Why do I write?
It seems that a recurring question pops up in conversation lately: What makes writers write? What pushes them? What motivates them? Why do they do it?
There are a plethora of reasons that might prompt a person to write. With this in mind, I carefully considered my own reasons.
First and foremost, I write because characters, plots, and stories pinball around in my brain, invade my dreams, pop out at the most inopportune times -- therefore, they must be written to assuage the spirits, calm the muse.
Second, I love to share my visions with others, in the hope that my stories help get them through the day (or night). Escapism? You damn betcha! Guilty as charged.
Third, I love waiting for my book covers to appear, like magic, in my inbox. It's like having the bestest ever Christmas, every time that happens.
The last reason is a bit more materialistic. While fame and fortune are fantastic goals for which to strive, I'd be happy with a nice enough income to hire a housekeeper. Not a live-in housekeeper -- nothing so dramatic -- just a nice, dependable gal (or guy, I'm not sexist) who knows how to put a house in some semblance of order, who doesn't mind the dogs, and who is tough enough to wrastle killer dustbunnies and win the match. That's not too much to ask, is it? No, I didn't think so.
So, remember my housekeeper fund, and prepare to be titillated!
Pissed off, crabby, and contemplating getting a guard dog, Wallis Gardner is goddamned tired of being laid up with a gunshot wound while her men—blond, blue-eyed Austin Cooper and dark-haired, grizzly bear Michael Gallo—finish the job they’d all been working on with the Bureau of Criminal Investigations.
An anonymous tip sends her partners on a futile chase, leaving Wallis to deal with the massive cast on her leg and the creepy new tenant in the small cottage at the edge of her property. When Austin and Michael return, the welcome home party leaves them all exhausted but satisfied before a call comes in with yet another missing girl.
Unprotected, Wallis finds herself dancing at the end of a killer’s blade. But with life and love on the line, this is one dance she intends to lead.
A Jersey girl born & bred, for the last nine years, Danica St. Como has written at her farm in central upstate New York, usually surrounded by a gaggle of Whippets either under or around her desk, as well as a malevolent treadmill that stares at her from across the room. She puts pen to paper, in a manner of speaking, under several romance sub-genres: contemporary, MFM and MMF menage a trois, MM pairings, erotic historical, paranormal -- all hot, all steamy, all sexually explicit.
St. Como is a member of the Romance Writers of America and the Central New York Romance Writers chapter of the RWA. Readers can contact her atDanica@DanicaStComo.com