Armchair Travel

by Cindi Myers

I love to read books that take me on a journey to a real place I might one day visit. Nothing is more fun that to visit a new place and feel as if you’ve been there before, because you recognize so many things from books you’ve read.
I once lived in Austin, Texas, and it’s still one of my favorite towns. I set The Handsomest Prince in Austin because I wanted to make the town a character in the story. If you read this book, you’ll take a vicarious journey through the iconic sights and sounds of Austin, from dancing at The Broken Spoke to eating at Threadgill’s, to soaking up the sun at Barton Springs.

Some writers are hesitant to set books in real places. They fear getting a detail wrong and angering readers. But I think where we live has such an impact on our lives; I like to explore that impact in my stories. In The Handsomest Prince, both Susan and Robert work and live near the University of Texas and one of the medical research companies in the city. From the intense Texas summer heat to the plethora of students in town, the real Austin, Texas sets the stage for this story.

Of course, I completely made up Robert’s home of Cartasia. Think Monaco or Luxembourg – tiny and rich. Since I know nothing about these foreign countries or the families who rule them, it seemed safest to put on my fictional world-building hat and give him a fantasy background.

So, readers – do you prefer fantasy or reality in your fiction – or, as in The Handsomest Prince, a mixture of both?

BLURB:
Susan Murphree always heard you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your handsome prince, but she'd settle for one honest man who didn't act like a toad.

Her hot new neighbor, research fellow Robert Taj, certainly doesn't look like a toad, but Susan has learned looks can be deceiving. Sure, he has a sexy foreign accent and a drool-worthy body, but anyone that mysterious must have secrets.



Learn more about Cindi Myers and her amazing books on her website. If you enjoy American Historical, then see what all Cindi has to offer on Romance of the West.

Real Down-home Cooking with Holley Trent

Barbecue is a big deal in North Carolina, and there's sort of a line of demarcation separating the eastern vinegar lovers from the folks in the Piedmont and Mountains who like that mess with the red sauce.

You can probably guess where I'm from.:)

Making truly authentic Eastern North Carolina barbecue involves smoking an entire pig outdoors (such as in the structure in the picture), chopping the meat and carefully picking out the fat.

                           Photo credit - Southern Foodways Alliance

Let's gloss right over the "truly authentic" part and just do the best we can since we probably don't all have smokehouses in our backyards. So, I present:

Holley's Slow-cooked Carolina-Style Barbecue

1 boneless pork shoulder or sirloin roast
1 can of chicken broth (don't skimp on the sodium)
-apple cider vinegar*
-crushed red pepper flakes
-other seasoning to taste**

1. Trim any remaining fat from the pork and set it into the bottom of a slow cooker. If possible, don't let it touch the walls.

2. Pour in enough broth to cover the roast about halfway.

3. Cook on low for eight to 10 hours or until the pork is fork tender.

4. Remove the pork to a cutting board and shred it. Taste it. Does it need salt? Pepper? Add it.

5. Combine about a cup of the cooking liquid with half as much vinegar and red pepper flakes to taste. (You'll know you have enough red pepper when your sinuses clear. If you're serving young children or the elderly, you may want to be a bit conservative.)

6. Serve the pork on cheap white buns with the vinegar sauce and offer cole slaw and a bottle of Texas Pete to your guests. The cheap buns part is important: unless your sandwich falls apart in your hands while you're eating it, you're not getting the full Eastern North Carolina experience.:)

7. For extra style points, serve hush puppies, warmed canned string beans, and stingy little half-ears of corn with the sandwiches.

*You can use the cheap white stuff, but I think you can do better.
**I'm a bit of a purist. I find that certain spices don't lend themselves well to the slow cooking process because they just float on top of the liquid. I like to do all my seasoning at the end after the pork has been drained. If you want to add garlic powder or onion powder to the stock, I won't judge you. Some folks like to use ginger and thyme. I'm not one of those folks.

Enjoy!

