Guest Post

AUTHOR FEATURE: Brenda Novak

May 24, 2016

About Brenda Novak: New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Brenda Novak is the author of more than fifty books. A five-time Rita nominee, she has won many awards, including the National Reader’s Choice, the Bookseller’s Best, the Book Buyer’s Best, the Daphne, and the Silver Bullet. She also runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity to raise money for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). To date, she’s raised $2.5 million. For more about Brenda, please visit www.brendanovak.com.

GUEST POST

Top Ten Things That Changed My Life

I’ve made a lot of “top ten” lists to celebrate the release of DISCOVERING YOU, which is Book #10 in my popular Whiskey Creek series, but this one is by far the most meaningful to me. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived long enough now to look back and see the various bends in the road—the important ones that may not have seemed so important at the time—that have changed me or my life in some way.

Chasing a dream. I’m not sure I can overstate how important having a goal that matters to me–and fighting so hard for it–has been. The fact that I believed in myself enough to tackle a career in fiction (when, without so much as a college degree, I had nothing to indicate I might be successful at it) has made all the difference. I love what I do so much that I get excited when I think of going to work in the morning. The fulfillment this has provided has been a complete game-changer.
Diabetes. The fact that my youngest was diagnosed with Type 1 at age 5 put me in “fighting mother mode.” As a result, I’ve spent twelve years raising money for research–running online auctions and putting on other events. Although my efforts haven’t quite yet enabled me to protect my child from the ravages of this disease (as I wish), at least I know I’ve done everything I can for him and everyone else who fights the same battle. There is some peace in that.
My mother. I’m sure everyone can point to their mother as someone who made a big difference (either for good or ill). My mother was extremely justice oriented and didn’t accept excuses, and I’m so glad for that. Not only did growing up with such a mother teach me to stand up and take responsibility for my actions, it taught me not to accept my own excuses. (Maybe I would’ve given up on something important, if I had).
My husband. I’ve been married for thirty-two years and am so grateful I met my husband. He’s the epitome of a Big Thinker—the most optimistic person on the planet. He’s the one who eventually taught me to think beyond the traditional, to let go of what is “safe” and “sure” to reach for something better. I never would’ve written my first book without his influence.
My editor. I met Paula Eykelhof at a small, regional conference for romance authors in Park City, Utah. I often wonder what might’ve happened in my career if I hadn’t attended that conference—and pitched a story to Paula. Although I’d sold one book to HarperCollins before we met, I was soon orphaned there (when Harper merged with Avon Books), which meant I lost my slot before the book was ever released. Paula is the one who has fostered my career. We’ve been together for 17 years and 50+ books so far.
My agent. The way I met my current agent was unusual, to say the least. I don’t think he represents one other romance author. But I’m glad my best friend reached out to him on my behalf (even though it was without my permission! LOL). He came on board at a critical point in my career, when the romantic suspense market was contracting and so many other romantic suspense authors were being cut from their publishers’ lists (or having to move to a different publisher). He’s believed in me from the beginning and has never wavered. As a result, he’s been able to successfully guide me through those troubled waters.
My children. Some people have difficulty making themselves do the things they should do each day. I have the opposite problem. I was taught to work, and work hard, and that’s what I do. I feel as if I’m being too easy on myself if I ever let down. My husband and children have given me something to love more than my work, something for which I’m willing to stop They have brought most of the fun I’ve known into my life.
Daily exercise. This one probably seems silly. But…I honestly believe it belongs on this list. With how much I sit at a computer, I credit my determination to exercise with the reason I have enjoyed such good health. I grew up with a mother who has MS (and two sisters have also been diagnosed), so I have always been terrified of disease. I realize daily exercise doesn’t stop people from getting neurological disorders or many other ailments, but I feel as if I’m doing what I can to put the odds in my favor.
Living in California. I’m not saying where I live is any better than where anyone else lives, just that taking my family away from where I grew up has proven to be important in shaping me into who I am. Having had less interaction with my parents and siblings—because we have lived so far apart—has forced me to figure out what I believe in, regardless of what they may believe in. It’s enabled me to get outside that “bubble” and view the world more objectively, instead of only through the lens of their
The fictional characters I create. This one might seem crazy, too, but something happens when you do a lot of reading and writing: You begin to learn from fictional characters. It’s as if I’ve faced all the challenges my characters have faced—and figured out a way to overcome them or be happy in spite of them. We learn from putting ourselves in other peoples’ shoes and looking at the world through different viewpoints. I’m finding it doesn’t matter whether those people are real or fictional: It has the same effect.

