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Thinking up new romance novel ideas is incredibly fun. It makes me look a little kooky, admittedly. I wander around the house muttering to myself. I’ll stop in the middle of the kitchen, stare at the closed fridge and announce, “Obviously, something has to hold him back from saying how he feels…”

This sort of thing continues all day. There are breaks, of course, where I’ll call a friend, take care of my family, or grocery shop, but even when I’m pushing a cart through our local grocery store, I’m liable to stop and stare at a box of cereal, and then say, “I’ve got it!” before slamming the box joyfully down into the cart and carrying on.

“Got what, Mommy?”

“I’ve figured out a plot hitch, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

1017345_10151725560566119_772956389_n[1]My son is never surprised by me, and never terribly impressed that Mommy writes books, either. I’ve tried impressing him with it, just to see if I could.

“I wrote this book. I wrote it! See? Right there on the bookshelf? Mommy wrote that book! Don’t you remember when I was typing away all that time?”

He just shrugged. “Yeah. Can we get Skittles?”

Kids are great for reminding you exactly how unimpressive you really are. 😉

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