I have two special guests this morning! Both Abby Sharpe and Sandy James chimed in on questions to never ask a writer on a deadline.
Five Things to Never Ask Abby Sharpe on Deadline
5. When’s dinner?
I’m the dinner-maker of the household (though the kids are starting to help, kicking and screaming while it happens). So if I don’t plan ahead, my husband will take the easy way with fast food. And I admit it – sometimes I just don’t feel like thinking of dinner. Mmmmm… greasy burgers…
4. Can I have some (ice cream, chocolate, something sugary and superbad for me)?
On second thought, this is the best time to ask me. Because I’ll most likely say yes, since I’m distracted. You sneaky child…
3. What are you doing?
I guess I’m doing a good job of feigning sanity if you can’t tell what my opened laptop and clumps of hair nearby mean.
4. What’s your book about?
About eleven months of long, drawn out torture…
5. Almost done?
No. I will never, ever, ever be done. Ever. This will consume my every moment until I keel over, my head finishing the story for me as it hits the keyboard and comes with yutt5rtyuy7frdredfrt5ikjo up 6tr54e7u6y
About WHO WANTS TO MARRY A DOCTOR:
As a single mom and pediatrician, Sabrina Bankhead doesn’t have time for romance. All that changes when she reluctantly agrees to take part in a dating show fundraiser for a children’s hospital. But once she sets eyes on the journalist hired to cover the show, none of the four contestants stand a chance. If she doesn’t choose one of the eligible bachelors, the hospital doesn’t raise a cent. What’s a lovestruck doc to do? Investigative journalist Quinn Donnelly is on the mend after an assignment in Afghanistan left him both physically and emotionally scarred. Though he’s itching to return overseas and finish his story, he’ll have to be content with this fluff piece assignment to cover a local dating show. One-night stands are Quinn’s forte-but after he meets Sabrina, he’s ready to say yes for the long haul. After years of chasing the next big story, Quinn is starting to wonder if maybe home really can be where the heart is . . .
About Abigail Sharpe:
Abigail is a Boston-bred Yankee now eating grits and saying “y’all” in North Central Florida. She dreamed more of being a stage actress or joining the CIA than being an author. While she still enjoys participating in community theater productions and singing karaoke, the secret-agent career was replaced by hours at her computer, writing stories of love and laughter and happily ever after. Abigail lives with her husband, two kids, and one crazy princess puppy. You can keep up with her on Goodreads, Facebook or on her website.
“I just called to…” Sabrina’s words jammed in her throat. No way could she admit that she just wanted to hear his voice.
Thankfully Quinn didn’t make her finish her sentence. “I’m glad you called.” The gruff in his voice was still there, but it had changed to something softer, sending a little thrill down her body.
“You are?” Was that low, throaty sound coming from her?
“Yeah. I missed you tonight.”
A niggling feeling centered in her brain and sent stabs of doubt to her heart. I missed you sounded good, but maybe he just missed his bed warmer. “Missed me?”
“I mean, you know, talking to you.” Quinn chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong – having you naked is a nice side benefit, but I don’t only want you for your body, Doc. I didn’t get to speak to you today, and when I got home it seemed my day wasn’t complete.”
She had the same feeling, but tried to play it down. “It was a busy day.”
He yawned, and she heard his bed sheets rustling. “Good thing there’s email and cell phones so we can keep talking once I’m done with the show and back in Afghanistan. You’d make the day brighter even in a desert.”
She covered her eyes to quell the burning behind them, wanting to block out the reminder that he wasn’t in Harbin forever, that he’d be leaving and putting himself in danger, taking a good part of her with him. “That’s a nice thing to say, Quinn.”
“Apparently I talk a lot when I’m tired.” He gave a huff of laughter. “You don’t have to humor me.”
“I woke you. I’m sorry. You should go back to sleep.”
“Talking to you is much nicer than sleep.”
Her heart fluttered into her stomach, danced down to her toes and shot right back to her chest. Forget killing her. This was drawn-out torture, one to which she willingly submitted.
