All eBooks Available on Amazon Kindle Unlimited...Read an excerpt...
Monday, 27 December 2021
Saturday, 25 December 2021
Friday, 17 December 2021
Tuesday, 14 December 2021
Let's change the narrative....
There should not be a template for the Black Female Character....We are not a collective.
Monday, 13 December 2021
Saturday, 27 November 2021
Monday, 22 November 2021
Reading a Michelle Chambers Romance requires some thinking outside the box....
If there was a box in the first place...
Sunday, 14 November 2021
Sunday, 31 October 2021
Friday, 29 October 2021
Wednesday, 20 October 2021
My Inspiration...
Michelle Chambers takes her inspiration from history, but she is also inspired by myths, ancient folklore and fairytales. So, you will find many of these themes in her stories in some form or another.
For example, Frost Moons and Golden Apples is a paranormal story woven around Norse Mythology; Hessa's Fire is a political romance that plays out in the time of the Arab Spring; Treason is a sweeping historical romance set against the backdrop of the Gunpowder Plot - a Catholic conspiracy to murder King James the First of England in the 17th century; and Old Wounds and Forever Afters is inspired by several Shakespeare quotes.
To download one of Michelle's seven stories today, click here
Sunday, 17 October 2021
Wednesday, 13 October 2021
Monday, 11 October 2021
Tuesday, 5 October 2021
Tuesday, 7 September 2021
Saturday, 4 September 2021
Friday, 3 September 2021
Wednesday, 4 August 2021
Monday, 2 August 2021
Tuesday, 20 July 2021
Author's Note...
The Black Heroines in my stories are not a collective. Yes, they are strong, independent women, but they are also Lara Croft and Lady MacBeth, Cinderella and Cleopatra, Elizabeth Bennett and Arwen Undómiel--figuratively speaking, of course.
This is why I write fiction, and swear by research.
Did you know the first Romani people, known as Gypsies, are known to have migrated from a region called the Punjab in Northwest India to Europe almost fifteen hundred years ago?
The dark-skinned Gypsy heroine in my novel Treason 1, 2 and (3- The Prequel-i.e the backstory) set in sixteenth century England, is therefore perfectly accurate.
Check out my other titles and make up your own mind.
Monday, 19 July 2021
Author's Note...
My heroines get caught up in adventures, dodge life-threatening scenarios and survive murder attempts and the like to find their HEA. This doesn't mean my heroines know everything or are capable of handling every situation. They make mistakes. They are not overly brash or street smart, combative, aggressive or hyper-sensualised. They are sometimes vulnerable and reticent and don't always have the answers, but that doesn't mean they are weak. They tend to find their way, perhaps in ways many do not like or expect. But that is okay because my heroines are individuals and not part of a collective.
Saturday, 17 July 2021
Thursday, 15 July 2021
Releasing July 16th!
Meet my daughter Samantha Chambers
Singer-songwriter. Original music. Spotify July 16th.
Stay tuned for more updates...
Wednesday, 14 July 2021
Releasing July 16th!
Meet my daughter Samantha Chambers
Singer-songwriter. Original music. Spotify July 16th.
Stay tuned for more updates....
Releasing July 16th!
Meet my daughter Samantha Chambers
Singer-songwriter. Original music. Spotify July 16th.
Stay tuned for more updates....
Monday, 12 July 2021
Releasing July 16th!
Meet my daughter Samantha Chambers
Singer-songwriter. Original music. Spotify July 16th.
Stay tuned for more updates....
Releasing July 16th!
Meet my daughter Samantha Chambers
Singer-songwriter. Original music. Spotify July 16th.
Stay tuned for more updates....
Saturday, 26 June 2021
MPC Romantic Fiction
I love history and I am especially inspired by myths, ancient folklore and fairytales. So, you will find many of these themes in my stories in some form or another.
Check out my catalog on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Chambers/e/B007EMRJ8S/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1
Friday, 25 June 2021
Woman In the Portrait - Chapter One
Chapter
One
Guggenheim Museum
Spain
Michaela Devlin crossed the large forecourt
toward the immense titanium-covered sculptural building glinting in the
November sunlight. She made her way down the awkward stone stairway that marked
the museum’s towering entrance, then abruptly stopped in front of the gigantic
set of glass doors as a jolt of familiarity hit her and snaked down her spine.
She whispered. “Him.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed Him or tried in vain to recapture vague
snippets of memory left in his wake—but the experience had never been as strong
or as tangible as it was now.
She frowned and drew in a deep, steadying
breath. He’d entered her dreams three months earlier, a faceless shadow who’d
unlocked a part of her that she was still trying to define and understand, a
part of her that had been screaming for a release she never knew she’d wanted.
