Jacqueline C. Thomas - Romance Novelist

Archives for March 2019

And Now for Something a Little Different.. McKinley Park

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I went back and forth on whether or not to post a creative work on the blog. I even made a Twitter poll, that resulted in almost an even divide whether to post a creative work on the blog. After mulling it over I have decided that I am going to take one of my unfinished works and post a chapter a week, this will serve two purposes. The first purpose, it will allow those who may be interested in my creative writing ability to see my work and secondly, it will force me to finish this work. If you are an agent reading this, I have several completed works that I do not have any intention of sharing online, those are for publishing. I welcome constructive criticism, but if you choose to offer advice, please keep in mind that you are only seeing one chapter at a time.

Enjoy!

 

McKinley Park

By: Jacqueline Thomas

 

Chapter 1

 

“Jean did you have more potato salad? If not, I can run and grab some out of my fridge,” Laura said.
It was the annual block party for Lilac Lane. Normally Ben Carter tried to avoid these sort of gatherings. He wasn’t antisocial; this was just more of a family scene. He had never made time for the traditional set of a wife and kids; he was married to his job, a detective for the Chicago Police Department. Sure there had been women in the past, but none that had pulled him away from his true love, his work.
“Really, Laura this is more than enough.”
Ben stared down at the flimsy paper plate loaded with a small mountain of potato salad. Laura had given him more than two large servings. He knew she meant well. To Laura, being in his late thirties and single, was more of a malady than a choice. Occasionally, she’d she show up at his door with the excuse that she had made too much for one dinner or another excuse. Ben had tried his best to dissuade her, but she was sweet on him, and he knew it.
“Well if you are hungry, come get more okay?”
Ben smiled as he walked away looking for a spot to sit at one of the long tables down the middle of the street. He had made an appearance hoping to run into Rachel Lawson from across the street. She and her husband Rhett had divorced a few years ago. Ben thought that Rachel was beautiful and he felt like a teenager every time he talked to her, fumbling over his own words.
Ben found a seat next to her middle son Luke; he was six. Luke eagerly shoved a giant mouthful of jello salad into his mouth. At noticing Ben sit down next to him, Luke turned and smiled with whipped cream on his face. Ben handed Luke his napkin as the boy wiped the whipped cream off of his face.
“Mr. Carter, did you bring your gun today?” Luke asked, still chewing the jello salad.
“Not today, sport.”
“I like your gun; it’s really cool.”
“I like it too, but it isn’t a toy. It’s for grown-ups only, okay?”
“To shoot the bad guys, right?”
Ben looked up for Rachel; luckily she had joined the conversation.
“Why don’t you let Mr. Carter finish his mountain of potato salad? Besides, your brothers are waiting for you at the water gun station. You can practice wrangling bad guys there.”
Luke shot up from his seat, as Rachel gently grabbed his arm and wiped the last of the whipped cream from his face.
“Go get’em bud!” Rachel laughed.
Ben loved the sound of her laugh. She took Luke’s seat as she said it.
“Sorry about that, he is really into good guys and bad guys, as he calls it right now.”
“I was him at that age. Always on the move.”
“He’s happy, that’s all that matters to me. Hey, at the risk of getting jumped by Laura, would you like something else to eat? I mean something to go with your potato salad? I put a few burgers aside for the boys later. They probably won’t eat them.” Rachel said with a slight laugh. “No judgment though if you are really into that potato salad, though.”
“That would be great. I usually don’t come to these, I didn’t realize how hungry everyone is on this street, or I would’ve come earlier.”
Rachel laughed as her youngest son, Evan came and climbed up on her lap. He was four and looked just like Rachel. He was a quiet kid but smart.
“Sure, I’d love one.”

