Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Book Brag

One of the things I feel is extremely important to my role as an editor with The Wild Rose Press -- and for that matter any editor -- is believing, and really loving, the books that we agree to contract. Lots of books can fit 'rules', and just not strike that chord of "Wow" within an editor. Those that do make editing enjoyable.

As such, I was extremely excited to find a first person narrative that I couldn't put down after it landed on my desk a few months ago. I'm not usually a first-person kinda gal. But Sleeping With the Lights On caught me up and as it went along I was very impressed with our heroine's journey. She's mature, but not by any means 'old'. She's saucy too, and her humor caught me off guard in many places. And our hero -- yummy!

Well, the weeks passed, slowly turned into months, and finally, Sleeping With the Lights On has a release date: June 25, 2010.

“When do you go back to Vegas?”

He hesitated. “In a day or two.”
“You sound rather vague.” And still elusive. What could be the big secret about this charity gig he couldn’t divulge?

“I have a few more things to find out. I’ll be out of here as soon as I get all my questions answered. It’s complicated.”

“Carson, honestly, how complicated can a gig—”

Pulling me around, we stopped, facing each other. My head said run like hell, but my legs wouldn’t respond. Mushy from wine or the result of Carson and moonlight. I couldn’t be sure which.

“Have lunch with me tomorrow, darlin’.” His fingers slipped from mine to gingerly brush along my forearm. The moonlight caught in his eyes. “Another hour of your time with a long lost friend?”

“Yes.” My voice went all husky and come-hither. I wanted to kick myself for being so easy.

“Good.” Grasping my hand again, he led me toward the door. “What’s the address of your office?”

I struggled to shake off the moon shadows and to remember where I worked. Once inside the building, I took a scrap of paper from my purse and wrote the address.

“I’ll walk you to your door and say goodnight,” he said, tucking the scrap of paper in his pocket. “Unless you want to have me in for a goodnight drink.” I didn’t answer. If he’d only known the extent of my uncertainty at that moment, a little persistence might have made me cave.

“Okay, then—” His mouth gaped.

I followed his bewildered look to my apartment door.


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