Romancing the Blog | Romance Authors and Readers Who Blog

I’m in the business of writing romance novels, where the guy is pretty darn handsome, the woman’s nice-looking, and everyone ends up happily ever after. A lot of times, there’s a wedding, or at the very least, an engagement scene, in my book. That means I’ll incorporate at least one wedding tradition, and leave the reader with that “awww….” at the end.

Except, when I read about where wedding traditions really came from and started thinking about it, there weren’t too many awws in there. You start thinking about it–a veil to cover a bride’s face so the groom wouldn’t realize he’d gotten the ugly end of the marriage stick before it was too late.

Or the best man, not a supportive friend, but more an armed guard, ready to grab and go, should the bride try to make a break for it. I can’t quite picture my husband’s brother getting out a sword and ensuring I made it from the parking lot to the altar.

Apparently, the whole carrying over the threshold thing derived from one of two things–either brides who were a little uh…unwilling to go to the bridal chamber, or were pretending to be unwilling. Considering there used to be a lot more forced and arranged marriages in the old days, I’m thinking it started with the first reason.

But can you think of the romance novel that would be created out of writing that reality? If you had a true life wedding based on how weddings used to be? Groom waits at the end of the aisle, his best fighting armed guard buddy beside him, should this woman he’s never met–or seen–before decide to bolt before the priest is done. The woman marches down the aisle, preceded by a bunch of flower girls scattering wheat bread crumbs. The bride has on a heavy, thick veil. The groom has no idea what he’s getting, so there’s no spark of attraction, none of that desire coursing through his veins. They marry, he pulls back the veil…uh-oh, buyer’s remorse, but too late now. On to the bridal chamber, where he carries her across, with the armed guard behind him, just in case. And tossed behind her, the bouquet and garter, as proof of the consummation sure to follow.

Ah, romance in the old days.

Tell me, which are your favorite wedding traditions? Are there any silly ones that you skipped at your wedding? (Okay, I did them all, I have to admit. The only thing I refused to do was the chicken dance. There was no flapping of wings in public at my wedding

Shirley

Where Science Fiction Romance Dares To Go

By Heather Massey

Science fiction romance dares many things. It dares to explore the evolution of love in the future. It dares to pair a rollicking good romance with scientific innovation or the cold hard steel of galactic war machines. Because of its hybrid nature, SFR is a love child. Action/adventure and science fiction mated with relationships and Happily Ever After.

Quite a lot going for it, eh?

Okay, so that was the most biased statement this side of the Aquarius Dwarf Galaxy. As quite a few of you know, I’m a hopeless SFR junkie and I recently started shouting that sentiment out to the stars.

Ahem.

Anyway, I define this subgenre pretty broadly: basically any story blending science fiction and at least a whisper of a romance. I first delved into science fiction romance at the tender age of twelve through an anime show imported from Japan called UCHUU SENKAN YAMATO (translation: SPACE CRUISER YAMATO, known as STAR BLAZERS in the U.S.). No amount of retooling or censorship could strip away the soul of that groundbreaking television series (groundbreaking in Japan, anyway).

It featured an epic journey through the perils of space with a romance so tender and true I can only compare its perfection to the voice of an angel. Well maybe that’s overstating the case a bit, but twenty-eight years later, I still shed copious tears as the final curtain falls.

Then came the books. I discovered a wealth of stories that transported me to worlds and futures so spectacular that often months went by before I came up for air. The speculative aspects widened my horizons as I savored the chemistry of the romance. The books of Anne McCaffrey, Andre Norton, and Edmond Hamilton lined my shelves as a teenager.

Over the years I devoured works by Alan Moore, Catherine Asaro, Dara Joy, Lois McMaster Bujold, Linnea Sinclair, Susan Grant, Ann Aguirre—engaging reverse thrusters somebody stop me!

Whether in books, films, or television shows, I adore science fiction romance for the epic space opera. I dig it for the speculative discourses that push my neurons into overdrive. I’m especially smitten with ray gun wielding knockouts! (that’s old school skiffy terminology for Kick Ass Heroines).

On the surface, science fiction and romance seem antithetical, mixing together about as well as a Gamma-ray Large Area Space Telescope and dark chocolate truffles. However, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. They’re not. Why? The brain doesn’t work without the heart, you see.

