When did you decide to pursue writing seriously?

        I wrote as a child, fun little stories, and as a teen I was the reporter for a club in high school. I’d even applied and was accepted for a journalism program for college, but chose a different route. It wasn’t until 2005 that I started writing fiction seriously. It was then that an idea popped into my head and instead of just thinking it would make a good book, I actually wrote the idea down. Back then I really had no clue why I was doing it. I just needed to do it and I felt accomplished just getting the words down. And then when I actually finished an entire novel—wow! That was something! And I wanted others to read and enjoy what I had created…that’s when I started looking into publication.

How did you choose what genre to write – or did it choose you?

        It truly did choose me! I am a romantic, through and through, and combining love and laughter has always appealed to me for books and movies. I have always been drawn to a happily-ever-after! When I started writing…I just wrote. I wrote what I knew, what I liked. At that time, I had no clue what genre was all about. It wasn’t until I started researching the route I had to take for publication that I learned about classifying what I wrote.

Tell us a little about your writing process. How do you get from idea to completed draft?

        Every tiny spark of an idea gets a file in my “Project Ideas” folder on my computer. When it’s time to start a new project, I peruse this file and see what grabs me. Then I take it from there. Sometimes I outline, sometimes I don’t. I am guided 100% by inspiration. If I’m inspired and there’s no time to think about an outline, I don’t. I just go with it and jot down ideas for the rest of the story as they come. I sometimes go back and outline when I’m stumped on where to go next in the story. When I’m in full-on creative mode—which means writing only, no editing—I set a 1000 word goal for each day. I wish I could set a higher goal, but with two kids, it’s just not a reality for me right now. But when the younger one is in school…I will be writing all day long! Heaven!  I can usually get a first draft done pretty quickly. My debut, A Bitch Named Karma, was written in about two months. Then I go back and edit- grammar and such, add in more description and detail, tie up loose ends, etc… That process varies…depends on what’s going on in my life.

What are some of your favorite authors to read?

        I am such a sucker for a coming of age story, which doesn’t necessarily have to be about teens!! I love Ann Brashares and the way she effortlessly writes characters you love and root for and their bonds of friendship. I love Emily Giffin and Ally Carter and you can’t beat Judy Blume!

What do you like do when you're not writing?

        I have always had my hands into crafty things, so I adore scrapbooking and other various crafts. I love to dance, golf and read (of course) and love playing dancing and singing games on Wii! Oh yeah, and I have this slight obsession with Walt Disney World too! 

How do you balance writing with the other aspects of your life?

        Sometimes it’s really tough. I am extremely lucky in that we can afford for me to stay home with our kids. We aren’t swimming in cash, but we make it work! My oldest is in school, full day, but my youngest is still at home with me. Luckily he takes a very nice nap every afternoon, giving me a good three hours of quiet time! The hardest for me though is the weekends and having to choose between writing and spending time with my family.

        Who is your favorite literary character or couple

Is it totally cliché to say Rhett and Scarlet??? LOL! Who doesn’t love a woman who gets what she wants and lets nothing or no one stand in her way? And in that day and age, it was even more admirable. And Rhett….to see this arrogant man, but all he wants is the woman he loves to return his affections. It’s fire and passion from start to finish….though the lack of a happily-ever-after ending does leave me wishing for more!

        Is there anything else you'd like to add?

Thanks so much for having me!!! Make sure you check out my blog: www.thewriterscocoon.blogspot.com and enter to win a digital copy of A Bitch Named Karma!

Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwapLeZQqw8

Blurb:

Karma may be a bitch, but sometimes she knows what she’s doing.

When author Lexi Marshall’s perfectly fabulous life of designer clothes, nights on the town with her sexy boyfriend, and a successful writing career literally go up in flames, she must take on Karma and fight to gain control over her life.

Lexi believes her cliché-filled novels are the reason for Karma’s wrath and after a high calorie pity party, she’s determined to rebuild her life to what it once was...that is, until her gynecologist utters a phrase she never expected or wanted to hear: she’s pregnant. Unfortunately, the father is her fresh out-of-the-closet best friend and not the new man in her life.

I stomped down the hall, ready to raise some hell. A hand-written sign had been plastered to the door: Sheila Brown—Editor. The scent of a black Sharpie wafted into my nostrils as I pounded on the door. I heard a screechy “Come in” and found a middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk.

She flipped through a manuscript and didn’t look up when I strode through the door. “I’ve read all your books, Ms. Marshall, including the latest.”

