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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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...

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....

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...

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.