Now I turn the discussion over to all of you loyal crewmembers. There’s no use lurking in that asteroid belt. I know you’re out there. Step up to the podium and regale me with anecdotes about your infatuation with the brave new (Old? Who’s counting?) world of science fiction romance.

What daring themes has science fiction romance explored? What boundaries has it pushed? Where in the universe would you like to see it go?

*For information on how you can submit to Open Blog Night, click here.

In Stephen King’s On Writing he talks about writing to that one reader–the one reader your book is for, the reader who really gets you. In King’s case that reader is his wife. It isn’t that she loves everything he writes the first time he writes it; it’s that she gets his writing. He knows if she has an issue with something, he needs to fix it, and he knows he has the book right when she laughs or cries–when she is supposed to laugh or cry.

I think having that one reader–even if he/she only exists in your mind–keeps you focused, keeps you from drifting out to sea with ALL the opinions you will hear once your book is out and about.

But opinions are good, right? As a published author you should want to hear the issues your readers have with your books, right?

You can disagree, but I don’t think so.

It’s like cooking. You could have twenty award-winning chili cooks over to your kitchen while you were whipping up a pot of your own. All those educated opinions would have to make for a better pot of chili. But it wouldn’t–we all know that. One cook would want to add chocolate. One would insist on no beans. One would thicken with flour. One not at all. And what would you get in the end? Something that was gutted and lacked whatever the initial strength you as a chili chef had to offer.

Books are like that. The author, hopefully, knows her line (if writing for a line), word count, and editor’s expectations. Those basics have to be met if she wants her books to keep being published. The rest–the characters, the writing, the plot–it all boils down to a matter of opinion. And if the writer considers every opinion, she will become afraid to write. She’ll think about that one blogger who didn’t like character X or who thought her sex scenes were too graphic (forgetting the readers who wrote loving those same things). She’ll freeze up or even worse, write to please someone else who ISN’T her or her one reader. And she will lose everything–the core of what makes the people who buy her books buy them. And, maybe most important, writing won’t be fun, it will be work–doing something to please someone else, rather than writing what she think is the best book she can. And then where will we, the readers, or we, the authors, be?

So, back to that one reader. Who is she? I don’t think I’ve found mine yet, but I’ve come to grips with that–am comfortable with whatever decisions I (after getting some feedback from friends who may not be that one reader, but whose opinions I value) ultimately make.

How about you? If you are a writer, have you found that one reader? If so, who is she/he? What told you she/he was the one?

And readers. Would you qualify as any certain author’s one reader? Do you think you get their core so well, that they could use you as a personal barometer for having written a satisfying book? There are authors whose books I love, but I know I am not their one reader, because there is something at their core that I don’t quite get. I still love the books, but I will never like that one thing, and I know if that one thing was changed the books wouldn’t work as well for others, and I suspect for the author. So, I can’t be the one. But for a few authors, I think I could. I think I get them, even when there are little cracks I’d like to spackle up–I get them.

We all love ‘em. Right? I HAVE to have a book with me when I hop on a plane, go to the beach, sit in my garden. (Though this is hard as I have to work through the whole dark-glasses/bifocal thing.) Reading, iced tea, flip flops–it’s all a part of what I love to do.

On the flip side, I seem to always have a deadline in the middle of the summer and I always seem to have trouble meeting it. I just don’t have the same level of concentration in summer as I do in winter. I LOVE to write in front of the fire, with a cup of coffee at my side, and a dog at my feet. It’s absolute bliss. I don’t mind the snow piling on the eaves or the rain slanting against the window. I love it . . . even the excitement of a winter storm helps heighten the mood. (Well, as long as I don’t lose electricity.)

But in the summer, I feel I should be outside, walking on the shoreline, or hiking in the mountains or having late barbecues with friends or . . . reading, not writing, a book. This is one of my yearly struggles, one I constantly battle.

Every writer has his or her own way of writing. Some are dedicated to writing on a schedule–so many hours a day. Others have a plan of writing X amount of pages a day. Neither of those work for me. I’ve tried. The more structured I try to force myself to be, the more off course I go . . . so, I guess I’ll work the same way I have for nearly thirty years…that old by the seat of your pants thing.

