Emily Harper's Blog, page 3

Definitely worth waiting for the postman!

They’re here! It seems like August 21st is so far away but then I look at the busy calendar and realize it will be here in no time at all. The advanced copies of My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero have arrived today and they’re just as shiny as I dreamed they’d be!

Other exciting news: White Lies is a finalist for the Excellence in Romantic Fiction award, the winners are revealed on July 15th!

Checking Inn received the Readers’ Favourite 5 star review and I have been given a lovely embossed stamp to add to my website and as soon as I can figure out how to do something other then type and click save on the computer I shall add it!

The quilt is still in progress. Don’t ask or you might be subjected to a rant and some potty mouth from me (bloody sewing machine!!!).

The Quilt

For those who know me well, you will know that once I get an idea in my head I just have to do it. And not just get it done, but do it so over the top that I will drive myself crazy until the task has reached perfection.

The other day I was watching TV (Rookie Blue to be exact), and for some reason the thought popped into my head: “You should make a quilt”. Well, one YouTube video later and I was convinced I could do it. I decided to make one for my daughter and one for my son. I love these sort of things, making my children something that they can treasure forever (though, in all honesty I end up loving the said item so much they are no longer allowed to play with it- my Ava’s dollhouse comes to mind here).

Anyways, I have my mind set on it now and I am going to make the best, most adorable quilts you have ever seen! Then, when my kids go off to university and they are studying late one night while all their friends are off partying somewhere (yes, that is EXACTLY what is going to happen), the can snuggle up under the quilt and know that their mummy loves them. At least, this is the picture in my head when I nearly gave up in the first five minutes.

I’ve given myself the summer to finish both quilts, four weeks each. How hard can it possible be?

Well, let’s find out shall we.

The Quilt. Week 1 of 4

Everything is going according to plan. I decided to make a Queen size (go big or go home) so that it would be practical for them when they grow up.

Week 1 Materials

If you are going to be following along at home you will need the following for week 1:

1) Selection of fabrics. You will need to make 8.5 x 8.5 inch squares. For a Queen, you will need 7 squares across and 9 squares up. I got a metre of each pattern of fabric and found I still have loads left over (which has just inspired another project which I will touch on in a later week). You can also use the other fabric to make pillow cases, curtains… I feel I have a lot of sewing in my future. Because you don’t need too much of each fabric I picked all of mine from the “end of the roll” scraps at the fabric store and got most for around $2.00 each. Then I got 3 metres of the backing fabric in a solid colour that I found in all of my patterned fabric. All together my fabric came to just over $20.00.

2) Cutting utensils. Listen, you can just cut out the squares using fabric scissors, but you will hate yourself, the quilt, and the world afterwards. The squares need to be… well square if you want the quilt to look right. Which means you have to measure things out. Do you really want to measure out 63 squares and then cut them by hand??? While in the fabric store I found a lovely little fabric cutter (looks exactly like a pizza cutter which is how I will refer to it because I can’t be bothered to look up the proper name). Find a piece of cardboard, cut out an 8.5 x 8.5 square and voila! you have something to trace.

3) A cutting board (if you are using the pizza cutter). That thing is sharp and trust me, I don’t particularly like the four perfect squares that are now carved into my kitchen table.

4) A bottle of wine and a glass. I believe the reasons are obvious.

I started by washing and ironing my fabric, I used cotton and no one knows more than me how much that stuff shrinks.  This was definitely the low point for me.  I hate ironing, in fact when I am buying something and I feel like it is going to require ironing after I wash it I don’t even bother.  Never buy me anything that is linen.

Once everything is washed and pressed, let’s get cutting!  We already talked about the template.  It’s a god send.  Don’t try and cut it out by hand- it’s crazy talk!  Once you’ve got your pizza cutter in hand start rolling.

This process takes a lifetime.  This is the time to introduce the wine (though after a few glasses things seemed to be getting a little crooked- I blame the lighting).

Four days later, when all your squares are cut, you want to start figuring out a pattern and do a rough layout of them.  Now is the time you can change things- not when it is all sewn together.

The video I watched said lay out your seven different squares in a line.  For line two take the second patterned square from row one and start your second row with that pattern, but I didn’t want a diagonal pattern on my quilt which you would get if you followed that advice.  Instead I took the third patterned square and started my second row with that.  See below.

and then a short time later…

Then I grouped them up into their rows in the right order and labeled them.

And presto:  week one sorted.

My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero Excerpt and Giveaway

Want to win an advanced reading copy of My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero?  Just tweet (with the hashtag #MyHero) or leave a comment on Emily Harper’s Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/authoremilyharper) about the most heroic thing you’ve ever witnessed or done yourself!  In the meantime, please enjoy an excerpt from the novel which will be available August 21st 2014.  Winner will be picked at random at 5pm on Friday, July 13 2014.  Good luck!

My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero available AUGUST 21 2014

 

She looked at the mass of rumpled sheets beside her and frowned; something was wrong.  She tried to quiet her breathing, but the panic caused a pounding in her ears.

