UPDATE: The winner is…Donna Bullard!
I always dream about writing at Starbucks. I’ve only done it once. Mostly, I write on my couch, at my kitchen table or in bed because I have two little kids and writing time is scarce, but someday I’m going back to Starbucks!
I started writing when I was in 3rd grade, I wrote a horror story that made my teacher schedule a meeting with my mom; 4th grade I wrote a murder mystery play; and by 6th grade, I had penned my piece de resistance, a 300-page+ handwritten in spiral notebooks, rip-off of Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire entitled, “When Dark Comes Dancing.”
Writing always just came to me. I would study people and think of how I would describe them, I loved the little flashes of inspiration that came from songs, conversations, movies. These little buds that could turn into an entire world.
My love of romance started when I spent the summer abroad with my dad. I was about thirteen, and I ran out of English books. The majority of the books in English that I found were category romances, and I was hooked. I loved the play between the characters, the angst, and of course, the happy endings.
Because of my job and family, it’s hard to find big chunks of time to write, so I write on my computer, on my phone (isn’t technology great!), and mostly at night after the kids are asleep. Here’s a peek at what I’m working on right now!
Most of the barstools were sprouting tufts of white stuffing through slits in the red vinyl or had suspicious stains, and she focused on them, trying to find the cleanest and most intact seat.
“You want some Clorox wipes?”
She looked up at the deep voice.
“This isn’t that kind of place.” The bartender leaned on his heavily tattooed forearms, watching her with unrestrained amusement. A tattoo of an art deco style bird, it’s body across his windpipe, the wings spread out across his neck made her swallow sharply. Her eyes lifted higher, settling on his face.
Sharp, angular cheekbones highlighted prominent dark eyes, lined with paintbrush lashes so thick and dark they almost looked like smudged liner. His black hair was a little tousled, worn too long for her liking, and his jaw and cheeks were covered with a few days’ worth of stubble. He looked…dangerous, and her eyes flickered back to the bar top at the discomfort she felt.