At each stop of the tour, I’ll give away a copy of an ebook from my backlist to one randomly drawn commenter. For Men Like Us, the newest release, isn’t eligible.
At the end of the tour, I’ll select one person from all of the commenters and that person will win a swag pack, containing *tons* of Brita Addams swag.
I get up very early, or what I consider early—usually between 6 and 6:30. Bleary-eyed, I stumble around, get my already made coffee, which my honey sets up for me every night and usually toast a raisin-cinnamon bagel, slather it with crunchy peanut butter, and settle in for a day of writing.
I don’t have a desk as such, as I do all my writing in the living room, on the sofa, with the aid of my trusty laptop. Poor thing is overworked and vastly underpaid. My office consists of most of the sofa, the arm of the love seat, my end table, and the back of the sofa, which hold my boxes of index cards. Those cards hold my research and there are tons of them!
Not a pretty sight, but then, it fulfills my needs, so what the hey.
I have a cup warmer, where my coffee might sit for hours as I negotiate the social media networks, check email, and wake up. Since I only drink one cup of coffee a day, I stretch out the enjoyment for as long as I can, hence the warmer.
A typical day finds me in my pajamas, today’s are lavender with puppies on them. That is my writing uniform. Must be comfortable. I’ll stumble into the shower at some point during the day, and if we aren’t set to leave the house, I’m back in pj’s.
Once my social obligations are satisfied, it’s time to settle into the day’s writing. It could mean I have a ton of research to do, or it could be that I’m set to write. The book I’m working on now, set during the French and Indian War, requires an extreme amount of research, making sure I have my characters set in the right month, in the right year. It’s crucial to the story that I get it right.
While writing, I take on a seriousness that is rarely a part of my usual mien. I immerse myself in the story, in the characters—I become them if you will. With complete silence in the house (it’s only my husband and me and he’s usually in his office,) I pound away on my keyboard.
This might go on from 8am to 5pm, with few breaks in between, or it might be less hours, depending upon what is happening in real life.
I’m very fortunate to have the time to write as I do. Thankfully, I don’t have to share my time with growing children, mine are all grown, and I don’t have an outside job to interfere with what I truly want to do.
My husband takes care of the house, including making sure there is a wonderful meal at the end of the day. It’s pretty much catch as catch can during the day, as neither of us eat lunch, as a rule.
At five in the evening, I switch gears, shut the writing down for the day, and my husband and I eat dinner together. It’s then that we turn the TV on, usually to something we’ve recorded on our DVR. I used to be a daytime TV watcher, or rather, an all day TV listener. It came on with the news in the morning and stayed on until bedtime.
I gave up soap operas some years ago and news, save for the occasional catch online, is a thing of the past. We stay up on the political issues, but the rest goes unheeded. I so readily see how much time I wasted in years past, and that isn’t happening now!
My evenings are devoted to my husband. We have a wide variety of TV shows we enjoy, and that’s usually what we do until around 9, when I trundle off to bed with my Kindle. I’ll read ’til ten or ten thirty, then shut the light off and fall asleep instantly.
A greatly anticipated deviation to this routine is on Fridays, when we have Date Day. It is something we started over twenty years ago, only then it was Date Night. It is rarely any more grandiose than a dinner and a movie, but we love it and try never to miss a week. I wish I’d kept track of all the movies we’ve seen over the years. I’d love to know the number.
And there it is—my typical day. Being a creature of habit, it suits me nicely. I occasionally speak to my sister on the phone, or one or more of my children, but as a rule, I live a rather quiet life, creating the lives of those characters I hope my readers will love.
All in all, I’m a very lucky lady and quite happy with things as they are.
Please take some time to read the blurb from my newest release, For Men Like Us. Click the title and you will find a long excerpt and a purchase link at Dreamspinner Press.
After Preston Meacham’s lover dies trying to lend him aid at Salamanca, hopelessness becomes his only way of life. Despite his best efforts at starting again, he has no pride left, which leads him to sell himself for a pittance at a molly house. The mindless sex affords him his only respite from the horrors he witnessed.
The Napoleonic War left Benedict Wilmot haunted by the acts he was forced to commit and the torture he endured at the hands of a superior, a man who used the threat of a gruesome death to force Ben to do his bidding. Even sleep gives Ben no reprieve, for he can’t escape the destruction he caused.
When their paths cross, Ben feels an overwhelming need to protect Preston from his dangerous profession. As he explains, “The streets are dangerous for men like us.”
Thank you, Mantastic, for having me today. I’ve really enjoyed my visit.