Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter One

Abby.....
Writing: it's my life.

For as long as I can remember, I have been wonderfully in love with words. As a child, I would often write letters to those that I cared about. The sweetest of letters, penned by my innocent self, telling them how much they meant to me. Some of them, I have kept and cherished; because they were equally as cherished for many years by those that I wrote them to.

As a teenager, my words did become much more angsty and confused, caught up in the melodrama of puberty. Yet despite all the angst and confusion, I still loved words. I wrote poetry and songs, slowly trying to perfect my craft. When I was in my late teens, and thankfully rid of teenage spots and the trauma of unrequited love, I tried writing a proper story. It ended up being about someone I worked with, but it was my first bash at trying to write my first romantic book. What of that book, you may wonder? With a shudder, I can confirm that it's been banished to the dark and unseen confines of a battered old folder, never likely to see the light of day.

As love stories go, it was fucking terrible. However, it only made me more determined to write that elusive great love story. Yes, I would write my first proper book, and it would be one that I'd be happy for the world to see.

Then one unsuspecting day, I was hit with a wonderful idea. I call such an idea, my Eureka Moments. After reading many erotic romance novels, I was more in love than ever with words. If written well, an erotic romance story completely and utterly woos the reader. It has the power to make them feel all levels of emotions: sadness, love, lust, jealousy, arousal, happiness, confusion, and anger. I wanted to be able to do that. I wanted to be a writer who had such a power. I wanted to be able to take my readers on an emotional journey. I wanted them to fall in love as my characters fell in love. I wanted them to almost live and breathe every single thing that my lead characters did. I wanted them to feel so fucking horny after one of my sex scenes that they'd need to jump the bones of the nearest person with a pulse. Failing to find such a willing candidate, their own hands would have to help them out with that burning sexual frustration, which they may have acquired after a session with one of my filthy scenes. My point is, as a writer, I wanted them to feel every one of my evocative and emotional words: every single one.

When I wrote my first novel, Parted Words, I had no real idea what I was doing. I stupidly thought that traditional publishing was the only way to publish a book. So I did my research. I tried to write up a shit-hot synopsis, with a charming yet funny query letter to accompany it. Then I sent my manuscript out to as many publishers as possible that took submissions in my chosen genre. I was absolutely fucking clueless. I think I only had two courtesy emails back, out of about fifty. As a writer, if I had a pair of balls, that was a publishers way of kicking me right in them. It bloody hurt that I wasn't even able to get my eager foot in the elusive literary door. So after too much time wallowing, drinking vodka, and eating far too much chocolate, I had a major rethink.

That rethink was to independently publish. I was going to try my hand at becoming an indie author. I kind of liked how it sounded, too. I was this whip cracking, dusty hatted, awesome writer about to kick the ass of the author world! Again, I did my research. I began reading other indies' work. Shit me! There was, and is, such AH-MAZING talent out there. I kept wondering why in the hell weren't all of these fabulous authors' books out on the shelves of every High Street book retailer? I was in awe of such writers; they literally inspired me. So I tentatively set up my author page on Twitter and Facebook, as A B Blair. I was officially letting the world know that I
was a writer.

Then I began reaching out to some of those incredible authors, asking for pointers in the right direction. I was welcomed into the indie world with open, authorly arms. As strange as it may sound, I felt like I'd walked into a place that just felt like home to me. I quickly began making friends with other authors, bloggers, avid readers, and supporters of indie authors. I finally felt like I was exactly where I needed to be, with people that I needed to be with, all in a virtual way of course. Every person that I had befriended wasn't actually local to me, yet close friendships and support networks were strongly forged. Such wonderful people were only ever a tap away. Beyond the screen, I finally belonged. As odd as it may sound, these people truly understood my passion. They understood how important my words were to me.

That's not to say that I didn't have wonderful real friends. I did and still do. It's just that they never fully understood how my characters became so very ingrained in me. How their voices in my head would constantly talk to me; waking me up at all hours with a killer tag line or a powerful scene, that just wouldn't go away unless I wrote them down. Some people just didn't get that. Nor did they understand how much work goes into being an indie author. There's not only the research and writing of the book. There's the countless read throughs, editing, formatting, hours of searching through stock photos, designing teasers and banners, self-promotion, interaction with fans, maintaining your author pages. . . . seriously, the list just goes on and on and on!

Now two years on, since my first independently published book, I'm finally getting the hang of this author thing. The clever indie that I am, now has a wonderful editor, the backbone of who I am as an author. Her name is Sylvie, and she's from Georgia in the United States. I absolutely thank God for her, each and every single day. Her patience with me is insurmountable. She is as emotionally invested in my books, as I am. Together, we try to create a story that will leave the readers breathless: emotionally and physically, breathless.

You can give me yet another pat on the back, because I also have a fabulous formatter, Anna. She reigns in Adelaide, Australia. She just turns all of my books into something so very pretty. I love how intuitive she is with what I write. She knows exactly what will compliment my story. My readers love her formatting, as do I.

Then there's my fellow Brit Babes, all indie authors that have become gorgeous friends of mine. Saffy, from Barnsley: crazily funny and witty. Emma from Bristol: softly spoken and the sweetest girl ever. Sally, from Glasgow: loud but oh so lovely. Last, but by no means least, Ronnie (short for Veronica) who is from York: patient, kind and incredibly clever. She'd put Bill Gates to shame; such is her technological knowledge. Me? I'm shit in that department. Yup, Ronnie is my go to girl for anything techy.

So those are all my girls. The ones who I pretty much speak to every single day. They're the ones who I bounce ideas off of. The ones who I confide in and trust inexplicably, with all of my authorly woes.

In real life, I have my oldest and dearest friend, KC. Her full and very loathsome name (her words not mine) is Katherine Charlotte Kingston. However, once she got to secondary school, she began using only her initials, because she preferred how they sounded. So Katherine, fashionably became KC. She has been my best friend since we were at primary school together. Speaking frankly, KC has only recently begun to really understand what it's like for me to be an indie author. In the past year, she has been learning all about what I do. Knowing how important my work had become to me, I think she felt that it needed to become important to her, too. She has watched me struggle, as I've been slowly but surely climbing the indie ladder. Now far more aware of what I do, she has quickly become my writer wingman. She helps me with my swag making. She champions all that I do to everyone she meets. She is determined and driven, often kicking me up the ass when I need it. Her day job is in management for a large engineering company. However, she is very hands-on with helping me, now that I have five books out and currently working on my sixth. KC is now the one who chases up the local press and radio stations for me, whenever I have a new book about to be released. I love having her by my side, and I love that she's embraced what I do. Her tenaciousness is something that I absolutely adore. If KC wants something, she goes after it. If she wants something done, it absolutely gets done. Which is why I've asked her to join me on my very first, and shit scary, signing.

I actually thought she was going to piss herself with excitement when I asked her. She already has my book signing table layout perfectly designed and plans on handing out signed pics of me to every single person that comes to the table. "So that no one forgets your sweet and talented face." Is what she keeps proudly telling me. God, I love her!

So that's me, Abby Blair, aka A B Blair, erotic romance writer. Who is twenty-five, still trying to find her feet in the indie world, and who is still trying to find her feet in her very ordinary life.