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A very personal post

This was sent out as a newsletter this morning, September 1st. 

Dear friends,

I often begin my newsletters to you this way because, in my mind, you are my friends. I share my stories with you, I let you in on behind-the-scenes action, and I often fill you in on stuff going on in my family. You saw the first pictures of my granddaughter, and you encourage me when things are tough.

Of course, most of us have not met one another. Mostly, we know each other through this interchange of words and ideas. Some of you might follow me on social media, too, and then you’d know a little more about me and how I think.

What I’m sharing today is primarily for my fellow Americans. My beloved friends around the world . . . you’re welcome to read along, too.

A few years ago, when things took a turn in my country, I was advised to keep everything in my professional world apolitical. I was cautioned not to let my opinions and beliefs bleed through in my social media, website, newsletter, and books. For the most part, I’ve heeded this advice. My author page remains non-political. My newsletters are always filled with bookish things. I don’t go down political roads in my books.

If you are friends with me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter, you probably know where I stand on some important topics. But I’ve done my best not to let that show in my author persona.

However, a few things have happened recently that have caused me to question this way of doing things.

First of all, when I released The Anti-Cinderella books, I received a small backlash from readers who accused me of ‘shoving that climate crap’ down readers’ throats. Now, to my way of thinking, I wasn’t shoving anything. Yes, Kyra went to school for sustainable agriculture–and I gave her that course of studies because my youngest daughter majored in that. Sustainable ag and sustainability as a whole are passions for my family. But nowhere did Kyra or Nicky proselytize about climate change to the reader–what happened between them and other characters was based on things that have really happened to us, and it was part of their story. This is fiction, but it is inspired by people and events in my own life. That’s my process. I wasn’t making a political statement. I was telling a story.

And then came this year. Oh, my friends, this has been a hard year for all of us. I’ve seen the suffering caused by the pandemic and by the escalation of racial tensions in my country. I’ve cried over George, Ahmaud, and Breonna. I’ve struggled with intense rage over the ignorance of some of my fellow Americans. I’ve seen division and anger and bullying and shameful behavior on the part of our nation’s leadership.

This past weekend, three things happened.

Chadwick Boseman died.
Jim Gaffigan spoke out on Twitter.
I sent an email about football books.
Chadwick Boseman dying would have been a tragedy at any time, but in 2020, it takes on added meaning. I’m not going to delve into the whys and wherefores of that. You’re just going to have to take my word for it. His loss struck deep for me, and judging by the overwhelming response around the world, I’m not alone.

Jim Gaffigan is one of my family’s favorite comedians. We’ve listened to and laughed with him for years. At the end of last week, he began tweeting . . . and well, better to read the story in his own words.

Something Jim wrote as he unpacked his Twitter time struck a nerve for me. So if I believe I won’t sway any voters, why speak out like I did? Honestly, I feel I had no choice at this point. I think Trump is ruining and possibly has already ruined my country. For me this isn’t a debate about the size of government, taxes, health care or even abortion. I miss the days when those were the topics I would discuss with friends. I feel a responsibility to coming generations, my children but selfishly I didn’t want to explain to my grandchildren that I didn’t fight to stop Trump. Maybe they will see that I stood up for decency, rule of law, and equality. That’s way more important to me than selling out an arena.

Responsibility. The word resonated within me. What have I done to fulfill my responsibility to generations to come? How have I been a positive force in this dangerous world? How have I been a light in a world of hatred? I’ve shared posts. I’ve tweeted. I’ve worked for my party during elections.

But have I even begun to sacrifice? I think not.

And then there was the football email.

I think I write about topics that are pretty middle-of-the-road. You know romance is my gig. If you don’t like kissing (AND MORE!!) and sweet nothings and happy endings (most of the time), then you shouldn’t read my books. Some are paranormal; if that spooks you, don’t worry, there are plenty of non-para books of mine out there, too. If you like small-town America, I’ve got a bunch of books you might enjoy.

At one time, I worried that my military romances might offend some people, but silly me–it’s not those. It’s the football books.

Now, you know I love me some football. It’s why fall is my season. I. Love. The. Game. In the past few years, I’ve struggled with this love for a few reasons: the safety and health of the players as we learn more about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE), and the way Black athletes have been treated by management and how management has so often dismissed the social justice calls of the players.

This weekend, I received a slew of response to my football-themed newsletter, telling me that they won’t watch the game or read the books because football is catering to the ‘criminal terrorists of the BLM’. Some of these emails were mean and nasty. Some called me names. Some were just filled with ignorance. These emails made me very sad.

So this was my click. It doesn’t matter how apolitical I am. It doesn’t matter how often and sweetly I smile and mind my own business, as one reader advised me to do, because no matter what, people are going to take offense at something. And I realized that the people who are working to erode the rights of others, who are standing for prejudice, sexism, racism, fascism, and a bunch of other distasteful -isms . . . they’re not worried about offending me.

I’m tired of worrying about it. And what’s more, I realize that it’s time for me to stop cowering behind ‘what’s good for my career’ and own my convictions.

If you’ve read this far, you might ask yourself, does she really think her decision matters? No, probably not to most of the world. I’m one romance writer in a sea full of them, and the universe is hardly waiting with bated breath to see what I do.

Or maybe it is. Maybe the universe does depend on small decisions like this, on the tiny courage of insignificant people like me, in order to turn the tide of righteousness. I don’t know. It’s possible. Madeleine L’Engle would say it counts.

Will I lose readers? Most likely. That’s okay. If you’re offended by football players and farmers, you probably wouldn’t stick around long anyway. Also, many of you won’t even open this email, so . . . there’s that! And in the end, to paraphrase Jim Gaffigan, owning my beliefs out loud is more important than selling a few books.

