I’m a big believer in networking. As an author, we spend a lot of time hunched over our keyboards madly trying to ignore the extraneous “noise” of our everyday lives. Well, I know I do.
I mean the rigours of being a mum to teenagers, a wife, a home maker (ahem...let’s just ignore that for a moment shall we??) and a person in your own right it taxing. So once you throw in the authorship... Well, let’s just agree, life is busy.
So where does that leave our friends? Excellent question... So pleased you asked it.
For authors, it’s those friendships that we form in the earliest days of writing that are enduring.
Most authors I know have found like-minded friends to help push them to achieve more or be better. My own CP’s (critique partners) will say... “Uh, that doesn’t make sense”... or ... “Hang on! How does that work?” I rely on them to be honest and tell me where they see problems in my writing. And as a good (well, I hope) CP, it’s up to me to do the same. These special friends that we gather around us help us to look at a scene, conversation or something all over again and see the dross among the pearls of wisdom we write.
(Well, I’m sure there are some there, anyway!!)
Our CP’s are the people that we trust to read our work even before our editors get their hungry hands on our words. They aren’t interested in telling us how we intruded on “their” time. They are the ones that will pop the cyber bubbly (if too far away to share the real thing, that is.) They understand that we have deadlines and the bedroom still hasn’t been cleaned, the ironing finished or the cat is crying mournfully at our feet while they wait to be fed.
They are the ones that will celebrate our triumphs, commiserate with our verbal flops and are, above all honest. They share our dreams and our passions.
Now that’s not to say husbands, wives, parents and children don’t get it. They do... Sort of. But because they don’t exist in the same world, lost in the realms of the stories that we create in our minds, they only see the outside world. The final piece that we craft.
But you know what? You will find them anywhere. They could be the girl you sit next to in the lunchroom at work, or the woman who always asks about the books you are reading on the train.
And rather like finding the right man (or woman... or both...) you have to kiss a couple of warty frogs beforehand. But don’t fash yourself! That’s how it goes. We have all been through it. And for many of us, we’ve come out on the other side.
Just remember, when you do find your perfect writing match... be honest, be open and be above all... understanding of your other “half.” We all come with our own stories, fears and foibles. None of us are perfect. But we are certainly a lot of fun.
Until next time
Have fun... but you don’t have to be totally good!
Imogene
Bio
Imogene is the author of many books, including A Bar In Paris, Hesparia's Tears, among a host of other titles.
Wife, mother and nutty bookstore owner all describe Imogene Nix, but the real secret is Science Fiction, Paranormal Romance with a hefty dose of Romantic Suspense is what she adores.
She is dedicated to high quality romance, with a dollop of erotic interactions, and has dipped her toes into Science Fiction, Contemporary Romance and Paranormal Romance featuring feisty headstrong female leads and the odd Romantic Suspense.
She lives in Rural Queensland where she happily raises 2 daughters, lots of chickens a couple of cats and her super pup Teddy. When she isn’t writing or reading, she’s hanging out with her husband, acting like a techno-geek or cooking and making wine.
Links—where to find Imogene Nix:
Goodreads
Website
Blog
Blurb
Ever considered a naughty weekend? A “Hook-Up” with no strings?
What does a woman do when she’s turning thirty? She takes a sexy weekend trip to Paris looking for commitment-free sex. Or, that’s what Davina Chalmers does, anyway.
Enter Johnathon a tall charming Englishman. How can she possibly resist his charm and that dimple?
But what starts out as a lark quickly becomes so much more. But how does one weekend become a lifetime? And how does a lie of omission bring everything into jeopardy?
Excerpt
The waiter smiled and I sighed. “Time to go.” As I started to rise, gripping my bag in my hand, the bell above the door rang and I watched with interest as the sexiest man I’d ever seen entered. The cool blonde on his arm was scowling and he pried his fingers from her arm then walked away. For a moment, she wobbled on her stilettos before she sneered in her super chic French way only they can pull off and stalked out the door. It slammed so hard the panes of glass shuddered.
The man scowled, but to be honest, it didn’t hurt at all. He was tall and well built. Blond hair with gray eyes.
My mind screamed that this man that could probably satisfy my needs. He didn’t appear even slightly inebriated and he was obviously single now, if that little carry-on was to go by. Perhaps this was my chance? I smoothed down my black dress, making sure my cleavage was just peeking out, then I sucked in a deep, deep breath and stood, hoping to catch his eyes.
I watched the man stalk to the bar and order in perfect English-accented French. “Une bière, s’il vous plait.”
My toes curled at his voice and the waiter hurried to do his bidding. Mr. Sexy’s voice was cultured and deep. I like voices, particularly men’s voices. They can make me go gooey at the knees, and this one warmed my insides to the consistency of thick, warm honey. And I knew he was the one I wanted to be with all night long.
The server handed over a bottle of beer and a glass, but Mr. Sexy looked at the bottle, grimaced, and then took a long pull.
The other men at the bar started talking in low voices, putting aside newspapers. They paid their money and left.
I didn’t want to think it was because of the dangerous aura surrounding the man. It was, after all, three in the morning. No, there had to be something else. But I was sure it wasn’t the time to ask these questions.
The small bar was quiet now as I was waiting alone with the mystery man. The waiter disappeared to the back. Obviously, with only two patrons left, he could do other things. I sucked in my confidence, folded it around me like a coat, and approached the man.
“Hi. Mind if I join you?”
He grinned and gestured to the seat beside him. I slipped onto the small stool, perched uncertainly. Then I wiggled my bum a little, thrust out my chest, and gave him my very best come-on smile.
“Looking for a hook up, are you?” His voice caused a curl of heat to gather deep inside me.
I nodded slowly. Better to be honest from the start, I thought. I didn’t have time to say a word. The next thing I knew, he had me thrust against the bar, his lips on mine and his tongue halfway down my throat. But man, what a tongue it was.
He played me like a violin until he lifted his head, casting a wicked smile in my direction. “Your hotel or mine?”
“Umm, yours.” Right now, I felt the rosy glow of arousal roaring through me. Sexy and quick to catch on. Yep, I was sure this guy was a winner.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Buy Links
http://beachwalkpress.com/a-bar-in-paris/
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