’t resist. But it would be so much better if he showed a little restraint.
Those who wait? What was that saying?
No matter. Luke felt the confusing enchantment like vamps did in those books. It was a pleasant fantasy. Let her have her way with him. Yes. He could tell she felt she had a date with destiny.
I can be your destiny for one night, darlin’.
She disposed of her friend with a sharp command and, alone now, stepped closer to Luke. “You look like you could use some company,” she said as she swung her upper torso from side to side. Her feet had implanted themselves in the sand and he watched her pink nail polish peek out between the grains.
Lady, you have lovely toes.
But, she’d asked a question that needed an answer. “That depends,” he was stunned at the joy it gave him let his eyes walk slowly up her body, every lovely inch, heightened by the knowledge that she let him. He watched the tops of her breasts quiver under the sweatshirt. He’d learn to assess subtle changes in body language and heart rate. He noticed the blush in her cheeks and the red blotches on her chest just below the delicate V of the top of her breastbone. His eyes roamed over her heaving chest again and he smiled. He couldn’t wait to hear her response.
“Depends on what?” She asked. Her brown eyes mirrored truths he wasn’t sure he’d divulged to himself.
“If it’s complicated,” he said. “I like uncomplicated.” He was telling her something he was trying to convince himself he believed.
She took in a sudden brief inhale, her gaze quickly diverted to the ocean, giving him a full pour look at her upper torso, every curve and valley, until he thought perhaps he could even taste her skin. What Luke saw in profile was a strong handsome woman with a body made for hard loving, who was unafraid.
Then she turned back and faced him fully. Her body dropped to her knees in front of him so quickly he though perhaps she’d gotten suddenly ill. “I don’t do uncomplicated,” she whispered.  “I like it complicated, and rich. I like entangled. I like feeling everything and being sorely missed when I’m gone."

Sharon Hamilton


 Sharon’s award-winning spicy Navy SEAL stories in the SEAL Brotherhood series, have consistently made best sellers lists and review sites. Her characters follow a sometimes rocky road to redemption through passion and true love.


Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany are not like any vamps you’ve read before, since they don’t go to ground and can walk around in the full light of the sun.

Her Guardian Angels struggle with the human charges they are sent to save, often escaping their vanilla world of Heaven for the brief human one. You won’t find any of these beings in any Sunday school class.

She lives in Sonoma County, California with her husband, and two Dobermans. A lifelong organic gardener, when she’s not writing, she’s getting vera vera dirty in the mud, or wandering Farmer’s Markets looking for new Heirloom varieties of vegetables and flowers.



Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Guest Author Tonya Burrows

Five Things A SEAL Never Leaves Home Without


As with professionals in any other field, a Navy SEAL like Gabe Bristow, the hero of my debut novel, can only be successful if he has the right tools. So let’s take a sneaky peek in his pack and see what he never leaves home without.

A camera. Durable and able to fit in a shoulder pocket, a simple point and shoot from Best Buy can capture hundreds of high res shots of enemies, helping with documentation and reconnaissance during a mission.

Tourniquets. These are cheap and able to attach right to body armor. Since everyone has two femoral arteries, Gabe always has a couple tourniquets on hand. In fact, SEALs are so well trained in the use of tourniquets that they often apply their own before a medic can do it for them. 

A multi-purpose tool. These things come in handy, used for everything from stripping wires, to pulling shrapnel out of flesh, to opening MREs out in the field.

A fixed-blade knife. SEALs work in silence. In some cases, even a firearm suppressor isn’t quiet enough to dispose of an enemy.  


And, finally, a SEAL never leaves home without his team. These men are trained to function as a unit, to trust the man standing next to him unconditionally. They form a tight brotherhood, which is part of the reason they’ve always interested me as a writer. That kind of forged-in-blood-and-sweat brotherhood isn’t found in any other profession on Earth.
But what happens when a SEAL no longer has his team? What happens when he’s forced into a new group of men that he has to trust as implicitly as his old team? Those are the ideas I wanted to explore when I wrote my recent release, SEAL OF HONOR. Can Gabe find that same bond with his new team of ragtag mercenaries?

