Tess Thompson's Blog, page 7

No one likes a critic...

Or do they? 
​I confess, I do. Sometimes...
Any artist will tell you how important feedback is to the improvement of their craft. I went to drama school at USC right out of high school and feedback smacked me hard in the face from day one. I like to think it made me tough, but also flexible and open to suggestions. Although no one likes criticism, we do grow from it. As part of our maturation process, artists learn to discern between constructive feedback that informs our work and feedback meant to break our spirit. Was it helpful or meant to be cruel? Was it given from a place of jealousy or genuine care? Finally, does it ring true to you when you hear it? In other words, does it give you an aha moment?
Any writer who has a decent editor will receive pages of notes after every draft. It's part of the gig. Sometimes the notes make me cringe with embarrassment, but they always make my book better. Every editor I've worked with has challenged me and made a better writer. I love learning and will continue to do so until the day I die.
​Almost all artists practicing a craft will tell you the same thing. There is always more to learn. I was surprised when I went to theatre school that even famous actors still took classes and workshops. I don't know if all writers continue to take workshops and read craft books, but every one I know certainly does. 
​And then there are reviews...
For writers, reviews from readers and book bloggers are a big part of our success or failure. Without them no one finds our books. I'm grateful for every review, good or bad, because it gives my books legitimacy and exposure. Of course, we pray for positive reviews. Oh, how we pray! Nothing feels more vulnerable than putting your heart and soul out for everyone to judge. Each of my books is written from a place of deep commitment to quality and when people don't like them, it hurts. Bad. For non-writers, think of the most vulnerable and exposed you've ever been - that's what it feels like to release a new book.
​My fifteenth piece of fiction released last week to mostly great reviews. However, a handful of people thought it ended too abruptly. From my perspective, since TRADED: BRODY AND KARA is the first book in my Cliffside Bay Series, my intent was to hold some content back, in order to entice readers to return for the next book. After a long and sleepless night absorbing said feedback and feeling kind of bad...okay, really bad...I won't lie, it hurts even after 15 books...I realized I could certainly fix the ending if I wanted to. So I did. 
​I spent the weekend writing two new chapters. They're short and sweet, but give the reader a little glimpse into my intrepid couple's life after the grand gesture and subsequent marriage proposal. (It's romance, so don't judge). 
​Then, I happily loaded it onto the various platforms and went to bed.
That sentence is such a lie.
It took me hours on Sunday to format and load the new chapters onto the various platforms. Hours that I could have been writing or spending time with my family. I was a mess at the end of that day. I was so busy and stressed I forgot to eat lunch, which left me shaky and headachy by the time 6 p.m. rolled around. I emerged from my office feeling like a truck had run over me, but determined to make homemade pizzas for my family. That was another disaster, but I'll save that for another post. Let's just say I ended that long day and evening crying in the bathroom. You all know that kind of day, but I digress...
​The bottom line is this: I want to be a successful author. Success to me means two things: I write great books and sell many copies to a solid, loyal fan base. I'm not here to play around and dabble in a hobby. I have sacrificed a lot for this dream and it matters to me that my family have something to show for my hard work. So whatever I have to do to make that happen, I will. But I won't lie. It's hard. Like sweat and tears kind of hard. For real.
Anyway, members of my loyal street team love the new chapters. A couple said they didn't realize they wanted more, but now that it's there, they love it.
So, there it is. I let feedback inform my work. I think that's pretty awesome. I'm proud of myself for not letting it discourage me enough to bury my head under the bedcovers for weeks and weeks like I really wanted to. Instead, I tackled the problem. Boom.
​So my already published book has two new chapters. Anyone who bought the ebook should get updates from the various platforms that the book has been updated. I also included the first two chapters of book 2, DELETED: JACKSON AND MAGGIE , which releases May 7. 
Lastly, from one warrior to another, whatever you did recently that frightened you, or that you want so much you're willing to work like crazy to get it, I salute you. Keep swimming the brave waters. You got this. 
​Cheers. xo

Cover Reveal Contest!

