Even in the joyful throes of a new book release, there is still the fact that another book must be written. So as I am celebrating the launch of Made to Love You—Annabelle and Sawyer’s story—here and at the Tule Book Club and on my own blog, I’m writing book 1 in my new series. 

Writing, writing every single morning, is what keeps me grounded. I’m still getting up every morning and putting in the hour, at least, sometimes longer, depending on when I get started and when Husband wakes up. The story is coming along, mostly, I guess. Hard to tell because I’m not editing as I write, I’m just writing. This is entirely different from my usual M.O. of editing what I wrote the day before when I sit down to work. My poor critique partners are getting pretty raw material right now, but they graciously hang in there. 

My darling partners in this new series—three other Tule authors who’ve already written cowboys and rodeos and Montana are also remarkably helpful and patient. Did I mention that the first book in Dykeman series happens partly in Marietta, Montana? It does, so Nan is pretty far from River’s Edge for a large portion of the book. It’s been an adventure so far.

Writers fall into two basic categories, plotters, who sit down and map out their stories before they start writing, and pantsers, who just start writing, full of faith that they will figure the story out as they write. (Pantsers write “by the seat of their pants.”) I am a pantser. Mostly. For me, stories begin with the people in my head. Characters show up and suddenly there is a circumstance, a hey, what if this guy does this and then this woman comes in and does that? kind of synergy happening.

And I start writing… Sometimes, a whole book develops immediately and the characters take me for a crazy ride that I never expected. Other times, they lose steam by the middle part and I’m lost in the and stuff happens part of the story. Those days, it does help to go back through what I’ve already written, to go through the copious notes, word lists, and pieces of conversations that I have written in my notebooks, and try to get back on track. 

I’ve learned to make notes to quiet the clamoring when I’m not at my computer, to use my phone to record thoughts when ideas suddenly pop into my head if I’m driving or cleaning or editing. I have my phone and my notebook with me almost everywhere I go—they contain conversation after conversation between my characters, words I hear that intrigue me, and notes to myself. I don’t always use what I’ve written down or recorded, but often, those notes and words become a jumping-off point if I’m having trouble crafting a scene. It’s a good thing.

There have been many predawn hours when I’ve sat in front of my computer just staring, willing the words to come, and they don’t. I’m not sure how people who put out ten or fifteen books a year do it. Tule graciously gives me roughly three to four months to write approximately sixty thousand words, and I use every moment of that time. Bear in mind, of course, that I don’t spend every working moment writing my own books. I also have a full-time job as a freelance copy editor—you know the day job—so I also spend time each day on editing gigs. Plus I do pro bono work for an arts organization and I maintain my website and produce a column every third week for another… so there are always words—either fixing other people’s or producing my own. It’s my writer/editor life and I do love every moment.

I hope you enjoyed this peek behind the scenes of a writer’s life, and I sincerely hope you’ll nab a copy of Made to Love You. There are puppies and kissing and good food and fellowship—it’s River’s Edge! Oh, and speaking of words, here’s a snippet from Made to Love You. Enjoy!

“Do dogs smile?” Anna continued toweling the puppy while Travis rinsed out the deep sink they’d used as a bathtub.

“You bet.” It wasn’t Travis who answered, but Sawyer, who’d suddenly appeared in the open doorway. “Paps have very expressive faces.”

Was it stupid to believe that a puppy actually smiled at her? She didn’t really even like dogs, but this one… Trixie whimpered, scratched at the towel, and then proceeded to pee all over Anna’s lap.

Horrified, Anna gasped and lifted the puppy, soaking towel and all from her lap. “She… she peed on me.”

Sawyer was clearly trying not to laugh. “When they make that little whining noise, it usually means they need to empty their bladder.”

“Ya think?” Anna scowled, stood up, and handed the dog off to Travis, who had no compunction at all about snickering at Anna’s wet pants.

Sawyer pointed to the door and told Travis, “Take her to the kennel, give her some kibble and water. I’ll come take a look at her in a little while. We’ll let her rest a bit after her stitches and antibiotic shot, but we need to get a fecal sample.” He yanked some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall above the sink and handed them to Anna, who was even more repulsed at the mention of poop. “Here.” Then he took another handful of paper towels and wiped the spots of urine from the chair and the floor.

With a disgusted sigh, Anna swiped futilely at her leggings, then tossed the towels in the trash bin. She opened her mouth, but snapped it shut again when she realized there was nothing left to say.

“Let me take you home”—Sawyer grinned—“wherever that might be.”

She gathered up what was left of her dignity. “That’s okay. My friend is coming to get me.” She stalked to the door, then stopped and turned. “Is your truck bed unlocked?”

When he nodded, that lock of brown hair fell across his forehead. “I’ll come and lift the bike out for you.”

“No need. I put it in, I can get it out.”

He gazed at her, his brow furrowing between his dark brows. Then he shrugged. “Okay, fine, but be sure you open the tailgate. I’d hate for you to scratch the paint on my magnificent vehicle.”

Again, she started to reply; he’d be so easy to flirt with, but instead, merely gave a quick nod and walked out. Safer to avoid this one, for all sorts of good reasons, not the least of which was that, despite currently being Trixie’s owner of record, she really, truly did not want a dog. Not right now when her life was finally on a safe and sane track, and her heart was just beginning to heal. A puppy would totally mess with her new no-commitments lifestyle.

About the Author.

Nan Reinhardt is a USA Today bestselling author of sweet, small-town romantic fiction for Tule Publishing. Her day job is working as a freelance copyeditor and proofreader, however, writing is Nan’s first and most enduring passion. She can’t remember a time in her life when she wasn’t writing—she wrote her first romance novel at the age of ten and is still writing, but now from the viewpoint of a wiser, slightly rumpled, woman in her prime. Nan lives in the Midwest with her husband of 50 years, where they split their time between a house in the city and a cottage on a lake. Be sure to follow Nan Reinhardt on Threads.