Jacqueline C. Thomas - Romance Novelist

Writing

Is Trauma the New Taboo in Romance?

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Okay, so I want to ask a serious question about dramatic romance stories currently on the market and what is being published right now. I ask this question from deep in the querying trenches, where my thinking may not be entirely trustworthy in the haze of rejections. Ready for the question?

Is my current project that is being queried being rejected because of the subject matter?

I want to state clearly that rape and violence against women are not entertainment. Let me repeat this to be clear, rape is not entertainment. I need to say this first because I believe it wholeheartedly, and two, I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about the work I am talking about.

The main character in my current work that is being queried is a victim of sexual manipulation and, for all intents and purposes, assault. But this story is not about the disgusting, lurid details and horrific things she lived through; it is about her journey of healing. I try to make this very clear in the pitch, query letter, and synopsis for this work. But I am starting to wonder if the subject matter is too taboo. This poses a larger question, not just as a reader or a woman, but in general. If life imitates art and vice versa, shouldn’t we embrace stories where women overcome the unimaginable and triumph over the ugliness of life?

Look, I’m not so full of myself to think there may not be other reasons why the work isn’t being picked up. Maybe it’s not good enough, or something else in the pitch is turning agents off, and I’m just too close to the work to see it. Querying is a long, arduous process where you put your work out there, hoping it finds the right agent. This process can take months, and going in, that is what I expected. When I got my first couple of rejections back within a week or two, I didn’t think anything of it and pressed on. The next group came back with equal speed, then another batch.

This is the third book I’ve queried. This process is never quick, yet this book has garnered records for rejection time, which leads me to ask, is the subject matter turning agents away?

In my querying process, I carefully research agents, and time and time again, I see requests for works from underrepresented authors, gay, bi, trans, and I think that is AMAZING! Telling stories about all forms of sexuality is essential. It is crucial for someone to pick up a book of any genre and find a story that relates to them, to their life experiences. So, this leads me to ask, why aren’t we telling stories about women who overcome abuse from friends, family, and strangers?

I know that this subject matter can be highly triggering for some, and perhaps this is why I don’t find this subject matter on the shelf at the bookstore in romance. I want to read a romance where a woman completes her healing journey by learning what love should be and how that pure love touches every part of her life. I wrote this story about a woman who fought like hell to heal, and when the time was right, the perfect man comes along to help her finish her healing journey.

One of the most riveting series I ever read was the Steel Brothers Saga by Helen Hardt. I remember reading it with my jaw on the floor. It was honest and raw, about the most heinous abuse I’d ever read, but the abuse wasn’t the focus of the books. It was the story of the character’s healing that compelled me to devour the series. Granted, the victim of abuse in these books is primarily one male character, but it took an extraordinary woman to push him to work through his trauma.

As a reader, I rooted for the characters and believed more deeply in their love story knowing. Both partners knew the ugliest places of the human heart, and that made the love they showed for each other even more compelling and pure. I rooted for the characters, probably more than I ever had in a series before. I also loved the Blank Canvas series by Adriana Anders, where in the first book, a woman finds healing and learns to trust a man again. There is a fragility that comes with these love stories that is so much deeper than others, which hooks me as a reader.

With this being said, it leaves me to pose the question, are these types of survivor stories too taboo to print these days? I know as a reader; I love rooting for the character who has clawed their way back from the gates of hell to experience true love for the first time.

As a writer, I believe these stories need to be on the bookshelf. Just as with any other traumatic experience, death, betrayal, abuse, these things should be represented in all genres of work to show that healing is possible. Love is worth fighting for, and trust is something that can take a lot of time and work to accomplish, but they’re all the sweeter when the characters reach that point.

So, if these stories aren’t being told because the subject matter may offend, then how do stories of triumph, hope, and redemption reach the reader who may need it most?

When I started writing romance, I’d not read a single romance book in my entire life. My first work came from a dream. It was dark and suspensive. My best friend agreed to read it and gave great critical feedback, including a recommendation for a series to start reading. I picked up a book in the series, intrigued. Within a month, I’d read all nine books in the series. They were gritty, dramatic, high-stakes, and it resonated with me. Life is gritty and dramatic, but it is those hard time that makes the good times just that little bit sweeter.