I've been sitting on the cover of TRADED: BRODY AND KARA  for a month now, just dying to share it with the world. Fortunately, my PA and my publicist saved me from myself so that we could do a fun contest and offer up a bunch of prizes. 
Starting January 26 and running through February 2, you'll find the cover image for the Traded: Brody & Kara COVER REVEAL CONTEST right here!
Want a chance to win a brand new Kindle and other fabulous items?
CHECK OUT THE RULES → https://goo.gl/forms/qNspODW6vQpTkE202

How Bolinas became Cliffside Bay

Several years ago, a friend sent me an article about Bolinas, California: "The Town That Didn't Want Company". That article sparked the idea for a new small town series, "Cliffside Bay Series". What about a town where the locals don't want visitors or newcomers? There's so much material there, right? Characters running from something, or wanting to hide from someone, or starting over, or moving home. The possibilities are endless. You get the point. 

I only write about places I've been, so I decided it was necessary to visit. Unsure of when or how, I knew only that it would happen soon. That's how these things work. Vision boards and all that, but this is another post. 

The opportunity presented itself a few months later. Before we were married, but already madly in love, Cliff and I flew to San Francisco for our first Spartan race. He knew of my desire to see Bolinas, and arranged an extra day for us to do so, as it's several hours from San Francisco. This is the kind of partner he is - always willing to help me reach my dreams. But I digress...

Despite our aching muscles, we visited Bolinas the day after the race, driving the curvy highway from San Francisco to Bolinas in a rental car. The sky and sea were blue that day, so expansive and vast in scope that everything I could ever hope for seemed possible. I committed the sights and smells to memory, knowing that soon my characters would drive this same route. 

​When we arrived, we wandered the main street, taking photographs of charming shops and restaurants. We stood on a grassy knoll that overlooked the long stretch of beach and breathed in the briny scent of the Pacific. And I felt in that place inside that no one can see, or even fully describe, but where intuition and creativity live - this was the place to set my new series. 
​
​The River Valley books are loosely based on my hometown of Cave Junction, Oregon. The river, mountains and the air in that part of Oregon are a part of me. I can recall this place in an instant and a thousand different ways. A dragonfly buzzes by my ear as I bake on a rock with my feet in the Illinois River and the mountains rise toward the sky and I think, only God could create such beauty. It is not an accident. My entire series is based on this belief:  the river heals broken hearts and restores faith and  provides a chance for redemption. It's something in the water and the air and the mountains.

However, the coastline that runs from central California to Northern Oregon inspires my soul in a way that nothing else ever has, except perhaps my recent trip to France. That too, is another post. 

​That's the thing with writing fiction. Like reading, it can transport you to new worlds, and it's fun. I'm not gonna lie. Super fun. Cliffside Bay is my home for the next four novels. When I close my eyes at night, the sights of the day we spent there flash across my mind like scenes from a favorite movie. "Traded: Brody and Kara" is already written and releases February 15th. I'm now happily writing the second in the series, "Deleted: Jackson and Maggie". I love my little town and my characters as if they were not just a figment of my imagination. Some might call it insanity. I call it creativity. But let's not split hairs. 

​Anyway, here are some photos of Bolinas. I encourage you to visit, even though the locals won't want you to. Or, you can just read my books. 

​Cheers, my friends. Sending love from here. 

Happy Spring

Here in the Pacific Northwest, the first day of spring rarely brings sunshine and warm temperatures. Particularly, here in Seattle, we often wait until late June, or, more commonly, July 5th, for springlike weather. Our trees and plants bud and flower despite our wearisome winter that lingers like an unwanted house guest. Blooms hang on for dear life as wind and sideways rain batter them. Daffodils and tulips bow their glorious heads in defeat. Lawns are muddy and patchy.

Every year I ask myself, how can this be spring? It’s so cold. Will this dreary weather ever end?

Regardless of the chill in the air, the sign of spring’s arrival is always the first sighting of an early-blooming cherry tree. Yesterday, driving home from the Oregon coast, I saw one, a dash of pink in an otherwise brown and gray landscape. At last, a sign that spring will come, despite months and months of cold and rain.

Cherry blossoms, a sign of spring.

Spring, the ultimate symbol of rebirth.

Aren’t we all like the flowers? We bloom despite our dark and cold circumstances. We hang on for dear life as the world batters us. We try again, no matter how impossible the task ahead.

After a season of difficulty, we come back, ready to fight for what and whom we love.

