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Last summer my family finally talked me into buying a new dog. He’s an adorable, energetic little thing we named Groot Vader. Part Maltese, part Yorkie, part Poodle – 100% attitude. Our little Morkie-Poo.

It took my family awhile to convince me to get a new dog. Years, actually. The way I was raised, pets were NOT allowed inside the home. If on the rare occasion we brought a family pet indoors, said pet remained on the tile – off the carpet and OFF the furniture. I am also a bit of a neat-freak, so the idea of an animal scratching at doors, piddling on the floor, or shedding on the furniture was unthinkable.

I eventually gave in when I saw a picture of Groot. With his black, curly fur and soft coal-colored eyes, he looked so fluffy and sweet. Between that and seeing the pleading eyes of my little girls, this was one battle I knew I would not win. So, I said, “yes,” we made the deposit, then waited patiently (not-so-patiently) until our new puppy was ready to come home with us.

Groot had several litter-mates, but I knew I’d made the right choice when I approached the dog pen, and while the other puppies shied away, Groot walked up, tail wagging, and bit my finger. He was all spunk from the beginning, but soon we would see who was boss (spoiler alert – turns out, it’s not me).

The transformation of how I viewed inside dogs was a slow one. At first, I gated off the carpeted areas and the furniture was a big no-no. Fast-forward a few weeks and we were letting Groot on the carpet. After all, he had few accidents. He only wanted to be in the same room as us. It wasn’t long before he claimed the furniture. Fine, what could it hurt? He’s hypoallergenic and really doesn’t shed. But I drew the line at him sleeping in bed with us.

Each night I put Groot in his little activity pen, patted his head, and told him goodnight. He had his dog bed, favorite blanket, water, and chew toys. I convinced myself that he liked having his own space (though his sad little eyes as I walked away were hard to miss).

He did sleep all night, and never whined, so he must not have hated it too much – so maybe it was me that just felt guilty and missed him; and perhaps the sad eyes were a product of my own imagination. Whatever the case, one night before bed I thought I’d let him sleep in the bed with my hubby and me just the one time.

To my amazement, he slept all night – snuggled at my feet. He looked happy and peaceful. Okay, maybe one more night. Then another. Fine, I’ll scoot over. Still another night. You’re right, this bed is big enough for three.

I gave up on fighting it. I’m not sure at what point I became a dog lover, but it happened. Now, as part of my nightly routine, I place Groot in bed with us (a fact I was able to keep hidden from my mother until she took it upon herself to make my bed and found Groot’s gnarled rawhide bone between the sheets. Busted! I got a fit of the giggles and told her it was mine.).

Now, every night, Groot makes a big production of digging into the covers (as if digging a hole), he plops down next to me, let’s out a final hmph (as I noted, attitude), then drifts off to sleep. I find it best to let this sleeping dog lie. His paws may sometimes be dirty, his breath smells like dogfood, but he’s part of the family now, and we sure love having him around.

This blog is going to be short because I’ve been neglecting my latest book project and need to get back to it. But I wanted to quickly share the 4 P’s I’ve been trying to live by. I share in the hopes they may help someone else. I didn’t invent these P’s. I collected them through the years. They’re fairly easy to remember, but I keep a sticky-note on my computer as a constant reminder.

First, Poise. Think “be like Grace Kelly.” Cool. Calm. Collected. I struggle with this. I fail at this daily. But when I find myself freaking out or losing my cool, a voice in my head screams out “poise” and I take a deep breath and channel a composed demeanor. For the younger crowd who isn’t familiar with Grace Kelly, perhaps channel Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, instead.

Second, Positivity. Focus on the positive. Don’t be negative. SPEAK only the positive. Think about silver linings, the bright side, and all of that. People might accuse you of having your head in the clouds – but I’m sure there’s an upside to that too.

Third, Posture. Sit up straight. Good gracious, I can hear my grandmother now. She’s always preaching good posture. If she had her way, I would have spent my teens with a stack of books balanced on my head. Good posture doesn’t only make you look more confident, it makes you feel more confident. There’s been studies on it – look it up.