As I started my second book, I realized that love is traumatic, and it’s taking a chance with your heart to love someone. Sometimes, it’s finding the right person means putting more than your heart on the line. I know that this subgenre is not to everyone’s liking, and I respect that wholeheartedly. The point I am trying to make here is there is a love story for everyone; each one is unique, some are happy, some are traumatic, and others are triumphant. Shouldn’t those triumphant love stories be on the shelf too? I’d argue, yes!
If my work doesn’t make it onto the shelf, well, that sucks, but I can deal. I hope someone else’s does, and that story of love overcoming trauma and ugliness brings hope to victims, friends of victims, family of victims, that love can be a powerful healer, that there are good people out there worth trusting. It is my sincerest hope that as a romance writer, we see the happy love stories, the funny love stories, and the gritty love stories. As a romance author, it is paramount that we are inclusive of all love stories.

I Finally Made it to Half Moon Bay!

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The View from David’s balcony…….

A few years back I wrote about the importance of place. I was reading my first work, Fat Tuesday by Sandra Brown while I happened to be visiting New Orleans. In my years of travels I’ve been able been lucky to experience the feeling and cultures of other cities and towns.

When I wrote my first novel, Sailing in Silicon Valley, I wrote about a place I’d never been to. I asked friends and family about the area and pieced what I could from the internet. As I did multiple re-writes I swore each time, that the next time it would be in Half Moon Bay, California, where a good part of the book is set. For a lot of reason, that didn’t happen.

So at the urdging of those around me I finally booked a trip to Jackie’s first book land. I rented an incredible Air B&B further down the coast, and set off for the land all things David and Naomi. Years back I’d traveled to the Napa by myself but it had been quite a while since I’d traveled alone. My week away was to decompress and relax after the two most stressful years of my life thus far.

I also wanted to make the most of being where my first book was set. I arrived late on a Sunday evening and as I drove south from the airport in San Francisco, I cut over to Highway 1 to cruise along the Pacific, and right through Half Moon Bay. I was driving where the characters in my book would drive. (Side note here: Yes, I know my characters are not real, but ask any other author about their characters and they’ll go on like they’re family members. It’s an author thing!) As I crested tall hills the sunlight was the most beautiful golden yellow color, and suddenly there was the Pacific Ocean. I had finally made it to Half Moon Bay!

As I drove, I tried to take in every little detail, and stay on the road at the same time. I was mesmerized to be somewhere I’d written about, researched, and discussed constantly as I wrote. Originally, I’d tried to stay in Half Moon Bay but it didn’t work out and I ended staying about an hour south of there at my own (rented) beach house on the coast.

I fell asleep each night to the sound of the ocean as my characters would have, and I walked on the beach like they would have. What an experience!

Falling asleep to moonlight over the ocean and waking to the waves at dawn.

I took one whole day and drove around Silicon Valley. I went to Apple because I think that is most like the company in the book. I had a fancy coffee in their gift shop, and then wandered around Stanford for a bit. I had a decadent lunch in Palo Alto. The whole thing was like living pages in the book and it was incredible.

Very Silicon Valley…. At Apple HQ

I’d love to gush on about how it recharged me as a writer, and I started or finished a new work, but the truth is… I wrote a little and nothing of consequence. But this trip wasn’t about that, it was about resting and recharging. I did however read an incredible romantic comedy, on the balcony overlooking the ocean. It was so good I read it in one day! The book is called The Optimist by Sophie Kipner. I seriously could not put it down. It is laugh out loud funny, and I usually am not a big romantic comedy reader but this one was a treat!

Reading snack with a view…. yes please!

I am currently querying, and looking for representation for Sailing in Silicon Valley. Not matter what happens, this book will always hold a special place in my heart because it was my very first novel. It will now hold a special place because it was the catalyst for this incredible experience. Seriously, if you have the opportunity to experience something like this, do it! I only wish I would have went while I was still re-writing.

McKinley Park is Coming Back!

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I think each writer holds a special place in their heart for the characters they write. When you are a romance writer, you also hold a special place for the relationship you write. Out of all of the romance novels I’ve written up to this point, I hold Ben and Rachel’s story nearest to my heart. I am continually touched by Ben’s gentleness towards Rachel. I get swept away everytime I go back to reference something in it, and realize three chapters later that I am still reading it.