So, today, if you’re feeling defeated like our early blooming flowers in the northwest, do not despair. Warmth and light are coming to you. Perhaps, when you least expect it, you will bloom like the cherry tree, in rebellion against your circumstances and despite the worst of odds. Whether it’s career or love or family that feels insurmountable, never give up the idea that your spring is just around the corner. Keep pushing up through the dark earth, like the daffodil, until the sun shines upon your beautiful face.

Happy first day of Spring. Blessings to all.

River Valley, Book 5 Naming Contest

Today I start the first draft of the fifth River Valley book. I’m very excited to tell the love story of Liz Teeny and Grant Perry. The only problem is…I need a name. To help me decide, I’m running a contest. Submit your idea, and if your name is chosen, I will name a character after you or someone you love. The only rule is it has to connect to River, like the other four books in the series: Riversong, Riverbend, Riverstar and Riversnow.

The premise is that Liz and Grant, who were together in their early twenties, but broke up when Grant behaved badly, are forced to spend time together when their work brings them to River Valley. Liz pretty much hates him for breaking her heart, yet she’s never been able to get over him. Grant has always loved her and regrets his mistakes, but knows she will never forgive him. In the ten years since they broke up, they’ve both become successful attorneys. Liz has never married and rarely dates, burying herself in her work. Grant’s recently divorced from “the meanest woman alive” and is hoping to lick his wounds in River Valley. That is, until he runs into Liz.

Send your submissions to: tessthompsonwrites@gmail.com, or in the comment section here on my blog. May the best name win!

‘Butt In Seat’ Series – That Second Draft

Over the years, writer friends and acquaintances have asked if I would consider doing a series of blog posts on writing. Until recently, I hesitated to do so, mostly because there are so many great writer blogs out there already. I wasn’t sure one more would be of interest to anyone. That said, I’ve decided that even if no one reads them, they would be both educational and cathartic to my own process. So here goes. Episode one in my #ButtInSeat series.

Getting That First Draft Back 

My stomach hurts and my heart pounds harder just thinking about receiving notes back from my editor on a first draft of a novel, wondering how bad it will be. Every day I open my email, secretly hoping that I won’t get the notes back today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. Yeah, next week is good.

Today was the day. I received story edit notes from my editor for Riversnow. Like in the past, the notes were pages long. Yes, pages. For a story edit, a good editor usually identifies a few big problems and a bunch of tiny ones, all fixable, but daunting just the same. As always, this morning, I felt panicky. The awful self-talk started. Can I do this? I can’t, in fact. I’ve finally been discovered to be the fake that I always knew I was. These notes prove it. I broke out in a cold sweat and paced my office. I contemplated taking a nap, or eating cookies, or opening wine.

Instead of any of those choices, I took a deep breath. I read through the notes one more time. I printed a copy and set it next to my keyboard. I made a cup of apple spice tea. I sat back at my desk. I sighed, deeply. I got to work.

There was, quite literally, no other choice. To write well, we must tackle that second draft.

Despite the hives and panic attacks, there’s good news. As I sat down today and started in on the first chapter, the ideas flowed out of me like my brain was on super smart overdrive. My fingers flew over the keys. After an hour of solid work, I remembered something I seem to forget every single time. The second draft, after notes, is my favorite part in the process. For me, that’s when the deepening of story, character and language happens. I began to feel like a real writer, not a hack, like I do so often. Which, as a side note, is not necessarily a bad thing. Any writer worth their salt feels like a hack most of the time. It’s what pushes us to be better, to work harder and longer.

There’s something terribly fun and satisfying about getting feedback and figuring out how to solve the problems the editor has illuminated. It’s a bit like a puzzle. The first draft is like you have two-thirds of a puzzle completed, but you’re missing the pieces to complete the other third. You’re even certain what shape they will be or where they will go. When you get that first draft back, it’s as if the editor dumps those missing pieces in your lap, and suddenly it’s obvious what their shape is and where the pieces go. You find other pieces that even the editor didn’t find and you feel brilliant and amazing.

What I’ve found over the years and ten novels, is that most good editors work similarly. I’ve been lucky to work with exceptional freelance editors in the past, and my new one is no exception. In fact, she’s ridiculously good. She’s spot on with her story and character feedback, and is a grammar aficionado, so precise it’s mind-blowing. She once told me she would give me a million dollars if I would consider not using a phrase because of conflicting data on whether a hyphen was needed or not. I made the change, and I’m still waiting for my million dollars. But I digress…

I cannot emphasize enough how important a good editor is to a writer. This relationship is as important as finding the right spouse. I’m dead serious about this! An editor is your writer spouse. They know your strengths and weaknesses. They have intimate knowledge of the inner workings of your heart and soul. They believe in your talent, but also push you hard. Sometimes it hurts, but at the end of the day, it makes you a better writer, and that’s what we want.