She expected this, so why was she so surprised?

Scrambling to stand up, she wrapped herself up in the thick duvet and ran into the main room of the cabin.  The fire had died down but the remnants were still crackling in the hearth. She flushed with memories of the desire that had licked through her veins the night before in front of that very fire. Shaking her head in order to clear her mind, she looked to the door and saw that his boots were missing and his coat was gone.

Quickly, she ran to the door and flung it upon, unconcerned with the biting cold that snapped its teeth at her exposed flesh. 

“So, when you invite someone to have coffee with you, do you normally sit there and write the whole time?”

I look up with wide eyes.  To be honest, I forgot he was sitting there.

“I’ll just be a minute, and you’re early,” I point out.

She couldn’t stay out in the cold for very long, but needed at least another minute.  He wouldn’t leave like that; not without saying goodbye.

“Well, not to rush your artistic breakthrough here, but I have to be back at work in fifteen minutes,” Travis breaks into my thoughts again.

It’s just so typical.  I’ve had writer’s block for days now− I literally couldn’t write a coherent sentence− then about a minute before Travis walks through the door it’s like the sea parted and Moses was on the other side looking relieved and waving at me.

It’s pretty depressing when your mental metaphors are better than the crap you managed to put on paper that week.

They say when you have writer’s block you should clear your mind and the ‘inspiration’ will just come.  But my mind doesn’t go blank, and I’ve spent the last three hours staring at the wall and wondering if you want French toast in France, do you ask for French toast, or just toast?

And now, because I’ve thought about it so much, I actually care what the answer is.  Obviously not one of my better days.

And now Travis is here for our meeting, sitting across from me at the small bistro table, constantly checking his watch.

You know, I bet Julie Garwood doesn’t have these problems.  People understand that when her pen touches paper an invisible ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is hung on her forehead.

The only thing on my forehead is bangs that were clearly a mistake.

Mainly because I thought I could cut them myself.

Travis is staring at me, idly bouncing his leg, and I’m torn between closing my notebook and being polite, or pretending I didn’t hear him.

I’ve known Travis… well I can’t remember a time I didn’t know him, so we’ll just call it a long time.  He grew up in the subsidized apartment building a few blocks from our typical suburban house.  He was a little… rough… growing up.  My brother, Scott, brought him home one day, almost like you would a stray cat, and from that day forward it was like my mother had three children instead of two.  Except Travis never lived with us; he went home every night to an apartment with a mother who just didn’t care about her own son.  I used to think that maybe if my parents hadn’t looked after Travis growing up, his own mother would have stepped up, but I think they just saved him from the inevitable.

“You haven’t even got a drink yet,” I volunteer a solution.  “And I wouldn’t mind a refill.”

His eyes take me in, probably assessing my stubbornness, which has always been a vital part of my personality, before he sighs and stands up.

Momentarily distracted from my creative breakthrough, I watch Travis as he goes to order his coffee; my writer’s eye assesses him in an instant, turning him into a character from one of my books for a moment.  It’s a habit I don’t ever seem to be able to turn off.  It’s actually a bit annoying really− especially when I’ve been trying to write my actual leading hero for the last few days, and all I’ve come up with is he has long hair.

Something tells me I’m going to need to give a few more details in the character description.

Travis is still wearing his winter hat but I can see the mop of black hair curling out from beneath it.  His eyes are brown− just plain old brown.  He’s smiling at the barista, the dimple on the one side of his cheek ever present.  He obviously has been spending time outside, as I can see the snowflakes have left their mark on his down filled vest, a flimsy plaid shirt underneath.  Travis is the only person I know who wears only a vest in the middle of a Toronto winter. He always complains he is too hot.  I don’t leave the house without my fur lined boots and a Parka.

I would make him the best friend, I decide.  I mean, I know that he’s always been my brother’s best friend, so I am slightly biased here, but he’s just not how I picture my leading man.  Though God knows enough girls seem to fall all over themselves to get to him.  It’s kind of tragic, really.  And he has the physique for the ‘leading man’ for sure; his upper body is built from all his visits to the gym.  But he’s just too genuine.  Not enough mystique there to be a smouldering hero.

S canning the distant mountains her eyes freeze on the Northern hills.  On the shadowed mountain range, way off in the distance, she could see the sight that her eyes had been searching for. 

There, on top of the highest peak, he sat on his horse.  The beautiful animal turned, its head pointing to the rising sun, supporting its rider.  Although it seemed too far, she felt his penetrating gaze as it pierced right to her soul.

My pen stops and I bite the side of my cheek.  And then what?  She sees him, he sees her…

I look around and see Travis is still talking to the woman making his coffee.  She’s blushing and hanging on his every word.  I could use this.

She’s obviously goggling over him, prolonging the coffee making process so that he will keep talking to her.  Everyone seems to be a sucker for that dimple.  If he suddenly left and walked away, what would she feel?  What would she do?

She’d probably wonder if she should keep making the coffee.

No− that’s only because I’ve known him my whole life and don’t get the fascination women have with him.  To me, he’s Travis, the boy who always pulls my hair and fidgets when I talk about sex.