I have always been an old fashioned girl, addicted to the feel of a book in my hands. I love to see all of my favorite titles lined up on my bookshelves or to loan out volumes to friends I know will appreciate them as much as I do. But in recent years, I’ve come to face the fact that I am fighting a losing battle against my book collection. Books live piled all around the room including in front of the shelves, hampering access to whatever managed to get into the bookcase before the leaning towers developed… not to mention hampering access to my bottom dresser drawer, the left hand side of my closet, and my filing cabinet. And so, when my boss announced she was purchasing me an Amazon Kindle, not a word of protest passed my lips.

As an agent, having an electronic reader that allows me to walk around with a pile of manuscripts in my purse and leave the laptop behind is a joy. It doesn’t hurt that I can now download new reading material from Amazon.com at will, either. I’m not saying that my shiny new toy will replace real books, any more than shopping online has ceased my trips to brick-and-mortar bookstores. After all, not all books are available for the Kindle, and certain books just beg to be held in your hand and have their pages turned. But for the books that I read and then struggle to find a home for–summer reading, work reading, endless piles of romances and science fiction and fantasy and young adult novels that gather dust or try to trip me on my way out the door–well, electronic feels like the way to go.

I have definitely seen a decrease in the number of books I’ve purchased in traditional format in the past couple of months, though not in the number of books purchased in general. In many ways it’s worse to know that even as I sit sipping coffee at a local coffee bar, I can download some fresh reading material. “Download” makes it sound free, doesn’t it? And it feels free, until my credit card bill shows up. As a member of the instant gratification generation, I know this is something I’ll need to monitor, and I wonder if compulsive book-buying can fall into the same category as an addition. If I download new books the way others pump the slot machines, I could be in serious trouble. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take, both for the sake of my straining bookcases, and for the delight of always having something new to read.

The only other true downside is that it’s impossible for me to loan out these books without handing over my entire device — and that just isn’t happening. So friends who might have been able to borrow my new favorites will now have to settle for a glowing recommendation and a trip to the library or bookstore on their own. I find myself curious as to how the e-book culture will adapt for libraries — if it will at all. The low-cost of producing e-books allows for a much larger profit margin for publishers, and so it would seem advantageous to find a means of allowing them to circulate in a similar manner to the more traditional and costly book formats.

I wish I could say I already see an improvement in my book clutter, but alas, that is far from true. I still have those piles of books surrounding me, and of course, Book Expo was a few weeks ago, and they don’t hand out ARCs in Kindle format. So now I have several tote bags of shiny new reading material lined up in my hallway, waiting for me to find some time to indulge. Electronic media might very well be the wave of the future, but the paperback still reigns supreme.

I really didn’t know what my topic would be today. Despite these assignments falling two months apart, they have a way of sneaking up on a person.

But as I anguished past midday yesterday, I realized the post on my own blog with the most response of late had nothing to do with writing romance and everything to do with watching television. It was about an upcoming reality TV show.

The response caught me off guard. Until I thought about it. Then it really wasn’t so surprising.

A lot of romance writers—maybe writers in general—enjoy reality television. A quick survey of author blogs will attest to this.

Romance writers are all about escapism through storytelling. Reality television is too. Most writers also love reading but reading, for a writer, over time, becomes as much about work as about pleasure. Their editor voice analyzes and questions the writing. Their muse whispers possible storylines. Their inner student latches on to craft illustrations in print.

So where can romance writers find pure escape with a happy ending? Reality TV.

You choose to what extent you believe these shows truly are based in reality or are highly staged and edited versions of an imagined reality. Regardless, reality TV, if nothing else, tells a story. And we romance writers are all about story.

Like a romance novel, reality television has:

The Premise
Otherwise known as the blurb, logline, or some other abbreviated “story in a nutshell”. Teenagers “borrow” babies to find out what it’s really like to be a parent. Aspiring singers vie to win a national recording contract. Twenty-five eligible men romance a single woman looking to find a husband.

Every romance novel has one.

The Characters
Like romance, what would reality television be without its characters? Some come from obscurity to become single-name celebrities, like Omarosa. Some launch careers in the national spotlight, like hosting a new show or selling millions of CDs. Others take their prizes, enjoy their 15 minutes of fame, and go back to living relatively anonymous lives. Like them or not, great characters grab the audience and don’t let go.

Same for a scintillating heartthrob or a no-holds-bar heroine.