Holley Trent

Holley's erotic romance EXECUTIVE DECISION debuts May 25 from Musa Publishing. Read an excerpt HERE.

Keep up with Holley Trent on her blog and she's always ready to tweet.

Looking Back with Love

It's April 2007 and I'm watching Night at the Museum. Mickey Rooney is in the cast. I'm experiencing a blast from the past, but one of those synchronous moments, a weird coincidence. I've recently lost my father. The connection -- as tenuous as it can be between people and families at times -- has been severed. When grief is fresh, it's often difficult to invoke a good recollection and, depending on the relationship, sometimes those are scarce. Seeing the thespian conjures a welcome memory.

Many years ago, I booked tickets for Sugar Babies at the Savoy Theatre in London; the performance starred Mickey Rooney and Anne Miller. I don't know why but at the last instant, I instructed the agent to add an extra ticket. I didn't check with our friends whether they minded, or if my father were free. I took a spur of the moment chance. Our friends didn't mind, and I told him to make sure he was available. I did not tell him where he was going except to see a show.

Sugar Babies is a musical revue, a tribute to the era of burlesque. Some might have thought it strange that our age group wanted to attend, but many of us had grown up watching musicals airing on a Sunday afternoon. The production was as nostalgic for us as for someone of my father's generation.

A fabulous evening was had by all, though if you were to ask me now to note the songs sang, or the skits performed, I couldn't. I can remember the moment Mickey came onto the stage too soon then had to stand pretending to be invisible until he could step in on cue, much to the entertainment of the other actors and the crowd. That Anne still had those fabulous shapely legs, which I rightly knew my father would enjoy viewing for real and not just on the television. That the saying not to work with children or animals, applies, at least when TV and stage is concerned: namely, a sketch where a woman had to stand covered in birds; the enactment went well except for the 'little presents' left on the floor, which created more laughter in a scene that should, and otherwise did, look beautiful.

We all had a wonderful night, but my father enjoyed himself most. He laughed his proverbial socks off, and watching him laugh added to our amusement. I spent the evening sitting by his side while he chuckled, grinned, clapped and whistled. He did these things to the point of embarrassing, was the last one to stop, the last person to leave his seat -- wonderful! Not only do I have this recollection, he took pleasure in a marvelous evening during a hard working, stressful and, at times, painful life. My impulsive decision gave him enjoyment. For a few hours, he was able to set everything else aside.

This reveals a routinely overlooked truth: entertainment serves more than one purpose. A good book, a film, a play, music... Such things are part of our lives to a greater extent than we realize. The books I read as a child, many of which I still own, are friends much as the people who remain a constant presence, and are as priceless. Not only do these things entertain, sometimes providing us with a much-needed escape, the moments they create shape our future, present, and our past.

The format doesn't matter. What makes us laugh, gasp, cry, jump or stare in wonder -- all these are markers, our companions along the way, part of the journey from birth unto death, and they form the blasts from the past that help our loved ones recall those happy moments once we are gone.

I owe a thank you to the creators, organizers and performers for a precious memory...and to the writers, without whom such shared experiences would never happen.

I also have the memory of my father’s reaction to my first published novel. I’d had success with short pieces -- stories, poetry and articles -- but jumping in the deep end (as I often do), my first novel was at its core a gay romance. After much deliberation, I decided not only to tell my father but also to let him read it. His verdict: “Very good, actually; better than I was expecting...” which if you knew my father was praise indeed.

Writers take risks. My father’s possible reaction was a risk, but I judged what I knew of him and made that decision, and I’m very glad I did. If not for that first book, he would never have read a full-length work of mine before he died. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry he won’t be around to read my upcoming June release of Calm and Chaos: Acting Out at Musa Publishing, but it does mean I can be content.

Sharon Maria Bidwell
aonia - where the muses live

Learn more about Sharon Maria Bidwell and her outstanding books on her website.

Happy Mother's Day Weekend!

Whether we are eight or eighty, our moms will always hold a special place in our hearts. Why? Because its mom! She's irreplaceable.

