I'm in the Club Today

The Barnes & Noble Mystery Book Club has been featuring romantic suspense authors every day during the month of February. They kindly asked me to participate and today's my day. Check it out here.

Playing the WNBA

Last week's post was about romantic thrillers made by Hollywood. As I was re reading the list, it struck me that there were several that wouldn't be considered thrillers in the typical sense. Which struck another chord, this one from my recent panel participation for the local chapter of the WNBA.




No, not the basketball wizards. The Women's National Book Association. This is a really cool association, started in New York in 1917 by a group of women booksellers who were excluded from the all-male Bookseller's League. The only criteria was that members derive part of their income from books. Teachers, librarians, agents, writers, publishers, booksellers, production people, illustrators--all were welcome. Ninety-plus years later the organization is still promoting the role of women in this field through chapters across the country.


What better place to talk about romance--the one genre written (mostly) by women for women?


We had a fun and informative night talking about the history of the romance novel (most scholars credit Richardson's 18th century novel, Pamela, as the first), the subgenres it encompasses, and the future of the form and format (Kindle anyone?).


I was in charge of the subgenre portion and as I look back it's easy to see that there is just as much of a mash up in today's romance novel as there is in Hollywood. Whether it's Jane Austen and zombies or the paranormal Victorian mystery of Soulless, pretty much anything goes. As long as there's that HEA ending--or the implication of one.


Which, as Martha would say, is a good thing.

Anyway, here's a pic from the evening. That's Beth Pattillo on the left, whose new book, Mr. Darcy Broke My Heart, is out this month. I'm in the center, and Jody Wallace--who is the hoot and a half behind meankitty.com, and who writes paranormals and erotica for Samhein--is on the right.

The Thrill of Romance

I decided to take a break from my own work and think about someone else's. So I was cruising around the 'net and came across a topic in Yahoo Answers. The question was:

What's the best romantic thriller ever made in Hollywood ?

Sadly, there was only one answer and I didn't like it: The Saint and Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Although The Saint is a great romantic thriller, even with the silly cold fusion plot, but the Brangelina vehicle is too campy to be romantic or thrilling.

So, I scroll through my brain for my own picks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .(this is me, scrolling my brain) . . . . . . . . . .

Okay, so there are probably plenty I've forgotten, but here are the ones I remembered, in no particular order:

1. Romancing the Stone. Romance writer Joan Wilder tries to save her kidnapped sister in Venezuela by enlisting the unwilling aid of a sexy smuggler who his own reasons for helping. Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas. 1984

2. Tequila Sunrise. Childhood buddies, now on opposite sides of the law, and the woman (and drug deal) that comes between them. Kurt Russell, Mel Gibson, Michelle Pfeiffer. Written by Robert Towne, of Chinatown fame. 1988

3. The Terminator. The one that spawned all the sequels (and James Cameron's career) with one of the most romantic lines: "I came through time for you, Sarah." Michael Biehn, Linda Hamilton, and Arnold Schwartzenegger in his career-changing role ("I'll be bahk..."). 1984

4. The Bodyguard. Probably my top choice. The romantic and thriller story are intrinsically entwined in this tale about a retired Secret Service agent, skilled to the bone, trying to protect a spoiled, self-indulgent pop idol from a deadly assassin. Kevin Costner, Whitney Houston. 1992

5. Blink. Not a big movie but I've seen it many times. A newly-sighted blind woman is witness to a murder but the cops assigned to the case don't believe her. Aiden Quinn, Madeleine Stowe. 1994

6. Notorious. Another top choice. Alfred Hitchcock directed this story of a "bad" girl hired to go undercover with a dangerous group of post-Nazi Germans. Ingrid Bergman is the amateur spy and Cary Grant her government agency handler. 1946

7. The Big Easy. More mystery than thriller, it still has one of the best bedroom scenes ever filmed: when Ellen Barkin's insecure assistant DA says she's never had much luck with men, smooth, easy-going homicide detective Remy McSwain (Dennis Quaid), gives her a slow, sexy grin and says, "your luck's about to change, cher." Sigh. 1987

8. Last of the Mohicans. You may not think of this as a thriller, but the race through the eighteenth century American wilderness to evade a vindictive Mohawk is as thrilling as any contemporary cop drama. And it contains another of my all-time favorite lines, as a desperate Hawkeye is forced to abandon his love to the encroaching natives: "You stay alive, no matter what occurs! I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you." Another sigh. Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeleine Stowe. 1992

9. Witness. A young Amish boy witnesses a murder and when it turns out the killer is a cop, the only place the boy will be safe is back on the farm. Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis. 1985

10. In the Cut. The grittiest one on the list. A serial killer is loose and a closed-off English professor may be the only lead the cops have. Mark Ruffalo is terrific as a tough, sexy detective putting the moves on Michelle Pfeiffer. 2003

11. Blade Runner. This futuristic sci-fi is another genre-bending entry. But who can resist Harrison Ford's weary, reluctant detective falling for an is-she-or-isn't-she-human beauty, knowing that if she isn't, he may have to kill her. 1982

12. Ghost. Love overcomes death in this supernatural thriller that has the ghost of a murdered man coming back from the grave to protect his love from his killer. Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, and Whoopi Goldberg in her Oscar-winning role as the medium between them. 1990

13. Out of Sight. A bank robber plays a roguish cat-and-mouse game with the beautiful federal marshal trying to arrest him. George Cloony and Jennifer Lopez. 1998

That's it, folks. All I could come up with. Weird how the most recent one is six years old, and many are in the '80s. Is that a sign of my age, or a sign that Hollywood doesn't do these movies anymore?

Cover Up

I got the cover for my October release today. There's my name, nice and big, and--hallelujah!-- they even managed to include the word RITA-Winner below it. I asked them to include that on the last book and my editor balked. To say the least, I was annoyed, hurt, and pissed off.

All is forgiven now. Sort of.

It's the weirdest thing to have your name up there as if everything from cover to cover is yours. It's not, you know. Although the words between the covers are mine, the story would have been very different if it had been left up to me. It wasn't. Same with the cover. The publisher creates it and even if I have other ideas or objections, it's a done deal. Same with the back cover copy.

There was an article about James Patterson in the NY Times magazine this past Sunday. At one point it talks about James and his Giant Entourage meeting with the publisher to discuss marketing his empire. They showed him cover mock-ups to get his input. But that only happens when you reach Pattersonian heights. Otherwise, you get what you get.

Sour grapes?

Hell, yeah.

Okay, so it could be worse. I could have to self publish. Or languish around as I did for years, UNpublished. I should shut up and thank The Powers That Be for what I have.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. And if you come a little closer I'll give you something to be thankful for. Right in the kisser...

Last week I shared one of two interesting reader emails. Here, in summary, is the other: when is your next book coming out and isn't it a long time between books for a romance writer?

Ouch!!

First off--yes, October 2010 IS a loooong time from May 2009, when my current book, One Deadly Sin, came out.

Second--it ain't my fault!!!

Okay, we'll that's not exactly true. I don't set the pub schedule, that's true. The publisher, in this case, Grand Central Publishing, sets the release date. The schedule is based on who they have lined up, how they're going to juggle the available slots (they only release a set amount of books/month), and how fast I can get the manuscript to them.

So some of that I can't control. But the latter--yeah, entirely in my hands.

And I'm afraid my hands just don't type very fast. When it comes to writing, I am not a quick study. I like to tell myself it's because my books are more carefully crafted than some, but you and I both know Nora's books are terrific and she's no slowpoke.

This "crank 'em out" issue is a dilemma. To have a real career in romance, it's an unwritten law. According to the research, romance readers go through piles of books a week, and they're always hungry for more. They want to be able to go back to the bookstore and read another one by a favorite author. What's this stuff about waiting a year for another book? The faster you can write the books, the faster your career moves.

I don't think it's the same with other genres. Michael Connelly doesn't put out more than one book a year, does he? Then again, neither does Susan Elizabeth Phillips. In fact, I once heard her speak at a conference and she said she writes one page a day.

One page!

Of course, it's a damn good page. But still...

I'm struggling with this need for speed. I've got a few ideas for series, but my agent is doubtful I could produce that fast.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about.

In any case, isn't it the turtle who wins the race?

Mail Call

I received a couple of interesting emails from readers over the holiday. Each one sparked some thinking I thought I'd share with you.

First I received a note from a reader named Edie Swann curious about how I came up with the name of my heroine in One Deadly Sin, which was, coincidentally (for her) Edie Swann...

My first reaction was, how cool is that? I "invented" a name that a real person already has!

But then I had to answer the "how" and that got me thinking about character names. The christening of "my" Edie began with the kind of woman she was: a little bit rough and rootless--she does ride a Harley, after all--but not so kick ass that she couldn't yearn for the things she didn't have, like family and home.

Linguistically, the "E" in Edie is a soft sound, but the hard consonant "D" toughens that up. And the "ie" at the end is informal and casual, which is how I imagined my biker chick heroine.

So there was some real method behind the madness, at least when it came to her first name. How I came up with Swann, though, I have no idea. Sometimes I just try out names to see if they "fit."

In fact, I'm having trouble with names in my upcoming book. Two Lethal Lies. For spoiler reasons which I won't go into here, my editor had a problem with my hero's last name. I've spent weeks trying out alternatives and still haven't come up with anything that works.

I just finished Lisa Gardner's Hide and discovered in the Author's Notes at the end, that some of the characters bore the names of people Lisa actually knows. She also runs a contest that gives the winner a chance to name a character in her books.

I've never read a book with a character that had my name. Have you? I wonder if it's weird or wonderful. Maybe it depends on the character?

I did ask my reader if "my" Edie was anything like her, but alas, she declined to respond.

YYY

More on reader letters in my next post.

Playing Catch Up

My goodness it's been a while.

First there was the holidays, and then there was recovering from the holidays. I don't transition well. This is true in life as well as in writing. I need lots of time between endings, whether it's vacations or chapters or books.

In case you're interested, though, here are the highlights of the past few weeks:

Finished a first pass on the revision of Two Lethal Lies (October 2010)

Went to New York to visit family.

Ate TONS (for which I am paying double at the moment...), including:

• Hong Kong style crab at the Imperial Palace in Queens
• The best pizza in the universe at Positano's, Herricks
• Wonton soup that actually tastes like it at Jade King, Roslyn Heights
• Portuguese churrasquiera (spit-roasted over wood charcoal) from Barraida, Mineola
• Ramen noodles and steamed buns at Momofuku
• And, of course (because how can you go to NY and not) kosher dogs, mustard and kraut at the deli

Sat on my glasses and had to spend the rest of my time in NY with duct tape holding them up so I looked like a total dweeb

Watched lots of snow fall

Saw Up in the Air, which is NOT the feel-good movie the trailers make you think, but is thought-provoking character study that made me glad to be me and not him

Returned home and saw Sherlock Holmes, which was entertaining enough, but just enough

Had a wonderful New Years with friends playing Apples to Apples

Made a second tour of Two Lethal Lies

Sent my 3 proposals to my agent, who hasn't got back to me yet on any of them...

Watched snow flurry (I think it's the same 90 flakes being blown around and around)

Netflixed the movie Snow Walker, which I highly recommend

YYY

And now you're all caught up.

