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There is another Harlequin author living on my street. I mean, not just in my town, on my street. I kid you not! She’s two doors down. She discovered me when she was transferred to one of my editors and that editor looked at her address and said, “Wait… Let me check something…”

So this Harlequin author messaged me, and we met up for a coffee. It was utterly random, and we hit it off. How often does that happen??

It also blows my credibility when I tell my 8-year-old son that not too many people do what his mom does. (I’m still trying to impress upon him his mother’s cool factor. He doesn’t see it. 😉 )

“It’s true, son!” I told him. “Not too many people write books, especially ones that go into the bookstore.”

His response is normally is a polite, but unimpressed,”Oh, okay.”

So the other day when we were walking home from school, we passed the house of the other author who lives on our street, and I pointed it out.

“That’s where the other Harlequin author lives,” I told him, and in that moment, I knew that I’d made a death-knell kind of mistake. There is no hope that he will ever believe that what his mom does is unique in any way, because not only does his mom write these books, but so does that lady down the street.

She and I will be forever just “mom and her friend over there” in the eyes of my 8-year-old. 😉