New Orleans, Christmas Eve, 1947: Brothers, Dirk and Beaumont McSwain are both about to become fathers. Dirk's wife has had a number of miscarriages and at thirty-six years old, is afraid this is her last chance for a healthy baby. Bo's wife is pregnant for the first time. Both are due to give birth soon. The brothers arrange a surprise ride for their women in Papa Noel's sleigh which is actually a horse drawn carriage with fake reindeer. The evening starts out merry and bright but before the night is over, they will need a Christmas miracle.
Tag Archives: Jillian Chantal
An Early Christmas Gift for You!
Posted in Uncategorized, writing
Tagged free ebook, Jillian Chantal, romance, The Gambler's Inheritance
Monday Muse: Thank You Notes
Well, happy Monday to everyone. I’m sagging and dragging today, even more than usual for a Monday, so bear with me.
I got a couple of nibbles on queries from some very desirable agents. Which is fabulous, and wonderful, and everything. But, as you know, I can manage to find the storm cloud to hide every silver lining. Two requests meant I had to buckle down and do the minor cleanups on my MS that I had been avoiding.
Thanks to my fabulous friends, I got quick turn-around on some help with points in the book, and after spending most of the past 48 hours reading and revising, I can say that the book is in the best shape possible.
Not that I said it’s the best book possible. I don’t know anymore if it is good or not — I’ve read it so much that I found myself rooting for the villain. But, given what it is and what my talents encompass, it is the best it will ever be. I’m proud of it, and I’m sending it off into the world to sink or swim.
But before it goes, here’s a big thank you from me and Bridget-my-muse to:
The Fabulously Fabulous Ladies of the SFWG — the finest crit group on the plante. Especially mammoth thanks to DeAnn, Heather, and Susan — Cassie and Mac send you their love. You made them who they are today.
JIllian Chantal, who despite having more on her plate here lately than she could say grace over, did an incredible crit for me — and kept me straight on the various models of Jaguars. My British sex-god can rest assured that he is driving a car which exists in the real world.
And, last but never least, Sue Moorcroft, who told me the difference between Liverpool and Leicester in an effort to make James the Cad sound like a handsome young British millionaire instead of a middle-aged American woman imitating Laurence Olivier.
Y’all are, individually and collectively, the BEST!!!
Posted in monday muse, path to publication, Uncategorized, writing
Tagged DeAnn Smith, Heather Webb, Jillian Chantal, Sue Moorcroft, Susan Spann
The Alphabet Game — C What I Think!
C, C, what begins with C? C is for Cookie, that’s good enough for me . . .
Today we’re playing the alphabet game here in RomanceMama Land! My dear friend, Jillian Chantal, is not only one of the most talented and prolific writers I know, she is my absolute heroine when it comes to blogging. Day in, day out, when I am staring at a computer screen, whimpering, “But what can I say?” Jillian is in there faithfully and consistently writing witty, informative blog posts. If you don’t follow her, go to http://www.jillianchantal.com and correct that problem right now. I’ll wait here.
Ok, you’re back. So, today I’m picking up on one of Jillian’s recent blog posts, wherein Liv Rancourt assigned her a letter of the alphabet, and Jillian had to discuss ten things she loves, all beginning with that letter. Italy, Inuit, Independence — our Jillian rocked the letter I’s world.
Luckily for me, Jillian assigned me a much easier letter — the classic, convenient, comprehensible letter “C.” So, below you will find my favorites — and yes, a certain Oscar-winning British actor does figure prominently in my “C-list.” I’m sure you’re shocked at that.
If you wanna play the alphabet game, as handed down from Shay Fabbro to Liv Rancourt to Jillian Chantal and now to moi’s own self, just post a comment. I’ll send you a randomly selected letter and we’ll see how creative you can be with it!
And now with no further ado, let’s C my list!
Constitution – Look, in the day job, I am a lawyer (and a damn fine one, too, if I may say so!) My career has been spent in criminal and family law, and now I have the pleasure of being General Counsel to a local educational agency. If one must have a job (so middle class, don’t you agree?), mine is about as good as it gets. I get to spend my time thinking about important questions like Freedom of Speech, Due Process, and all those other goodies we as Americans take for granted. The Constitution of the United States is an amazing document. If you don’t know what it contains, you should. There are people all over the planet taking incredible steps, at great personal risk, to obtain those rights. Don’t ever forget that.
