Today I Won't Even Try

I am a migraineur ... one of the 28 million or so Americans who suffer from migraines. Lucky for me, I (a) don't have them very often, and (b) have warning "auras" before the sledgehammer pain and acute light sensitivity kick in.

Unlucky for me, today is a migraine day. Actually, it's Day 2, and you know how sequels stink.

So I give you, from http://rulingcatsanddogs.com (WHY WON'T MY LINK THINGIE WORK TODAY OF ALL DAYS???!!!???), my best writing/life advice EVAH:

Mighty Dog

Christmas 2009, I made the VAST mistake of telling The Kiddo that we could adopt a stray dog that was hanging out at a local store. When said stray had, er, strayed, and as I was faced by a torrent of tears and "but you SAIDs," I made another rash promise: to find her a dog.

It's not like we didn't already have a dog, a big old chocolate Labrador impersonating a Rottweiler. The Kiddo, however, wanted a LITTLE dog. A dog that was JUST hers.

I can admit, now that I'm fab and forty and all grown up and have embraced the philosophy of embracing one's limitations, that I am more of a cat person than a dog person. Don't get me wrong -- I like dogs.

Cats, however, are self-contained and not so needy. They don't call that guilt-inducing look dogs give you "puppy eyes" for nothing.

I'd promised, though, so we got a dog. It's a dachshund/poodle mix -- think a weiner dog with a perm. She's a cute little gal, and wouldn't you know it? The dog has bonded more with me than anybody else. She curls up on my feet at night. She follows every step I make. She won't go out for anybody else, and if it's raining, forget it. Even I can't make her go out very easily. She pulls the old "puppy eyes" trick on me. "Hey, lady," she seems to be saying, "would YOU go potty in the rain?"

Rain is one thing, but snow is quite another. She loves snow (as does the Kiddo, but that's to be expected.) We had a rare "snow event" in February, and a friend of mine caught this pix of her ... shouldn't she be wearing a red cape with a big M for Mighty Dog?

Forget the experts, I'm in need of an intervention

Dang the invention of the DVR. Pre-DVR, I was such a techno-fumblefingers that there was no way I could program my VCR's clock, much less schedule recording shows and making sure I had a blank tape in there.

But oh, the ease that my DVR provides. With one click of a button, I can record a whole series of programs that I have no business watching because I should be writing in that 45-minute time span.

I can't resist, though. Criminal Minds whispers into my head things like, "Sheesh, what smart plot twist will they come up with next?"

I have to admit, I've long been a sucker for a serial killer novel. (I know, weird. I write romance and women's fiction, but when I grow up, I wanna be Tess Gerritsen.) I don't like horror, however I love to have the willies scared out of me by a good writer.

I'm also a sucker for an ensemble cast. I lie to myself and say that it shows me how you can reveal a lot about a character through showing (in tiny little tidbits) and not telling. Really, though, I watch it for the characters as much as the plot.

Criminal Minds is the best of both worlds, which is strange, because for ages I ignored the show. I thought it was about crimes told from the point of view of, I dunno, criminals. But then one day I was home, alone, and there was Season One on A&E, a marathon. Omigosh, but I was hooked. Thus began my relationship with my DVR.

I have been entirely too OCD about managing this addiction. I have a list of all the Criminal Minds episodes, and as I watch one, I strike it off. Currently, thank goodness, I have managed to watch all of Season One, all but one episode of Seasons 2 and 3, with a few from Season 4 and Season 5 still to bag. I admit, I'm looking forward to the time when all that I have waiting for me on my DVR is the one new episode a week.

I Need An Expert

Despite what The Husband says, I do NOT think I'm the end-all, be-all Genius of Our Time. My head full of useless trivia (such as hallux is the name of the big toe, and that the Pluto we know wasn't Mickey Mouse's original dog) must annoy the stew out of him. Especially when I can spout off stuff like that, and yet admit that, "uh, I forgot the dry-cleaning. Again."

As it happens, there's a lot of stuff I DON'T know. I learn that every time I begin a new book (like now! Wee! I'm in love! Stay tuned to see if It Will Last.) That's when the yawning chasm of my continued ignorance can't be ignored, as I'm trying to figure out the answer to The Big Question (Will My Plot Hold Water?!?!)

Oh, I start out with the easy internet search, and that leads to another three or four hours bouncing from one site to another. But so much of the internet these days has fallen prey to C&Pitis ... someone has copied and pasted until the whole big Google search result is the exact same thing, or most of it anyway.

That's when I start e-mailing people I know AND people I don't know. Right now, for instance, I'm in need of the answer to one simple question about public defenders in Georgia. (Yeah, yeah, that one question will be like the heads of Hydra: once slain, it will produce two more questions.)

Most of the time, complete and total strangers will be nice enough to help out. They read my sincere question and my sincere promise that I will put them in my acknowledgements and move onto my sincere(ly outdated) website. And then they'll throw me a bone.