The other day as I was sitting in traffic I was thinking about this story and how much I love it. I know for many who read it, the ending left a sour note. It was the first time as a writer where I took some real heat for the original ending. I’ve often imagined what their lives would’ve looked like if the book had ended differently. As I sat parked in traffic, and my imagination running wild I had a moment of clarity. Why not release McKinley Park as an actual book, fully edited and ….. WITH A TRUE HAPPY ENDING?

I bounced this idea off of my husband. He is my most honest critic and can be absolutely ruthless in his feedback, which is why I value it so highly. He asked me why I had not done it yet. It was one of those simple things that was sitting right in front of me, that I had not recognized. Even if I am the only who ever enjoys this story of true love and triumph in a book form, it will have been so worth it.

I have spent the past few weeks combing through the manuscript, changing and tweaking small things based on all of the amazing feedback I received as I published it back in 2019. I cannot adequately express my gratitude to all of you who read it each week and were honest in your feedback. While I may not have agreed with all of the feedback, I certainly did listen. In addition to taking in the comments, I have went through and given it the copy edit it deserves. I want to thank my fellow writing community member from Twitter, Joe Garland, for all of the early help with editing, thank you Joe!

Aside from getting to live in the book again, my MOST favorite part of writing, where I am completely engrossed in the world and characters, I got to write Rachel and Ben’s HAPPY ENDING!!! Yep, you read that right. While I may not agree completely that romance must have a happily ever after to be considered romance (we can argue about that later) I did recognize the need for one here. I think a lot of the readers really felt cheated by the ending and for that I am sorry. The happy ending will appear in the book format only.

It is my hope that by self publishing Rachel and Ben’s story more people will have the opportunity to fall in love with their love story too. I’ll keep you all posted on the progress of self-publishing this novel, my first published novel. I plan to launch it on Amazon where Quarantine Stories was published as well.

Again, thank you to all of you who read it back in 2019 and I hope you’ll all stay tuned for the launch!

Shit.. this hurts!

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The full-manuscript rejection pothole!

Writing is a process, and everyone’s process is different. Just like writing, the road to traditional publishing is a process as well. Today I passed another milestone on my journey to being traditionally published- a full manuscript rejection. I started the querying process a little over two years ago for a different book, than the one that was rejected today. For those of you who aren’t familiar, the querying process is grueling and you truly are putting your work and a piece of yourself out there for the world. I remember when I started querying I wondered to myself if I would get a “bite,” on my first letter… LOL! I wondered this not in a vain way, but in the way that sometimes people get lucky. Oh, how naive sweet Jackie.

That first query letter was a train-wreck. The book I was querying was far from ready, even though I thought it was. It took time to perfect query letter and grow as a writer. And again if you haven’t queries before let me just say that the query letter is so much harder than actually writing a novel. I learned a lot when I started, and I remember the first rejection that came in. That hurt. I knew there was a good chance that my work wasn’t ready, and it clearly wasn’t. At the same time, I was blessed enough to be surrounded by cheerleaders telling me to go for my dream, try to get an agent. While that first rejection stung, it did not deter me. In fact it had the opposite reaction, it propelled me. I dug into researching query letters, agents, the querying process all while, writing, rewriting and editing.

Fast forward two years and lots of rejection letters later. I have to tell you that rejection, time and time again builds some pretty thick skin, and certainly puts one’s ego in check. With each rejection, I said to myself, this means you have more work to do, keep writing, keep writing, keep writing. I have followed my own advice and I’ve continued to keep writing.

This past January 6th as I sat and watched the insurrection unfold in real-time on my television, I got an email that I thought would change my life. It was a full manuscript request. I thought there was a good chance this was it, my chance to advance on my dream. I shot up from my chair screaming and jumping up and down. My poor husband didn’t know what to do. I sent my manuscript off to an agent who I’d always admired and crossed my fingers.

I had spent most of December getting another book ready to self-publish but everything paused while my manuscript was being read. I stopped querying but kept writing. Each day, I’d check the agent’s portal in Query Manager for an update. Eventually, I just had to stop checking, knowing that if the agent wanted it, they’d be sure to let me know. I also tempered my enthusiasm as best as I could as I saw other authors in Twitter’s writing community get full manuscript rejections. I knew I could very well be one of them in time.