And finally, Praise. Tell people when they’re doing a great job. Tell a friend or family member what they mean to you, and why. Sometimes it’s easier to point out the flaws of others. For some reason it can be hard to give a compliment, but DO IT. And do it often.

That’s it. Those are my 4 P’s. Some days I think my post-it needs to be bigger. Sometimes I swap Positivity for Pessimism and have to course correct. But at the end of the day, these are the 4 P’s that speak to me.  Oooh … ooh. I’ve thought of a fifth. Procrastination. I don’t recommend this one. And on that note, I need to get back to my book project. Enjoy your day!

I love music. LOVE it. For me, it’s a part of my life. When someone asks, “What kind of music do you like?” I don’t have a solid answer, other than “all kinds.” Gospel, country, rock – if the words are right, or it has a great sound, I’m sold.

Taylor Swift – what can I say about her? I love how she writes. Her songs are simple, relatable, and stay in my head all day. I’m not ashamed to say her songs are scattered throughout my playlist. “He’s the reason for the teardrops on my guitar.” Are you kidding me? One of the most honest, gut-wrenching statements ever proclaimed. Imagine Dragons – aah! Here is a band that you can tell enjoys what they do. Their music is powerful. The inner-conflict of right and wrong is prominent in the lyrics and again, RELATEABLE. The band sings, “It’s where my demons hide,” and it’s as if the songwriters got all up-close-and-personal with my most intimate thoughts. A shout-out to Brewers Grade, a talented group of individuals, including a man who is the best fiddle player I’ve ever had the privilege of hearing and who sang at my wedding and made the ladies swoon. 😉 Joe, I’m proud to say, “I knew you when…” And Ed Sheeran? Well anyone who knows me knows how I feel about this man and his music. One word – Talent. Okay, another word – Adorable. He made the world recognize that being a redheaded man is super cool. See you in August at Century Field, Ed (and thank you to my hubby for buying the tickets and being understanding of my irrational crush)!

Many authors have playlists they create when writing. Some don’t – they find it distracting. I find it inspiring. The music alters my mood and influences my characters’ moods as well. I love a good “sappy” playlist as I write my romance novels. When a song comes on in the car that tugs at the heartstrings, it makes me want to rush home and write, and I make a mental note to add it to my playlist. My favorite spot to write is poolside, alone with only my thoughts, my laptop, an abundance of snacks, and my music (and sometimes my dog, Groot). From the outdoor speaker Brett Young croons, “If you ever loved me, have mercy,” as my character pours out her heart on the page. Chris Stapleton follows up with, “Fire Away,” and I know there’s going to be a battle. Conflict rears its ugly head, the angst sets in, and all hope seems lost. But then Brett steps back up to the plate with, “In case you didn’t know, I’m crazy about ‘ya,” and I know there will be a happy ending, and that love will conquer all (at least between the pages).

Call it weird, eccentric, or just plain crazy, but a powerful song can toy with my emotions and take me back years, to memories I hadn’t thought of in some time. Keith Whitley sings, “I wonder, do you think of me?” and my mind drifts back to my younger years and the friends I wronged or drove away in my selfish and infantile state. I hope these past friends realize I was immature. I hope they know that I’m not the person I was in my late teens and early twenties. I hope they realize they knew me at a time in my life that I was unhappy, insecure, and just trying to get by one day at a time. Cole Swindell sings, “…even if I knew you’d be my best and worst mistake,” and I hum along, knowing that I wouldn’t take back those friendships that saw me through some dark times; and I hope in my heart and soul these people feel the same (or can at least forgive me if they don’t).

Music also makes me think of those I’ve lost on this earth and hope to see again someday. In some cases, it’s when I hear a song I know the person loved. But other times, it’s just the words – or a sweet melody. When I hear John Michael Montgomery sing, “I miss you a little,” (a song I believe he wrote when his father passed, if I’m not mistaken), I grow a bit melancholy as I think of a childhood friend I lost. As I sing along to the words, “…a little too much, a little too often, a little more every day,” the lyrics make me sad, but they’re also part of the healing process.