What are the things that have changed your life? Do any of them mirror mine? Probably so, but I bet for different reasons. In order to be entered to win a Brenda Novak mini-tote with an autographed Whiskey Creek novel of your choice, leave a comment naming one thing that has made a major impact.

((**SO I CAN CONTACT A WINNER, PLEASE LEAVE YOUR EMAIL** **U.S. WINNERS ONLY**))

Blurb: Can she ever trust another “bad boy”?

India Sommers once had the perfect family—until an ex-boyfriend broke in and shot her husband. Not only did that cost her the man she loved, a respected heart surgeon and the father of her child, but she also feels responsible. Charlie died because of the people she hung out with before she had the strength to change her life.

Just after moving to Whiskey Creek with her little girl, Cassia, to start over, she’s learned that her ex-boyfriend’s trial ended in a hung jury. He’s getting out of jail; he could try to find her again. And that’s not all that scares her. She’s extremely attracted to her next-door neighbor, but Rod Amos is the handsome “bad boy” type that’s given her so much trouble in the past. If she got involved with him, her in-laws would sue for custody of Cassia.

India has to keep her distance from Rod—but the more she gets to know him, the more difficult that becomes.

**Release date for “Discover You”: Tuesday, May 24th (today), so get your copy now!:

Amazon Barnes & Noble

GUEST POST and INTERVIEW with Heather Hill, & EXCERPT of “The New Mrs. D”

December 9, 2015

About author, Heather Hill: Heather is a Scotland based comedy writer, author and mum of five (not the band). She is one of a rare kind; the rare kind being one of only 0.5% of women who are colourblind. She has been known to leave the house with blue eyebrows on at least one occasion. Her debut novel, ‘The New Mrs D’ is being pitched for film by a British TV comedy producer and Snipper Films.

**Contact Heather: Website Instagram Twitter

GUEST POST

Three Reasons Why Authors Should Never Give Up

At the age of forty, I was working in an office doing a job I hated. I had been overlooked for promotion or even a pay rise after being instrumental in creating some fantastic money saving administrative tools for the company that weren’t seen as part of my job. I just did them because I could and I offered, thus saving the company thousands of pounds as they were going to have to hire an outside contractor for the work had I not volunteered to do it.

One day, I was standing at a photocopier, making four copies of over four hundred documents for my boss, thinking, ‘what am I doing with my life?’ I thought of all the jobs I’d held over the years and how I had made almost all of them more interesting for myself by doing work outside of what was expected of me – mostly creative stuff – and always underpaid, handing it over to those on far larger salaries than mine with a smile and a ‘here, have this.’

That afternoon, I quit my job.

More recently, (and after I had finished my first book), I watched Steve Jobs talking about the pathway to success in his address to Stamford on YouTube. He said, ‘you’ve got to find what you love.’ He talked about how all the courses and jobs he had done in his adult life, no matter how insignificant he thought they were at the time, had played some small part in his pathway to success. He said, ‘you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward.’

I began to connect my dots.

I began to think of all the jobs I’d ever done and all of my life experiences to date and a little girl of eight or nine who used to write short stories that her father loved so much, he encouraged her to submit them to publications. None of them made the grade and her father died when she was fifteen, taking with him all those magnificent ideas that she could write things people might like to publish. It was twenty five years before she remembered them. She, was me.

And if you are reading this now with interest, she is also YOU.

So, to my three reasons why authors should never give up:

Because no one can make you give up except yourself and you’re not going to do that, are you?
Because if you are a true writer, all you can think about doing with your life is writing. And as Steve Jobs said, ‘you have to find what you love.’ If you have found what you love and it serves you well, you should never let it go.
Because if you are lucky enough to have been blessed with a talent, you should spend every day in gratitude for it and you have absolutely no right not to use it.

Good luck, fellow writers!

INTERVIEW

Describe your writing style in five words: Conversational, comedic, acerbic, stream-of- consciousness, observational.

Have you always wanted to be an author? Not at all. I always loved to write but never believed I had it in me to be a writer until I hit what I can only describe as a ‘what am I doing with my one and only life’ crisis at forty. Up until then it was my dearest wish to be a nurse, but I failed the course miserably in my twenties.