Kindred Spirit

This morning I read the Sunday NY Times Magazine. Yes, it's Tuesday, but I'm at my mother's and in this neck of the woods the Sunday magazine comes on Saturday. By Sunday it's been swept off to recycling with the rest of the Saturday papers. Which means a trip to the garage and an archaeological-like dig through a mound to find it. And being the lazy person that I am, well--let's just say I skipped the magazine this week. But then it magically appeared on the kitchen table this morning--the puzzle done--which meant sometime between Saturday and today my brother did the traipsing and fetching.

So...what was I saying? Oh, yes, what I read in the magazine. It was a profile on artist Jenny Holzer, who puts attention-grabbing statements on everything from T-shirts to buildings, and who lives in a "half-fixed" farmhouse in Hoosick, NY.

Here are some of my favorite excerpts from the profile. Just sub "writer" for "artist" and you'll see what I mean:

Fantasy Career: To be a divine artist as opposed to a workmanlike one. And to save the world.

Work She'd Take Back: How about everything I have done to a certain extent? I disappoint myself routinely. If you are an artist and you are honest, you are never good enough.

Artwork She Covets: An all-black Ad Reinhardt would match my heart.

Favorite Line of the Moment: The future is stupid.

Ahh..how fun to run across like-minded folk.

Queen of Denial

Read a story about the musical "Memphis" in the NY Times today.

It was mostly about how the story changed over time while in its pre-Broadway tryouts. In one version the lead character was beat up. In another he died. But what never changed was the actor playing the lead. Never a household name, Chad Kimball has been playing this part since the show originated in Boston. But while the show was being fine tuned (and, I assume being financed) it wasn't a steady gig. In between bouts, Kimball did 2 other shows that were flops and that shook his confidence. He also suffered through rumors about the producers replacing him with a "star." By that time he was in L.A. and was so upset he almost thew up.

I feel ya, man.

Doesn't take nearly that much to shake my confidence.

His story has a happy ending, though. The show opened on Broadway to pretty good reviews, and his reviews especially were great. I saw him perform on The View yesterday.

Plunging into the creative world, whether it's performing or writing is a tough journey. Holding onto your faith in yourself isn't easy. Especially if you don't have instant success. I know people in the music business who came to Nashville to make it big and never did. Some of them left, but many stayed, and are still plugging away at it, doing gigs for little or no money. I wonder how they hold on for so long.

I wonder how long I'll hold on.

Did I mention One Deadly Sin was nominated for a 2009 Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award?

Pretty cool, huh?

Some days it's not cool enough.

Some days it feels as if nothing will be cool enough.

Well, here's to you, Chad Kimball. May your road be a little smoother now.

SHOUT OUT

And as long as I'm talking about confidence and road-smoothing, I want to give a woohoo to my friend, Marie-Nicole Ryan, whose recent release, Seducing the Sherri ff, is on the Samhain Top Ten Best Sellers List. Way to go, MN!!

Now Appearing...

If you're interested in where we authors get our ideas, I can let you in on the secret. But you have to go over to Romance Junkies, where I'm guest blogging. Stop by and say hello!

The Idea Contagion

Ideas are funny little things. Like germs they're invisible until they take shape in the form of a book, business, or bad cough. And like germs they kind of float around and land randomly.

Take, for example, the plagiarism lawsuit against Stephanie Meyer. It was brought by Jordan Scott, the author of a 2006 book called "Nocturne," which, needless to say, has not had the mega success of "Twilight." Scott accused Meyer of lifting plot lines and other elements to use in "Breaking Dawn," the 4th book in the Twilight series. The suit was dismissed last week, but I bring it up here only as an example of how ideas spread.

On a personal level, I, myself have been accused of idea theft. My 4th book, BLIND CURVE, is about a homicide detective who has a stroke that renders him blind. My book came out almost at the same time as the now-defunct TV Series, "Blind Justice." A reviewer on Amazon accused me of stealing my idea from the show. Never mind that my book had been conceived and written nearly a year prior to the show airing. But as I said, ideas are like that. They flutter around, and who knows where they'll settle next?

In my case, they've settled in General Hospital, where James Franco has taken up the role of "Franco," a weird photographer/artist who captures and creates gory crime scenes of homicides.

Anyone who's familiar with my book, DEAD SHOT, will see the similarities. So...should I sue ABC?

It's been interesting to watch how the soap has tweaked the idea for their own uses. Several of their lead characters are mob-related, so Franco has plenty of crimes to home in on. Does he, like my Dead Shot heroine, Gillian, have a death wish? Or is he just a voyeur who wants to get closer to the object of his affection? Is there a particular crime--one that's very personal--he wants to solve or avenge? It will be interesting to see how many more (or less) similarities to my book pop up.

In fact, GH created a piece for the art show opening I wished I had thought of for the book: an actual bedroom set up to look like someone had been murdered there, complete with blood and a chalk outline (which, of course, the police no longer use , but what's realism when it comes to TV?). In Dead Shot, all the scenes were photographed. It would have been cool to have Gillian, create a scene using actual furniture, like a set.

But hey--that idea didn't land on me.

So if ideas are out there, thick as bacteria, what makes something iconic? Do you have to be there first? Well, we know Meyer wasn't the first with the vampire trend. Why aren't they making movies out of Sherrie Kenyon's books? Yes, she made the top of the Times list, but I guarantee she's not a household name like Meyer.

Were there others writing Pride and Prejudice or David Copperfield? Maybe if we'd had the blogosphere and the media, Jane and Charles would have ended up in court, too.

Heard about other idea contagions? I'd be interested in hearing about them, too.

GOING SOULLESS

The Pie Inspector is back at the Otherworld Diner.

Check out what she has to say about the steam punk book, Soulless.

Precious

I saw the Lee Daniels movie, Precious, last night. I understand, via the NY Times, that the movie has engendered criticism in the African-American community. I can totally understand how difficult it is to see negative representations of "your" people. The whole Madoff thing made me cringe. Definitely NOT good for the Jews.

And it wasn't all paranoia either. One of my best friends, well-educated and the antithesis of conservative, made a joke about the religious background of the key players in the financial meltdown, and believe me she wasn't accusing them of being WASPs.

So I get it.

At the same time, Madoff IS a scum bag. And there are plenty more where he came from.

Just like there are plenty of bad people whose skin is dark. It's a fact. But it's also a fact that there are good people, too. And despite the horror that is Precious's life, she has an innate goodness that only needs a few good people to help bring it to the surface. And those people are also black.

In fact, I don't think the story is only about black people. Yes, it's set within the African-American community and all the characters are black (except, I suppose, the social worker, Miss Weiss, whose ethnic background is deliberately left unspoken but who is played by the multi-racial Mariah Carey), but it's also more universal than its particular setting. The damage parents can do, the brutality that family can become, the way one person's interest can change a life--these cross over all ethnicities.

So, no, I didn't think the movie was racist. I thought it was what great art is: powerful, thought-provoking, and above all, profoundly human.

Mall Princess

I was in the mall the other day, getting money back on a pair of pants that went on sale 2 days after I bought them. It was the middle of the week and the place was almost empty.

Now this is what we call an "upscale" mall. Kate Spade, Tiffany, Versace. It's quiet, airy, and always smells good.

I was on my out when I realized something.

I love the mall.

It's peaceful, it has fountains, and when you're there you're surrounded by beautiful things.

Shallow? I'm not afraid to admit it.

But really, where else can you go and experience the fantasy of being a princess? The place is kind of like a palace, with luxury everywhere you look. Inside each door is someone eager to wait on you. And when you leave it could be with something that makes you feel special and privileged.

Sigh.

I know there are plenty of people who feel exactly the opposite. But maybe the malls they frequent are more rowdy than royal. (And yes, I enjoy those, too.)

But for my princess fix, I recommend the regal variety. And the best thing about it? No purchase necessary. You can sit by the fountain, enjoy the calming fragrance, and pretend you have all the money in the world. Who's to know different?

Aack--It's That Time Again

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and even us busy writers have to stop and wonder WTF am I going to serve that day.

First off--organic or shot full of hormones? When I put it like that the choice is self evident. But have you checked out the price of organic turkeys? Sheesh, you'd think they were covered in gold. Then again, the health of one's family is priceless (yes, I'm full of cliches today...).

Second--inside or out? Stuffing or dressing? If you were raised in the north, it's the former. If you were raised in the south, the latter. So what do you do if you were raised in the former and live in the latter? You see my dilemma...

Third--sweet, white, or none. My nieces like sweet, I like white (since I almost never eat mashed potatoes and gravy any other time of year), and it would be a whole less caloric for everyone involved if there were no potatoes on the table at all.

Thanksgiving is a very complicated holiday.

Last week's NY Times Dining section led with an in-house duel between two of their food writers. One said Thanksgiving would be nothing without the turkey. The other said turkey shmerky, no one cares about the turkey. It's the sides that everyone looks forward to.

I'm a sides person myself, but you could take all the sides away and as long as you have the turkey it would still be Thanksgiving. Take the turkey away, though, and you just have another great meal.

So...here's a question (or two) for all of you out there: turkey or sides? Organic or the poor house? Stuffing or dressing? Orange, white or none? Share your holiday sagas (and recipes).

The Glow of Success

Over the weekend I went to a reception for Sue Grafton, the wildly successful writer of the Alphabet mystery series. Sue is a friend of a friend and she was in town for fun not business. But that didn't stop me and another local writer from seeking her advice. And she was gracious enough to talk career, agents, publishers, promotion and all the other woes us midlisters have.

It's a strange thing to talk to a writer who has reached the levels I aspire to. Strange because it lets you see the possibilities right there in flesh and bone (it can be done!) while also reminding you that you are nowhere near those heights and have no idea how to reach them.

Also at the same event were two young British men spending their Gap Year between high school and university in town. One of them wants to be an actor, but will return to England to take up the law at Cambridge. When I asked why he wasn't going to drama school he acknowledged that a successful acting career takes luck as much as talent. So he will study law and do as much acting as he can at the same time (evidently there's a lot of opportunities at Cambridge) and see what luck brings him.

Looking back, these two encounters form opposite ends of the success see-saw. For all the frustrations I've felt at the way my career has gone (or not gone) and all the things I've tried to do to break out of the midlist doldrums, there is a line beyond which I cannot cross. Or rather, cannot control. I can make sure my title, cover, back cover copy--my "package" as they call it in the industry--looks great. I can make sure the story inside the package is the best I can do. Beyond that is luck, and that, dear reader, is out of my hands.

Small comfort, I suppose. But comfort nevertheless.

So... here's to Luck. May she shine on all of us aspiring writers, and may the glow of success be your own.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

The other morning I was chatting away--about stuff that had happened to me, stuff that I'd heard on NPR, stuff that I was reading in the paper--and noticed my husband, who was on his first cup of coffee and pouring over the sports section, was going "uh huh" in a randomly listless way.

In short: paying no attention.

When I abruptly stopped and said I'd talk to him later, he laughed and pointed out that our circadian rhythms just don't jive. All he wants to do first thing in the morning is read the paper in silence. By the time he's perky I've slowed down and don't want to talk at all.

"We're just not made for each other," he says.

Now he tells me. After 35 years of marriage.

"Maybe we should get a divorce," I say.

He looks up briefly, then back down at the paper. "Okay, but you get it."

We've joked about this before. In patches far rougher than this. But it's always been too much work. Far easier to soldier through and find our way out of the jungle together.

I suppose if one of us was desperate enough we would have broken through what seems like a mountain range of tasks, paperwork and legalities to reach separation on the other side. In fact, I wonder that anyone makes it over those hills.

