Name: J. Lea Lopez, not to be confused with a much more famous J.Lo, whose middle name happens to be Lynn
Location: Pennsylvania, US
Genre(s) you write: Women’s fiction, Erotica
Books/Authors you love: Dean Koontz. Absolutely anything by that man. Some recent books I’ve read that became instant favorites are The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time, by Mark Haddon, and Wetlands by Charlotte Roche.
How long have you been writing? My memory’s pretty hazy before middle school anyway, but that’s about when I can recall writing down stories. In secret, of course, because I always based them on real people I had crushes on at the time. Like my seventh-grade math teacher. No joke. They were really cheesy and bad, but that need to tell stories (I now make up fictional characters, thank you very much!) has never left me.
Do you have any professional/industry experience as a writer? Nope. Wouldn’t mind getting some, though.
Had anything published? Not unless you count my high school lit magazine, or that joke of a site poetry.com. They publish anything.
Agent status (please X all that apply)
[X] Need one
[X] Want one. Desperately. Want. One.
[ ] Got one
[ ] We’re “talking”
[ ] I’m cyberstalking him/her, but so far they have yet to respond to my inappropriate sexual advances…. Erm, I mean, my query letter.
[ ] Agent? Who needs an agent?
Either/Or when you write:
Pen and paper, or computer screen? Definitely pen and paper.
Plotster (outlines, scene cards, etc.) or Pantster (writing by the seat of your pants)? Major pantster. I get a hint of the plotster sometimes, but it’s usually overrun by the ADD tendencies of my pantster self.
Music on, or off? On, most of the time.
Solitude, or surrounded by people, sounds, things? Each has its benefits. I do enjoy my quiet, solitary writing time, though.
Cleanest first draft possible, or screw grammar/spelling/punctuation and fix it later? Cleanest possible. I think things over so long before I ever even write a word, I guess that’s why it takes me so long to actually get a chapter written sometimes.
Slave to the whimsy of your muse, or writing like it’s your job, even when you don’t feel like it? Total slave. Like whips and chains, it’s that serious. I get extremely frustrated when I’m inspired with a great idea and “real life” gets in the way of me sitting down and writing. And I don’t always have the self-control to make myself churn out a couple pages every day. My muse likes to jerk me around.
Do you have a certain place/time of day/writing implement/obsessive ritual/etc. that is crucial to your writing process? I like to write in black pen. Even red pen sometimes. But blue irritates me. I don’t like using blue pen unless I have nothing else.
Where do you get your inspiration? It just comes to me out of nowhere. I might see/hear/experience one tiny little thing, then my brain immediately shoots off into what-if land, and before I know it, a story is born. For example, Sorry’s Not Enough was borne out of the idea of ‘when might a student-teacher relationship not be so inappropriate?’ and it’s evolved into so much more. That student-teacher aspect is just a small part of the picture now.
What one thing do you really love about your own writing? I don’t know. I like the feeling I get when I sit down to do some editing, and before I know it I’ve forgotten the editing part and just read 30 pages for the pleasure of it. That’s pretty special. But I don’t know what it is about my writing, necessarily, that I like. People compliment my dialogue. And my sex scenes haha. So I guess I like those. But that’s two things. Whatever, it’s my survey anyway.
What one thing do you wish you could do better? Dialogue. Doesn’t matter how many people compliment it, I’m still my worst critic.
Anything else you want to say? Fish tacos. That’s what’s for dinner. Soon as I make them.
Anything for us to read? Aww, you want more? Haven’t you read enough? Well let me see what I can dig up for you….
This is from Chapter 14 of Sorry's Not Enough:
“So are you and this John guy serious now?”Want to know how they got here, and what happens next? You can read Sorry's Not Enough on Authonomy.
The answer to his question was a resounding no. She definitely wasn’t interested in anything serious. Not with John.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You might want to tell him that.”
Charlotte smiled. This was a new side of him. It was strangely flattering to know he was jealous, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“If I know anything about 17-year old boys, let me tell you that he’s looking for something definitely more serious than you are.”
“He’s 18 already.” His birthday was in September.
“An older guy, huh?”
“Yeah, I seem to like the older ones,” she said.
They locked eyes.
“Didn’t you know?”
His eyes glinted. “I might have guessed.”
She wanted to tell him that the way he made her feel just by looking at her like that was a thousand times more remarkable than anything she ever hoped to get from John. Her smile faltered when she remembered what she was supposed to be talking to him about.
“Is there anything I can do about my grade?” she asked abruptly, making sure her voice wasn’t nearly as soft or teasing as it sounded to her a moment ago.
“I’m glad you’re thinking about that. I don’t know what’s been going on the past few weeks, but your work isn’t meeting the expectations I have for you. Not in the least.”
She hated that authoritative tone and the way his eyebrows arched slightly, his concern almost parental.
“Can I rewrite it?”
“I’m sorry, but no. The requirements for the assignment were clearly spelled out, and you had plenty of time to do it right. Your overall average is a low B right now, but there’s no reason you can’t pull it up by the end of the year.”
“I know I screwed up, okay? Isn’t there anything I can do about it?”
“You can do better next time. There will be plenty of assignments between now and the end of the school year to balance that one grade. If you were in danger of failing, I’d be willing to discuss extra credit, but you’re not.”
“Fine.” Charlotte stood up and stacked her books. She was already ten minutes late for Chemistry.
“I don’t know what more you want from me. I can’t have a special set of rules just for you and not the rest of the class.”
“I’m not asking for a better grade in exchange for sexual favors, I just want to rewrite the damn thing!”
He jumped out of his chair and hurried to close the classroom door. He turned to her, his face flushed red.
“What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get me fired?”
“No, I— I wasn’t trying—” It was just a stupid joke. He was supposed to laugh, to give her that knowing look like he had when they’d talked about John. She’d said it thinking of Steven, not Mr. Patria. She had to find a way to reconcile the two ideas of this same man, or she really would lose her mind.
“I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear,” she said, picking up her books and trying to maneuver past him.
“Charlotte, wait.” He reached for her, sliding his hand all the way around to the small of her back.
It was much too intimate a gesture, and she reacted much too boldly, stepping into him so that the only thing between them was her armful of textbooks. Reaching behind with her free hand, she found the doorknob and clicked the button lock with her thumb.
“We can’t do this,” he said, but he made no move to walk away. She’d never wanted him more than she did in that instant when his hesitation proved to her that, though he was unattainable, he was not unwilling......