The Setting
Your average suburban town, where a potential homebuyer considers several properties before selecting the ideal one to purchase. Dusty, primitive-looking campgrounds where a bunch of kids experiment with self-government. Exotic, foreign locales, where teams search for clues to a grand prize. Anything’s possible.

The Plot
The plot takes the viewers on a journey, from the opening credits of the first episode to the closing credits of the finale. The number of episodes and even types of challenges might remain the same from season to season but, couple it with the characters, and the story becomes something a bit different each time.

How many secret baby books have you read?

Conflict
Romance novels have external and internal conflict. So do reality shows. There is the external conflict of the challenges the contestants face. Make an appetizer from three ingredients in five minutes. Meet the families of several potential lifemates. Decorate a room using $1,000 or less in 48 hrs. Contestants struggle with knowing what to do, knowing how to do it, and whether they can meet their objectives in the time given with the resources allotted and still come away with a positive outcome.

Then, there’s the internal conflict that stems from the personalities and personal agendas of the people. The drama. With the characters competing for a new house, a boatload of money, or even a spouse, there’s bound to be internal conflict that spills over into the external. Audiences love it and some of the contestants even seem to thrive on it.

Just what producers—and novelists—love.

Theme
The themes are pretty hard to miss. There are the “American Dream” shows, shows like SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE where an otherwise unknown can explode onto a national stage and realize her lifelong vocational dream. There are the “Change Your Life” shows, shows like THE BIGGEST LOSER where contestants who survive the grueling fitness regimen walk away with an amazing, positive change in their health and by extension, their life. There are the “Ultimate Mission” shows, like THE AMAZING RACE or SURVIVOR, which are as much game show as reality show and typically involve a prize of at least a million dollars.

Romance novels have common themes too. Way too many to name. But all center around overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds to achieve one’s ultimate goal. Which brings us to…

The Happy Ending
Viewers of reality TV eagerly await the highly-promoted last episode. That moment, when the whole world discovers the identity of the winner. And when that name is called, selected by audience poll or a panel of judges, everyone either sighs, a bit teary-eyed, with jubilant fist in air, or punches the nearest sofa pillow and mumbles unspeakable words.

Whether the winner is your favorite or your most hated character, for that person, it is the happy ending. Triumph over adversity. Overcoming the odds. Surpassing personal expectations. Succeeding where others failed.

The HEA.

Suffice it to say, reality TV and romance have a lot in common. I believe that’s why so many writers watch reality television.

Do you watch reality television? If so, what draws you to it? Do you find any of what you see useful in your writing?

While hunting for a topic for today, a couple of things were suggested to me—posting a love scene written in lolcat-ese or a post on the upcoming RWA National Conference—if I’m going, and why or why not.

Hero: Want!
Heroine: UR doing it wrong!

So anyway, last year I tried to assemble my reasons for never having an attended Nationals, and it all still applies—with the added reason of airlines being a horror show.

Top 10 Reasons I’ve Never Been to an RWA National Conference

10. I’m shy, and paying several thousands dollars so I can hide behind the potted palms isn’t my husband’s idea of a good investment.

9. When I googled “business casual attire”, jeans, Crocs and a t-shirt reading Canadian Grand Prix 1993 didn’t come up.

8. One coffee carafe per table? Please.

7. I’d have to buy a suitcase. (If you attended the New England chapter’s conference several years back and saw the woman with the Harry Potter school backpack, that was me.)

6. Breaking news from the editor panel: They’re looking for fresh new voices!

5. I’m always last on the family list to get new glasses, so reading nametags would require having my face too close to too many breasts.

4. I’d need a roommate or several to afford the trip, but—theoretically—if I did snore like a nitrous-fueled chainsaw, I wouldn’t want all of Romanceland to know it.

3. Breaking news from the agent panel: Editors are looking for fresh new voices!

2. Too many people know I’m a cheap drunk and deathly afraid of chicken feet. Not a good combination.

1. The conference chicken doesn’t come with cool little movie-themed toys.

With conference season in full swing, anybody have advice for the socially reserved? Tips for hiding shyness, if not overcoming it? If you’ve never been, is it a financial thing, or do you feel more comfortable socializing online, with the backspace and edit buttons in play?

