How did Dorothy Fletcher become a writer of classic romance? Maybe she opened her eyes one morning, sat upright in her Queen Ann canopy bed and announced to the trusted servant drawing her bath: “Ahhh, I think I’ll pen a classic this handsome day.”
I picture an author of timeless classics sitting at a formal writing desk (Brazilian rosewood, of course). Exquisite dressing gown, with sleeves of Leavers lace billowing at the wrists, resting slightly across dainty – yet busy hands. Hair swept up in a dangerously exotic coil of chocolate threaded with silver, held by a ruby encrusted comb given to her by an admirer (she calls him Clark; we call him Mr. Gable). Occasionally her eyes travel from productive page to stately bay window overlooking the Atlantic, and her The End sends the household scurrying to pop champagne bottles and kill the fatted calf.
Or. Maybe an author of classic romance works at the kitchen table. Drinking/eating a tumbler of gluten-free Rice Chex with lactose-free milk (a bowl would require a spoon, therefore demanding concentration and coordination of a valuable typing hand). A Duck Dynasty Happy Happy Happy t-shirt with almost fully zipped jeans and lopsided ponytail creates the intriguing image of the serious writer she is. When she finally types ‘and they lived happily ever after,’ there’s a synchronized sigh of relief from her loved ones with requests for an authentic meal. Cooked. Before she starts her next project.
Regardless of the picture our writing lives paint, we have it in us. Like Ms. Fletcher, we are classic ladies. We’re of the highest quality, class and rank. We are enduring women of talent with passion for words deeply engrained in our DNA. It’s the fingerprint we’ll leave on this world.
In my book, Broken Wings, Soaring Hearts, Hailey Holman is a woman willing to fight for what she believes is her life’s purpose. That’s who we are. Goal setting, hardworking, book writing, life touching, reader pleasing, classic producing authors. Writing is hard work – very time consuming – and often riddled with doubters who can’t see the magical classic stories we have inside of us. Why? Because we don’t have Brazilian rosewood desks?
Crimson sisters, sit down and face that key board. And exclaim to the world, “Ahhhh, I think I’ll pen a classic this handsome day.”
Thank you, Dorothy Fletcher, for opening doors and hearts for us.