Being a girly girl of sorts, I was a little caught off guard to end up as a mother of sons exclusively. Well not surprised, per se, since my husband comes from a family of seven boys and one girl. I kinda expected the Y chromosomes would be plentiful. But my education in sports and cars was sketchy, having spent my childhood orchestrating extremely well attended tea parties (my stuffed animal collection rivaled the best on the block) and testing out exotic nail polish colors on Barbie’s barely existent toes.

So I’m intrigued to watch these boys of mine grow up. Their world and their experiences are so much different than mine. Take sports for example. Their father is a bit sports-obsessed, but all the boys have great interest in any arena that requires athleticism and skill, so their dad isn’t exactly leading them anywhere they don’t want to go. From broom ball to stick ball, hockey to hoop, these kids have played every game imaginable, making up their own from rudimentary materials at hand when they lack the proper court and equipment. Trust me, not five minutes passes in my house in which one of them doesn’t challenge another in some sporty test of skill. Whether it’s seeing who can be first to the dinner table or who can stick the landing on a handcrafted backyard mogul, my boys are extremely competitive.

You might ask what this has to do with the making of a Blaze hero. Well, I’ve decided I must be somehow engaged in the process as I raise three strong, smack-talking competitors with relentless drive to be the best. I mean, I added in some manners wherever I could—they’d better hold those doors open me or face dire consequences—and I’ve nourished and encouraged their innate intelligence wherever possible. But all the rest of who they are seems to come from pre-scripted he-man DNA that has nothing to do with me. Other than the fact that my husband famously claims to have married me for my ability to palm a basketball (something I didn’t know I could do until he placed one in my hand), I don’t think I had much to do with the development of these soon-to-be men.

Still, I’ve got to smile. Between the muscles they’re dead set on building and the quick wits they’re forced to develop from the non-stop verbal sparring, I can’t help but see signs of heroes in the making.

***So I’ve got to ask the moms… do you feel like you’ve influenced your kids to a great extent? Or are you continually amazed at what uniquely different personalities you encounter in them?? Hop on the boards to tell me what you think and I’ll be glad to share a copy of SHE THINKS HER EX IS SEXY with a random poster. ***

There was a time when my husband made me feel a little self-conscious about my people watching. While I’m more of a quiet observer of life’s dramas, my husband tends to be a main character with a big, noisy role on the center stage. When he occasionally pulls me into the spotlight, I find it hard to shake off the observer role and just BE. Sometimes I can’t help but look around and wonder what other people think as he sweeps me off my feet while window shopping at the mall or pulls our family into an impromptu conga line, or bellows a hip-hop song with the melodic cadence of a fifties love tune in the middle of a crowded street. If he catches me peering around at other people during these times, my husband asks, “What do you care what other people think?” Read the rest of this entry »

1) We can never say “Not tonight honey, I have a headache.”

There comes a time in every romance writer’s life when she doesn’t feel like writing a love scene. Maybe her kids are ill and writing a love scene is the last thing on her mind. Or maybe she just had a fight with her significant other and there’s a bit of anger projected onto her fictional hero. But when you’re a Blaze author, writing a fade-to-black love scene simply isn’t an option. You’ve got to be ready to sizzle at all times.

2) We’re the resident sex experts.

Now at first, this is kind of fun. When you become a Blaze author, your friends and family all try to hide their surprise that you write “those books”—the ones with the sexy-as-hell covers your mother doesn’t admit she’s ever read. But eventually, being the local sexpert will land you in embarrassing situations. Your newspaper boy winks at you even though he’s barely reached puberty. Your neighbor reveals an acrobatic event in her bedroom the night before and offers more details in case you’d like some ideas for your next book. Men older than your father will guffaw with lecherous glee to learn what you write and ask if you want any pointers. Umm… no.

3) We’re the bad girls.

While the men in a Blaze author’s life are busy suggesting they’d be happy to supply inspiration for future projects, there is another population of friends and family who can be less enthusiastic. Non-romance reading buds steer their impressionable children away from our bookcases full of splashy covers. Quasi-helpful siblings read our books while hiding them behind copies of National Geographic. A few utterly non-helpful friends hide our autographed labors of love all together, unwilling to admit they like racy romance.

Still, I wouldn’t trade being a Blaze author for the world. A Psychology Today study assures us that readers of romance make love with their partners 74% more often than non-romance readers. So I’d like to think I’ve had a hand in making the world a happier place through my stories. And maybe I’m deluding myself, but I hope even those friends who are hiding my book covers are kicking their love lives up a notch the night after a sexy Blaze read.

So razz me all you want. Any way you look at it… you’re welcome.

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Whether you’re a reader or a writer of hot romance, I’ll bet there are people in your life who give you a hard time about liking “those books.” What’s your response?