A Woman is Only as Good as Her Jewelry: The Meaning of Gems in Loretta Chase’s Your Scandalous Ways

by Natasha Brandstatter

In Loretta Chase’s recent release, Your Scandalous Ways, the heroine, Francesca, is a courtesan obsessed with jewels. Her vast and expensive collection of pearls, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and other adornments receive so much attention in the novel they could be a secondary character. Francesca isn’t the only character obsessed with expensive stones: one of the villains in the book, Marta Fasi, is also obsessed with jewelry; and the hero, James, calls himself a jewel thief at heart. When he first catches sight of Francesca’s exquisite emerald necklace, his palms start to itch.

Why all the attention paid to gemstones in the novel? It’s not just because they’re sparkly. In 18th- and 19th-century England, jewelry was a tangible symbol of financial security and social status. When a woman wore diamonds, emeralds, or other gemstones, she was demonstrating the wealth of her family. Ironically, despite the fact that they were strictly feminine adornments, women could not own jewelry. For one thing, women couldn’t own their own property; for another, jewelry was often entailed with the estate, which was passed down from male heir to male heir, a symbol of the survival and legitimacy of the title. When an English woman displayed these “family jewels,” she was not making a statement about her own personal wealth or beauty, but the prosperity of the estate owned by her male relatives—in other words, associating herself with the men folks’ property.

The exception to this rule was the English courtesan, who did use jewelry to flaunt her personal wealth, beauty, and success. In Joseph Reynolds’s Kitty Fisher as Cleopatra Dissolving the Pearl, we can see just this sort of exhibition on display. Kitty Fisher burst onto the London scene in her late ‘teens with a cleverly orchestrated publicity stunt: While riding through Hyde Park one afternoon, Fisher, an expert horsewoman, “lost control” of and fell off her horse in the middle of Rotten Row, exposing her legs (and a lot more than that, according to some sources) to a crowd of soldiers and noblemen. Minutes later, she was whisked away in a brightly colored, covered Sedan chair already holding an unknown (presumably male) occupant. This single incident spawned a publicity furor that made Fisher one of the richest and most admired women in London.

One of the most popular images of Fisher is Kitty Fisher as Cleopatra Dissolving the Pearl, which is also one of Joseph Reynolds’ most interesting and layered paintings. In it, we see Fisher holding a goblet of wine in one hand and an enormous pearl in another. The first thing that comes to mind when viewing this portrait is a famous incident in Cleopatra’s life, when she put the largest pearl ever found into a goblet of wine and swallowed it in front of Mark Anthony—a demonstration of her personal wealth, as well as a challenge to his power as a man. This echoes a similar and oft-repeated story that Fisher once showed her contempt for the Duke of York’s gift of twenty pounds (or fifty or a hundred pounds—the amount varies) by putting the banknote between two slices of buttered bread and eating it in front of him. The pearl in both the portrait and Cleopatra story is a symbol of power; but in the Reynolds portrait, it is also a symbol of Kitty herself. Kitty’s dress is covered in pearls, and her skin, which is as white as her gown, shows that she, too, is a “pearl.” Ingesting the pearl signifies her taking possession of her own wealth and sexuality. The image thus challenges a whole host gender values for 18th century women: the right to sell and acquire their own property, and the imperative to become a mother and continue the family dynasty at the expense of personal freedom.

Thus, in Your Scandalous Ways, when Francesca flaunts her jewelry, she is also flaunting her financial and sexual independence. When she offers sapphires to Marta Fasi, Francesca is metaphorically presenting Fasi with an opportunity for true autonomy. Fasi, however, is unable to recognize the significance of the gift.

As for James’s lusting after Francesca’s jewels, well—you can probably interpret that one for yourself.

(credit: Joshua Reynolds, Kitty Fisher as Cleopatra Dissolving the Pearl, 1759, oil on canvas, Iveagh Bequest, Kenwood, England, www.tate.org.uk)

*For information on how you can submit to Open Blog Night, click here.

Seven displaced romance novel heroes. One matchmaker devoted to giving them Happily Ever After.

If you missed the first exciting installment, it can be found in reruns here.

(An upscale bar. Seven men wait in a private room under the supervision of the matchmaker. Six women in various stages of intoxication are throwing back shots at the bar. Five uncommonly attractive women, four with red hair, are chatting at a table in the corner.)

Mercedes: Hey, girl. I didn’t recognize you with the red hair.

Heather: It’s a wig. I couldn’t dye it again. It was snapping off at the roots from going platinum blonde last time.

The Other Heather: Somebody screwed up. Both our nametags say Heather.

