Catching up is hard to do

My blog is late... a day late. So, now it's Monday not Sunday. What happened? My niece, Alisha, was married Saturday. So, I drove down for the ceremony. It was a lovely service. They looked so very happy. I wish them all the best.

To get there we drove six hours on Christmas day-only to discover that there are no restaurants open on Christmas day-at least along the highway. Thank goodness for gas stations. (After driving for six hours, we arrived to see that even the Perkins with the big sign that says open 24 hours was closed. Sigh.) We ended up in a Walgreens and picked up a couple of microwave dinners to take back to our hotel which thankfully had a microwave. Then we drove five hours on Friday. Saturday we drove 2.5 hours down to the wedding. Had a really nice time-visiting family and sharing a dinner/dance reception with the bride and groom who were grinning ear to ear. Then it was 3 hours back to the hotel in ice and snow. Sunday we got up early and drove straight back home. The 9.5 hour drive took us 12 hours due to traffic. There were two spots where everyone went from 70 (or faster) to zero...and then we sat...then began to crawl for miles...only to discover wreckers clearing away semi's from the ice storm the day before.

So, today I'm home and behind in everything. But it was worth it to see how happy they were and to hug my older brother-with tears in his eyes-as Daddy's little girl got married.

Happy New Year! May 2009 find you happy and healthy!

Personal Rules

I've blogged before about social networking, but I thought I would update you on my experience. It can be intimidating to dip your toes into myspace and facebook. But after three months, I've discovered it can be a lot of fun to meet new people and follow them on-line.

It can also be a bit scary.

There are cyber stalkers out there. I've had people become down right angry if I don't chat with them or answer their messages. So, as with everything I do on-line, I have developed a few private rules for social networks.

1) I don't make it a habit of chatting up men I don't know from foreign countries. (I have a suspense writer's mind and don't want to have my computer confiscated for being in touch with possible tangos.)
2) I don't make it a habit of chatting with men I don't know. (I'm in a relationship and don't want to give anyone ideas.) I add male as well as female writers/readers to my friends. I may make a comment on their wall to congratulate them if they make a sale, or tell them happy birthday, or that I enjoyed reading their published work, but for the most part I'm networking not looking for a date- that's what match.com and other personal sites are for...right?
3)I can't take the time to answer all queries on how to find an editor, where the publishers are, and would I read unpublished work and polish it. (Some have asked very nicely, but the answer is still no reply. It's not personal. It's a time constraint. I have my own research and polishing to do.)
4)I will remove anyone who consistently comments on inappropriate pictures I don't want to look at day in and day out. (When you comment on a photo it appears on my home page.) I'm not here to search the web for funky photos.
5)I don't play with all the wonderful apps available. So if you send me flowers, or candy or pets-thanks but I won't click on them. Again not personal, just squished for time.

What do I do? Meet new people, discover new blogs, join new groups and promote my website and my books.

These are hard and fast rules I've had to put into place to protect myself. So, please, don't take it personal if I don't chat with you or message back when you ask me to help you find a decent editor. It's not personal, it's business.

On that note...What are your personal on-line rules?

Happy Holidays!

Random thoughts on surviving the book business

This week a quote went around one of my writer's loops that got me thinking. I'll paraphrase because who said it and how they said it is not as important as the thought. Here is the thought: each book written is a new product and in a business model something like 90 percent of all new products fail. Thus every book put on the self has a huge potential for failure.

Why? People like their old brands. They like what they know. This is why the most successful people "seem" to write the same book over and over. It's called a brand. People are afraid to take a chance on something that is too new- too out there, no matter how good. Think about it. When was the last time one of your favorite authors wrote something that surprised you? Did you wonder if they were headed in a direction you didn't like? Did you think twice about buying their next book?

People like sameness. I've known several very good authors who tried to branch out to different styles of books and failed. Some quit. Others went back to the type of story that worked for them.

In essence-the industry prefers to typecast writers. I hear this all the time, "Oh, you write sweet westerns." Well, no- I write all kinds of books. A sweet western was simply the first book I sold to a publisher-they loved it so much I sold six more. But that is not all I am. This year I wrote a sexy single title contemporary romance and a straight up thriller. But I sold two romantic suspense stories.