Given the divorce rate ( and despite what Neil Sedaka says), it would seem as if breaking up is easy to do. But from my perspective, it's not easy enough. It must take courage and cause and an armful of unhappiness to saw through those ties.

We've had our moments. But we've also had enough humor (his) and stubbornness (mine) to eventually see us through them.

Not to mention the fact that we're too lazy, too entrenched, and the alternative is just too damn hard.

Steam Punk

I know I'm late to the party, but I've just heard about steam punk. In books it's supposed to be the Next Big Thing. I gather it involves the 19th century, anachronistic technology--perferably steam-driven--and lots of metal doodads and goggles. I had trouble putting it all together until I picked up a copy of Gail Carriger's Soulless.

The books is set in an alternate version of Victorian England where vampires, werewolves and other supernaturals wander around under the auspices of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, a division of Her Majesty's Civil Service. Ms. Carriger introduces the requisite "glassicals" on p. 10.

The book is fun and charming, though I'm trying to figure out how to translate the light touch and the humor to my darker, not-so-funny style.

I'm told that other icons in the steam punk library include The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, and the movie Wild, Wild West.

If you' re still having trouble picturing all this, check out some folks dressed up as steam punkers for Dragon Con, here.

So...anyone out there into steam punk? Read anything? Seen anything? If so, share. The whole thing has got me way curious.

Back in Business...the Otherworldly Kind

The Flu Blahs are gone...well, going. And just in time, too. On Friday I debut at the Otherworld Diner.

Now, I won't be cooking, though I will be cooking up trouble. You see, I'm the Pie Inspector, and I drop in from time to time (but mostly on the last Friday of the month) to make sure the Diner's pastries are up to snuff.

What IS the OD? Ahh, thought you'd never ask.

The OD is the home of cooks, waitresses, bakers, hostesses, and sundry romance writers who love otherworldly things, be they vampirish, ghostly, alien or the like. Can they read minds? Can they jump through wormholes? Do they have faery blood? If the answer is yes, you will most likely find them enjoying a home-cooked meal at the Diner.

Now this doesn't mean I'll start sporting a glitter wand instead of a .9 mm Glock. But I do have other interests, particularly if they're in the area of moving pictures. And I am a bit, well, opinionated. So look for me to spread my wisdom about paranormal and sci fi movies and TV shows.

To kick things off and create a buzz on the street, there's an interview with yours truly. It includes both the superpower I'd give myself if I could, and the one I think my friends and family would bless me with. But you'll have to read the interview to find out what they are.

Hope to see you at the Diner. Drop by, have a piece of pie, and stay a while to shoot the breeze.

The End of Gourmet

The last Gourmet Magazine came today, and my husband is so traumatized that he can't even look at it for more than a few pages at a time.

I find this remarkably odd.

He never cooks. When I'm out of town he either eats cereal or toast or just has someone else make him dinner...at a restaurant.

But something about Conde Nast's cancellation of Gourmet has completely unnerved him.

I admit he liked to pour over every issue. It is--was--a pretty magazine. He'd spend time when it came, savoring whatever he savored and that was it. He rarely referred back to it or asked, three weeks later, for that rabbit cassoulet he read about.

Nor does he like to travel. The magazine was a trove of travel ideas, what to see, what to eat, where to go. But he hates to leave his house. In fact, when he does travel, he takes his house with him...his RV is a dear friend.

So I'm at a bit of a loss to understand why the demise of Gourmet has given him such a wallop.

Too much a sign of the times?

Perhaps. But I can't say he's one of those high life kind of guys. His favorite pastime is digging in the dirt. Seriously. One of his proudest (and, secretly, most enjoyable) achievements is the rain trench he dug around the shrub beds in the front and side of the house. When it rains he likes to go out on the porch and make sure those sunken alleyways are doing the job the way they were engineered to do. So it's not like he was managing a hedge fund or drinking Cristal and downing caviar while Rome burned.

But Si Newhouse struck a nerve, I guess.

God, it's a cold cruel world.

This Sunday in the NY Times Magazine, Ruth Reichl, the editor--former editor--of Gourmet did the one-page interview. Asked to predict the fate of another Conde Nast publication, The New Yorker, Ruth predicted that magazine would be around forever. Evidently, Si "loves" that mag.

Not my baby boy. He canceled our subscription to The New Yorker months ago. With Gourmet on the other hand, we had to wait to be dumped.

That's us. Always right in front of the trend.

The Name Game

Play the Name Game with me on the Grand Central Cafe blog. It's fun. It's fascinating. It's positively fantastic.

And, yes, I am a little over happy today.

Retreat Pics

I promised pictures, and finally someone with a brain in their head who remembered a camera posted theirs. First up: view from the back of the house. Can you see the little valley back there?

It was very foggy out. Made for a dreamy, Wuthering Heights feel:

Here are some shots of the house:

The fireplace was huge and the picture doesn't do the size justice. It was cool up in the "mountains" so we kept the fire going all day.

Here's the Beersheba Springs museum, which chronicles some of the community's past. Among other things there's a room in the back kind of like a kitchen. They've got a table set with what looks like Sunday dinner china, and one of the things on the table is a lantern. Without electricity they'd need light to eat by. I also saw a match holder nailed to the wall by the door. Things we no longer think about...

Finally, there really were people at the retreat.

Below is Alf, our gracious host. Behind him is Marcia, our fearless leader who organized the retreat. The whole gang is gathered, minus Jennie Fields, who took all these lovely photos and kindly shared them.

The Treat in Retreating

Had a great time over the past weekend. I went on a knitting retreat.

Yup, that's right. Knitting. Retreat.


Eight women, fabulous house, breathtaking scenery, and knitting needles.



There is really nothing like going away with women. I didn't know half of them when I got there, but I sure do now. We each prepared a meal, and it was all delicious. We knit, showed off some of our finished pieces, exchanged patterns. And talked, talked, talked. Sigh. What could be better?

Now if I was writing a book about the weekend, one of the women would have just been diagnosed with cancer, one's marriage would secretly be crumbling, one would have just lost her job, which was her sole identity. There would be a bitch, and an overly optimistic person. There would be tension and drama and in the end everyone would have learned something.

Thank God my weekend wasn't in that book. The only thing I learned were some new knitting patterns.



The fabulous house is in Beersheba Springs, TN, and was graciously lent to us by its owner. For those of you who aren't native, let me explain that Beersheba is pronounced BURshiba, and you kind of run the syllables together. The house had an incredible view of a picture perfect valley nestled against a foothill of trees that were just beginning to turn gold and red. As usual, I forgot my camera, but some of the other ladies took photos and as soon as they get them posted I'll put some up. In the meantime, here's what those hills looked like from our back porch:

Not bad, huh?

Beersheba Springs (pop. 500 as of 2000) was built up in the mid-nineteenth century by a Louisiana slave trader and later used by others to escape the heat and yellow fever of the low lands. The only hotel was wrecked by irregulars during the Civil War and though it was rebuilt it never achieved its prewar success. It's now part of the Methodist Assembly that seems to be the bread and butter of the town. But the 19th century layout of the town remains the same and there are some beautiful cottage-style houses there.

So for those of you who are stressed out, I recommend de-stressing with friends and strangers who can become friends. Oh, and don't forget the knitting.

Advice Worth Taking

Just a shout out to BookPage, a wide-ranging site that cover reviews and features related to good reads, from A.S. Byatt to, well, me. Every month Tom Robinson does an author forum on the site called Advice Worth Taking. I'm one of the group for October.

This month's question:

What's the best piece of writing advice you've ever received?

Four writers, four different answers (natch). Together they make for an interesting, and, dare I say it, inspiring column. Frankly, I should take what the other guys say to heart.

Curious?

Check out what we said here.

Stargate Universe, The Review

Saw the new Stargate Universe last night. Since I am a huge sci fi fan, the new series was one I was looking forward to with great anticipation.

It didn't disappoint.

I will say at the outset that I'm not a huge SG-1 or Atlantis fan. Those shows get a C/B in my book. Watchable, but not addictive. I always found the writing too much on the nose. And I prefer my sci fi to be serialized, as Battlestar and Farscape were. That way you get sucked into the fantasy more. It always irked me that there was little emotional consequences from episode to episode in the previous Stargate shows. An enemy was defeated and the clock goes back to zero for the next enemy. The heroes never grew (except maybe Daniel in SG-1) or changed over time (okay, Amanda Tapping's hair changed). Even injuries, when they were sustained, never lasted from episode to episode. These shows were styled to be old-fashioned episodic dramas, like Bonanza.

But hopefully, Stargate U has taken a leaf from Battlestar's success. The pilot certainly hinted at that. The scenes shot in the present, on board the weird, damaged ship in the middle of nowhere, are lit with a lot of shadows and the set is nicely dark. Dr. Ross, one of the main characters, is equally dark and seems to hold a lot of secrets. Same with the commander, played by Louis Ferierra (who btw, plays the serial killer in Durham County with such creepiness you can hardly believe they're the same actor...). The Lieutenant with too much to handle was nicely out of his depth with plenty of room for growth, and he, too, has a secret. And secrets are the bread and butter of great drama.

The writing still has a bit of the Stargate cheesiness to it. There are stupid lines ("You knew, dammit, Dr. Ross!"), out of character speeches (Ross telling Chloe her father's death isn't his fault), and one-dimensional characters (the rep from IOA who challenges Ross's supposed promotion to Leader). Neither Cooper nor Wright have proven themselves to be subtle writers in the past. It will be interesting to see if they can tone themselves down for the rest of the series. Certainly the attack on the base with the whole "the planet is exploding, the planet is exploding" plot reason for the evacuation to an unknown gate address, was rushed and seemed contrived because of it.

BUT--what the hey. I still enjoyed it and can't wait for more.

The Me Update

Me, me, me, me, me.

Am I warming up my throat with vocal scales?

Of course not. I'm writing this. And this, after all, is about

Me.

So here's the Me update:

Two Lethal Lies is on the editor's desk. I'm wondering what she'll change the title to.

I'm working on 3--count 'em--3 proposals at once. Never done this before. Always...mooched around after finishing a book. Shopped, movied, freecelled.

I have 2 inspirations for the new Me. Close to home, it's my friend Trish Milburn, aka, Tricia Mills. She's always got 2 or 20 projects going at once. She writes in two genres AND she manages to speak all over everywhere while still conducting a political career on the RWA Board.

Less close to home is everyone's wannabe: Nora. The New Yorker did a piece on her (gawd--the New Yorker no less...) and she puts her butt in the chair for, like, 8 hours a day. Can you imagine? Like it's a, well, a job.

Sheesh. Give me a large break.

Okay, okay, so, here I am. Trying to live up to my idols.

Or at least, one of them.

I hope it hasn't gotten past you that I'm blogging, not working on my proposals. The Great and Munificent Nora doesn't blog.

But, hey--Trish does!

Whew. I'm good.

But you there. You, reading this. You have two choices. Ask yourself: WWND? or WWTD?

The September Issue

I saw The September Issue yesterday with one of my fashionista friends. What an interesting glimpse into the real "devil" who wears Prada--Anna Wintour--and the real "Mode Magazine"--Vogue.

I'm always fascinated by high-powered women. AW came across as warmer than her movie counterpart, which was interesting. But the power both the fictional and non-fictional women wield is real. The rise of Thakoon (In Style just did a spread on power dressing, profiling Mrs. O, and she was wearing one of his dresses...) which is shown in the movie is a case in point.

