I had lunch with one of my writer friends the other day.
We were sitting in our favorite Indian restaurant, our kids
playing with each other across the table.
I had just released my new book, Season
Of The Witch, and we were talking about writing and motherhood.
She finally blew out a heavy breath, leaned back in her
chair, and said, "Honestly, I don't know how you do it."
Since my son was born in 2011, I've written eight books and
published seven, including two in my new urban fantasy series, Shades
Below. I've juggled late nights,
breastfeeding, edits, a blog, a website, and myriad social media platforms. Now my son is in preschool, which means
before long, we'll be adding homework to the mix.
My friend's comment got me thinking. There's a lot of advice out there for moms
who are also trying to maintain some kind of creative pursuit. Manage your time. Stick to a schedule. Work before the kids wake up. Work after the kids go to bed.
I don't do any of that.
The whole reason I've been able to do any of this is that
I've had help. Lots of help. Every step of the way. In short, I've had an amazing support system.
In many ways, I've been incredibly lucky. I have a husband who views what I do as a
legitimate job (albeit one still in the startup phase), and who pitches in when
I need a little extra time to work. I
have a fabulous writing partner who I bounce ideas off of, and who supports my
writing and career goals. And I have
some awesome friends who get that while I might not always be around to chat, I
still love them.
I understand not
everyone has access to all these things.
Sometimes, the rest of the family doesn't understand mom's—or dad's—"hobby". The pressure from the outside world to be the
perfect parent can sometimes feel downright crushing...and that's not even
including the pressure we put on ourselves.
While it's possible to hold your head high and forge ahead
alone, I recommend looking around and taking stock of your social resources
first. You might be surprised how many
people are willing to help you when you ask, if only because a happy, fulfilled
parent usually means happy, fulfilled children.
Having a support network doesn't have to mean finding a
babysitter and putting on real pants, either.
Thanks to social media, I do much of my networking from the kitchen
table. My writing partner lives across
the country from me, so we communicate by phone. I suggest taking a little stroll around
Facebook and Twitter. There are some
really great online writers groups out there, and I've met a lot of people on
them who are parents, too.
Bottom line: know yourself.
Know what your priorities are, and whatever it is you need, don't be
afraid of asking for help to get it.
Season Of The Witch
Shades Below
Book 1.5
L.J.K. Oliva
Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance
Date of Publication: Oct. 1, 2015
Word Count: 99,733
Cover Artist: Amy Mateyka
Book Description:
Something wicked this way comes...well, more wicked than usual.
Georgia Clare needs help, and fast. As the lone survivor of—and witness to—her coven's brutal massacre, she's felt the killer hunting her. There's just one problem: the rest of San Francisco's witching community wants nothing to do with her, and the one man she can turn to doesn't do witches.
Darius deCompostela has done his best to steer clear of subversive affairs. A private investigator and reluctant medium, the last thing he wants is to advertise his existence to the things that go bump in the night. But then Georgia knocks on his door, and try as he might, he can't turn her away.
It's just one case, after all. It's not like it's going to change his life…
Add it on Goodreads
Excerpt 2
She pushed
through the glamour surrounding the exit, and shoved the door open. Next thing she knew, she was in a narrow
alley. She allowed the door to slam shut
behind her. It immediately vanished into
the aged brick wall.
Georgia sank
against the side of the building. She
bent forward and rested her hands on her knees.
Fuck, was she stupid. What the
hell had convinced her waltzing into a floating club was a good idea? She knew her history. She knew what people thought of her.
She should have
known better.
Something that
sounded suspiciously like a door opening echoed through the alley. Georgia hastily straightened and swiped her
hands over her eyes. A second later,
Darius was standing next to her. His
eyes looked glazed, his face heavy. He
shook himself hard.
Georgia pressed
her lips together and turned.
"Wait." The word sounded slurred.
Georgia ignored
the twinge in her chest. "Forget
it."
"Georgia,
wait."
A hand closed
around her arm. Georgia yanked
free. Darius caught her again, this time
spun her around to face him. She hadn't
expected him to shake off the glamour so fast.
Unbalanced, she stumbled headlong into his solid chest. He stiffened, then his arms closed around
her.
Her vision
blurred. She'd always known the witching
world didn't want her. Even so, she'd
always maintained a tiny flicker of hope that maybe, someday, she might carve
out a place for herself.
It was
stupid. Hell, she didn't even like most
of the people in there. She certainly
didn't understand them, any more than they understood her. The entire time she'd lived in the city, there
was only one witch who had ever tried to connect with her. Only one witch who had given her a chance.
Just her luck,
that witch had gone and gotten herself murdered.
Georgia squeezed
her eyes shut. No good. All she saw was the same grotesque still life
that had been haunting her all week.
Study In Carnage. She tried to
breathe. Thick metallic sweetness hit
her tongue.
She didn't
realize she was shaking until she felt Darius' hand slide down her back. A low sound rumbled in his chest. The echoes of it reverberated deep inside
her, in a place words couldn't reach.
It took her a
moment to realize he was shaking too; tight, controlled shivers she would have
missed if they'd been farther apart.
Georgia's head reeled. She didn't
get this man. One minute he all but
threw her to the wolves, the next...what?
He felt her pain?
She hesitated,
then awkwardly laid her cheek against his chest.
She lost track
of how long they stood like that.
Gradually, she became aware of other things. Of his large, impossibly gentle hand. Of the cool, subtle slide of his suit jacket
beneath her palm. The fabric smelled
expensive, but she kept catching a whiff of something else, too; something richly
organic. She'd never smelled anything
quite like it. She furrowed her forehead. Then it struck her.
It was him. Darius deCompostela, distilled down to the
essence. Georgia closed her eyes. The tightness in her chest eased.
Several more
minutes passed before she opened her eyes again and stepped back. It took several more before her head was
settled enough to think. At last, she
forced herself to look up. "You
really don't want me around, do you?"
Darius didn't
answer.
She tried again,
her voice stronger. "Why? And don't try to feed me that
Joe-Pesci-Lethal-Weapon line again. I'm
a big girl. I can smell bullshit like
that a mile away." Something
occurred to her. "It's because I'm
a witch, isn't it?"
His dark eyes
were impossible to read. "This is
your world, Ms. Clare, not mine. But as
long as I'm working this case, let me be clear: we're not partners. I don't work with people like you."
She tried to be
angry, but couldn't quite manage it.
"I won't forget that."
He didn't look
away. "I know."
Georgia
swallowed hard. She turned and started
down the alley again.
This time,
Darius didn't try to stop her.
About the Author:
L.J.K. Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters… and knows the darkest ones don’t live in closets.
Twitter- https://twitter.com/writermama
Pinterest- http://www.pinterest.com/authorljkoliva/
Website: http://ljkolivabooks.com
Website: http://writebitches.com
1 comment:
Hey, Wenona! Thanks so much for letting me ramble on your blog today. Have a great week! :-)
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