Cover Up Redux

Way back in January I posted about my cover struggles. All's well that ends well, I suppose, since the cover looks great. But in that post I mentioned an article about James Patterson in the New York Times Sunday magazine.

Several weeks later, as is their want, the magazine printed reader reactions to that article, and one resonated so deeply with me that I want to post excerpts from it here. The letter-writer, Joe Claro of Irvington, NY, had been an English teacher for 40 years and took umbrage with the article's criticism of Patterson and his readers for "not measuring up to some vague standard of literary worthiness."

Claro continued: "Why do self-appointed critics allow for popular taste in television, music and movies but drift into almost religious solemnity when discussing books?"

Well said, Joe, and I couldn't agree more.

Years ago I was in a book club whose members read mostly "literary" works. When it came my turn to suggest a book, I was a little out of my element. But I chose Elinor Lipman's Isabel's Bed, about a tabloid blonde who hires a bookish, risk-averse would-be writer to author the femme fatale's memoirs. It's a fun read with lots of inside jokes about writing--and Lipman, who is often touted as a modern Jane Austen, is hardly a pulp writer. But you wouldn't have thought so from the group's reactions. Some went so far as to call it "trash."

But when I asked them about, say, Who Got Mail or Grey's Anatomy--those they all loved.

Like you, Joe, I don't get it.

What IS is that makes people go all proper and still when discussing books but not movies?People expect motion media to be entertaining, and if that's all they get they enjoy the ride. But a book that's merely entertaining--there's something wrong with that.

And yet millions must disagree because even during this recession, romance is still selling well. And the James Patterson, Inc company has another book on the best-seller lists.

I guess the solution is to ignore the bluestockings. Oh--and when you buy one of "those" books, just don't tell your book club.

To Be or Not To Be

Life has settled down a bit. At least enough for me to have a moment to catch my breath. My Internet service is finally back--I couldn't believe how hampered I felt without it. Hopefully all the bugs are out and connections will continue uninterrupted.

Right.

But at least I'm plugged in now.

On the book front, Two Lethal Lies has finally been given the editorial okay. The cover copy is done and the cover looks quite splendid, in my humble opinion. Now the only thing left is the rest of my life. Will it be more romantic suspense or something of a new and different variety?

That, dear reader, is the trillion dollar question to which I have no answer yet. I feel a bit like the cowardly lion--I need the wizard to give me some courage so I can jump off the cliff into Who Knows What Land.

My horoscope promises great things this year. But is it because I stick to what I know or strike out in a whole new direction?

Hamlet has nothing on me.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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!

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.

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.

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....

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...

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.