I'm Cynthia Vespia and want to tell you about my mom. She was the light of my life, she was my best friend and my ideal reader. She encouraged me, but she also wasn't afraid to tell me when my writing sucked.

My upcoming release from Musa, a suspense titled Sins and Virtues, was dedicated to my mom because she always saw the good in people no matter what. She'd strike up a conversation with anyone from our neighborhood grocer to the stranger on the street. She was always warm and inviting.

My lead character Sam Mitchell is not. She's more of a loose cannon with an agenda and she's ready to go through anyone who stands in her way. The male lead, Ben Haskins, embodies more of my mother's good nature. In the midst of a unique hostage situation, Ben takes on the rebellious and crazed Sam with his wits rather than his physical strength.

Sam does hold the characteristics I believe most moms possess. She is a strong woman, passionate about her beliefs, and fearless in the face of adversity. Not to say that mothers are superheroes...but really, aren't they? Today's mom is a working woman who brings home the bacon, fries it, and tucks in the kiddies for bed all while trying to fit in time at the gym and balance some semblance of a personal life in between. That sounds like super powers to me.

Much like my character Sam Mitchell, a lot of these women go through these challenges alone. It's enough pressure to make some want to go a little mad sometimes. But they persevere.

I like to read about strong women. I like to write about strong women. Most of my personal heroes have been strong women, and that includes my mom. So this is a salute to all the moms out there, enjoy your day...enjoy every day, you deserve it!

My small gift to you all, a taste of Sins and Virtues available soon from Musa Publishing.

A unique hostage situation is about to turn ugly unless author Ben Haskins can use his gift of words to befriend his captor.

BLURB:
A unique hostage situation is about to turn ugly unless author Ben Haskins can use his gift of words to befriend his captor.

Fantasy novelist Ben Haskins has taken a remote cabin in the wilderness to revive his shaky marriage and failing career. Within the peaceful surroundings he runs into real trouble when convicted murderer Sam Mitchell breaks into the cabin after she escapes from prison. Marked by a dark past of abuse Sam is volatile and ready to snap. It is up to Ben to use his writer’s gift of words to diffuse the situation before time runs out for them both.

EXCERPT:
Ben brought up his hands to signify he was not hostile, but before he could speak the woman made a surprising move. She dashed backwards and slipped a long knife from the wood block that stood on the counter. By chance or choice she’d yielded the butcher knife. Its large, flat edge gleamed from a spot of yellow sunlight breaking through the kitchen window as its master twisted it in her grip.

Now Ben was certain there was trouble. She could be unstable from a mental disorder, or drug abuse. Either way, she was now armed and double the threat.

Ben wasn’t about to take any chances with his life, woman or man. He had a family to support, a son to watch grow into a man.

His most logical decision now would be to bring the odds decidedly back to his favor. The mental image of the .12 gauge shotgun, flawlessly polished and resting inside the tomb of the foyer closet, sprung to mind.

The woman was about five feet in front of him, clutching the knife tightly in her right hand. Her eyes were steely and locked onto Ben’s every move. The lines of her body were contoured into an athletic looking frame, poised and ready to strike. She could be on him like a jungle cat, stealthy and quick, that he was well aware of.

The pulsing of his heart grew rapid and his adrenaline surmounted once again. But unlike the level attained in the weight room, it was now at a pace he could not voluntarily control. His shirt was pasted to his skin, clinging and delivering a feeling of constriction to his chest.

He wondered if he should speak, say something to let her know he wasn’t a threat to her. But in the back of his mind he wanted nothing more than to be out of harm’s way. Hoping to gain positive ground by using an obstacle as interference, Ben knocked over one of the chairs from the wicker dining set. Turning on heel he made a swift vault for the closet where the shotgun was located.

As he reached the handle to the door he looked back just in time to see the woman hurdle the chair with ease. Stunned at her athleticism he fumbled for the shotgun, unable and unwilling to take his eyes off of her.

