Today I want to welcome my guest, author Heather Thurmeier, who was kind enough to do a guest post for my stop in her Love On Landing Virtual log Tour. Heather will be giving a $25 Amazon Gift Card to one randomly drawn commenter on her tour. The more often you comment, the greater your chances at winning. Her tour dates can be found here.
The Glamorous Life of a Writer/Mother/Wife by Heather Thurmeier
Most of the time when people ask me what I do for a living, I get a big smile when I tell them I’m a writer. A romance writer no less. People—at least the ones I’ve met so far—seem to think that writing a novel is a really glamorous affair. Tell them that you’re also a full-time stay at home mom, have your kids involved in extra-curricular activities, as well as a husband and a dog—well, they’re bound to think you lead some crazy life of writing love scenes while the kids are at school.
Honestly, I’m guilty of the same offense. Here’s what I used to imagine a writer’s life was like…before I became one.
I used to believe that the magic happened in a stunningly decorated office with lots of books and an amazing view—like something you might see on a TV show or a movie. I imagined the writer sitting at this pretty desk and just clicking away while words flowed onto her page like water from a switched on faucet. Her hair pulled up into some super cute, messy-yet-styled clip, while wearing the skinny jeans that make her ass look fantastic and knee-high boots that her book’s heroine is probably also wearing while she kicks some fictitious ass. She’s probably sipping tea and nibbling on a tiny sandwich with the crusts cut off like she’s at a royal tea party instead of bringing worlds to life in her mind. Inspirational music that compliments her scene playing softly in the background…
Nope. So. Not. True. Man, was I an idiot! A writer’s life isn’t glamorous or even remotely resembling that image I had in my head.
That’s just how we trick you! LOL. I only just put on those super skinny jeans and cute new boots approximately two minutes before I ran out of the house. Hell, I only just remembered to brush my teeth!
Sure it’s a glamorous life if you think my black sweat pants, zip-up hoodie and fuzzy Uggs are sexy.
Here’s a hint… They’re not. ;)
You can even ask my husband. He’ll tell you the truth. He’s seen me when I’m on a deadline. It isn’t pretty, that’s for sure!
So here’s the truth about a writer’s life.
A writer’s real desk is wherever her laptop is. Maybe that’s at an actual desk—most likely that desk is heaped with papers covered in red ink, colored sticky notes about changes and character traits clinging to every bare surface and old coffee cups. Or maybe it’s at the kitchen table on the little corner where she’s managed to push the coloring, homework, and art supplies to the side. Hell, she’s probably chipped an old fruit loop off the table from where it had dried on like a miniature art project. Or maybe she sits with her laptop on the couch next to a snoring dog—I really wish Jones would shut it! He’s throwing off my mojo!!—Sometimes, her desk is in the front seat of the SUV in the parking lot while she squeezes in a few more words before it’s pick up time from school or sports and the utter chaos ensues. She’s probably fully loaded on caffeine and gummy bears since we don’t actually eat while we’re writing. Food while on deadline consists of whatever I can pour into my mouth and chew without actually having to use a plate or utensils. I’m not wonder woman. I can’t type and cut food into bit sized pieces!
Chances are the writer is not wearing that earlier described super cute outfit and hairstyle, although I can almost guarantee her heroine is! Nope. The writer is in her comfiest pants, her hair is in a ponytail or a not-at-all-cute-or-sexy heap on top of her head, since tucking hair behind ears takes fingers off of keyboards. The soft music playing in the background is actually the sounds of fuzzy cartoon animals singing and kids fighting over a balloon that will pop at some point, resulting in tandem crying fits. And each and every word she writes will be the equivalent of pulling out her own teeth—complete with tears and cursing.
And let’s not forget about those sweat pants, Ugg slippers and zip-up hoodie that probably has a couple of used tissue stuffed in the pockets from wiping kid’s noses. Not to mention the fuzzy blanket on my lap and the heating pad behind my back. You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I could get my husband to take a picture, but I won’t because no one wants to see that! LOL.
This is how a writer’s life really is. Especially if that writer is like me—trying desperately to find the balance between writer, mother and wife, while still maintaining some semblance of sanity. I’ll find that balance one day, right?
Glamorous, isn’t it. J
~Heart, humor and a happily ever after
LOVE ON LANDING (A Meadow Ridge Romance) Blurb:
When Tali tries to recover from a recent break-up with a trip to Paris for some retail therapy, she discovers shopping isn’t the only way to cure her broken heart. On route, she meets new pilot, Gavin. Tali and Gavin have instant chemistry and friction as their personalities clash at 30,000 feet.
