Readers like reading about writers’ lives and it never fails to make me laugh. Most professional writers have lives that are about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Take me, for example. Basically I roll out of bed very early in the morning and pad to my study. I am often up before dawn and I love watching the sunrise, the sky slowly lighting up, the hush of the dawn, the feeling of newness. That is the highlight of my day, the really exciting part. I check several newspapers just to be sure that the world hasn’t blown up overnight (because you never know) and then start writing. I write one project at a time though I might be taking notes for the next book while writing the current one. Full out writing two books at the same time would make my head explode.
A cup of tea and breakfast for my husband and I’m ready to roll.
So I write until it is time to cook lunch for my husband, then afterwards go back to my study and write until it is time to cook dinner for my husband. Are we sensing a pattern here?
Rinse and repeat. It’s really boring.
However my life was not always so staid and boring. I once had a very glamorous life of travel and meeting world leaders. I was a simultaneous interpreter and I translated for heads of state, for Nobel prize winners, for captains of industry and leaders in the worlds of science, commerce and art. I was often in meetings that were in newspapers the next day (you’d be surprised at how much journalists get wrong!). I travelled first class and stayed in the finest hotels and ate at the best restaurants. I was on the road most of the time. I spent infinitely more time in hotel rooms than in my own home.
And, to tell you the truth, the glamorous life looks much better from the outside than from the inside. During my interpreting years I was single, based first in Brussels and then in Florence. Trust me when you don’t have a family and travel a lot, you end up not knowing where your home is. I had a home, ostensibly. Pretty flats both in Brussels and in Florence that I never saw. I’d get home late Friday evening or early Saturday morning and I’d leave again on Sunday. In the refrigerator would be the classic single girl contents of a bottle of champagne and some moldy yogurt. You can’t keep local friends if you are never there so your social circle must of course be made up of people leading your exact same life. Which is cool, but not stable.
It got old and I got married and I infinitely prefer my writing life.
And, to tell you the truth, it’s not that bad. I live in a very pretty small town in Italy. I often have coffee or a drink with friends in a gorgeous little piazza. I can see the bright blue line of the Ionian Sea from my terrace and if I had a powerful enough telescope I could see the Greek temple where Pythagorus taught.
And my commute is 20 steps.
There are worse ways to make a living.
MIDNIGHT VENGEANCE by Lisa Marie Rice
Morton “Jacko” Jackman isn’t afraid of anything. He’s a former Navy SEAL sniper, and he’s been in more firefights than most people have had hot meals. Lauren Dare scares the crap out of him.
Gorgeous, talented and refined, she’s the type of woman who could never be interested in a roughneck like him. So he’s loved her fiercely in secret, taken her art classes, and kept a watchful but comfortable distance. Until now.
Lauren had finally found a home in Portland, far from her real identity, far from the memories of her mother’s death, and outside the reaches of the drugged-out psycho who’s already tried to kill her twice. One tiny misstep–a single photograph–has shattered it all. She has no choice but to run again, but this time she’ll give herself a proper farewell: one night with Jacko.
Their highly charged emotional encounter changes everything. In Jacko’s arms there cannot be fear, there can only be pleasure. Anyone wishing her harm will have to pass through him, and Jacko is a hard man to kill.
Read an excerpt HERE.
Lisa Marie Rice is eternally 30 years old and will never age. Her books have twice been Cosmopolitan Magazine “Red Hot Reads”. She is tall and willowy and beautiful. Men drop at her feet like ripe pears. She has won every major book prize in the world. She is a black belt with advanced degrees in archeology, nuclear physics and Tibetan literature. She is a concert pianist. Did I mention the Nobel?
Of course, Lisa Marie Rice is a virtual woman and exists only at the keyboard when writing sexy romantic suspense. She disappears when the monitor winks off.