(Lynda Asks:) IF I WERE YOU AND WROTE BOOKS, What would my writing space look like?
This is where I sit and kill time on Pinterest ... I mean, where I write. A writing space should be comfortable, of course, but it should also be full of interesting things that might spark an idea. I cleaned out my office this year, and trimmed it down to the things I know I'll use. This unusually clean desk is the result.
(Lynda) I love these type of desks. I bought my husband one and now wish it were mine. :)
(Lynda Asks:) IF I WERE YOU AND WROTE BOOKS, What would be my favorite restaurant and why?
Panera Bread. I love their everything.
(Lynda Asks:) IF I WERE YOU AND WROTE BOOKS, What do I think of the publishing industry as a whole and my publisher/publishers in particular.
These days, the only constant is change. Once upon a time, a self-published author was frowned upon, but now, it's becoming one of the most popular ways to get yourself into print. Any author with the drive and the willingness to learn can get published. It's just a matter of learning the many avenues, and choosing which one to take. No one way is correct. I chose The Wild Rose Press, and I haven't looked back. They've been chosen Best Publisher six years running (at the time of this blog post) by Preditors & Editors for a reason: they are! They care about their authors, and I love being one of them.
(Lynda Asks:) IF I WERE YOU AND WROTE BOOKS, Do I have a favorite writing spot inside/outside my home, such as a chair, corner, desk, patio area, etc.
This is my summer haunt. My family doesn't have a lot of vacation time or funds, so we generally spend our summers roaming around outside. My front bench is the perfect place to kick back and write while I watch the world go by. I live on a busy road, so I cut the road noise down with an absolute plethora of wind chimes out front. My neighbors probably think I'm a kooky New Age lady (and they wouldn't be far off).
"Lady, I want you out of my car!"
Ignoring for a moment the protest of the man sitting beside her, Jules Keaton glanced out the one-way glass window of the stretch limousine at her player ex-boyfriend. Ben was already on his next play, an hourglass figure in stiletto heels and enough makeup to run Hollywood for a month. The two giggled and flirted like oversexed teenagers on a first date. Ignoring a stab of pain, Jules swiveled back to the tuxedo-clad Adonis on the leather seat beside her. He stared at her with something between outrage and worry - not surprising, since she'd ducked under his chauffeur's arm and slid into the seat without knowing him from Adam. She gave him her most pleading expression. "How would you like to make fifty bucks for thirty seconds of effort?"
His golden, perfectly arched brow spoke volumes, but Jules explained that all she wanted was for him to walk her into the theater. While she explained the plan, he glanced out her window, his striking blue eyes scanning the crowd. She tried not to follow suit, but couldn't help stealing one more heartbroken look at Ben and his new hottie. So much for that six months of dreams.
The Adonis - Matthew Callahan - sat back in his seat with that golden eyebrow still aloft. Jules feared he'd seen right through her ... but then, to her shock, he agreed. He reopened her door and waved to his chauffeur, who assisted her out of the limousine. Matthew emerged from the other side. He took her arm, ignoring the stares and flashing cameras of paparazzi gathered for the event. Smiling, tall, handsome, perfect. Most especially, not Ben. Taking his arm, she beamed. Even if she went home alone and miserable tonight, she could have her thirty seconds of happiness while Matthew Callahan got her and what remained of her dignity past the man who'd stomped all over her heart. They sailed past Ben, whose mouth fell open when he recognized her, but he didn't dare approach them. Relief flooded her. No way could he drag her into some lurid scene staged for his benefit now. They were almost into the theater, where she could let the shadows hide her misery ... when Matthew Slater paused at the door, whispered, "Forget him. He's not worth it," and laid a toe-curling kiss on her lips.
Nicki's Website: http://www.nickigreenwood.com
Nicki's Blog: http://nickigreenwood.blogspot.com
Nicki's Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Nicki.Greenwood.Author
Nicki on Twitter: https://twitter.com/nickigreenwood