But to this woman he could look like Mr. Darcy; he’s got the hair for it.

From that giggle and blank look in her eyes, however, she’s definitely not capable of pulling off Elizabeth Bennett.

Maybe Bella and Edward.  She doesn’t know anything about him and she’s already smitten.  Also, she keeps dropping everything.  She’d be perfect as Bella.

She raised her hand, just to feel the connection, to feel that it was all real.  But he was too far.  The connection was slowly slipping out of her grasp – the wind carrying it to someplace beyond.

I puff out my cheeks and tap my pen to my lips.  Think… Think…

Okay, he’s on the hill.  She can’t get near him.  He’s leaving forever…

She watched as he reared his horse before turning and disappearing into the horizon.  Lowering her hand she lifted her chin; watching, waiting, even though she knew the efforts were futile.

The table suddenly lurches from underneath me and my pen slides off the page.  I look up to Travis, who has his hands raised in defence.

“Sorry, my foot kicked the table leg,” he looks apologetic.

I look back down at my notebook and write the final words.

Into the howling wind she sighed and whispered the words that she hoped would find their way home.  “Come back to me.”

“Okay, let’s do this thing,” Travis says as I finally put down my pen.

“Okay, so I have all the food organized,” I say, meeting his eyes again.  “And you did the guest list, right?”

“Pretty much.  I just did it on Facebook,” he shrugs.  “And your parents are okay with it being at their house?”

“I had to talk them into it, but I told them that thirty year olds don’t make a mess like eighteen year olds do,” I say, taking a sip of the drink Travis bought me.

He winces.  “Yeah, I guess Scott and I got a little out of control that night.  Man, it took us forever to save up the money to fix the broken windows.”

I swallow my drink and frown at him.  “Did you get me hot chocolate?”

“It’s your favourite,” he says, smiling.

“It was when I was five.  Now I prefer coffee like the rest of the adult world.”

“What happened to little Etty Lawrence? You remember:  girl with the little blond curly pigtails, always trying to keep up with her big brother and his sexy best friend?”

“You’re only three years older than me!  You saw me go to prom, you saw me graduate university.  And plus, it would be creepy for a thirty year old man to be taking a little girl out for drinks on a regular basis.”

“You still order Shirley Temples, so I’m not sure you’re helping your argument there.”

Damn it, that’s true.  But I’m a sucker for those little swords with the cherries and orange slices.

“Scott doesn’t suspect anything, right?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?  He knows pretty much everything,” Travis says as if there was ever a doubt.

“What?  Did you tell him?” I accuse.

“Etty, he’s turning thirty.  He’d have to be a moron to not know there is going to be a party.  You always order food from the same place, and we both live in a shoe box, so your parents’ house is the only place that could fit more than five people.  It didn’t take Einstein.”

I chew on my bottom lip.

“We will have to do something spontaneous,” I say, nodding my head.

“Slow down,” he says, holding up his hands.  “Don’t go crazy.  The party we planned is fine.”

Why does everyone always say that to me?  Like they think I go overboard on everything.

Which is so untrue.  Everything I plan is with love, and I am in complete control the whole time.  It’s the plans that have a mind of their own.  I mean, did I ask the magician to put my mom in that box for his ‘Disappearing Trick’ even though my mother’s claustrophobic?  No.  And after I calmed her down and she drank a bottle of wine I think even she appreciated that it was a pretty cool trick.  And my dad fumbling with the keys to get her unlocked and punching out the magician− it was so romantic.

Sadly, I did lose my security deposit on that one.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t need to do anything more than you’ve already planned.  He’s turning thirty, not going to space or something.  Drinks, food and music is all anyone expects.”

“Exactly, that’s what they expect.  We can’t just have a boring old party or no one will remember it!” I argue.  “How many times is my only brother going to turn thirty?”

“You used that argument to go to Montreal on your eighteenth.  And when your dad turned fifty and we all went to Vegas.  And when you hired reindeer for Lily’s first Christmas.  It’s kind of been done now.”

Honestly, a couple of reindeer get lost in the suburbs and you would think the world was coming to an end the way people freaked out.  But my brother wasn’t taking his daughter’s first Christmas seriously.  Is it too much for me to want her to have a firm grasp of Santa Claus?  I don’t want her turning out like Susan Walker from Miracle on 34th Street.

“Just leave it to me,” I say, closing my notebook.  “I have everything under control.  He’s going to have the best time ever.”

“Should I have the fire department on standby?” he asks, smiling.

I offer him a fake laugh.  “Ha, Ha.  Very funny.”

“So you have a signing tomorrow?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, not that there is much point.  Two people at the last one.  It was pathetic,” I say, shaking my head.

I don’t mention the two people were my parents.

“I’ll try and stop by,” he offers.

“You don’t need to,” I shrug.  “I know it’s not your kind of thing.”

“If you’re there, then it’s my kind of thing.  You know you’re my favourite author,” he says, offering me a lopsided grin that I know makes all the Bellas of the world swoon.

