|
I’m compulsive by nature. When I like something, I tend to love it. I devour books like they were coated in dark chocolate. If I love a story, I will do whatever I can to stay in that world and find out what happens next, until I reach the last word on the last page. If that means propping up the book during dinner or while washing dishes; sneaking pages as a treat during the work day or while my son’s distracted by one of his many blinking, gyrating and beeping toys; or worst of all, sacrificing my few hours of sleep by staying up till the wee hours of the morning, just to finish the book… well, I do it. I can’t help myself. Writing is similar. Characters, story premises, start out with a jolt: I get an idea, a name, a scenario, and I jot it down somewhere. With luck, it’s a piece of paper, although I’ve been known to write on cereal boxes, envelopes, my checkbook, whatever’s handy. From there, I start to circle it. The process isn’t one of consumption. Unfortunately, I can’t mow through writing a book the way I do reading one! It’s more selective, a marathon rather than a sprint… or, an eight course meal, rather than one simple dessert. I write notes, rambling stream-of-consciousness pages with no paragraph breaks. I investigate my characters. Who are they, what do they want, why can’t they have it? Then the outline. A lot of people hate outlines, but for me, it’s a way of whistling in the dark as well as a blueprint. Honestly, my books never match the original outlines. But if I had to face the blank page without any sense of where I was going, I would get so overwhelmed by the delicious, intriguing and infinite possibilities, I would go catatonic. As it is, the writing comes out in fits and starts, usually nudged along by deadlines. But once I get a story idea in my head, something inside me pushes: I have to see how this thing ends. It’s no different than the compulsion that gets me reading. I have a lot of loves. My son’s laugh. My husband’s kisses. Walking the streets of Paris with a fresh brioche. Watching the leaves turn in fall. Listening to a mélange of Modest Mouse, Bob Marley and Amy Winehouse while driving down the coast, against the blink of the ocean. But the loves of my life – reading and writing – are also the demons that drive me. If you’re like me, I hope you enjoy my books… and perhaps, just perhaps, you’ll be encouraged to write yours, as well.
PHOTOS
My big L.A. Woman signing in Milan, at a Mondadori bookstore. See that fruit on the table? It all gets cut
up and put into free martinis and cosmopolitans that they hand out as I
sign. I'm not making this up. I learned two phrases in Italian: "Buona lettura" (happy reading!) and "Como se scribe il tuo nome?" (how do you spell your name?) Much love goes out to the Harlequin Italy team for being my pinch-hitting language tutors. I pronounced so well that several people asking for autographs struck up conversations with me. (Unfortunately, those two phrases were the extent of my responses.)
Want to read more about my trip to Milan? I wrote an article about my trip in the San Francisco RWA Newsletter. Download the article. Make sure you have Acrobat Reader.
|
See
pictures of 
One
word: 
Promo
signing, also in Milan. The phrase on the sign behind me is from
my first book, 
Hanging
with the Harlequin crew, surrounded by books, in one of the prettiest cities
in the world. Could I be any happier? Um…
no! Now, I just have to get cracking on that next Red Dress Ink and
see if I can wangle an invite back…