Or, perhaps she did know. Isn’t that why she divorced Sebastian?
She sighed and flicked her gaze to the
middle-aged couple she’d passed only a few moments earlier negotiating the same
awkward stone stairway that curved downward toward the building’s towering
entrance. She returned her gaze to the high set of dark glass doors and closed
her eyes.
Technically it wasn’t cheating. She and
Sebastian had already been divorced for more than eighteen months—twenty-two to be exact—so such an
allegation wasn’t even relevant. She was allowed intimate feelings for another
man, even if they were only phantom ones. Still, she’d hidden a part of herself
from Sebastian, and the uncertainty as to whether or not it’d been an
unconscious or conscious thing had weighed heavily on her heart for the last
three months.
She shook her head of the very real memories of her ex-husband
surfacing in her mind and demanding her attention. She didn’t want to remember
the pain she’d caused Sebastian. Not right now. She’d loved him once and despite
her reticence had always thought he had been the one. She’d blamed the demise
of their marriage on the pressures of work, but now she was no longer quite so
sure. Was it because of Him? Had he
always been in her heart? If so, who was He,
and why couldn’t she remember Him?
“Miss, are you coming inside?”
Michaela opened her eyes at the sound of an
older female voice pulling her from her thoughts. The middle-aged couple had
finally reached the bottom of the broad steps and had slipped by her unnoticed.
They stood within the entrance of the museum holding one of the towering dark
glass doors gallantly open to her. Michaela forced down the emotions crowding
her mind and strolled into the building, smiling at the couple and thanking
them for their consideration. She would try to make sense of these disturbing
feelings later after she’d spoken with Sebastian.
She moved deeper into the museum with as much
confidence as her inexperience in three-inch heels would allow, checked her
coat at another set of doors, then crossed the threshold into the vast atrium.
The architecture was breathtaking—uplifting like a Gothic cathedral.
Huge titanium, glass, and colored limestone
walls staggered her senses with sinuous stone and polished metal competing
where the glass left off. Vast metal footbridges hung from the roof, and
serpentine walkways hugged the contours of the walls.
Michaela’s gaze crept steadily higher past the
glass elevators to the enormous metal flower-shaped skylight centered at the
top, letting in the soft stream of winter light that filled the room and bathed
her face. She took a sip from the glass of champagne she’d procured from a
white-gloved waiter standing near the main foyer and tried not to appear overly
awestruck by the one hundred and fifty foot high, dome-shaped space towering
about her or buckle beneath the weight of stares singling her out.
This event wasn’t for the common visitor.
The museum had purposely closed its doors to
tourists and the general public alike and had opened them again by invitation
only to art critics and art collectors. The bourgeoisie of the art world, as
Sebastian had described them. Michaela was the only journalist present, but she
hadn’t accepted the invitation in that capacity alone.
She tugged at the satiny olive green fabric of
her dress and smoothed her free hand down imagined creases. She’d spent a small
fortune on the knee-length, figure-hugging, backless dress with spaghetti
straps and complementary satin pumps. So, she was hardly out of place among the
women wearing haute couture designer labels and Manolo Blahnik’s. The only
possible things missing were the indecently expensive jewels dripping from her
fingers, throat, and wrists, and a companion at her side. Speaking of which—
Where
is Sebastian?
Michaela glanced at her watch. Almost two o’clock. The unveiling was
about to take place.
The briefest feeling of doubt swirled in the pit
of her stomach, but she shrugged it off. Sebastian wouldn’t be so thoughtless
as to invite her to a private function, then leave her on her own…despite their
separation. Besides, he had been the one to call her a week earlier. It was the most significant find of his art
career, he’d said. And that she was a huge part of it.
“It’s set to turn the art world upside down,”
he’d told her. “I don’t know who painted it, but it’s definitely sixteenth
century. That is what makes this find all the more exciting.”
Michaela had been pleased to hear from her
ex-husband after so long. Pleased for him because he’d sounded like his old
self. Pleased because he’d moved on and, regardless of how everything had ended
between them, had seemingly found a way to forgive her newfound independence.
But why hadn’t he gone public with
his new discovery if it was as significant as he’d supposed?
“Not my choice,” he’d said. “The owner has
insisted on absolute secrecy until the unveiling. I’m telling you, Michaela,
the light, the colors, and the delicacy in the strokes. Her expression—”
“Her?”
Sebastian had beamed at Michaela’s query. “Yes.
She’s beautiful. Absolutely flawless.”
