NaNoWriMo.

To be entirely honest, I’m more than a little bit rubbish at NaNoWriMo. Every year I sign up and every year I have the same result (I never finish).

It isn’t the deadline as such that bothers me, or even the word count. It’s just that as a writer, I tend to dip from project to project (I write on average three books a year) and can never settle on one of them for the WHOLE OF NOVEMBER! Instead, I tend to spread my wordcount over all of my WIP’s, and as such, while November tends to be a successful writing month for me (note: the children are at school for the entire month), NaNoWriMo never is.

I get that it works for some people, but I’m just not one of them.

I actually have four WIP’s at the moment (I know, I know… but I love them all and can’t choose). Two are holiday romances (one of which is already complete, but is still in the editing stage, so I count it still as a WIP until I press that submit button). The next is a medical romance, set during Covid (I know, I know… but I need to get it out of my system, and as they say, writing is cathartic). And the final one, still in the outlining stage, is a second-chance romance (one of my favourite tropes).

I know, at this point, that I need to prioritise the second of my holiday romances. The six months we spent during lockdown when the kids were not in school really cut into my writing schedule, and I’m still playing catch-up with just about everything. I don’t regret for a moment prioritising my kids or my husband during that tumultuous half-year period – it was, for me, absolutely the right thing to do. But I do regret that I won’t have a book out this year, when there should have been two. Still, this holiday romance is incredibly fun to write, and the images I have saved on my iphone for inspiration make me smile every time I see them. Writing this book is easy… it’s like when I wrote ‘Hanukkah at the Great Greenwich Ice Creamery’ in a little over eight weeks… the words are just flowing (and its always a surprise and a pleasure when that happens).

Surprisingly, none of my WIP’s are historical fiction. I have two outlined, but haven’t yet begun work on them. It’s strange, I love reading and writing historical fiction, but with everything going on in the world, I’ve been drawn more and more to contemporary romances. There’s still research involved, but its a different kind to historical research, less time-consuming and less all consuming (I can’t tell you how many wiki-holes I’ve fallen into over the years…). I will go back to my historical fiction one day, but for now, I’m happy to lose myself in a Covid-free vision of the modern world.

I will try to keep on schedule for NaNoWriMo, but I’m not going to stress out about it this year. There are far too many other, more pressing things to be worried about in 2020!

Sending lots of NaNoWriMo love to you all,

Sharon.x

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Because we are all together in this, aren’t we? By staying apart we’re coming together, and helping to fight this terrible virus and protect our NHS, as well as our vulnerable friends, family and neighbours.

We’re all making sacrifices for the greater good here. Mine are small, in the grand scheme of things. I haven’t seen my family in nearly six months. I haven’t left my home (except for exercise) in nearly three. The book I’ve been writing, that I my timetable said should be finished in March, is languishing still as a WIP on my laptop.

I hate that it’s still a WIP, because it was a story I really wanted to write, and was looking forward to finishing (if only so I could find out how it ends, because at this point in time, with act two finished and starting to write act three, I still don’t know). It’s about what happens when you fall in love with the right person at the wrong time, and about moving on from your past when it comes back to haunt your present.

I love this story, and so, as part of the online #chocrubyfestival I asked Choc Lit if I could post an excerpt from the book. They were very glad for me to, and so I’m happy to present below a section from chapter three of the story below.

But more than that… I actually filmed myself reading the very same excerpt (it’s filmed in my greenhouse, of all places, and I’ve just got over Covid19 so I don’t look or sound great, but still… an actual vlog!) and can also add the link below!

I really hope you enjoy this snippet from my latest WIP and look forward to hopefully sharing the complete project with you all very soon.

EXCERPT:

With a start, Alix Emerson sat bolt upright in her bed, wondering where the hell she was and what that bloody awful noise could be. 

‘Sam,’ she murmured sleepily, burrowing her head under her pillow, trying to block out the noise. ‘Sam, make it stop.’

But the noise continued unabated, and Alix groaned, realising that her flatmate was not going to come to her aid. 