I’m thankful for all the times music uplifted me. I remember leaving the hospital late one evening after visiting a loved one that I nearly lost unexpectedly. My heart was heavy, and I searched my memory for all the missed opportunities of letting that person know what they meant to me, and for what I could have done differently (luckily, I got another chance). Guilt and a deep sadness hung in the air during the car ride home. It was at this low point that Jason Mraz came on the radio singing, “I’m Yours.” My mood lifted just enough to sing along. I yelled out the words at the top of my lungs, “…I tried to be chill, but you’re so hot that I melted.” I bobbed my head to the rhythm as the tears rolled down my cheeks. To this day I can’t listen to that song without feeling an uptick in my mood. It can always get me out of a funk. Jason sings, “…but my breath fogged up the glass, so I drew a new face and I laughed,” and these words make me smile.

I also love old-fashioned gospel music. It soothes my sometimes-hardened heart. I sit in church and hear the congregation sing, “He was there all the time, waiting patiently in line,” and I bow my head in regret at the way I squandered my week. But then I hear the words to Amazing Grace, and realize I was forgiven before I could ask for it. I sing along about being “on the road to surrender,” and feel comfort that I’m not alone in my struggles.

I love sharing music with my family. We cruise down the road, sunroof open, and sing “Fishing in the Dark,” or “Ain’t Going Down ‘Til the Sun Comes Up,” and laugh riotously at the strange looks we get from passing cars. I love that we experienced a Garth Brooks concert as a family and that I got to share the songs I listened to when I was their age. My two girls love to sing. It makes me happy to see them so happy; to see the carefree way they express themselves. Life’s too short to not be happy.

So, although I have no musical talent of my own (I don’t play guitar – so no tears there, and I can’t carry a tune in a bucket … though when I sing in the shower I convince myself I sound just like the artist blaring from my smart phone), it doesn’t keep me from appreciating music and its impacts. Good or bad. Happy or sad – it’s a part of who I am. So, as you read the pages of my books, if the mood grows dark or a bit sappy, it was most likely inspired by the song I was listening to at the time, so just roll with it and hum along. Join me, and face the music.

As an inspiring author, this title probably sounds a bit self-serving, but I’m mostly coming at this from the angle of an avid reader (and what can I say, maybe I needed a hug today).

Think back on the last book you read. Did it frighten you? Inspire you? Make you laugh, make you cry? Did you find love or desire between the pages? Did the book alter your mood or way of thinking? When weaving a story, the intent is to evoke emotion – to write a book that will change the reader in some way; even if it’s in a small way.

As a pre-teen, there were several book series that enhanced my childhood – Nancy Drew Mystery Stories (pseudonym, Carolyn Keene), Sweet Valley Twins (created by Francine Pascal), and Baby-sitters Club (Ann M. Martin). These characters’ stories inspired me and fueled my imagination. In addition to “collecting clues” to solve a mystery of my own making, and fantasizing about having a twin sister, my church friends and I started a baby-sitters club. Although we rarely could afford to pay our dues and were too young to land paid babysitting gigs, none of this stopped us from holding regular meetings in the churchyard. When the club finally dissolved, we took what measly dues we’d collected and had a pizza-party sleepover at someone’s house. The creators of these book characters altered my childhood without ever having met me – which is powerful and super cool if you think about it.

Like most authors, what I want more than anything is to write a story that speaks to me, and then to share that story with as many readers as possible in the hopes that it will have the same impact on others as it did on me. But to achieve this goal, an author has to put themselves out there. They must pour all their thoughts, feelings, and imagination into their book, their characters, and each scene. The effort leaves the writer raw, emotional, and exposed.

So why do writers put themselves through this?

For most writers (myself included), writing isn’t about fame or recognition (many authors are introverts). It’s not about fortune (BELIEVE me, if you saw my last royalties deposit, you’d have a good chuckle). It’s about having a story inside you that is begging to be written; a story in which you (the writer) is baring a part of your soul and then putting that part of yourself out there for the world to read. And critique. And judge. But that’s okay, it’s part of the job.

