Where the magic happens…
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Guest author Eliza Knight: Where The Magic Happens . . .
Where the magic happens…
I love that show cribs, where you get see where actors, models and other famous people live. I wish we could see author houses! So today, I’m going to give you my “office cribs”. Here’s where the magic happens…
You see a lot of writers having these beautiful writing spaces. Not me. My writer space is in utter chaos… I have no problem confessing that my space gives my husband nightmares, and when we have guests he begs me to clean it up. (And believe it or not, the rest of my house is actually quite neat!) But it is my functioning chaos, lol. I did not bother to clean up before I took the picture to show you, because I thought you should see it in for what it really is!
My “office” is in my kitchen—I’m lucky that my kitchen is large enough that I was able to commandeer part of it for my work. I used to have an office, but then we had three kids… and well, they needed bedrooms right? J But honestly, it is the best place for me. It is central to the house, and since one of my little darlings is still at home, and she hangs out in the kitchen a lot, it’s easier for me to work there. I can also hear the kids upstairs or if they are playing in the family room in our basement. It is also very close to the Keurig for instant refills on coffee.
Let me walk you through my space…
I use a desktop—although I have a couple laptops loitering around the bottom of my desk that I use from time to time. I sit upon my “Queen” chair, as I call it. My mouse pad was made for me by a lovely author friend of mine, BJ Scott. I love it! It has my book covers on it and pics of my girls, and it says my name and Author & Mom. See my printer??? Would you believe I lived as a writer without a printer for years? I just got that printer about 6 months ago. As a primarily digital author, I didn’t need a printer. If I had something to print, I just used the printer at the local copy office or at the library.
Moving on… What is all that paper???? Like everywhere???? I tape all sorts of things onto my desk—lists, words I like, phrases, schedules, pictures. Research papers, notes, there are books and magazines and notebooks buried there that I am using. You see an ARC I just finished reading that I have to review. Front and center (Right below the ARC) is my planner.
My coffee has a place on the desk. A prominent place—easy for grabbing.
Right beside my desk is my bookshelf—filled front and back with research books and books to review. (I would be lying if I said that was my only bookshelf… In our family room I have two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled… I also have commandeered ½ of my china cabinet for books and I have another bookshelf in my bedroom, and a bin under the living room couch filled with books. I am a book hoarder, no doubt.
Between my desk and the bookcase are boxes of my own print books that I take to signings or give away.
So while some of you may look at this picture and run screaming, I say to the rest of you—this is how I write, and as a prolific writer, it seems to work for me :-)
What would be your perfect writing space? One lucky commenter will win an ebook copy of my new release, LADY SEDUCTRESS’S BALL.
Eliza Knight is the multi-published author of sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain, and enjoys cold winter nights when she can curl up in front of a roaring fire with her own knight in shining armor. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog, History Undressed, which was recently mentioned in a feature article in The Wall Street Journal. www.historyundressed.blogspot.com
Invitation to Pleasure
As the wife of the elderly Earl of March, Olivia Covington has never known the intimacies of the bedroom. Though her curiosity is piqued by the shocking whispers of society ladies, she is too wary of causing scandal to indulge in an affair. But Tristan Knightley, Earl of Newcastle, tempts her to throw off propriety.
Tristan wants Olivia for his own, and has sworn off all others until he can rid himself of the obsession. He is sure once he has a taste, he will tire of her, and can return to his rakish existence. Unable to wait to have her in his bed, he invites her for a tryst at Lady Seductress's Ball.
Oh, if only circumstances and the situation were different.
She hurried down a dark corridor toward the back door, where she could seek solace and fresh air in her gardens. The house was just too stuffy and warm. What she really wanted to do was have him follow her up to her bedroom and reenact all of her dreams, only this time have it end with a deep and thorough plundering.
One must not covet what one cannot have. The voice of her governess popped into her head. Had that woman ever dealt with this type of situation? A short laugh burst from her as she imagined her stiff, gray governess. She doubted it. If she had, the woman certainly would never had said that to her.
Olivia did covet exquisite lovemaking, lovemaking that left her warm and sated, and she wanted it with a dark and handsome man. One filled with muscle and sensual magnetism.
She opened the door and a gush of cool evening air flowed over her flesh. She breathed in the smell of her flowers and all the scents spring brought with it. The sun had long since set leaving the sky a sparkling mirage of stars and the moon—oddly visible through the London smog. The moon afforded her the light she needed to walk the garden path to her gazebo. It was a tranquil place that she often came for relaxation. She needed that peace now more than ever.
Her dreams tormented her and the man himself tempted her.
What was she to do? A moral woman wouldn’t even think twice about it. Perhaps she ought to start taking a sleeping draught so as not to dream about him. When her mother had taken the tincture, she slept like the dead, saying her dreams were all but nonexistent. Of course her mother was having night terrors and not the scandalous couplings Olivia’s dreams embodied.
Yes, perhaps she would speak to the physician when he came out to see her husband. He would surely agree to it if she explained that she was so stressed about her husband’s health that she could no longer sleep.
He need not know that steamy kisses, wandering hands and seductive gray eyes haunted her sleep. She stepped into the gazebo.
She whirled around and jumped a little. Her foot caught on the hem of her dress, nearly tumbling her to the ground. She quickly righted herself, smoothed her skirts and patted her hair before facing the man who’d startled her.
It was the Earl of Newcastle bathed in the sultry moonlight. Lord, he was handsome. And every move he made dripped sensuality. She felt herself taking a step closer to him, if only to feel the heat floating around his hard, lithe body.
“My lord,” she said with a curtsy, her voice a throaty whisper.