A Day in the Life of.....
Roxanne St. Claire is a bestselling author of thirty novels of romance and suspense. A five-time nominee and one-time winner of the prestigious RITA Award for outstanding romantic fiction, her books have also won the National Reader’s Choice Award for best romantic suspense for two consecutive years, as well as the Daphne du Maurier Award, the HOLT Medallion, the Maggie, Booksellers Best, Book Buyers Best, five Awards of Excellence, the Aspen Gold and many others
Prior to launching a full time career as a novelist in 2003, Roxanne spent most of her professional life as a marketing executive and public relations consultant. She is a graduate of UCLA, an active member of several national writing organizations, and a lecturer on a wide range of writing-related topics. She lives in Satellite Beach, Florida with her husband and their two teenagers, and if you know her, you call her Rocki.
Typical Day in My Life by Roxanne St. Claire
My day starts with a warm lick, usually on the mouth, sometimes on the ankle, depending on where my one year old shih tzu, Ginger, wakes up in my bed. We're not alone, of course, the bed is also occupied by my other terrier, Pepper, and my husband who, per our marriage vows, is legally required to make me laugh first thing in the morning. Like all of his responsibilities, he takes this very seriously and rarely fails. Then comes the dog walk. I like to go early, catch a fabulous Florida sunrise, and circle my neighborhood (a little over a mile) listening to my iPod, planning all the wonderful writing I’ll get done that day.
After the walk, I see my teenage daughter off to school. This isn't always the highlight of my day that it should be.
Me, a morning person: Hi, honey! How'd you sleep? Want anything special in your lunch today? What's on the schedule? Ready for that pre-calc test? I like that top! Have any meetings after school? Here, have some yummy, delicious oatmeal.
Her, whose motto is "I hate people and I hate mornings, therefore I hate morning people": Bad. No. Nothing. No. I’m changing. No. I just want a cookie.
After she takes off (picture me in the driveway, channeling my inner Jamie Lee Curtis in Freaky Friday, waving madly. "Bye, honey! Make good choices!"), I begin to rationalize why I shouldn’t work out. (It’s too hot. It’s too cold. I’m too tired. My book is late. I missed the class. I hate exercising alone.) One of those excuses usually works, so then my writing day begins. By "writing day" I mean I have to start the creative engine with a few ritualistic writerly activities: check Facebook, read the Twitter feed, search for new reviews, read emails, surf my favorite blogs, recheck Facebook, stress for a while about a post, write it, delete it, write it again, delete it, write it, post it, obsessively check for likes and comments.
Then, of course, I want to open my document and start writing, but I'm hungry, so I have some breakfast and talk to my husband. He’s retired, has been for a long time, and we are together 24/7 in the same house. Therefore, it is also in our marriage contract that he cannot bother me while I’m working, so he’s happy when I emerge to talk to him.
After that, I have to re-start my creative engine with more rituals like checking Tom and Lorenzo for fashion advice and reading everything on the internet about last night’s episode of The Bachelor. Finally, I open my document and by this time...the dogs need to go out again!
I wish I were making this up.
This routine goes on until mid-afternoon when I finish lunch and my "lunch dessert" (Ghirardelli dark chocolate with salted caramel) and I ...panic. It's almost two and I haven't written a word!!! Must tweet about that. And check Facebook. And the blogs. And...
No, really, I write. In fact, this is my peak hour of the day! I plow through a scene, getting about ten pages written before my daughter comes home from school. She is, I'm happy to say, a lovely "afternoon person" and she usually wants to tell me every single thing that went on in tenth grade today in great detail. If you don't have experience with fifteen year old girls, let me tell you, this detail can be excruciating. Nothing is not important -- we generally go through all seven classes, and I hear who said what to whom about what and all the aftermath. I get a homework report, a BFF report, a GBF report, highlights from the cafeteria, a rundown on what key people wore, said, drove, or did. And, of course, an update on the Cute Guy du jour. There is no drama like teen drama.
After our chat, I go back to my manuscript and then...why, it's time for the late afternoon dog walk! After that, I burn through another five pages or so, finish a chapter if I can, then...it's cocktail hour, usually on the patio, poolside, with my husband. (Favorite hour of the day!!) Dinner is always made by my husband, per the final stipulation in our marriage contract, and then I share an evening with the family, unless I'm on deadline and must write until I can't see straight.
Before I go to bed...I take the dogs out and we ALL go to bed all happy and snug and ready to do it all again!
When running is all you've ever known . . .
Caught between fight and flight, Zoe Tamarin has always picked flight. Since she was rescued from a nightmare childhood by her great-aunt Pasha, they've been on the move, never staying in one place long enough to risk exposing their precarious past. But now that they've reached the sun-baked shores of Barefoot Bay, Zoe may have to stay and fight--for her aunt's life . . . and for a love she ran from years before.
Sometimes the bravest act of all is to stand still.
Oliver Bradbury came to Florida to start over, as both a doctor and a father to his eight-year-old son. He never expected life to hand him a second chance with the woman he lost years ago--but one look at Zoe Tamarin and he knows he'll do whatever it takes to prove that this time, he can be the man she needs. But when demands of family and friendship threaten to shatter their rekindled passion, Oliver must heal Zoe's lifelong wounds with more than hot kisses . . . but will that be enough to keep her from flying off with his heart?