I’m #ButtInSeat for the next few days, but drop me a line if you have a question or a comment, or just to wish me luck with this second draft. Writer hugs until then.

Cheers.

Guiding Light

“When I need to get home, you’re my guiding light.” Guiding Light. Foy Vance, Irish singer-songwriter.

Two years ago, on my birthday, I woke to a text from Cliff wishing me a happy day. It was the first birthday wish of the day and the one that made my heart soar. We’d only been out a handful of times before I had to leave town for a week to teach a dialogue class at the Southern Oregon Writers Conference. I loved every minute of the conference, but the gentle man I’d left behind was never far from my thoughts.

While I was away, he started reading “Blue Midnight“.

“Start with that one,” I answered, when he asked what to read first. “It’s the closest to my own story of any of my novels.”

In it, our heroine, 45-year-old Blythe Heywood, is rebuilding her life after divorce. When the book opens, her husband is remarrying and has taken their young daughters to Hawaii for the ceremony. With three weeks alone, she decides to travel to Idaho to look up an old boyfriend. What she finds is not at all what she expects.

Just like me.

I knew from the second date, when he kissed me for the first time, that I would fall in love with him. I didn’t know if he would feel the same way. Regardless, I was fairly certain it wouldn’t work out for some reason. In those days, I had a lot of bad dating data to back up that hypothesis. What I’d learned, mostly, is that men leave, no matter how interested they are in the beginning.

I was wrong, of course, as evidenced by the sparkling diamond on my hand as I write this. Then, however, I dared not even hope for a good outcome.

When I arrived at the conference, I realized I needed a passage from “Blue Midnight“, as all the presenters were given a few minutes to read out loud from one of their works during the evening festivities. I mentioned to Cliff, via text, that I was trying to decide which passage to read. He sent back a detailed note with several suggestions, including the paragraph and page number of an example of “great alliteration”.

He had me at alliteration.

I smiled at my phone as this dangerous thing called hope crept into my heart. Could he be the one? Could he surprise me?

Spoiler alert. He did surprise me. He was the one. He is. He is everything. My home. My love. My guiding light.

I had another birthday last week. This year I woke next to my husband. No text needed for a birthday wish. Like my character, Blythe, in “Blue Midnight“, the hero fell in love with me, alliteration and all.

I get how lucky and blessed I am, all of which makes me want to celebrate. Since I’m on a diet, I had to find a way to make merriment without food or wine (bummer) so I decided to give away free copies of “Blue Midnight” all week instead. We always hope to catch new readers with these free promotions, so feel free to share the news with anyone you think might like a second-chance love story. Click here for your ebook copy.

Below is the passage from “Blue Midnight” I chose to read that February night two years ago. I can’t remember if it was one Cliff suggested or not, but let’s say for story’s sake that is was. It’s much more romantic that way.

Cheers.

**

The door closed behind me. It was late but I didn’t feel tired. Instead I felt a yearning for the fresh air, hoping it might clear my mind and break the spell that seemed to fall over me whenever I was around Kevan. Using the stone pathway, I headed toward the lake. I could see quite well with the light from the patio in combination with the sliver of moon and dashing of stars spread across the sky. I ambled along the path, careful not to slip on the uneven stones. The moon and stars reflected on the water, like thousands of perfectly shaped diamonds. A trio of crickets played a symphony with the soft sound of water lapping against the shore. I sat on the wooden bench and slipped my feet out of my flip-flops to dangle my toes in the grass. Far away, I heard the high-pitched hoot of an owl. I’d always thought of the sound as lonely, imagining the solitary nocturnal bird in his hollow tree, but here in this place with the silver moon in an almost purple sky, it felt right. I thought of my girls, then, as I did so often during times of solitude. Missing them crept into the space in my chest tattooed with their names.