This time? With lawyers? Not so much. Not a single bite to my respectful entreaties. So ... guess it's back to figuring out who I know who knows someone else who knows someone else. I've heard it said that we're all just two people away from getting/finding out anything we want.

But if you know a little something-something about public defenders in Georgia, by all means, let me know! I promise! You're a shoo-in for my acknowledgements page!

Coming out of Lurkdom With Some Good News

Yes, I have been silent since October. But ...

My mom got sick.

My mom passed away.

I got sick.

I survived, but I had to have a money-ectomy to do so.

Yeah, it's been that kind of winter.

Still, it's wonderful, wonderful news that inspires me to blog again ... my uber-talented friend Tawna Fenske just, gasp, landed a three-book deal with Sourcebooks!

This gal is so phenomenal that I knew she would be published one day. When it comes to writing, she's had about as bad luck as I've had this winter, but I never gave up the faith that she would one day be able to give me an autographed book.

She's funny and witty and can create the most quirky, loveable characters ... you're gonna adore 'em, I swear. Her first book is due out August 2011, none too soon for me.

Tawna's rollercoaster story of ups and downs is a testament to the amount of perseverance you need in this business, that's for sure. She has done the best darn impersonation of a cockle-burr I've ever known, sticking to her dreams, continuing to try even when the bottom fell out on her. And that, my friends, is what it takes in this business -- talent, perseverance, and a terric agent like Michelle Wolfson! Woo-hoo!

I want my minutes back

Is there anything more frustrating than trying to deal with your cell phone company???

My current phone is one of the oldie-but-goodies, with no Qwerty keyboard. So it's a pain to text anything on. I'm supposedly eligible for a FREE upgraded phone. Supposedly -- but I have tried and failed.

I have spent all morning trying to fix my upgrade order (an order which also ate the better part of a morning). The first phone I ordered was back-ordered — I figure since it was free, it is a bait and switch deal. So I decided that I would swallow the bait and order another one that I actually had to pay for. Only, since The Dear Husband is the primary account owner, he had to call and give permission to change my phone order.

Then I carefully researched phones, chose one and called and waited and waited for “the next available representative,” only to be told that the phone I wanted required a stripped down data plan. So then she suggested I order another phone, for $49, but I’d have to change my plan, as it would not work. She assured me the plan was the same price.

Only, when I went to do it, it totaled an extra $10 a month — for no more benefit. Aaargh.

So then I called BACK and waited and waited and waited, only to have another guy try to explain how the new plan really WASN’T ten bucks a month extra, but you had to order it a different way. Riiiiighht. Color me cynical, but I’m still trying to apply new math, old math, any sort of math to make it work out.

Finally I got frustrated beyond belief at the amount of time I’d wasted on this, asked if the other phone I’d ordered (and was apparently in eternal backorder) would work on my current plan. "Yes," he said, sounding disappointed. I figured that if he sounded disappointed, it must mean I was choosing wisely for my pocketbook.

"OK," I said. "Let’s just go back to that one." I may never get the phone, but if I do, it’s free, and it will work with my current plan.

One thing I won’t ever get back is the time I could have spent writing this morning. Wonder if I could send the wireless company a bill for Premium Weekend Writing Minutes consumed ...

Ben Franklin Rests In Peace Again

Well, I say he is. I'd been following on various blogs and websites the travesty of Philadelphia's libraries being threatened with closure. The day of doom was to have been Oct. 2.

Public libraries closing? In Philadelphia? Where Ben Franklin, the first person to open a lending library, lived?

I'd thought it was bad enough that my own library had begun closing at 2 p.m. on Saturdays. But to not have a library at all? Yikes.

I credit public and school libraries for helping feed my voracious reading habit. As a relatively poor kid, I found my reading pace outstripping my wallet's ability to pay for books. The library is where I find new authors and try them out before I put them on my auto-buy list. When I need to research something, I go to my library. It's where I find the audio-books that I must have if I'm going to drive any distance at all.

The best part about public libraries is their egalitarian spirit. Anyone with a library card can check out a book -- any book they like. And mid-list authors' books cozy up to the volumes of best-sellers with no threat of returns to publishers.

Libraries aren't just another line item in a budget, to be slashed in hard economic times, even if some elected officials seem to think so. I'm glad to know that Philadelphia's bibliophiles fought back and won -- and the libraries in the city continue to be open to the public.

Wood On The Fire

Michael Jordan can teach a girl a lot about writing.

Well, not writing per se, but the pursuit of dreams and goals. That's what writing is all about.

Last night I sat down with my husband, a die-hard Michael Jordan fan (he followed him when Michael had hair and played for North Carolina), to listen to Jordan's acceptance speech at the Hall of Fame ceremony.

