Words Escape Me

thCAKDAQNYI’ve stopped writing. It’s not a joke. I wish it were, but I can’t think of a freaking thing to say. I’ve frantically read the posts about writer’s block, but seriously, they don’t pertain to me.

I’ve never considered myself to be a writer, so the advice doesn’t apply. Not an honest to God writer like, Norah Roberts or some of the other famous well-known romance authors. I DABBLE with words. They poured out of me when I could write. Not necessarily in a way that made sense, but at least they flowed through my fingers and ended in some makeshift form onto a page. Now, all I have is a blank screen. It’s been that way for weeks, and it’s beginning to freak me out.

Writers tell you to write every day. Sorry, but I’m sick of writing grocery lists or things-to-do lists. Does that count? Is it writing? It’s barely two-hundred words, certainly not the minimum twenty-five hundred words they recommend. I don’t have twenty-five hundred words in me.

Deep down, I knew this would end. I was an accountant. Accountants don’t write. They understand numbers, not words. At least now I have a cause for my dried up brain.

My writer friends try to encourage me. “Write anything,” they say.

“Like what? I can’t think of anything. That’s the problem,” I counter in despair.

“Write one sentence. It will come.”


I open a new word doc and write, ‘Mary loves John.’ . . . I DON’T THINK SO.

“It’s not working,” I lament.

“Then read. It will inspire you.”

So I read. And I read. And I read. Great books and not such great books, but I read. All day. All night. I read until, my eyes blur, and I fall asleep clutching my Kindle.

It doesn’t help. I hate the authors. How dare they flaunt their talent in my face?

“Trust me, you’ll get it back. One of these days, it will be there.”

“Shut-up, you wench.”

I hear laughter. My friends find this amusing. They’re laughing at my distress. They are so not taking me seriously. But it’s better than the ‘tut-tut’ of sympathy.

“It’s back,” I lie. “I’m writing.”

“I knew you would. What’s it about.”

“It’s the best writing I’ve done, ever. It’s a secret.” More lies.

“Can’t wait to read it.” The ‘pat’ response to any writer. I’m beginning to see how fake some of these phrases are. No one can read that many books. Not even me, as I devour at least six a week; more if I don’t fall asleep.

“How’s it coming?” My concerned writer friends ask.

More lies. Always lies. I pretend I’m about to unveil the greatest book since the Outlander series took the romance world by storm. Instead of Mary loves John, I should start with; Claire loves Jamie. Maybe that would inspire me.

I disappear for days. Not literally disappear, but I am absent on social media and messenger. My lies begin to get to me.

I gradually make my way back. I miss the quizzes. You know, like; which house should you live in? Castle, if anyone is interested.

“Hi.” What else can I say? I throw it out there hoping they haven’t forgotten me.

“Hey,” I was worried about you. I called, but you didn’t answer. I thought you were probably deep into your manuscript.”

Oh, God! I must confess. “I scrapped it.” It’s better than saying it didn’t exist. A half-lie.


Outlander has already been written.” I start to laugh. Hysterically. Losing it.

“Oh my God! You need help. Write a blog.”

So I did.

Book cover 9313 029Patricia Hudson was born in Wales, U.K. As a young girl she moved to America with her family and currently resides on a small horse farm in central Illinois, with her husband, David, two dogs, and her beloved quarter horse.
She has written seven books: Stolen Hearts released in 2013. The Call, Love on the Double T, Love’s Deception, and The Exchange to be published in 2014. Also in production are Bear Run and Jana Morgan, PI.
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Read her blogs on https://patriciahudson1011.wordpress.com


Falling Out of Love With My Manuscript

Yikes! I pushed the send button. What was I thinking? It’s not ready. If I read it one more time, I know I can improve it.

Do all authors think these thoughts when they submit a manuscript? I do and more. Some I can’t share on a public blog site.

I’m what they call an early sender. I have to be. If I read my manuscript one more time, I’m going to send it to the trash bin. I’m sick of the characters, sick of the plot. What I knew was good after the third read, is now a boring mish-mash of uninteresting characters whom I hate. I really don’t care anymore if Ian and Gwyn get back together or if Bronwyn ever falls in love. Let them figure out their own problems.

It was suggested that I do a sequel. I laughed hysterically. “That means I have to read the bloody book again. I don’t remember the details.” I quipped to the person who knows me and my fickle nature.

I did end up writing a sequel. I loved the book for as long as it took me to write it. But like all the others, I fell out of love.

I’m very unfaithful. I’ve written nine books in two years. Thank goodness my personal life isn’t as chaotic. I assure you, I’m happily married and have been for thirty plus years. My infidelities only happen on paper.

I envy the writer who remains faithful to their novels. The author who remembers every detail, every kiss, every word spoken between the heroine and the hero. My CP can recite passages from her works. She remembers in detail what they wore, how they looked, how they felt.

If I’m asked about my books, I have to struggle to remember the names of the main characters. I often get my characters mixed up. Sarah is the horse trainer, not the Behavioral Psychologist for the Chicago Police Department. Her name is Kate or is it Angharad. No, Angharad is the witch.

Maybe, I should write sequels, the names would be easier to remember. Alas, that isn’t true either. I wrote the sequel using the wrong name for the antagonist and had to do a search to change the name when I discovered my error on the third read through. I wrote the wrong name fifty-one times. By then, I was clenching my teeth and rooting for her.

