Oh, hi, blog. It’s been a while. I owe you some recipes and a day in the life post that’s a month overdue. Sorry about that.
In the meantime, let’s talk about writing! I went to a blurb/back cover copy workshop with the Maryland Romance Writers last week, and it was fabulous. I struggled mightily with a blurb for the book I’m actually working on – the historical fantasy I submitted to a contest a few months ago. It needs to get done! With help, I managed to finally come up with something decent (more on that another time) – but then I was inevitably distracted.
On the back burner, I have a contemporary romance series fizzling around in my brain. The first one is based on one of my favorite historical romance plots – the marriage of convenience. I moved it to the only place I could think of that was a modern equivalent to duke-heavy Victorian London: celebrity-heavy Hollywood, of course.
The entire series is Hollywood-based, and on the way home from the workshop, I came up with great blurbs for THREE of the books in it. None of which I’m supposed to be writing right now.
And then today, in the shower, a scene with the heroine of book four showed up in my head. I gave in and wrote it down, because I really like her. But after this, I swear, it’s back to the dukes.
“So tell us, Jillian, who’s the jerk who inspired this album?” Ricky asked. This interview was off to a great start.
She smiled thinly. “I’d prefer not to-“
“Oh-ho!” Ricky chortled, holding up a piece of paper Patrick had just handed him. Jillian stared at Patrick, who gave her a small shrug. Just doing my job, it seemed to say. A publicist’s work is never done.
Job, hell.
“Listeners, I’ve been reliably informed that Jillian’s no-good ex is in fact Derek Marshall, star of the upcoming ‘Beast-Man’ remake! What a tool. Want to say anything to Derek, Jilly-Bean?” He beamed at her across the booth and gestured to her mic.
“Actually, I don’t-“
“And are you seeing anybody now, Jillian?” Ricky asked. Suddenly, she felt his thigh pressing against hers under the desk, hot and sticky. He smiled at her, showing far too many teeth, and slid his hairy leg along hers.
She stared at the DJ, then looked at Patrick. His lips were moving, reminding her of what they’d practiced. The only-
“Actually, Ricky, the only people I’m looking forward to seeing are my fans.” To hell with this. She leaned into the mic, and saw Patrick’s eyes widen. “And frankly, both they and I would appreciate it if you stopped touching me so inappropriately.”
Jamaila Brinkley 