What is your writing/editing/publishing process like? I am most definitely a night owl as for whatever reason, it is when my head hits the pillow for some much needed sleep that ideas start to hit me. More recently, I realised I was spending too much time on my bahookie (that’s Scottish for ‘bum’) and so bought myself a treadmill to give myself a workout every day. I’ve now discovered I get my best ideas on the treadmill. Like getting off it.

Editing is a way too slow process for me. I’ve been editing my latest book now for over six months which is shocking. But I do feel I have to put my completed manuscript aside for a good while before I can really look at it again with fresh eyes and see all the clangers. So in truth, the best way to really describe my editing process is laughing out loud at my clangers for four months before thinking, ‘ooh, I better get on with this.’

Hard/paperbacks or eBooks? I have loved books for my entire life. The smell, the feel, the joy of spending hours and hours in a book shop or library – you can’t beat any of it so yes, the hard copy wins every time for me. Having said that, the ebook is a Godsend when you have very little money, as new writers often do. You have to do what Stephen King advises when you are a writer: read. Write. Read. Read. Read. Write. Read. There is no doubt that since ebooks came about I am now able to afford so many more books and have exactly what I want in my hand the minute I think of it. That is pretty intoxicating stuff.

At what time of day do you think you work best? Night time. I’m either a vampire or an owl, because my mind seems to come alive at night, even though I do feel tired. But I’d die if I ever found a dead mouse in my bed so I must be a vampire…

Tell us about what a typical day is like for you: I’m a mum of five, although three have now grown up and left home so I now hold down no less than four jobs. I write, I spend time promoting my writing, I supplement my income with some blog writing for businesses and I look after my eighteen-month old grandson while my eldest daughter goes out to work. So my writing is a luxury, most often left for after hours as it is hard to think of new comedy plot lines while there’s toddler running all round the room shouting ‘biscuit!’ at you. Although the shape sorter lid he often wears as a hat does help with the comedy thought process.

How do you come up with the title of your book, The New Mrs. D? Confession time: I didn’t. It’s a long story but I had a very dear friend, who I actually met on Twitter, who encouraged me to write a book after telling me how much my jokes cheered his day. You see, he was dying of cancer when we began conversing and has since passed away. His name was Hywel Jones, but he told me he was adopted and his birth name was David Dando. I travelled 200 miles to visit him just days before he died and promised to name a character in the novel he had encouraged me to write in it. When the book was finished, I named it ‘Mrs David Dando’ – the premise being that the main character had completely assumed the name of her husband, thus relinquishing her own identity in marriage. (She would drop this in the end). But my agent advised me to change the title, eventually coming up with ‘The New Mrs D’ herself when my other ideas, such as ‘Elle McPherson Stole My Body’ just didn’t work.

What is your favorite part about being an author? It is being able to take an idea from the deepest recesses of your mind and share it with a wider audience. Even when the feedback isn’t complimentary, I still get a buzz knowing someone in Australia sat one day reading my book. No matter where I end up in life, I wanted to write and I reached readers around the world. I will always feel grateful for that.

Is the social media a help or a hinder? It can be both if you let it. But I began writing after opening a Twitter account, tweeting random funny thoughts and jokes from my own head and cultivated quite a good following. Then I was voted one of the funniest women on Twitter by The Huffington Post and I thought, ‘wow, I can make people laugh.’ So, my writing career was actually born out of social media so I would have to say a big, BIG, help.

Every author must have (a): Huge shoulders for shrugging off criticism. It is so hard putting your ideas, creative work and thoughts out into that big, wide world which has suddenly become much smaller thanks to the internet. Now every man and his dog can leave you a scathing review and no matter who you are, they can hurt if you aren’t able to develop a good, healthy attitude to it. I firmly believe the fear of being criticised stops many people from even attempting to write a book and that is a real shame. You have to remember that you can’t please everyone and it is a rare writer indeed who can produce books every ardent reader on the planet will love. Comedy in particular is very, very subjective. Writing takes inordinate passion… and with inordinate passion comes inordinate criticism. You have to not let it sway you away from the path of doing what you love. Who wants to die thinking, ‘what if I’d tried?’ Not me. Not you.