Champagne – Enough with the seriousness, though. Champagne is what angels drink. When I worked at a private law firm several years ago, one of the partners won a major big trial, and he celebrated by buying all the employees a bottle of Dom Perignon. The real stuff. As old Dom himself said, it was the equivalent of drinking stars. Some people would refuse to drink the cheap stuff after experiencing such glory, but not me. I’ll take all the champagne you’ll give me, anytime. Like they say — always keep a bottle of champagne in the fridge in case you have something to celebrate. And sometimes, you just need to celebrate having a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Not only that, but my first novel, PROOF OF LOVE, was published last year by Champagne Books. How cool is that?
Chick lit – No, chick lit is not dead. As long as women enjoy light-hearted stories about the crazy world we live in and how a spunky heroine deals with the chaos on her way to finding Mr. Right (or Mr. Right Now), there will be chick lit. And now that e-readers let you go stealth with your reading material, I think a few guys will be enjoying the adventures of Bridget Jones and her spiritual descendants.
Cupcakes – Ok, seriously. What is not to like? They are cute, they are sugary, they are just enough to be a treat without making you feel like a glutton. Truly, cupcakes are nature’s perfect food.
Carbohydrates – And since we are talking food, let’s get one thing straight. I will not be listing chocolate in this little exercise. I may have to turn in my official membership card for the female gender, but I am not that enamored of chocolate. I mean, I like it. But I don’t crave it. What do I crave? CARBO’s, baby! I’m talking pasta, bread, potatoes ….
I love ’em all. Sweets are not my downfall, but these hips don’t lie — I have tucked away some carbs in my time.
Charm Bracelet – Like many of you, I got a charm bracelet when I was a little girl. But unlike many of you, I have held onto mine, and I have added to it through the years. I started with a little silver church, a flute, and a “happy birthday” charm. Now, these (ahem, clearing my throat) years later, I have just about everything I’ve ever done on my charm bracelet. A sweater, because I knit. A Fiestaware pitcher, because I collect Fiesta. A sardine can from Monterrey. A Jerusalem Cross from Jerusalem. Handcuffs — no, get your mind out of the gutter. They were a memento of my time as a probation officer. If you ever have a few hours free, let me know, and I will tell you the history of each and every one of my several dozen charms.
Comic Books – I had an older brother — well, I still have him, but we don’t live in the same time zone anymore. We were incredibly close growing up, though. And he was the king of the comic books — Superman, Batman, Thor, The Fantastic Four, Wonder Woman, of course. But also the more obscure ones — Tales from the Crypt, Golden Classics, and Sgt. Rock. My favorite, oddly enough, was Sgt. Rock, not because I liked the army stories so much, but because whenever Sarge was fighting the Nazis in France, he would team up with Mlle. Marie, the famous Resistance Fighter. (Poor benighted redneck children that we were, we called her “Mill Marie.”) Even in my pre-feminism days, I loved that Mill Marie was a kick-ass heroine, who could out-fight, out-think, and out-class all the guys. Whilst wearing seamed fishnets, stiletto pumps, and blood-red lipstick, no less. I still want to grow up and be Mill Marie.
Church – Oh y’all know I was raised backwoods, hard-shell, Fundamentalist Southern Baptist. Give the Baptists a child til she’s seven, and for the rest of her life, she will get scared if she comes home to an empty house, certain that everyone got raptured and somehow she got left by mistake. (True. Several of us in the Baptist Student Union at my college reported the same fear.) I can sing every verse of Amazing Grace and Just As I Am, I know the books of the Bible by memory, and can tell you exactly who did what with whom in the Lake Yale Youth Camp Rose Garden in Summer, 1979. And I still won’t watch The Exorcist.
Crown – Oh, the dear Queen. I love the Royal Family. I get a little weepy every Fourth of July over how really ugly we were to poor George, and I think we could have worked the whole thing out with a bit more understanding. I mean, taxation with representation isn’t working out so well for us, either. I read everything I can get my hands on about every royal from Boadicea down to Kate Middleton. (Except for Camilla. Hate the bitch. And seriously, they aren’t going to let her ever wear the Queen Mum’s crown, are they?)