Today my answer came as I was doing laundry. My Apple Watch buzzed on my wrist and I saw the agent’s name pop up. I gave a shout to my husband (who works from home) that I had an answer in my inbox. We ran to my office where I opened the email and we both read…. the word, “unfortunately.” Ugh, I am really beginning to hate that word. The agent said that they had failed to connect with the story but encouraged me to keep writing. I simultaneously had the desire to puke and cry at the same time. Yet, the biggest feeling was a sense that an answer, albeit the one I didn’t want, was what I needed to move forward. The rejection meant that I now knew what direction to head in- you guessed it, more querying, more writing, more editing! I was thankful that the limbo was over.

So with all of that being said, onward I go. I know this journey to being traditionally published is difficult, and a long process. I know that I have to work for it, and that there are no shortcuts. Yet my personal motto continues to rattle around in my head, be relentless. I’m made of tough stuff and so although it stings, I mean stings intensely, it just means keep going. I now have passed another milestone in my journey to becoming a published author-the, full manuscript reject. Yep, that one stings, but onward I go!

A Short Story Contest Entry.

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Please make sure to read the submission at Reedsy too. You can do that by clicking on the photo.

Last Sunday as I was surfing the internet, looking for (ahem, stalling) for a fact for a new piece of fiction I came across the Reedsy Story Prompt website. I was hopelessly stuck with a project I’d started and the subject of the week appealed so I thought, why not? The story came flying out! Holy cow guys! The prompt was to Write about two characters who’ve gone through something so intense they now feel like family. This would be fun! So today I submitted my first story ever and it was a fun writing exercise, regardless if I win or not.

Below you will find my entry entitled: The Family You Find.

My first sense to come back was taste. And it was blood, that familiar metallic which registered first. 

“Familia?”

My vision was still fuzzy, but I didn’t need to look up to know that I was in deep shit. 

“Familia,” the masked man shouted again. 

“Nada,” I replied as I spit blood onto the dirt floor. 

I knew how this worked, I would be held, and my family would have to pay a ransom for my freedom. There was only one hiccup in my captor’s plan, I didn’t have a family. I never had a family, and I liked it that way. I looked over at the six fellow-American tourists who were all seated against the wall. They looked terrified, and I was too, but I’d be damned if I’d let some cartel asshole see it. 

“We will kill you,” the man said as he lifted me to my feet by my shirt.

“I know. I believe you, but I don’t have any family. Do some digging, you’ll see.” 

The man stared at me hard, and I met his gaze with equal ferocity.

“Husband?”

“No,” I replied.

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Lesbian?”

“No, alone.”

The man let go of my shirt, and I fell back onto the floor. After two days of interrogation and lack of food and water, I was weak. I was going to die here, and I knew it. Another man walked into the room, and I looked over at the fellow tourists kidnapped off minibus with me. They pasted themselves closer to the dirt wall. I knew the man coming in was the heavy, the masked man who had interrogated me was meant to be the good cop. 

I was hoisted back up onto my feet, and I tried not to sway. I looked my captors in the eyes. If this was my moment, so be it. The bad cop pulled a gun from his belt loop and held it to my head.

“Familia,” he growled.

I stayed silent. Annoyed, he pulled the hammer back on his gun. I closed my eyes; this was it. 

“One last time, your family name,” he said as he pressed the cold metal into my forehead.

I swallowed, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath as I waited for the shot.

“She’s mine! She’s mine. I’m her husband.”

My eyes shot open, and the room turned to look at the man who had claimed me as his own. I didn’t know him, other than the few words that we as prisoners had exchanged. His name was Ian, and he was from Greenbay, Wisconsin. He was meeting his brother at the resort for a bachelor’s blowout weekend. He stood, bracing himself against the earthen wall. 

“She’s my wife. Please don’t hurt her.”

The two captors eyed me suspiciously. I stayed silent more out of curiosity than anything. They exchanged a few words in Spanish, and the man with the gun looked back at Ian and then at me. He raised his hand, and the world went black. 

I woke with that same metallic taste in my mouth, blood. I was getting really tired of waking to the taste of blood. My entire body hurt, and I could sense that I wasn’t alone. There was someone else there.

“Shhh,” a man’s voice said. I didn’t recognize it.

I felt a caress over my head, and then the man moved away. I heard his sandals on the dirt floor. He was speaking Spanish to someone else. 

“Please,” he said as he walked back over and knelt down next to me. 

I opened my eyes to see Ian kneeling over me. A woman brought in a small metal cup of water and handed it to Ian. 

“Here, try to sip this.” He said as he helped me pick up my head. 