If you follow your favorite author(s) on social media, you might notice these authors ask for book reviews. There are two main reasons for this: (1) Your review helps get the word out. It helps us engage more readers. Remember, our intent is for our stories to reach as many people as possible. It’s not about sales (though that can be nice too), it’s about having an impact; and (2) Authors are truly looking for honest feedback. This feedback lets us know if the story was on-target or missed the mark. It lets us know how we can improve to better connect with our readers – to better connect with you. Positive reviews are always nice to read. It can be uplifting to hear what others loved about the book. And yes, in many ways, hearing about the “good stuff” provides validation and feeds the fragile ego. But if you didn’t like something about the book, we want that feedback too.

Now, to clarify, honest feedback doesn’t translate to brutal honesty (a scene just popped in my head from the movie, ‘Jerry McGuire’ … “You added the brutal.”). But a review with constructive criticism, although it can be tough for an author to read, and may sting a bit, is necessary (and appreciated) so we can grow and better serve our readers.

So, find that book that speaks to you and read it, lend it, borrow it, post about it, tell a family member, tell a friend – spread the word. And if you see an author, give ‘em a hug. They are sleep-deprived, hardworking, and putting themselves out there in ways others can only imagine. And while you’re at it, hug a friend or family member. We could all use more love and encouragement. Love and best wishes. xoxoxo

I’d love to claim that there is indeed a method to my madness when I write, but that generally isn’t true. Ideally, I would outline each story, write the story from start to finish, and then edit only after the first draft is complete. Instead, my writing process is nothing short of chaotic. I start out with good intentions – a semi-solid idea about what my novel will be about and the general direction it will go.

Armed with these good intentions, I sit down at my keyboard. Chapter 1. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I introduce my main character and set the stage. Then bam, my thought process is interrupted by a completely different storyline or an outrageous book title idea that I can’t pass up. I save my current document and open a different Word document that I’ve started for other stuff. I type out my new idea into this file, then close it and go back to my original story.

Okay, where was I?

Chapter 2. Now (hopefully) we’re at a place where the reader can identify with the character and is hooked in. I’m feeling inspired. I already like my character and I can’t wait to see where the story will go from here. Suddenly I’m hit with an idea for a scene that will (most likely) fit with the storyline – but not yet. It’s too soon for this plot point. I try to ignore the idea, but it scratches at the corners of my mind. The scene is begging to be written. Fine.

Chapter XX (as in, I have no idea what chapter this will be, but it seems my character has taken on a life of its own and I need to write this scene now or all productivity will cease). I write the scene, not certain how it will fit with the rest of the story, and often at this point, not all-together sure who the other characters are. Okay, fine, written. Now my brain will behave.

Chapter 3. Perhaps at this point I’ve introduced a Mr. Right that will make all us ladies swoon. Chapter 4, Chapter … what, it’s past time for dinner? Argh. You guys okay with soup out of the can? No? How about UberEats. Done!

Food on the way, back to re-reading chapters one through four because I’ve already forgotten what I wrote. My mind automatically slips into edit mode. Is it amongst or among? Whom or who? Why did I use so many adverbs? And Becky – didn’t I use that name in my last novel? Becky is now Tiffany (edit, find, replace), very has been eliminated about eleven times, and my long-since delivered UberEats is growing cold.

It’s late, my neck is stiff, I’ve failed to help kiddos with their homework, and my hubby is laughing about some scene from the show we’re “watching together” that I completely tuned out. Time to tuck in kids, pretend to watch the rest of that show, then turn in.

Next day. 5:30 a.m. Open laptop to sneak in some writing before work. I suddenly remember a dream I had that might make a good storyline. I open the document for other stuff. I start by typing out a few words so that I can recall the plot point later but instead find myself carefully articulating everything about my dream (and to my surprise, half of it doesn’t make sense – so we’ll deal with that later). Good gracious, now I’m editing this writeup of my crazy dream and suddenly the idea doesn’t seem quite as good as I thought it was an hour ago. Save. Close the laptop. Now I’m running late for work.

Okay, fast-forward to after work, kids’ practices, this time I’ve managed to cook dinner and help with homework. It’s now after 10 p.m. Too tired. No writing tonight.

