What do you like best about being a writer? What do you like the least? I love being an author and being able to write whatever I want. I get paid to sit at my computer and make stuff up! It’s the best gig in the world! As a reporter and a PR person, I did a lot of writing – but work was assigned to me. Now I have the freedom to write what I want – and I’m my own boss. There isn’t anything I dislike. Some authors don’t like promoting their work. I’ll take promotion over the daily grind of a corporate job any day. And, thank you for having me here today.
How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? It taught me perseverance. It gave me exposure to many different lifestyles and people and situations, which broadened knowledge base. I also developed an appreciation and gratitude for being able to earn a living at doing what I love. There is no substitute for loving your work.
Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? If yes, which book did that happen with? Yes, and I wish it happened more often that it does, because it is amazing feeling. When that happens there almost nothing that could drag me away from writing. The house would have to be on fire or something. The books were: Unexpected Consequences, Longing, and Stolen Moments. That about 10% of the books I’ve written. Like I said, it doesn’t happen often.
You’ve written 26 novels/novellas and just finished your 27th story. What’s your favorite time management tip? Prioritize. Figure out what your number one task is – your A1 priority and focus on that. Set writing word count goals and don’t stop writing until you hit it.
Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time or are you an “organic” writer. All books are plotted. The only difference is when an author does it. Some authors do it at the onset (“plotters”); others do it as they go (“pantsers”). For me, doing it at the onset feels too forced; the story doesn’t feel authentic. I really am an organic writer. I believe that the plot points, the dialogue, the story that comes to me when I’m walking, driving, showering is better that the stuff I would come up with if I tried to plot it out at the beginning. At the start, characters are just names on paper. They have no life. But once I get into writing, they grow into people I know. They wake me up at 3 a.m. That’s when I get my best ideas.
If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Getting published is going to be hard. Harder than you ever imagined. If you knew how difficult it was going to be, you probably wouldn’t even start writing. However, at this time in history, writers have a lot of publishing options. Getting published is now easier than it’s ever been. So, if you’ve given writing/trying to get published your best effort, and you’re still not making headway, don’t give up—shake it up. Keep writing, but do something different because what you’re doing isn’t working.
Did music help you find your muse with this book? If yes, which song did you find yourself going back to over and over again as you wrote? Generally, I need it quiet when I write, but there is one song that applies to Destiny’s Chance, and that’s “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie, The Titanic. I even mention it in the book. Love transcends death is the theme of Destiny’s Chance.
Fate gave her a gift. Is she brave enough to accept it?
Chance is all hers—body, mind, and soul. But once they’re together, she discovers he has a kinky side she never knew about. Is she ready for it? Can she handle it?
And Chance isn’t the only one with a secret. If he discovers what Destiny is hiding, will he still want her?
Destiny expelled her breath in a heavy sigh and reached for the phone to try her parents one more time.
What the hell? She’d been too wrought by news of Zoe’s death to pay attention to much else, but now she noticed her arm looked…weird. Her wrist seemed thinner, her skin paler, the hair so fine it appeared almost nonexistent. And when had she gotten acrylic nails?
Her pulse rate doubled. The arm, the hand, the silver infinity ring on the index finger weren’t hers, but she recognized them. She fixated on the ID bracelet encircling the skinny wrist. RICHARDS, ZOE. And her friend’s date of birth.
They got the bodies mixed up. Gave you the wrong wristband.
But they couldn’t have switched arms. She flipped her hands over.
Destiny ripped back the covers and swore in frustration when the bed rail fought her frantic efforts to lower it. She forced it down, but her hospital gown caught in the metal. She tore it loose and scrambled for the bathroom.
Bruised and battered, Zoe stared at her from the mirror over the sink.
A nightmare. Wake up! Wake up! “No! No!” Slapping her face, Destiny searched for her plump cheeks, her ski-jump schnoz, and the mocha-brown eyes she considered one of her best features. The image mimicked her movements but presented high cheekbones loved by the camera, a perfect nose, and large blue eyes gone feral.
She yanked up her hospital gown. Where were her hips? Her boobs! She stared at her flat chest. She dropped the gown and screamed.
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