windowless break room at Teledyne Communications, and anywhere else she could grab a stray fifteen or twenty minutes. Now that she was going to do this full-time, she intended to write under the most optimal circumstances. Which meant a view out one or more windows, maximum light—both natural and artificial—and absolute quiet.
Ahhhh. Satisfied, she cracked her knuckles, stretched her fingers, and arranged her right hand on her mouse.
“You’ve got mail.”
Without conscious thought, she clicked on email and found two new messages waiting; one from each of her critique partners. Karen’s included a photo of her sitting on her vacation house deck, the beach visible over her shoulder. The text read:
What are you doing here? Get to work!
The second was from Susie, now the proud grandmother of a four-month-old.
Rocking her gorgeousness. Isn’t she beautiful?
A photo of this was inserted next to the words.
No more email! Get to work!
Claire laughed and shot back snotty replies. Not quite ready to turn off the Internet—she might need to do research—she turned off the audio notification and pulled up her notes for her new novel; a third romance set in the Scottish Highlands shortly before the Battle of Culloden. Her editor had been excited about Claire’s idea of picking up several years after the conclusion of her second novel,
Highland Hellion
, which had ended with the announcement of an arranged alliance between the youngest of three Douglas brothers and the high-spirited daughter of a neighboring laird. The proposal had gone in under the title
Highland Mismatch
, which her editor had rejected as “more appealing to wrestling fans than romance readers,” and so her working title had been simplified to a more generic
Highland 3
.
Her agent believed it could be “the book” that put her on some of the bestseller lists and had managed to negotiate a slightly better contract, which she insisted would be even better next book. Assuming her writing continued to develop. And her earlier books continued to sell.
Hmmm. Claire clicked on to her Amazon Author Central account to look at her BookScan sales numbers, which supposedly reflected 70 percent of all sales. Then wished she hadn’t.
Since she was already there, she clicked on both of her previous books to check Amazon sales and reviews.
Crap
. Her sales were stagnant here, too. Worse, some reader who didn’t like the name of one of her characters because she reminded her of someone she’d hated in elementary school, had given her a one-star review.
Forget it,
she scolded herself.
Get to work. Just focus on your characters and what happens to each of them.
Her gaze strayed to the refrigerator. At home—she stopped midword reminding herself that
this
was home now. Okay. Back in the house in River Run she would have had to walk downstairs to reach the kitchen. Here—in her
new
home—she could practically reach out and touch the refrigerator from her “desk.” She studied her diffused features in its stainless-steel door and tried not to think about the slice of cherry cheesecake inside it.
Fighting off the spike of hunger the thought produced, she reread her notes and made herself think about why her heroine was opposed to this marriage despite the secret attraction she felt to Rory Douglas. Had she been raised like a favored son and was therefore afraid of losing all chance of independence through marriage? Or maybe her mother and her sister had died in childbirth and she feared a similar fate?
This last made her think about Hailey away at college. The journals they’d given each other and what her daughter might have written so far in hers. The look on Hailey’s face when Claire had insisted on discussing STDs and birth control.
She forced her gaze back to the screen, but her brain was slow to follow. Plotting was definitely not her strong suit. Maybe she should call Karen or Susie? Or email them to see if they could do a conference call one day
Ahhhh. Satisfied, she cracked her knuckles, stretched her fingers, and arranged her right hand on her mouse.
“You’ve got mail.”
Without conscious thought, she clicked on email and found two new messages waiting; one from each of her critique partners. Karen’s included a photo of her sitting on her vacation house deck, the beach visible over her shoulder. The text read:
What are you doing here? Get to work!
The second was from Susie, now the proud grandmother of a four-month-old.
Rocking her gorgeousness. Isn’t she beautiful?
A photo of this was inserted next to the words.
No more email! Get to work!
Claire laughed and shot back snotty replies. Not quite ready to turn off the Internet—she might need to do research—she turned off the audio notification and pulled up her notes for her new novel; a third romance set in the Scottish Highlands shortly before the Battle of Culloden. Her editor had been excited about Claire’s idea of picking up several years after the conclusion of her second novel,
Highland Hellion
, which had ended with the announcement of an arranged alliance between the youngest of three Douglas brothers and the high-spirited daughter of a neighboring laird. The proposal had gone in under the title
Highland Mismatch
, which her editor had rejected as “more appealing to wrestling fans than romance readers,” and so her working title had been simplified to a more generic
Highland 3
.
Her agent believed it could be “the book” that put her on some of the bestseller lists and had managed to negotiate a slightly better contract, which she insisted would be even better next book. Assuming her writing continued to develop. And her earlier books continued to sell.
Hmmm. Claire clicked on to her Amazon Author Central account to look at her BookScan sales numbers, which supposedly reflected 70 percent of all sales. Then wished she hadn’t.
Since she was already there, she clicked on both of her previous books to check Amazon sales and reviews.
Crap
. Her sales were stagnant here, too. Worse, some reader who didn’t like the name of one of her characters because she reminded her of someone she’d hated in elementary school, had given her a one-star review.
Forget it,
she scolded herself.
Get to work. Just focus on your characters and what happens to each of them.
Her gaze strayed to the refrigerator. At home—she stopped midword reminding herself that
this
was home now. Okay. Back in the house in River Run she would have had to walk downstairs to reach the kitchen. Here—in her
new
home—she could practically reach out and touch the refrigerator from her “desk.” She studied her diffused features in its stainless-steel door and tried not to think about the slice of cherry cheesecake inside it.
Fighting off the spike of hunger the thought produced, she reread her notes and made herself think about why her heroine was opposed to this marriage despite the secret attraction she felt to Rory Douglas. Had she been raised like a favored son and was therefore afraid of losing all chance of independence through marriage? Or maybe her mother and her sister had died in childbirth and she feared a similar fate?
This last made her think about Hailey away at college. The journals they’d given each other and what her daughter might have written so far in hers. The look on Hailey’s face when Claire had insisted on discussing STDs and birth control.
She forced her gaze back to the screen, but her brain was slow to follow. Plotting was definitely not her strong suit. Maybe she should call Karen or Susie? Or email them to see if they could do a conference call one day
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