The water tasted of the metal cup, but it had been days since I’d had anything to drink. I gulped heavily, and Ian pulled the cup away.

“No, slowly, or it will come back up. You need to keep this water in you.”

He brought the cup back to my lips, and I did my best to go slowly. He pulled the cup away and laid my head back down. I drifted off into a place of exhaustion and sleep. 

I woke to complete darkness, I shivered on the cold dirt floor. We’d been stripped down to our undergarments when we arrived. I pulled my knees up to my chest to try to hold onto my body heat. I felt someone move behind me. He rubbed my upper arm, and instantly my body went rigid.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you. I’m just trying to warm you up. It’s Ian.”

I looked behind me, and although I couldn’t see him, I knew it was him by his voice.

“I’m freezing.” I croaked. 

“Here,” he said as he pulled away. I felt something warm drape over me. “It’s my t-shirt, you can wear it. I don’t know why they didn’t let you ladies keep your shirts too. Well, I do, but let’s not go there.”

He didn’t finish his statement, and I was okay with that. I slipped his t-shirt on. The thought of putting on a stranger’s three-day-old shirt would normally turn my stomach, but at that moment, I was grateful. I sat up, slid it on, and my body screamed out in pain. 

“There’s a little food too. I saved you some of mine.”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could just make out his silhouette moving in the night. He handed me what felt like a tortilla. 

“Eat slowly. I have more water too.”

I smelled the tortilla in my hand, and it smelled musty, but I had not eaten since my flight almost two days ago, or at least I thought it was two days. Time was fuzzy. I took a small bite; the food felt like sandpaper in my mouth.  

“Water,” I croaked. 

He placed the metal cup in my hand and helped me bring it to my lips. I remember his words, to sip slowly. I pulled the cup away from my mouth, and I let him take it away. I chewed the tortilla slowly and finished the cup of water. Each time he helped me to make sure I didn’t spill the precious liquid. 

“Was this your dinner?” I asked.

“It was your share.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“They would’ve killed you.”

“I know, but you still didn’t have to do that. They’re going to demand my ransom from whatever family name you gave, and they’ll find out you lied.”

“They won’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

I leaned back up against the wall and closed my eyes. Sleep came quickly again. In the early morning light, we were startled awake by the gunshots. I jolted with each shot, and I somehow knew that our fellow tourists had just lived through their last nights. I heard sobbing, and I buried my head deep into Ian’s chest. The hair on his chest tickled my nose as he pulled me in closer.

“Shhh, I promise you we will get out of this alive.”

It was only when he said it that I realized I was the one sobbing. I didn’t cry. I never cried. I was Murphy Green, ruthless, stoic, and unattached, yet here I was clinging to a stranger as I cried. I couldn’t help it. I promised myself on my fifteenth birthday I’d never cry again, and I’d kept that vow for the past twenty years. I couldn’t stop the tears, and the harder I tried, the more they came. Ian held me tightly, trying to comfort me. When I finally stopped, the sun was up. I sat up slowly and dried my eyes. I looked over at him; he had grown a thin beard and wore the stress of the situation on his face, his own eyes bloodshot, and his thick lips cracked from dehydration. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed that I’d completely lost it and sobbed all over the chest of this man sitting next to me.

“It’s okay. You can hold me when I break down.”

I looked at him, wondering if he was serious or had he just made a joke as we were held captive and the rest of our party had been executed? Sensing my confusion, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I tend to use humor in the most inappropriate movements.”

“Oh.” I feigned a little smile.

“I am Ian Woodard, by the way, in case you were wondering what my last name is. Seeing as we’re married, I thought you should know it.”

“Oh, right. I’m Murphy Green.”

I held out my hand for him to shake it, and it felt ridiculous after he’d held me through some sort of mental breakdown. 

“Hi, Murphy, nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from, well, nowhere really. I live in New York now.”

“Believe me, I know about nowhere. I’m from a tiny town in Wisconsin. Lather, Wisconsin. I think the town’s population is like three hundred. We have more dairy cows than people.”

“No, I don’t know where I’m from.”

“How do you not know where you’re from?”

“I was adopted, and the original records were lost. My adoptive parents died, and I grew up in the foster care system. I’m alone, and I don’t have a home. I’m okay with it though, it keeps things simple for me, and I like that.”

