When I was little, I was forever making stuff up. It could be a simple explanation (why the snow blew west to east), or it could be complex (what dreams were really made of). It never failed to fascinate me how there were adult explanations for things and then my explanations for things. I tended to quite like my explanations better because, really, who wouldn’t want to think wild and crazy ideas might—just might—be seated in truth?
Most people grow out of that fanciful stage. I, too, grew, but instead of growing up, I simply grew worse. There were a thousand explanations for why people did the things they did and a million reasons others reacted in kind. I came up with wild worlds and crazy scenarios that kept me entertained when I, uh, should’ve been studying in college, paying attention at my wedding rehearsal, asking intelligent questions pre-surgery – you know, the general stuff. Then, instead of feeding that creativity, I let life suck it right out of me. It was a shame, sitting and watching it suffocate without any sense of remorse. Deep down, I always thought I’d get back to it later. When? I didn’t know. Just “later.”
Years passed, years I know now were wasted, as I pursued more tangible things than the stories building in my head. Always, though, my creativity would bubble up at the most inopportune times and demand to be heard. Usually it dragged my humor along with it and the two would get me into trouble, even if it was just laughing at myself.
More years passed. I found myself jobless in my early thirties and at a total loss with what to do with myself. My creativity began to whisper. Small suggestions at first, those little voices grew in depth and breadth, and they demanded to be heard. My darling husband encouraged me to see which way the creative winds would blow, and I found myself writing like a madwoman. There weren’t enough hours in the day to get my ideas out. I was alive again. The only thing I can liken it to was nearly suffocating and being given a direct hit of oxygen. I could breathe. And my creativity? First, it flourished. Then? It took over.
I’ve been writing for three years now, and it’s been an amazing whirlwind of activity. My dream agent chose to represent me, I’ve sold several books and now? Now I’m with Harlequin! Talk about a total dream come true! My first release, Immortal Desire, came out on December 1, 2013. The sequel, Pure Desire, is scheduled for March 1, 2014. I hope you enjoy the stories. They’re the beginnings of what I hope will be a long, long journey with you.
Contest: Interested in winning a digital copy of Immortal Desire? Leave a comment describing your favorite type of hero. One winner will be picked at random and contacted by December 31. Good luck!
Rules: Must be at least 18 years of age or older to enter. Must be able to receive digital copy. Copy will be individual use only and will not be redistributed in any form. All federal, state and local rules will apply. No purchase necessary. Winner will be drawn at random. Neither Harlequin nor author are liable for any claims related to or arising from this contest. Winner will be notified by email on or before December 31, 2013.
About the Author:
From stable hand to a name on the door of a corporate America office, Denise Tompkins has been many things. (Never a waitress, though. Thank you cards for her sparing the unsuspecting public from this catastrophe can be sent in care of her agent.) Writing has always been her passion, though, and writing romance? An absolute dream come true. Her theory is that a kiss should be meaningful regardless of length, a hero can say as much with a well-written look as he can with a long-winded paragraph and heroines are meant to hold their own. She’s no Cinderella and Shakespeare wrote the only Romeo and Juliet, so Denise sticks to women who can save themselves and tortured heroes who are loathe to let them.
Denise and her husband live in the south, where all foods are considered fry-able and bugs die only to be reborn in bloodsucking triplicate. Visit her online at www.denise-tompkins.com anytime.