Colin – Oh, Mr. Firth. Yes, I will run away and be your love slave. No problem. Now, y’all, I have watched some women’s talk shows. I read The Secret. I took my fair share of Cosmo Quizzes. And Oprah says you can have anything you want, if you just make up your mind on the one thing you want and you live expectantly, waiting for the universe to fulfill your desire. So I am here to tell you — I am expecting to see Colin Firth, at my front door, tickets for our getaway to England in hand. And it is going to happen. It is. Oprah doesn’t lie.
That’s the C list for me, my loves. And a great big thank you to Jillian for not giving me Q, X, or U.
Posted in alphabet soup
Tagged alphabet game, Camilla, colin firth, Jillian Chantal, kate middleton, Liv Rancourt, Queen, Shay Fabbro
Welcome Jillian Chantal
A couple of years ago, I got tired of reading a romance and sighing “I could write one of these” & started actually writing one. Now, my Momma always said “If you want to learn to do something, you can find it in a book.”. So I trotted off to the library and got books on how to write a romance novel.
One of the main things they all said was that I should join RWA. Whatever that was. So I poked around online and found the chapter in my area. But, being the shy, retiring soul I am, I didn’t want to go to a meeting by myself.
Now, I knew that one of my dearest friends did a little writing in her spare time, though I didn’t know just what she wrote. But I asked her if she was interested in going with me. Turns out, yes, she writes romance, and yes, she’d love to go. And that is how Jillian Chantal and I ended up in RWA.
Jillian, like me, is a lawyer in the dayjob – we actually met as opposing counsel in a trial. (Yes, Jillian, I’ll tell them you beat me!). And so now, in addition to sharing the “joys” of practicing law, we write together, blog together, and plan to hit the NYT together.
So without further babble by moi, here’s Jillian Chantal!!!
Hello there, my name is I’m Jillian Chantal and my friend, Arabella Stokes, has been asking me to send her a guest post for her blog for a while and I’ve been tryin-
“Stop, stop, right there, Jillian. You always get to guest blog and I never get to say a word and we all know I’m the one that should get all the attention. Not you. You’re just the American writer. You’re nothing special.”
“What the heck are you doing here, Percy Hicks? You need to get back in Surfer Bride where you belong and stay off Arabella’s blog. You weren’t invited.”
“Jillian, a man of my taste and upper class upbringing doesn’t have to wait for an invitation. Having me at the soiree makes any hostess the talk of the town.”
“Don’t look down your patrician nose at me, you smug British chap in your bespoke suit from Savile Row. I may be American, but I created you and I can take an eraser to you.”
“Au contraire, mes ami. That’s French for on the contrary, my friend, for you people that aren’t cultured. And you can’t erase me. The book is out in the world and it’s in print, too. So, I’m there to stay.”
“Well, get off this blog anyway so I can talk about the book to these lovely people here that want to hear about it. They don’t want you hanging about being a nuisance.”
“Perhaps you don’t recall, madam, but I do what I want. I always get my way.”
“Not always, Percy. Step away from the author. Right now.”
“Oh, God. It’s that blasted ATF Agent, Fennimore Smith. Who invited him here?”
“I invited myself, much like you did, Hicks. Put your hands on your head, I’m hauling you in.”
“You’ll never take me alive.” Percy exits.
“Jillian, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Finn, just trying to write a blog post here.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it, ma’am. Always happy to restore order.” Finn tips his hat to Jillian and Arabella and exits.
Jillian: Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Surfer Bride. My romantic suspense novel available from Siren-BookStrand. Before I get interrupted again, here’s an excerpt:
She turned at the sound, looked around and noticed him in the sand. He tried to stand up. He pushed the heel of his hand into the ground and attempted to leverage himself up.
Before he could rise, she walked over and pushed him in the chest with her bare foot. He grabbed her ankle. She lost her balance and fell to the beach. She sat half way up, leaning on her elbows and looked at him. “What the hell you doing here, you prick?”
“Don’t act surprised, Q. You knew I’d follow you.” He said as he ran his hand up her ankle to her shin. God, her skin felt good. Smooth. Like he remembered.
She jerked her leg from his grasp as if it were on fire. “Keep your paws off me.” She backed off, crab like. Out of reach.
He leaned toward her. “Q. Will you hear me out? Can I please talk to you? I have to tell you something. I wouldn’t have come back if it wasn’t important.”
She looked at him. She stayed silent.
“Really, Quincy. This is vital. I know you’ll be glad I told you. I know you. You need to hear this.”
