Top Title Tuesdays
My Indie Book Title
By Maureen Fisher
Inspiration for my Indie Title (Fur Ball Fever)
As an author, I have a shameful confession to make. I struggle to find ideas for my novels. I’m not one of those people who knew as soon as she sprang from her mother’s womb that she was destined to be a writer. No way. Far from it. I don’t carry around a pen and notepad to scribble down pearls of wisdom, I never brim over with plot ideas, and I almost never hear snippets of conversation in my head.
Between books, it seems as though my creative juices trickle away. I become rudderless. Alarmed. Perplexed. I enter the dreaded ‘Writers’ Wasteland’ where, secretly, I fear my muse is dead. Once there, I gnash my teeth and rail at how unfair life is. My husband tells me I become grumpy, whiny, and generally hard to live with.
I’m sure he exaggerates.
One morning, after making a noble effort for fifteen minutes to tune out my bleats about writer’s block and my hatred of writing, my husband folds the newspaper section he’s reading into precise quarters, points to an article advertising the local Fur Ball, an animal charity extravaganza, and shoves it into my hands.
“Read,” he commands in his He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed tone, jabbing a finger at the article. “This is your next story.”
Knowing I’m driving the poor man around the bend, I swallow a pair of words a nice woman never, ever, says to her loved one. Instead, I give him my best angelic smile (hard to do through a clenched jaw, by the way) before burying my nose in the paper.
Soon, I forget how much I hate being ordered around. The sun begins to pop its head out again. My husband is right. He’s found my next story.
Glitz, glamour, money, cute furry recipients. What more could I want? My imagination catches fire. What if the Fur Ball in my new book consists of an Obedience Contest followed by a Pet ‘n’ Owner masquerade? Already, I can visualize my grand finale. What if my Fur Ball is so famous (or infamous for its legendary mishaps), it has a cult following? What if huge sums of money in wagers are at stake? And what if a prize pooch goes missing?
I throw my arms around my husband’s neck. “Yes, yes, yes,” I holler. “I love it. I love writing. I love you.”
My husband blows out a sigh of relief. “In that case, how about calling this book Fur Ball Fever?” He shakes out the Financial section and resumes reading.
And that is the (almost) true story describing the inspiration for FUR BALL FEVER’s title.
My goal as a writer is to transport readers into a world of romance, mystery, and fun. Warning: Laughing out loud has been known to leave some readers short of breath.
Born in Scotland, I emigrated to Canada at the tender age of seven. Years later as a University of Toronto graduate, I convinced the federal government to hire a Fine Arts specialist as a computer programmer. After three years of bits, bytes, and dumps (probably not what you’re thinking), I graduated again, this time to full-time homemaker and mom, raising two wonderful sons. Plunging back into the business world, my second husband and I started a management consulting company. This marriage survived because my husband and I pledged never to work on the same project again. Ever.
After a century in the consulting world, I grew weary of wearing snappy power suits, squeezing into panty hose, and fighting rush hour traffic. I made a life-changing decision. I wanted to write books. Not dry, boring, technical treatises, but fresh, funny romantic suspense novels. How hard could it be? Thousands of authors did it every year.
Always an over-achiever, I quit my day job, attended a one-week seminar on writing a novel, read a couple of how-to books, joined the Ottawa chapter of RWA, and plunged right in. Learning can be a humbling experience. I persevered, I slaved, I revised, I learned. After twenty-five rejections, countless workshops, six-re-writes, and two first-prize wins, my efforts finally paid off with the sale of my first book.
My husband and I live in Ottawa. When I’m not writing novels, I read, volunteer for an addiction family program, play bridge, travel, bicycle, hike, square dance, and occasionally indulge in gourmet dinner parties.
An impulsive pet spa owner who loses her client’s prize pooch …
After a lifetime of impetuous mistakes, pet spa owner Grace Donnelly outdoes herself when she loses Miss Coco Chanel—a shoo-in to win the annual Jersey Shore Fur Ball. Money, careers, and lives are in jeopardy. Too bad her helpers consist of an aging hippie aunt, a renegade schnauzer, and a drag queen. Worst of all, the only man truly qualified to help is her former flame, the hunkiest bodyguard north of the Mason-Dixon Line.
A smokin’ hot bodyguard with his own agenda …
Security specialist Nick Jackson faces his worst nightmare when Grace’s amateur investigation nearly blows his undercover operation. Unless he nails the con-artist who scammed local seniors and whacked a witness, his homicidal granddaddy will take justice into his own liver-spotted hands. To salvage his case, his sanity, and his ex-lover’s velvety skin, Nick joins forces with the sassy crusader who rubs him the wrong way—and so many right ways too.
Together, they weather an explosion of murder, mayhem, and fun …
Action bounces between a beach harboring washed-up corpses, a fancy yacht no honest preacher could possibly afford, and the bawdiest nightclub in Atlantic City. Hazards multiply like bunnies, culminating in romance … and a Fur Ball extravaganza the locals will never forget.