“I’m your only author,” I counter.  “You have one bookshelf which has like six books on it, and they’re all mine.”

“Seven after tomorrow,” he winks.  “I like to have a backup copy.”

“I got another rejection yesterday,” I say, sighing.  “I’m up to one hundred and eight.  Do you know what one hundred and eight rejections does to a person’s self-esteem?”

“Maybe they don’t know what they are talking about?  Didn’t that Harry Potter lady get rejected a bunch of times?” he offers.

“She got rejected twelve times.  I still had hope after fifty,” I argue.  “They said they’re looking for fresh, new ideas, yet every shelf of a bookstore nowadays has a sparkly vampire face staring back at you.”

He nods in sympathy, though I can tell he has no idea what I’m talking about.

“I just don’t get it.  I get good reviews; everyone says my writing is great.  I have the key components in my books: super-hot guy, strong woman.  This next book even has a horse!  Who doesn’t love horses?”

“I don’t really like horses,” Travis says, but I shake my head at him.

“Maybe I just need to start fresh.  A new angle.  Completely change trains.”

“What?”

I look at him frowning.  “Change trains.  It’s a saying.  You know, get off one train and go in the opposite direction for the next…”

His blank gaze makes me frown.

“Okay, just forget it.  You know, you’re not much help,” I say, putting my notebook into my purse.

“They say you should write about things you know.  You’ve never been near a horse,” he says.

“I was at summer camp once.  I broke my arm, remember?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.”

“Besides, I write historical romances.  Unless you have a time travelling machine I don’t know about, it’s not like I can get any front line perspective.”

“No travelling machine, unfortunately.  Though you’d have to get in line for that one.  First thing I would do is go back and warn my younger self to steer clear of Heather Morrison,” he says and gives a fake shudder.

“Who knew the lawn of your apartment building could be that flammable?  You should have just taken her to prom.”

“She set the lawn on fire and we never even really went out.  Could you imagine what she would do during a breakup?”

I laugh.  “You have a point there.  See, this is the problem.  You have all these great stories, and I’ve got none.  Maybe that’s why my books suck.  My imagination is letting me down.”

“First of all, your books don’t suck.  They’re good− I read one,” he offers.

I raise my eyebrows in his direction.  “Which one?”

“The one without a horse,” he says, smiling.  “And secondly, you have some good stories.  Remember ‘I love you Todd’?”

I can’t help the blush of shame that comes to my face.  “That’s not worth repeating, let alone putting in print.”

Travis is already laughing.  This always happens.  “It’s the best story, though!  He said ‘I love you’ to his dog and you thought he was talking to you.”

I narrow my eyes as he tries to keep it together.  I’m never telling him anything ever again.

“You’re not helping my self-esteem right now,” I argue.

“All I’m saying is people would probably like reading about that better than some girl mooning over a guy on a horse.  Why don’t you write about something that is popular right now?  Figure out what people are into.”

“Are you trying to say people aren’t into historical romances?” I ask.  “Because I’ll have you know it is an extremely popular genre.”

“I’m just suggesting that perhaps you should try to go for something new and exciting,” he suggests.  “Maybe write about something you know, something that has happened to you personally.”

Alright, that is decent advice.  Except the highlight of my love life has been Todd, and when you lose out to a Pomeranian it’s not really something you want to share with the world.

“Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Hmm,” I nod, non-committedly.

“Are you working at the comic book store this week?” he asks, tucking his chair under the table.

I work at the world’s smallest comic book store in the Bloor West village.  It’s the only job that was even remotely close to a career in publishing, and they offer dental benefits.  Well, kind of.  The owner, Mr. Sharp, has a son who is a dentist, so I get a free toothbrush and toothpaste once a month.  It sounds stupid but I look forward to that new toothbrush more than I should.

“All day, every day,” I nod.  “I have to pay for that shoe box apartment somehow.”

“I’ll stop by with a hot chocolate; I’m working just down the street from there,” he says.

“Add a cookie to that order and I will consider opening the door,” I smile.

“And don’t go too crazy with the party, okay?  Your mom will never forgive me if any of her new windows get broken.”

Travis kisses the top of my head and makes his way out of the coffee shop.

Write what I know, eh?

Well, I could do a short story on magicians.

 

Never Alone

At work on the second last Sunday in March, I felt off. I was extremely light headed, but I passed it off as hunger and moved on with my day; I purchased one of those healthy shakes and a pita and everything seemed to be okay for the rest of the day. I woke up that night feeling extremely nauseous, and by the morning, I didn’t have anything left to give. From Monday to Wednesday I was knocked out: I had the bug that I just couldn’t shake.

I woke up on Thursday with severe chest pains. I was coughing so much it was hard to breathe. I told my husband that I might need antibiotics and that I was going to the hospital. This was 3 o’clock in the morning. We have two children who are the loves of our lives, but they are also kids – messy and loud. I wanted to go to the hospital, get the antibiotics, and be back before they woke up so I could help my daughter get ready for school.

