I have this great vision of myself penning books as birds tweet and the heavens smile down upon me. The reality of my writing process is probably closer to chainsaw juggling. What’s scary is that this seems perfectly reasonable to me—right up until the point in every book when my characters wrest the story from my hands and run with it. Then I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a bloodbath.
My troublemakers in Getting Lucky are Zach Taylor, a tough-minded marine on a mission, and Lily Morrisette, a chef who might look like a party girl but is more than equal to the task of matching wits with a stubborn soldier. I was convinced when I started their story that this time I had a firm grasp on my cast of characters. What a dreamer—as always, they took me in directions I never envisioned. I’m pleased to announce, however, that in the end the book came together with a minimum of nicks and cuts to my tender psyche. Now that it’s finished and I’ve survived to write another day, I’m just so, so wild about Zach and Lily. It’s my fondest wish that you’ll fall in love with them, too.