When Lola was a toddler she developed a fear of the dark every time Michael was out of town, which was a lot in those years. She would cry so pitifully that I always relented and curled up next to her on her narrow bed until she fell asleep, usually waking in the middle of the night disoriented, my mouth dry and with no sense of how much time had passed. Lola had yellow curls in those days and while she drifted off to sleep, and often for minutes thereafter, I played with them, twirling the lock of coiled gold that fell across her forehead around my finger again and again. The baby powder and strawberry scent of her filled every empty space I’d known for so long. Her gentle breathing and occasionally the house creaking or a car driving by broke the night of its silence. I breathed it in, knowing this exact child was the one I was meant to have. But even then, at those precise moments, I understood how fleeting it all was, how quickly she would become a girl and then a woman who held a child of her own. I tried to hold onto the moment, there in the blue of night with her baby smell in my nose and the silken threads of her hair between my fingers, but as all mothers know, it was never a possibility. Time passes, no matter how much we yearn for the present to remain the future. Because now it was later, the future, and I was here under a night sky with a sliver of silver moon, chasing ghosts, while my little daughter was thousands of miles away on a beach somewhere with her father’s new wife. I was not there to make sure she wore her sunscreen or protect her from jellyfish or riptides or her father’s thoughtlessness. No, I was here in the midnight blue of letting go.

 

Fatal Flaws – Not just for Shakespeare anymore…

I have a recurring dream in which I have a brain injury that’s forced me to move home with my parents and enroll in my old high school in order to relearn all I once knew. I wander the halls, feeling like homesickness mix ed with regret and loss. What has happened? What have I forgotten? What do I need to learn?

Then, it rushes over me. I’m forty-seven and I have nothing. No home. No career. No family of my own. I must leave this place and go out into the world once more. I’m frightened. Starting over? Learning everything anew? My mother tells me it’s time. Time to go. The myriad of options overwhelm me. Where will I go? What work will I do?

When I wake, my eyes adjust to the mid-winter sunlight, stealing in from under the shade. Next to me, my husband sleeps. I breathe in his scent, and adjust the cat sleeping next to my legs.

I’ve had this dream many times in the last few years. The feeling of wandering the halls of my old high school mirrors the very real feelings I’ve had about both my personal and professional life: a sense of displacement, homesickness, regret, and loss.

Today, I have my new beginning and I’m in the thick of that adjustment. Cliff and I have been doing the hard work of learning how to parent together and to parent one another’s children. It’s not easy. Actually, it’s hard. Really hard. We often feel unsure, like we’re wandering the halls of a place we know and don’t know all at once, disoriented and dizzy. However, unlike in my dream, I am not alone. We are in it together.

When we got engaged, Cliff’s dad advised us to talk about everything, big and small, given the challenges we would face. We’ve done our best to do so, despite how difficult some of those conversations have been. We’ve stumbled and fallen, wandering in this wilderness of teenagers and their complex moods and behaviors. We rise with the breaking day, though, to try again, because we love one another and we love our kids, with all their quirks and challenges and beauty and gifts. We’ve sacrificed, made adjustments, learned to let unkind words from our teenagers tumble off our strong backs. We’ve tried. And tried again.

My writing career is also like my dream. “Riversong” was first published five years ago. Given how well it did, I had the chance to replicate that success, but I didn’t. I made poor choices and gave loyalty to the wrong people. It hurt my career. There’s just no way sugar coat the facts. They are what they are. Like my brain injury in my dream, it forced me to have to start over.

Guess what? I’m grateful. I know, I’m surprised by that too. What I know now is that hardship gave me insight into what Shakespeare would identify as my fatal flaw. We all have learning to do in this lifetime – big lessons that are necessary for us to become the person God imagined us to be. My fatal flaw is as big as they come. I am unable to decipher who I should trust, when I should let go of toxic relationships, and how to put my own desires first. Loyalty is fine, but not what I now call blind loyalty at the detriment to my own well-being.

With failure comes the opportunity to examine our motivations and actions deeply, seeking understanding of our contribution to our demise. I learned, finally, the lesson God needed me to learn because of the pain and disappointment. I had to learn how to do things differently in order to survive.

Well, I got it this time, God. I really got it.

Today, “Riversong” is free as part of our* February and March promotional strategy. This afternoon feels like the heady first days of “Riversong”, as I watch it climbing the free charts. For the first time in a long time, I have hope my career will take the turn it needs. I’ve worked hard. I never gave up. I learned a lot about myself. I’ve assembled the right team. This time, I’m not a good girl, but a steely-eyed business woman.

