BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1) by Christine Donovan Page A

and the
pressure on kids nowadays was phenomenal.
    John groaned
out loud. What the hell was he thinking by bringing another person into this
world he would be responsible for? He could barely handle the children and the
responsibilities weighing him down now. He wished she weren’t pregnant. “John,”
came Cheryl’s calming voice from the doorway. “Is Cameron okay? What happened?”
    Hearing
Cheryl’s voice caused his heart to lurch more and the guilt to rise. How could
he wish she were not carrying his child? A child made from love. God forgive
him for thinking such a thing. He did want the child.
    John crossed Cameron’s
room and hugged Cheryl to his chest. He needed her strength, her calming
presence to help him over this hurdle. “He’s drunk. I took care of it.”
    ***
    As Shannon
drove her Mercedes SUV down her street that ran parallel to the ocean, she lowered
the window and breathed in the salty ocean air. She didn’t think she could live
anywhere not connected to the ocean. It had always been a huge part of her life,
and it comforted her knowing within steps of her house she could enter another
world. Her long walks on the beach had always done wonders to put her life in perspective
when she needed it. And most of her books were created in her mind during her
solitary strolls in the sand. Nothing could compare to the smell of salt water,
the feel of the cold, moist sand between her toes and the sound of the surf to
inspire her creative juices to flow.
    In fact, as
soon as she unpacked, she bundled up and headed down to the beach, putting off
her phone calls to her family to let them know she arrived home safely. The
beach seemed deserted as she knew it would be. She walked over toward her
favorite jetties and sat with her legs bent up and her arms wrapped around them
to ward off the chilly breeze coming off the water. She stared out into the
surf. It rode high on the beach, appearing exceptionally rough, and her mind
began to wander.
    She needed to
start plotting out her next book. Her agent and editor wanted to see a synopsis
within the month. Oh, she had plenty of plots mulling around in her head, she
just didn’t know which story she would pluck out of her brain. Which story was
the one she needed to write next? The character fighting to be heard over all
the others would inevitably win. The story and characters would take shape in
her mind, much like watching a movie, and she would not be able to think of
anything else until she put it down on paper.
    The first draft
drained her emotionally. She poured her heart and soul into the characters in
her story. She laughed and cried with them and fell in love with each and every
one, creating just the right mix of personality and emotion to make them
interesting and real to her readers. Shannon always strived to make her readers
feel personally connected to her characters and the story of their lives. She
wanted them to forget they were reading a book and just become part of the
story itself. See themselves as one of her characters. Be one of her characters.
Share their feelings and emotions. Weep with them, laugh with them, and feel
connected to them as a whole.
    When she read
someone else’s book and she forgot about everything but the story and the
characters and actually felt completely connected to it, utterly involved with
everything—the humor, the sadness, the terror—then she knew the author had done
their job. Anyone could put words on paper, but it took a special someone, a
special gift, not to mention a wild imagination, to pull the reader into the
story and keep them there. Shannon strived for that in each and every book she
wrote. If she didn’t feel the emotional pull herself, how would her readers
feel it?
    Many times
she’d get up in the wee hours of the night and write notes down. Her brain
twisted, turned and plotted even as she slept. Often she’d write the last
chapter when the book was not even near completion. Shannon had one