Okay, I’m not altogether sure that I should be saying this on the blog. Like maybe some blog-police fairy is going to show up and snap me in cuffs. But the truth of the matter is I hate every book by the time I finish it. My October release, RIPPED, is no exception. By the time I turned it in, I sincerely never wanted to see it again. It’s not that I don’t enjoy writing the scenes, that I don’t love the characters but I’m usually just tired of trying to live up to my own neurotic Virgo perfectionist tendancies. Given my choice and no deadline, I’d drive myself insane by “tweaking” a story until one of us — either me or the story — expired.

And then a couple…or several…months pass and my advance copies arrive. I’ve had some distance. I’ve started and finished yet another book. I’ve gained perspective. So, I open that shipment of advance copies and read the story that just a few short months ago I hated.

I’m pleased to say that at that juncture I can almost always say, “I like you now.” Once again, RIPPED is no exception. I can’t imagine writing Lt. Colonel Mitch Dugan or Eden Walters any differently than they show up on the page. And I know that Eden is exactly what hard-core paratrooper Mitch needs and vice versa. (Good thing, too, considering this is romance I’m writing.(H) )

So, while everyone’s busy running around on this Labor Day weekend or maybe you’re stretched out on a pool or beach or your couch at home reading, take a second to say “I like it now” about whatever your latest labor of love has been.

Have a good one and if you’re traveling, here’s hoping you travel safe.

For years I could only work if I was parked in my office chair in my office at my desk. Call me a creature of habit. Call me nutty. Call me a new chick with new-found flexibility. So many of my writer friends would tell me about going down to their local coffee shop to write and I simply couldn’t wrap my head around that notion. How the heck could they do that? How’d they survive the distractions? The noise?

I finally get it. Starbucks is my newest productivity friend. Plug in my headset, give me a water or a venti Tazo black sweet tea with light ice and I’m set. The counter staff knows me by name. They occasionally ask how the book is coming along. In fact, I’m perched at one of the tables as I type this.

So, the whole point is not that I’m a new Starbucks devotee but rather the whole idea of opening yourself up to a new or different process. I finally figured out that I could write under different circumstances than at my desk, in my chair. It’s been very liberating and oddly empowring — I suppose the notion that an old dog can, in fact, learn a new trick.

What about you? Any habits you’ve changed lately? Any new notions or way of doing things that you’ve embraced?

There are two things you can bank on when you pick up a Blaze. There are going to be rocking love scenes and there are going to be romantic moments . One of the standards of romantic gestures are flowers and/or a candlelit dinner.

However, because I can be sort of contrary on occasion and seometimes like to veer from the norm I love to toss in romantic gestures in my books that have nothing to do with candles or chocolate (though I’m very fond of eating chocolate while writing) or flowers.

In one book the heroine is sobbing, with good reason, and the hero isn’t sure how to comfort her so he goes and gets a cold wet washcloth for her and blots her face. Imo, it was tender and achingly romantic…and led to one of those rocking love scenes.

In another book, the hero takes the heroine to the place he wants to build his house. He’s a very private person and this isn’t something he shares with people normally. It was romantic and once again, led to one of those love scenes. (Are you noticing a pattern — those romantic moments are usually followed by one of those love scenes? )

For me, romantic gestures are more than just showing up with flowers — although there’s nothing wrong with flowers, by any means — but the real romantic gestures are those where the hero does something that really meets a need for the heroine or makes himself vulnerable to her. And what’s considered romantic by one person isn’t necesssarily considered romantic by another.

So, what hits your romantic gesture barometer? What’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you? (And…uh…we don’t need to know about the rocking love scene that might have followed )

While Blazes center on relationships, there’s no denying that the setting for a book can almost become a character in and of itself. Thus was the case with my current Blaze, third in the 0-60 miniseries, HOT-WIRED. Alison Kent, Julie Miller, Lori Borrill (Lori wrote the online prequal), and I wanted a special place in which to set this mini-series. Together we created Dahlia, Tennessee. Dahlia’s the quintessential small southern town with Main Street shops centered around a town square park. In Dahlia everyone knows everyone elses name…and their business. It’s also the kind of place where everyone will chip in to help out a neighbor who might be down and out on their luck. By the time we finished writing our books, we unanimously agreed we all wish Dahlia was real because we’d all LOVE to go there.