Why share? As always, I believe words have the power to heal. This is my story and by sharing it, I hope to make a difference in someone else’s trajectory.

For now, I wish you moments of clarity that move your life in the direction of your dreams. No matter how low you may feel today, the sun will rise tomorrow, bringing another opportunity for redemption.

*By ‘our’ I mean 16 Hand Marketing. Check them out here: http://www.16handmarketing.com/

Interview with Hilary Grossman

Please welcome the lovely Hilary Grossman to my blog today. She’s sharing a little about her latest book, what inspires her, and an amazing cookie recipe. I know we all love cookies! 

Enjoy.

**

I believe you recently moved? What prompted such a big life change?

Yes, we moved last June.  It was a very difficult decision, especially since moving meant we had to leave the beach. But there were many reasons why we chose to make the change and everything fell into place. We sold our house to an amazing couple that since became dear friends. You can go home again and we do at least once a month to visit them. My commute to work is now twenty minutes each way versus an hour and twenty minutes. My husband was able to accomplish his dream of renovating and rebuilding a house. And while I will always miss living on the beach it is so much fun to live in a town that has a ton of stores, restaurants, and movie theaters.  Where we used to live everything was at least twenty minutes away.

I have to ask if you still have a killer closet like the one you shared on your blog? That was the ultimate closet! Please tell me you’ve replicated it at your new house. 

My old closet was amazing – it was so hard leaving it behind. I wish I could say I replicated it, but the layout of the house didn’t allow for it. But we made up for it. Instead of a killer closet I now have a killer pantry, and I have to say I enjoy it even more than my old clothes closet.

When did you know you wanted to be an author? Was there someone or something in particular that influenced your decision?

From as far back as I can remember I was an avid reader who dreamt about writing my own book.  I had a box full of sticky notes with ideas.  When I was around twenty I started to write my first novel, a mafia story. I made it to about eighty pages and stopped, never picking it up again.  Ten years or so later, I read Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster which motivated me to stop dreaming and start writing. I began my blog days after finishing the book and started writing Dangled Carat about six months later.

By day you’re a successful CFO in the booze business and by night you’re a best selling author with your third book coming out April 10th. How do you balance those two very different endeavors?  

It’s not easy… But I love to write so I make the time. Writing is my happy place. It calms me down and helps me forget about the stress of the day job (most days).

Do you ever want to just call in sick, stay home and write, because your characters are demanding to be written?

YES!! I often feel that way but I have never done it. But there is a first time for everything…

Inspiration….where’s it come from? Do your characters just spring up, fully fleshed out one day, or do you craft them based on the type of story you’d like to tell?

My characters just spring up and they always shock me along the way. For Plan Bea, I was inspired to tell a story about how a second chance romance can change a person after watching how happy and full of life a neighbor of mine became after he remarried soon after his wife’s death. I never intended to write Plan Cee, but as I neared the end of Plan Bea, the characters took over. Before I new it, a mystery man, from Cecelia’s past appeared and I knew her story had to be told.

What types of stories are you compelled to tell and why?

I love to write stories about self-discovery and understanding why others act the way they do. I have always been very interested in psychology and am fascinated by how life’s events shape us.

You and I, like so many others, were affected when our publisher, Booktrope, closed in May, 2016. Since then you’ve independently published your work. I’m wondering if that’s changed how you view your work or where you’d like to go with it.

That was a fun time, wasn’t it? I remember reading the email from Booktrope as I stood in the driveway of the new house, which was still a construction zone. We still had so much work to do with the house to make it habitable by the time we had to move in June. Between the move, the full-time job, and the renovations I was already at my breaking point. I thought having to deal with republishing the books was going to push me over the edge, but I was determined not to let their closing shatter my dreams of being a published author. I managed to get both my books republished the day I regained my rights back.

In some ways I am happier being self-published again, having control of my work. When I first signed with Booktrope I was very satisfied. But by the time Plan Bea was published I started to notice changes in the company. I wasn’t surprised they ended up closing. I would love to once again work with a publisher, but only if they are the right one…

On a totally different subject, chunks of Godiva chocolate in your chocolate chip cookies? Do you deliver and will you share your recipe with my readers? We love cookies.

