Recently, I did my bi-annual newsletter subscriber survey. As usual I asked if there were any questions. My subscribers did not disappoint! Here are my favorite questions:

1) From Debby: She wanted to know what authors I read and what ones are my favorites.

Hoo boy, I don't have a favorite, per se. There are so many great authors out there. Latest reads include Yasmin Angoe's Her Name is Knight series, Shirlene Obuobi's On Rotation medical romance, Milla Vane's Heart of Blood and Ashes, Kimberly Lemming's That Time I Got Drunk fantasy romance series, and an alien/sci-fi romance by Aria Starling. Oh, and I read Elizabeth Everett's Victorian/STEM romances recently and they were also excellent!

So, yes. My reading tastes are eclectic!

Perennial favorites include anything by Robin McKinley, Anne Bishop, J.R. Ward, Holley Trent, and Katee Roberts. And, like everyone else in the world, I'm also reading through Sarah Maas's ACOTAR series right now.

2) From Nancy M: How do I stay motivated to write everyday? Do I keep a journal to jot down random thoughts or ideas to use as inspiration?

First of all, I don't write every day, mostly because of my Day Job. I write as much as I am able, but the work often comes in blocks of several days or a week at a time. After writing in those blocks, sometimes I do feel like I got run over by a dump truck!

I jot down notes regarding the characters or the story that I'm currently working on. But I don't have a specific "idea journal" for future stories. One other thing that's interesting. My brain insists on remaining pretty linear. Meaning, I have to work on one project at a time. If I skip around between two or more incomplete projects, everything gets really muddled. So, even on deadlines, I have to wrap up one project (draft or edit) before moving to the other project.

3) From Kathy: How long do I spend each day writing? Do I schedule it? Do I write a really rough draft first?

Again, I don't write daily for all the reasons above. When I have time off, I do block out chunks of time to write. (Meaning, I make sure hubs is out of the house on what we call "alone day" so he's not driving me nutty!)

Oh yes, that first draft is absolute garbage. Awful spelling, minimal punctuation, no dialogue tags. It's utter crap, and I am happy with that. Because once the draft is on the page, I can fix it! The more important part of prepping that first draft are my 10-page character interviews of each main character (and villain, when applicable). That, and a refined outline are what sets the stage for me to draft quickly.

Thanks to my subscribers for these great questions, and happy reading!

Over on my newsletter, my readers kindly fill out surveys from time to time and provide feedback ... and then I give away prizes. (Hey -- sign up for my newsletter over on the right side of the page if you haven't already!) Recently, one reader asked what made me want to become an author. Interestingly, it's a question I don't often get asked. I am more often asked why I became a doctor.

The answers are in some ways ... similar.

I have a condition called "habit-tic deformity" which where my thumbnails to look weird. It's been an issue ever since college. Habit-tic deformity is basically where a person focuses all of their anxiety or OCD or stress or perfectionism into a tiny area of the body where they constantly pick or poke at. In many cases, it's the thumbs. Even as a doctor, I understand what it is and what's happening, but it's largely an unconscious act. If I catch myself doing it, in my head I'm like STOP but then my lizard brain says JUST A LITTLE MORE. Recognizing what it is and trying to remove physical triggers has helped some. The research says I should work on "stress management," which only makes me laugh/cry a little bit. (because, of course!) For the longest time I thought it was just me and my stress causing this -- that I was an outlier. That no one else had this kind of thing.

Hi de ho de, friends! I'm at the Moonlight and Magnolias conference in Georgia, having a terrific time and meeting so many nice folks!

I sent out a speaker's poll to the people attending my class, and this one particular question had so many responses that were too involved to answer in a quick way in the class. So I decided to answer them in long-form. Here we go!:

Never since my first book was published in 2013 have I ever missed a publisher's deadline.

Despite things like: solo call coverage of an entire practice for years, leading a rural  hospital during the biggest wave of the COVID pandemic in 2020-2021, giving writing talks, travel, moving a few times, book signings, drafting more books -- I still somehow managed to meet all of the hard deadlines and stayed calm doing it. From 2013 through the present.

Until this month.

​A while back, someone had asked how I'd met my husband. It's a bit of a story, so kick back and enjoy. Here's my "meet cute"!!

However many years ago, I was working in a tiny rural mountain town west of the Mississippi. One of the perks of this particular location was a local ski area nearby. It was so close, that I could ski and take hospital call at the same time. #winning

​

As you may know, when it comes to chairlifts, there is a line for groups of 2 or 3 or 4 (depending on lift size and group sizes), and then there is the 'singles line' for -- you guessed it -- people skiing/snowboarding solo. (Side note: if you want to cut down on waiting in line, even if you're with friends, the singles line is usually quickest.) Anyway, as I'd done with many days, I got into the singles line and a dude joined me on the lift. I said my obligatory "How it's going" and apparently that was all it took. The conversation floodgates opened.

​Update:
 
Finally have my head above water in the writing world, enough to write a quick blog post. Hi >waves at everyone<, hope all is well. I haven’t chatted a ton lately. Actually, if you get my newsletter, you’re getting more frequent updates and news.
 
I just finished a top secret medical romance manuscript. You all will be the first to know if anything comes of it in the publishing world, but it’s what you’ve come to expect in terms of pulse-pounding (yes, with a pulse requiring epi and a defibrillator) as well as hot and steamy scenes. The logline of this book is “Gray’s Anatomy meets Northern Exposure” or “General Hospital meets Life Below Zero.” (take your pick)  I can’t wait to show it to you!

Here are the ‘lost’ two opening chapters of FALLEN COMRADE – these were cut after the first round of querying was not successful, so many years ago! Feedback suggested that, while good, the first two chapters delayed the “meet-cute” too long and the book would be better off without them. I’m still darn proud of these two chapters – they were the source of some contest wins along the way!
​
Happy reading! – Jillian
 
 
 
Chapter 1
 
 
Nothing good came from a knock on the front door after 9 p.m.

Kiera McNeill froze, halfway down the vacuous hallway of her suburban Atlanta home. She shivered, and not from the cool March air or lower house temperature required ‘to keep equipment running at optimal levels.’ Before she stepped onto the cut stone pavers of the spacious foyer, her pretend husband for this undercover operation, Mateo, bolted out of a back room, flipped off the hall lights, and grabbed her wrist, yanking her back.

“Stop,” he hissed. “The silent alarm triggered a few seconds ago. Damn it.” He pressed the side of a fist next to a fake photo hanging on the cream-colored wall. “We’re technically still in the field. Not yet sure who’s out there. Or how many.”

True. She hadn’t heard any car doors close. Whoever knocked was either quiet or had left the vehicle doors open.

The fact that whoever was outside the house must be a threat? Testimony to how bizarre her sheltered world had become. 

An imaginary hand tightened around her neck. On instinct, she brushed her fingers over her swollen belly, and the nudge in response from Little Bit made her palm jump. This baby always surprised her. Figured. Then again, being pregnant hadn’t been part of Kiera’s plans. 
Nor had she planned on Mateo, her partner in this unofficial mission, pretending to be the baby’s father. 

Low voices filtered through the front door.

Her mouth went dry.

“Wait,” he whispered, stepping past her. He inched down the wall to the end of the hallway and eased the bottom of a fake picture frame to the side, revealing small screens that relayed images from the front stoop and around the house. “Too many of them. Shit. One is at the back door.” He pushed the frame back over the monitor with a secure click.

She jumped at a louder bang on the front door.