But last night I had a nightmare about a photo shoot for which I was responsible and the shoot got completely out of hand with the director taking over and creating ideas that hadn't been discussed with the client beforehand. Thinking back on it, I realize the dream was inspired by the movie--and my former career as writer/producer in advertising.

The section in the film relating to the cover of the September issue really hit my emotional buttons. Especially when Anna, doing her review of the photographers pictures, isn't satisfied with what he shot and wants to know where the rest of it is. There are no photographs from one of the key locations. Turns out the photographer wasn't pleased with anything he got there and didn't keep any to send. I just about fell out of my seat. I can't imagine being the agency producer and having a photographer make that decision. Hence my nightmare.

I haven't mentioned Grace Coddington, the genius stylist behind so much of the amazing photography in Vogue. She occupied much of the movie and provided a tension point, as she and Anna didn't always agree, and Anna had the final say on Grace's work. That, too, felt like advertising, where you can work your butt off only to have the account guy or the client reject it often for no explicable reason.

Anyway--cool movie. All you style gurus and advocates for women in business should see it.

OK, so the new TV shows have started and I'm loving some and not so much on others.

First...the returns. I still enjoy The Mentalist, but that Beckett woman on Castle just drives me nuts. Can she be any more wooden? That show would be unbeatable if someone really good had been cast as Beckett--and not just good looking, which Stana Katic, is no doubt. Is it too much to ask that she can act, too?

My pick to replace her : how about Mary McCormack from In Plain Sight? Now that would be interesting.

Casting's not an issue with Durham County. You lovers of creepiness, get ye there. This Canadian show is so eerie my husband refuses to watch it. The premise? What if the guy who lives in the house next door in the typically Spielberg subdivision--you know, the nice guy, the one with the wife and kid, the one who could have been a hockey star if only--what if he is a serial killer? It's kind of Dexter meets The Cosby Show--without the laughs. It's on the DVR list and I watch it in small doses.

I thought The Good Wife was compelling enough to make the list. Now there's a cast that can handle lines. And who could resist that slap Alicia gives her crooked politician/cheating husband?

Not to mention her struggle to separate herself from her last name and her husband's dirty laundry. It pulled me right in.

My taste runs to anything scifi, so of course I checked out FlashForward. I love the premise. And it's interesting to see Joseph Fiennes try out his American accent. From a sword to a gun. Hmm. Not very British of him. I won't say I'm hooked yet but FF is on the list. I'll give it a few more episodes to see how it plays out.

I'm also looking forward to the new Stargate show. I hear it's going to be darker and less episodic than SG-1 or Atlantis, which is music to my ears. Nothing can replace Farscape, but maybe this will help.

I'm not a huge comedy fan (bet you're not surprised to hear that...) but I did give Community and Modern Family a try. The former...eh. The latter I may watch again.

I do miss Burn Notice, The Closer, and In Plain Sight. Sigh.

If you've got any recommendations, lay them on me. Ditto to disagreements or endorsements.

Nothing To Do

Still away from home. Very early this morning. Gloomy from rain. We are all up, but it is sleep quiet nevertheless.

Hubby is getting ready for business meeting. Son-in-law for his day of work. Daughter is writing and rewriting. I have nothing to do.

She offers a book, but I have a book. I have magazines, computer games, gameboy, sudoku, Morning Edition on the radio. But all that is nothing to do.

I have only a hard seed of an idea. A series. It rolls around in my head and sprouts only questions. Who? What? Why? There are no answers. The thing is greasy. I reach for it and it slips out of my grasp.

Meet Me in St. Louie, Lewie

My mother always pronounces it: St. Louie. Then again, she's from Brooklyn. I've been told it's a great faux pas to say anything but St. Lewis.

In any case, that's where I am--in St. Louis with the newlyweds.

The football is on, though muted, and we are talking about people who throw their cigarette butts on the ground. Larry wants a bumper sticker. Here are some suggestions from the group:

Butts are not attractive

Butts are garbage, too.

Littering is punishable by death (and that means you, cigarette smokers)

We all decided the last one was too long for a bumper sticker.

More later from the exciting life here in the gateway to the Midwest.

Friday Specials

Hey, y'all! It's Friday, and, as promised, my "healthy writer" blog is already up and running. So click on over and let me know what you think about body issues and adressing them.

Changing the subject: Tonight the Jewish New Year begins at sundown. The holiday, Rosh HaShana--Rosh, meaning "head" or "beginning" and HaShana, meaning "the year"--celebrates the birthday of the world, or at least that's how they phrase if for the kinder (children).

You can't have a holiday without food--oh, wait a sec, if you're Jewish, you CAN have a holiday without food because the next one coming up, Yom ("day") Kippur ("atonement") is supposed to be a fast day, but never mind--MOST things Jewish come with food, and Rosh HaShana has its own epicurean traditions.

First and foremost that means sweet things, so that the coming year will be sweet for you. Traditionally that means apples dipped in honey--not my favorite. Now apples dipped in caramel--that works. But so messy.

Another tradition, at least if your family tree resided in eastern Europe, is brisket. Usually baked with a ton of caramelized onions, carrots, and a dab of ketchup. Several years ago I served this to my husband's fantasy baseball league, and the guys are still talking about it...

This year I'm eschewing all familiar tradition and posing as a Syrian (Iranian, Moroccan, you get the picture). I'm making Roast Chicken with Dried Fruits and Almonds.

You can't pretend to be middle eastern without couscous, so that's my side.

And for dessert, I'm substituting apples for the nectarines in this Nectarine Golden Cake, which is the kind of cake a non-baker like me can do.

So give me props for experimenting.

Happy 5770 everyone.

May your year be filled with the sweetness of heart, mind, and body.

Sin in Book Clubs

As you may know, I ran a photo contest last month. You had to send in a photo of yourself (or your Barbie dolls, cat, dog, whatever) with a copy of One Deadly Sin. At the same time, I spoke at a friend's book club and told them about the contest. They all quickly gathered themselves with the book and snapped a picture.

Things being what they are...the photo never got sent.

Until now.

So, no winnings, but they do get a special posting. Here they are--the book club ladies Sinning away.

By the way--if you're interested in reading one of my books for your book club, let me know. I'll be happy to call and chat with your group about the book.

Book Learning

I'm almost through with the third book in my reading spree. The second was by Daniel Silva and this one is by Mariah Stewart.

Silva writes international thrillers with a continuing character, an on again-off again Israeli agent. Set in Europe, the book hops between countries--England, Switzerland, Italy, Spain. The story not only bobs between places but between plot points: chapters consist of many, many short scenes. Most are from the hero or antagonist point-of-view, but some are from the POV of more secondary characters.

The book didn't engulf me, although the hero has a haunted past that makes him interesting. But I didn't feel as though there was much at stake. Since the hero is a continuing character, no matter how badly he's beaten, you know he'll survive. And if he didn't, and his mission failed, the world wouldn't end. Injustice would prevail, but there is always the sequel...

Compounding the low-end stakes was the fact that main threat in the book--to a world-famous musician--never materializes into an actual attempt at killing her. In the end, the assassin decides not to do the deed after all, though he is in place and close enough to carry out his mission. I wonder if Silva found himself liking her too much to kill her off. Maybe she or the assassin will appear in another book?

But I liked the way he moved around the story, cutting scenes off, even sectioning off long scenes into shorter ones without changing POV. I've had several instances in my current wip where I wanted to do that but wasn't sure how. Now I know.

I'm two-thirds into the Mariah Stewart book. The book was hard to get into. Beyond the prologue, the writing appeared thinner than I like. But as I kept on I began to see the advantages of the style. It's mostly dialog with almost no interior monologue. This gives the book a super-fast pace. Again, the story isn't the most innovative or remarkable on the planet, but I suspect her fans don't care. Violence happens off-screen, the main characters are neither dark nor tortured, and the murders happen to strangers we don't really care about. All of which makes for a safe read. And I've met readers who don't want their mysteries to be too intense.

I've also met readers who don't like to read anything but dialog. I spoke at a book club a few weeks ago and one of the members reiterated this opinion. Stewart's book would be perfect for her.

As for me, it made me think about my own dialog to internal monologue ratio. Sometimes I write pages and pages of dialog and it feels wrong somehow. Too expository, and, well, icky. And by icky I mean, boring, cliched, unclever. But reading Stewart I see how it works.

I've got 2 more books to go after the Stewart book. I think the next will be by Laura Lippman. It was so intense my husband stopped reading it. It should be an interesting change from what I'm reading now. Wonder what I'll learn?

Heads Up

Just an advance notice: I'll be blogging on Trish Milburn's Healthy Writer blog on Friday (this Friday, Sept 18, 2009). It's all about dressing your body, no matter what shape your body's in. So tune in and tell me what you think.

After the Ball is Over

What a weird feeling. Yesterday I sent my book off to New York and today I'm without meaning and purpose...

It's a strange thing writing a book. Living with the story, the characters, the struggle of putting it all on paper--and then poof! It's done. It's...gone.

Move on. Snap out of it. Enjoy the freedom.

Bah. Humbug.

Can't live with it; can't live without it.

Sunday on the Mark with Jane

It is Sunday, the hump of the long weekend. My daughter and her new husband are here and I'm looking forward to spending a glorious day with them.

To begin, we are watching the BBC production of Jane Eyre with Timothy Dalton. It's stilted and play-like, but the best adaptation of the book I've ever seen. Whole sections of dialog lifted from the book and spoken so beautifully and perfectly by the actors that the 19th century words sound normal. "She sucked my blood. She said she would drain my heart!" So speaks Mason after being attacked by his sister. "You long to recommence a life more worthy of an immortal," says Rochester. "My little mustard seed," he calls Jane after she agrees to marry him.

Sigh. Little mustard seed, indeed.

What a great way to start this day.

Atonement

Warning: Rant Coming

Once my SFD (see below) was complete I promised myself I would take a week off and read. Ironically, since I began writing full time, I have stopped reading novels altogether. So this was to be an experiment. Could I could pick up the habit again? And, as an added component, I thought I would dip my toes into the sea of literary fiction and find out what the supposedly better half was doing.


My first choice was Atonement by Ian McEwan. I picked it because I usually like books set in the past. My brother loved it. And so did a million other readers, including those from La La Land. I finished it yesterday. What an amazingly written, engrossing, horror of a book.


Warning: Spoiler Alert


A day later, I am still furious. How dare he call the book Atonement when there is none? How dare he trick his reader into thinking all will be well, when it won't? How dare he lead us all down the garden path of happy endings, then pull the proverbial rug out from under us? That book is exactly why I write romance.


Are the deaths of the lovers more realistic? Perhaps. But who needs realism? Just turn on CNN. Is the cowardice of the liar more true to life? Perhaps. But surely there are people out there who would face what they'd done and ask for forgiveness. Is the long, prosperous, and hypocritical (re: philanthropic) life of the perpetrators unusual? No. But, as McEwan says at the end, the writer is God. He can manipulate the truth any way he wishes. Why, then, did he choose to create such a heartfelt and ultimately cynical book?

Clearly, he is not a Buddhist. There is such thick, deep suffering in the book, but it is not redemptive. And he is not Christian. There is no hint of death being the portal to "a better place." And he is no Jew. Jews must face those they've wronged, actively seek forgiveness, and work to right whatever harm they've done. I don't know much about Islam, but I'd take bets he's not Muslim either. So what is McEwan?

A coward. That is his religion.