One of the vendors my office does a lot of work with gives me five pounds of Godiva every holiday season.  I tried putting some into the cookies and it was amazing.  Each cookie had a different flavor…

Here is my basic recipe – add as much extra candy (any kind you like) to it… Also I mix almond flour with regular to keep the carbs down which is why I have funky measurements. I also try to keep the sugar down because I add extra chocolate. So everything is 1/8 of a cup increments…

Preheat oven to 325

Mix 4/8 cups of regular flour, 5/8 cups of almond flour, ½ teaspoon baking soda and pinch of salt in bowl.

In another bowl mix 1 stick softened butter with 3/8 cups of brown sugar, 3/8 regular sugar (I use sugar in the raw) ½ teaspoon vanilla extract. When creamy add 1 egg. Mix well. Slowly add flour mixture. Add 2 cups chocolate chips, candy piece and nuts if you like (I use chopped macadamia nuts).

Bake for 20 minutes.

Miller’s Secret Release

My ninth novel, Miller’s Secret, will be available for purchase on all platforms, tomorrow, January 10th. The setting is San Francisco and the California coast between 1921-1946. Like my other historical, Duet for Three Hands, this novel is told from four points of view. As I worked on the second draft this autumn, I wondered why in the heck I’d chosen such a beast of a story to tell. However, as any fiction writer will tell you, it’s not always up to us. Some stories and characters demand to be told, whether we feel up to the task or not.

These characters, this story, called out to me in the in the early hours of an April morning last spring. I woke to an image of a young World War II hero looking out the window of his sea cottage. On his lawn, to his surprise, a young woman sat in a lawn chair sketching in a notepad, her brown hair blowing in the ocean breeze. It’s nearly impossible to explain the creative process, but suffice it to say, that image was the seed to the entire story.

I wrote most this book in the summer months of 2016. It was a summer busier than most. I moved in with my fiancé in June. We were married in August. Merging households, our four kids and five cats, purging and organizing, and the inexplicable emotional adjustments to this huge change, took its toll on my energy. Still, in the middle of all this chaos, I managed to write a first draft of Miller’s Secret. It wasn’t what I was supposed to be writing. I was supposed to be writing another romantic suspense for one of my series. Instead, the muses called me to Henry, Philippa, Caroline and Miller. So, I wrote it, the hours slipping away from the pure enjoyment of the process. Creatives call this the zone, and we live for it.

Because life sometimes gets in the way of art, it’s been a year since I had a new book out, which anyone in this business knows is death for modern writers. Conventional wisdom tells us, in this current climate, a writer must put out a book every other month to stay viable. In addition, if you want to make a living as a writer, there’s great pressure to write in a genre that sells. This genre changes, as trends do, and I know a lot of writers writing in the latest popular categories to great success. Good for them. Anyone who can make a decent living in this crazy business has my utmost respect. For me, however, this formula doesn’t work. I must write stories that mean something to me, that interest me, that call to me in the early morning hours, regardless if they’re popular or not. Also, I must have the time to write something I’m proud of, and that means it might take longer than I want, given the financial repercussions. It means I will not walk away from a manuscript until I know it’s the best I can do.

After talking it over with my new, very understanding, and business savvy husband, we agreed on the direction my career must take. I must write what I love to read. I must write the stories that call to me. I must write from a place of heart, without thought of what’s trending on the bestseller charts. I must write what fascinates me. I must focus foremost on perfecting my craft. Because, when I do all that, the words flow from my fingertips. There’s no writer’s block. No procrastination. Is this the wisest path? Who knows. All I know is that writing is too damn hard not to write what inspires you. I believe, too, that success comes when we’re aligned with our purpose, integrity and talent. It may take longer than we wish, but staying the course is what matters most.

I’m still not rich or famous, but I’m proud of this book. At the end of the day, that is enough. I must be true to who I am, for better or worse. As my youngest daughter says, “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken”.

So, tomorrow when the book if officially live (it’s actually available now) I will pray for sales, but I with or without them, I’ve done my heart’s work. I can look my four children in the eye at the dinner table and know that I’ve tried my best. Which, by the way, is all I ask of them.

Finally, to all my early readers, my supportive friends, my assistant MaryAnn Schaefer, 16 Hand Marketing, my kids, and my husband, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for believing that my heart’s work is worthy of your time and attention. You all make me feel very rich indeed.