I've always considered Jordan to be a class act, so at first, his neener-neener speech was kind of ... off-putting. He talked about how he got his competitive spirit. That spirit had its roots in proving other people wrong. He talked about how, when he got cut from the varsity high school basketball team, he wanted to prove that his coach had made a big mistake.

Other naysayers along his path had been, as he put it, "wood on the fire." Basically, his acceptance speech, except for one very kind comment about teammate Scotty Pippen, was one how-do-you-like-me-now remark after another.

Or it was at first blush.

About halfway through it, I realized his speech wasn't just a "neener-neener." He really was thanking them. He was admitting that, if they hadn't told him what he was after was impossible, that he wasn't good enough, he wouldn't have become Michael Jordan.

Huh. Now that was enlightening for a girl like me. It occurred to me that some of the biggest moves I'd made in life were in response to people who said, "Ennnh. Can't be done."

People told me only rich kids went to college. I won a full honors scholarship and graduated magna cum laude.

An editor told me that I shouldn't enter the Georgia Press Association's competition for Best Humorous Column. "It'd be like dropping a rose petal in the Grand Canyon," he said. I did, and I won first place the very first year I entered.

My husband told me it would take me three years to finish a book for the first time. I finished it in three months.

My husband rolled his eyes when I pointed to the First Sale Column in the Romance Writers Report and told him my name was going to be in there one day. "Right," he said. "Keep dreaming." Two months later, my name was in black and white.

Unlike Michael Jordan, I didn't realize that what goosed me was proving naysayers wrong. I'd thought all this time I needed warm and fuzzy affirmations from those around me. I thought negativity was bad for you, that it would tear you down and kill your spirit.

And maybe it would. But something else happened this very month that tells me maybe MJ is onto something.

My daughter, bless her heart, came home with a fundraiser for school, three-pound tubs of refrigerated cookie dough at fourteen bucks a pop. The brochure came with incentive prizes: sell twelve items and you get to go to a Mega Party. Sell thirty items and you get a chance to spin the money wheel. Sell an impossible amount and you get to take a lunch-time ride in a limo.

That's a lot of dough. BOTH kinds of dough.

We live in a small town, and having a product that you can't sell easily to out-of-town friends and family makes it dang hard. It's even harder when every kid in the elementary school is selling the same thing. I told the Kiddo, "Sweetie, don't get your hopes up. People can't really afford to buy cookie dough at $14 a pop. I just don't think you'll make the Mega Party."

She cried. I cried. I admit I did the dumb thing and called the superintendent and fussed at him for ever allowing such a fundraiser go forward.

But she didn't give up hope. Every afternoon, she got her dad to take her around to peddle her cookie dough. Yeah, she got some "no's." But so far she's gotten fourteen yeses. And she's made that Mega Party I didn't think she could attain. I guess I put wood on her fire.

I think, in light of Michael Jordan's speech and my daughter's success, I owe the school superintendent an apology ... and I need to rethink how I look at naysayers. I need to look at them as if they're wood on my fire.

Speechless, just speechless

I am speechless.

Well, voiceless to be more accurate. I am on day 3 of laryngitis so bad that I can emit nothing more than a whisper. I had NO idea that a person needed to talk as much as I apparently do. Now I know why two-year-olds throw temper tantrums – they get so tired of not being able to be understood!

It's the little things that will get you: say for instance, calling out the Kiddo's spelling words and going over her science study guide and her reading vocabulary. Last night I remembered that there were computer programs to “read” text, so I looked on my computer, and thank goodness, it was there. I typed in all of the Kiddo's science study guide for this week (on fossils) and her reading vocabulary words and her spelling words, and then I let the computer call it all out for her. I wish I had a portable computer to do my talking for me today.

And then there's negotiating dinner-table conversation. Last night I had to try to explain profit to the Kiddo. Can you imagine trying to explain profit to an 8-year-old using sign language and a notepad? Lovely.

This morning, the Kiddo wanted to take her lunch. Only we had lost her insulated lunch bag, and I couldn’t fit all the stuff she wanted into my old one, because I needed to put a dry ice pack into it (ham and mayo sandwich). If I’d had another Ziploc bag to put her grapes in, it would have all gone in, easy-peasy, but I was fresh out of bags save one. So finally after much tears (hers) and much frustration (mine) and a few more tears (mine, because I couldn’t talk and it was exhausting to carry on an argument with an 8-year-old in gestures), I wrapped the grapes in aluminum foil, the sandwich in aluminum foil and stuck her chips into the only Ziploc bag I had. (Can you tell I didn’t go grocery shopping this weekend??? And that nobody ELSE went grocery shopping for me, either???)

When You're A Celebrity ...

Cue the Brad Paisley song Celebrity.

In addition to my dayjob, in addition to my writing job, I've been writing a slice-of-life column for a small group of newspapers since about 1992. My picture (admittedly one of me that has a pretty good haircut and substantially less wrinkles and gray hair) is with it.