What do you want your readers to take away from your books? With ‘The New Mrs D’ I genuinely hoped to make people think and open up quite a taboo subject for debate. It is about porn addiction and only shows one woman’s opinion of that and how it has affected her. I am the first to admit that her reaction isn’t how everyone would react, but it is after all a representation after months and months of research on how women are coping with discovering their husband’s porn use on the internet. I talked to many women who have been afraid to admit, even to their closest friends, that they felt threatened enough by it to leave. The other aspect is having a character with huge personality flaws and who marries a man in haste. I got a lot of criticism about that. People saying, ‘why would any woman be that dumb?’ I can assure you it is neither dumb, nor as unusual as you might think. It is a point that I think puts people off when they begin reading the book. But characters aren’t interesting to me unless they are as flawed as real people.

What are you working on right now? It is a fast-paced, fun-filled tale about three widows in their sixties, who decide to try and get a reading from a world famous psychic medium for one last message from their late husbands. After failing to be chosen at the show which was to be his last before retiring, they embark on a road trip to his house on the Isle of Islay in Scotland to beg him to do one last reading… and end up accidentally kidnapping him.

Blurb: Four days into their honeymoon in Greece, Bernice and David Dando have yet to consummate their marriage and after having accepted his almost non-existent desire for sex throughout the relationship, Bernice finally discovers the reason; he is addicted to porn. Learning that the love of her life chooses the cheap thrill of fantasy over her is devastating but then, ‘every man does it; it’s just looking, right?’ If she leaves the relationship because of virtual adultery, will she be labelled as pathological, overreacting, or even worse, frigid?

When funny, feisty, forty-something Bernice plans the adventure trip of a lifetime, she doesn’t expect to be spending it alone. But as it turns out, unintentionally contributing to a Greek fish explosion, nude karaoke and hilarious misadventures with volcanoes are exactly what she needs to stop fretting about errant husbands and really start living. But when Mr D tries to win her back, Bernice has a decision to make: is this a holiday from her humdrum life, or the start of a whole new adventure?

EXCERPT

‘Why are you alone?’

The question came from a little girl sat at the next table with her parents –who were both engrossed in the game. She had long dark hair, green eyes and peered at me polishing off the last of my meal over small, round glasses. Pretending not to notice she was speaking to me, I ignored her and waved to get the waiter’s attention.

‘Could I have some water please?’ I said, pointing to my glass and giving him a wink, in case it was international waiter/customer language or something. After dinner and one half of a carafe of wine, I was beginning to think I might need scissors to get the crushing Spanx pants off later. And wasn’t I supposed to be cleansing myself of all this boozy living?

‘Well, why are you?’ the little girl continued to question me.

I looked at her and forced a smile. ‘Because that’s the way I like it,’ I said.

‘By yourself?’

She continued to stare without blinking, making me shift in my seat like a Mastermind contestant on their fourth pass.

‘What happens just before a man…’

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

‘I’ve started so I’ll finish! …ejaculates?’

‘Ooh… err… I used to know this one! Oh, it’s been a long time… Erm… Oh, pass!’

‘Evie!’ The brusque voice of the little girl’s mother brought me back to reality. ‘Don’t be so rude! I’m so sorry.’ The woman smiled at me before turning Evie back round to face her. ‘Leave the poor lady alone.’

The words, ‘poor lady’ stung a little. It was how I must have looked – a poor, lonely lady.

Sighing, I picked up my handbag and headed for the toilets. As I checked my reflection, I reaching into my handbag for some lipstick, but instead found some kind of wire coiled inside. I tugged on it and out popped a bulbous object I recognised. Oh for heaven’s sake! I’d dropped the damn pelvic toner in my bag! I pulled the machine out and stared at the cone, wondering if this was a sign telling me I was to be condemned to Slack Vaginasville for forgetting today’s session. Maybe I could just nip back to the apartment after my meal and have an early one? I could phone Suzy while I was squeezing. Urgh, noooo. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Anyway, could I hold a vaginal cone in for twelve minutes without a toilet break after a half carafe of wine? Deciding against it, I shoved it back into my bag, which I threw over my shoulder, checked my hair in the mirror and hurried back outside.

As I strolled back to my table, there was a tug at my shoulder.

‘What’s that thing?’ It was Evie, and the cheeky little minx was tugging on my handbag!

Turning to see what she was referring to, I froze on the spot. To my horror, I realised she was pulling on the wire from the pelvic toner, which was hanging out of my half-closed bag.

‘Get off that!’ I hissed. ‘Don’t you know it’s rude to…’

‘Wow! What is that?’

