Although I said in that last post that I wrote my first medical in two weeks, I wasn't lying. I just disremembered the sequence. I took at least two months because I was really trying hard not to write the same type of story as I had read in the sample books. It would have been very wrong of me (chin raised) to write about the perfect nurse who said 'yes Doctor' because, although I knew a few of those, they weren't all that popular, and certainly not with the patients. I don't want to get on a soapbox here, but nurses and doctors have different roles. Nurses are the patients' advocates, not the doctors' assistants. So, my first medical heroine was not about to be catering to any doctor's ego. Nor was she the slightest bit interested in men twenty years her senior.
Now, since HMB didn't like my enormous historical sort-of-Georgette Heyer, I thought I would pass the new contemporary story onto someone else to see what they thought. My husband was my first victim, though he didn't read fiction. He evaded my pleading gaze for days, having too many business journals or new editions of the dictionary to read, and too many meetings to attend - whatever. I finally cornered him and he took about a hundred years going through my 50,000 words. He eventually handed back my print-out (in those days I used to print out my work) with almost every page at an angle. This was to show where I had made a mistake with comma or a word or anything else a nitpicky person might want to find wrong in his sweet, patient wife's manuscript.
I fixed it all and waited hopefully for a comment. A comment? The man didn't read fiction. He didn't have a clue what I had written. He'd only noticed the misplaced commas and dealt with them accordingly.
That's what happens when you're married to a man with a genius IQ.
Back to the computer.