So what's going on?
A bookshelf somewhere in Poland. Seriously cool.
Okay, so I haven’t had a new book out for almost five years. So sue me. (Actually, don’t. I haven’t had a book out for almost five years. My writing income is a tad sluggish these days.) So what have I been doing in those five years? you might ask. Well, let’s see. I got a lot done around the house. I did some laundry, mostly dark loads, but there were a few light ones in there, too. I napped. I ate some snacks. I developed an interest in watercolor painting. Not that I’ve painted anything yet, but I did develop an interest. And eventually—inescapably—I started writing again. It was a nice break. A needed break. But a writer’s brain can’t stay idle for long, I guess, and stories and characters gradually started shouldering their ways back in again.
The loudest of them were some that had been lurking in there since the late nineties. That was when I wrote a trilogy for Silhouette Desire called “Blame It on Bob,” about a wish-granting comet that visits a small southern Indiana town every fifteen years. Those books were probably the most fun I ever had writing, so it wasn’t surprising that remnants of them would still be wandering around in my subconscious. Specifically, those remnants were three fifteen-year-old boys who made a brief appearance in the epilogue of the third Bob book. They were all sitting together near the heroine and hero of that book, who overheard them talking about the wishes they had made on Comet Bob the night before, hoping they would come true the next time Bob came around. Maybe it was in my head, even back then, that I’d want to write about those nameless, faceless boys at some point in the future, because that was exactly what happened. All three of them pushed ahead of everyone else in my brain (it gets crowded in there sometimes). All three suddenly had names and faces, and all of them had stories to tell me. So I wrote them down for you to—I hope—enjoy.
Other things going on are that I really need to get some stuff done around the house, on account of we bought a townhouse during the pandemic that’s nowhere near close to where we want it to be. I also have some laundry to do. And I could also use a nap. And some snacks. And there are some tubes of watercolors I got for Christmas just begging to be opened. Then again, there are a few more characters—a few more stories—tugging at my brain, too. Truth be told, they’d make a nice trilogy…
The loudest of them were some that had been lurking in there since the late nineties. That was when I wrote a trilogy for Silhouette Desire called “Blame It on Bob,” about a wish-granting comet that visits a small southern Indiana town every fifteen years. Those books were probably the most fun I ever had writing, so it wasn’t surprising that remnants of them would still be wandering around in my subconscious. Specifically, those remnants were three fifteen-year-old boys who made a brief appearance in the epilogue of the third Bob book. They were all sitting together near the heroine and hero of that book, who overheard them talking about the wishes they had made on Comet Bob the night before, hoping they would come true the next time Bob came around. Maybe it was in my head, even back then, that I’d want to write about those nameless, faceless boys at some point in the future, because that was exactly what happened. All three of them pushed ahead of everyone else in my brain (it gets crowded in there sometimes). All three suddenly had names and faces, and all of them had stories to tell me. So I wrote them down for you to—I hope—enjoy.
Other things going on are that I really need to get some stuff done around the house, on account of we bought a townhouse during the pandemic that’s nowhere near close to where we want it to be. I also have some laundry to do. And I could also use a nap. And some snacks. And there are some tubes of watercolors I got for Christmas just begging to be opened. Then again, there are a few more characters—a few more stories—tugging at my brain, too. Truth be told, they’d make a nice trilogy…
About Elizabeth Bevarly
The rabid badger is more at deadline time.
Elizabeth Bevarly is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of eighty novels and novellas whose books have been translated into two dozen languages and published in three dozen countries. An honors graduate of the University of Louisville, she has called home such exotic places as San Juan, Puerto Rico and Haddonfield, New Jersey, but she now resides full-time in her native Kentucky.
When she's not writing, she's binge-watching documentaries on weird stuff, experimenting with soup recipes, or dancing to Electro Swing while no one is watching. At least she doesn't think anyone is watching. Holy crap, she hopes not. Because that would be super embarrassing. Anyway, her patronus is a rabid badger. (It's a long story.)
Elizabeth Bevarly is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of eighty novels and novellas whose books have been translated into two dozen languages and published in three dozen countries. An honors graduate of the University of Louisville, she has called home such exotic places as San Juan, Puerto Rico and Haddonfield, New Jersey, but she now resides full-time in her native Kentucky.
When she's not writing, she's binge-watching documentaries on weird stuff, experimenting with soup recipes, or dancing to Electro Swing while no one is watching. At least she doesn't think anyone is watching. Holy crap, she hopes not. Because that would be super embarrassing. Anyway, her patronus is a rabid badger. (It's a long story.)