As the entire thing came free into her hands, she stood gazing at the cylindrical bulb in wonderment. It was time to think up some very clever explanation and fast. However, I was pants at that.

‘It’s a… it’s a…’

Looking around the taverna it was clear everyone was – thankfully – focussed on the football, which by now had now kicked off.

‘It’s a mini karaoke machine,’ I lied. ‘But it’s broken, so give it back to me please.’

‘A karaoke? Oh, I love singing! Can I have a go?’

‘Well, you could but as I said, it’s broken so…’

She rolled the vaginal cone around in her hands, fiddled with the buttons on the monitor and stared back up at me. ‘How is it broken?’

‘See, there’s no music. Now if you’ll just give it to m…’

‘Mummy, look at me! This lady gave me a microphone! She wants to hear me sing! Can I?’

Her mother was still engrossed in the TV and without turning waved a hand at her. ‘Okay, that’s lovely Evie, now shhh!’

’Water for you?’

My waiter had appeared, giving Evie the chance to break away, skipping round the back of the tables holding the vaginal bulb to her mouth as a makeshift microphone.

‘BAYBEE, BAYBEE, BAYBEE OHHHH!’

I looked at the waiter, who was now watching her with a bemused look on his face.

‘Please,’ I said, grasping his arm. ‘I’m actually feeling a little sick. Do you mind if I cancel the rest of this order and just pay my bill?’

**Buy “The New Mrs. D”: Amazon – UK Amazon – US Paperback

**Also available to order at all UK Waterstones, Foyles Bookstores & WH Smiths branches

**GIVEAWAY**

**Click HERE to enter to win a $50 Amazon Gift Card!

**Click HERE to see more stops on Heather’s Chick Lit Plus Blog Tour!

EXCERPT of “First & Goal” & GUEST POST by Laura Chapman

November 18, 2015

“First & Goal” by Laura Chapman

Blurb: When Harper Duquaine’s no-nonsense approach to work unintentionally ruffles the wrong feathers at her new job, she joins her co-workers’ fantasy football league to prove she can hang with the guys. Only problem: she doesn’t know a sleeper from a keeper (or any of the other lingo thrown her way).

Embroiled in a world of lineups, stats, and trades, Harper’s quest to make nice topples when her competitive streak emerges. And her promise to herself that she’ll be a strong, independent woman and leave the drama and heartache behind is seriously tested when she catches the attention of her two biggest competitors: J.J., a local celebrity determined to win a fantasy championship, and Brook, the mild-mannered coach who seems too good to be true. Both threaten her resolve to remain single… and, more importantly, her chances at winning the prize pool.

With a slew of conflicting advice in her real and fantasy worlds, Harper must figure out how to play the game and come out a winner.

**Buy “First & Goal” now: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo

* * * * *

EXCERPT

While I dig through piles of green and yellow shirts, I call my younger brother, Christopher. I need advice before the draft. I may not be in this for the glory of victory or the money, but I don’t want to embarrass myself by coming off as an idiot.

His sleepy voice answers a second before it goes to voicemail. “What’s going on?”

Not wasting any time, I explain the situation. After giving him a minute to get the laughter out of his system, I tell him what I need from him. “I need a crash course in drafting a team.”

“Why do you care if it isn’t about winning?”

“Pride?”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Do you have a pen and paper?”

My hands freeze on a long-sleeved green and yellow rugby style shirt. “Not on me. Should I grab some?”

He busts out laughing again. This time I struggle to stay patient while he pulls himself together. “Can we get through this?” I ask. “Today if possible?”

“Calm down, BK.”

I glare at the pile of shirts. “I told you not to call me . . . that.”

“Technically, you told me not to call you—”

“Don’t even say it. And don’t pretend saying BK is any different.” I walk over to a rack of jerseys. “Tell me your ‘rules.’”

Christopher clears his throat and begins. “Rule number one: Don’t draft a kicker or defense until the last few rounds.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter if they show up as the highest-rated available player or if someone else makes a grab for kickers and defenses early. It’s a wasted pick. The guys in your league will make fun of you for the rest of the season if you do something so amateurish.”

Noted. Saving myself humiliation is the primary objective.

“Number two,” Christopher continues. “Don’t try to draft every player from your favorite team.”

“Why not? The Packers are good.”

“Yeah, but what happens if they have a bad week?”

I feign mock outrage. “Are you actually suggesting our beloved Packers would have anything less than a perfect season? What would Dad say?”

“Trust me on this one, Harper. Your Sunday . . . or Thursday or Monday will be a million times worse if you’re dealing with a Packers and fantasy loss.”

“Okay, avoid drafting the entire Packers starting lineup. Got it.” I’m going to have to do some fast research to find out who else I might want on my team. Basically, all the players I know are in Green Bay. “What’s next?”

“Have you found out what pick you have?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Pick?”

“Where are you in the draft order?”

Oh. “Fourth.”

“The first three people have selected the top three running backs in my mock drafts.” I want to ask what he means by ‘mock draft,’ but there’s no time. “You can have a little fun with being fourth, but I say you should take the Pope. You’ll impress the guys in your league.”

“Who’s ‘the Pope?’”

“John-Paul Massa. An underrated but totally badass running back.”

“Massa it is.” I stare at the Chad Baker jersey in front of me. “When can I draft Baker?”

“No sooner than the second round, but try to hold off until the third. You want to make sure you get a solid wide receiver, and they tend to go fast after the top six running backs are off of the board.”

“But I want Baker.”

“He’ll be around,” Christopher assures me. “And if things get hairy during your draft, you can always text me.”

“Is there a fourth rule?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat again and hesitates. Content with my clothing selections, I walk toward the checkout line. “My fast and final rule: Don’t let the guys seduce you into giving them the best players.”

My gasp of outrage draws attention from the person standing in front of me. I dart an apologetic grin, before hissing at my brother. “Why would you even go there?”

“Harper, you’re smart and driven.”

“But . . .”

“You’re an idiot when it comes to men.” He releases a heavy sigh. “Maybe it’s because deep down you’re a sweet person or maybe you’re too trusting, but you have a talent for giving it up to douchebags.”

I want to argue back on principle. I am a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need a man to succeed. But, a glance back at my dating track record gives Christopher’s commandment some weight. Maybe I should tell him I’m a new woman after what happened with the last guy. Instead, I thank him for his advice and pay for the new football gear.

* * * * *

**About the author: Laura Chapman is the author of First & Goal, The Marrying Type, and Hard Hats and Doormats. Her work also appears in Merry & Bright, A Kind of Mad Courage, and All I Want For Christmas. A native Nebraskan, she loves Huskers and Packers football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Laura is currently in pursuit of a fantasy football championship while penning her next novel.

**Contact Laura:

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* * * * *

GUEST POST

No two days are exactly alike. That’s the beauty of being an author. One day you’re plotting, another you’re navigating your way through a tricky passage, and on the next you’re swearing at your computer, because your marketing plan hit a hiccup. While I’m a big plotter, one of my favorite parts about being an author is that it challenges me to adapt as the situation changes—which is every day.

When Isabella asked me to write about my life as an author, I found I couldn’t put it succinctly, because it’s always evolving. Rather than speak in generalities on the subject, I figured I’d share a few days that illustrate the world of Laura Chapman: My Life as an Author.

November 30, 2010

Only 1,000 more words to go. I note the time on the display in the corner of my computer monitor. It’s after seven—plenty of time to meet my deadline, yet it doesn’t seem like enough. It won’t be the end of the world if I don’t finish. No one will die, no wars will break out, and no one will care. Except for me. I will care.

When I started National Novel Writing Month on the first (Has it really been a whole month?) I was out to prove something. I had to show myself that I could do it—I could write a book if I sat down and made myself finish what I started. Finishing would be the key difference this time. The partial manuscripts rotting in a folder on my desktop were evidence of my inability to complete what I began. “Laura Chapman likes to start stories,” they seem to scream. “But she doesn’t have the follow-through to reach the end.”

Not this time. This time, I will hit the 50,000-word mark. And then I will keep at it until the story is done.

With only 1,000 words more words needed and a few hours until midnight, when I have to verify my word count online, I pack my laptop and drive to Indigo Bridge Books. The local bookstore has the vibe I need. People are always writing there, and productivity sizzles in the air. It will be good to spend some time around like-minded people. The bookstore also has another distinct advantage over staying home: it has Internet.

I’m two years out of college, and I’m still in a financial crunch. The recession hit mere months after I earned my diploma. I’m lucky to have a job, even if it doesn’t pay much. Tack on the student loans, rent, and the debt I accrued when I moved to and from Houston during the past eighteen months, and Internet is a luxury I can’t afford.

But I need the Internet tonight to verify my words. And I need to finish writing those words.