But hoping from genre to genre and line to line can be a problem. The problem becoming what to label you- all writers need a label or it would be chaos in terms of marketing. Think of it like this- you have a friend who brings home a new guy/gal every night. You don't have time to get to know them or even care. It's all too dizzying to matter. Now you have another friend who has been with the same guy/gal all her life. You know what to expect. You become invested in his/her friendship and their life together. You are comfortable and should they ever break up you will be horrified. This is how people like to think of their writers.

Unfortunately- book types go in and out of fashion-stranding those writers dedicated to only one type of book. So, even knowing the brand expectations, you have to be versatile enough to survive these trends. So, I've learned to nurture two or three different types of books in the hopes that one will keep my career afloat if another goes out of fashion. Think of it as serial monogamy. Instead of a new type of book every time, write consistently in two genres. The idea is to keep your product from being too new and yet maintaining a place in more than one market. It keeps your odds favorable and boredom at bay.

December Movie Reviews

You all know that I'm a huge movie buff. After being in the book business for so many years, I can't pick up a book without seeing craft and all the other work that goes into the story. So, for entertainment I go to movies. A lot of movies. Once a month I like to review one or two that I have seen. December is always stuffed full of releases-gearing up for awards or just plain family fun. So this month I'm reviewing two very different movies.

Australia

Okay, truth? I picked this movie so that I could post a picture of Hugh Jackman on my blog.
Plus the movie was big fun. I enjoy Nicole Kidman as well. This movie is cheeky fun with romance as its core. (As a romance author, I could not resist.) Still there is enough action and adventure for the guys. Australia made me smile and had just enough emotion to keep you going. I plan on buying the DVD when it comes out. In these economic times you need a little fun in your life.

My second movie pick is The Boy in The Striped Pajamas.

IMO this movie is Oscar worthy. The review I read before I went said it was a good family film-um- NO- unless your kids are 13 or older, then take them. It is a great discussion tool. This movie is poignant and spot on. The acting is superb. The characters fleshed out with actual arcs that take your breath away. All from the spot on point-of-view of an 8-year-old boy. Innocence in a world of madness. See this one if you love good film making, wonderful acting and a story line that does not back down.

A Christmas Story...

Or two girls, a peppermint mocha, and a Christmas tree, a tale of perseverance and determination.