Rachel and Ben sat through most of the evening and talked as the block party wrapped up. Laura tried to join the conversation twice but was pulled away both times by other neighbors who wanted to chat. The rest of the time she pouted as she looked at Rachel and Ben. She wanted Ben for herself.
“Well Mr. Carter, it is getting late. I should get the boys home. It was nice to talk to you.”
“Please call me Ben, we’re neighbors. Can I help?”
“Um, sure, can you grab this chair? I will get the other one; these are mine. I also need to get my salad bowl off the buffet table. I will be right back.”
Rachel set her folding chair against the table as she walked over to the buffet. Ben was mesmerized by the way her body moved, it wasn’t overly sexy, but there was something very feminine to it that made his heart beat a little stronger when he watched her. He picked up both chairs as she came back to where he was standing. He smiled and followed her. She shouted to her boys that it was time to go in. They protested, but she held firm. She stopped just short of the steps to the front porch and turned to call again as all three boys came running up the front steps and into the house.
“They’ll leave a ring around the tub for sure tonight.” Rachel laughed.
“Ah, they’re only young once.”
“True, but I don’t feel like washing muddy footprints out of their bedsheets. It was nice to visit with you Mr. Carter; I mean Ben.”
He desperately wanted to ask her out on a date but choked at the last minute. Instead, he asked where she would like him to put her chairs.
“Just lean them against the house. I will put them away tomorrow. Good night, Ben.”
“Good night Rachel, please tell the boys I said goodbye too.”
“I will.”

Rachel walked into the house and shut the front door behind her. Ben leaned the chairs against the house. He felt like the entire street had watched their interaction. He turned to walk off the porch as he saw Laura walking his way. His phone rang at just in time to avoid having to decline a drink with her. He put the phone up to his ear and answered the phone loudly hoping it would deter Laura.
“Hello, this is Ben.”
“Hi Ben, it’s Jack. We found another one, the son of a bitch did it again.”
“Okay, I am on my way. Give me the address.”

 

 

 

To Read the next chapter click the link: https://jacquelinecthomas.com/chapter-2-mckinley-park/

Now, this is the hard part..

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When my husband and I first moved in together he was writing fiction regularly. I was a “book widow,” one who had lost their partner to the craft of creative writing. We were both working two jobs and in college. Every spare moment he had was spent writing. I was happy for him and annoyed at the same time. Then the editing process began and that took twice as much attention. Once his work was complete then came the job of querying. He queried via snail mail, this was old school, now everything is done online.

Years later I began the process myself. My first book came flying out of me, I couldn’t type fast enough. Jon was supportive and brought copious mugs of tea and coffee, and later wine. As I’ve moved on, and began other creative works, the ease of writing is not always there. I had to work at writing, sometimes it was easy and the words just flowed and other times it is work. Then there is the task of finding a decent amount of time to write, not to mention crippling doubt at times and the dreaded writer’s block. The more I began to write, the more I realized it wasn’t so easy, it is work. Writing isn’t always fun, it is having to push through those times where it doesn’t feel like it is going well, that makes it work.

I naively remember finishing the first work that I thought might be good enough to actually try and publish. Jon, said to me, that the book needed an edit like I had never edited a work before. I had the book printed at my local printer and got my red pen out to edit. Editing was difficult! I laughed at myself for thinking writing was the difficult part. I went through my book word by word with my pen, marking typos and misspellings, plot holes and pulling out things that did not belong. Once the first edit was done, I did it all over again with a different color pen to make sure that I agreed with my initial notes and edits.

With my marked-up manuscript, I sat down in front of the computer. Holy cow, if I thought writing was hard and editing was difficult, then making the corrections in the work was formidable. I once again laughed at myself thinking, you thought writing was hard, and then editing on a hard copy was rough, making the edits is the real hard part. Once I got all of the edits in, I had the book reprinted and repeated the process all over again. Finally, after two to three passes at this, I felt the book was in a solid enough spot where if I wanted to I could send it out to the world for querying.