“I don’t work on the Art and Design section of
the newspaper anymore, Sebastian,” she’d said, reminding him. “I’ll talk to the
editor and see whether Julian’s available—”
“No. Don’t. Just take a few days off. There’s a
private showing next Monday.”
Michaela had warned. “Sebastian, you do realize
I’m a journalist, right? If this is as big as you’re suggesting, you can’t
expect me to keep quiet about it—”
Sebastian had insisted. “You need to see this,
Michaela,” he’d said. “I’m giving you the inside scoop. There won’t be another
journalist present, and security will be tight. No cameras, Smartphones, or any
of that stuff. But I don’t think you’ll want anyone else to write about her
until you’ve seen her.”
Michaela’s interest had piqued even more. “What
do you mean?”
Her ex-husband had remained cryptic. “Come to
Spain next week and see for yourself. I’ll mail you the invitation.”
Michaela took another sip of champagne and moved
deeper into the glass atrium of the museum. She’d been intrigued. And so, she’d
come.
She ignored the curious glances and the steady
hum of excited talk escalating into something near a roar and tried to insulate
the intense feeling of anticipation that followed her movement deeper into the
museum.
She took a steadying breath in and blew it out
as she glanced cautiously around her, knowingly searching for…Him in the insouciant faces milling this
way and that. She had nothing to go on except the thunderous beat of her heart.
Deep breaths had coaxed it into a calmer state upon entering the museum, but
now it hammered loudly in her chest, seeking Him out, and all she could do was to allow it its way. Her senses
suddenly flared, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose on end. She lifted
her gaze and met a pair of startling blue eyes across the vast, imposing room.
She didn’t do weak-kneed and love-struck. She
didn’t believe in love at first sight, and she’d certainly never truly entertained
the notion of having a soul mate, but she’d never in her life been so aware of
a man on such a cellular level.
A bell chimed softly through the gallery,
signaling to the guests to take their places and breaking the spell between Michaela
and her stranger. She stepped gingerly out of the way of guests hurrying to
answer the call. They pushed past her in their bid to reach the glass elevators
and spiral stairways rising up and around the imposing space.
Someone pushed against Michaela, causing her to
teeter backward, but the sudden appearance of a pair of strong, muscular arms
around her waist was enough to steady Michaela and her glass of champagne. Her
heart raced, and her body tingled at the unexpected touch.
Her body never tingled.
She closed her eyes for a millisecond, inhaling
first the faintest hint of cologne, then the redolent wave of familiarity.
She stilled. It was Him.
Michaela struggled to define the masculine scent
registering with almost painful intensity on her senses—Strong. Heady. Virile.
She whirled about and lifted her startled gaze
to narrowed slits of blue, glittering from beneath straight, dark brows. She
couldn’t isolate one description, for it embodied all of those, then some—just
like the handsome man who stood in front of her evoking a mixture of raw
emotion that she felt right down to her toes. Guilt, Loss, Longing. Hurt—none of it made any sense. Yet, the
elusive, faceless shadow that had entered her dreams three months earlier had
just become real, and he was so much more than she’d been prepared for. For
better or for worse, every intuitive step had led her to this stranger, whose
eyes now calmly perused her from head to toe.
His focus swept back to her face, and Michaela
met the penetrating blue gaze once more. She raised her hand to her throat and
felt her pulse leap beneath her fingertips at a flash of recognition somewhere
in the depths of his eyes. Still, He
gave no inkling that he’d felt their strange and rather impossible connection,
too.
She pulled back from his unnerving but not
wholly unwelcomed embrace and held his gaze. It was more than his towering
physique—encased in an expensively tailored dark suit and pale-blue, open-collared
shirt—that overwhelmed her. The sheer unadulterated maleness of His presence on her senses had sparked
the strangest feeling of déjà vu.
She should thank him for saving her from an
embarrassing fall, but the words wouldn’t form on her lips. Instead, a barrage
of wild, fanciful images danced through her head—
Of
them. Together—intimate, forbidden, and in love.
Michaela mentally shook her head of it all,
denying an attraction that was plainly evident. She moved backward. He matched
her step, his brows drawn heavily together.
She wasn’t a small woman. She carried her
full-figured, five-foot-eight-inch frame well. Her shoes gave her added height,
yet the stranger staring down at her still towered annoyingly over her.
Michaela fought the urge to fidget beneath His scrutiny as a second sliver of
sexual awareness passed between them, stretching her already taut nerves.
Wasn’t
he going to say anything?
His
voice finally cut through the tension mounting between them in the now quiet
hall. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”
Hearing Sebastian’s name sobered her, and reason
and logic came flooding back to Michaela. She’d been working twelve-hour days.