Two days. Three days. Four days go by. Life is busy. Sometimes I’m too exhausted. Sometimes I feel uninspired. But my characters are always there in the back of my mind. Those unwritten pages often stress me out. I’m failing to live up to my expectations, but really, I’m the only one who knows this.

I will write today. I will write today. Darn, I’m behind on social media and promoting my most recent book project. I put a picture on Instagram of me with laptop in-hand. I try to think of a clever phrase and an adequate number of relatable hashtags. Maybe I’m successful, maybe I’m not. My post engagement analytics that I don’t have time to analyze will let me know. Okay, gotta get in those Tweets. I post a funny meme and tell my Twitter followers #amwriting. Am I? Well, I finished a grocery list, though I never made it to the actual grocery store. Surely that counts.

Okay, new day with a renewed sense of purpose. I can’t recall what I was writing about or where I left off. I go back to reviewing the first several chapters. I slip back into editing mode. Stop! Okay, I’ve stopped editing. I’m back to writing. Chapter 5. “Becky sat alone by the…”  Wait, she’s no longer Becky. I’ve named her Tiffany. Edit, Find, Replace.

This goes on for months, but eventually I’m at a place where the novel flows from start to finish and I start editing with a critical eye. During this time my other stuff file is getting huge and I am so torn between finishing my current project and further developing some of the other ideas. Back to editing. Stay focused. Why do I have a chapter XX? Oh, right! I love that scene, but it still doesn’t fit with the storyline. I’m not quite ready to lose it yet, though. Cut. Paste into other stuff.

Back to the book. Read. Edit. Get feedback. Rinse. Repeat.

Now you have some insight into my writing process. There is no method. Only madness. But after a lengthy process of peer reviews, feedback, edits, and rewrites (not to mention book cover design, etc., etc.), when all is said and done, I have a story I’m proud of and that I hope others enjoy. DARKENED is available on Amazon but stay tuned for future book projects and new blog entries. Happy reading!

When you hear the phrase, Don’t Give Up the Day Job, you probably associate it with meaning that someone is not very good at something – as did I until recently. But when I chose to pursue a writing career, I wrestled with the prospect of doing just that … quitting my day job to chase my dream of being a successful author.

I’ve completed one novel and have three additional projects well underway, all while working full-time, so imagine how productive I could be if I could concentrate on being an author (I reason with myself. Sounds logical, right?). What if my job is causing my writing to suffer? Most of my writing occurs in the evening or wee morning hours, when I’m less awake, so perhaps my writing could be more impactful if I could do it while I’m feeling fresh. These are all things I tell myself – not necessarily reality.

To quit or not to quit. The pros flash in front of me, they beckon me – tempting me to heed the call. Not having the “day job” would free up my time to write. I picture myself joining a writing group, attending classes to study my craft, and taking the much-needed time to promote my first novel. I imagine long walks by the river while I find inspiration for my next story. I close my eyes and envision sitting on the front porch, laptop…well, in my lap…typing madly as I watch the dogs play and enjoy the warm, summer breeze (in reality, the dogs would probably be fighting, the summer air would be stifling, and I wouldn’t be able to read my laptop screen under the glare of the sun).

The cons are easy. The daunting call of rational thought invades my every decision as I mull over the reasons to keep my full-time, 40 – 60 hour/week job. Obligations. Responsibility. Money. Bills. Financial security. Not wanting to shift the load to my husband. Quitting would mean less security and sacrificing many of the comforts a dual-income provides to my family of four. The thought of giving up the motorhome or saying no to dining at my favorite restaurants is enough to give me pause (I really enjoy road trips and food).

I took to social media to seek advice from some of my writing friends. It was here that someone gave me the best insight. He told me that he quit his job to write full-time and found that staying at home without the interactions of his day job resulted in less creativity and eventually, less writing. This resonated with me. At work I am always meeting interesting people, learning new things, and trying out new ideas that spark my creativity. My interactions and experiences at work often fuel my inspiration for scenes and characters in my novels.