“Okay, Murphy, from nowhere. So you don’t have any family? Like none? Friends? No one they could call?”

“No. I have work colleagues, but I doubt any of them would shell out for my return. I’m not popular, and I’m okay with that.”

Footsteps approached, and I crawled over and sat next to Ian; both of us sat against the wall. The two men from yesterday approached. One held a plate of scrambled eggs, beans, and rice. The smell wafted into our room, and my mouth watered at the scent. I heard Ian’s stomach growl. 

“You.” The man with the gun from yesterday said as he pointed at me. “Familia name!” 

“I don’t…” I started.

“Her last name is Woodard. She is my wife. You can ask my family for her ransom too they will pay it. Please don’t hurt her.”

I looked back at Ian, still not believing that his family would pay for a complete stranger. 

“Call them, use the phone number I gave you they will pay for both of us.”

“You,” the gunman repeated as he charged in and pulled me up by Ian’s shirt. 

Ian stood too. “Stop, there’s no need to hurt her. Call the phone number I gave you.”

“She is going to call.”

I glanced at Ian, trying not to show the panic coursing through my veins. How would I tell his family that he’d been kidnapped and had claimed me as his wife?

Ian reached out for me. “It’s okay tell mom her little bear will be okay. She’ll send the money; she loves you too.”

I was so confused, but I didn’t have time to ask questions as I was dragged out of the room, through the compound. We entered another room with a table and a wooden chair on each side. I was placed in one chair as the gunman sat in the other chair. I looked back at the “good cop,” who still stood with the plate of food. I silently prayed it was my reward for making the phone call, but I didn’t dare ask. The man across the table dialed the number on a cellphone and handed it to me. My hand shook as I took the phone and put it up to my ear. I tried to organize my thoughts. What the hell was I going to tell these people, Ian’s family?

“Hello,” an older woman said on the other end of the phone.

“Hello,” I said as my voice cracked from dehydration. I tried to clear my throat.

“Can I help you, dear?” The woman asked. 

“I’m, um. I’m Ian’s wife. I mean Ian and I…Uh, we’ve been kidnapped here in Mexico.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What? Ian Woodard from..” I searched my memory for the name of the town, “um.. from Lather, Wisconsin.”

The voice changed on the phone, it was the same woman, but she sounded much younger and stern. “Code name?”

“What?” I was so confused. What was happening here? Who was Ian? I ran through what I knew about him. “Cows,” I guessed.

The woman did not respond. I thought again. 

“Your little bear will be okay.”

“Yes, he will.” The woman said and hung up the phone.

I pulled it away and looked down at it, not understanding what had just happened. The man across the table grabbed the phone from me. 

“They’re going to send the money.”

The man with the plate of food set it down in front of me, and I dug into it with my hands. I willed myself to slow down, but I couldn’t. I ate most of it before I remembered Ian. He’d given me half of his dinner. I stopped eating, even though my body desperately craved each morsel on the plate. 

“Can I take the rest to my husband?”

The gunman gave a nod that I could, and I stood up, carrying the plate carefully back to our cell. I handed the plate to Ian carefully, and he looked at me, surprised. I stayed quiet until our captors had left. 

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Told you we’re related,” he said as he dug into the rest of the breakfast. “Did you tell mom her little bear will be okay?”

“Yes. Your mother said, “yes, you will.” Again who are you? And how are we related?”

“The less you know, the better. Just know the good guys are on the way.”

“Are you CIA?”

“Thank you for saving some of this for me.”

“Ian, you aren’t going to answer my questions, are you?”

“The less you know, the better.”

Ian and I stayed locked in that cell for another day before we were rescued by a private military group that worked out of the United States. The rescue happened so fast as we were whisked from the building during a gunfight. I was pushed into an armored jeep, followed by a helicopter. Weak from hunger, I couldn’t pay attention to where I was taken. 

I woke in a hotel room with an i.v. in my arm. I feared the worse as I sat up in bed. I began to gently pull at the I.V. to remove it from my arm. I stopped as the door opened and Ian walked in. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re home now, on American soil.”

“Who are you? Where are we?”

“You’re in California, safe and recuperating. You can leave at any time.”

“I don’t understand. Are you CIA?”

“No, not CIA. Just one American helping out a fellow American. That’s what I meant by “we’re related.” 

“Oh.”

“Do you want me to call someone for you? I can have a phone ran in here for you if you prefer to call yourself.”