 It’s a good thing Gabe Bristow lives and breathes the Navy SEAL credo, “the only easy day was yesterday,” because today, his life is unrecognizable. When his prestigious career comes to a crashing halt, he’s left with a bum leg and few prospects for employment that don’t include a desk.

That is, until he’s offered the chance to command a private hostage rescue team and free a wealthy American businessman from Colombian paramilitary rebels. It seems like a good deal—until he meets his new team: a drunk Cajun linguist, a boy-genius CIA threat analyst, an FBI negotiator with mob ties, a cowboy medic, and an EOD expert as volatile as the bombs he defuses. Oh, and who could forget the sexy, frustratingly impulsive Audrey Van Amee? She’s determined to help rescue her brother—or drive Gabe crazy. Whichever comes first.

As the death toll rises, Gabe’s team of delinquents must figure out how to work together long enough to save the day. Or, at least, not get themselves killed. Because Gabe’s finally found something worth living for, and God help him if he can’t bring her brother back alive.

Buy links:

Tonya Burrows

Sunday, May 26, 2013

BUD/S: Part of the Making of a SEAL

If any of you have watched the BUD/S classes train on the beach at Coronado, you already know what kind of a grueling course this is. It is the part of the training where more recruits drop out, DOR (Drop On Request). The men that make it to the BUD/S training have already proven themselves strong and worthy. Now they get to perform tasks with almost no sleep over a nearly week-long period of time.

Recruits will carry boats on their heads in different groups, and the groups change almost daily. You will have the tall ones, the smurfs, or any other groupings the instructors wish to make. There is always a healthy dose of what we might consider "disrespect" launched at the recruits in order to find out if, with sleep deprivation, they are going to snap. And if they choose to DOR, they usually have to ring the bell, which is mounted on the back of a pickup truck and driven down the beach while they run behind and try to catch it. Then you can quit. Not before the instructors level cat calls. Not before your whole class sees you begging to quit.

Part of the training involves carrying rubber boats, brought in from the surf, to the beach when the signal is given from shore. They carefully lift these boats over sharp jutting boulders as a team. They do it over and over again. All day long. Men fall, cut themselves, break ankles and shins, or just have the misfortune to come in last or next to last in the drill. Sometimes broken bones are not even mentioned so a recruit will continue to train and not have to roll back to another class. They can get pneumonia, mono, shin splints and sores from uniforms and wetsuits, worn for 5-6 days without removal, and their feet often turn green because they don't remove their shoes.

It's easy to identify a class that has made it through the training. They often walk hunched over, like crab-like creatures emerging from the surf. I've been told it sometimes takes a year for the hair on the top of their heads, often rubbed off from carrying those little rubber boats, to grow back.

Some men come into BUD/S with a strategy. Some have a swagger and confidence in themselves through positive self talk. Some men go through the training just to find out what their own limits are, not necessarily to become a SEAL, but just to see if they could do it. In the end it is the personal battle each recruit has to weather. Each recruit has their own separate way they come to accept that either they can't do it, or they can.

When they graduate from this phase, they still have other major obstacles to overcome. Their training, in a way, begins after BUD/S. An instructor once told me that by the time they are done, they'll do just about anything, including jumping off a 3 story building, without thinking about it. We've all heard the stories about those like Michael Monsoor, who landed on a grenade, sacrificing his own life to save those of his Teammates. The SEAL training takes a good man and makes him a true warrior, a hero.

Those of us who are lucky enough to write military romance have to do things every day we don't necessarily want to. We have to make choices and some sacrifices. But they don't come anywhere close to some of the sacrifices these men make every day as they train and become U.S. Navy SEALs. I celebrate their focus and dedication. I cherish my life today because of the sacrifices some have made, some the ultimate sacrifice.

As we look at the flags waving on Memorial Day, let's remember these brave men, and the women who are lucky enough to love them.

God Bless them all.

Sharon Hamilton