Of course he wasn’t. How could he? They were four thousand miles away from their shared flat in Hammersmith, and he was three rooms down the hall in this hotel, rather than in the room next to hers as usual. For once, Alix would have to solve her own problems, and right now, ensconced in this dark hotel room, that problem was the pulsing beat of her alarm and –

Damn, her alarm. Rolling over, Alix grabbed hold of her offending mobile, frantically swiping at the screen until the phone stopped screeching, the room becoming blissfully quiet once more. Through bleary eyes, she looked at the time.

Eleven am London time, which made it… what? Six in the morning here? Alix threw her phone to one side, without bothering to check. She didn’t need to check. She never needed to check. When it came to the time difference between GMT and EST, she knew the hour automatically, almost like it had been programmed into her system. Every time her phone rang, early in the morning or late at night, she would instinctively do a quick calculation, mentally working out if it was too early or too late to be him. She’d tried in vain to break herself of the habit, telling herself that it was a pointless exercise, that the time in New York didn’t matter, that the time difference between them didn’t matter.

Because she didn’t matter, did she? Not to him.

Not anymore. 

He’d stopped calling a long time ago, Alix reminded herself. And the only person she was hurting in holding onto a small nugget of hope that one day, maybe one day, she’d answer her phone and hear his voice again, was herself.

She swung her legs out of bed, stumbling into the hotel bathroom and staring in the mirror. She looked tired, almost haggard, the result of a bad case of jetlag and one too many margaritas the night before. She could thank Sam Okereke and Olivia Linklater for that. As soon as their plane had touched down at JFK she’d become a bundle of nerves, her eyes glancing furtively from side to side, taking in the people around them, her mind working overtime. She found her eyes lingering on a man ahead of her, tall and broad, his head down. That could be him, she’d thought instantly. Another man to her right, his brown hair tinged with red, made her inhale sharply. Or him.

She felt stricken with anxiety and yet oddly hopeful all at once, and her hands shook as she collected her luggage, her heart racing as the taxi pulled away from the airport and the New York City skyline came into view.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, she’d thought guiltily. She’d promised him she wouldn’t ever set foot in this city again.

‘You can have London, I’ll have New York,’ he’d thrown at her, on that final, fateful night, and she’d been too hurt, too bewildered and heartsore, to fight him on the issue.

Olivia, with the razor-sharp scrutiny that had made her editor-in-chief at Gloss magazine at just thirty-four years of age, noticed Alix’s discomfort straightaway.

‘You’re shaking like a leaf, Alix,’ she’d said, giving her a sideways glance. ‘God, you’re not… on anything, are you?’

‘No,’ Alix had replied. ‘I almost wish I was.’

‘What’s up, Ally?’ Sam asked, turning instantly to her, his voice rich with concern.

Alix only shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the view outside. ‘I just don’t like New York.’

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll like it more after we hit the hotel bar, I promise.’

Sam looked at her, almost askance. ‘We have the Armstrong takeover meeting tomorrow morning… are you sure drinking tonight is a good idea?’

‘I’ve been prepping for this meeting for two months now,’ Olivia replied, her voice sharp. ‘And I just spent an eight-hour flight up to my eyeballs in Dominion Corp and Armstrong Publication paperwork. All I want now is a hot shower and an expense account pitcher of margaritas.’

Olivia was good to her word. As soon as the three were ensconced at the bar, showered and somewhat refreshed, Olivia ordered pitcher after pitcher of cocktails, plying Alix with booze until she’d been unable to walk and they’d had to put her to bed, like a wayward child.

‘Will she be okay tomorrow?’ she’d heard Olivia say through ears full of alcohol induced cotton wool, and she’d seen Sam grin as he tucked a blanket around her.

‘Yeah. She never can hold her booze. It’s always the same. After one drink she’s fine, two she’s okay, if a little morose, but by three?’ He chuckled. ‘Three drinks and she starts speaking and singing in French.’ Alix felt Sam reach down and squeeze her fingers, warm and comforting. ‘She’s really cute when she gets like that.’

‘God,’ Olivia’s disdain was evident. ‘So, what happens if she has more than three?’ she then asked, and Alix felt Sam disentangle his fingers from her own, felt him stand and then gesture to her on the bed.

‘This.’

Now, Alix splashed some water on her face while starting the shower, rummaging through her toiletries bag for her toothbrush and shampoo. 

It was a big day, she reminded herself. If today went well, she would really cement her role at Dominion Corp, and would go back to London with a real bargaining chip to use in why she should be allowed away from Gloss magazine and into investigative journalism at one of their more newsworthy papers. 