“I have no one to call. I wasn’t lying.”

“Well, next time, you have someone to call.”

“Who?”

Ian sat down on the side of the bed and caressed the side of my face. I welcomed his touch. I would’ve never made it through that ordeal without him.

“Me. You have me, Murphy. Anyone who can keep their shit together through that, I am glad to call family.”

 Those three days we were held captive, Ian cared for me. I know I wouldn’t have made it through without him. If this was what family was supposed to be, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. 

A Writer’s Year in Review: 2020

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My husband snuck this shot on the morning of December’s #PitMad Competition as I sent my first tweet out.

I like many am so ready to see the end of 2020. It has been a terrifying, heartbreaking, and odd year. It has also been a year of new opportunities for me as well. I started the year professionally, with a massive promotion to run the marketing department for a national company, and was chosen to represent the company at the largest national conference in the country in February in L.A. At the same time I was head-hunted by another company and given the opportunity to grow further professionally and work at the global level. I started the new job that is in the business events industry on March 4, 2020- talk about timing. I stayed with the company until I was furloughed and then recalled, then furloughed indefinitely in the fall. It was a wild, sad, and soul crushing experience.

While I tried to hold onto my professional career, I finished my Master’s degree this past May. That was an enormous accomplishment, and I am proud of myself that I did it. While there was no party, or even a graduation ceremony, it did not diminish my joy that my degree was finally finished.

Writing wise, 2020 has been a productive year. I started the year writing a novel, about two love interests with tragedies in their lives. The two characters have to rescue each other- thus turning the trope of knight on horseback upside down. I am planning to self-publish this book in the first quarter of 2021. It will be my first published novel.

As the pandemic gripped the U.S. and much of the globe in the spring of 2020 I published Quarantine Stories on the blog. I came up with the idea walking down the beach in Malibu, CA. on the earlier mention work trip. I wondered what romance would look like in a time of quarantine and lockdown. I wrote 20 short stories and published them here on the blog. The short story format was a new one for me, and I enjoyed the challenge.

As summer started, I found more and more people asking me if I was going to make Quarantine Stories into a book. I thought about it and decided to give it a shot. I wrote five additional stories that are exclusive to the book, and went through the process of self-publishing. My husband and I have put out a magazine for our business for years, but self-publishing a story collection was entirely different. I walked all of the way through the process and I sold more copies than I thought I would but it was far from a bestseller. In full disclosure I didn’t ever expect it to be a bestseller. I had two things against me, I’m an unknown author and it’s a short story collection.

In September my professional life crashed and burnt as my time with the job that I’d started in March became a different type of Covid victim. My children were also starting remote learning at the same time. Rather than look for another job right away, I wanted to take some time to take stock and possibly change directions. I also became a full-time mom again, just when my family needed me most. This time off also gave me the time I had so desperately wanted to really focus on my writing.

In the fall, out of nowhere a truly unique story idea came to me, and I completed my second novel of the year. It’s working title is Willow, after the main female character. The story is set in the future where marriages are not made via love matches but breeding compatibility. This was different from my normal romance writing in setting and time. It was a fun novel to write and I am so grateful to my husband for bringing me my laptop and coffee each morning, encouraging me to keep writing. I have yet to reread through it for the first time, and I only hope it is as good as I think it might be.

I also did A LOT of querying this year. I put out two books to query and had what I would call great success in Twitter’s #PitMad contests. I was able to snag agent “likes” with each round. This past December was my greatest interest yet, and I am continuing to wait for news as I write this. I pitched the two books I’ve queried this year, Sailing in Silicon Valley, and The Lake Michigan Affair.

As 2020 draws to a close, I have put my efforts into editing the book that I started the year writing, the one about the two lovers who rescue each other. I plan to self-publish it in the new year, if I have not signed with an agent yet. I am excited to put out an actual novel in story and length. I also feel that this novel is much more of my style of storytelling.

Looking to the positives of a new year, and the opportunities it brings, I’ve started to look for a new job to put my career back on track. Once I hear back from the #PitMad agents, (hopefully sign with one) I can move forward querying or finally start down the traditional publishing path. I also hope to compete 2 or 3 new novels in 2021. I can feel the muse starting to come to life again, and the spark of an idea is there…

So to all of my readers, I wish you a very happy, safe, healthy and productive New Year!