Where love and danger are everywhere
get to know me

For almost twenty years I’ve truly felt like there were no clothes that fit my body in a way that could accomplish the two things I most wanted my clothing to accomplish. Those two things are: Be flattering to my body, and make me feel comfortable while wearing them. After I gained weight I went from having a difficult time finding clothes that fit my tall frame, to finding it nearly impossible to find clothes that fit my frame that also let me feel comfortable and flattered. I went through various phases with my style, but they all held one

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I am probably a little more attached to my laptop and its ability to save my creative endeavors on its hard drive than someone who is not a writer, but maybe I’m assuming things shouldn’t there? At any rate, not only have I complete all 3 of my published books on this baby, but I’ve also written a million (slight exaggeration) blog posts and parenting essays on it, and it’s my work laptop. It’s as good at multitasking as I am. I work from home for my day job, which means my ability to be online and in front of

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  Early in my writing career the advice I heard repeatedly was to write what I knew. But in writing romantic suspense I quickly realized I couldn’t write what I know—I mean I don’t know anything about having a psycho for a stepfather who kills my family—it’s more about writing what scares me. Not just scares me, but absolutely terrifies me. I have to tap into that part of my mind that secretly still wonders if there are monsters under my bed, in my closet, and in the laundry room. What? You don’t have monsters in your laundry room? Are

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I heard someone say recently that all romance novels are really just a retelling of the fairy tale in Cinderella. What do you think? Are all romance novels about a damsel in distress who is waiting for Prince Charming to ride in on his white horse and save the day? Want to know what I think? I think Cinderella should have spoken up to Prince Charming and told him that was her shoe, told her stepmother to clean her own house, and her stepsisters to stuff a sock in it, and lived happily ever after with a guy who recognized

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As you may have guessed, Angela Evans is not my given name. Like many authors I wanted to choose a name that was still me without using my name. Angela is my first name, my real name, and I chose to use that because I wanted readers to call me Angela I’m Angela. I’m not Angie. There’s a difference. If you know anyone named Angie they probably do not like to be called Angela, right? I don’t like to be called Angie! It is like fingernails on a chalkboard–no exaggeration. Evans is not, however, my last name. It’s the last name of

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