On Friday the boys left to go deer hunting. Ashley and I decided we would go get the Christmas tree without them this year. It would be a fun start to the Christmas season. Before we went tree shopping we stopped at Starbucks for our first peppermint Mocha of the season. Flavored coffee in hand, we stopped at the Christmas tree shop. We got inside to discover the trees were lovely and reasonably priced. So we wandered down the isle. It smelled of fresh cut pine. Christmas carols played on the loud speaker. I picked up the first un-netted tree in the isle and stood it up. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect!” She declared, mocha in hand.
“Do you think it’s too tall?” I looked up at the eight foot tree and tried to picture it in our living room with 9 foot ceiling.
“Nope, perfect.”
“Then we’ll get this one.” We were so proud to have picked a good tree right off the bat. So easy. I looked at her sipping her mocha. “How about you take the top and I’ll carry the bottom.” I lay the tree on its side and she positions herself at the top. I pick up the bottom. We lift…and grunt. An 8 foot balsam fir weighs at least 60 pounds. We get it to the check out. So proud of our accomplishment. Neither one of us are exactly gym rats-and I have a bad back.
The check out girl checks us out and asks if we want help to the car. I look at Ashley-she looks at me. “No thanks,” we say. We are women hear us grunt as we pick up the tree and walk it the short distance to the car. We lay it down and decide the best way to transport it is inside our 2001 PT Cruiser. So we open the car doors, lay the back seat down. Our goal? To shove an 8 ft. fir tree-un netted- into the back of the PT Cruiser. I take a hold of the bottom and lift. We shove. The tree gets as far at the back seat. Ashley puts her mocha down and grabs it from the second seat and we shove. The scent of pine rises. Needles fall. Bottom branches bend and splay out like a cat trying not to get into the bathtub. Almost there…
We are so clever.
Ashley races to the open front seat for the final shove and doesn’t quite make the opening slamming her forehead on the edge of the car. I pause at the loud thunk. She stands up and blinks.
“Are you okay?” I ask, tree in hand, back strained.
“No…” She says weakly. We both laugh.
“Are you concussed?”
“Maybe.”
Tree is growing ever heavier in my hands. “Can you help?” I hope so because I don’t know what I’d do if she couldn’t.
“Yeah,” she says bravely and gingerly pokes her head inside the car. One final shove and the tree is in as far as it will go. Ashley comes around to the back. “You need to close the back hatch.”
I’m skeptical. We’ll probably have to get twine and tie the door. But I reach up and give the door a good push. It closes! Wow! I can’t believe we got that tree in this little car. We both pop into our prospective seats. I can’t see out the back at all. I move the tree to see Ashley in the passenger side.
“How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” she shakes her head and laughs.
“We don’t live far. When we get home, you need to put ice on it. But right now I need you to help me see.” We drive home. Happy Christmas music on the radio. My back strained and screaming with each breath, lump forming on Ashley’s head, mocha forgotten.
Yea! We’re home. Ashley gets out to go put ice on her lump. I open the back hatch and survey the damage. Tree looks a little worse for wear. I muscle it out of the car and stand it up in the garage. Then go inside.
Ashley has a giant white towel filled with ice on her forehead. My back is protesting. We might be a little worse for wear, but we got the tree! I check her pupils, they look normal. She tells me the world went black when she hit it. I wonder if we should go to the emergency room. She tells me no. We soldier on, setting up the tree skirt and stand inside.
I read the tree instructions. “Cut an inch off the base and place tree in a gallon of water.” Cut an inch off the base… hmmm, do we have a saw?
After much looking we discover a thin tree saw. I lay the tree down and study the base. It’s about six inches wide. I’ve watched the guys saw the base off the tree every year. How hard can it be?
Holy mother of pearl! I’m sawing and sawing. Sweat is pouring down my face. I am currently a quarter inch into the base. Wow! Ashley looks on, ice pack on her lump. She is not going to let me saw alone. I will need a witness in case I accidentally saw through a finger. After twenty minutes, I decided that the best thing is to attack the base from all sides, so I turn the tree and saw though a quarter inch. Turn it again…saw through, turn it again, saw through. By this time, all my arm muscles are shaking. I take off my coat. I study the tiny cuts in the tree. I glance over at my neighbor’s house hopeful. (He’s the one with the snow blower and other man tools.) No, I think, no. I can do this!
I look down at the saw which now looks as thin as dental floss. “I’m trying to cut through a tree with dental floss for goodness sakes.” Ashley laughs. There has got to be a better way. I go looking for a hammer and chisel…I’ll chisel through that thin cut, right? Found a hammer, but no chisel. Found a rusty old hand saw. It’s thicker. It’s got to work better.
I go back to sawing. Half an inch all around. Then an inch. It’s growing dark out. I’m cursing all men for their arm muscles. Ashley tells me that things like this might take us longer, but we can do it. Men on the other hand can never give birth. Small comfort in my time of need. I study the tree. All the wrestling has led to more broken branches. At least those I can cut off with relative ease.
“Here, mom, let me help.” Ashley puts down her ice bag and has a go at sawing. I’m sweating and shaking, my pulled back has gone numb. I glance at the neighbor’s house. Is he home? Does he have a chain saw? No, I’m going to do this!
I take the saw from Ashley and attack the tree with all my frustration and pain. Finally, finally the base pops off. We shout and celebrate and high five each other. Sweating, muscles trembling, we look at each other. Now for the hard part…
We pick up the tree and take it around the house, up the decks steps to the patio door, leaving a trail of needles in our wake. I laugh that by the time we get it in the stand it will have one branch left and a handful of needles. We open the patio door and move the kitchen table aside. I leave a chair strategically under the chandelier so no further head bashing will occur. We pick up the tree and wrestle it inside. All we have to do now is get it in the stand.
I lift the tree, wobbling while Ashley settles the stand underneath. I put it down. It sinks bravely. She tightens the screws. “Okay,” she says from her position on the floor. “That’s it, let go.”
I let go, the tree topples. I grab it.
“I don’t know what else to do.” Ashley blinks at me-large purple bump on her forehead. I laugh, tree needles and sap embedded in my hands and shirt.
“We’ll switch places.” I get down and eye the situation. There are three thick branches at the bottom- one is hanging up on the edge of the stand. “We have to turn the tree.” I unscrew the screws. Hands cramp and tremble. “Okay, turn it.” I hold the stand. Ashley turns the tree. The branch goes lower. I eye the situation again-worried. Those three branches are below the stand lid. I don’t think it will work, but I try anyway, screwing the screw into the tree trunk. “Okay. Let go.”
The tree tips-so does the stand.
There is only one thing left to do… take the tree out and cut off the lower branches. I whimper as I unscrew the screws. Ashley is too weak to lift the tree. We trade places. I pull it out and place it on its side. Then I get the saw and cut off the bottom branches while Ashley puts on Christmas music. We laugh.
One more time, I grab the tree and lift it. She positions the stand under and the tree sinks down with a pleasant pop. YES! I tell Ashley that this is the kind of relief you feel when you give birth. The “Thank the good lord that’s over” kind. She screws in the screws. I let go. The tree stands.
We cheer. Then lie prone on the floor exhausted.
Ashley turns her bruised head toward me. “I suddenly see the appeal of an artificial tree.”
I can barely move. “If the boys ask, tell them it was easy. A piece of cake. We have no idea why they struggle each year…” We laugh.
A hot bath and a glass of wine later, I come downstairs and study the giant tree. The top is an inch taller than our ceilings. I’m going to have to get up on a chair and clip it. The tree is also leaning…But leaning can be a look, right?
I smile at Ashley. She smiles back.
“You know, the boys put the lights on.”
Her smile disappears. “Tomorrow.”
I agree. We reheat our mocha’s and rest on the couch. The air is filled with the scent of pine. We are women…hear us roar…

