2009 marks Harlequin's 60th anniversary--and Intrigue's 25th! This year, our newsletter questions will celebrate all that's suspenseful and wonderful about Harlequin Intrigue.

B.J. Daniels: When I told my dad that I wanted to be a writer, he said, "Oh, honey," and patted my shoulder. "Why don't you be a teacher or an architect or go to outboard motor school?" My dad, a masonry contractor with a fifth grade education and memories of the Great Depression, couldn't imagine how anyone could survive as a writer.  But the one thing he'd taught me was to follow my heart. I did and when I sold my first short story, then my first book, no one was prouder than my dad. He had never been a reader. No one in my family had. But it was amazing how quickly they all became critiques.

"That one wasn't quite as good as the last one."
"Why don't you write one like that other one, you know the one I liked so much."

I'd laugh and shake my head. At least I'd gotten them all reading. They took to being the family of a published writer fairly easily, although seemed somewhat amazed each time I sold another book.  To my dad's dying day he peddled my books to everyone he met saying, "My daughter wrote this. It's pretty good."

Paula Graves: Because my mom, my sister and her two young daughters live with me, writing has become something of a family experience. My nieces know that when I say, "I'm writing," they have to wait to tell me about their super-terrific Halloween costume idea or the latest in pre-teen jokes until later. My mother stays on me to keep to my writing schedule, often suggesting, with all the force of any motherly "suggestion," that if I've finished my eight pages for today, could it hurt to get a head start on tomorrow's pages?

When I have a book coming out, my family becomes my publicity crew. My school-age nieces take bookmarks to their teachers and tell them all about my upcoming releases. My mom keeps a stack of bookmarks in her purse and hands them out to the people she comes in contact with, whether it's the veterinarian giving shots to our new kittens or the financial planner who administers her retirement income. She's notorious for hanging around the bookshelves at local stores and recommending my books to people who are shopping the book section. My mom is also handles my post office visits, because my day job starts earlier than our local post office opens and closes after the post office closes.

I don't think I could write for publication without the help of my family. I'm glad I don't have to test that theory.
 
Mallory Kane: My dad will be 90 in January. After reading my first book, my dad, who has always thought I could do anything, told me, "If I could write like that, I'd never do anything else." He's made sure I've given him a copy of every book I've written since. He's my number one fan, and there's no one alive I'd rather have in that spot.

Sylvie Kurtz: When I get deep into a story, other things tend to fall by the wayside. Dinner will be late. Appointments missed. My family will find strange notes all over the house--because you never know when you'll get inspiration, so there are pads of papers everywhere around the house. My office will start to look as if a tornado went through it as research books and notes pile up. Once, when my kids were younger, they found a pile of library books on divorce and sheepishly asked whether I was starting a new book or if something else was going on. And where else but in a suspense writer's house would dinner conversation revolve around ways to sabotage a car or the best ways to hide your tracks if you're a villain with murder on your mind or whether one could get out of a situation with wrists and ankles bound? Living with a writer isn't always easy, but it can be interesting <g>.

Dana Marton: The Socialite and the Bodyguard, Jan. 2010--My closest family (husband/child) who see me work day after day, actually get it that writing is a job. Outside this small circle, however, hardly anyone does. I think the general belief is that I sit home all day, watch TV and eat bonbons on the couch while pixies write my books in a back room somewhere. Despite the fact that I have SACRED WORKING HOURS in the morning that have been brought to everyone's attention (repeatedly), people feel free to call about trivial things they'd never call me with if I was at a "real job" in a real office. Neighbors pop in for tea and cookies. Or ask me to babysit if they have someplace to go. I don't see them dropping off their kids at the bank where some of the other neighbors work.

So it's a challenge to both sides, I imagine. Me trying to get why they can't get it, and for them trying to understand how can I be not available when I'm home. The strangest interruption came when I was in the middle of rushing to meet a tight deadline, literally not even taking time to eat or sleep. A family member called because she was organizing the pictures in her photo albums in chronological order. She told me the color of the dress my daughter wore in one of the pictures and asked if I could remember what year she wore it. (I can't remember what clothes I wore yesterday, let alone my daughter who changes ten times a day.) If she expected me to drop everything to go through my own photos to figure out what picture she was talking about, she was left disappointed.

Julie Miller: I have to admit, my hubby doesn’t read my books. When I write the next Star Trek screenplay or Lord of the Rings trilogy, then he might. But romance? Ha. However, he does help me with my research. Sometimes it’s fun stuff--like traveling to a particular location to help me get an authentic feel for the place and taking lots of pix for me. Other times? He might be afraid of me and feels he has to help me do research. After all, it can be a little worrisome to sleep next to a woman who reads books like Undetectable Poisons or How to Commit a Crime and Get Away With It <g>. So he always reluctantly volunteers when I need a body. I’ve been known to run downstairs from my office to the TV room and ask him to stand up. “What now?” he’ll moan. I’ll grab him around the neck and say something like, “If I attack from behind and try to stab you, where will my knife go? Flank? Ribs? Back?” He’s a trooper. Once I’ve gotten the physical details I need, I’ll run upstairs to my computer and he’ll sit back down to watch the Syfy Channel.

Joanna Wayne: Okay, I admit it, at times I feel downright sorry for my hubby. Normally, I'm reasonably good natured, fun and I even cook. But cometh deadline hell, and I turn into a vile creature of the night. I haunt the computer until the wee hours of the morning and howl if anyone dares to ask me a question or say something as argumentative as "Are you almost through?" In fact he pretty much stays out of my way, spending many extra hours on the golf course or hooking up with sympathetic buddies at the nineteenth hole. But he hangs in there and even makes sure I have food to eat until the evil villain is caught and my hero and heroine are ready for happy ever after. And then I turn back into the wife he swore to love through sickness, health and deadlines.

Rebecca York: Anyone who's seen my husband at writers' conferences has seen him walking around with his "Ask Me About My Wife's Books" button. He gets a kick out of being the husband of an author--except when I'm under a lot of deadline pressure and start acting like the sky is falling.

He's gotten to do a lot of cool things because of my career. Like going to the book signing at Nora Roberts’s Turn the Page Bookstore on November 7 with me. We're going up to Boonsboro the night before and staying in the Eve and Roarke room. Should be a blast.   And in September, we went on a wonderful research trip to Peru. I'm using our adventures now in a Berkley book due out next August.

Another great trip was to the Greenbriar in White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia. As soon as I saw the bomb shelter built for the U.S. Congress under a wing of the hotel, I knew I had to use it in a book. It stars in an Intrigue called Soldier Caged.  One piece of luck for my husband. Even when I'm on deadline, I cook to relax. So I usually keep him supplied with the food he loves. Or--our arrangement is: You shop and I'll cook.