Rather than pursue him, she stopped at her landing with a soft pad of her feet and marked him in her sights. She flipped the knife around to grasp its steel edge and launched it through the air with precision.
Ben tipped back just in time to narrowly avoid being struck in the face by the airborne blade. Instead, it grazed his left ear and temple as he fell ass backwards to the hardwood floor. His hand instinctively shot up to attend to the sudden coarse burning that spread out over his damaged flesh.

In mere seconds the woman was across the room and upon him. Ben had been on target about her cat-like quickness. A solid, brutal heel strike landed squarely upon his groin. Before he could even wail out in pain another kick caught him flush under the chin, gnashing his teeth together, almost severing his tongue.

Sparks of blackness rattled his vision. His body was overloaded with pain and dizziness soon followed. Regaining his bearings Ben thought for a moment he was dreaming. As his vision cleared he realized he was in a very real and waking nightmare. The woman stood above him, the barrel of the shotgun aimed at his chest.

Keep up with Cynthia Vespia on Facebook and Twitter.

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New Release from Nancy DiMauro

BUY LINK

Sometime finding justice means finding yourself.

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of capital “J” “Justice.” As a lawyer, I dedicate a substantial portion of my time wrestling with this concept. Not surprisingly, questions about “what is Justice”, and how it impacts the person each one of us becomes crept into my fiction.

I started writing again after years of doing more “serious” work because Falcon, one of the protagonists in Paths Less Traveled, demanded I tell her story. Unlike a lot of my other characters, Falcon sprang forth Athena-like and complete in our first meeting. Which made me wonder, exactly, why would a disinherited princess become a spy? How would she do it? And so Lightning Strikes was born. The story of her later adventures and the consequences of her choice to fight for justice continues in my novel, The King’s Falcon.

The inspiration for Vonna’s story in Paths Less Traveled came from a Writing Excuses Podcast with Brandon Sanderson, Howard Taylor, Dan Wells, and Mary Robinette Kowal. There was a brief reference to the placebo and the nocebo effects, the power of positive and negative thinking, respectively, to cause changes in physical and mental health. I started wondering how the nocebo effect could be used as a weapon. As a result, Vonna with her unique psychic abilities was born. Flashes of Life follows Vonna on her first murder case. Vonna’s story continues in The Nocebo Effect.

PATHS LESS TRAVELED

Strange universes. Kick-butt heroines.

EXCERPT:
A blonde female officer growled as I bent to slide under the yellow police tape. Her aura flicked with the burnt amber of authority and a hint of annoyance. Her jaw snapped shut as she took in my white leather outfit and gloves, the outward sign of my other than human status. Silver surprise limed her before changing to puce and signaling her disgust. Her gaze flicked to the emblem bearing the Greek letter Psi on my chest, and then skittered away.

"A pleasure to meet you Officer Williams. I'm Vonna Sinya, the assigned Psionic . Detective Muller is waiting for me."

Williams tapped her commlink and turned her back.

"The Charlie's here," Williams whispered.

Charlie-short for charlatan.

The word burned across my skin. It’s what the insens called psychics despite the scientific proof of our existence. I drove my fingernails into my palms. The white leather gloves only transferred the barest pressure to my hand. Recently graduated from Psy Corp, the gloves were a new addition to my wardrobe.

The gloves chaffed.

Muller strode briskly toward me. "Let her pass," he said as he approached. "Ms. Sinya, nice to meet you." He looked down at his hand, and then dusted it off on his pants before extending it.

Touching a psychic was the equivalent of offering your throat to a hungry vampire. The corners of his eyes tightened making the three crow's feet under each one stand out from his skin. He wasn't as sanguine about his offer as he'd like me to believe. He knew psychics were a threat even when smothered in leather. Maybe especially then. Still, the alpha dog was offering me a place in the pack and hoping I didn't challenge his authority.

I pasted a smile on and grasped his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Please call me, Vonna."

"Rick." He lifted the tape. "First murder?"

I ducked under the line separating cops from little people. "My first crime scene."

He shifted a step back. "Why do I get the newbies?"