Mr. Charming

I am please to announce that my first romantic suspense, Mr. Charming, from the Wild Rose Press has a release date! Mr. Charming will be available in paperback and electronic format July 31st, 2009.

Following is an excerpt. Enjoy!

“Why do you keep touching me?” The words were soft and breathless. Jennifer wanted to take them back the moment they were out.
“I’m a tactile guy,” Kane said simply. “I like to caress what I find beautiful.”
Surprise filled her, scattered across her face. She was thirty five with a kid. Definitely not the type of person he usually dated.
“Yeah,” he said, breaking her stunned silence. “I find you beautiful.” He stepped as close as he could without touching her. He took the mug away from her trembling hand and planted it beside them on the counter. Then he held her face in his hands and smiled down at her. “I’m the kind of man who appreciates beauty in its purest from.”
“I told you, I know what kind of man you are,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? For my own good, I have to reject you.”
“Then I’m afraid we’re at odds, sweetheart, because I have to have you.”
She had promised herself just moments before to do her best to stick to the truth. “I’m not playing games with you,” she said. Her whole body shivered in traitorous anticipation. He drew her to him, surrounding her with male heat and strength.
“Me neither,” he replied.
She put her hand out to keep him away. Her palm hit silky warm skin spattered with just the right amount of hair to make it intriguing. She swallowed a gasp and kept her hand firmly planted on his bare chest. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how electrified she was by the feel of him. “Just keep your distance. I know you’re bored and I’m simply a distraction. It isn’t fair.”
He took her palm and raised it to his lips. His dark gaze captured hers and sent shock waved through her body. “Haven’t you heard? All’s fair in love and war.”

Just for Fun

A friend of mine posted on her blog (Thanks to: http://blog.skhyemoncrief.com
)a website you could go to to see what/who you were in your past life. Now, I'm open to fun and interesting things. (Keeping in mind it's all for fun.) So I went to the site http://www.thebigview.com/pastlife/index.html

All it asks for is your birthday. Now I was suspicious. I mean millions of people share my birthday. So I read the section on "more information" in which the site owner copes to the fact that it is merely a numbers generated code... and the equivalent of an electronic fortune cookie to be interpreted by you as you will.

So, shrugging I said, Why not? and entered my birthday. Here is what it said:

"Your past life diagnosis:


I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Wales around the year 975. Your profession was that of a entertainer, musician, poet or temple-dancer.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
You always liked to travel and to investigate. You could have been a detective or a spy.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
Your lesson is to conquer jealousy and anger in yourself and then in those who will select you as their guide. You should understand that these weaknesses are caused by fear and self-regret.

Do you remember now?"

How fun is that? To imagine myself as a male temple dancer during King Arther's time... hmmm, there's a story in there somewhere. ;)