As I have freely admitted on this blog before…okay, just those words alone have my sister Quills wincing. Last time I made an honest confession, one of them politely suggested that our readers don’t need to know everything about my process. I believe this was in reference to the blog in which I admitted to making out with my hand in order to get the first kiss scene just right. Well, too bad, girls! Here we go again!
I recently moved my office. Up until a few weeks ago, my office was a ten-foot square room in our basement…no heat, no windows, more than its fair share of mold, despite my best efforts. I had a space heater, a bookcase and a bowl of Hershey Nuggets with almonds. But no more! I said a fond(ish) farewell to the Pit of Despair, as I called it, and moved above ground.
Now I get to work in daylight, gang! I have windows—plural! And not just that…it’s an entire, if very tiny, apartment. Little bitty kitchen, bathroom, and a nice sunny room with two skylights. Right now, it’s furnished with a chair, a table and a lamp…oh, and yes, a bowl of Hershey Nuggets with almonds. I have no phone and no wifi, which cuts down on the distractibility factor, not to mention no laundry beckoning, no weeds taunting me. And it’s just down the street a little bit, so the commute is on a woodsy path through the lovely back yard of my neighbor’s house.
But the best feature is the absolute privacy. Previously, if I was (just for an example) making out with my hand, I had to worry that McIrish might wander in and give that puzzled, disappointed stare he’s mastered over the years. Now, though, I have a whole apartment in which to walk, talk, laugh, cry, etc. I can stand in a doorway. Sit on a counter. Roll on the carpet if I want to.
This makes it much easier to get into the spirit of my latest book. In fact, I sort of feel like I’m single again. And not just single…sort of like I’m dating someone who very much resembles this guy. Froooww! My character’s name is Liam. I know! Do you love it? The first thing I do when arriving at the apartment is gaze upon a few photos of Mr. Hottie here. Okay, okay. More than a few. More like…fourteen. At any rate, Liam and I talk, bicker, exchange insults. We may even kiss pretty soon (well…you know what I mean). Am I forty-five years old, married for nearly 20 years? Yep. So?
Recently, McIrish came over to check in. He heard voices (well, a voice, anyway). “Hey, hon,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“I’m terribly busy and very important,” I answered.
“Who are you talking to?” he asked.
“My boyfriend,” I replied. “Leave us. We’re in love.”
“Do you want lunch?” my sainted husband asked, clearly unfazed.
“Okay,” I said. Because, as wonderful as Liam may be, he has yet to make me a sandwich.
Too Good To Be True, my fourth novel and winner of the 2010 Romance Writers of America RITA Award, is about a woman who pretends to be in a relationship. I can totally see where she gets it.
Have you ever made up a boyfriend? Imagined yourself in a scene from a book? Come on…be honest. Haven’t we all been Scarlett on the road to Tara, listening to Rhett ask for a kiss? Which scene in a book or movie really made you want to be that woman in that particular moment? Do tell!