She wasn’t thinking clearly. She was tired and hungry, which had made her a
willing prey to her own imaginings—sexual or otherwise. She tossed her curly
hair over her shoulder and mentally gathered her composure.
He had
addressed her in Spanish, so she returned the courtesy with a practiced lift of
a well-shaped eyebrow. “Did Sebastian put me up to what?”
His
eyes widened slightly in surprise. The English inflection in her Spanish always
had the effect of surprising those native speakers who heard her speak. Yet, he
didn’t reply in English as many of the Spanish speakers she’d encountered often
would and often did.
“Your hair,” he said. “Is it some kind of
stunt?”
Michaela moistened her lips with the tip of her
tongue and inched her chin higher. She was used to people commenting on her
hair. This was no different. So why did his remark upset her to this extent and
make her feel self-conscious of its oddity? She steeled herself and
straightened her spine.
She had tolerated the stares and the comments,
but she’d stopped explaining the twists and turns in her DNA that had resulted
in the distinctive streak of white in her dark, curly hair. It wasn’t a patch
or a few measly strands but a bold, natural vein running in a thick layer from
front to back and—would you believe it—exactly down the middle.
She continued in Spanish. “No. My hair isn’t a
stunt.”
“I told Sebastian I didn’t want any publicity or
stunts like this,” he said.
They spoke again, this time in unison.
“Publicity? I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
“Where did he find you?”
The way He
spoke sent a chill down her spine as if he’d accepted something he’d not
thought possible. Michaela wasn’t quite sure if that was necessarily a good
sign or not.
“I’m a journalist—” She began.
“Security!”
“Wait! Please. Sebastian is my ex-husband. He
sent me an invitation. Look.” Michaela placed the champagne flute in her hand
down on a nearby sculptured, high steel table and pulled open her pearlescent
shoulder bag. “I’m not lying,” she said. “Sebastian said the painting was
something I should see. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s simply curiosity. I’m
not here to write or publish anything, certainly not without the owner’s
consent. Although after today’s exhibition, I can’t imagine how he hopes to
keep something this big a secret anyway.”
He
swept his gaze over the exclusive burgundy-colored invitation in her hand
before waving away the guard who had quietly approached them.
“Sebastian didn’t tell you,” He surmised.
Michaela hesitated for the slightest moment.
“What was he supposed to tell me?”
His
eyes slowly scanned her face and raked over her body, stirring embers of
sensation beneath her skin, the likes of which she had never experienced
before, even from Sebastian’s touch. Her inexplicable connection to this man
was insane. It was impossible, and yet the air pulsed with strange
recollections of love and sorrow, and pain and heartache, but there was a sense
of danger too.
Images in Michaela’s mind roared to life,
shifting from one to the another at an incredible speed—roaring fires and loud
cheers, battle cries and hardened faces, a dark, brooding fortress perched high
on a cliff—then a name whispered low and deep from the lips of a distant memory
she couldn’t hold on to.
Fallon.
The familiarity of it all startled her, and Michaela
pulled back as the vacuum sealing her mind lifted, and sights and sounds once
again flooded her senses. She swallowed her growing apprehension and waited for
the world to slowly right itself. Her mind was surely playing games. Either
that or she was going crazy.
Michaela.
My name is Michaela Devlin.
“Xavier Aguilar.”
Michaela blinked and focused on the blue eyes
calmly scrutinizing hers. “What did you say?”
“You told me your name,” he said. “So, I told
you mine. Xavier.”
Had she spoken aloud? Michaela frowned and
quietly assessed him. There was no sign that he’d been as affected as she. He
was all calm and reserve, and that unnerved her even more. Was she imagining
memories where there were none? She mentally shook away the remnants of
shattered images lingering on the edge of her awareness. She needed to find
Sebastian, but before she could turn on her heel and walk away, Xavier spoke.
“It’s natural?” He queried. “The streak of
white?”
Michaela lifted a hand nervously to her hair and
nodded. This time, he had addressed her in English, so she returned the
courtesy. “Genetics.”
“Wait here.”
“Why? I’ll miss the unveiling.”
“No, you won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Sebastian won’t start until the guest
of honor has arrived.”
Michaela lifted her brows expectantly. “And that
is?”
Xavier’s mouth lifted in a wry half-smile. “I
believe that would be you, Michaela Devlin,” he said. Then, he strode past her
and stalked across the smooth polished floor toward the staircase.
Michaela reached for the glass of champagne
she’d deposited on the sculptured, high steel table and moved toward a lime
green loveseat. She didn’t know if the seat was functional or purely for
decorative purposes, but she needed to sit down. She took a long, swift drink.