“Let me turn off my light.” Her voice dropped and got breathy. She flipped her switch and cuddled under her sheets with the phone tucked under her ear. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining Quinn’s warm, strong hands in place of the flannel on her skin, touching her, stroking her in lazy circles while they lay in each others arms. “I’m back.”
His voice was no longer gruff, but still low, almost a growl. “How was your date tonight?”
Was that jealousy? “Do we have to talk about it? Can’t you wait until Friday like everyone else?”
“I can, but I’m not everyone else. Haven’t I told you this before?”
Like she needed the reminder. It had been a long, long time since a man had shattered her safe world.
“Besides, we’re taping tomorrow. Remember I’m heading to Atlanta on Friday to see my doctors.”
The doctors that would clear him to return to the desert. The doctors that would send him away from her. She focused on the present. “Brian wasn’t the egotistical megalomaniac that he was last week.”
“Hmmmm.” He chuckled. “Does this mean I have competition?”
“I dunno,” she teased. “He did take me out dancing. You know that’s the way to a girl’s heart.”
“As long as it’s not the way to her mind.” He cleared his throat, and his voice became cautious. “I know I don’t have any say in your personal life, but if you think you could be happy with him, you should see where it goes.”
“Oh.” What the hell did that mean? Disappointment tightened her chest like a blood pressure cuff and her eyes moistened. What was she thinking? “Look, it’s getting late. You should sleep.”
“Don’t hang up.” His voice lowered again, almost a whisper. “We’ve never able to spend a full night together. If this is the only way, then you have to stay on the phone.”
“I do have to warn you. I snore.”
She laughed softly and turned on her side, snuggling under the covers, her emotions playing havoc with her common sense. “I know.”
Buy links for WHO WANTS TO MARRY A DOCTOR:
Five Things Never to Ask a Writer on Deadline by Sandy James
1. “What if you get writer’s block?” You seriously just asked me that? No one should even mention something as terrifying as writer’s block to an author who is pounding away at her laptop and nervously watching the clock. Ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?
2. “You mean you don’t want to _____?” Fill in the missing phrase with some exciting and life-affirming activity. Go to the park? Go out for supper? Go shopping? Of course I want to_____! But I have my priorities straight and refuse to miss a deadline. Ever.
3. “Would it be a problem to put the computer aside for a couple of hours?” Yes. Yes, it would. And that question could easily earn you a smack upside the head that would be entirely accidental of course.
4. “Why don’t I have clean underwear?” Because you’ve obviously assumed I’m the only human being in this house who has the magical ability to make the washing machine work. Oh look! You turn the knob! So very complicated!
5. “Don’t you get tired of writing all the time?” No. No, I don’t. In fact, I doubt I shall EVER tire of it!
About SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED:
Juliana has spent thirteen years in the same teaching job. She’s ready to dive into a new career with both feet . . . when a run-in with the hottest man she’s ever seen knocks her head over heels. But with her failed marriage to a fellow teacher fresh on her mind, Jules can’t afford to lose herself in a relationship-no matter how perfect it may seem. Connor Wilson has hit rock bottom when he loses his career as a top-notch Realtor because of a large gambling debt. Now, in a small town he finds a fresh start-and a gorgeous redhead who sparks new life into him. Together they start a successful real estate company, but when pleasure sneaks into the business, they’ll have to decide what they can let go . . . and what they can’t live without.
About Sandy James:
Sandy James lives in a quiet suburb of Indianapolis with her husband. She’s a high school social studies teacher who especially loves psychology and United States history. Since she and her husband own a small stable of harness racehorses, they often spend time together at the two Indiana racetracks.
Connor Wilson leaned back in his chair and waited for the presentation to start. Not that the seminar was going to change his mind about facing this new real estate market solo. He was there strictly for research, learning everything he could about the competition.
He’d made this move to such a small market for all the right reasons, and there was profit to be had here. He could smell it as easily as a pig sniffing for truffles.