Settled in at a small table with a mocha latte and my laptop, I type away furiously. I can do this, I can write 1,000 more words tonight. I can paint the picture of Lexi Burke’s quirky world on the Gulf Coast. I can show her chemistry with Jason Beaumont. Oh man. Jason Beaumont. I may have broken the mold with this character. To my twenty-four-year-old self, he’s the epitome of male perfection. He has a good job, the motivation and drive to succeed, a sense of humor, and the everyday southern charm I witnessed countless times while I lived in Texas. And like Mr. Darcy, he has a pretty bitchin’ house. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a big sprawling home with a pool? I bet he has Internet, too.

And so I type and type away, giving pause every so often to check the time and my word count. What would Lexi do? Write it down. Keep going. Around nine, I do it. I pass the 50,000-word mark with some change. Adrenaline pulses through my veins. I did it. I wrote 50,000 words in one month. I still have a ways to go until I type “the end,” but this is a huge step in that direction.

Feeling like I just scored a six-figure advance from a major publisher, I pull up the NaNoWriMo website so I can let them know I finished. The page takes a full minute to load, and another minute passes before I get to the word verification section. I copy my document and paste the contents into the form. Blood pumps loudly in my ears. I click “verify my word count.”

And nothing happens.

The spinny wheel of death pops up and still nothing. I refresh the page, only to find I have to copy and paste my text once more. This time I wait longer. I’m about to break a pencil in half when an error message appears on the page. What the eff. I try a few more times without success. I hit up Twitter to see if anyone else is having issues. Just as I expect, the frustrated tweets flow on screen. Due to an influx of traffic, the NaNoWriMo website is having problems loading.

Well hell.

Not one to sit in my failure for long, I call a few friends with faster, stronger Internet connections until I find one who can help.

“CanIsendyoumynoveltoverifyformeplease?”

“Sure.”Of course Aja will help. We’ve been friends since first grade. We were in the same Brownies troop. Aren’t the Girl Scouts always preaching preparedness? Or is that Boy Scouts? At the very least, I’m quite certain we sang a song about being friends until the end. And this is as close to the end as I’ve ever come.

Staying on the line, I give Aja my password to log-in. I send her my document, and she runs through the same motions I had earlier. Only this time, instead of a spinny wheel of death or an error, a congratulatory message pops up on her screen.

“’Congratulations,’” she reads to me. “’You did it.’”

While she enters in the necessary information to complete my winner certification, the excitement returns. My eyes burn with unshed tears. For the first time ever, I feel like an author. I can do this. I can live my dream.

September 10, 2015

This isn’t a great time to be leaving town. My third novel launched yesterday, and there’s still a lot to do in the way of promotion. But I did my best to plan ahead. I sent out interviews and guest posts to more than thirty bloggers, and I scheduled my tweets and Facebook posts during the next few days. For the most part everything has gone like clockwork.

Except for one crucial element: one vendor still doesn’t have First & Goal available for sale. Oh, they say it’s available on the publishing dashboard, but the null searches on the purchasing side beg to differ. I suppose this isn’t a big deal—or so I keep telling myself to avoid having a stroke. It doesn’t look terribly professional to have to keep saying “It will be up soon,” to waiting readers, but what can you do?

You can have a heart attack or cry. I’ve come close to both, but to what end? I have a flight to catch for a previously planned business trip. Death and hysteria aren’t practical options.

At least the screening lines at the Lincoln Airport are fast. The small municipal airport usually gets you in and out without much fuss. That’s a good thing. I didn’t sleep much last night—or the night before. In addition to releasing a novel, I spent the previous day wrapping up a bunch of projects at my other job. Then I had to do laundry and pack my suitcase. As icing on the cake, I had to draft a crappy fantasy football team at almost midnight. It wasn’t my best draft, and there’s a lot of opportunity for heartbreak this season.

There’s always next year, I suppose.

Successfully through the TSA search, I park at the gate and pull out my laptop. Maybe there’s something I can do to help my book’s cause before I fly to Indianapolis by way of Chicago. Sure enough a new email appears from my publisher. Great news. The rogue distributor finally has First & Goal up on its site.

“We’ll begin pre-boarding for Chicago, please…”

With limited time, I update my blog and website. I post to Facebook and Twitter. Hopefully this helps me with a few more sales. Almost as quickly, I repack my suitcase and board the airplane. Crammed into the tiny puddle jumper, I check my social media pages and email until we are collectively asked to turn off our mobile devices. We taxi around the tiny tarmac then come to a halt.