I wrote a book doing Nano-Wri-Mo, after my husband and sister put me up to it. The work that came out of that month turned out to be strong enough to go through the editing process. I have been editing this book for well over a year. At my husband’s urging, I began to think about seriously shopping it out to agents. I dug into what it would take to find an agent, and once again laughed at myself, thinking writing and editing was the most difficult part of the process. At least with writing and editing, I was in the driver’s seat.

I began to research how to query, how to write the pitch, where to find these amazing people, literary agents with their magical ability to bring a book to market. There are a million sources to find this information, some legit and other sources were as slimy and as sleazy as they come. Researching how to query took so much time, that there was little time to actually write. Then I had to work on my pitch letter. Writing my pitch letter was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Now I am in the process of querying my book The Lake Michigan Affair. Each time I fill out a query form or send off an email with my pitch, I literally have a wave of nausea. I have just started this process and it is nervewracking. I have received a few rejections so far and that is a strange mix of emotion too, relief, sadness and determination to keep going.

Someday, when I do get an agent and move through the next steps of the process in bringing work to market I wonder if the trend of “this is the hard part” will begin all over again. Hopefully, time will tell!

Romance Writing and Slut Shaming

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(Me Marching in the 2017 Women’s March in Chicago)

I know the title may sound a bit harsh but this is something I have wanted to write about for a while. I didn’t read my first true Romance novel until a few years ago. In fact, if you would have asked me about Romance novels, I would have made an uneducated snap judgment. I am not proud of that, but it is truthful. Although I would not have considered them true literature at the time, I certainly would not have judged anyone negatively for reading one. I remember as a girl visiting my grandmother’s house, she had shelves of romance books, with buff men, and women in long skirts with flowing hair, and heaving bosoms on the front. That is what I thought romance novel’s were, a damsel in distress, and a buff male hero on a white horse, swooping in to rescue her. I was so wrong.

After I wrote my first book, a dear friend of mine, who was very honest, said that something was missing from my romance novel. She suggested a few titles for me to read. I went in search of them at a local bookstore. I usually try to find what I am looking for on my own and had never come across an issue asking the store clerk for assistance before. As hard as I searched I could not find the title I was looking for, knowing I needed help to find the book (A Christine Feehan Ghostwalker Series Book). I asked the clerk who gave me a funny look, and then came out from behind the counter and showed me where the book was. I thought it was odd but shrugged it off.

My husband and I are bookstore bums, we love independent bookstores with second-hand books. An Americano, a rainy day and a huge second-hand bookstore is my perfect day! Many of these old stores are like labyrinths when it comes to finding a section or a particular book. In many cases, I would ask for help, only to see the same face that I encountered the first time I asked for a romance book. It is a judgemental look, that is loaded with miseducation and an opinion of what I should be reading instead. Over and over again, I have run into this look. Sometimes, it was even accompanied with an attitude of impropriety, like I was asking for smut or books that should be wrapped in brown paper. Surely I must be some sort of degenerate to ask for such a thing in public. The thing was, that could not have been further from the truth. Romance is fiction, not smut.

At first, this look and attitude would dissuade me from asking for help and I would leave the bookshop without the book I had gone in for. As I began to think about this I realized how ridiculous this was. I am a grown woman, I can read whatever I would like. Recently, I saw a post on Twitter about this subject, romance novels and female customers feeling like they had been slut-shamed for buying romance novels. A debate erupted and it really came down to opinions on what women should be reading vs. what they are reading. This debate, as any good debate does, made me think more about it. I won’t lie, it also made me angry. The romance genre has gone mainstream, and why should it not? Romance is creative fiction, like sci-fi or horror. I finally decided I was not going to put up with this judgment any longer. As a paying customer, I have the right to ask for any book that is carried in the store. I am not going to be slut-shamed for asking for a romance novel. I am a strong, smart, competent woman who may read whatever I want. I am also going to support all of those wonderful romance authors whose work deserves to be out there and sold just like any other book in the store.