I drove myself to the emergency room at Oakville Hospital. There was one other person there when I arrived. I told them I was having trouble breathing, and I was having severe chest pain. They told me to sit down and wait. After half an hour the pain got worse, I went to ask the lady at the front desk how much longer and she said “A while, we are really busy”. It was an hour and a half before they brought me through.

The nurse took my vitals and set me up to a heart monitor. I begged her for anything for the pain in my chest or even a cup of water as my throat was killing me from coughing, but she said I wasn’t allowed anything until I saw the doctor.

They took me for a chest x-ray and I threw up when they asked me to stand for it. They eventually did it on a stretcher. Back in the purgatory of little exam rooms, the doctor finally appeared. She said nothing came up on the chest x-ray, that I had a nasty case of the flu, and really the only thing to do is “go home and get over it.”

I drove myself home after this. This is my greatest guilt. Now that I know what I know I am so ashamed that I could have hurt myself or someone else in that car. But I was told I had the flu. Surely you can drive when you have a cold? I drove to Shoppers Drug Mart to get some medicine for my throat. It was a struggle to stand to even pay the cashier.

The next day, Friday, was a very bad bay. I just didn’t know what to do. I felt so sick, but thought I couldn’t go back to the hospital. They just sent me home yesterday; they will laugh me right out of there! I mean, I have the flu – buck up Emily! That night I was able to drink two bottles of vitamin water and thought, “okay, maybe this is the turning point.”

It wasn’t.

I woke up on Saturday morning vomiting blood. I immediately called my mom and said I had to go to the hospital. Actually I texted her because I couldn’t speak. She arrived at six in the morning to take me. She helped me get in the car because I could barely walk. I told my kids I was going to the hospital to get better and kissed them goodbye.

The rest you will have to forgive me. I will recount it to the best of my knowledge, but some things are more clear than others.

After being in the car for less than five minutes I had a seizure next to my mom. I remember her yelling my name−I thought we had been in a car accident, and I told everyone when we got to the hospital that we had been.

When we got to the hospital my mom ran inside for a wheelchair and explained to the lady at the desk what had happened. Apparently she was busy organizing her paperwork and told my mother she would have to wait a minute. When she was finally done she showed my mom where the wheelchairs are. She didn’t get up to help. My mom wheeled out the chair and I struggled to help her lift my limp body into it. When she wheeled me inside they asked me some questions; I didn’t know the answer to anything and they put me in the waiting room. This is the point I started begging my mom for my dad.

I wanted something to drink desperately but they wouldn’t allow me anything. My mom found some ice chips and rubbed them on my lips.

They brought me through to a room a lot quicker this time. The nurse came to see me. My mom wanted me to have IV fluids but nothing could be done until the doctor saw me.

The first doctor came about an hour after I arrived and ordered the fluids. I had five litres put into me and it later was determined that after that point I was then up to 20 percent of the amount of body fluids that I should have had in my body. At this point I was delirious. When my dad finally arrived I sobbed. For some reason I just needed to see him and I didn’t think he was going to make it in time. It’s funny what the mind knows that it really shouldn’t.

They put me on morphine for the pain. I don’t react well to morphine. I don’t react well to any drug. I was convinced someone had put buckets on my feet and I kept moaning for them to be taken off.

The first doctor called the internal medicine doctor as soon as they saw me. They also ordered another chest x-ray. The internal medicine doctor took one look at me, immediately said I had to be admitted and couldn’t believe I was sent home on Thursday. His actual words were “I don’t know how she made it home on Thursday.”

After I saw him I had to go to the washroom but I was isolated so I needed a commode. My mom asked the nurse but was told there are only two commodes for all of emergency and they were hard to track down. My mom looked at her as if to say “Okay, and?”. The nurse said she would try and look for it. I didn’t get to go to the washroom for two hours.

After I was admitted, they brought me to a room and my husband arrived. The kids were safe and sound with his parents and he was updated as to what was happening. I was exhausted from the morphine and the dehydration. I slept for a few hours. I woke up to a nurse putting Potassium in my arm. The blood work showed I was extremely low. I screamed in pain. My whole arm was on fire. I told the nurse at which point she grabbed my arm and said “It doesn’t hurt.” My mom grabbed my hand and told her “Yes it does.” The nurse said okay and turned down the drip. The burning went away immediately. She then took my vitals again. At this point no one knew what it was, but that something wasn’t right. When she took my blood pressure she immediately called for a doctor. That doctor called for ICU. My blood pressure was 50/45. The ICU nurses came immediately.

I cannot stress enough how these women and men from ICU saved my life.

I met Sylvia and Sue. They told me that they were ICU nurses, but special because they could do things that other nurses can’t. They took me up to ICU and started performing procedures to bring my blood pressure up. After six hours I was stable. Well, my blood pressure was.

The next morning I woke up to the news. I had Influenza B, basically a nasty case of the flu. But that flu had caused pneumonia, which was so bad it had caused my lung to collapse and my chest to fill up with fluid.

I heard the doctor tell my mother that if I had been brought in even hours later I would have died.