“Fine. If I listen, will you go away? Never try to interfere with me again?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Now, can we get up? I’m not really comfortable down here on the ground.”
“I know. That was always part of your problem, Finn.” With no effort, she rose from her seat.
What?” he asked as he struggled to get up, bogged down by his agency issued thick-soled black shoes.
“Not liking sand in your shorts.”
“And that’s a problem, how?” He raised that one eyebrow again.
Intimidation tactics didn’t work with her. “Too straitlaced. Anyone who can’t deal with sand in the crack of their butt is too tightly wound for me.” They were standing close. Less than two feet separated them.
“I guess we all know where the lack of being straitlaced got you.” The sneer was back. “In bed with Craig Miller.”
The crack as she slapped his face was so loud it sounded like an aborted thunder storm. “Wondered how long it’d take for you to bring that up.”
“So, you don’t deny it?”
“Did you ever give me a chance to deny anything, jerkwad?”
“Now’s your shot, Baby. Take it. Let’s see if I believe you.” His face was mottled red, and the spittle flew from his mouth.
She looked at him for a full second. Her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. She walked over, grabbed her board and tucked it under her arm and stalked off the beach to her Jeep.
As she stowed the board in the back with the other two, Finn walked up behind her. “Sorry about that, Q. I really didn’t look you up to bring up the past.”
She sighed and turned around. “Then why? Why’d you look me up, then? Go ahead and say what you need to say. Then leave. Please. It’s clear to me that you aren’t gonna go till you do.” She stood with her hands on her hips.
He looked at her, sad at what he had to tell her. Even after all the lies she’d told him, he still didn’t like to hurt her. “There’s no way to soften the blow, but you need to know. Your fiancé, Percy Hicks, is an arms dealer.”
She threw her head back and laughed out loud. “You’re insane, Finn. Yes, he is a dealer. I know that. He’s an antiques dealer. Not arms, antiques. This is what has you in a tizzy?” She slapped her hand on her thigh. “You misheard. But thanks for the warning. If I see a dangerous settee, I’ll be sure to get out of the way.” She laughed so hard, she cried. She bent over double, clutching her stomach. After a while, she stood back up and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
It was too much for him. His reawakened feelings for her, her wet panties and her laughing at him sent him over the edge. He grabbed a handful of her wet suit top and jerked her toward him. He lifted her off her feet by the front of the wet suit. He pulled her close, his lips locked on hers, and he rammed his tongue in her mouth and kissed her like he’d wanted to since the day he walked out of her life. His other hand slid down her spine and into her panties where it squeezed her right buttock. It was cold from being in the water. He could feel the sand in her panties.
She slid her arms around his neck and returned the kiss for the first couple of seconds. He was hard. She kissed him back until his hand entered her panties. As soon as he squeezed her butt, she jerked away from his grasp and smacked him again. “What are you trying to do, Finn?”
“Trying to stop you from marrying an arms dealer.”
“By assaulting me?”
“That wasn’t an assault.” He grinned at her.
“Hey, cop, I know what an assault is, and I bet you do, too. Kissing and pawing a woman without her consent is considered assault in this state.”
“Seemed to me you consented.” His smile broadened.
“Appearances can be deceiving.” She stopped and smacked her forehead. “Oh yeah, forgot for a moment who I was talking to. Appearances do deceive you. You can be blinder than a dead man. How you ever made detective grade, I’ll never know.”
“Nice. That’s real nice, Q.”
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Leave me a comment on your favorite place to catch a wave and I’ll send a lucky commenter some sun screen. The brand the heroine, Quincy Holt, uses.
Thanks for having me, Arabella. Sorry about the interruptions.
Where can we find you on the web? http://www.jillianchantal.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/JillianChantal
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/jillian.chantal
SirenBookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/jillian-chantal
DesertBreeze: http://stores.desertbreezepublishing.com/StoreFront.bok
Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/SurferBookStrandPublishingRomanceebook/dp/B004TBK77M/ref=tag_dpp_lp_edpp_ttl_in
Sent from my iPhone
Posted in interviews, Uncategorized
Tagged Bookstrand, Jillian Chantal, RWA, Siren, Surfer Bride, surfing
RWA Nationals – What a Week it Was!