"Because you're willing to shake hands with us?"

The change in his mood was so rapid that his bark of laughter and bright blue slash of humor startled me. "That may be it." He walked toward the house. His pace was half the speed of his departure. "Main talent?"

A rash of heat flamed across my features. "We don't know."

Muller stopped and turned. "The Company does not let unknown psionics wander the streets, much less join active investigations. It's not like I just asked your favorite sexual position."

The Company was a pejorative term for Psy Corp. I'd heard it referred to an ancient song about owing your soul to the Company you worked for. If so, it wasn't a misnomer.

"I'm a thirty-seven."

"Excuse me?" Muller went pale in the flashing blue lights.

Despite the pit in my stomach at what might await me in the house, I smiled. "Just realize what you'd given your hand to?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoy reading Vonna’s and Falcon’s stories. I certainly enjoyed writing them. I love hearing from readers, so, please feel free to e-mail me. I can be found at:

Website
Blog
The Fictorian Era
Twitter

Meet Elizabeth Iverson and Drake McGuire

from heartbeats, by Susan Rae

Elizabeth and Drake, thank you for coming to chat with us today. We don’t often get both the hero and heroine together for these chats. This should be fun.

Can either one of you tell me why you think Susan Rae chose the two of you to represent her today?

Elizabeth: I think she just felt that since it’s our story, we would be the best ones to present it. She chose both of us, I’m sure, because we come at it from different angles. You see, when the novel begins, it’s been six years since we have seen each other. We met once in college, and then briefly a few years later, but since then, we have both gone our separate ways.

Drake: Briefly, Elizabeth? That’s how you’re describing it now?

Elizabeth: Well...

Do I detect some sarcasm there, Drake?

Drake: Let’s just get on with it.

Okay. Elizabeth, can you tell us a little about yourself? You’re a doctor, right?

Elizabeth: Yes, I am.

Did you always want to be a doctor?

Elizabeth: Honestly? As long as I can remember. You see, I grew up on a farm about forty-five miles from here, in the far northwest suburbs of Chicago. Thinking back, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t dream about becoming a doctor. When I was little, my Barbie dolls didn't wear clothes; they wore bandages and tourniquets. I was always pretending to try out the latest medical procedure on some poor, unsuspecting farm animal—with some very interesting results, as you can imagine. My parents didn’t have a lot of money, but I made it to the university on a scholarship. When my dad died of a heart attack while I was in med school, I decided to specialize in cardiology. That’s my passion, cardiology—both intervention and prevention. That, and of course, my daughter, Allison—the light of my life.

I understand you’re a single mother.

Elizabeth: Yes...well... Allison’s father didn’t really want anything to do with her.

I see. Drake, can you tell us something about yourself?

Drake: I can tell you that I know a little about what it’s like to grow up without a father; although my uncle, I call him Papa DeLuca, took me in when I was seven—after my parents died in a car crash on the Outer Drive. Elizabeth and I are alike in one sense, I always knew I wanted to be a cop, especially after my parents’ crash. I wanted to catch the slime who provide drugs to spaced-out kids like the ones who killed my parents.

What do you wish people would know about you? Elizabeth?

Elizabeth: Not much to know, really. I live a pretty modest life. I work long hours, don’t get up to see my mother nearly as much as I should—she still lives on the farm. Probably don’t take my daughter to the zoo as much as I should. I live in a modest three-flat in Wrigleyville and I thank heaven every day that it came with a great landlady who doesn’t mind watching Allison after school, or when I get a call in the middle of the night. The life of a cardiologist is not glamorous.

Drake?

Less to tell here. I’m a special agent, FBI, and I’m known for getting my man. Occasionally my boss might not exactly agree with my tactics, but I’m damn good at what I do. There’s not much that gets by me.

So I’m guessing your favorite music is rock? Hard and tough, like yourself?

Elizabeth: The louder the better. Trust me, I know. I had to endure it when we drove up to the farm.

Drake: Not all the time. I think Elizabeth is conveniently forgetting the ride back.

