From the desk of Colleen L. Donnelly…
Naivete and Naked Cowboys
To write a book is to wear your soul as clothing. When people say, “Write what you know,” they’re not just talking about head knowledge, they mean what you’ve been through as well. What hurts, what tempts you, what you did last year that you hope no one ever finds out about. If there’s a scratch, a fracture, or even an unfulfilled yearning in your heart of hearts, it will end up on your page, and everyone will see it.
When I splashed my biggest hurt on three hundred such pages of fiction, I wasn’t prepared to see my agony snatched up by a publisher, put into print, turned into an Amazon #1 Bestseller, and then go on to win awards. My worst nightmare was out there, with only a fictional heroine between a worldwide audience and me.
Tossed from the seclusion of just me and my laptop into a gala national conference and award ceremony, I crept into an arena of readers with a red face, a bag with several of my books, and a tablecloth to hopefully spread somewhere to display them on.
Naïve novices learn the hard way that a book frenzy is not the place a timid writer can cower behind a character. Readers are ravenous. They want to know all. They want to gape wide-eyed at what I/my characters suffered, and they want to leave me wide-eyed at suggestions for things I’d never fathomed existed to spice up future books. Their enthusiasm left me dazed, awestruck, and confident that what I exposed was as fine as the Emperor’s new clothes.
“Where’s your naked cowboy?” another writer at the extravaganza asked, to which I responded, “I don’t have naked cowboys in my story.” She assured me I didn’t have to write them, just stand life-sized naked cowboy cutouts in front of my table to increase sales. I pondered that…naked cowboys or naked soul. “No thanks,” I responded. “I just bared something far more painful and far more humiliating. And it was worth it!”
Louise Archer boards a westbound train in St. Louis to find the Kansas homesteader who wooed and proposed to her by correspondence, then jilted her by telegram – Don't come, I can't marry you. Giving a false name to hide her humiliation, her lie backfires when a marshal interferes and offers her his seat.
Marshal Everett McCloud intends to verify the woman coming to marry his homesteading friend is suitable. At the St. Louis train station, his plan detours when he offers his seat to a captivating woman whose name thankfully isn't Louise Archer.
Everett's plans thwart hers, until he begins to resemble the man she came west to find, and she the woman meant to marry his friend.
Find Letters and Lies online:
Amazon ~ Barnes & Noble ~ iTunes
What was your inspiration for Letters and Lies?
Fun! Most of my novels are serious, and I wanted to write something that made us laugh.
Do you find inspiration in your own life for your writing?
Yes, but I never stop paying attention to those around me…just in case.
Colleen’s pug — and writing companion.
Any new projects on the horizon?
During the final round of edits for “Letters and Lies” the man who jilted Louise Archer jumped from secondary character to hero in my mind. It might seem impossible for a man who drops his fiancée right before their wedding to be worthy of a whole new book. But this man is. Once his true motive jumped off the page at me, I knew his story had to be told, and he’s in the process of revealing it to me right now.
What was the hardest/most unusual/interesting part of the story to write/research?
Trains. I needed a train to do what I wanted, where I wanted it to, when I needed it to, and with the proper accommodations. In fact, I had to sacrifice my druthers for Louise’s train ride to stay true to history.
Now to leave you with an excerpt:
“He wrote and changed your plans? Why didn’t you tell me? You know I love hearing his letters.”
Everyone loved hearing his letters. Or at least they’d pretended to. I glanced at my friends, especially the one who’d first suggested I correspond with her husband’s homesteading friend in Kansas who was ready to look for a wife. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief while she flicked the fingers of her other hand in a weak wave. I dredged my soul in search of a smile. The man she’d introduced me to truly had penned everything I’d ever wanted in a husband, months of letters which convinced Mama Jim was my open door. Letters I’d foolishly carted from family to friend to blather every word like a desperate spinster. Drat.
“He didn’t send his change of plans in a letter, Mama. He sent them in a telegram.” Don’t come, I can’t marry you. The only words I never shared.
“Well I imagine your Jim has a surprise for you and didn’t have time to send a letter before you left for Crooked Creek. How thoughtful to wire you instead.”
Thoughtful…I felt poisoned and Mama would too if she ever found out Jim had shut my open door. Which she wouldn’t, since as soon as I got out there and found him, I’d wedge it back open again.