A few minutes later, the captain’s voice booms over the intercom. “We’re experiencing some slight delays getting into Chicago. They’re a little backed up on account of some weather in the area. We’re going to hang out here for half an hour, but we’ll get you there as soon as possible.”

Sneaking out my phone, I check the status on my other flight. Still on time. Normally that would be great, but I only have a forty-five minute layover. And my gates are on opposing sides of the airport.

I guess that’s why the phrases “just one of those days” and “it’s always something” exist. Hell.

February 23, 2020

“Just five more minutes,” I plead. “I’m almost done with this scene.”

I said the same thing ten minutes ago, but this time I mean it. I know we should be out the door an on our way already, but there’s no stopping inspiration when it strikes. I’ve always written when the mood arises. I did it ten years ago when my stories were ideas, and I do it now that I’m a best-selling novelist. I can’t change who I am just because someone is in a hurry to hit the Red Carpet.

Not that I can blame him. My husband is up for an Academy Award—again—but this time I have no doubt he’s walking away with Oscar gold. He’s deserved it every time he’s been nominated, but the Academy would have to be crazy not to reward his ingenuity on screen. Besides, this year he has his good luck charm—me. At least that’s what he told me when he walked away with his Golden Globe and SAG awards earlier this season. I’m not sure if there’s any truth to the superstition. But if there is, well, my lucky charm skills can only be stronger now that we’re good and truly married.

(That’s between us right now, though. How we managed to sneak off to Germany for a simple, but beautiful, wedding with only our families and closest friends without alerting the media is still a mystery to me. But it will only be a secret for a few more hours. I snuck a peek at his acceptance speech—the one he won’t carry on stage, but has memorized. I distinctly saw a note to thank his “magnificent wife.” He actually called me magnificent. I’m living a fairy tale.)

I guess luck really is on our side this year. I’m married to one of the sexiest and most brilliant men alive—who is hours away from having “Academy Award winner” attached to his name—and my last five novels have hit number one on the bestseller lists.

And not to toot my own horn too much, but the screen adaptation for one of those books begins filming next month. The hubby and I are headed to the set after we take our overdue honeymoon. I helped pen the screenplay, so who knows? Maybe I’ll be adding “Academy Award winner” to my list of accolades one of these days too. For the moment I’m perfectly content with everything I have, including the scene I am just about to finish—

“My dear,” he calls out. “You know I could sit here and watch you write all day, but the studio will kill me if I don’t make a couple of stops on the Red Carpet. I’d hate to have Harvey tell me I’ll never work in this town again.”

I tear my eyes away from the screen and freeze. No matter how many times I see him in a tuxedo, I never seem able to keep myself from gaping. It’s hard not to—the man looks like he was born wearing an Armani suit.

Swallowing hard, I find my voice at last. “I’m done.” I slam the laptop shut, not caring whether or not I’ve saved the current draft or finished the scene. I rise from the desk in our hotel suite and gently smooth out any wrinkles that might have formed in my vintage Oscar de la Renta gown. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He captures my hand and raises it to his lips. “Worth waiting for.”

My stomach tumbles. It’s just like I’m seeing him for the first time when we met at that bookstore in London. He was picking up a couple of books to take on a shoot. I was finishing up a signing. That was almost two years ago, and here we are now.

He nods toward my laptop. “Are you at a good place for stopping? We can take a few more—”

“It’s good—great,” I correct myself, squeezing his hand. “And anyways, we can talk about the book later. You won’t have much of a choice when we’re on our way to Fiji. But tonight is about you.”

I can’t resist straightening his already perfect tie, just because I can.

“Your phone is charged?” I nod. “Then you can sneak in another scene in the car or during the commercials. And if any of the acceptance speeches go too long . . .”

Laughter about to erupt, I silence him with a kiss. We pull apart at last, and I can’t even remember what we were talking about. He does that to me. With my thumb, I smooth off the lipstick I inadvertently left on his lips. My shade of red does look nice on him though.

“Shall we?” he asks, taking my hand in his once again.

I nod. He leads me out of the room, down the elevator, and through the lobby to the waiting town car.

The driver scurries to open the door for us. “Ms. Chapman. Mr. Fassbender.”

If this isn’t living the dream, I don’t know what else could possibly compare.

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