Elizabeth: Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry. There was the classical music on the way back, Chopin I believe it was.

Sounds like there’s more to you than meets the eye, Mr. McGuire..

Drake: I don’t always reveal all my secrets, kind of like Elizabeth here, right dear?

Uh, I’m sensing a little tension between you two. I see that you’re sitting together on the couch, but you’re not touching.

Drake: Let’s just say there’s a couple of things we need to work out.

Does that mean we’re not going to get our happy ending at the end of Heartbeats.

Drake: I guess you’ll just have to read the book to find out, won’t you? If you are interested, which I’m getting a strong sense you are, here’s the link.

Thank you. Then can you at least tell me what has brought you two together at this time?

Drake: Let’s just say, curiosity for now. I had some time off. Remember that boss? He decided I needed a break after my last assignment. I received an alumni brochure that mentioned Elizabeth was going to be the keynote speaker at a benefit at the Palmer House Hilton. I figured, what the hell, I hadn’t seen my cousins in a while so I figured a trip north wouldn’t hurt. I currently work out of the field office in New Orleans. Anyway, I got in my car and drove up. You see, our brief encounter, as she likes to call it, broke off rather abruptly.

Elizabeth: Drake, you were nearly killed!

Drake: And you lit out as fast as you could. You couldn’t take a little heat.

Elizabeth: A little heat? You were in intensive care.

Drake: And you’d think a med student could handle that.

Why don’t we get back to the present. What happened at the alumni benefit. I take it you two didn’t exactly fall into each others arms?

Drake: Not exactly.

Elizabeth: No, but now he’s insisting on sticking around.

Drake: There is that little matter of your roommate being murdered in your apartment. Elizabeth doesn’t want to believe it, but she’s in a hell of a lot more danger than she realizes.

It sounds intriguing. Tell me Drake, if you help figure this out, do you plan on sticking around these parts long? Will we be seeing more of you or are you stepping out of the lime light?

Drake: If? Were you listening before? I said I’m damn good at my job. And as for the future, I don’t think Susan Rae is done with me yet. As a matter of fact, she’s cast me in her next novel, Freefall. Seems she needs my help to solve the mystery in that one, too. From what I understand, one of my friend’s buddies, a hero from the War in Afghanistan who lives up in Wisconsin, gets in this plane crash. Nobody knows if it’s an accident or sabotage.

Does he survive?

Drake: I guess you’ll just have to read that one, too, to find out. It’s due out in June. I just happen to have the link for that one, also on this link.

All right, how about if we lighten it up a bit. Elizabeth, can you tell me what your perfect evening would be.

Drake: I’ll take that one for her. A boat, out on the lake, or the river as it was in Atlanta, in the moonlight. Soft music, wine, the lapping of the waves against the side of the boat. Is that about right, Elizabeth?


Elizabeth: I’d prefer not to answer that right now.

And yours, Drake?

Drake: The same.

Then I guess I don’t need to ask what you do to relax.

Elizabeth: Let’s move on, shall we?

Is there anything you wish Susan Rae had kept her mouth shut about?

Drake: Why don’t you take this one, Elizabeth?

Elizabeth: Perhaps...but in hindsight, I think it’s just as well it did come out. I think in the end, it is all for the best.

Do you feel you were portrayed fairly, Elizabeth?

Elizabeth: I think she might have been a little hard on me, after all she is a mother herself. She should understand.

What really pushes your buttons?

Drake: Elizabeth.

What’s your biggest turn on?

Drake: Elizabeth.

What’s your biggest turn off?

Elizabeth.

Wow, it seems you two do have a lot to work out. What’s your favorite Ice cream flavor, Chocolate, Vanilla, or Strawberry?

Elizabeth: Strawberry.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Elizabeth: I believe in signs, that those that have passed leave signs that show they are there, supporting us, after they have gone. We just have to be open to them.

Have you experienced any of these signs?