He's a coward for not being brave enough to give his tortured lovers an ending that overcomes or makes sense of their suffering--which he clearly wanted to do. A coward for not braving the sneers of his fellow "serious" writers, who would call an "emotionally satisfying ending" a trip down sentimental lane. A coward for the slick, dirty joke he pulls at the end.

And now I need to wash my mind out with the brave words of my own kind. At least we don't play games with our readers.

Yawn, Stretch, Open Eyes

September is here, and the long sleep is over. Why I referred to the last month as if I were hibernating, I have no idea, since I was working my butt off. But who can know the intricate workings of a writer's mind? Certainly not me.

Had things gone the way I'd predicted my book would be off to my editor today. But in the great wide world of publishing things don't always go as predicted. Turns out my next book has been pushed back a month, giving me 4 more weeks to fidget and worry and revise, revise, revise.

In fact, if I'd been thinking, I would have revised all those dozing pictures to ones of furious output, which is what I was really doing, much to my surprise.

The other day I was commiserating with my friend, Jenny Fields, who writes literary fiction and is currently working on a book about Edith Wharton called The Age of Ardor. We were talking about how much more fun it is to revise than anything. That Shitty First Draft, as Annie Lamont calls it, is the hardest part of writing for me. I know you're supposed to just vomit something up but all that stuff at the bottom of my innards usually doesn't want to come out. I eke out those pages like hunting for water in the desert. Some days it flows. Most days it doesn't.

I did something different this past month. I wrote the last book, One Deadly Sin, at Panera's. I couldn't get back into the rhythm of that for this one. Instead, I got up early and while it was cool, sat on my screened in porch and finished the manuscript. I don't know why home worked better for this book than the last. But it did. Odd how place is important to writing. I won't be able to continue out here when the weather turns. Wonder where I'll go next.

Does every book need its own place? If so, I'm in deep doo doo. I'm going to start running out of places to go.

Most writers have offices. They write everything there. I have an office but I avoid it. It's too small, too messy, too overwhelming with...stuff.

Anyway, now that the SFD is done and I've gone through it a couple of times, I feel like I'm waking up to a spring thaw. My schedule is breaking up and I've got a little time to do other things.

Like this.

So, howdy world!

Mmn, Mmn, Good

Just popping up from my fog of story to say I went to the Farmer's Market this afternoon and bought some corn off the back of a farmer's truck. It was Kentucky corn, not Tennessee, but we had it for dinner tonight, and it was some of the best corn I've ever had.




When my husband was a younger man, many moons ago, he had a summer job soil testing for the Dept of Agriculture in southern Alberta, just north of the Montana border. When it was time for lunch, he and his buddy would pull onto the side of the road, walk a few feet into a farmer's field, "liberate" 7 or 8 ears of corn, and drive into Seven Persons, where they paid a restaurant to cook it for them. Now that's fresh.




We also bought white cucumbers at the market. They look like Kirby's but they're white. When you cut them open, the green seeds are so pretty.



Last but not least, heirloom tomatoes. Cherokee Strawberry, Mortgage Lifter, and some orange ones whose name I can't remember. If all you've ever had was the store bought kind you've never really had a tomato.



Nothing like food to get you out of your own head.

Bring On The Cliches

Oy, it's hard being a mother.

Did your mother ever tell you that?

Up to now my daughter and I have been pretty cool about the upcoming wedding. But now that its a little less than two weeks away, the pressure is on. We've had 2 melt downs in the last 2 weeks. Not a good average, I'm thinking. Unless you take into account the previous 11 trauma-less months. If that's the case, I think we're batting close to .300.

I only hope that as the days tick on we can keep our stress level down. Why does such a wonderful time bring with it so much tzuris?

Stupid question, seeing as it's a huge turning point in our lives.

But it would be nice to avoid the cliches.

On the other hand, experience becomes cliche because most of us go through the same thing, right?

So, now that I think about it, WTF--bring on those time honored cliches: the meltdowns, the laughter, the tears of sadness and of joy .

We could hardly call it a wedding without them.

You Can Have Me--Cheap

I'm participating in Brenda Novak's Auction for Diabetes Research. It's a pretty cool idea, whether you're a writer or a reader. There are tons of stuff to bid on, from baskets of stuff to lunches with authors to looksees from agents, and loads of books. And its all for a good cause.

I'm offering a critique of a first chapter, plus a signed copy of One Deadly Sin. And if my reputation precedes me you know I give good critique. Or maybe I should say I give a close reading and a detailed analysis.  Or if you just want me to gush, I can do that, too....

The best part? I can be had for a song. Bidding started at a mere $2, and as of this writing has made it to a miraculous $16. You get Bergdorf quality at a Target price. 

On The Road Again

May's a huge month this year. Three--count 'em--three college graduations, and then, of course shortly after, the Big Day.

But right now we're between the first and second graduation. Which means we're on the road between Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where Carolina Blue holds sway over UNC, and St. Louis, where no one seems to care what color you wear at Washington University.

The highlight of the trip so far--ceremonies aside--was Boone, North Carolina. With a name like Boone, I admit my inner city girl was a little snarkish. I mean how much could a place with a name like that in a southern state offer?

Well, put that city girl to bed. Boone was an amazing place. Home of Appalachian State U, it is a beautiful place. Hilly, like San Francisco, but with tree-covered mountains framing it.m Well, hardly mountains, says my Canadian husband, but not hills either. Just pretty, pretty, pretty.

In fact, the ride through the Cherokee National Forest to Boone, was worth the trip in itself.

And Boone was a great place to stretch out legs and catch a bite. We ate at Boone Drugs, which has been a part of the town since 1919. It has an old soda fountain set in the midst of herbal remedies. The food was only so-so, but we probably should have had hamburgers instead of the vegetable plate. But we enjoyed the atmosphere and the gold plates naming the regulars who have now passed on.

It was fun to walk up and down the main street with its vintage clothing stores (we saw beautiful wedding dresses in one), craft galleries, antique and collectible stores (vintage games like Go to the Head of the Class) and the metal-cast car place. Every vehicle you could think of in three-inch metal. My husband treated the place like a shrine and went around pointing out every car he'd ever driven or ridden in over the last fifty years.

Of course I can't go anywhere without thinking story, and Boone has a ton going for it--scenery, a university, the local mountain community, history, and possibility. It would be fun to spend some time there doing research. In fact, I saw a house there that looked almost exactly like the house I described in One Deadly Sin in which the elderly Ellen Garvey lived. I love it when something I imagined exists somewhere in reality...

Chapel Hill is another great place. UNC rules the roost there. The fire trucks, the buses, even the police cars are Carolina blue. Graduation day was a sea of sky as nearly 4,000 undergrads sat in Kenan Stadium and listened to Desmond Tutu talk about our role in the universe as God's helpers.

Graduation was on everyone's mind in Chapel Hill. Many restaurants had special hours and special deals for the weekend. The hotels were booked, and with Duke graduating the same weekend, there were many folks, like us, in that part of the state with smiles on their faces.

We get a one-day stopover at home and then on to St. Louis. It will be interesting to see the difference between a big-city graduation and what happened at UNC. The graduating class there is so big they don't call out individual names. I think things will be a little more intimate at Wash U. But I'll bet the city doesn't close down either, so you don't have that wonderful feeling that the whole world is celebrating with you.

Hope your month is as full of good things as mine. And of course, this is all just prep for the wedding, which comes in June.

Patooy

The One Deadly Sin Blog Tour is coming along nicely. It's helped introduce me to a lot of new readers.

But I do admit it rankles a bit to hear "I never heard of" or "read one of" after what feels to me like a whole library of books on my shelf. I wonder about those stories of the "overnight success" who wrote, like, twenty books before being "discovered." I'm not sure I can make it to twenty! I guess those are the folks who are more concerned about the journey rather than the destination.

To which I say. . . patooy.

I mean, who wants to be on an endless journey that never gets anywhere? Just a pile of hot, stinkin' patooy.

But that's not really what I want to talk about.

What I want to talk about is this great online chat I had last night at Writerspace.

I find it amazing that I can string the words "great" and "chat" in a sentence together. Usually, those things are SO uncomfortable for me. I'm there, clearly, for the purpose of promoting my book, which is, well, awkward. Everyone seems to know everyone, and, as per the above, no one knows me. And they're all talking a mile a minute, fingers going so fast you'd think they were nuclear powered or something. And me trying to get a word in here and there. Shudder.

So you ask: mah nishtana ha laila ha zeh?

Or, in the vernacular: Why is this night different?

Easy. Two of my buddies showed up.

Unexpectedly, of course. One was even in disguise, but she gave herself away by mentioning MCRW (Music City Romance Writers).

Finally, I knew someone in the room. Finally, I had some peeps around me.

Boy, what a difference. The hour just flew by.

Ain't it grand to have friends?

So here's a huge shout out to Jody Wallace, aka Ellie Marvel, AND Marie-Nicole Ryan.

Great writers, great friends, and two people I'm lucky to have in my corner.

And THAT ain't no patooy.

Let There Be Blogs

The fabulous One Deadly Sin Blog Tour begins today.

There are all sorts of giveaways and lots of cool stuff with yours truly;

What's my idea of earthly paradise?

Who would I cast as heroine Edie Swann?

Who is my biggest supporter? My greatest critic?

And why did I become a writer instead of a cat sanctuary owner?

All this and more on the ODSBT. So check out the schedule here and join the fun.

See you on the tour!

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

Just so you don't think I'm a grown up, I left my credit card at Casa Maya, the Mexican restaurant I went to in New Jersey AND I didn't realize it until two days ago.

Sheesh, what an airhead...

Garden State

I've been in New Jersey for a couple of days now. It's not an unfamiliar state; we had family in West Orange, and, as a kid, I went there often for holidays. We also vacationed on Long Beach Island. I have such fond memories of that place I set part of my first book, Like A Knife, there. And, of course, there's always Tony Soprano and his gang.

All that gives one a certain impression, and that impression is not necessarily of old and quaint New England towns.

Which is one of the reasons I've enjoyed my stay here so much. My future SIL toured me around Basking Ridge, Peapack Gladstone and Bernardsville, and the area is lovely. Much more built up than it was when he was growing up, but still bucolic despite the new office parks and strip malls. Lots of little towns separated by swaths of bare woods that will plump up green in the summer but now show the trunks of tall, straight hardwoods. The forsythia are in full bloom and deer crossings over the highway are draped in bright yellow.

There's a lot of wealth in the area--not only the upper middle class kind, but the kind that comes with horses and acreage. The King of Morocco had a home here, there is a Steeplechase every October, and the American Golf Association is headquartered here.

Of course I can't go anywhere without thinking about stories, and there's dozens here. Blair's Den, a creepy, decaying mansion high up in the Bernardsville "mountains" (my Canadian husband would scoff and call them hills), is said to be the setting for a honeymoon tragedy whose ghosts linger on; a part of the country road nearby is called Jacob's Ladder because of the seven large humps in it--each one the mound of a nun's grave; there's the nudest colony, the school for delinquent boys, and the Great Swamp, the perfect place to hide a body.

And, like much of the northeast, there is great ethnic food. I've had terrific Mexican at Casa Maya, and wonderful Thai at Thai Thai. I checked out the Short Hills Mall, too. Whew! Talk about rich... Fun to look at the clothes and try to imagine what it would be like to afford them.

Today is the shower, and I'm looking forward to seeing my sisters, my mom, plus friends and family I haven't seen in years. And to meeting the women who will make up my daughters new family.

New Jersey is the butt of a lot of jokes, but I found it be an attractive, interesting place. Just goes to show ya--personal experience is everything.

