We have the pleasure of Erica Ridley's company on the blog today!!
She will be answering some questions about herself and her writing.
How do you deal with writer’s block?
If I'm blocked because a scene isn't working or I literally have no idea what should happen next, that usually means I'm way too close to the project and need to take a step back. More often than not, going on a long walk will jog something loose in my brain and let me see where the story needs to go.
Other times, taking my mind off of the problem completely—such as going on a Netflix or TBR binge—provides me with the right amount of distance to find my own answers.
However, if I know exactly what I need to do next but I just don't "feel" like writing, that is not an excuse to spend the next four hours with someone else's characters. I sit myself down in front of the computer and force myself to keep going, no matter how slow and painful it might be. It might take minutes or it might take days, but eventually I'll get my mojo back.
Sometimes the only trick to keeping going is just not stopping.
What do you think is the best way to publish these days?
I think it depends on the book and the author. I have been published multiple times by traditional publishers as well as the indie route. I would do both again. The advantage to traditional publishing is that big publishers are amazing at distribution. With them, my books are in bookstores, grocery stores, and everywhere readers are. The advantage to indie publishing is that authors can offer their readers books that are too “different” to be commercially viable through traditional publishers, who usually try to fit proscribed size and genre limitations. Self-publishing gives more freedom to address niche markets.
What are your favorite genres to read?
I inhaled historical romance until I became published in that genre. Now that I must live and breathe my own books (again and again, throughout the editing process) I frequently find myself turning to other genres in order to disconnect my “writer brain” from what I’m reading. I like to read other styles of romance, mysteries, suspense, paranormal—any novel that hooks me!
What do you do to relax?
I live on a macadamia farm in the rainforests of Costa Rica, so I can’t help but relax when I’m not writing! My front balcony has a rocking chair and a view of a volcano, and my side balcony has a hammock and a view of the largest lake in the country. Before moving to Costa Rica, I was an avid scrapbooker. Now I’m more likely to be found hiking in the middle of the jungle or relaxing on the beach.
Where do you live?
I was born in the United States, and have lived in six different countries. I currently live on a macadamia farm in the rainforests of Costa Rica, and love it immensely. (Except when I’m missing the crepe vendors of France or real Italian gelato.) Given my wanderlust, I wouldn’t be surprised if I found myself somewhere else a few years from now, but for now I’m happy in Costa Rica.
About The Major's Faux Fiancee:
When Major Bartholomew Blackpool learns the girl-next-door from his childhood will be forced into an unwanted marriage, he returns home to play her pretend beau. He figures now that he's missing a leg, a faux fiancée is the best an ex-soldier can get. He admires her pluck, but the lady deserves a whole man—and he'll ensure she gets one.
Miss Daphne Vaughan hates that crying off will destroy Major Blackpool's chances of finding a real bride. She plots to make him jilt her first. Who cares if it ruins her? She never wanted a husband anyway. But the major is equally determined that she break the engagement. With both of them on their worst behavior, neither expects their fake betrothal to lead to love...
Read an Excerpt:
Daphne pulled up short the moment she saw Major Blackpool. She couldn’t help it. Her limbs had frozen in place. For a moment, she even forgot how to breathe. Her heart was the only part of her that still moved, and it was clamoring loud enough to tumble right out of her chest.
Ten years. That was how long it had been. Ten years.
The last time he’d seen her, she’d sported a pinafore and pigtails. And the last time she’d seen him…
There had been two of them.
He and Edmund had been inseparable. Indistinguishable. Always playing tricks and trading places with the other. She’d been one of the few who could tell them apart, although it didn’t matter anymore.
Now there was only one.
“Tolly,” she breathed.
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Laughy Daffy.”
Her heart thundered. His voice was so deep. So… manly.Like the rest of him. She tried not to blush. She couldn’t help but drink him in.
He was taller than she remembered. Her heart beat faster. Of course he was taller. She’d been ten or eleven years of age, and he’d been, what? A lad of fifteen, perhaps? Of course he was taller. And older.
The years had been more than kind. His brown hair was longer. Wilder. His crystalline blue eyes now had laugh lines at the edges, although she doubted he’d found much humor recently. His face was more chiseled, more defined. A faint hint of stubble darkened the line of his jaw.
That brief little quirk was already gone from his lips. She missed it.
He didn’t look like Tolly, puller of pigtails. He looked like Major Bartholomew Blackpool. Soldier. Survivor.
Everything about him was more than she’d expected. His youthful reediness was gone. Broad shoulders and thick muscles filled out a coat that looked as though it had been tailored for someone less powerful.
She’d heard he’d become a rake and a dandy. His more passionate exploits had graced every scandal sheet in the country. As for his sense of fashion… He could not have appeared more handsome if this were his wedding day.
Despite what must have been an entire day’s journey, his cravat was starched perfection. His greatcoat was similarly pristine and devoid of wrinkles. The buckskin of his breeches looked buttery soft and clung to every muscle of his thighs. His Hessians gleamed, as though they had been freshly polished moments before he walked through the door.
She blinked. Hessians. Plural. She’d heard he’d lost a leg in the war trying to save the life of his fallen twin, but as far as she could tell, the boy next door looked nothing short of perfect. No wonder he’d cut a swath through the ton as a dashing rake before setting off for war. She doubted a single bosom failed to tremble in his presence.
Heavens. Daphne wouldn’t have the slightest trouble feigning a betrothal with him. The difficulty would be pretending she wasn’t truly interested. No doubt her flushed cheeks and racing pulse had already given her away.
Amazon Purchase Link:
Meet the Author:
Erica Ridleyis a USA Today best-selling author of historical romance novels. Her latest series, The Dukes of War, features roguish peers and dashing war heroes who return from battle only to be thrust into the splendor and madness of Regency England.
When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found riding camels in Africa, zip-lining through rainforests in Costa Rica, or getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.
Get free stories and 99¢ new releases: http://www.EricaRidley.com/club99
Street Team: http://www.ericaridley.com/street-team