Today, I sent it off. Ready or not. It was either send or trash, and I chose send. The thought of Ian in the trash still hurt a bit.

I hope I’m not alone. I never hear anyone talk about their books in anything but the most loving terms. Don’t get me wrong, months later, I can remember them with fond, if not vague, memories.


Released 2014
Stolen Hearts:
To find Stolen Hearts on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Stolen-Hearts-ebook/dp/BooE3LMF71
Coming in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:
The Call April, 2014
Love on the Double T May, 2014
Moody Gallery Summer, 2014
The Exchange September, 2014
Jana Morgan, P.I., The Case of the Mississippi River Murders

It’s Time to Fess Up

I have owned horses for eighteen years.  I have loved them, cared for them, bred them, and comforted them as they passed from this world. Horses are who I am. I am also afraid of them. You read it right. I’m afraid of horses. I know you’re shaking your head, but it’s true. I’m afraid of horses.

I guess the key here is that I love them more than I fear them.

You’re a writer. Isn’t it the same for you? You love writing more than you fear rejection. It’s the beauty of what we do. Love pushes us further than we would dare to go without it. We’ll climb the mountain, jump off the cliff, run into the burning building, run the marathon, all because we are passionate about what we do. We conquer that demon called fear.

It’s a gift, the ability to conquer our demon. Without it we would sit on the sideline cheering on those who dare. We don’t always think about it. We take three deep breaths open our laptop and press the keys. Sometimes the demon sneaks in and whispers in our ear. “You’re wasting your time. You could be doing ………fill in the blank. No one is going to want your manuscript.”

But you love to write more than you fear rejection. You plunge ahead with the story you love. You’re filled with joy as the story progresses. You fall in love with your characters. You dance when it’s finished. You edit and polish and edit and polish and you send it off to the publishing company or agent. You love to write more than you fear rejection.

Casey and her foal

That’s how I feel about horses. The fear is there when I walk into the stall with the mama and her foal staring me down.  The fear is there when I wonder if either will hurt me. The fear is there knowing they may reject me. But love pushes me on.

How do I describe the feeling when the foal takes that first step toward me, then runs back behind her mama’s legs to hide.  Her little face peaks out and eyes me. Her curiosity kicks in. And then a second step and a third until her sweet little muzzle is buried in my hand.

I love horses more than I fear them.

I love to write more than I fear rejection.





Stolen Hearts    http://www.amazon.com/Stolen-Hearts-ebook/dp/B00E3LMF7I/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1383066373&sr=8-4&keywords=stolen+Hearts

Release in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

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The Promotional Quagmire


The Promotional Quagmire


It was midnight, and my critique partner and I were still discussing the science of promoting books. Both new authors, it was AP Physics for us. Someone suggested we join Twitter. We became clicking fools, clicking away at the follow button. She was better at it than me. She’d clicked over a thousand followers compared to my paltry three hundred and fifty. I was jealous.

“April, do you really think this is going to help? All we’re doing is following authors. We need readers.”

She responded with a sigh, “I know, but the authors have followers.”

“It’s not going to help unless they share our tweets. Do you actually think they’re going to do that?”

“Just click,” she responded.

We were thrilled when we received a follow from someone with ninety one thousand followers. We spent fifteen minutes talking about how that’s even possible.  He must have a program that does it for him, we concurred. I Googled him to see what wonderful author had that many followers.

“April, he’s a porn star,” I lamented

“Oh my, should we unfollow him?”

“What happens if we do that? I’m going to unfollow you. Let me know if you receive an email informing you of my despicable action.”

I hit the unfollow button. I was anxious to know what punishment Twitter would dole out when I did this. There were a few unfollows I had my sights on. For those of you out there who thank your followers without a follow, it’s very irritating. I received great pleasure in hitting the unfollow button for these writers who made me feel like an outsider.

Nothing happened with the unfollow click. It snuck by under the radar of the twitter police. I went to town on my unfollow button. Oh it made me feel better, not to mention it improved my ratio of follows to following. Yes, we tracked this like good statisticians.

Next, we zeroed in on WordPress. I count my blessings every day that I found April for a critique partner. She pulls me kicking and screaming through the world of blogging and posting.

“I can’t blog,” I whined.

“You have too. It’s one of the musts to get the word out.” April advised

“If they read my blog, they’ll never buy a book. Trust me on this.”

April was busy posting beautiful poetry and I had a blank page. Heck I’d better do something. I wrote a blog. Of course, my brilliant partner had to put it on WordPress. I had no clue how.

“It’s working. Blogging helps.” She told me just last night. “I’m getting likes on Twitter and Facebook.”

“Wonderful,” I respond. This time, I seriously had to hide my jealousy. I’d just checked my blog, which still had zero likes. It had three on hers. Who does that? Why not like it on the writers…so rude?

“Write me a poem,” I begged.  It must be her poetry that’s bringing in the fans. After all, anyone who writes poetry must be a fabulous writer.

“About what,” she asks.

“I don’t care…a horse. I just need a poem.” I knew if I got a poem on my site, they would come in droves.

And so it goes. It’s a nightly thing with us, trying to work through the secrets of promotion.

Does anyone out there have a poem for me?




Stolen Hearts    http://www.amazon.com/Stolen-Hearts-ebook/dp/B00E3LMF7I/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1383066373&sr=8-4&keywords=stolen+Hearts

Released in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

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