I was talking with some friends at the gym the other day about reality TV. (Yes, I’m a gym rat, mostly due to a common aliment I’m sure many of you also suffer from—I like to eat.) I’m normally a big fan of programming where there’s actually a writer (The West Wing being my favorite classic), but I do watch the Bravo reality shows—Real Housewives of… (insert your favorite city here), Top Chef, etc. So these gals at the gym thought it would be awesome to have The Secret Lives of Romance Writers.

Ha! As my fellow Blaze writers will attest, that is not Must-See TV. My day involves typing. Sometimes I pause on the keyboard to think, look up a word in my thesaurus, Google something. If I’m really stumped with writing a scene, I might throw in a load of laundry or go to the fridge for a Diet Coke. Compare that to overturning a table at a dinner party, drinking tequila until you throw up or skinning an eel, and you can certainly see why any show about writers is not forthcoming to a channel near you.

I tell this to the gym folks, and they laugh and wink, like I’m downplaying my glamorous life. The guys think my husband is a serious stud, since he’s obviously the test subject for all my love scenes. (I must admit I don’t disabuse them of this idea, since my poor husband needs to get some benefit from the moodiness that generally comes with having a writer for a wife.) The women think I spend my days interviewing potential cover models and flying on book tours all over the country.

Not to say that my publishing career hasn’t offered me many wonderful opportunities. The top of the list is hanging out with fun, interesting, creative people. Plus, I’ve traveled to a lot of great cities—NYC, Chicago, DC, San Francisco. I’ve gone to some cool parties—the Harlequin party at the Waldorf-Astoria in NYC comes particularly to mind.

Mostly, though, I create stories that you’ll hopefully want to read to escape from whatever craziness your life involves. And that simple agenda is fine with me. Sometimes it’s a struggle, sometimes it’s a rush, but it’s what I do.

No tequila or TV cameras required.

9:30 a.m. – LaGuardia Airport
While my life normally consists of writing on my laptop in my kitchen, transporting teenagers to dance/cheerleading rehearsals and keeping my crazy Shih Tzu, Cody, out of trouble, today I’m actually doing something exciting. I’m in New York, attending the Book Expo America convention!

As clichéd as it is, I love New York. The sights, sounds and smells blend and contrast like nowhere else in the world. I’ll be signing books tomorrow afternoon, but until then my buds Jacquie D’Alessandro and Jennifer St. Giles will be joining me in shopping, people watching and, of course, eating.

So, as I go along with my day, I’ll add updates, so you guys feel like you’re on the trip, too. (Sorry, frequent flyer miles aren’t included.) I’ll check in again once we get to the hotel.

11:00 a.m. – Sheraton Times Square
Times Square is, as always, crazy with crowds. Despite what you may have heard, the economy seems to be rolling along here. (Or at least the counterfeit designer bag business is.) We walked over to Maxie’s famous deli and had sandwiches that were waayyy too big, but yummy anyway.

12:30 p.m. – Shopping 5th Avenue
We walked down 5th and looked in the windows of all the high-end boutiques. Cartier, Ferragamo, Bergdorf Goodman, etc. and wound up in Henri Bendel. This Manhattan institution of cosmetics, accessories and casual clothes is always packed with make-up artists who claim to transform you into a new woman with all kinds of lotions and potions. Amazingly, they usually succeed, which is why our credit cards got a serious workout.

5:00 p.m. – Back to the room
Recuperation time. Put the feet up, take showers (though careful ones, so as to not mess up the new make-up job), water break and calling home to talk to the kids. The dog is on another hunger strike. He does this frequently, even though I heat up his food in the microwave to coax him. My husband puts down the food and commands “Eat!” This, much to my frustration, usually works. So, no fear, the strike won’t last long.

7:30 p.m. – Joe Allen’s Restaurant
Out with fellow Blaze Babe and Manhattan resident Hope Tarr. Fantastic food. Fantastic company. A little wine, a lot of laughs. And the pillow is calling, so off I go…

Sleep well,
Wendy

Unfortunately, I’m having a hard time blogging today about happily ever after.

Some of you may know that besides my exciting life as a Blaze Babe, I also write NASCAR-themed books for Harlequin. On Monday afternoon the NASCAR world abruptly lost Charlotte Observer reporter David Poole to a heart attack. And while many of you may not know or care anything about stock car racing, I’d like you to be aware that a powerful voice has been silenced forever.

This tragedy has me thinking about the amazing voices we have in romance—Nora Roberts, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Jayne Ann Krentz and Betina Krahn to name a few of my favorites. I have many friends and fellow Blaze writers who are talented and brilliant writers, people I appreciate for who they are as well as the stories they tell.

With all the chaos and unexpected turns in the world, I’m comforted by the idea that I can pick up a book by a writer I respect and find a few hours of escape and inspiration. And while there are days I feel joyless and drab, I can turn to both writing and reading fun and sexy stories when life isn’t so hot.

On that positive note, I can share that I’m working on a Blaze I’m really excited about. When my editor and I sat down in San Francisco last year and brainstormed my next few books, her advice was to keep going with my fiction island setting of Palmetto Island, SC and the cast of characters I introduced in After Dark (January 2009). So, back to the island we go…

I love writing about my homeland—The South. (And, yes, it’s in caps for a reason.) There was a time in my life when I was self-conscious…yes, folks, even embarrassed about my accent and background. And while those of us with a drawl have reason to regret some of the choices of our ancestors, our culture isn’t something we can deny. Even if we wanted to.

Often, I turn to food when I’m stressed. (Accounting for the extra ten pounds on my ass most of time.) It’s odd that I’d already planned to recreate my grandmother’s classic chicken and rice recipe for dinner tonight. Something inside me apparently knew I’d need the comfort.

So, I’m striving to write while I cook and listen to my Sirius radio (locked, obviously, on the NASCAR channel). I hear lovely stories of a man I actually never met, though I exchanged a few e-mails with him, I read his articles and blogs every week and listened to his radio show every morning.

I hope bringing you into my world today hasn’t been too melancholy. Like many of my fellow Blaze Babes, I’ll be here once a month, and I’m sure I’ll be back to my normal, sarcastic self when I post again.

In the meantime, I try to imagine my fellow Southerner David Poole in heaven, gathering the lost legends of the sport for an interview and giving all the angels something to talk about.