Armed with this insight, and evaluating my decision under a new lens, there are several factors that support the decision to keep my job. Sleep is overrated. Being responsible sets a good example for my children. Financial security frees up my mind for being creative in my writing. It’s a win-win. I’ll continue to pursue my dreams of being a writer. That hasn’t changed. I’m not giving up my passion, but that doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice my day job. At least not today. I’m good at my job. When I think about it, I actually enjoy many aspects of it. Why can’t I be successful at both? Don’t Give Up the Day Job. Sounds like great advice to me.

We spend our lives trying to fit in. The angst of our teenage years is centered around fitting in. But the older I get, the more I find that “fitting in” isn’t so important. In fact, my preference is leaning towards NOT TO. Dare to be different is my new motto. Am I weird? I prefer eccentric. Am I immature? I prefer free-spirited or young-at-heart. Who says we must conform to the ideals of others? I guarantee almost anyone you meet has a freaky/strange side they’re just dying to let out.

I have a great deal of friends, and I consider myself lucky. But I’ve always struggled with knowing that I don’t quite “fit in” with many of them. Many are a bit more conservative than me. This can be a source of struggle – finding common interests, learning when it’s best NOT to speak my mind – but it’s also a source of struggle in my writing. As I write a romance scene (one of my FAVORITE things, if I’m being truthful), I can almost hear the gasps of shock from those who I love and admire. I have to remember two things: (1) my true friends still love me for me; and (2) just because they are my friends, doesn’t necessarily mean I write for them. I have to remember and accept that they may not be my “target” audience. In writing, I frequently stretch myself – not just beyond my own comfort level, but oftentimes, beyond the comfort level of others. It’s a bold journey, but an exciting journey.

Speaking of friends… I recently sat through a two-day class with a fellow co-worker I’m happy to call my friend. In the class we all bonded, we shared – we were all vulnerable. At the end of the class, this friend of mine said (and I’m somewhat paraphrasing), that he always worried people would find out how weird he was, until he got to know all of us better, and then he realized we were all weird. Truer words were never spoken!

In my office I hung a sign, Don’t Fit In, Stand Out, and it serves as a reminder (and hopefully, an inspiration for those around me). People don’t become famous or idolized because they’re NORMAL or act like everybody else. It’s because they have that special something that people look at and think, wow, that person is really extraordinary. So, the next time you feel bad because you don’t fit in, turn that feeling around and think of it as a good thing. You shouldn’t fit in. You were born to stand out. Dare to be different.

First, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m coming off the emotional rollercoaster of a two-day reflecting class so I’m a bit raw and am now suffering from what the instructor called a “vulnerability hangover.” The whole thing has left me a bit sappy and… well, reflective, which I guess was the point.

In the class we were tasked with listing three people who helped shape us into the person we are today. We were given plenty of time – and space – to think about our answers before writing them down. I wandered to a table far away from my classmates, where I could be alone with my thoughts. I listed my parents in slot number one – a tie. Number two, a no-brainer – my husband, for better or for worse. The third slot stared back at me from the page. I pondered my other family members, my past teachers, mentors, and coaches (all solid choices) – but there was one name that rose to the surface. My childhood friend, and friend to this day, “Red.”

I jotted down her name without further hesitation and my pen flew across the paper as I listed all my reasons. I smiled as I recalled her showing up to my house in her leather jacket, black, faux leather boots, and all that gorgeous red hair – and my dad’s hesitation to let us hang out together because anyone could see we were trouble as a pair. But Red taught me to embrace my carefree side and to let go and have some fun (but not TOO much fun, I still had my parents in slot number one, keeping me grounded…no pun intended).

Through the years, Red showed me how to be a better person. Time and time again I’ve witnessed her selflessly give of her time to help people. She is the sort of person who brings you hand-picked flowers if she knows you’re down, or readily volunteers to help in the kitchen if she’s over for a dinner party. If ever I break down crying in front of her, she can’t help but cry too. For birthdays, while I’m running to an ATM to pull out cash to give as a present, Red’s carefully shopping for that perfect gift. Her thoughtfulness comes naturally to her, while for me, it’s something I must often make a conscious effort at.