Last fall, I ventured into a bookshop outside the University of Chicago. I have given them a lot of business over the years but not enough that the store owner knows my name. One day, after searching around the store for the romance section, I again had to ask for help, I could not find it. The conversation went something like this:

“Excuse me, can you please tell me where I could find your romance section?”

“You are like the fourth or fifth person to ask me today.”

“It is a growing genre.”

“Clearly. Are you a big romance reader?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Would you mind making some suggestions for our section, I am afraid it is sorely lacking?”

No joke, the owner of the bookshop asked me for suggestions on what to add to their romance collection! I was shocked. I had expected that same judgemental face but instead, I got the opposite reaction. I named a few authors off of the top of my head but said that if he wanted I would be happy to send a list of the works that I had enjoyed the most. He was grateful. A few days later I did send in the list and received a lovely email in return thanking me for the suggestions. I have not been back into the store since, but I am excited to see the improved Romance section when I return.

Unexpectedly, I found myself out in L.A. this past summer. There is an amazing bookstore dedicated to romance books only, called The Ripped Boddice. As I live outside of Chicago, I knew I had to go, it was my chance to visit this one of a kind bookshop. It was refreshing to ask the clerk where I could find the type of romance novels I was looking for. She and I even had a conversation about the romance novels we each enjoyed the most and why we liked them. This was some sort of romance book Nirvana. It was an amazing book buying experience. If I lived closer I would be a regular customer. This shop was started by two women, who embraced that smart women read romance novels. If you ever get the chance, I highly suggest that you stop by, you won’t regret it!

My point here is, that Romance authors and Romance novels are fiction just like every other genre. I have the right to read whatever I want, and so does every other person. Romance as a genre, I would argue can be even trickier to write than other genres at times, because emotions are complex, sometimes subtle and other times overwhelming. It is not always easy to convey these emotions in writing. So to all of my fellow romance authors out there, keep at it! By continuing to write robust and complex stories of love, we can grow the genre and remove the taboo.

I Do it For Her!

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(Ten Year Old Me)

I was a late reader. My family moved around a lot during my early education. I repeated the second grade and still could not read. Eventually, at my mother’s insistence, and I do mean insistence, testing was done. It turned out all of that time, no one knew I was dyslexic. Once it was discovered, the school knew how to teach me to read. I did not read my first full book until I was almost ten years old. It was beyond difficult to catch up to my peers. I would spend hours at the kitchen table doing reading homework and essay writing. I remember thinking it was some sort of cruel punishment that the adults in my life had devised.

Eventually, I did catch up and then surpassed my peers when it came to reading and writing. Yet, I did not love reading. It was something that I did for school, not enjoyment. Then one day it all changed. My parents rented the film Misery with Kathy Bates. I was about sixteen at the time and the film rocked my world, I had never seen anything like it. My dad who was a constant reader said, “You should read the book, it is way better than the movie.”

The next day I went to the library and checked out the book. To me, it felt like a mountain to climb, it was a big book. It just so happened that I had to complete a Saturday school the following weekend. It was basically a classroom where we all sat without any lessons being taught. We had to entertain ourselves quietly. I had decided to bring the library book with me, I had nothing better to do. The bell rang for the start of the day and I pulled out the book. I was transported to Paul Sheldon’s world, with his captor Annie Wilks, the words immersed me into their world. I had never had a reading experience like this before. I literally read the book through the entire day. Even though I already knew the story, from seeing the film, I could not put the book down. I was hooked.

When it was time to go home, once I got in the door, I went to my room and read late into the night. The next morning I woke bleary-eyed from staying up reading. I had never stayed up all night reading a book! I had finished the entire book. It might not seem like a big deal that I read a book but to me it was. I had never read an adult book all the way through. Over the next year, I made my way through the works of Stephen King. I owe a lot to him, his works taught me to love reading. I think I mentioned in an earlier blog post that I even read his book On Writing. I did not have any interest in being a writer at that time, I read it because he wrote it. I branched out from his works and read anything I could get my hands on.

Fast forward almost twenty years, very rarely am I not reading a book or several at a time. My nightstand is covered in stacks of books. I have read all sorts of books, fiction, and non-fiction. The only time in my adult life where I was not actively reading was when my children were born, I just did not have the bandwidth to read and stay awake. I longed for the days when I could sit still long enough to read and not fall asleep.

When I hit the save button book on the first book I ever wrote, a profound thought struck me, I, the dyslexic girl who couldn’t read or write just wrote a book. I had hated writing so much as a small child that I would have never thought I would have written something by choice let alone an entire book. As I sat at my computer looking at that word count and the work on the screen I began to cry. I had done something that ten-year-old Jackie would have thought impossible. It was a life-changing moment.

Now when I am crippled with self-doubt in the writing process, I think of myself at ten. I keep going for her because she is smart and she is capable. So to all of the kids out there who think they can’t or hate to read, you are smart, you can do it. You just have to find the right thing to read, keep searching, I promise it is worth it.

My First Book, Learning to Be Patient, and Half Moon Bay, CA.

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My first book came flying out of me, and I know that sounds a bit dramatic to say but it is the truth. I felt like I could not type it fast enough. I woke one morning after having the most intense and vivid dream of my life, thinking that would make a good book. I shrugged it off and went on about my day, I wasn’t a writer. Yet, the more I thought about it, I thought it would make a good book. Maybe I could write it, just sit and write down the story, it sounded simple enough. I laugh at that now.  I had no idea where to start, but as my husband says “put your arse in the chair.” I sat down opened my Word program (I now prefer Scrivener) and did not get up for almost a week. That week, I wrote through a cold, multiple technical issues, and two small kids at home. The teacups multiplied as I worked on, plates with food that had been easy to microwave were stacked around the desk. By day three, I realized I needed to shower, but I just couldn’t stop. I could not get the words out fast enough.

Finally, at the end of the week, the first novel I ever wrote was done. It was one of the best moments of my whole life. I had written a love story set with two unlikely people set in Silicon Valley. I thought it was brilliant. I am very lucky to have a few trusted people in my life who told me it wasn’t. “It had promise, keep working on it,” they both said. Normally I would have just walked away, thinking, I am not a writer. There was something different, something in me had changed. I felt like walking away would have been giving up on my characters, people who I had created. I went back to work, fixing plot holes, and adding depth to my characters.

I wrote and rewrote and edited again and again. The biggest compliment I ever got about the book was from Jon who said, “I just can’t stop thinking about your story it is so good, the writing is.. well..it is written by someone who has never written anything before.” I went back through the book again working at it, trying to get it right.  Finally, I got it to a point where I was ready for a few beta readers. I sent it out and the feedback was mostly positive, but Jon’s sentiment was echoed, the story is good, the writing needs work. I wanted to do more but I knew I had exhausted my efforts at this point. I needed to let it rest.

I put the book aside, knowing that I needed to let it rest and move on creatively. I moved on to other projects with the understanding that I would go back to that first book eventually. It has sat untouched for almost three years. I have often thought about picking it back up but I knew that the time was not right. I needed to wait.

That first book was important to me and still is. I set a large part of the book in Half Moon Bay, California. I told myself that the next edit/rewrite I would do in Half Moon Bay. I needed to be there, to smell the air, walk along the Pacific, hear the ocean. As a working mother, a student and co-owner in a business it was easier said than done. I just kept telling myself, “someday you will go.” I told myself that when I could find the time to get out to the coast I could rewrite the book there. I was firm with myself, I am not to touch the book until then.

Then by happy circumstance, two weeks ago I was informed that I would be going to San Francisco for work. It is scheduled so I can stay for a long weekend. I could not believe my luck when I got the news. I was in my car, waiting in line at Starbucks when I got the tickets in my inbox, it was real, I am really going to Half Moon Bay! I started to scream with excitement. I am normally a very composed person. I scared the poor barista who must have thought the worst. As tears streamed down my face, all I could say was, “I’m okay, I am going.” She must have thought I was nuts but I didn’t care.