The Mind is Marvelous Strange

Inspiration is a weird thing. You never know where it might come from. But out of the muck and junk mentioned below, I actually had an idea that might move my current wip forward. Can't talk about the specifics--not only because I'm superstitious, but because I don't have them yet--but I'm excited. Been kind of stuck. Okay, not "kind of. " Just stuck. But suddenly--lo, the trumpets blow, the clouds part, and the mind clears.

Of course, you say. Why didn't I think of that sooner?

I was on the treadmill when I had this revelation. I have no idea why it came to me then. I'm not sure I was even consciously thinking about my current book at the time. Well, maybe I wasn't, but evidently my brain was. That independent, subliminal, and wonderfully astonishing scoundrel.

Tomorrow I'm off to New Jersey for my daughter's bridal shower. I'm excited to see where her future husband grew up, and to get to know her future in-laws better. And it's good to have an idea to take with me. It'll be squirreled away, marinating, percolating, gestating (gee, how many metaphors can I come up with?) or whatever ideas do.

I'm encouraged. And, as Martha says, that's a good thing.

The Evil Troll Inside My Head

Read my first negative review of ODS yesterday--"readable but irritating" was the nicest thing that reviewer said. Mind you, I've had great reviews so far, but I've dismissed them (oh, the publisher probably paid them, that site never gives anyone a bad review, that reviewer just wants me to like her...etc . etc. etc.). In fact, the only one I really think was spot on --you guessed it--was that negative review.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?????

I can only imagine what it must be like to be truly famous and be savaged. Think of the reviews of Gigli. I am shuddering. Thank God I have the comfort of rationalizing that no one (or at least very few) will read that review.

Unfortunately, since the reviewer was right, I also fear that EVERY reviewer will see the same weaknesses she did.

Out, out evil troll! Get the hell out of my head!

He he he, says the evil troll, rubbing its hands with glee.

Grrr.

I will take a tip from my nearest and dearest and stand in front of the mirror and tell myself that I am terrific (take that, evil troll!) and my book is terrific (and that!) and you have no power over me (and that!).

And eventually you-know-who will slink back into the muck inside my head, chastened, quieted, but still there. Waiting. Whispering. And soon I'll have to whack it down again.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Right now, I'd better go find that mirror.

The Great Interview Saga Begins

I'll be making a bunch of online appearances for One Deadly Sin. I've got the schedule up on my website, along with dates as I have them. The first, however, has already appeared. It was on Kelly Moran's blog, and, being the total dork I am, I didn't think to give a shout out about it here in Annie's World. Thank goodness for publicity savvy friends, like Beth Pattillo. Anyhoo, too late to win a prize, but if you're interested (and who wouldn't be? Hey, it ME!) check it out.

Feeling Guilty?

So...I'm wondering. What are some of your guilty pleasures?

Why this is on my mind...I have no idea. Maybe it's the general go nowhere of my writing day.

In any case, there it is: guilty pleasures.

I'll go first and confess to a few of mine.

One Life to Live. I follow a whole bunch of soaps, but right now OLTL is my fave. Edgy stories (ie high school teacher and student) and interesting characters. Except for the stupid story they're doing now about a crass stripper with no heart of gold blackmailing her sister to give up her soulmate in exchange for the stripper's bone marrow which would save her leukemia-ridden nephew's life. Sheesh. Give me a very large break...

But I can fast forward through that disaster.

Here's one of the reasons that show is so compelling.

Who can resist those baby blues?

And he writes poetry. Poetry!

Another guilty pleasure? Okay, I admit it, I'm a girl: shopping.

Love to shop.Here's where I go when I don't feel like getting in the car: myshape.com.

Yes, you have to do a WHOLE lot of measuring, but once the numbers are in, they only recommend clothes that fit your shape, AND they tell you what size to get. Plus they have really cool clothes. I bought the dress for my daughter's wedding there.

So, OLTL, shopping, and...gee, there are so many, its hard to choose. How about...potato chips?

Yup, that is a REAL guilty pleasure because once I start I can't stop and by the time I've gone through half a bag I feel soooo guilty about all the reasons why I shouldn't have (fat, calories, salt, etc.) that I almost can't enjoy them.

Almost.

Here's the brand I grew up with, the one that seems the most delicious in my memory. They don't carry this brand in Nashville, so when I do indulge I have to make do with Lays. Not the rippled kind either. And no cheese or vinegar or sour cream or other chemical additives to make the chips taste like something else. Just plain, clean, salty, fried goodness.

Or, depending on how you look at it..badness.

So, there you have it. Three of my guilty pleasures.

I didn't realize it until now, but there is a kind of synchronicity to the 3 I've picked today. Eating potato chips while watching OLTL means I'll have to widen my measurements on myshape.com...

But enough about me. Anyone out there want to confess to some of your guilty pleasures?

Vacation in Paradise

Just spent the last weekend on the beach in Florida.

Fantastic.

Can't come up with enough words to describe. So here's a picture. It looked exactly like this...

I could have stayed forever.

I wonder--do people who live there take it all for granted? Do you stop seeing how beautiful it is? Stop experiencing the wonder of it?

Now, if only there weren't those damn hurricanes....

To Tote or Not To Tote

So I was in my favorite store the other day. Not Neiman's. Not even Bloomies. As everyone who knows me knows, my favorite store is...Target.

So I was making a lightning run--not easy in Target where everything is so, well, appealingly affordable--and I was at the checkout and I remembered after the cashier had put everything in a plastic bag, that I had brought my own bag. Feeling very righteous and green, I put everything in the bag I have squished in my purse, (mine is the green one at right, but no pun intended), put the plastic one back in its holder for the next shopper, when I heard her say, "I don't need a bag, either." I turned around and there was the next woman in line, taking out the bag squished in HER purse.

Which got me thinking.

I never used to see people shopping with their own bags. Now it's not that ususual. I've got bags on the floor of the car for grocery shopping. So does my husband. How about you? Do you tote your own bags?

Last summer I went up to Canada and did a grocery run at the local store. They don't even have plastic bags. Well, they do have them, but if you use them you have to PAY for them. A penny a bag. Most people bring their own bags.

I thought that was a great way to encourage people to use less plastic.

So what I wondered at Target was whether the plastic bag companies are seeing their orders falling off? Does my decision to tote my own mean some factory somewhere is going to close and so many people will be out of a job?

Why does everything have to have all these unintended consequences?

Did you see Wall-E?

Our world reduced to the mountains of junk we leave behind.

I guess I'll continue to tote. And hope that the plastic bag factories can convert their process into something else.

What about you? Tote or no tote?

Alas, no pics from the retreat have been forthcoming. One of these days I'll remember to take my camera.

I'm working on a masthead for my website, so you should be looking for that. Once again, it involves a decision and, as I've said, I'm decision-averse. On the same proverbial day I remember to take my camera, I'll also take the plunge and pick a look for my site.

Meanwhile, the ARCs for One Deadly Sin are out, the book can be preordered at all the usual places (Amazon, B&N), and I'm starting to get excited about it. I'll be doing some stuff for the Romantic Times conference--an online promotion by my publisher, Grand Central, putting some cool background info about the genesis of the book on my website, and, of, course, giving a copy away.

In fact, if you're in a hurry to read it, the March prize on my web contest is an ARC of the book.

So--what do you think of the cover? In the words of Ed Grimley, I must say I enjoy the blue and black coloration. And I love, love, love those cemetery gates. Not so certain about those two up top. They sure look like they're getting it on, though, don't they?

Retreating

Just got back from a great weekend with my fellow Music City Romance Writers. We played "Who Am I?" and had to figure out which half of a famous couple we had stuck to our backs, did a lot of writing exercises, did some crafty things with beads, played Perquacky, laughed a lot, and--of-course--ate more than we should. I didn't think to bring my camera, as usual, so I'm hoping to snatch some shots off someone else. If and when I do, I'll post them.

Just wanted to leave you with the thought that you can't write alone. I love being part of a great group of women who do what I do and are willing to share their struggles and their triumphs, not to mention their cake recipes....

Verbally Yours

As long as I'm doing nothing, why not blog? Weird how that word has been verbalized. To blog, Has blogged. Will blog.

I've got one more fiction-writing class to teach, and I think, among other things, I'll talk about verbs. If you write you tend to use a lot of them.


He ran off.
He dashed off.
He raced off.
He careened away.
He jolted away.
He hurtled off.

Very cool how a single word can increase or decrease intensity.

Verbs. Gotta love 'em.

Do you keep a list? Hate to admit it, but I do. Since I write a fair amount of action it's good to know you don't have to have your heroine "run" away constantly. She doesn't even have to jog or sprint. She can jolt, careen, or charge.

So, any listmakers out there?

If not, got any favorite verbs you'd like to share?

Word of the Week

It should come as no surprise, folks, given what week it is. Actually for many, including myself, the word of the week is also the word of the year, the century, maybe even the millenia.

INAUGURATION

According to the online etymological dictionary, the word dates from 1569, and is from those freedom lovin' folks the French. Of course it didn't start with them. Like much in our native tongue the word comes from the latin, in this case, inaugurationem, which means, believe it or not, "to install under good omen." which in turn comes from inaugurare--take omens from the flight of birds and consecrate when such omens are favorable. From "in" meaning "on, in" and "augurare" meaning "to act as an augur, predict."

Wowza. So the whole thing is NOT a done deal. When the new president raises his hand and swears the oath of office, it's really an act of faith (in the broadest sense) and a hope that things will "augur" well for the future.

Who knew?

Kind of spooky thinking about those bird flights, though. I heard there'll be a bald eagle there. Hope if he takes off, he'll fly well.

On the other hand, who out there knows how to interpret such things anymore?

The oracle at Delphi, the vestal virgins...all dust.

Just as well. Wouldn't want to rest my country's future on the wings of birds.

Even so, the inauguration is still an iffy proposition. It's the day AFTER the ceremony we should all be looking toward.

Pick Your Post

So, I was reading the latest Soap Opera Digest, and yes, Virginia, I do love my Digest...

Anyway, my favorite part of the mag is the "ask the stars" question. They ask a bunch of soap actors the same question and record their response. This week, in honor of the inauguration, they asked: If you could be apppointed a cabinet post in the new administration, what would it be?



They got serious answers (Secretary of Defense from Grayson McCouch, whose mother is Israeli),





to practical (Secretary of Jury Duty from Nancy Grahn, who evidently has a nit to pick with the way jury duty works),




to completely fantastical (Secretary of Can't Everyone Just Get Along from I don't remember who).


So...I had to ask. What post would I want?

The honest answer is none. Way, way, way too much pressure.

But if I HAD to choose--you know, if they put me up against a wall and threatened to shoot me--I'd have to say Secretary of Escapism. I'd abolish realistic (re: unhappy) endings, regulate the media so there's at least twenty minutes a day of good news, and legislate a new kind of Happy Hour for everyone where they can laugh and be entertained and forget about sorrow, grief, and despair.

Wonder what everyone else would choose if they could.

Stranger Than Fiction

Years ago, one of my writing teachers said that truth is stranger than fiction...because it can afford to be. She was talking, of course, about continuity and believability in plot. Just because something is "true" doesn't mean it works in a fictional world. Sometimes writers have to twist the truth to make it work within the world we create.

Which brings me to Blind Curve, my fourth, and, some say, my best book. It's the story of a detective who has a stroke that blinds him, leaving him imprisoned in a dark world while a ruthless killer he can't see is trying to assassinate him. Being the oversensitive, insecure person I am, I still remember the reviews who snarkly called this premise outlandish.