I pressed my fingers to my lips to stifle a laugh as I remembered how she taught me the value of the dollar. As teens, we would scrounge for loose change under floorboards and couch cushions until we came up with the 99 cents required to buy a small Wendy’s Frosty to share. I recalled all the times we put our last two bucks in the gas tank so we could make it to the mall and back.

While sitting in class and playing back years of memories with Red, tears crept to my eyes as I thought about the tragedy and loss she’s dealt with in her lifetime. I won’t elaborate, her experiences aren’t mine to share, but I’ve always admired how she smiled through her pain and was never bitter. Never unkind. She quietly weathered the storm and only leaned on others for support if we flat out forced her to – yet, when any of her friends or family are hurting, Red is the first to offer a shoulder to cry on.

So, “Red,” if you’re reading this: I want you to know that I love you, and you inspire me. You are beautiful, witty, wonderfully sarcastic, and fun. You’ve made me more adventurous, more thoughtful (or, at least I try), and you’ve taught me to be happy and smile despite what life throws my way. You’ve taught me the true meaning of friendship.

Okay, so I use this one, but I actually mean the opposite. DO. DO judge a book by its cover (and with that advice, my book sales plummeted – ha-ha – hopefully not).

Now, hear me out on this. I don’t mean in everything. What I do mean is, trust your gut. When it comes to your safety, and the safety of those you love, go with your instincts. The same instinct you rely on to choose that beautifully displayed novel from the bookshelf can be used for many things. Will these instincts sometimes lead you astray? Absolutely (refer to my blog entry on the broken clock as an example). But sometimes those instincts and gut feelings can be a life-saver (and I mean that in the most literal sense).

Say your daughter comes home from school. She’s all excited about a party she was invited to. You pump her for more information, and although everything sounds okay, something is holding you back. You want to tell her no. Your instinct says to tell her no. Do you go with this? Or, not wanting to be the “bad guy,” do you relent and let her go to the party? For me, I go with my gut. I will take the safety of my kids over my fear of overreacting any day of the week.

Don’t have kids? How about another scenario. You hear the local shelter is in desperate need of clothing. You rummage through your closet and manage to fill a hefty garbage bag full of clothes. Proud of your charitableness, you head to the shelter to drop off the clothing. Alone. When you arrive, there are several people gathered outside the shelter, but there isn’t a worker in sight. The small group huddled on the sidewalk is wearing clothing that is dirty and tattered. This pulls at your heartstrings, but you also notice that one of the individuals is staring at you in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

Your gut is telling you that you might be in danger. The person may have a weapon. They may be desperate for food or money. But your nice, charitable side is telling you that you shouldn’t rush to conclusions and that your subconscious biases are clouding your judgement. Do you get out of the car and head into the building? Or do you come back later when there is a worker present for drop-off? I’ll throw out a few clichés that run through my head during this scenario: “better to be safe than sorry,” AND “nice guys finish last.” Don’t concern yourself with being polite at the expense of your own safety. If you don’t feel safe in a situation, even if it’s just a nagging feeling, GET OUT. Live to be charitable another day.

You’ve heard the saying, “Write what you know.” I say: “Write what you KNOW you LOVE.”

Many people ask me why I choose to write Romance novels. This question comes up often and it used to embarrass me. Are people asking because they consider this genre a lower form of writing?

The question also used to give me pause. Since my degree and day-time profession are centered around Finance/Accounting, a subject not often thought of as “romantic” or “sexy” (be honest – right now you are picturing me in a boring cubicle, surrounded by reams of paper, and armed with a ten-key), this question is valid. If I am supposed to write what I know, shouldn’t I write books about surviving a ten-hour day glued to a hard, plastic office chair while fielding questions on T-Accounts and generally accepted accounting principles? Sounds like a best-seller…

My answer to the “why write romance?” question is simple: I. Love. Romance. I love unlikely couples, blossoming relationships, second chances, and happy endings. I love the idea that we all have that perfect someone out there that was made just for us. I am a romantic at heart. I enjoy watching romantic movies, reading romance novels, and BEST of all, I enjoy imagining new love stories and sharing those stories with all of you.

So why do I write romance? Why wouldn’t I? I write what I know I love.