Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
Jennifer started telling herself stories as a little girl when she couldn’t fall asleep at night. Pretty soon, her head was filled with these stories and the characters that populated them. Even as an adult, she thinks about the characters and stories at night before she falls asleep or walking the dog. Eventually, she started writing them down. Her favorite stories to write are those with smart, sassy, independent heroines; handsome, strong and slightly vulnerable heroes; and her stories always end with happily ever after.
In the real world, she’s the mother of two amazing daughters and wife of one of the smartest men she knows. She believes humor is the only way to get through the day and does not believe in sharing her chocolate.
She writes contemporary romance, many of which feature Jewish characters in non-religious settings (#ownvoices). She’s published with The Wild Rose Press and all her books are available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble.
Do you work to an outline or plot or do you prefer just see where an idea takes you?
I’ve tried writing to an outline and it really doesn’t work for me. So I do a deep dive into my characters and then I write and see where they take me. I do outline afterwards, though. It helps with editing and making sure the story makes sense.
Do you ever get writer’s Block?
Oh yes! As well as being convinced I’m no good at what I do and will never succeed. Best thing for it is to just keep writing. If I can lose myself in the story, even going back to what I’ve previously written, then I can move on from there.
How did you deal with Rejection Letters if you received any?
I allow myself to get into a funk for the day. And then I move on and keep writing. This is a subjective business and no one is going to like everything I write. But someone will. Hopefully a lot of someones. And there’s always a good review to make me feel better.
Can you tell us your story of getting “the call” (or e-mail)?
My current publisher, The Wild Rose Press, sent me an email telling me they loved the story I submitted and wanted to publish it. I was so excited, I called everyone I knew. It was a wonderful feeling. And I love working with them. They truly care about all their authors, and super communicative, and always make sure my books are the best they can possibly be.
What are your current projects?
I’m currently working on three stories right now. One I hope to entice an agent with, one I’m self-publishing as part of a multi-author anthology (mine comes out in the fall), and one, well, I’m not sure what I’m doing with it yet. All are contemporary romance. Two feature Jewish characters, one is the first in a four-book series.
How do you relax?
Hanging out with friends and family, mostly.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
Don’t give up, and learn from as many people as you can.
Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web?
Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share with us?
This is from my upcoming book, Whispers in Washington, that will be published as part of a multi-author anthology, in September.
Naomi wanted to finish, but she was full, and with reluctance, she pushed her plate away. “That was amazing. You can order for me anytime.”
A shard of interest sparked in Max’s eyes and he leaned forward. “Does this mean you’ll go to dinner with me again?”
Her stomach fluttered. Warning lights flickered in her brain, but something else whispered, “’go for it.” She paused. “I will.”
He smiled, his look of satisfaction somehow attractive, instead of arrogant. She liked confident men, and Max oozed confidence. Except Max carried confidence with ease, his broad shoulders emphasizing good posture, rather than a puffed out chest. Whoa, I might have had too much to drink. She looked at the wine bottle. Had she drunk three or four glasses? She couldn’t remember. Her neck was warm and she felt the same glow she felt after drinking. Maybe she should slow down.
What she did know was Max was sexy, and she liked the attraction sparking between them. After such a long time of feeling like a prop, and a duped one at that, it was nice to have a man look at her like she was worth something.
He rose, and she realized he’d paid the bill while she was woolgathering. He held out a hand to her and she took it. His grasp was warm and firm, and her skin prickled beneath his touch. Was this what her daughters felt when they met a new guy? God, it had been ages since she’d done this. Rising, she met his gaze. His brown eyes were attractive—there was depth there, kindness, and interest. Depending on the light, the color changed from gold to walnut and shades in between. He smelled good, too.
She squeezed his hand, and he kept her palm in his as he led her out of the restaurant. They stood in the doorway, her body only inches away from his, heat zinging between them, as he walked the few blocks to their apartment. He still didn’t let go of her. She concentrated on the tensile strength of his fingers wrapped around hers.
He didn’t lead her around or pull her in a particular direction. Their hands together joined them. It felt natural. Holding hands with Malcolm always made her feel like a prop.
She didn’t want to think about Malcolm now, and she shook her head.
“Problem?” Max asked. They’d stopped in front of their building.
She turned so fast, her hair caught on the stubble at his jaw.
“No,” she said, and brushed the hair away from his cheek. His lips parted and he leaned forward.
Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to? She shouldn’t, she barely knew him, but try telling that to her libido. It was practically doing back-flips in its excitement.
He didn’t kiss her. Instead, he reached his free hand out and stroked the side of her head, smoothing her hair in place.
“Yes,” he whispered.
She frowned. “Yes, what?”
“Your hair is as silky as I wondered.”
He let his hand glide down her neck to her shoulder, and the contact brought out goose bumps.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to answer. Was it okay for her to say, “no, I’m attracted to you?” Or should she say “yes”?
As if understanding her dilemma, he let go of her hand, slid his arm behind her shoulders, and drew her into the warmth of his body.
The man was a furnace and she wanted to groan in pleasure. They stood toe to toe, his hand running up and down her spine, her breasts pressed against his chest. Would he kiss her? Should she kiss him? This close, she couldn’t think straight. All she could do was focus on the warmth flooding through her, the soothing sound of his humming something she couldn’t quite catch, and the zings of desire running through her body.
Too soon, Max pulled back, the cool evening air doing little to stop the yearning for the man. Once again, he took her hand, and without speaking, he led her into the elevator, down their hallway to where their front doors met. Her legs were wobbly, and she leaned against the wall. The last thing she wanted to do was fall at this man’s feet.
“I liked getting to know you better,” Max whispered, leaning his free hand against the wall next to her head.
She was boxed in between the wall and Max, in her own little cocoon. He’d said there were limits to how far a reporter should go. For some reason, she felt safe. His eyes were dark—more mahogany than walnut, his forehead touched hers, and his breath was warm and minty. Her mind drifted to when exactly he’d taken a breath mint, and why, and should she. She opened her mouth to tell him how much she’d enjoyed it too, and to ask for a mint, but he didn’t let her utter any words.
Instead—finally—he took her mouth in his and kissed her.