I’m still trying to process the past week of my life. To say that it was revolutionary, a mountaintop experience, a turning point, is so clichéd, but nothing else really applies. RWA Nationals 2011 was the greatest event of my professional life, and I’m including both my day career as a lawyer and my writing life. The only things that surpass it are a few deeply personal experiences, like marrying the Lord of the Far Junior College and having my babies.
What was it? Was it the incredible workshops, where the best and brightest of the field gave me actual, “here’s how you do it” advice? Maybe the booksignings and photo-ops with people whose names have graced my keeper shelf for years? Or the chance to pitch to my dream editor, and to hear her say, “Send me the full”?
Oh, Gosh yes, RWA11 was all of those, and more. One of the few things I remember from the bleak hours I spent in FSU science classes those many years ago is a professor saying “the sum is greater than the parts thereof.” Still don’t know what that had to do with the subject of the class (physics, biology, chemistry, who knows?) But it describes the energy generated at the Marriott Marquis over the past week.
Still, there is one aspect of Nationals that stands out to me more than any other, and I believe it is what made everything else at the conference come together in such an overwhelming way. The camaraderie amongst RWA members is something wondrous to behold. There were people I had never met before who I now think of as close friends. There were people who are at the very top of this industry who were sitting in the bar and the restaurants at all hours, giving advice and a sympathetic ear to the rank newbies like myself. There were professionals sharing their knowledge just because they want to help others achieve their dreams. And that kind of collegiality is a rare and wonderful thing.
So, amongst the many memories of RWA, I will always cherish are these:
Two Yankees (from NY and NJ) who took me under their wings, threw me in a taxicab, and ate the most expensive soup ever with me at the Plaza, all because I needed to research a scene in my WIP. Jenn and Evangelina, I love you two, and I’ll never forget our O.I.A.B. and eating pizza and calamari under the stained glass at John’s with you!!!
Sitting next to a smiling woman at breakfast, and suddenly realizing that she wrote the fabulous book I’d been reading on the plane on the way up. I told her I was pitching that day, and she not only coached me on my pitch, but talked about an inspiration for another book. So when the editor asked “what ideas do you have for future books?” I was able to throw that one out there, and she asked for a paragraph on it along with the full for the one I pitched! Thank you, Kieran, for being so encouraging and helpful – maybe one day I’ll get to pay it forward!
Gushing like a crazy mad fangirl when I met one of my long-time favorite authors, and she not only didn’t look at me like I was a stalker, she had her assistant take our picture and gave me a “Mojo hug” for good luck on my pitch. Thank you, Jacquie – your Mojo is powerful!
Hearing that a friend had gotten an incredible 5 – yes, FIVE – requests from pitches! I know there where times when she was down and wondered why she kept on, but the answer is right there: because her stories are fabulous! Jillian, it is just a matter of time!
And of course, hanging in the hotel room, looking out at the lights of the big city and dreaming of the day we make it there, cause we can make it anywhere! Micki, it was the best – we have to do it again!!!
That’s enough, but that’s far from all. There are so many other people I want to mention: Vanessa, Vickie, Carolyn, Heather, Stephanie, Cyndi, Joye, Jamie – OMG, I know I’m leaving someone out, but I can’t list everyone who made the week one I will always treasure.
The only question is, how can I convince Hubs that I really have to go to Anaheim next year . . . .?
Posted in RWA, Uncategorized
Tagged Evangelina Joseph, Jacquie D'Alessandro, Jennifer Gracen, Jillian Chantal, Kieran Kramer, Micki Gibson, RWA11
Monday Muse – When Muses Rebel
Monday Muse – When Muses Rebel
Dearest Bridget and I are having a bit of a tiff this week. My darling Muse has been very sweet and cooperative over the past few months, probably as a result of the MUSE THERAPY class I took online from the rabbity-fabulous D.D. Scott. We’ve been working like two — well, I was going to say “like two mules in harness,” an image very dear to my Southern brain, but Bridget informed me that she shall not be likened to a mule. So there.
She’s done that a few times over this past weekend – just planted her little size six Jimmy Choos (Bridget is quite the fashionista) and told me she’s not working on the project I suggest. Our biggest argument right now is about a book trailer. Several of my friends have done them — Jillian Chantal has made some gorgeous ones — and I wanna jump on the bandwagon. With PROOF OF LOVE coming out from Champagne Books this fall, a trailer is a good promo, and I need to put one together.