So, I’m interested in hearing about the most magical place you’ve ever created or “visited” in a book. Where’ve you been in your head that you wish was real?

I grew up on a farm. 100 acres outside of what was a really small (1-traffic light for years) town in south Georgia. Trust me when I tell you, this was not where I wanted to be. (Cue the theme music to Green Acres.)

One of the animal groups we had on our farm was cows. Not just a couple. We had lots and lots and lots of cows. And a bull. Black Angus. Do you know what a bull likes to do? I know this is the Blaze loop, but no, I’m not talking about that. Bulls like to take down pasture fences. At 1 friggin’ 30 in the a.m. And you know what happens then? You get a call at 2 friggin’ a.m. telling you the cows are out and the whole household has to go out in pajamas and round the damn cows up and herd them back into another pasture.

I’m really not so fond of cows.

My husband used to have this crazy fantasy that we’d buy 20 acres somewhere even further out than the suburban hinterlands we live in now and he’d have himself some cows. Really, he’s clueless. But I quickly clued him in that he’d have to live out that fantasy with his next wife.

Anywho — stick with me here, I have a way of going around my ass to get to my elbow — Brenda Chin bought my first book (a Duets) in 1999 and that was the first year I went to National Conference (that disaster is a whole nother blog a whole nother time.) The conference was in Chicago that year. I was THRILLED to be there — trust me, there’s nothing quite as exciting as attending your first national conference as a newly bought author.

Also in Chicago, along with the RWA conference, was the Cows on Parade.

I absolutely ADORED these. And they were part of what was a very special experience for me.

Fast forward from Chicago conference in July 1999 to early September 2000. It was another exciting day in the fascinating, sophisticated life of Jennifer LaBrecque — prepare to be wowed here…. I drove out to my local feed store in my mini-van to pick up dog food. See? Glamorous and exciting, no? But actually that day it was, well, exciting, though not exactly glamorous. I pulled into the parking lot of the feed’n seed store and there stood a herd of life-sized, fiberglass cows. It wasn’t even a conscious thought, it was more of a knowing. I HAD TO HAVE ONE. I could artistically interpret and have my own Cow on Parade that I’d seen and loved at my very first national conference.

I perused the herd. While the entire ten were all exactly alike, one in particular spoke to me. She was now mine…or would be soon. I had the store owner tag her. I bought my dog food. I made the trek home.

September is my birth month. I called my DH.

“I found what I want for my birthday. You just have to pay for it and trailer it home.”

“Trailer it? What do you want?”

“I found this cow out at the feed store.”

*long, pregnant silence*

“You don’t like cows. And…uh…we live in a suburb.”

“She’s fiberglass…and I already love her…I HAVE to have her.”

He indulged my quirkiness. I got her. He trailered her home and had her delivered as a surprise on my birthday. Here’s My Cow Pattie.

So…it’s only 9 years later and my full extent of artistically interpreting her has been to paint her eyes red with purple squiggles. Hey, maybe one day. But I am still enamoured of her. And she’s a real conversation piece for people who actually come into the house and see her in the back yard. “Uh…why is there a cow in your back yard?” It sort of works with the whole artist/quirky thing. And my husband got his cow fix without 20 acres.

Now, before I wind this up…and, yeah, it’s about time…have you noticed this all goes back to Brenda Chin? Blame it on Brenda. If she hadn’t bought me, I’d never have shown up in Chicago in July 1999 and seen Cows on Parade. Therefore, when I saw the herd later at the feed store it would’ve merely elicited a shudder from childhood memories of herding cows at 2 a.m. rather than one of the finest moments of my life. Yep…it’s all Brenda’s fault.

So, do you have a spot of quirky you’d like to share? Go ahead. I’m convinced everyone has a quirky side.