And yet I was released from their care a little more than twenty four hours before I came back.

My parents spent the days with me, my husband spent the nights. I was convinced I needed water even though the fluids were flowing through the IV. I was struggling, walking through a desert, searching for an oasis of orange juice that I could find.

I spent two days in ICU and although I was stable I wasn’t improving. The doctors decided to put a chest tube in to drain the infection.

I cannot describe to you the pain I went through getting that tube in. Maybe because I was so weak, maybe because I still felt so dehydrated. I hadn’t eaten in two weeks and was so tired but couldn’t sleep. Either way, I was screaming while my mom held my hand and David helplessly waited outside.

The chest tube was a breath of fresh air. Even when they were putting it in, I could feel all of the fluid coming out of my side. I could finally walk again; I was finally mobile. Stilll in pain, but more manageable pain than the stabbing feeling in my chest from before.

When the chest tube was in for a day and they thought I was stable enough, I was released from the ICU to the hospital’s respiratory ward. This is where things got bad.

At first I was upset I had to share a room. There were no private rooms at all, but I got over it.

My roommates name was June. She had fallen and broken her ribs in the shower, she was elderly and partially deaf.

I started to feel better. I was able to go for walks. But something wasn’t right. I could feel the bandage that covered where the chest tube sat, was saturated. The fluid kept dripping down my body. I told the nurses, but they said they couldn’t touch it because it was the ICU’s doctor’s work and all they could do was put more bandages over it.

The night time was the worst time for me. My husband had to be home with the kids because my father in law got sick. I couldn’t sleep. I had to call the nurses to help me get to and from the bathroom because I had to unhook my chest tube.

The first night I called them: they took me to the bathroom and then disappeared. I called for them but after fifteen minutes no one came. I made my way back to the bed myself. They came an hour later to hook my tube back up.

My mom came every day to bathe me. Between my mom, dad, brother, and David I was never alone from seven in the morning to midnight. The ICU staff saved my life, but these people saved my sanity.

One night June couldn’t get to the bathroom. She was soaking wet. She called for the nurses and they came nearly two hours later and gave her a lecture on calling them before she went to the bathroom. They told her to tell the day nurse she needed a shower that day. It was the first thing she mentioned to the nurse at the start of her shift at which she was promptly told by the nurse that she wouldn’t have time that day. In her twelve hour shift. Later that night as my mom and I were watching HGTV the nurse had left June in the washroom for forty five minutes. My mom went to go and see if everything was okay. June couldn’t make it back by herself so my mom helped her back to bed.

I was transferred to this ward on the Saturday, and by Monday I started losing hope. My bandage was soaking wet, my mom had to change the sheets when she arrived because I had been sleeping in the fluid all night and was shivering. Also, nothing seemed to be coming from my chest tube into the container since I left ICU.

The ICU nurse Sylvia kept coming down to check on me, even though I was discharged from her service. She could see I was going crazy and I told her about the bandage. She said she would take care of it. I later learned that she called the ICU doctor at home and told him he needed to see me right away.

He came in that night when my husband was there, took one look at my bandage and asked me when was the last time someone changed it. I told him never. He shook his head and left the room. He brought in the nurses back and and started yelling at them. It was untrue that they weren’t allowed to touch the bandage. The truth is, and they admitted to this, they didn’t know how to change the bandage. Oh, also, they hadn’t turned the suction on for my chest tube since Saturday because they weren’t sure how, so the only thing that had been draining was all the fluid leaking out of my side for four days.

Monday was a low point. When my mom got there I felt hopeless. I had lost days because the nurses didn’t know how to do their job. And worse, they were willing to take absolutely no responsibility for it. Because the doctor yelled at them all, they were also not speaking to me. I saw my nurse that day for three minutes in her twelve hour shift.

But then the doctor came in that day with the greatest news ever. My chest xrays were good, I could have my tube out. It was the hope I needed. The nurse came in to help him and she started to say that she had tried to change the dressing once but I complained the tape hurt too much. At this point she could say whatever she wanted. The tube was coming out.

When it was out, I got a new lease of life. I slept the whole night. I felt no pain.

The next day I was released from hospital.

I am still weak. I am still very tired. I am still searching for answers.

But I am home with my family. I am focusing on getting well, and then I will find my answers.

When all is said and done, I will have lost nearly a month of my life to this scary thing that happened. But I gained years with my family and friends, a life I wouldn’t have had if I had waited even a few more hours to go back to the hospital.

Thank you for reading this. I am not sure what the intention of it is. When you know something is wrong, don’t let others convince you you’re okay. When you are in the hospital, never go alone− that you need a voice when you are unable to have one yourself.

I have had to delay the publication of my third novel, My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero until the end of August. To my loyal fans who were looking forward to the June release date I apologize, but I hope to somehow make it up to you.

I need to end this post with a thank you. To my mom, dad, David, family and friends for all your love and support. I will never forget it, and may never be able to truly repay the gratitude I feel.

Butt In Chair

Checking Inn’s blog tour is over *sob*.  Oh what to do with myself now?

I guess writing and editing might be a good idea!  I am in the process of working with my editor right now on my third book which is due out at the end of June.  It’s funny because I always think of my books as my second set of children.  And although they don’t make quite as much mess as my two little rascals, and they don’t have those goo-goo eyes that make me melt in my boots, there are a lot of similarities between the two.  Every child is different, just like every book is different (and I’m not just talking about plot/covers).  When I was writing White Lies I took my time, I wrote over the course of a year and just picked it up when I felt the “inspiration”.  With Checking Inn I whipped through the writing process, editing process and even cover design (well, the cover took me about two weeks to pick but for me this is lightning speed!) because the inspiration never left.  It was almost like the book was just waiting in my fingertips and all I had to do was drum on my keyboard to let it flow out.  My third book is kicking my butt.  Maybe because I have the distraction of my other two novels or maybe I just need to get outside (it has been a beyond cold Canadian winter and I’m at my wits end with it!).  Either way, I am dragging my feet a little with this novel, which is very unlike me.  I pride myself in being a little over achiever.  It’s who I am.  Sometimes I put little gold stars on my chapters after they’ve been edited and polished.  It’s my secret shame.

I don’t believe in writer’s block though.  I believe sometimes you will write stuff that’s not exactly great… alright some stuff I write and after I read it back I think “what was I talking about?”.  But the point is, if you wait for something to happen to you, you will be waiting a long time.  So, I sit my butt in the chair and get the job done.  And sometimes I even surprise myself with a “Hey, that’s not half bad!” on one of those off days.  So today I have made a pact with myself, and I guess you now because you will know if I renege on this that I will sit my butt in the chair and get through these corrections for book three.  I’ll have to build myself up to the cover though as we all know picking a cover sends me right over the edge!

The Bestseller List

I woke up this morning and White Lies is on the Romantic Comedy, Romance and Women’s Fiction bestsellers lists on Amazon.  After I picked my jaw up from the floor I ran to my computer to make this post.

First of all, thank you so much to everyone who is purchasing and writing great reviews for White Lies, I couldn’t do this without you!

Secondly, never in a million years when I published White Lies a few months ago did I think this was a possibility.  Did I dream about it?  Of course… and maybe a little of that dreaming motivated me to push the book further than I would have.  But did I think it was an actuality?  Probably not.  Not because I don’t think it is a hilarious, solid written book (here I shamelessly pat myself on the back- seriously it took me four years to write… I feel this vanity isn’t terrible, though have no fear I am watching it carefully), but because I literally know NO ONE in the publishing industry.  Everything I learned I learned on Google (God bless that search engine and all it spews out).

Thirdly, I feel a little silly for admitting this now but I was extremely nervous I was going to get eaten alive in the publishing industry.  Because I don’t know anyone in the publishing industry I literally had no idea what the public’s reaction was going to be.  Every time I see a review and they aren’t throwing stones and hurling insults I literally feel a small weight being lifted from my chest.  We are our worst critic (hence why we don’t have to hide the mirrors around here anytime soon).

Now let’s all take a minute and stroke our computer screens as we adoringly look upon the pictures I took of my computer screen from every angle.

So what’s next?  My Checking Inn tour is starting next week, and I have no clue why but I am both excited and terrified at the same time.  I haven’t got many reviews back for it yet, and over the next two weeks some lovely book reviewers are going to be telling me just what they think of my second book.  Hopefully the sales of White Lies will encourage the sales on Checking Inn for the promotion period, one can dream.  And I have learned today that dreaming is not such a bad thing.

Blowing out the candles

I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my birthday than having a great weekend sale of White Lies! Now over at Amazon, you can find White Lies on sale for just 99 cents! Sale ends Sunday (February 9th), so don’t delay!

Buying Links:

Amazon (US)

Amazon (CAN)

Amazon (UK)

Checking Inn Tour Starts Monday!

Next week, on Monday February 10th, is the first stop on Checking Inn’s book tour hosted by BestChickLit! Its going to be a very exciting time filled with reviews, interviews and some special guest posts from Checking Inn’s heroine Kate!

Please find a list of the stops below and be sure to check them out daily:

Stop 1 – 1oth February 2014 @ BestChickLit (Review and Author Interview)

Stop 2 – 11th February 2014 @ Tiffany Talks Books (Guest Post)

Stop 3 – 12th February 2014 @ Jera’s Jamboree (Guest Post)

Stop 4 – 13th February 2014 @ Cosmochicklitan (Review)

Stop 5 – 14th February 2014 @ After The Final Chapters (Review)

Stop 6 – 18th February 2014 – The Love of a Good Book (Guest Post)

Stop 7 – 19th February 2014 @ She Loves To Read (Review)

Stop 8 – 21st February 2014 @ Make My Day Book Club (Review)

Stop 9 – 24th February 2014 @ The Daily Opinion (Review)

Stop 10 – 25th February 2014 @ Book Lovers Codex (Review)

And be sure to check out http://www.bestchicklit.com. It is a fabulous site for book reviews!

Because I did promise.

It is so!

I have reached 200 followers on Twitter (@emilyswhitelies for all those who don’t follow me yet!).

And I did promise a fabulous giveaway when the time came so here it is:

The winner will receive their choice of a signed copy of Checking Inn or White Lies as well as this ultra glamorous Kate Spade thermal travel mug!

To enter, do one of three things (or all three if you just want to be an eager beaver):

1) Follow me on Twitter (@emilyswhitelies) and RT the giveaway

2) Like me on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/authoremilyharper and share the giveaway with your friends

3) Subscribe to my blog and leave a comment below

*For those who already Follow of Like me on Facebook please still RT or share the link with your friends so I know you would like to be entered. The winner will be picked at random by this lovely website I found (which coincidentally is called random.com )

Contest Ends: January 25th 2014 at Midnight! Contest is worldwide.

Publishing For Me

So, I have been in this crazy publishing world for a grand total of four months (and by this I mean my work has been published for that long, if we want to count all the trials and tribulations it took to get there that is years and years and years… you get the idea).

This morning I woke up and White Lies was on the Amazon bestsellers lists for Romantic Comedy (#84) and I literally sobbed into my phone.

After I drank a cup of tea and composed myself- because that is what us British do- I had a very reflective moment.

Words cannot describe how awestruck I was this morning. I know I am a writer, the irony is not lost on me.

I have wanted to be a published author for over a decade now, and although I am young, that just means that I knew I wanted to be an author for nearly half of my life.

When I was in university I sat down and started writing about a woman who is a little bit of an airhead, but at the same time has the possibilities of being something really great. Someone who never says, or even thinks the right things, but if you actually listen to what she is saying, she’s pretty brilliant.

I won’t get into all the details about what happened after I finished the book. My journey to publication was a long and complicated one, yet at the same time comparatively short to other authors.

What I want to share with you today is the success that I have enjoyed so far, and why I am so very humbled by my experience.

For those not in the publishing industry let me start by taking away a few illusions for you (these were taken away for me, so I feel it’s only fair if we are on the same playing field). Unless you are published by one of the few traditional publishing houses (to which you HAVE to have an agent for them even to look at you, and the process of getting an agent is extremely difficult), you are already starting at the bottom rung of the ladder. You have to fight, every single day, if you want your book to succeed (metaphorically, not punching out the critics  ). You have to be on Twitter A LOT. Before I became an author I didn’t even grasp the concept of Twitter. Now I tweet everything, and people tweet me back. It’s actually very satisfying.

You have to have a Facebook page. Social media is your biggest ally. Actually, in the few months I have been a published author I nearly have as many likes as I do friends on my personal Facebook page.

When people ask me how my book is going, how sales are going, I always try and be positive but give them the diluted version. The truth is, it is so complicated to explain to someone who doesn’t have a firm grasp of the publishing industry how ratings and sales work. Yesterday I sold a little over 100 ebooks for White Lies in one day, which is AMAZING for an unknown indie author, but to the average person that probably doesn’t seem like much considering how many people are out there buying books.

Which brings me to the main point of this post. The most thrilling thing about what happened this morning is not that I wrote a book and published it (though don’t get me wrong, I am extremely proud about that), but that people I don’t know want to read it. And they genuinely seem to like it (insert shameless plug for the book having a 4.6 Amazon rating and nothing below a 4 star!).

The feeling of going on the internet and having a notification waiting for me on my Amazon author page or my Goodreads page to say someone is currently reading, or have read and wrote a great review for my book is both humbling and uplifting at the same time. When authors write books it literally takes everything inside of us to not hover over you and ask you as soon as you turn the last page “so what did you think?”. Your reviews, both positive and negative, are always appreciated and if you have read the book and want to share your thoughts with potential other readers I invite you to.

Now from a completely personal standpoint, I can also say that one of my favourite things about this whole process is being submerged into a world full of people that genuinely love books. And I’m not talking about people who like books, I’m talking about people who LOVE books.

When I was thirteen years old I had the greatest teacher. His name is Mr. Marks and to this day I am eternally grateful for all he taught me. The three greatest things were this: he gave me The Giver, encouraged me to read and talk to him about To Kill a Mockingbird, and told me to start reading a book called Harry Potter. Mr. Marks, I thank you.

When I first published my book and really dove into the book community I realised what I had been missing for the last fourteen years. Something that a wonderful teacher had gone out of his way to instill in me years ago and it somehow got lost along the way. I had finally found them. People who got it. People who also don’t leave the house without a book. People who could sit with a cup of tea and pass the whole day away reading. People who when they are not reading want to talk about what they just read. And most of these people, who are the driving force in reviews and pushing indie authors like myself, do it for free! I am glad I finally found you.

And lastly, but certainly not least, I am so grateful to my friends and family who I know would have bought the book no matter what it was about. Because that is what you do for the people that you love. After I had got it together this morning, I picked up my phone and called the only person that I knew who would be more excited than I was. My mum.

White Lies made #86 on the Amazons Best Sellers list for Romantic Comedy