Here's what she had to say...
My Writing Routine:
10. I have to write on my Netbook,
9. In my lap,
8. Glasses on and water on the nightstand,
7. While in my pajamas,
6. After my kids go to sleep, usually between the hours of 7pm and midnight,
5. On my bed.
4. Soap Net is usually on General Hospital or Days of our Lives while I write.
3. I talk out my dialogue scenes, so my hubby has given me some strange looks over the years.
2. I have to have a box fan or desk fan blowing on me at all times.
1. I can’t write if my feet are hot.
Talk about craziness! As I wrote these down, I realized what a diva I am when it comes to letting my inner muse run free. But apparently it works (or did twice) because Doubting Thomas is now available from Eternal Press! Stay tuned for my next book, Tinseltown, to be released with Lyrical Press in November!
I’ve had a lot of fun writing over the years. I’ll be thirty soon and it’s been great to be able to say I’ve accomplished my goals (to be published and married with kids) before that milestone. Those are mutually exclusive, by the way. My husband recently asked me what my new goal was now that I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to do and my reply was: “Hmm, I don’t know. Get old and die?” Seriously, what a wonderful feeling, and I’m still going strong. I’m almost finished with my next novel and I hope to start shopping it around soon. Fingers crossed!
Now I need to go, my feet are hot. *blushing*
A Note from the Book Boost: Whatever works for you! I'm a huge fan of finding your method and sticking with it. Thanks for sharing with us and Congrats on your first release and your upcoming release!
He doesn’t remember...but she does.
For five years, Thomas has lived without a past. A motorcycle accident left him with scars, permanent amnesia and a lot of anger. But the scars aren't all on the outside. He knows one day he'll need to figure out who he used to be, but for now, he's content in his misery and denial. If his family doesn't care to find him, the feeling is mutual—until the love of a tender-hearted, sassy redhead changes his mind.
Alyssa Morgan vowed to locate her missing husband and has followed every clue, every lead, every hunch, hoping to find him and the reason for his disappearance. But fate has something else in store for her and puts in her path an aloof man who has her husband’s voice and the disfigured face of a stranger.
Torn between his past and their future, can they put their doubts aside and let love in?
Curiosity got the best of her. Slowly, she raised her hand to his cheek, needing to feel him. He flinched and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard, but she wasn’t afraid of him. The strained look on his face told her he was scared enough for the both of them.
She pushed against his hold, wanting so badly for him to trust her and let her in. After a few moments, his grasp loosened and her fingertips touched his skin.
He inhaled sharply as his eyes turned into thin slits.
“Does this hurt?” she asked him, amazed by the smoothness of the taut scars that made one side of his face unrecognizable.
“Some of my nerve endings are still pretty raw,” he said quietly, his voice low and raspy.
“Is that a yes?”
She grinned, continuing her exploration. She trailed her fingertips up to his eye, where the lid was mangled and half closed, then traced around to his nose and then down to his lips, feeling the jagged lines that marred his perfection. If he moved a little to the right, she couldn’t even tell he was injured. But if he moved to the left… He was so scarred her heart hurt for him. All the while, he didn’t move a muscle, but kept his jaw tight and his eyes on her mouth. She knew he wanted to kiss her. This tight control in a man who seemed to have no control over his emotions fascinated her.
Finally, very softly, she laid her entire palm on his cheek, and he closed his eyes. His arms came around her waist and hauled her roughly against him. She felt his fingertips digging into her flesh at her hips, his need echoed in the desperation of his touch. She was still touching his face, when his head descended, his golden hair illuminated by the porch light behind him, like an angel.
She waited. She anticipated. She needed. She suddenly didn’t care if Chris was still alive. She lifted her chin to meet his lips.
Just when she forgot to breathe, his lips moved past her mouth, directly to her ear.
“Thank you for dinner,” he whispered.
With that, he released her and strode away.
Want More Stephanie?