Alix stepped into the shower with a sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t like writing Get it up with Emmy, and she certainly wasn’t squeamish writing about sex. In fact, she was damned good at it. So damn good at it that she was one of Dominion Corp’s most syndicated columnists. So damn good that Olivia confessed she would be stupid to let her go. So damn good that Shearer was never, ever going to let her leave a goldmine article for investigative journalism at one of his newspapers. And it galled Alix to admit that her talent with words may have cost her her dream, that she would forever be at Gloss, writing lipstick and sex tips and celebrity news. 

But no. It wasn’t over yet. Alix stood taller, washing her hair with more vigour. When a space had unexpectedly opened up on the Armstrong takeover team, Olivia had asked Alix if she was up to the role.

‘You’re young and well turned out and you can do the languages thing,’ Olivia had surmised, sitting on Alix’s desk primly. ‘You should come with me to New York.’

Alix had swallowed hard. ‘New York?’

‘Yes,’ Olivia inspected her immaculately manicured nails. ‘Tall place, big city. You might have heard of it.’

Alix blushed. ‘Well, yes, I know, but…’ she chewed on her lip. ‘You really want me to come to New York for the Armstrong merger talks?’

Olivia sighed. ‘Actually, I don’t. Not really. Louise was meant to come, but she fell off her horse at the weekend, the silly cow, and she’s currently laid up in bed with a broken leg,’ Olivia rolled her eyes, as though Louise had deliberately broken her leg to make life difficult for her. ‘Now I’m down a team member, and I need someone who can speak French.’

‘French? I didn’t know Armstrong was French-owned?’ Alix queried.

Olivia shrugged. ‘It’s not. But the current CEO has a place in Paris, and I’ve heard she’s not above speaking in foreign languages during meetings to get one-up on her competitors. I want to go prepared, so… enter you. Besides,’ she added. ‘Sam’s coming… so, you know. You’ll have a friend there.’

‘You mean Sam my roommate?’

‘Well, in this instance he’ll be there as Sam my assistant, but yes. It was him who suggested you for this role to me. So, check your passport and pack your bags. We fly in two days.’   

Alix rinsed the shampoo from her hair, applying a liberal layer of conditioner. She might’ve come to New York as a last-minute addition to help with the Dominion Corp- Armstrong Publications merger, but she knew a chance when she saw one. And this was her chance to prove to Olivia and Shearer that she wasn’t just Emmy, sex columnist extraordinaire, but also Alix Emerson, serious journalist. 

She grit her teeth. She wouldn’t give up her writing dreams. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

Not when she’d lost one dream in her life already.

What did you all think? Is it any good? (*crosses fingers* I really hope it is)

Sharon.x

Work in Progress Reading with Sharon Ibbotson

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What happened to Christmas? No, what happened to January? Actually, scratch that, where did February go?

I have to admit to having been a busy bee these past two months, and March looks like it will be just as insane. My husband and I were sitting down yesterday to merge our calendars and worked out that this week we’ll only be at home together one night out of seven. Which is clearly crazy, but and indication of just how busy we are. We both sighed when we realised we probably wouldn’t really see each other again until Thursday, but my husband, who is always my absolute rock, gave me a kiss and, with his best Bogart voice, told me that ‘We’d always have Paris.’

Because in early February, we left the kids with my Mum and went to Paris. We’re both huge fans of France and French living, and although we travel to the continent regularly, we never seem to go to Paris (unless it’s my annual trip to Disneyland Paris with the kids, which I don’t think counts as ‘Paris). So this year we decided to make an effort to visit the French capital, taking the Eurostar, staying at a boutique hotel in Montmartre and doing as many ‘touristy’ things as we could squeeze in. We walked to Sacre-Couer and then took the Metro to Odeon and walked around the Luxembourg Gardens. From the Luxembourg Gardens I made my husband walk all the way to the Eiffel Tower (spoiler, that’s a long walk) and then wait till sunset to see the light display (another spoiler, it rained just as it started!). The next day we went to the Louvre early and we spent the next six hours looking at artwork. Neither my husband or I are art lovers as such, but the Louvre is charming and it was a wonderful place to visit. More than that, they had Venus de Milo pop figures in the gift shop (I told you I wasn’t an ‘art’ person) that I lusted after for a good ten minutes, before my husband reminded me that I’m not a ‘things’ person and it would be just be something else to dust in the house.

