Kensington sent me the book cover for my romance that comes out April, 2016. I posted it on my author’s facebook page, but thought I’d wait to post it here until Thanksgiving weekend. That’s appropriate. I feel very thankful that Kensington wanted three romances from me.
For starters, I never thought I could write romance. Close friends know that I’m not a romantic at heart. I’m the girl who told every boy in college who had the nerve to ask me on a date that I’d be happy to go out with them, but I didn’t intend to get serious with anyone until I was at least thirty. I had a game plan all mapped out in my mind. I’d graduate from college, get a job as an elementary school teacher, and travel every summer. Visions of exotic places teased my mind. Once I turned thirty, IF someone attracted me, I’d decide if giving up my freedom was worth it…or not.
My family didn’t encourage happy ever afters. My mom and dad had a rock solid marriage and were crazy about each other, but both of my grandfathers were rotters as husbands. Wonderful grandfathers, mind you, but too footloose to be worth much on the marital front. My mom’s dad drove truck, and he actually deserted my grandmother and his kids during the Depression, living well on the road while they stood in line for buckets of free lard and flour. Why Grandma took him back, I don’t know. But being a single mom with four kids was no easy task back then.
My dad’s dad was a railroad man who dodged out of staying at home as often as possible. He supported his family, but that’s about it. Not that I can totally blame him. Grandma T was about as warm and loving as a jellyfish. I watched them and decided that men might be funny and charming, but only a few of them were dependable. Neither of my grandmothers had anything good to say about men. Ever. If you fell for one, they started praying for you.
My mom’s sister married a spoiled loser (I’m not exagerrating), and got a divorce when divorces weren’t popular. My dad’s sister married a man who loved bars more than he loved her. The woman who lived across the street from us married a drunk, had seven kids, and her husband beat her every Friday night when he finished his beers. I looked around and didn’t see too many prince charmings.
Safe sounded better than sorry, to me. And then I met my John. What can I say? The man was persistent and a keeper. We’ve been married over 44 years, and it just keeps getting better. But am I romantic? Not a tad. He is. Not me.
When I sold my novel, one of my really good, old friends messaged, “How Ironic.” And it’s true. But I found that I really enjoy writing romance. I appreciate it. I’m just not good at it in real life. But I can enjoy throwing two good people together and letting them realize they make a great team.
So here’s the book cover for Tessa and Ian. Two good people who are better off together than apart. I wish them all the happiness in the world!