The Write Space is a monthly Q&A series from Creative Collective covering a local writer and a North Shore space(s) s/he associates with writing. Questions? Contact: ellorelizabeth@gmail.com.
Give us your best writerly bio.
Bobbi Lerman’s love for writing began at a young age when she would spend her afternoons crafting short stories about her extended family in the three family home where she grew up and about life in the North Shore. She earned a degree in Fine Arts from Mass Art and is a member of the New England Romance Writers and of Romance Writers of America.
Through the years, Bobbi’s writing has evolved to cover a multitude of topics from travel writing for blogs such as Wanderlust Woman, View from the Pier, Your Life Is a Trip and others, to the publication of her four novellas which appear in the Season Of Anthologies. Today she primarily writes Historical Medieval Romance and travel essays. You can check out two of her latest travel essays published here and here.
A self-proclaimed “muse locator,” Bobbi has been running workshops for almost twenty years that are aimed at helping writers unblock, and find their voice and inspiration. She founded Scribblers Ink, an active online community and website offering interviews with authors, writing tips, and daily prompts.
When she isn’t writing or workshopping, Bobbi loves to travel, garden, and hang out with her husband of 40 years, visit with her daughter Jessie and her three grandchildren, Aria, Lincoln & Levi, otherwise, known as the wild bunch.
Tell us about a North Shore Write Space.
I write most often from my home and early in the morning, before the sun has risen. My writing space is my daughter’s old room which I have transformed into my space. My desk is pushed up to a window that overlooks Nahant Bay and Swampscott beyond. I love watching the night sky turn to dawn. The most common sound, no matter the weather or the season I write to is the song of gulls, soaring above the water’s surface looking for food. Their music never fails to inspire. For an outside space, I like the buzz of conversation and the people watching in cafes. My favorite to write is Jaho in Salem. I can eavesdrop to my heart’s content ( an excellent way to pick up cadence for killer dialogue and a story idea or two), not to mention the tea, and munchies are superb.
When I’m in North Shore, not writing, I’m …
I love to walk, explore neighborhoods I haven’t necessarily been to, discovering the market I never knew existed or place to eat, talking to the locals and by that I mean the people who live in the neighborhood. That can always tell you interesting stories. My other go to is catch a movie with friends and then dinner/drinks after.
What are you working on now?
Right now I’m working on finishing my medieval historical romance that takes place in 109 Scotland, titled Healing Hearts and a couple of travel essays about getting lost in Venice and the Ghosts of Edinburgh Castle.
And finally . . .
Here’s the opening to Healing Hearts:
Carlisle, England
Mid-June- Late afternoon of the Summer Solstice, 1305
Prologue
Victoria slowed her steps and took her first clear breath since being ordered by the Earl to attend the wounded at the Garrison. With a loud sigh, she sank to the ground beside her dog, Blackie. She inhaled the sweet scent of heather, letting the heady perfume envelop her and fill her with a much-needed sense of quietude. Wrapping her arms around her pet’s neck, she pressed her cheek against his soft fur. She’d just begun to let her eyes close when a flicker of movement in the distance caught her attention – an overturned ox cart she determined from the size of it.
“Devil be damned,” she murmured. Victoria pushed Blackie out of the way. She ran toward the barrow. The thrum of her heart beating sounded loud in her ears as she closed the span to the site of the accident.
Squinting against a sudden glare of light, she saw a woman wrapped in a cloak of deep purple beckon to her. Victoria came to a dead stop at the whisper soft sound of her name carried to her on the wind. An instant later she gasped aloud at the sight of the figure evaporating into the mist like a wisp of smoke from her mother’s hearth.
The fevered pitch of her dog’s yelps brought her attention back to the present Victoria shook her head and hurried toward Blackie. “Mere exhaustion,” she chastened herself and pushed the strange image from her mind.
Her pet scratched at one of the larger pieces of broken wood strewn about. With one of its wheels splintered beyond repair, the wagon filled the narrow pathway. A woman lay on the ground no more than a foot away, half-hidden by the dense brush.
Victoria crouched by the woman who lay on her side, her body twisted, her face covered by the prickly branches of a wild raspberry bush. Victoria slipped her hands around the woman’s shoulder’s and pulled her clear. Several dark, reddish bruises covered the woman’s face. Blood oozed from a large gash in her head. Pushing aside the woman’s tangled cloak to check for other injuries, Victoria’s mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of the rounded belly. The woman, far along in pregnancy, and under Victoria’s hand, her belly hardened and peaked. Victoria counted out the length of the contraction
Find out more
Bobbi’s novella’s can be found on Amazon
Bobbi’s Travel Essays can be found at Your Life Is A Trip
You can also learn more about Bobbi on her Facebook Author Page
And Check out Scribblers Ink or Scribbler’s Ink Facebook
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