Mercedes: Oh, nobody will notice. You think they’re reading your name when they look at your heaving bosom? I think my last cutesie nickname was the result of the hero having no clue what my name was for the entire book. Not that I can blame the guy. I can hardly remember myself, since the name changes as often as the hair color.

Heather: Why are you so bummed, chica?

Mercedes: Any one of you would have no problem pulling off Latina. My hair was red before the matchmaker made me dye it, I have a rash in places I’d rather not mention from this spray-on tan, and if the writer expects me to speak Spanish, she’s in for a rude awakening. The only word I remember from Sesame Street is agua.

Tiffany (raising her head from the table): Cerveza!

The Other Heather (pulling her iPhone from her voluminous skirts to check her blog feeds): At least you don’t have to wear a lung-crushing corset and drag around thirty pounds of skirt. It’s like being on the frickin’ Stairmaster 24/7.

Heather: Tsk, tsk. Is that any kind of language for a lady?

The Other Heather: Sorry. The bloody Stairmaster.

Jessica: Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you all know each other?

Mercedes (giving the new girl a critical once-over): You must be Molly’s replacement.

Heather: What happened to her, anyway?

The Other Heather: She’s with an unfeasibly tall Greek billionaire now.

Heather (wrinkling her nose, which has been lightly dusted with a cute smattering of fake freckles): Ugh. Those guys are as bad as sheiks. She’ll be back next week.

Mercedes: No, she got an epilogue. She’s contractually obligated to remain with him forever.

Tiffany (hoisting a half-consumed bottle of rum): A toast to forever!

Mercedes: It’s been so long since we’ve had a new girl, I’ve almost forgotten how to break one in. See, kiddo, at any given time, there are only five of us on the matchmaker’s heroine roster. Not a lot of variety, so she makes us change our hair and our clothes and our backgrounds until we meet the needs of the latest batch of hero wannabes. 

Heather: Once in a while, one of us gets to show some substance and gets a real happily ever after, but usually we end up right back here Friday nights.

The Other Heather: I came in a couple years ago to replace Samantha, who got fed up with the whole game and defected to urban fantasy. She’s too busy saving the world from some scourge or other to even have strong romantic elements.

Tiffany (hoisting an empty bottle of rum): A toast to Sammy!

Read the rest of this entry �

Stranger in a Strange Land

Last weekend I attended a mystery writers conference, and I was struck by how different it was from a romance conference. The first thing I noticed was the gender. We had lots of men. We had lots of old men. The lines to the men’s bathroom were longer than to the women’s.

The second thing that struck me was, no one gave a rat’s behind about Harlequin or even knew much about it. Although I’ve had some grim book signings in my time, I believe this was the first time I ever failed to sell even a single book, while the person sitting next to me selling her self-published cozies sold quite a few. My workshops were packed and seemed to go over well, but that didn’t translate into book sales.

Which brings me to the third, and probably the most striking difference: Aside from a few superstars of the genre, mystery writers don’t really expect to make a living at writing, and most have other jobs or are retired or dependent on a spouse’s income. Of all the attendees who were published, the vast majority had sold to very small presses or were self-published, and the whole small press/self-published aspect was more universally accepted and respected than at romance conferences.

E-publishing, however, was barely on their radar.

I’m not the only one to notice differences between mystery and romance culture. One of the other workshop presenters, a male mystery writer, had recently attended a romance writing conference. To much snickering, he described it as “over the top.” He said some of the writers attended in costumes. (Excuse me?) But the biggest difference, in his opinion, were the raffle baskets. I guess mystery writers don’t go for candles, scented lotion, and mounds of beribboned cellophane.

But when it comes down to the individual writers, the similarities began to overshadow the superficial differences. Every writer there I talked to had a passion for books and reading and writing and story-telling; all were excited about sharing their stories with others. All were nervous about their agent/editor appointments, and giddy when said appointments resulted in a manuscript request. The motivating keynote and luncheon speeches sounded just like the ones we hear at RWA, discussing how important it is to write your story, to finish the book, to be persistent, hone your craft, and if you keep at it, eventually you will succeed.

When it comes down to it, writers are writers. And though the mystery-writing culture might be slightly different from that of romance writers, at our core we’re still storytellers who are thrilled at the idea of a character that comes to live on the page and a riveting plot that keeps a reader up all night.