Well, maybe I didn't do enough twisting. Or maybe no amount of twisting would have made some folks believe. But today, in the science section of the New York Times I saw an article that really would have rocked my fictional world.

Seems there's a doctor who was blinded by a stroke similar to Danny's in Blind Curve. The amazing thing reported in the article is not that a stroke can, indeed, blind someone by taking out the centers in the brain that process visual imagery, but that even "blinded" this kind of sightless person can still "see."

The thing is, a stroke effects the brain--just as I said in my book--so technically, there's nothing wrong with the eyes. If there were other parts of the brain that could interpret what the healthy eyes see, blindness could be overcome.

Now, it seems, a Dutch study shows that these other parts exist. They are more primitive--perhaps older evolutionarily speaking--kind of like animal brains, which don't have the sophisticated visual lobes we have, but still manage to provide more than enough sight for survival. In the human brain, these areas are subcortical and we use them unconsciously, just as we use so much of our brain.

To prove it, researchers sent the blind doctor down a hallway strewn with obstacles. They didn't tell the man that there were obstacles in front of him, they just told him to walk forward. To their astonishment, the doctor zig-zagged his way down the corridor, missing every single obstacle. What's more, the doctor didn't even know it. In fact, he thought he was walking straight.

Is that cool or is that cool?

So with practice, maybe a neurologically blind person--like Danny in Blind Curve--could learn to "see" on some level.

If I'd known about this research before I wrote the book, I might have included it and Danny's story could have had a whole different ending. Which would really have set the critics off!!

Suffice it to say, I have a sequel in mind.

To read more, check out the article in the Times, and don't miss the video that goes with it.

Welcome to Dreamland

Last night I dreamed Michelle Obama and I were BFF. Every day we drove to lunch in a van with other people. The restaurant was kind of cafeteria-like, and we all sat at long tables. I worried that there was no Secret Service present, then wondered if the van driver (a woman) might be an agent. I decided she was. One day while we were in the van on our way to lunch, Michelle turns to me and says, "You are so good-looking!"

Ha ha ha ha ha.

What I weirdo I am...

Do people say weirdo anymore?

The Lad Don't Sleep

Still wandering around the sewers and tunnels that lead to the land of the Muse. Mind full of everything but. Time of year? Time of life? Will she ever write again?

Gold star to whoever knows what I'm listening to as I write this...

Back to the Salt Mines

There's nothing sweeter than a father and his baby, alone of a morning and out on the town. Yes, I'm back at Panera's after a valiant, if unsuccessful, attempt to take the entire month of December off. And there's that cuter than cute tall, gangly, ball cap-wearing guy, feeding his one-year old a juice box and crackers for breakfast. I stare and smile and try vainly to pretend I'm not supposed to be figuring out what the @#$u* to do about my next book.

Ever see the Ricky Gervais TV series, Extras? He wrote a scene that could be lifted from life, (whose I won't say) and I've spent the last half hour searching the 'net (and avoiding writing) to share it with you. Alas, no luck. But, I will say it's with his riotous and useless agent, Darren, and it's about Andy's (Gervais) idea for a movie or TV show. Suffice it to say that by the time Darren finishes "tweaking" it, the original idea has morphed so far from the original, it's not only unrecognizable it's hilariously ludicrous.

Ah, me, the creative life.

Weekend Update

Had a great time hanging with my buds at the Jackson TN public library on Saturday. I'm third from the right, believe it or not...

Didn't have much of a turnout for the signing, but I sold a few books and got to meet some fun readers. A special shout out to Cindy who came in from Dyersberg to meet us. Several books ago, Cindy reveiwed Tell Me No Lies and I linked to the review, so she was excited about that. Wish I'd thought to get a picture, but alas, I did not. I feel lucky enough to have a) remembered to bring my camera; and b) remembered to take it out and get a picture of myself.

Thanks to Arlen Griffins, one of the librarians, for organizing the event. A few years ago Arlen went to an RWA conference and has been hooked on romance ever since. Arlen's heritage is French Canadian. Isn't that cool? We got to talking about Canada, which I always enjoy.

Not much else this weekend. Had plans to see Australia, but laziness overwhelmed them. Also want to see Slumdog Millionaire, but it hasn't come to town yet.

That's it for now.

Word of the Week

It's been a while since we've had a Word of the Week. By now it's turning into Word of the Month. Guess I was

Playing Hooky

Yup. That's the word--words--of the week, folks. 'Cause that's what I've been doing. And 'tis the season for doing it.

We all know what it means. Did you ever think about where the phrase comes from? I mean, what IS hooky? Is it a game? How do you "play" it?

First off, the phrase is associated with skipping school. Which means it only came into use in the 19th century, around 1848, after education laws made public school attendance compulsory. Tom Sawyer "plays hookey," so we know the expression goes back that far.

Hard to imagine a time when you didn't have to go to school, but evidently we had hundreds of years of it. And, of course, once you're forced to do a thing, finding ways to escape it suddenly appear.

So...is hooky a compression of the phrase "to hook it," which, according to one source, is a 14th century term that means to make off or escape?

Or, is it a version of the word "hook" an old slang term that means to steal--kids stealing time from school.

Or maybe it's related to fishing, and the "hook"(school) is the thing you get off of, the way a fish can.

Several sources think the most likely derivation is the Dutch "hoek," which means "corner," and the game "hoekje spelen"--hide and seek--played by boys in 17th century New Amsterdam around street corners. So "playing hooky" could have become connected with school because kids who skipped school must be off playing games like hide-and-seek.

I found a couple more theories, but I'll leave them for another time. The important thing is the play itself. I'm writing this. What do you do when you play hooky?

The Gift of Love

Yeah, yeah, I know. But this is not going to be a bunch of claptrap about peace, goodwill, and group hugs. Last Thursday I was sitting around trying to digest the huge lump in my gut from the turkey and dressing, the pies and everything else you can imagine, and the subject of love came up. As a romance writer, my ears instantly perked up.

Seems years ago, Gary Chapman wrote a book called the Languages of Love. (Full disclosure: Dr. Chapman is a Baptist minister, but this theory is not theological and cuts across religious lines, though you can find more God-related branches of the idea on several web sites.) The idea is that there are different ways to express love--what he calls "languages." He divided these "languages" into five categories: Words of Praise/Affirmation; Acts of Service; Quality Time; Gifts; and Touch. The theory is that each of us "understands" some of these languages better than others. Trouble happens in a relationship when partners speak different languages.

So what language do you speak? Do you feel loved when your partner tells you how great you look? Or do you feel more loved when s/he buys you a great-looking diamond? Or maybe you feel loved when your shopping-hating partner goes shopping with you? Or when h/she cleans the house so you can go shopping (or to the football game...). Or maybe all you need to feel loved is a hug.

One of the times I felt most loved was the year my husband and my (at the time) eighth-grade daughter made dinner for me on my birthday. Neither of them cooked, so they went to a favorite restaurant and brought home a three-course meal. They sat me down, didn't tell me what was going on, and then served me dinner. I loved that they didn't take me out, that they tried to reproduce a home-cooked meal--what I did for them every night. We had ice cream cake with candles, and if they bought me gifts, I don't remaember. But I'll never forget that dinner.

As a writer, I find it interesting to think about what language of love my characters "speak." Angelina, in DEAD RINGER, appreciates gifts. Rachel, in LIKE A KNIFE, loves acts of service. In fact, the whole motivation of the love story in that book is an act of service. Especially on the part of the hero, Nick. In DEAD SHOT, my heroine, Gillian, needs words of affirmation, while Ray, I think, is looking for quality time. In my upcoming book, ONE DEADLY SIN, the heroine, Edie, is big on the comfort and safety of touch.

You can find out what languages of love you respond to best by taking the quiz. Even better, get your partner to take it. That way you can find out not only what makes you feel loved but what you can do to make him/her feel the same.

Correction

If the NY Times can do it, so can I.

A close reader wrote to tell me I got my cows all wrong in the "We're Here Because We're Here, etc." post. But this is Annie's World, and evidently in Annie's World, Herefords are dairy cattle. Unfortunately anyone in the real world (of farming, that is) knows they are for eating. She thought perhaps I'd seen Holsteins, which are black and white. I think she's right.

So...for all you farmers out there, I stand corrected.

And thanks, Louise, for setting this city girl straight.

The Rest of the Story

Home now, and pictures ready. I'll start with the Candy Kitchen, since we did that first. Had lunch there. The coolest thing? The "phosphates." I know I've read books where the kids had phosphates, but I never thought I'd get the chance to order a Cherry Fizz myself. Until the Candy Kitchen.

George and Thelma Nopoulos make all their own sodas with their own syrup, and the choices range from lemon and root beer to Green River (lemon-lime, and a beautiful shade of green) and Oddball (a mix of the first 7 choices).

The soda fountain has been a fixture in town for over 3 generations. And as folks in Wilton can attest, many grew up there. It was where the kids hung out before television and cars took them farther afield. They'd come right over after school, stay til supper, go home for dinner, and come right back. Just the place for Andy Hardy and his friends.

Knowing I was a romance writer, Thelma was eager to tout the the restaurant as town matchmaker. She showed me a dozen or more pictures of people who met their spouses there, and one even dropped by for a visit. Carla and Bourke Thurston have been married for 50 years now. Here's their names scratched into the side of one of the wooden booths, circa 1956 or 7. It's a crappy picture, I know, but if you look closely, you can see the "C" of Carla's name and Bourke's below it.

What a great tribute to the Nopoulos's, their warmth and hospitality. Not to mention their generosity. When my sundae (made with George's homemade ice cream) melted because I was talking to the Thurstons, Thelma plopped another at my place. Of course, I had to take a bite. Out of politeness if nothing else...

Overstuffed with food and memories, we left the Candy Kitchen and went on to the real work of the day--harvesting corn.

Frank Townsend and his partner, Rick, have 8000 acres in feed corn and soybeans. They had a wet spring, so planting was late, which meant they were still harvesting late in November. Right now, their days were exhausting--early morning wake ups and going until midnight some days. Hard but necessary because they have to get the crop in before the first snowfall.

It was freezing that day, the kind of cold exacerbated by a knife-blade wind, so I was happy to sit in the cab of a pickup until they finished up with one field.

The combines--John Deere green all--are big monsters plow through the rows and vomit up corn in a flush of yellow into a massive bin.

I couldn't appreciate how monstrous they were, though, until I was sitting in one. Looking down at the stubs--the torpedo-like fingers that scoop in the stalks--felt like I was riding atop a piece of war machinery. Hacking down those stalks, feeding them to the razor sharp shuckers. Very cool. Very lethal, too. Couldn't help thinking that would be a neat way to kill someone. Hack an arm off. Skin them alive. And where better to hide a body than a corn field? Especially the dried up, brownish-yellow feed corn fields, which in themselves look like a Halloween set piece. Gruesome? Oh, yeah. But hey, someone's gotta come up with this stuff else there'd be no suspense stories. Right?

Lucky for me, I didn't have to stay until midnight. I got a taste of what this part of farming is like, and could go back to my comfortable house, my knitting, and my TV--way before midnight. But my respect for what these guys do is way up. Next time I hear some actor complaining about the hard work they do, I'll remember Frank and Rick.