But Oh, aren’t they pretty?

The next day we went to Versailles. I have always, always, always, always, always wanted to visit Versailles. I’m an absolute history nut, and Versailles has been top of my bucket list for a very long time (next trip will be Rome). And Versailles is spectacular, so pretty, so engrossing, and I spent the entire day with a smile on my face. We walked all over the palace grounds, right along to the Petit Trianon and to the Queen’s theatre and grotto (and no, my husband will not build me my own personal grotto in the garden, for one thing, the council would probably have words and for an another, he already built me a greenhouse).

On our final day in Paris we visited a restaurant across the road from a casino. Now, I’m no gambler (I’m too competitive and barred from family games, go figure) but I had to take a picture of this casino, because it reminded me strongly of my next book which I can now announce will be published in June!

Yes, my next book is complete and I love the story. I cannot wait to share it with everyone, honestly and sincerely. This book has a special story behind it, which I will share closer to publication day. And my heroine this time has red hair… a colour I would love to have, if my hair weren’t so strongly blonde and hard to colour (red dye makes my hair go pink sadly).

Writing wise, I’m in the throws of a Christmas story. I’ve found this book a hard nut to crack, but keep the words coming by simultaneously writing a story for a friend (when I get blocked I ask friends to give me a prompt and that gets the words flowing again… this friend- an Australian- asked for a particular story which I would personally have never written myself but am finding fascinating, and happily, the enthusiasm travels to my other works. So for any writers out there, if you ever suffer from writer’s block on one work, just pick up your pen and try another… you’ll be surprised at how quickly the words may come). Luckily, I’ve also had a great writery meet-up with some pretty inspiring authors… the absolutely lovely Fi Harper, Carol Cooper, Liz Harris, Bella Andre, Sophie Weston, Janet Gover, Lucinda Lee and Henriette Gyland. They were all happy to share stories and we managed a forty five minute writing session which reinvigorated my love for my current WIP. They’re all absolute stars and I adore them.

I have some lovely events coming up so hopefully I’ll be able to update soon with more news and writer-talk. I’m also going to review another classic author from the romance genre… Anne Mather, whose back catalogue I’m slowly working through.

Love and sunny days to all, Sharon.x

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I have been asked to write a Christmas novel.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas and this time of year. I love the merriment, the food, the drink, and the sheer joy in the small faces of my children. I’m not so keen on Christmas decorations (my husband and I get caught in our yearly debate on real trees vs fake trees, and tinsel vs tinsel-free) and I’m not so keen on the crowds of people in every town centre, and nor am I keen on the cost (I have a six-year-old and lego is expensive). But while I’m not keen on the aesthetics, I very much enjoy the traditions and emotions of this time of year.

But writing about it? Hmm.

I’ve never attempted a Christmas novel or even a story before. Why would I? I write historical romance novels set in the period before Christmas trees were even a thing.  There was no Santa with his red-nosed reindeer. There were no turkeys, brined or otherwise. The gentle sounds of Bing Crosby crooning ‘White Christmas’ did not float across the Regency drawing room.

But I’ve been asked to write one, and I’m never one to back down from a challenge. So, I’ve pushed my other projects to one side and have given myself four months to write a 80,000 word Christmas book (for publication in 2019, when the new Star Wars comes out, at which point I will be living in the cinema and hardly blogging at all). So, I need to to write 20,000 words in January, or 1000 words a working day. This is doable, provided (and this is a big provided) that I can get the plotting/story and conflict right.

Wish me luck?

I plan on buying lots of mince pies and Christmas food in the January sales, to keep me in the mood over the spring. My husband will be delighted… my waistline not so much.

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The truth is, I’m always writing something.

I keep to a pretty intense writing schedule (if I don’t I find it very hard to get the words flowing again) and try to churn out 10,000 words a week (term time only, because I’m a Mum and I actually do like to see my children from time to time).

So, from 10-12 Monday to Friday I write without stopping. And then when my kids are in bed I write again, from around 9pm-midnight.

