In the first part of the blog, she wrote about Stephen King saying that ideas for books/stories are given--and therefore a gift.
THE GIFT
(Part 2)
Write you know vs. write what you are given.
Hmmm…I told this story earlier this week, but I’m going to tell it again. I had the nicest lady come into the store where I work my day job. She had been down the mall, talking to one of the other managers (D) who told this lady about my book. So she came down to ask me about it since she was promoting a book herself. I was helping another customer who gladly joined into the conversation, probably a little surprised to find that she was talking to two published authors (I mean how often that does that happen when you go shopping for shoes?) The customer asked me what my book was about. I took a big ol’ breath and said with as much confidence as I could muster, “It’s a romance novel.” I said this with pride and without apology. It’s something I’ve been working on—I will not apologize for writing romance. I love romance. Romance is what I want to write. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
But also, you see, romance is what I’m given. Its how my muse works. Further more, my muse has a wicked funny bone, so on top of the “what ifs…” I get “wouldn’t it be funny if…” And you know what? I embrace it. I fully believe the world needs more laughter. I don’t watch the news, and I don’t read Nicholas Sparks—if you do both or either, and you’re happy with that, more power to ya. I just can’t do it. Even more, I don’t want to do it. And so I don’t.
And I tell you all of this to tell you that we talked about my book for just a little. Basic stuff that writers talk about—who published it, how long it took me to sell it , Facebook, blogs, and Twitter. Then the customer turned to this lady and asked, “What’s your book about?”
“Well,” she said. “My ex-husband kidnapped our three children and took them into the jungles of his country. I spent years trying to get them away from him. I finally had to kidnap them myself in order to get them back into the States.”
Okay. Let’s don’t talk about my book anymore. I was almost embarrassed. And why? Because I had not suffered like this woman had? That was crazy. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. I should be grateful (and I am) that I didn’t have to endure what she did in order to write.
She was given a different gift and I another. It’s as simple as that.
I want to own her book. And I’m planning on buying it soon. What I don’t know is if I’ll ever actually read it. Things like that haunt me. I’m too sensitive. I read about tragedy, and I feel tragic. I take all that on, and I can’t let it go.
My friend in the mall was telling me how much she wanted to read this lady’s book. When I said I didn’t think I could and why, D smiled. She said “I want to see her strength. I know she made it out, and I know her kids are safe. What I don’t know is if I could do what she did.” A totally different perspective than mine. I still don’t think I can read it, but her next book signing, I’m there.
A gift, or what she knows? In her case, I’d say it’s a little of both.
Amie Louellen loves nothing more than a good book. Except for her family…and maybe homemade tacos…and shoes. But reading and writing are definitely high on the list. When she's not creating quirky characters and happy endings she enjoys going to little league baseball games and boy scout meetings. Born and bred in Mississippi, Amie is a transplanted Southern Belle who now lives in Oklahoma with her deputy husband, their genius son, a spoiled cat, and one very hyper beagle.
Amie Louellen--Brodie's Bride
Available now
from the Wild Rose Press
Savanna Morgan just wanted a way out of an engagement to a man she didn’t love. Marrying Brodie seemed liked the perfect answer at the time. Less perfect the next morning when she finds herself disowned by her father and flat broke. Now she must make it through the weekend. Monday they can get it all annulled and forget it ever happened.
The real problem may be keeping their hands off each other until then.
Excerpt—(the new one)
“On Monday, after our appointment, you’re leaving.”
“I have to go home,” she said quietly, turning away from him to stare into the postage-stamp sized back yard.
“But we have an agreement for the weekend. I think we should have some ground rules.”
“Good idea.” Savanna clapped her hands, then rubbed them together as if she were ready to get down to business. “Like what?”
“We only have two working bedrooms here,” Brodie said. “Mine and Nan’s. Do you mind sharing a room with me?”
Her pupils dilated, and he knew she was thinking about the scarlet room they had shared last night.
“My room has two beds,” he continued. “We can be like Lucy and Ricky.”
She smiled. “If it was good enough for the Ricardos, I’m sure I can handle it for a few days.”
“We may not so lucky at the Sullivan’s.”
Sobering, she nodded. “If there’s only one bed there, we can just take turns sleeping in it.”
“Fair enough.” Brodie said. “Now, as a married couple—especially at the ranch—we’ll be expected to act like a married couple.”
“Okay. But only around others. When we’re alone, we can act like we’re not married.”
“Correct. But sometimes…” He took a step closer to where she leaned against the porch railing. “Sometimes married people hold hands.”
He reached out and took her fingers into his own. Her skin was velvet soft and smelled so sweet, like the mountains after a rain.
“I—I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Sometimes married couples put their arms around each other.” He placed her hands behind his neck, then slid his arms around her waist.
“That’s okay,” she whispered. He watched as she swallowed hard.
“And sometimes married people kiss. Just a peck here and a peck there. Are you going to have a problem with that?”
“Huh-uh.” She shook her head.
“Maybe we should practice,” he rasped, bending his head close to hers.
“Maybe,” she repeated before he brushed his lips across hers once, then twice.
His intent had been the small, nearly chaste kiss of old married couple, but once he got close to Savanna, once he could smell her sweetness and taste her heady essence, he couldn’t stop himself.
He pulled her close to him, gathering handfuls of her tank top, securing her to him. Over and over he slanted his mouth across hers. Over and over, deeper and deeper, until her whimper brought him back.
He released her, his breath rasping in and out of his lungs in hard painful gasps.
She grasped the edge of the porch railing, looking as disturbed as he felt.
With demonstrations like that, they may not ever convince Blair and Nan their marriage was an accidental twist of fate, but they would surely convince Red Sullivan their passion was for real.
Brodie ran his fingers through his hair, just one more gesture to keep from reaching for Savanna again.
“There,” he managed to croak. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
Amie Louellen--author FaceBook
www.amielouellen.com
http://amielouellen.wordpress.com/
www.twitter.com/AmieLouellen
email amielouellen@gmail.com