The next day, I did a talk and book signing back at Bandag in Muscatine. Had a wonderful turnout and enjoyed meeting everyone. A special shout-out to Pam Collins, the Muscatine librarian who trekked over to see me. I talked up the RWA convention, so I hope to see her there at some point.

My Iowa adventure has come to an end, now, and I'm back home. Can't say enough good things about the people I met in Muscatine and Wilton and roundabout. I've already got a list of things I missed, so I'll have to go back.

But maybe I'll wait for the summer...

Previews

Had a wonderful day yesterday at the Candy Kitchen in Wilton, IA, and then onto the corn harvest. Rode a combine--those things are awesome!--and shivered in the freezing Iowa wind.

Unfortunately, though I did remember to bring my camera and even take pictures (a miracle), I didn't think to bring the cable I need to hook the camera up to the computer so I can transfer the pictures and use them here. Guess I ought to think about a SIM card.

Live and learn...

The upshot is I won't be giving the details until I get home.

In the meantime, here's a picture of the Candy Kitchen. And you can read a bit more about it here.

We're Here Because We're Here Because We're...

The trip to Iowa was filled with interesting things. We drove north through most of Missouri and then into southern Iowa on a 4-lane highway (2 lanes each direction), so we passed through a lot of small towns and out into country. Miles and miles of farmland--beef (black Angus) and dairy (Herefords* mostly) cattle, sheep, and acres and acres of corn. If you ever thought that Big Corn was a myth, just drive through this part of the Midwest.


Between the ubiquitous corn syrup in nearly all processed foods to the quest for biofuel, corn is king here. It may be November but in Iowa they're still harvesting. We saw the combines at work many times over the hours.

The topography looks a lot like Alberta. I was just there this summer so the memories are fresh. You can't see the blur of the Rockies in the distance like you can in Alberta, but otherwise it's very similar: flat prairie farmland. In both places you can look east or west and see the weather miles and miles away. You can be enjoying a perfect blue sky, but over there dark clouds are shooting down rain. Or it's gloomy where you are but on the distant horizon, God rays of light zip from the clouds.

What struck me as different, though, were the towns caught between the prairie. There's a feeling of decay in these American towns that you don't sense in Alberta. On our journey we saw abandoned buildings, empty warehouses, falling-down wood homes. Other parts of town are doing okay--there's a Hardy's or an Arby's. A Domino's, maybe. The used car lot(s), the auto parts place, the muffler repair shop, the farm supply store. In Washington Junction we saw a couple of smoke stacks that indicated some manufacturing still happening there. But it does make you wonder what all the people in these towns do and how they make it through the year. They can't all be farmers...

We arrived, finally, at our destination: Muscatine, Iowa, population somewhere around 23,000. Situated right on the Mississippi, it, too, feels like a place out of time. We passed through the downtown and the brick facades look like a Hollywood set for a movie set in 19th century. Not much different from the picture, but with cars instead of carriages. No awnings, either. Today, some stores are occupied and thriving, but not all.

Much of the older homes are built on a hill overlooking the river--what's now called the historic district. I had the sense that this is where the well-to-do lived, while the working folks lived on the flat. Now, I'm told, everyone lives cheek to jowl whether professional or executive or chicken factory workers.

I'm staying in a brick home built in the early 1880s. There's a front stairway for the family and a back stairway for the servants. The back stairway leads to the attic where there's a single room with a door. Was the cook a day worker? Did the housekeeper get the room? Were there scullery maids living under the eaves? I won't say the house is haunted, but there's a feeling of past lives here.

Looking out over the river, the whole town feels like a 19th century manufacturing center. I could imagine it, too. The factories close to the river. Gristmills, sawmills, railroads, and then Muscatine's claim to fame: the button factory, which manufactured pearl buttons from clam shells found in the Mississippi. I can see the workers making their way to these industrial centers, the women trailing their long skirts, the men in their caps and serviceable boots. And the judges, the factory owners, their wives and children, high up on the hill.

Mark Twain worked for the Muscatine Journal, which was partly owned by his brother, Orion. Did he live on the hill or on the flat? I have my suspicions, but we'll see. And as soon as I find out, I'll let you know. I'm off to explore.



*If this bothers you, see "Correction" posted 11-25-08. If you noticed nothing untoward, you're as clueless as me when it comes to cows, and don't need to rush off.

On The Road Again

Yeah, I'm off to see the wizard. Another small town in the back of beyond. This time in Ioway. Looking forward to the Iowa way to treat you if they treat you which they may not do at all (gold star to whoever gets that...). I've been promised a corn harvest (weather permitting, of course) and a ride on a tractor, combine, or whatever random machine is close by. Let's hope I leave my inner klutz behind this time (see "Le Grand Entrance" post in September). Two wobbly ankles is enough to sacrifice for my art.

Yes, cats and kittens, as you can surmise, this is a research trip! Once again, your intrepid Noo Yawker is braving the wilds of rural America to see what small town living is like. My May book, One Deadly Sin, was inspired by an Iowa legend. My next book, tentatively titled (and if you've been keeping up with things you know that no title is safe until the damn thing shows up on the cover...) Two Lethal Lies, may be set in a small Iowa town. I'm still debating. Sin is set in Tennessee. It would be fun to move to another part of the country for Lies. And, lucky me, I have another tour guide to show me the way.

I remembered to bring my camera, so all I have to do is remember to take some pictures. I'm sure y'all will have fun seeing me posing as a farm girl. I've stripped my nails of their polish. Now if I can only remember to leave the stilettos behind...

88 Things To Do On A Gloomy Day

Gloomy, gray day today. Makes me want to curl up under the covers and watch Farscape. Nothing like a darkly beautiful, cosmic love story to soothe the soul on a shadowy day.

Don't know why every romance reader doesn't salivate over the TV series. Kick-ass heroine forced by circumstances and love to look beyond her aggressiveness. Beta hero forced by same to look beyond his normal instincts and become alpha. Both falling in love while fighting for their lives. Clever writing about the nature of humanity, hope, and war.

Not to mention one of the all-time greatest, most interesting and creepy villains ever. Yes, I know he looks...well, strange. But he more than compensates for his looks. Manipulative, sick with hatred for himself and others, powerful, driven to save the universe by taking everything from John--including his sanity.

Life and death far, far away--and right up close.

What is it about sci fi that puts people off?

It's such a great way to comment on our own time and place. The most romantic line ever written by anyone comes from Farscape:

"Do you love me?" Aeryn asks John.

His reply? "Beyond hope."

God, shoot me in the heart. What an amazing, off the nose way to say "more than anything."

Hope is central to the series. Hope that in the end, despite the overwhelming odds, the bad guys won't win. That the plan, no matter how stupid and desperate, will work. That the vulnerable universe won't explode even if the most powerful weapons are aimed at it. That the confused hero won't go crazy, though he's seeing things that aren't there. That love and friendship are worth any sacrifice. Can't get more American than that.

Of course the series was written before, during, and just after 9/11. And we've become so much more fearful and so much less hopeful since.

Be interesting to see if hope comes back into fashion with a new administration. Or if the war and the economic meltdown keep us as gloomy as this day.

If so, we may all need a dose of Farscape. There are 88 episodes and a miniseries to tie up the story. Plenty of great stuff to remind us not to give in or give up.

Weekend Update

Had a great weekend. Saturday was the Music City Romance Writers book signing in Lebanon, TN. Thanks to Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark Hunter fans, we had a great turnout. I sold several books to some Outlander fans who also turned out to be Farscapers. How cool is that? Got to talk about some of my favorite things.

The signing took place in Sherlocks, which bills itself as the largest independent bookseller in Tennessee. They did a wonderful job, very organized, and treated us like royalty. And it's quite a set up. They have a cafe which sells food--they fed us, and the chicken salad was terrific. They had lattes for the tweedy crowd and beer for the Joe Six-Packs. One of the owners is a model race car enthusiast, so there's a model shop in the store. I heard they'll be building a track in the parking lot for racing model cars this summer. But best of all, they have a screening room where they show classic movies. It rents out for parties, and I'm gonna figure out how to get a bunch of my friends over there for a movie night. Anyway, I forgot my camera, so I don't have pics, but if you want the full low-down, who was there, and all the trimmings, go to Jody Wallace's blog. She's got it all.


I spent Sunday afternoon playing at my latest obsession--mah jongg. I'm new the game, which is complex and takes skill, but not so much skill that you can't yak your way through it with your girlfriends. Which is half the fun anyway. I'm a bit obsessed. Taught my husband, daughter, and daughter's poor fiance to play last weekend. And all week I haunted e-bay, bidding up a set. There are so many and they can really be beautiful.

Didn't get the one I wanted, but I imagine I will. Eventually.

Tomorrow, I'm expecting the copy edit of One Deadly Sin, so it's back to work. But that's okay. I had a wonderfully relaxing weekend, so I'm ready.

The Day After

I won't be long here. There are hundreds of other places to talk about this and everywhere you go people probably will. Not to mention you can't turn on the radio, the TV or the 'net without hearing about it, and this is a place you come to escape. But I can't let the day go without some small minor nod to history.

What a night.

What a morning.

What an amazing country we live in.

That's all, folks. I'm taking the day off to celebrate.

Le Grand Entrance

I’m a big city girl—Queens, Long Island, Manhattan, Brooklyn—those are my old stomping grounds.

So when I decided to write about a small town in Tennessee I thought I’d better do a little research. Last year my friend, Deb, took me to her hometown, Bradford, a tiny place in West Tennessee.

I had an interesting time seeing the town ( a few blocks long), meeting her “aunties,” some of whom weren’t blood-related, and experiencing a world so different from my own. (You’ll have a chance to see how well my research paid off when my May release, ONE DEADLY SIN, comes out.)

This year, Deb and I decided to return to Bradford to check out their annual festival, Doodle Soup Days. What is doodle soup, you ask? Well…it’s a tasty concoction of chicken broth, drippings, vinegar, and hot (and I mean hot) peppers. Bradford is the self-styled Doodle Soup Capital of the World, and every year the town holds a weekend celebration, complete with parade, carnival rides, and, of course, doodle soup.

When TPTB found out Deb, her sister, and I were returning to town for this yearly event, they tasked us with the vital job of Parade Judge. Needless to say, I was thrilled. I thought—maybe they’ll think I’m a famous author! Maybe they’ll want my autograph! A picture with me! I’ll meet the mayor! Get keys to the city! You get my drift…

So Deb and I drive the 2 ½ hours from Nashville to Bradford, pull in under the huge Doodle Soup Days banner hanging over Main Street, and walk to the parade grounds. I step off the curb, twist my ankle, come down on my OTHER ankle, twist it, and land splat on my hienie in front of the WHOLE TOWN.

I knew my ankles wouldn’t hold me, so I sat in the street for a few minutes while a swarm of concerned citizens peppered me with “are you all right?” as if I could know that fast. Before I could mumble “I think so,” someone called an ambulance, and it came roaring up, sirens and everything. Could it get MORE embarrassing?

How’s this? The EMT—who, of course, everyone knew—determined that what I needed was…a Band-Aid! For the cut on my foot where I’d landed on it. Oh, and a bag of ice for the massive swelling. I spent the rest of the day hobbling around, trying to keep that ice on first one, then the other ankle, and fending off the knowing looks from everyone in town, who knew without me saying so, that I was the clumsy Yankee stranger judge, who fell off the curb in front of the old Bradford Bank.

At least you can't say I don't give my all for my art. And I did get to eat some delicious doodle soup.

How about you? Got any embarassing stories to share?