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Writer To Reader
Guest Post

Shilo Walker

June 15,  2014

My (not-so) secret love affair…
 

Shiloh Walker

I have a confession to make.

My name is Shiloh Walker, and I have an addiction—something I want so badly it's actually Deeper Than Need. (Heh...see what I did there?) I'm addicted to . . . to . . . to hot sauce. There. I said it. Glad I got that off my chest. When I'm writing and my brain gets tired, I don't go for the coffee, I go for something spicy.


There have been times I can recall standing in the kitchen and there were no tortilla chips, but all the lovely salsa called to me, and my brain was lagging, and the only way I could get through the afternoon's work was by getting some of that oh-so-yummy hot salsa. Sometimes spiked with . . . you guessed it . . . hot sauce. So I'd dig out celery or carrots or pork rinds—once, on deadline, I was so desperate, I was eating it with a spoon.

Spicy stuff is my caffeine, you see. I'm naturally hyper so caffeine doesn't really affect my brain the same way it does some people. It can give me focus, yes, but if my brain is lagging, that caffeine won't do me a bit of good. But give me something hot? Now we're talking.

So when I hit that afternoon slump, I want salsa. Or I'll take some leftover chicken breast and toss it with Frank's Buffalo Sauce and some bleu cheese crumbled on top—if I'm really tired, I'll add in some more hot sauce. Then once my mouth is on fire and my brain is awake, I can get back to work and concentrate on that scene where I'm in the middle of killing people . . . or this scene, where the hero and heroine finally managed to get naked.

I had a month of sheer bliss when we went to Arizona. On the way home, I discovered jalapeno beef jerky, and I loaded up. I've tried to find something that's similar but nothing comes close.

My guilty pleasures have nothing to do with books. Why should I feel guilty about something that teaches people to open their minds, walk in another person's shoes, feel what people outside our own experiences feel? Nope. I feel guilty about the dozen buffalo wings I'll order the next time I go out to a steakhouse. Or the fact that I'll order pizza just so I can douse it with Sriracha. Or Tabasco. Or any number of the dozens of hot sauces I've tried.

Although the guiltiest of pleasures? That would be the ghost pepper chili hot chocolate that I'll grab when we go through Gatlinburg . . . or the dark chocolate chili bars I'll sneak in to my purchases on the rare occasion someplace locally is selling them.

That's my confession. Some people have a coffee addiction. Some have a chocolate addiction. Me? I'm addicted to all things spicy . . . and speaking of which, it's almost one o'clock here. I still need to help this couple figure out their relationship. Since we're speaking of heat, they've got plenty of it going on. But I'm not done playing with them yet.



Read RTR Review  | Order The Book  | Visit ShilohWalker.com


Deeper Than Need
A Secrets & Shadows Novel, Book 1
June 1, 2014
St. Martin's Press


Time heals all wounds.
Deeper Than Need by Shiloh WalkerEager to put a dark, troubled past behind her, Trinity Ewing buys an old house that will make the perfect refuge for her and her young son once renovations are complete. The last thing on her mind is finding someone new...but the contractor she’s hired is an irresistible distraction—and Trinity can’t help but fantasize about all the business they could be doing behind closed doors.

So does one man’s touch . . .
Noah Benningfield thought he’d put his demons behind him. But the moment he lays eyes on Trinity, the temptation he feels is too powerful to deny. Soon the attraction between them explodes into something neither of them could have imagined. But their desire will be put to the test when a shocking local murder has them dodging danger at every turn. Can the beautiful and damaged Trinity trust someone like Noah, whose own past is as haunted as her own? The only thing she knows for sure is that she can’t live without a man who makes her feel this good—over and over again . . .

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