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I am currently on break. Sort of. I’m actually waiting for my manuscript from my editor, and when I hear from her, I’ll be full-on editing the book that will be coming out in October this year.

Until then, however… I am filling the well. I think I’ve told you before that I’m not very good at resting. I get antsy. But resting is necessary for good writing, so my hands are tied.

So far, I’ve been cooking, cleaning, puttering, watching Midsomer Murders on Netflix, and reading… Now Midsomer Murders doesn’t depress me, even with all those tiny towns filled with nasty people. I think it’s the British accent. It’s just cheery. And everyone drinks tea. It’s hard to get bummed out with British accents and tea. Besides, the actors playing the victims always breath or move, and that just makes it cheerier, still. Three teaspoons of blood and a visible pulse–that’s how I like my Whodunnits. πŸ˜‰

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My reading, however, has me thoroughly bummed out. Canadian Literature is depressing by nature. I studied it for four years in university, and reading a little Douglas Coupland (excellent author, by the way!) reminds me of why I write romance. There is no guarantee anything will be okay in Canadian Lit. Ever. Canadians are a bizarre breed. We’re known for hanging out together in donut shops and our politeness when we travel, but left unsupervised with a typewriter and we come out with dark themes of isolation and loneliness.

And that is why I write romance. I like a happy ending. I like beautiful homes and pastoral scenery. And I like a good old-fashioned proposal at the end. What can I say? Left to my own devices, somebody gets married. I’d be terrible at serious literature. πŸ˜‰

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