My latest book, Phoebe's Desire, is supposed to be released soon! ^_^ I can hardly wait.
Well, I've been waiting a while. A lot longer than I would have liked.
I've gotten to the point that I'm really lazy and don't write nearly as much or as often as I could or should. But with wedding plans, a pre-teen, and a day job it sometimes gets really hard to find the time and energy to work.
Phoebe's Desire was a lot of fun to write and it's actually gotten me in more of a mood to continue writing. I've always thought it was important to enjoy writing, otherwise it's almost imposable to do.
This book is written from the POV of an editor. At least, the POV I figure an editor might have. =) I'm one of the bad guys! LMAO
“Since when is a used trailer salesman a romance hero?” In her mind, she could see the cover. A man and woman in a passionate clutch, her blouse half open, his shirt exposing his muscular chest. In front of a trailer. That brought a giggle she was quick to quash.
She flipped through the pages for the umpteenth time, counting as she went.
“Three.” Just three more pages to go and she could officially reject this manuscript. Pinching her nose in an attempt to fight off a growing migraine, she struggled on for several more minutes, no longer registering the words at all as she flipped through the pages.
“And done! Thank god!”
Shuffling the pages and getting them back into a semblance of order, she turned on the monitor on her desk to type the rejection letter. This was always her favorite part, even though it made her feel a little malicious.
“… manuscript, Savage Salesman, is not what we are currently looking for, but I think you may have exactly what they need over at H&K Enterprises….” She couldn’t help laughing at that. Herb would be so pissed off that she had sent him another one. He was in much the same fix as she was, working in the trash department. Sending each other garbage had actually become like a little game with them. She sent him hers, he sent her his. She always knew a book was going to be god-awful if it said anywhere in the introduction that someone from H&K had recommended she take a look at it. So she took a special kind of delight in sending only the worst novels she encountered to him. It was the least she could do, after all.
She hit the print button, waited a few moments for the rejection letter to print out, shoved the book and letter into the pre-addressed/stamped envelope the author had been so kind as to remember, sealed it up and tossed it into the out-going mail bin.
Phoebe stood and stretched. “One down.” Of course, that really didn’t matter in the long run, and she knew it. Perhaps, she thought to herself, that was why she hated this job so very much. It never mattered how many books she cleared off her desk. At the start of the next day, there would be more. Sure, she would get to spend a couple of hours going through each one and stacking them into piles depending on their genres, but that was hardly enough to break up the monotony that was her every day existence.
She sat back down in her chair and looked around the desk. “OK, who’s next?” She closed her eyes and waved her hand around at random, settling on the first book she touched. She picked it up and looked at it a moment.
“Ms. Sutton…. Sutton….” The name rang a bell. Turning to her computer, she opened a file named simply “Black List.” After a quick search, she discovered the reason she recognized the name.
“Ah, there you are! Sorry Ms. Sutton, once on the list, always on the list.” She printed out a form reject letter, slid it along with the manuscript into its SASE and sealed it up. Scooting back in her chair, she held the stack of rejections under her desk still with one hand as she pulled the one on the very bottom out and looked for the sticky note that should be attached.
“A little over six months. Well, that’s long enough I guess.” She tossed the manuscript into the outgoing bin, added the new one to the pile she used as a foot rest, and briefly felt the glow of a job well done.
“That’s two. Who’s next?”
Going through her normal ritual, she felt around until her hand landed on another book. “Historical. Crap. Well, let’s just hope it isn’t too dry.” She ripped open the envelope and tossed it in the garbage after removing the manuscript and SASE. Good for you Ms. … Nicole Ash? Good God what a name! Well you remembered the SASE, but you’re going to have to change that name if you ever hope to make it in the book business! Why is it some of these authors don’t put any thought at all into coming up with a good pen name? Do they really think anyone is going to rush to the store and ask for a book by an author whose name is so easily forgotten?
It definitely did not bode well for the story, at least in her opinion, but Phoebe tried hard to ignore that thought as it rushed through her mind.
“’Phoebe’s Desire.’ What the heck?” She stared in surprise at the title of the manuscript. “Coincidence?” It was possible it was, how ever unlikely. It was still a bit of a shock to see her name as part of the title.
“Creepy.” It wasn’t like she was one of the big editors at the house she worked for. Not anymore. Someone would have to dig really deep to find any mention of her . Which meant that either this was a peculiar coincidence, something she as an editor didn’t believe in and wouldn’t accept in any book….
“Or someone went through a lot of trouble to find my name.” She began to read again.
‘Phoebe’s Desire by Nicole Ash
Count Reginald Kensington was tall, dark, handsome, and very rich. In all, he was a very eligible bachelor. Oh, there were women. There were always women. Beautiful young women with good names and good upbringings. They found every excuse imaginable to hound him, every time he left his home, every time he walked the cobbled streets of England, they were there, falling all over him. Chattering incessantly about stupid little things in which he had no real interest, all of them dying to marry him for his money and bare him lots of children to cement the deal.
How droll was his life, how he hated the expectations people had of him as a result of his title and his fortune.’
“Oh brother.” This was already adding up to a difficult book to muddle through. Phoebe’s hand itched to pick up her old red pen and strike through the first paragraph. “Telling instead of showing Nicole…. ”