The (Secret) Glamorous Life of a Romance Writer

As I sit at my desk…no, I mean, as I lounge on my pink velvet divan, I’m waiting for my agent to call. Any minute the phone shall ring like St. Patricks Cathedral bells chiming and he’ll have the news. The movie studio will want me to play the leading role as the heroine in the latest movie version of my last best selling novel and my chauffeur Myren, who is a consummate professional, a deferential chauffeur, will drive me to New York…

SQ and KittyThis is about when my cat, Kitty, (yes, that’s her name—when you sit around all day making up names for characters, maybe you want to take a break on the cat-naming) jumps up on the desk, licks my face and snaps me out of my day-dream.

(L) Stephanie Queen with Kitty (The crown actually belongs to Kitty. I swiped it for the photo.)

The secret to the (secret) glamorous life is to never, ever admit reality to intrude on your illusion for more than ten minutes at a time—say for instance, the amount of time you might need to run in the grocery store and buy some Pepto Bismol. Once you emerge from the store, with your head held high, the regal air in tact—and your purchase safely tucked in your Gucci/DB/Coach or other suitable bag (or facsimile thereof—I know of a good flea market) matching designer sunglasses in place, you stroll, and wave as needed, to your waiting car. (so what if there’s no driver waiting in said waiting car because Myren is off flirting with the lady in the deli department—in your minds eye, you get in the back seat, glance out the window for a quick final pose for the paparazzi and then tell the driver “Home, James”–or Myren or whoever).

Once home, you resume your position on the pink velvet Divan of your imagination and PinkDivanwith your laptop in hand—or on lap—you take up the story where you left off. Now where was I…Morocco? Paris? Maybe standing in front of Tiffany’s on Fifth Ave waiting… and most importantly, wearing Tiffany diamond earrings with the large signature pendant and …who was I waiting for? (Darn that leg cramp–they don’t make divans the way they used to…)

 

What glamorous life do you dream about from your pink divan?

Stephanie Queen of the imaginary pink divan fame has actually written numerous novels including the Beachcomber Investigation romantic detective series novels. Check out her website if you don’t believe it at StephanieQueen.com.
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17 Responses to The (Secret) Glamorous Life of a Romance Writer

  1. E. Ayers says:

    Ah, I want a white silk divan that’s super soft and several white chairs that will match. All of them positioned around fireplace with a hand-carved, white mantel that goes to the ceiling and contains a mirror. The entire room is white except for a few tiny accents, such as my latest art acquisitions. My newest Monet hangs across the room where I can see it all the time and my newest antique Fabergé egg encrusted in rubies sits on the marble table in the center of the room. I can touch a secret button on diamond bracelet and one of my sexy heroes will enter the room with my mid-afternoon snack of tea and petite sandwiches on a gleaming silver tray. Then I can ask him to stay and help me work through a problem scene. But just as I am about to indulge in a sandwich, my other hero walks through the doors and hands me the paperwork from the Smithsonian Museum to sign. Because as much as I love collecting beautiful pieces of art and owning them, sharing them with the world is by far more important. So I sign my paperwork for them to take my precious pieces of art, pick up my sandwich, and pop the tiny thing into mouth. Here comes another one of my heroes holding the Fitbit he gave me last week and ranting about my health going down the drain because I’m not getting enough exercise. So much for that problem scene, looks like I’ll be playing tennis for the next hour.

    Liked by 2 people

    • stephaniequeen says:

      LOL! E. you’ve created a scene I feel like I could step into and enjoy immensely!

      Liked by 2 people

      • E. Ayers says:

        Not when my hero is done making you play tennis for an hour and then threatening you with that darn Fitbit. (This time I hid it in the litter box! )
        He might be a stock market wiz but I’m not up to his workouts. He claims he’s being easy on me. I called him a medieval torturer and he got upset with me. He stood there with that I-dare-you look and crossed his arms over his chest. He told me if I would get on the treadmill every day for 20 minutes, he leave me alone.
        I have a secret weapon for men like him – Whiteout and the delete key!

        Like

  2. Carol says:

    Yes, and here I sit in my fuzzy house shoes, my toes all toasty, while my thoughts are about as warm from a mixture of bills, tax folders, and my ever increasing to-do list. I’ve graduated from a legal pad to a bulletin board to keep up with the stimulating issues a writer’s life affords! Though not as glamorous as wearing a tiara, or lucky enough to have Myren by my side, the writer’s world is still a lovely place. So get a grip and know, as a writer, you never have a spare moment, and that life evolves around your work! 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

  3. leighmorgan1 says:

    I plot and plan and plan and plot my next trip to Scotland, England, Wales, Cornwall, the FL Keys, the Tetons, Yosemite, Banff, Paris, Old Quebec City, Spain, Portugal, New Orleans, the Wharf in SanFrancisco, Santa Fe, New Zealand, Germany, Norway….traveling first class, wearing size 6 adventure clothing, silk scarfs, shoes that never hurt my feet, multicolor sapphires on my wrists and yellow, blue and pink diamonds on my fingers and in my ears! Other than that, I don’t fantasize from my desk–ala–divan (mine is leather), all that much. 😀

    Liked by 3 people

  4. ginaarditoauthor says:

    I dream of a hotel suite where I can lock myself in til I finish this manuscript and only open the door for room service. Btw, my cat Miss Savannah is a “tortie” as well!

    Liked by 4 people

  5. Joan Reeves says:

    Ah, the secret glam life of a romance author! Maybe I don’t have a glam life because I don’t own a tiara. (Note to self: buy tiara the next time you buy groceries.) I’ll be the talk of the neighborhood when I take my morning walk.

    Liked by 3 people

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