She was definitely going to need a few more of these if she was going to get
through the afternoon. The alternative would be simply to avoid the man
responsible for her momentary breakdown. However, considering the concerted way
he’d studied her, that feat would be easier said than done.
Monday, 21 June 2021
Mystery, Drama, and a Romance Defying The Odds Of Time....
They first met and fell in
love during the turmoil of sixteenth-century Ireland. She’d been betrothed to a
powerful Ulster warlord, The O’Cahan.
He’d been a Spanish sea captain marooned after his ship shipwrecked in a
storm.
Michaela Devlin is stunned to see her face
painted on a near five-hundred-year-old canvas hanging in a museum in Spain.
She isn’t prepared for the powerful attraction or the inexplicable memories
flashing through her mind when she meets the painting’s owner, Xavier Aguilar.
Michaela wants to find out more about the Woman
In The Portrait. Xavier wants to understand his attraction to a woman he
has only ever seen in his dreams, yet whose portrait he found secreted away
behind a hidden wall at his grandfather’s masia.
Together, their search takes them on a journey
across Ireland where a brutal past is relived—but will love be given a second
chance?
Now Available on Amazon
Tuesday, 15 June 2021
Sunday, 6 June 2021
Saturday, 5 June 2021
https://www.instagram.com/sammylchambers/
Coming Soon!
Original music by singer-songwriter Samantha Chambers
Available on Spotify July 16th
Sunday, 30 May 2021
Friday, 28 May 2021
Friday, 9 April 2021
Ugghhh!! Life!
It doesn't matter how well or thorough you plan something, someone else will always f*ck it up!
Wednesday, 10 March 2021
Friday, 5 March 2021
Thursday, 4 March 2021
Wednesday, 3 March 2021
You can't please all of the people....
It would be presumptuous to assume everyone will like my stories when I am just as critical of the stories I read or the films I watch or the music I listen to.
I write primarily for myself; stories that I like and would like to read. If I am able to find like-minded readers who enjoy my stories as much as I do, then great. If not, that is equally fine.
It's not my intention to bend over backwards to please everyone. No one writer will ever achieve that. I will continue to write what I know in the way that I do and make no apologies for it.
You can't please all of the people...and you shouldn't want to.
Tuesday, 2 March 2021
No Middle Ground....
I can deduce two things from the reviews of my stories - you will either love them or hate them. There seems to be no middle ground here.
Sunday, 21 February 2021
Tuesday, 16 February 2021
Skin is complex....
Sunday, 7 February 2021
My Black Heroines are not Black enough! WTH!
There are as many definitions of the Black Woman as there are Black Women.
#wearenotacollective
Monday, 18 January 2021
Currently editing...
❤❤❤Woman In The Portrait
Contemporary-Historical story of romance and past lives remembered
Coming Soon!❤❤❤
Sneak Peek!
Michaela Devlin crossed the large forecourt toward the immense titanium-covered sculptural building glinting in the winter sunlight. She made her way down the awkward stone stairway that marked the museum’s towering entrance, then abruptly stopped in front of a gigantic set of glass doors as a jolt of familiarity hit her and snaked down her spine.
She whispered. “Him.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed Him or tried in vain to recapture vague snippets of memory left in his wake—but the experience had never been as strong or as tangible as it was now.
She frowned and drew in a deep, steadying breath. He’d entered her dreams three months earlier, a faceless shadow who’d unlocked a part of her that she was still trying to define and understand; a part of her that had been screaming for a release she never knew she’d wanted. Or, perhaps she did know. Isn’t that why she divorced Sebastian?
Monday, 11 January 2021
Woman In The Portrait
Woman In The Portrait is a re-release that I'm currently revising.
Blurb:❤
They first met and fell in love during the turmoil of sixteenth-century Ireland. She’d been betrothed to a powerful Ulster warlord, The O’Cahan. He’d been a Spanish sea captain marooned after his ship, The San Pedro, shipwrecked in a storm.
Now, four centuries later, their paths are destined to cross again.Michaela MacDonnell is stunned to see her face painted on a four-hundred-year-old canvas hanging in a museum in Spain. And she isn’t prepared for the powerful attraction or the inexplicable memories flashing through her mind when she meets the owner, Xavier Aguilar.
Michaela wants to find out more about the Woman In The Portrait. Xavier wants to understand his attraction to a woman he has only ever seen in his dreams, yet whose portrait he found secreted away behind a hidden wall at his grandfather’s masia.
Their search takes them on a journey across Ireland, where a past is relived—but will love be given a second chance?
❤
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