I asked author Erin Bevan every author's favorite question: Where do you get your ideas?
She responded graciously with a post and a giveaway of one ebook copy of Tank. Please leave a comment which includes your email address to enter. Blessings!
Ideas; I am always looking for them. I might hear something, see something, and it doesn’t matter what it is, how big or small, it can lead to a wonderful array of new ideas. Or it can not.
TANK came about accidentally. I was out with a group of friends at an arcade of all places. We were sitting at a table, having a few drinks, eating less than delicious nachos when someone mentioned bikers. I don’t know how, or why this topic came up. All of those details have become lost to me, but what stuck out the most was someone mentioned a biker group that did good. BACA-Bikers Against Child Abuse, and how they stand guard at abused children’s homes if they felt scared or worried about their abuser coming back. Day or night, these big, burly, tattooed men would stand guard-for children. The idea brings tears to my eyes now.
These guys, these Average Jo Hero’s, will attend the child’s court date as a support group for the abused, let the kid ride on the back of their bikes, give the child a bandana, and do whatever possible to make the kid feel a part of the group all while surrounding the child with love.
When I heard about these guys, I had to research them. I had to know what they were about, and an idea formed. What if I had a guy who suffered a nasty past? What if I had a guy who set out to help abused children? And of course, us writers are always told to make our stories bigger in every way, so then I thought, what if this big, bad, good guy biker falls in love with someone he is trying to protect? A woman. And what if…just what if that woman was engaged…to a cop?
And that’s how TANK was born, during a desperate housewife’s night out with her girlfriends, at an arcade playing laser tag, drinking pricey drinks, and eating crappy food.
You just never know when inspiration will strike.
Thanks for that story, Erin. Here's the blurb and an excerpt for TANK It sounds great.
Blurb:
Tyler Wilde moves to Black Widow, Texas, to join the Blue Guardians, a local biker club that helps abused women and children. He's intent on starting his life over, but a small piece of his past collides with his present when he runs into the local waitress, Annie Carter.
Annie’s the girl of his boyhood dreams, and Tyler can’t wait to get reacquainted with her. Only problem is, Annie’s engaged. But what has Tyler more troubled than the diamond on her finger is the bruise that graces her arm. To make matters worse, Annie’s abuser and intended husband is also the town’s Chief of Police.
Tyler is determined to offer Annie a safe haven, but she refuses his help until her life is hanging by a thread.
Excerpt:
The sun seared Tyler’s back, causing sweat to pour down the length of his spine and his T-shirt to stick to his skin. Nothing like the gulf coast humidity to make a man feel as if he was frying from the inside out.
Rose bushes around the town square bloomed giant Pepto-Bismol pink petals, while a gentleman in blue overalls tended to the flowers like they were his babies. Tossing a wave to the man, he rounded the corner on Holly Drive and parked his bike in front of Sandi’s, the local diner. The undercurrent scent of flowers, bacon, and fried donuts drifted in the air. Man heaven. Except for the flowery part. He’d driven by the diner everyday for two weeks but had yet to pop in. If the food tasted as good as it smelled he might have to make this place a regular hang out.
He pushed through the heavy wooden door as a bell rang overhead. Weaving around customers, all giving him a curious stare, he strolled up to the takeout cash register. Glass cases filled with donuts and the biggest kolaches he’d ever seen stared back at him. His stomach growled.
He eyed the case, his mouth watering, as he waited on a server to notice him.
“Be right there,” a tall, shapely blonde called out from across the restaurant as she handed another table their check. He’d been wrong. To hell with the donuts and bacon. She was man heaven.
A few escaped strands from her ponytail framed her face, and the closer she got to him the darker the black circles under her eyes appeared.
A spark of recognition fired in his brain while an equally hot spark ignited a red flag in his gut. It wasn’t her slightly unkempt hair or her pure look of exhaustion that rubbed him the wrong way. Despite all of that, she was still beautiful.
