Kindle Nook Books: Lisa J. Hobman

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Lisa J. Hobman - My Muse @LivingScottishD

My Muse

Writers block is an ugly and frustrating beast that comes to wipe your mind of the wonderful ideas that once resided in it. I’ve experienced this unpleasant entity whilst writing all of my novels but thankfully it’s usually short lived and my muse was there to guide me through.

I call my husband my muse because that’s how I see him. We’ve been married for such a long time (almost twenty years!) and we’re at the point where we can pretty much read each other’s mind and finish each other’s sentences. He knows how my mind works and what things bring me frustration. On the flip side of this he knows how to cheer me up and make me smile.

He was the main reason that I sat down and decided to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard to be exact). He spent time with me, reading through my chapters; pointing out errors; making suggestions. He supported me throughout the whole process and I’m so thankful that he was there for me as he always is. It’s been the same ever since. Each book since my first has been read by him even though he’s not a romance fan.

It may sound a bit mushy by my husband is my best friend. He’s the first person I turn to if I have anxieties and the first person I want to tell all my good news to. I think this is the way it should be with married couples. I could gush about the fact that I still adore him after all these years, etc but I’m sure you’d need to rush and get a bucket and so I won’t subject you to my teen-like swooning!

When we moved to Scotland the book was a mere collection of thoughts and ideas. It was a story I desperately wanted to tell but didn’t believe in myself enough to actually try. My husband encouraged me to go for it and I’m so thankful he did. I feel a real sense of achievement and pride when I read my manuscripts but what makes me smile even more is when he tells me how proud he is of me for completing them.

My very first novel’s acknowledgements page was something I really looked forward to writing. It was the place I could publicly thank him for inspiring me and encouraging me. I dedicate all of my books to him in some way seeing he is the man who pretty much made it possible. My friend, my husband and my muse.

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – PG-17

More details about the author

Connect with Lisa J. Hobman on Facebook & Twitter

Website www.lisajhobman.co.uk

Through the Glass by Lisa J. Hobman @LivingScottishD

On seeing Jim today, Charles’s face scrunched as if he had encountered something rather unpleasant. “Bloody hell, Jim, are you alright? You look bloody terrible, old chap.” Charles used the word bloody in almost every sentence. At first it amused Jim, then it irritated him, and now, years on, he was completely immune to it.

“Not great, if I’m honest, Charles, no. Err… Flick left me on Friday.” His lip began to quiver again as it had on so many occasions over the weekend, and so he bit down on it, slumping into the wingback chair and fighting for composure.

Charles gasped. “Oh, bloody hell, my dear chap, are you sure you should be here? I can manage today if you’d rather be at home.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m better off being busy I think. No point wallowing in self-pity all alone, eh?” Jim tried to snap himself out of the drop in mood.

Charles fidgeted as if wanting to make some kind of physical gesture but struggling to know quite what to do. “No…quite…quite. Well if you need anything…” He paused as he seemed to be calculating his next words. “And in my opinion, old chap, it’s her bloody loss.”

“Thanks, Charles, I appreciate it.” Jim forced a smile. “I’d love a coffee if you’re making one, eh? I’ll go splash my face with some cold water and dump my bag in the back.” He stood and headed for the rear of the shop.

“Certainly. Bloody good idea. I’ll get onto it.”

The day passed without real incidence and James was happy to be thumbing through the latest batch of antique finds that Charles had procured during his recent trip to a Parisian book fair. Amongst the finds had been a rare first edition of Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He had enquired as to how much the book had cost, but Charles had winced and shook his head. Obviously quite a lot then! The book was one of a select few which were locked in a cabinet not to be touched by just anyone. One had to prove the funds were available to purchase such a rare and delicate piece prior to being granted permission to handle it, and even then white cotton gloves were insisted upon.