When she's not practicing law she writes grand adventures set in England. Her stories are filled with passion, romance, a fun dose of witty repartee, and a touch of mystery.
Grace shares a bit with us about her world and her passion for writing.
I got into a discussion the other day with The Mayor of Courtroom Two about self-discipline and the writing life. Courtroom Two is where I conduct most of my legal business, advocating for children in abuse and neglect proceedings. It isn’t where I thought the practice of law would take me, but I love my work and I consider that little courtroom part of my professional home.
The Mayor of Courtroom Two loves his work too, though most people would call him The Bailiff. A bailiff in my jurisdiction wears many hats. He’s part master of ceremonies, rounding up the parties for the next case, ushering the parties for the last case on to the their next destination; he’s also a scheduling assistant to the judge, keeping an eye on what attorneys are trying to juggle work in two or more courtrooms on the same day. The bailiff steps and fetches for the judge and he works with the sheriff’s deputies to ensure the safety of all in the courtroom.
Our bailiff goes extra miles beyond that: He makes sure the witnesses have tissues in their teary moments, he makes sure the water pitchers on the counsel tables are full and the clerks and reporters have ice in their cups if they want ice. He tidies up the chairs and tables at the start of the day and again at the end, so the courtroom looks neat and not like some eighth grade desk charge supplanted the workings of justice. He greets the regulars in the morning and he wishes us good day each afternoon with unfailing good cheer—no matter how stupid our closing arguments, how obnoxious our clients, how lacking our case presentation.
This guy just has the gene for being a bailiff. When he tried doing something else for a few weeks, I grieved the loss of him.
Writing is like that for me. I have no writing goals much less written goals displayed in a prominent location. I have no quotas, I don’t do page counts, nor keep a tally of how long it took me to write what. If I were not permitted to write regularly and in quantity, I would go into a decline. The hardest, hardest, worst, most impossible thing for me is that part of the creative process when I must to sit on a toadstool and think up an external conflict for each book. Oh, that is painful, to not have my hands on the keyboard, to not hear the words being tapped out in a steady, mellifluous rhythm, to not see black pixels filling up the screen where white pixels were.
But even the pain of the off-keyboard plotting exercise is precious and to be relished because it’s part of writing my stories.
I get up every morning, wanting to write. If it’s a court day, or even a fly to England day, there’s still a little part of me pouting because I don’t get to write. I get up every day grateful that I can write, and gleeful with the knowledge that I have a WIP, even if I can’t open it up and work on it THIS INSTANT. This is not discipline; this is the farthest thing from discipline.
This is the great, soul deep pleasure of doing the thing I was born to do, the thing that makes me passionately happy, the thing I hope can please my readers for many, many, many books to come.
THE SOLDIER BY GRACE BURROWES—IN STORES JUNE 2011
Even in the quiet countryside he can find no peace...His idyllic estate is falling down from neglect and nightmares of war give him no rest. Then Devlin St. Just meets his new neighbor...
Until his beautiful neighbor ignites his imagination...With her confident manner hiding a devastating secret, his lovely neighbor commands all of his attention, and protecting Emmaline becomes Deviln’s most urgent mission. Excerpt (at the bottom of the page)
Available in e-book and mass paperback
Be sure to check out her first book, The Heir