What do the words ‘writer’s block’ mean to you?
To me,
they mean total frustration!
Do you
read your book reviews? If yes, how do you process negative reviews?
I used
to. I don’t anymore. When I did, I’d get so hurt by a bad review, but my first publisher
told me to ignore it, and to remember that not everyone will like my books. I
just think it’s better not to read them if I want to keep my sanity. It seems
that some reviewers enjoy tearing an author apart, not the story.
If you
could time travel, would you go back or forward in time?
I would
definitely go back. I’m not sure I’d change anything, but I’d love to see my
parents again.
In one
word, describe yourself.
Stubborn
Do you
find yourself getting emotional when you write? Is there a scene that sticks
out as being the most emotional to write?
Oh, yes.
A book I recently published. Trick Men of Clifton, Montana Book 17. The
prologue is a total tear-jerker. No matter how many times I’d go over it, I’d
just cry my eyes out.
What are
you working on now? Can you give us a sneak peek?
Well, I am always working on more than one at a
time, but the next book, which will be released at the end of December, is Colson
Men of Clifton, Montana Book 20:
Stopping in the
driveway, she threw the door open and stepped out. Taking a deep breath, she
popped the rear hatch on her vehicle and stood there staring at the boxes.
Reaching in, she pulled one to her and struggled to lift it. She jerked when
someone reached around her.
“I’ll get it.”
She looked up to see
the hot cowboy from the diner.
“Wait. I don’t know
you.” She pushed him away from the heavy box.
“Colson Griffin,” he
said and put his hand out to her.
“Like that means
anything to me.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
He grinned. “Well, you
must not be from around here. I’m well known and not in a good way.”
“I’m Lydia
Carmichael. I lived here before, and what do you mean not in a good way?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not
a serial killer. I was just an unruly kid.” He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“I hope you grew out
of that.”
“What? You don’t like
a bad boy?”
Lydia couldn’t help
but laugh. “Maybe.”
“Now, do you want my
help or not?” He grinned.
She stared up at him,
and her breath hitched. His eyes were grayish blue, and his teeth were white
and perfect. Deep creases appeared in his cheeks, and crow’s feet fanned out
from the corner of his eyes. She’d put him in his mid to late thirties. Damn,
he was hot, and he smelled so good. She wanted to go to bed with him. Gasping,
she threw her hand over her mouth and watched as he frowned at her. He was
trouble, but good God, she wanted to get into trouble with him.
“Uh, yes, that would
be nice,” she said quietly.
He reached for the
big box, picked it up as if it weighed nothing, and jerked his chin.
“Lead the way,
darlin’.”
Lydia hesitated a
second, turned on her heel, and led him to the front door. If she got him in
the house, could she keep him?
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