I got to choose where I wanted to stay and of course I chose Half Moon Bay. I booked a hotel on the coast. Now I get to smell, see and hear the ocean, like the characters in my first book. I am going to rewrite it in the place that it is set. It is an amazing treat and I am so grateful for it! I am sure I will write about the experience. I leave two weeks from today and I cannot wait to dig in! I know a long weekend will not be enough time to rewrite an entire book, but it is a good place to start.

David and Naomi, here I come..

(They are the characters from the book.)

A Space of my Own

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(Our very fat cat, Minerva McGonagall inspecting her new nap spot, under my writing desk)

Your writing space matters. I remember reading a chapter in Stephen King’s book On Writing when it was first published.  He wrote about creating the ideal writing area, how it should be free from distraction and a retreat from the outside world. I remember thinking about what my room would look like if I ever became a writer. At that time, I had very little interest in writing, and I read the book because it was written by Stephen King.

Fast forward fifteen years later, and we were searching for our forever home to buy. We walked into the house we now live in, and there was a room off of the foyer, listed as a library. Jon, my husband and I have always been ravenous readers, so this room sold the house for us. Granted we could have bought any house an put the library in a spare bedroom but the fact that the floorplan of the house was built for a home library, sold us. While our country idyll is large, it needed a lot of work when we moved in. I often like to think of myself like Mary from It’s a Wonderful Life, continuing on with life while painstakingly redoing a large old house.

We signed the paperwork for the house and then went and bought bookshelves for the library. The bookshelves were our first purchase for the new house. Over the past few years, the library has become a special place for us. It is a quiet retreat in an otherwise noisy life. A few years back, when I sat down to write my first novel, I realized I did not have a place of my own in the house. I put a small table in the corner of the library and set to work. I have now been writing continuously in the library for almost five years. It has become my creative space. This past fall I decided to switch career paths, and I landed at home for a while, running my business for a while until I found where I wanted to be. Jon is the managing director of our business, which allows me to work outside of our home.

For years I had been working on a second-hand table from Ikea, in a space that I was creative in but that did not feel like my own. One morning I declared that I was going to paint the library and make it my own space for creativity. My husband who is always massively supportive was skeptical, the library is a quiet retreat for him too. I went off to the hardware store and bought all I would need to redo the room; paint, brushes, drop cloths, rollers, etc. I would come home each night after work and stay up late painting and patching the walls and ceiling, caulking the trim, and making the space my own. My husband Jon, looked on nervously.

I chose a gray/ taupe color that I found calming and creative. Once the room was painted I picked out a new desk, a real desk, not a second-hand piece. That was an adventure in itself. I commandeered a corner of the library for my own space. My desk faces the shelves of books, of all genres. I carefully chose the pieces that would be in my writing space, a desk lamp my young daughter gave me for Christmas, an area rug, and a print that Jon had given me. It is an old sailing poster that says, “The Perfect Finish- No job’s done till it’s All done. Only full days make full records.” This print is inspirational to me in so many ways, it reminds me to finish the job, to work through the writer’s block, to make the time to write because it is what I love.

My writing space in my library is special to me. It is my creative retreat. More importantly, even as I write this now, I look across the room at the shelves of books. I think to myself, at one time every book sitting on that shelf had an author who sat where I am today, having been bitten by the writing bug, and wanting to share their work with the world. I hope that one day, my own work will sit on my bookshelves, published. I imagine myself sometime in the future, walking into the library, a cup of coffee in my hand and setting to work on a plot hole, or wrapping up a chapter because the book is due to be turned into the publisher. The books across the room, cheering me on as I work, and the print hanging on the wall, reminds me that, no job is done till it’s all done.