One last post to clear my Boosting the Signal queue, finally! This one comes to me from fellow Here Be Magic author Ruth A. Casie, and even though it’s May, what the hey, I’m still going to run this piece about the holiday anthology she participated in. It’s called Timeless Tales, and Ruth’s piece, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, features a heroine whose goal is going to be familiar to all my fellow writers: trying to resurrect her stalled-out muse. If you feel the need for a bit of wintry holiday goodness while the weather’s heating up outside, this might be just what you’re looking for.
Timeless Moments
Roberta’s review was on my e-reader and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as if she’d plunged a knife in my heart then slowly twisted it throughout her review until the end when she gave the final flourish and dug in even deeper. I must have misread her comments. How could she compare my work with this JD Watson? I crushed the paper and aimed for the basket, but missed. Was her review her revenge for that shit storm on the open chat? It couldn’t be. That was three months ago.
I know. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. But no. Not me. Like so many faceless social media participants I spewed my vitriol. Except… I’m not faceless. I’m Beth Alexander, an international best-selling romance writer. People listen when I speak. My eyes slid close. I knew better.
To distance myself from the desk I gravitated to the window and pulled back the curtain. It would be a white Christmas, but the clean snow outside Havenport Inn didn’t cover anything up. Roberta’s review of SPENT ADRIFT, the latest book in my Jo Dee series was the icing on the cake.
The notebook for my next book was blank. I hadn’t been able to write a word since September. I was back here in my home town where I fell in love with writing for a family Christmas and a book sign for said rotten book at The Final Chapter Bookstore. Final Chapter. How prophetic. I slammed the curtain shut. It would have splintered into a million pieces if it had been a shutter. Tears dripped down my cheeks. Was it over? Was that funny little muse gone… forever?
The steam quickly out of me I looked into the dresser mirror. I forced a smile and blotted the tears from my cheeks. “You write romantic comedy about women, like your Jo Dee, who are strong, smart and empowered and the men, like Jo’s Detective Ryan, who deserve them. Ten books is not a fluke. Now put on those new Jimmy Choo boots and get over the bookstore and get things set up for tomorrow.”
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