Our marriage produced three children, who were aged 3, 5 and 8 years of age when I wrote my first book. Consequently they've grown up with a mother who spent a lot of time initially keying words onto a typewriter, then into a computer. Even now, my daughter will 'phone me, sigh heavily as I answer, and offer 'you're in the zone, Mum, I'll ring back later'. She can tell just from the tone in my voice? Really? Even after all these years when I'd thought I'd mastered the smooth switch from writer to mother?
Perhaps I can lean back a little from the slight edge of guilt that while I was always there for them, in truth I was inevitably a little distracted by the current opus and a hero and heroine who refused to comply with my direction. Sound a little familiar?
At the moment I'm currently working on my 61st manuscript, as yet untitled, which should be completed by November. The hero is of Greek/American heritage, the heroine third generation Russian on her mother's side, and the theme is revenge. It's sizzling nicely ...
All the best