Looking out the window…

Living in this frozen, brown stick land, I find it hard to be inspired to write love stories set on tropical, sunny beaches where the smell of warm coconut oil fills the air and there seems to be an underlying conga drum beat in the movement of each woman’s hips as she walks along the sand.

Guess I need to sell more books to get myself there.

 It’ll come.

Meantime, we’ll write the warm-cuddle-ups apres-ski, as lovers kiss the shivers off each others’ blushing skin. Now that I can feel a little more closely….