One night in bed isn’t enough to quell the fireworks between Tali and Gavin and when tempers erupt, Tali’s ex-boyfriend is there to pick up the pieces. Too bad she’s finally realized what she really wants in life…and it isn’t her ex or the life her father has planned back home.
Now all Tali wants is the man who loved her enough to tell her what she didn’t want to hear, but can she win his heart back again on the trip home and find Love on Landing?
How about an excerpt:
Tali Radcliff leaned her head back against the headrest and gazed out the window. Raindrops splattered onto the double-paned glass blurring her view of the runway. Not that she could look past her sad, pathetic reflection anyway.
The reflection staring back at her turned the raindrops to tears on her cheeks and she instinctively wiped them away, only to find her cheeks sensitive and slightly swollen. She sighed and closed her eyes, desperately trying to block out the urge to start crying again. Instead, she focused on the white noise of the engines revving as the jet picked up speed for takeoff.
Her body pushed harder into the back of the soft, cream-colored leather seat, her stomach falling as the wheels of the aircraft left the solid tarmac below. The jet crept higher and higher, increasing the distance between Tali and the life she would temporarily leave behind—the heartache she tried so hard to forget.
If only it were as easy as a little distance.
“Don’t do it,” she whispered. “You left your tears in your bedroom, where they belong.” A beauty queen never cries unless she’s got a shiny new tiara on her head and a bouquet of fragrant flowers in her arms.
It was a good rule of thumb to remember, one she’d learned long ago and tried to stick to at all cost. Of course, sometimes she had to give in and cry, but not often. Tali wasn’t a crier, she was far too feisty to give into silly tears.
Loved the line about the "beauty queen and the tiara" didn't you? Sounds like she's had something very sad and disappointing happen recently in her life.
Let's take a sneak peak at a little more:
“Gavin, can I get your help in here for a minute?”
She heard a loud groan and the chair in the waiting room squeaked as he stood. Her door clicked open and Gavin peeked his head inside the tiny room. His tired eyes instantly lit up at the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Exactly the kind of reaction she hoped an outfit like this would stir in someone. Especially someone as hot as Gavin.
“Can you lace up the back for me? It’s a bit tricky to reach.”
“Um—sure,” he said quietly, taking the edges of the material from her hands. His gaze shifted to her back and she was suddenly aware of the lack of clothing between her skin and his fingers.
Apparently he was aware of her naked flesh too.
His large fingers fumbled with the laces almost letting them slip. She quickly held the top tight against her stomach so it wouldn’t fall to the ground. Not that a situation like that would be completely unwelcome with a guy like Gavin, but she’d prefer not to have it happen in a changing room if possible. Her hotel room? Well, that was different.
Why was she so attracted to him?
‘Cause he’s hot. And fights back. And hot.
Getting just a little sexy isn't it? How about a final excerpt:
“No, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell just happened.” She put her hand on his arm, stopping him when he tried to walk down the street. His biceps bulged under her fingers and she couldn’t help but squeeze him a little tighter.
Gavin turned to face her. He bent down until his face was level with hers, his mouth hovering so close to hers that she could stick out her tongue and lick him. God she wanted to lick him.
But she wouldn’t. That wouldn’t exactly be appropriate behavior for two friends while walking down the streets of Paris.
“I said it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
She licked her own lips instead, urging her internal voice to shut the hell up. “It is something. You’re lying to me.”
“You’re right, there is something wrong.” He stared at her for a long moment, his mouth so close to touching hers, she could practically taste him already. “You promised me dinner of my choice and I’m starving. Let’s go eat.”
She tried to mutter a response, but her tongue didn’t seem to work anymore for anything other than kissing him. How could he think about eating right now? All she could think about was the heat of his body melting into her, warming her right to her core.
“I’ll take your answer as a yes. This way.” He took her hand in his free one and guided her down the street.
Um...Yeah...Gavin is definitely kissable...lol....
Heather Thurmeier Bio
Heather Thurmeier was born and raised in the Canadian prairies, but now she lives in upstate New York with her own personal romance Hero (aka her husband) and their two little princesses. When she's not busy taking care of the kids and an adventurous puppy named Indy, Heather's hard at work on her next romance novel. She loves to hear from readers. Heart, humor, and a happily ever after.
Facebook: Heather Thurmeier, author
Don't forget to comment below and leave your email address to be entered in Heather's contest.