“Oh, I see.”

She was well prepared for only being on the job one day.

“Marisol Takes Manhattan, your newest and first in a series.” She paused to push her glasses up on her nose, and I awaited her praise. “It absolutely sucks.”

Feeling like a vacuum had sucked all the air out of my lungs, I struggled for oxygen. Everything around me went gray and the words “absolutely sucks” echoed in my brain over and over. I’d slaved over this book for the better part of six months, making every sentence perfect.

A shrill laugh blared into my ears. It sounded familiar. I couldn’t place it, but knew it didn’t come from Sheila. She sat emotionless.

“What do you mean? Are you sure you read the whole thing?”

“Yes, every boring, plotless, cliché-filled word.”

The room started to spin and a tingle radiated throughout my legs. Fearful that I might black out, I moved a box of office supplies from a chair and sat down. I breathed slowly and deeply, staring at her, wondering if I’d heard her right. How could she possibly say that? I was Lexi Marshall—a multi-published author. Women adored my books. They devoured them. This malicious statement insulted every fiber of my being.

My temperature began to rise as bewilderment changed to anger. Ms. Editor handed me my disc, then ripped some sheets from a legal pad and shoved those at me, too. They were filled top to bottom with chicken scratch.

“I made notes for you. Revise and have it back to me in two weeks.”

Finally finding the confidence and attitude I’d possessed before entering her office, I asked, “And what if I refuse?”

“Then you can try and sell your garbage to another publisher.”

* * * *

I left the office, stomping down the street with my jaw clenched tight like a pit bull’s. I expected the pressure to crumble my teeth, but instead it gave me a massive atom-bomb-like headache.

How could this happen? Women everywhere loved my books. This Sheila had no friggin’ clue. Who the hell was she to tell me how to write my novel? An archaic, styleless shrew couldn’t possibly know what today’s fashion forward woman wanted to read.

I seethed and walked on, remembering my massage appointment. The thought of hot rocks being rubbed on my skin sounded excruciatingly painful. I just wanted to go home and drown myself in a bottle of my favorite cabernet. The fact that it was only ten o’clock in the morning meant zero to me.

I keyed into my apartment and Cha Cha ran up to me, jumping around, her tiny painted nails scratching at my leg. A hyper dog was the last thing I needed to deal with. Pushing her away, I grabbed the wine from the kitchen and walked toward the bedroom. My body yearned for the high-powered jets of the whirlpool tub.

As I approached the door, high and low pitched moans sounded from behind it like a porno flick on full volume. Were Betty and Floyd screwing again? My eighty-year-old neighbor’s bedroom butted up against mine. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d heard them getting it on mid-day, but they’d never been this loud before. I walked into my bedroom and found two naked bodies on top of my velvet duvet, the woman wearing my black hooker boots. Zak’s hairless, perfectly tanned ass pumped up and down and neither of them even noticed me there. I threw the bottle of wine on the floor, shattering it on the hardwood.

“Oh my God!” the woman exclaimed, pulling a purple beaded bolster pillow in front of her. My boyfriend lay naked between her thighs and her first thought was to cover her flabby boobs?

Zak jumped off the bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, so you weren’t screwing this slut just now? I didn’t hear her screaming your name?”

He stood there, a bright pink condom still standing erect. He looked to the floor and I took this simple action as an admission of guilt.

“How could you?” I managed to ask, looking from Zak to the woman. “And in my boots!”

I turned and ran from the apartment, flew down three flights of stairs to the street and kept on running. I didn’t know where to go, but I had to get away.

As my feet pounded on the pavement, I heard the laughing again, this time even louder. Could everyone on the street hear it, or just me?

Surely I looked like a crazy woman as I ran down the sidewalk dodging in and around pedestrians, nearly taking a header into a produce stand. I slowed down after that—last thing I needed was a concussion. Couples walked past, holding hands, cuddling. Yeah, they looked all mushy and lovey-dovey on the outside but I bet those women didn’t know. The guys were probably getting some on the side, too. I scowled at a passing male and when I wasn’t paying attention, the heel of my favorite pair of Manolos caught in a sidewalk vent and snapped off.

“Can this day get any worse?” I asked the gods, an invitation for more disaster. As the words came out of my mouth the sky darkened and a feeling of doom enveloped me. A truck zoomed by, splashing my cream cashmere coat with the dirtiest, grime-filled muck water imaginable.

Thanks so much for the wonderful interview and that great excerpt, Stephanie! Sounds like an excellent read.