Elizabeth: After my father passed, I remember I was sitting out in the field one day, and a giant blue heron came by and landed on the post next to the water trough for the cows. Herons normally don’t land there, they are usually found around ponds or lakes, looking for fish. But I took it as a sign. My father used to take me to the nearby state park when I was a little girl and we’d look for the herons there. It was his favorite bird.

Have you received any signs, yet, from your friend, your roommate was it, who was murdered?

Elizabeth: If I were to be completely honest, I’d have to say that Drake’s coming here is her sign.

And what’s your biggest fear.

Elizabeth: The same as all mothers—that something terrible might happen to my daughter, Allison.

Drake: Another reason I’ll be sticking around.

Why should the readers be interested in your story?

Elizabeth: Because I think it speaks to all of us. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to control our lives and protect ourselves and our children from danger, danger still finds us. The evil person is often the seemingly innocent neighbor next door. It is through perseverance and learning to trust the right people to help us that we overcome the evil.

Write Strong By Peter Lukes

I want my next book to be a Diet and Weight Loss Guide. It will be simple, easy to follow, and come with a 100% guarantee. It would go something like this:

Page 1: Eat less.
Page 2: Exercise more.
Page 3: Watch the pounds disappear.
The End.

Ask any seasoned novelist what the key to success is and they will invariably say something along the lines of “keep writing, every day, all the time.” Simple enough advice and if you follow it, you’ll probably succeed eventually. If you maintain the dedication to sit, A.I.S. (Ass In Seat), for anywhere from five to ten hours per day, you will produce a manuscript, hopefully land a publishing contract, and ultimately sell lots of books. But what else might you get after leading what can only be described as a sedentary lifestyle at the keyboard for weeks on end? Several health issues, not the least of which is weight gain!

How does a writer balance the need to keep writing with the need to stay healthy? You don’t have to split your day between the gym and the laptop, but you can take some simple steps to insure that your occupation doesn’t become hazardous to your health.

My simple suggestion involves using a timer. Many writers, myself included, use some form of cooking timer to keep them on schedule; two hours of blogging or marketing, followed by four hours of writing, followed by two hours of work in progress plotting, etc. Your timer can have other productive uses as well. Try planning an hourly break in which you can incorporate some form of exercise. I’m not telling you to rip yourself away from a serious writing spurt so that you can go do pushups, just make sure you take three or four complete intermissions per day. You don’t have to make time for a full body workout, but even if you go for a six to eight minute brisk walk, three times per day, you will burn about 100 extra calories. Walk around the block. Walk around your yard. That’s an extra 100 calories per day, 500 per week, and 2,000 per month if you bring yourself to follow this simple, non-strenuous regimen on weekdays. You will lose weight or at least gain less than you otherwise might from doing nothing. You’ll also stretch your muscles and flex your joints, reducing those random aches and pains that you may have noticed happening more and more after you’ve been sitting in weird, awkward positions all day.

No place to walk? What about the stairs of your apartment building? Do you have chores that need doing? Rather than letting them hang over your head, adding to your tension while you write, do them with gusto! Do the laundry, mow the lawn, mop the floor. If you have to do the chores anyway, make use of the time by hitting both birds with one stone. You’ll feel better and the tasks won’t be bothering you in the back of your mind while you’re struggling to set your muse free.

There’s one other hidden benefit from the intermittent exercise break. It gets your blood flowing, and more importantly, it releases endorphins. Endorphins can and do act similar to opiates. They trigger all sorts of good neurological responses, from improving your mood to relieving stress. This translates into positive brain activity and better writing. Wouldn’t you rather get back to your laptop feeling a little less stressed and a little more upbeat?

Try it, and keep up with a consistent exercise schedule just as rigorously as you maintain your daily word-count minimums. I guarantee that you’ll be pleased with the results. Then email me. We can collaborate on that diet and exercise book.

Peter Lukes is a speculative fiction author, attorney and fitness buff. His latest release, Perchance to Dream is on Musa Publishing.

Click HERE to read the excerpt.

Learn More about Peter on his website, blog, and facebook.