10,000 words sounds crazy on paper, but please remember that of those 10,000 words, around fifty percent will eventually be unusable, or require copious amounts of editing to resemble anything close to good English.

I’m also a multi-writer, which means I tend to have 3-4 works on the go constantly. I like multi-writing, it means whenever I’m not feeling one story I simply delve back into another. And then after a few days I’ll go back to the other story, remembering why I love it.

I’m also a sucker for tropes. Arranged marriage trope? Sign me up. Guardian-ward relationship? More please. Marriage of convenience? I’ll eat that trope for breakfast. Secret baby? Lock the doors and turn down the lights, because that trope gets me every time.

So when I start plotting a new story, I go through my list of tropes and find the one that appeals the most at that point. So right now, I have four different stories on the go. One is a ‘reunion romance’ (because I adore Jane Austen’s Persuasion and love writing stories where a couple who are clearly so right for each other get it horribly wrong, before finally getting it right- what can I say? I like to break hearts before putting them back together again). The second is a regency caper, because historical romance is my favourite, my one true love, and I’m always writing something set in the past. The third is a psychological romance, where I’m not even sure what’s going to happen, and sometimes, what’s even going on. While the last is a sweet novella about love at first sight, which has been an absolute joy to write.

I’m tidying up the novella to send to my editor next month, and I’m hoping the regency will be ready in January. After that? I’m leaning towards a marriage of convenience novel, simply because I’ve never attempted one before. I’ve read plenty, but never actually had the courage to start one- as a person who is generally crippled with low self-confidence (I’m the kind of girl who never felt pretty enough, clever enough, or outgoing enough) I would read the great romance novels of the past and feel like my words always came up short. But with the support of my husband and friends, I’ve been pushing myself recently to try those things I never thought I could. And I really, really want to write a marriage of convenience novel.

But I’m going to update this blog weekly from now on, so my WIP word count might drop. But any writing, whatever the subject matter, is good for an author. And my WIP word count for 2018 is standing so far at 265,986 words, a number I’m very happy with.

I’m off to the RNA Winter Party on Wednesday so hopefully I’ll be back on Thursday with some pictures to share and stories to tell!

Until then, happy writing.

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And yes, I know.

It’s somewhat… delayed.

I do have reasons for this, my own ineptitude where ‘website design’ is concerned being the primary. Strange how I can shop brilliantly on the internet while discussing Star Wars meta and feminist issues on Twitter, all the while uploading images to Instagram, and yet the thought of actually having my own website leaves me terrified. I thought I was technology savvy, but there you go. Even now I’m sitting here with my grape smoothie (I’m in the café of my gym wearing yoga leggings, yet to decide if I will actually be doing any yoga today) wondering if I am getting this right.

And then there are the secondary reasons for this delay, the things I will simply list under a wide heading of ‘life’. My children, my work, my obligations, and the desire to be more than a passing acquaintance to my husband. You know what I mean. ‘Life’.

When I was younger, I had this image in my mind of what being an author would be. I always wanted to be a romance novelist, and even now, if I sit down to write something ‘non-romantic’ a love story will creep in anyway. So I thought I would be like Barbara Cartland, dressed head to toe in baby-pink and sipping a chilled white wine while writing at my desk, my handwriting a beautiful cursive.

Well, I’m no Barbara Cartland, and my handwriting is a terrible scrawl that even my son’s year 2 teacher frowns at. I tend to write in long stretches either very early in the morning or late at night, typing furiously on my laptop, surrounded by either piles of washing or children’s toys or school projects. Sometimes I’ll write with a child under the crook of one arm, while Teen Titans Go! or Scooby-Doo or Frozen or Little Einstein’s plays in the background. I’ll have a mug of lukewarm decaf coffee or Liquorice Tea in hand, because I’m not a great drinker, and can only have one or two glasses before I feel fuzzy-headed and lose all productivity.

So I’m not the image of what I thought an author would be. And one night, while I was lamenting this fact, one of my friends reminded me that no one really knows what a romance ‘author’ looks like because there is no definitive image of one. Cartland, Hibbert, Muskett, Quinn, Laurens, Mathers, McNaught and all the other great names of romance were or are very different people with very different lives.

So this blog, I hope, will let you see a little of mine.

I’m hoping to share something fairly lovely with you all tomorrow… so hope to see you then.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

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