Nope. Bridgie has dug in her delicate little stiletto heels and refused. Every place I have looked for affordable pictures online has been so disappointing that Bridget says she just can’t do it. I’ve snooper around Dreamstime, Getty Images, Shutterstock, and elsewhere, til poor Bridget just got depressed. And a depressed Muse is not a productive Muse.
For one thing, the photos of people in historic dress tend heavily toward the paranormal look. Lots of ver skinny, very young men with pale skin in cravats – I swear they must glitter if the sun hits them! Not exactly right for my 30-something brilliant scholar-Duke. And the girls, if not wan and anemic from all the vampire kisses, look more like someone’s mom wearing her outfit for the RWA Beau Monde costume ball. A bit longer in the tooth than my heroine. After all, even though poor Susan was firmly on the shelf, in her day spinsterhood meant mid-twenties.
So after several hours of looking, Bridget has rebelled. “Look, chica,” she said to me as we drove to the day job yesterday, “I’m trying really hard here with the writing, you know? No little hissy fits, no drama except on the page. I don’t expect a thank you note for it. It’s my job. But movie making R not us. Not gonna do it. You’re on your own.”. Then she got a wee bit snarky and added, “I’d sure hate to see you get writer’s block when the new WIP is going so smoothly.”
Well, I can recognize a veiled threat when my subconscious mind makes one. Looks like persisting with the trailer will cost me valuable time on the WIP. So I have reluctantly agreed w Bridgie and abandoned the trailer for right now.
What do you think? Can I market my book without one? Is there anyway to pique Bridgie’s interest in a new kind of creativity? Or should I (Bridget is nodding happily here) just stick to writing?
Posted in monday muse
Tagged book trailer, Bridget, Champagne Books, Jillian Chantal, Muse
Monday Muse – When Muses Rebel
Monday Muse – When Muses Rebel
Dearest Bridget and I are having a bit of a tiff this week. My darling Muse has been very sweet and cooperative over the past few months, probably as a result of the MUSE THERAPY class I took online from the fabbity-fabulous D.D. Scott. We’ve been working like two — well, I was going to say “like two mules in harness,” an image very dear to my Southern brain, but Bridget informed me that she shall not be likened to a mule. So there.
She’s done that a few times over this past weekend – just planted her little size six Jimmy Choos (Bridget is quite the fashionista) and told me she’s not working on the project I suggest. Our biggest argument right now is about a book trailer. Several of my friends have done them — Jillian Chantal has made some gorgeous ones — and I wanna jump on the bandwagon. With PROOF OF LOVE coming out from Champagne Books this fall, a trailer is a good promo, and I need to put one together.
Nope. Bridgie has dug in her delicate little stiletto heels and refused. Every place I have looked for affordable pictures online has been so disappointing that Bridget says she just can’t do it. I’ve snooper around Dreamstime, Getty Images, Shutterstock, and elsewhere, til poor Bridget just got depressed. And a depressed Muse is not a productive Muse.
For one thing, the photos of people in historic dress tend heavily toward the paranormal look. Lots of ver skinny, very young men with pale skin in cravats – I swear they must glitter if the sun hits them! Not exactly right for my 30-something brilliant scholar-Duke. And the girls, if not wan and anemic from all the vampire kisses, look more like someone’s mom wearing her outfit for the RWA Beau Monde costume ball. A bit longer in the tooth than my heroine. After all, even though poor Susan was firmly on the shelf, in her day spinsterhood meant mid-twenties.
So after several hours of looking, Bridget has rebelled. “Look, chica,” she said to me as we drove to the day job yesterday, “I’m trying really hard here with the writing, you know? No little hissy fits, no drama except on the page. I don’t expect a thank you note for it. It’s my job. But movie making R not us. Not gonna do it. You’re on your own.”. Then she got a wee bit snarky and added, “I’d sure hate to see you get writer’s block when the new WIP is going so smoothly.”
Well, I can recognize a veiled threat when my subconscious mind makes one. Looks like persisting with the trailer will cost me valuable time on the WIP. So I have reluctantly agreed w Bridgie and abandoned the trailer for right now.
What do you think? Can I market my book without one? Is there anyway to pique Bridgie’s interest in a new kind of creativity? Or should I (Bridget is nodding happily here) just stick to writing?
Posted in monday muse
Tagged book trailer, Bridget, Champagne Books, Jillian Chantal, Muse