I have been in my feels recently about this whole author thing. It looks both exactly and not at all like I thought it would. Lately, though, I’ve been struggling with a bit of an identity crisis as it pertains to all things in my life.
Y’all. I have been deep in the muck this summer. I am grateful that I can schedule this newsletter so I can take a breather with my family as we are on a little end-of-summer vacation this week, but I finally feel like a fog is clearing away from my brain, and it is so refreshing to be on the other side of it.
Which also means I figured I should talk a bit about mental health today.
Hello and happy Friday afternoon, fellow readers. I know it’s late for a coffee break. We have officially hit that point in the summer when I am only vaguely aware of what day it is, and I wisely decided to take yesterday off for a bike ride and swim with my kids. Buy the time I realized it was Thursday, I was in that state of delicious summer exhaustion that simply cannot be interrupted by a little thing like writing a newsletter. And, here we are.
But I’m going to make it up to you with the sunshine vibey romance playlist of your dreams. Cool? Cool.
I’ve been seeing this sentiment a lot lately. People won’t or have stopped picking up indie books as a general rule. There are obvious reasons why I think that’s a bad policy to have (I mean, hello, I’m an indie author trying to sell books here), but I can also admit there are some issues with the industry right now. However, I do think if you don’t read indie books as a rule, you’re missing out.
And now on to your daily dose of feminism. Long before I ever fell in love with romance novels (pun intended), I was a feminist blogger and op-ed writer (under my real name… you won’t find any of that stuff if you search for Allie Samberts), so this is my wheelhouse, and something I feel passionately about.
*tips head back and forth and hops on her feet like a fighter getting ready to enter the ring* Here we go.
Listen. I cannot spell “Millennial” with any consistency. There are entirely too many Ls and Ns, and I kind of feel like half of them are unnecessary? I did a quick search for this post to double check the spelling, and I *think* I caught them all in Common Grounds, but it’s a word that haunts me. A lot. As a Millennial, you’d think I’d know how to spell it (but, as an English teacher, you’d also think I’d know how to spell “plagiarism.” I struggle with that one, too).
Alas, it is a sticky word for me.
I’m not really sure why I felt you all needed to know that. But thank you for joining me in my Millennial misery. Don’t go anywhere, though! There’s more to this Millennial love-fest today, because we’re talking about writing (and reading) older characters.
It’s a late coffee break today, readers. It’s the last day of school! This week has been kind of messy, so I honestly forgot what day it was yesterday. And all of a sudden it’s Friday, and I hadn’t scheduled a newsletter.
But, better late than never, right? Since it’s the last day of school and I am releasing a book in less than two weeks, I thought it would be fitting to talk a bit about saying goodbye. (Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.)
I love the cover of Common Grounds. It’s perfect. It encapsulates the city background—even though Baker’s Grove feels more like a small town in that way of midsized Midwestern cities—as well as Emery and Trevor in a passionate embrace on the front. The colors evoke coffee and dusk and romance. The characters are perfectly representative of the couple in the book, down to Emery’s red heels and blue-black hair, and Trevor’s yellow slouchy hat and cuffed chinos.
I’ve never been happier with a cover, honestly.
I’m not going to lie to you all. I’m about to do a hard sell on the Common Grounds paperbacks. If you don’t like spoilers, you may want to scroll to the end real quick, or at least not look too closely at the images. There will be pictures of the paperback interior in this post (but I’ll block out what I can). Because it’s awesome. Seriously.
Is it the constant mainlining of caffeine that makes writers tortured? Maybe. When I picture a tortured writer, I envision someone bent over a typewriter grabbing at their hair, a cigarette dangling between the first two fingers on their right hand and three or four half-finished and now-cold cups of coffee littered around their desk. Notes are, of course, strewn everywhere. The room is probably dark, too. It’s hard to be tortured in broad daylight.
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