Max Schumm. Cloverleaf’s number one Realtor. He held court near the front of the conference room, close to the table his assistants had piled with swag—calendars, pens, refrigerator magnets. Not a surprise that his office staff, his minions, were all women while his Realtors were mostly men. He counted only two ladies in the bright blue Schumm blazers, and every advertisement he’d checked contained listings by males.
The town and the surrounding counties were ripe for the picking.
Time for the king to get knocked off his throne.
Glancing around the three big, round tables set with six places each, Connor sized up the people who thought they might have the chops to sell homes. A pitiful lot it was. He’d dismissed each and every one, noticing Max doing the same thing as he appraised the newbies. The only person Max kept staring at was Connor, probably because he knew a true salesman when he spotted one.
Perhaps he even recognized him from his past. Indianapolis wasn’t a huge market, but it was somewhat close and Connor had been well known there. Two years away wasn’t all that long to distance himself from making sales or getting new listings. Their paths might have crossed on a long-distance move, although he was sure he’d have remembered a man like Max. Damn if the guy didn’t look like an eighties game show host, from his oversprayed hair to his fake tan to his far-too-white teeth.
What Max didn’t know was that Connor had no intention of becoming part of Schumm Homes. While Max would undoubtedly make him an offer of employment, there was only one firm Connor intended to work for—the newest agency in town.
The time for the program to begin came and went, causing him to make a mental note, matching the information he’d already gathered. Tardiness was one of Max’s sins. He had others, but the most mentioned was his disregard for other people’s time.
Just as Max stepped closer to the podium, talking in low tones with the Ramada’s technical advisor, a kid who had to be right out of college, a couple appeared at the double-door entrance.
Connor caught and held his breath when he saw the woman.
Hair the color of a setting sun—the most gorgeous shade of natural red he’d ever seen. It was long and down, bouncing around her shoulders in wavy cascades. She wore a perfect black dress. Not a slutty “little black dress” but one that would work fine for business and pleasure, with a square neck that showed a hint of generous cleavage. She was curvy without being too curvy. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and the black stilettos were enough to finish him off.
He was no longer thinking about Max Schumm or real estate or the Cloverleaf market. Connor wasn’t going to be paying an ounce of attention to anything anyone had to say tonight. Not with the redheaded vision heading right for his table. Too bad she was with another guy, because there was nothing he wanted more than to take her home.
It had been a long time since he’d felt such a swift and severe attraction. The closer she drew, the harder his heart pounded. Since the last empty seats were at his table, it was a given she and her escort were going to sit next to him.
“Mind if we sit here?” she asked, her husky voice hitting him right in the groin.
“Um, no. Go ahead.” Then the blood started flowing back to Connor’s brain long enough for him to remember his manners. He stood up and pulled out the chair for her, drawing a lopsided smile from her escort, who hadn’t made a move to help.
She dropped a rather large black purse on the floor, sat down, and smiled sweetly over her shoulder as Connor pushed her up to the table. “Thanks.”
Her perfume drifted his way. Something light yet sensual. Hell, everything about her was sensual. She moved like a feline, all sleek lines and confidence. He wanted to sweep the gorgeous creature into his arms, carry her up to his third-floor room, and make love to her until they both collapsed in sated exhaustion. He let a light chuckle slip as he wondered what she’d say if he up and told her exactly what he was thinking.
She tossed him a charming smile, but he couldn’t enjoy it because he was too busy looking to see if she or the guy who’d escorted her to the table wore a wedding ring.
Neither did, and Connor did a mental jig. He wasn’t leaving without this beautiful creature’s phone number.
Maybe his fresh start in this new place was truly going to be his salvation. Maybe he could really leave his past behind and forge a new life here after all. Maybe a leopard could finally change his spots.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt the confidence and purpose that had been missing for far too long. He would make a life for himself here, earn a decent profit, and maybe get back to the world of the living.
Only time would tell.
Buy links for SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED: