How did publishing your first book change your process of
writing?
Publishing my first book changed my writing process because
I had to develop the process. The first book took several years to write. As
soon as I set-up the pre-order, I realized I couldn’t waste any time if I
wanted to get all of my stories out of my head and onto the page. I began
taking all sorts of craft classes and productivity seminars and have continued
to hone my process.
What did you do with your first advance?
With my first advance, I paid for editing and covers for the
next books in the series. I started with self-publishing, had the second in the
series picked up by Kindle Press via the Kindle Scout program, and then paid
for the rest of the books. Those stories are now only available in serialized
format on Radish but taught me a lot about the business.
How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?
I don’t have any half-finished books but I do have five
unpublished books on my computer. Unpublished doesn’t mean uncontracted. Only
two of those are brand-new, need to go on submission, projects. If I start
something, I finish it.
What does literary success look like to you?
I LOVE this question because I think figuring out what
success means is the number one best thing an author can do for themselves.
Literary success to me is continuing to publish my romances and connect with
readers, building my audience year after year.
What period of your life do you find you write about most
often? (child, teenager, young adult)
I find that I most often want to write about whatever period
of my life I’m living at the moment. I’m a no regrets sort of person. I don’t
look back with longing or pain for the past. I like to look forward because I
believe the best is yet to come.
Do you hide any secrets in your books that only a few
people will find?
I hide a lot of inside jokes in my books. I’ve reused funny
things my husband and kids have said. I included the secret handshake I use
with my mom. And I’ve given a lot of characters quirks from my dad. My mom
loves to read my books and spot things (often, by the time the book is
published I forgot what I snuck in) and call me to laugh.
What was your hardest scene to write?
The hardest scene to write is always the final scene because
I’m never ready to end. By the time I’ve reached the last pages, I’ve gotten to
know and enjoy the characters and story. I hate saying goodbye. The best part
about Finders Keepers, Cowboy is that it launches a brand-new trilogy.
So it wasn’t goodbye as much as see you soon.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
I believe that if someone is convinced something is real it
is. To them. If someone tells me, I’ve seen a ghost, I agree automatically.
Because that person, in their perception, has seen a ghost. My doubt won’t
convince them otherwise. I don’t believe in writer’s block for me. I believe in
I can’t see around this problem so I’m going to procrastinate. To get
myself out of that, I do something completely different (usually a chore or
physical task) and find the answers.
Book Blurb:
Meg Hawke’s antique store is faltering. When her
octogenarian neighbor Hank asks her to clean out his shed and sell antiques on
consignment, she has a real chance at discovering forgotten treasure. If she
steps foot on the Montana ranch, however, she’ll come face-to-face with her
childhood frenemy and Hank’s grandson, Ryan.
After selling off the ranch’s cattle years before, Ryan
Kincaid dove into the world of high-end tourism, devoting everything to the
business. For his sanity, he avoids his annoying known-her-since-childhood
neighbor, Meg. With the forced proximity of the shed project happening in his
backyard, though, he’s singing a different tune. Perhaps he’d been wrong about
her.
A
surprise discovery spurs both change and challenge, and they’re forced to
choose the potential of ever-after or forget each other and finally move on
forever.
Book Excerpt:
Ryan held his hat over his heart, muffling the
sound of his pounding chest. In the antique store, he was too much. If he
lifted his arms, he was liable to knock something off a shelf. When he spoke,
his voice was too loud and shook the baubles hanging off the chandelier. He
didn’t fit.
Wide open spaces suited him best. He preferred
the outdoors with no obstructions. He didn’t have to be mindful of anything
more than his task.
Meg stood a few feet away, narrowing her gaze.
Her focus rested solely on him.
He felt warm and sticky like he’d gone for a
long ride at midday. Now he regretted changing into his best outfit. He’d have
to wash it as soon as he got home. With any luck, she’d appreciate the effort.
“It’s a clean cut. Ted poured antiseptic into
the wound as he bandaged me.” The memory of the burning in his finger during
Ted’s first aid session snapped Ryan back to the present. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded. “Better safe than sorry. You don’t
want to contract an infection.”
His throat squeezed shut. Now she was saying
his tired, clichéd lines. He scanned the room, looking for hazards. If he
slammed into something fragile, he’d add to his mounting debt.
She strode toward the register. Her hair swung
with every step. She was as pretty as anything else in the room.
Her store was her domain. Every spare surface,
from shelves to dresser tops to mantles, held a variety of objects from
delicate vases to tiny figurines. Furniture scattered throughout the space in
groups of twos and threes. She’d crammed thousands of items into her store. The
room should feel crowded and cluttered. Somehow, her overdecorating worked. Controlled
chaos like her.
He followed, grateful to reach an open space
he could stand in. And then he dropped his gaze. Every time he noticed the tiny
details that made her her, he berated himself a little more. She wasn’t
the enemy. She looked out for his grandfather, including setting vermin traps
under the porch. She was kind.
And she wasn’t a child anymore. Neither of
them were.
“Let me see, please?” she asked.
Dropping his hat to the counter, he rested his
hands in the center of the glass case. Inside, shiny, pretty things lined a
velvet shelf.
She inched her fingers toward his injured
digit.
With every tiny motion forward, he tensed. She
wouldn’t hurt him anymore than he’d already accomplished. He fisted his other
hand.
She brushed her fingertips over his calloused
palm.
The whisper soft touch of her silky, smooth
skin over his work-hardened hands sent a jolt through him. “I’m fine.”
With a mental growl, he drew back his hands.
Every time she touched him, she activated some sort of response he couldn’t
define or explain. If he hadn’t moved, he’d have cracked the display. He
dropped his arms to his sides and breathed deep, inhaling lemon furniture
polish and lavender.
Book Buy link
https://books2read.com/u/b5BEqk
Author Bio:
Rachelle Paige Campbell writes contemporary romance novels
filled with heart and hope. With a master’s degree in Art History, she is
always eager for a chance to sneak antiques into her books. Missing works of
art capture a special place in her imagination. She believes love and laughter
can change lives, and every story needs a happily ever after.
Other Links:
a.
Website: https://rachellepaigecampbell.com/
b.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Rachelle-Paige-Campbell-511680888981810/
c.
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rachellepaigebooks/
d.
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Rachelle-Paige-Campbell/e/B00T0T533Q
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