Excerpt:
Dear Reader,
It’s the holiday season and I’m feeling grateful. First, if you’ve chosen to
read this novella anthology, chances are you’ve read the first half of my Barrington Billionaire series. You may already know why this particular project is important to me, but if you don’t. . .come with me as I journey back in time.
Picture me in 2010, writing in the basement of my 850 square foot house while my youngest daughter played at my feet and the washing machine hummed behind me. I was
a kindergarten teacher back then with three children and a dream of one day sharing my writing with others.
An economic slowdown hit my area, and my teaching career became less stable. I kept getting laid off. Twenty-two years of teaching ensured that I would be employed in the district in some capacity, but not as a kindergarten teacher. I took whatever position I could but I wasn’t doing what I loved
anymore. So, I took a leap of faith.
My brother, Gerry Labrecque, suggested I self-publish. In 2011, I sat down with my computer, read every blog I could about how to self-publish, and I released Maid for the Billionaire. The rest, as they say, is history.
I love that my brother was part of my publishing journey
because, as the youngest of eleven children, family has always played a large role in my life. We grew up poor, but blissfully ignorant that life was different for others.
How poor was I back then? When I was in elementary school my clothing always came from donations people gave us in trash bags. My father worked three jobs to afford the house we lived in. My parents were God-fearing, hard working, second
generation Americans who raised eleven children to be strong and independent. They did occasionally dress us in some funny clothing, though. I’m still a little scarred from the colorful pair of pants my mother had made out of a beach bag. But I digress.
I live in an economically depressed area. When I first started making money from my writing, my first priority was to make sure no one in my family lost their homes. People warned me in the beginning that if I gave money to my family then they
would only expect more of it. They don’t know my family.
We’ve survived and thrived because we take care of each other. A few years ago, my niece sent me a most incredible story she had written and asked if I would help her self-publish it. I gave her a list of about sixty things she would need to do first. She called me back the next day and said, “I’m done. What else should I do?” After that, Danielle
Stewart had her auntie’s full support. She has about 20 books and novellas up now, and I couldn’t be prouder.
Just over a year ago, my sister, Jeannette Winters, who had a full-time job as an analyst, told me she dreamed of making enough money from her stories to pay for the new roof her home needed. I gave her the same list and told her to bring me a completed romance. If she did that, I promised to get
her the best editors I could afford, help her choose covers that would fit her books, and take over the business side of self-publishing. She joined the same author group my brother and I did and finished not only one, but two billionaire romances. And they’re good. They’re so good I could cry.
Danielle, Jeannette and I plotted out three series that intertwine through key scenes and character cameos.
Working with the two of them, developing these storylines and characters together, has given me some of the most treasured memories of my life. We truly are ALWAYS BETTER TOGETHER.
My parents have both passed away, but I like to think they are looking down at my generation with pride. We’re holding to the ideals they raised us with. Family comes first and our legacy is how we live our lives. My books are
bathtub reads. They’re fun. They’re sexy. But they won’t change the world.
My children, my nephews and nieces, and their children . . . if I show them that real wealth is having family (FAMILY is a flexible term to me . . . some are by blood, others by love) you care about who cares about you . . . then we have changed the world. At least, our little corner of
it.
Ruthie