Now, here’s the caveat, if you’ve hung around this long. I’m not planning to turn my books, my newsletters, or my author social media into an endless political debate. I’m not planning to change anything, as a matter of fact. My newsletters will still be about books and characters and fluff. That’s what’s fun. The characters in my books won’t be leading marches or attending rallies or delivering long soliloquies on politics or religion.

I don’t want to argue with you, and I’m not trying to change your mind. Please don’t try to change mine.

But I’m not going to pretend that I don’t care anymore. I do care. I care about my Black sisters and brothers. I don’t claim to understand what they’ve lived with, what it’s like to be Black in this nation, but I stand with them now, and I will do whatever I can to learn so I can be better and do better.

I care about the future of my country. I care about electing leaders who embody HOPE, not those who gain power by playing on fear. I want to work to unify my nation in truth and justice for ALL, not just for some. I want to make this world better for my grandchildren, so that they will have clean air and water and the freedom to be who they are, love who they want, and live lives of fulfillment and peace.

It is fitting for me to end this with the words of King T’Challa as played by the incomparable Chadwick Boseman:

Now, more than ever, the illusions of division threaten our very existence. We all know the truth: more connects us than separates us. But in times of crisis the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers. We must find a way to look after one another as if we were one single tribe.

Peace and love, my friends. If this is the end of our road together (the unsubscribe link is below my signature), go with God. If you’re going to stick around . . . thank you. We’ll keep having fun. <3

Romance is . . . more than a day.

I’m going to say something fairly outrageous here. Are you ready?

My wedding day was not the most romantic day of my life.

I bet lots of you feel the same way, especially if your wedding involved months of planning, a fancy dress, lots of people invited, and family.

When I think about my wedding day, I remember a lot of running behind as we were getting ready. I remember tons of people in my house, my parents being anxious, my father forgetting to get gas in the van that was meant to transport the bridesmaids and me to the church (and then sending out my cousin to gas it up and the subsequent misplacement of Daddy’s credit card). I remember being worried about my cousin who had just had a baby by caesarian section ten days before. I remember finding out we were SUPER late to start the ceremony. I remember they misspelled the word CONGRATULATIONS on the sign at the reception. I remember that my new husband lost his glasses at the park where we went to have pictures taken.

I don’t remember gazing fondly at my groom. I don’t remember seeing his face when he first spotted me in my gown. I don’t remember our first dance or the toasts or speeches or anything else.

(Later, my father would admit that he was getting misty-eyed as he began to walk me down the aisle, remembering that he had carried me down this same aisle the day I was christened. Apparently, I merely looked at him and said, “Remember to start with the right foot.” Yeah, that sounds like me.)

No, I don’t remember that day as particularly romantic.

But no worries–I’ve had lots of romantic days since. Are you ready?

On our third anniversary, my husband was on field training exercises about half an hour from where we lived on Wheeler Air Force Base. That meant he was out in the field all week, and we’d be apart for our anniversary. Imagine my surprise when on the big day, he showed up at the back door around dinner time. Turned out he’d driven a tent peg through his hand and had to come back to post to get stitches, and while he was there, he’d gotten permission to stop to eat with me. I remember our romantic dinner (I have NO idea what I made) with the baby asleep in the other room and Clint’s driver sitting outside in the truck.

I remember eating dinner with my mom on our 19th anniversary. My dad was in the hospital, not doing well–he’d pass away three days later. My mother was understandably sad and alone and worried about my dad, so we invited her to join us that night. My husband was always close to my mother; having her at our romantic dinner didn’t faze him at all.

On our 23rd anniversary, my husband drove the kids and me and our best friends to Georgia so we could be at our other friend’s 40th birthday party. We drove through the night, through some really scary parts of Georgia. Not exactly roses and champagne, but we made memories!

On our 24th anniversary, about two weeks before our oldest daughter’s wedding, we went to Savannah and St. Augustine. It was crazy to take a trip like that so close to her big day, but we had so much fun . . .

And on our 31st anniversary, my husband said good-bye to me as I drove to Cinncinati to be part of Lori Foster’s Reader and Author Get Together. I spent that day with my friend Violet Howe, driving, but it was still romantic, because my sweetheart supports my career, 100%. He didn’t even blink that I was leaving him that day–I knew he had my back.

Romance isn’t just a day. If you’re counting on your wedding day to be the epitome of romance . . . you’re liable to be disappointed. But if your focus is on the life you’re creating instead of putting pressure on one 24 hour period . . . you just might find romance is in the most unexpected places.

INTENSIVE CARE Cover Reveal!

Coming August 4th:

The compelling third book of the

Diagnosis: Love Trilogy!

Preorder here!

If Grey’s Anatomy makes your heart flutter, this series is for you.

He’s science and tradition. I’m nature and new age. We clash at every turn. 

Emma

I don’t know who I am anymore.

I broke the heart of someone dear to me because I couldn’t love him the way he deserves. I threw away a chance of happiness because I can’t stop wanting a man who has proven that he doesn’t know how to love me.

When it comes to my patients, I’m an eternal optimist. Maybe that’s why I’m determined to try one more time with Deacon.

As long as there’s life, there’s hope. And hope is all I have.

Deacon

I don’t know what to do.

I thought I’d lost the woman who haunts me, body and soul. I was sure that she was in love with someone else. I was prepared for the pain, again. I was braced for the hurt. But I was wrong.

I have one last chance with her. If I screw it up this time, I’ll lose her forever, and if that happens, I know I’ll also lose my only hope for happiness.

I never give up on a patient. And I’m not giving up on us.

Coming August 4th:

The compelling third book of the

Diagnosis: Love Trilogy!

Preorder here!