But her clothes. Her clothes had his head reeling.
She wore long sleeves.
In June.
In Texas.
“What can I get you?” The beauty stared up at him.
He shook off the strange feeling. A bead of sweat dripped down her forehead, fell onto her chest, and into her shirt. Her nametag was positioned right by the tantalizing skin of her chest. Annie.
Mercy.
He glanced down at the donut case. Stare at the food, big guy.
“I need two dozen glazed donuts, two dozen chocolate, and a dozen sausage kolaches.”
“Got a lot to feed?” Annie grabbed a box from the counter behind her and placed it on top of the glass case in front of him.
“Yeah, Donut Day, or so I was told. It’s my turn to bring breakfast, and there’s about a dozen mechanics over at Rakes expecting it.”
“Rakes? You must be new,” a redheaded waitress noted as she rounded the corner and filled a customer’s coffee cup. While she was cute, she had a wet-behind-the-ears look to her. He’d stick with Beauty.
He nodded. “I am.”
“I’ve got your table seven covered while you do this, Annie. No big deal.”
“Thanks, Gina.” The blonde smiled at the redhead before returning her attention back to him. “I’ve brought my car to Rakes a few times, and I’ve never seen you.” Beauty grabbed a towel from the counter to wipe the sweat off her forehead, then dabbed her chest near a gold locket that hugged her collarbone.
Shit.
Her tasseled hair seemed sexier the more she dabbed. He’d never been as jealous of a towel in his whole life, the cotton fibers taunting him with their task.
He averted his gaze from the towel and her amazing chest before she labeled him a pervert. Not exactly the reputation he wanted for his new life.
“I’m sad I didn’t get to work on your car.”
God, what a horrible pick-up line. She probably thought he was a giant perv and a complete moron.
She flashed him a half-smile that burned his insides. The diamond on her finger nearly blinded him as she brushed a stray strand from her forehead. The fire inside of him fizzled out like baking soda to a grease fire.
He forced a grin then shot his gaze down to the pastry case.
“Though, I will say…” She tossed the towel aside and stared at him. “Something about your face looks oddly familiar.”
Me? Familiar?
He glanced back up. “Yours does, too, but I don’t really see how.” The spark in his brain burned brighter the more he stared at her.
“Are you from here, or is your family from here?”
“I’m not, but my grandpa was. He lived in a cabin about ten miles outside of town.”
“By Virginia Creek, right? Mr. Wooly.” Her smile grew. “Yeah, you used to come visit him. You guys would go fishing.”
“How’d you know?” He’d never talked to anyone when he came to visit his grandpa. He’d stayed in the woods, hidden and safe. Or at least, that’s how he’d felt.
He stared at her a bit longer. The blue in her eyes reignited a small light of recognition.
Could it be?
“I remember you.” She grabbed a pair of tongs off the counter top. “I used to play out by the water, and I would see you across the creek casting your line. You taught me how to skip rocks one day.”
Moments of his past flashed across his mind. It was her.
The girl across the water.
Bio:
Six years ago and nothing more than a desperate housewife, Erin Bevan began her writing journey.
As a child, reading and writing were her nemeses. It wasn’t until she found herself almost utterly alone, in a different country, that she took up the act of reading for enjoyment. Her passion for writing was born not by reading the old classics, but by reading many new tried and true authors of today: Nora Roberts, Mary Kay Andrews, Nicholas Sparks, and Tracy Brogan to name a few.
Clinging to books for friends in a land where not many spoke the English language, she found a secret passion she didn’t know existed inside of her. With nothing more than time on her hands, she honed in on the craft of writing until she finally worked up enough courage to let other people read her stories.
She spends most of her time juggling her three little people and trying to keep everyone’s lives flowing as smoothly as possible. When she isn’t using her super powers to wipe sticky goo from her children’s faces, she spends a little time dabbling in her writing career.
Connect with Erin Bevan online.