The column has given me some weird moments in my life. Complete strangers will come up to me and talk to me as if they know me -- and they reference details about my life, so they must know me, right?

But then they say something about my column, and I think, "Ah-ha!"

I'm flattered, believe you me. I'm not complaining. But it does create awkwardness.

For instance, yesterday I went to my mom's -- sans make-up, in need of a haircut like you wouldn't believe. Hey, at least I did change out of my yoga pants and into my jeans. Usually, I wouldn't, as my mom loves me for me, so I don't worry about what I look like.

As I was leaving, my mom asked me to take off her trash. No problem, I told her, there's a trash bin on my way.

Only, the powers that be had removed said trash bin. I went on home, resigned to dumping the trash at a bin near my house.

When I drove up, some folks were dumping THEIR trash. I knew I looked rather grim, but I girded my loins and popped the trunk latch. People didn't expect you to get all gussied up for a trip to the dumpster, right?

Just as I tossed the bags into the bin, one of the guys dumping HIS trash said, "Hey, you write that column, don't you?"

Guilty. I stood there while the very nice gentleman said wonderful things about my column. I don't think anybody prayed harder for the ground of a garbage dump to open up and swallow her than I did.

The ground did not open up. Instead, I got back in my car, looked in the rear view mirror and groaned. That guy was going to go home, tell his wife about meeting me and for sure say, "She doesn't look as nice as her picture in the paper."

Yikes. What are the odds?

Riding the rollercoaster

The last thing beaten out of most writers is the idea of turns and fairness. That usually happens just before they either quit writing or get The Call.

Writers, at least those of us in it for the long haul, view the craft of writing as an apprenticeship. You get in there, you write, you send it out to critique partners, you send it out to contests, you pitch it to agents, you read books on craft, you write some more. And somewhere along the way, if you're lucky, if you're good and working on getting better, you get your shot.

If you're part of a critique group whose members are intent on improving, the idea of "turns" takes hold when the first of you gets a partial request, and then a full, and then, praise heaven, an agent. And then it's swoon time when your bud gets The Call. You're happy! You're excited! Because soon it will be Your Turn.

And then comes another member's good luck and good writing and she gets The Call. You're still happy. You're still excited, maybe even more so, because surely, surely, Your Turn is next.

I have two friends, both who write so well it would blow your socks off. They've had so many close calls, it's not even funny. One writes women's fiction as well as any Marian Keyes book on the shelf. The other is the next Evanovich.

If they could only find the right editor.

Yesterday, my critique partner who writes funny, quirky, off-beat stories got the worst news. The editor at a big-time house who loved her voice ... passed.

It's happened before. They say the most amazing things about her. They compliment everything about her. She's funny, she's unique, she's got VOICE. Someone's going to be publishing her, and maybe it SHOULD be them, but ... it won't be them.

And I don't get it. Surely if it's anybody's turn, it's hers. She had a book deal, before I did even. She had a big-time agent that many in the biz would kill to get.

But the publishing house where she had her book deal closed the line -- JUST before her book was due out. And the Big Time Agent? Well, Big Time Agent did squat for her.

She fired Big Time Agent, went through the agony of getting another agent, which is harder, I think, than getting the FIRST agent. Her second agent is a wonderful woman who works her butt off for my friend. Things were looking up.

And then they WEREN'T. And then they WERE. And now they aren't again. And it's just no fair.

I don't know what to say to her. I just want her to be able to get off this rollercoaster from hell and someone hand her a publishing contract. Because I know, when she finally does sell, it's going to be HUGE. All those editors who passed now are then going to be scrambling, trying to find some wannabe writer who can write with HER voice, the voice THEY turned down.

Until then, well, it sucks to be her.

Now I know how editors feel

Karma is a witch. Well, that's the PG version, anyway.

Last night I wound up working with The Kiddo on an assignment for her class that drove me nuts. It seemed simple enough on the face of it: write a movie script about a boomtown (they're reading Boom Town in their class). But then I had to explain what a script looked like, and get her to write a story about it.

When she wrote it, I saw she had no clue about why a boomtown became a boomtown. I'm a writer, right? So I tried to help her by asking questions to focus on the holes in her story ... and she cried and said she had to start all over.

I felt like a heel.

After supper, I realized that my attempts to define a script had failed. I pulled out a copy of My Fair Lady (very dog-chewed because my now-in-doggie-heaven Lab had devoured it). The Kiddo and I read over it, with her taking Eliza's part and me doing my best Higgins impersonation. She laughed a lot and wants me to finish it up for her.

So then we went back to the script idea, and The Kiddo scrapped what she had and began acting out the play. I wrote down the lines she came up with -- it was pretty funny, and a little more polished than a teacher would believe came from an 8-year-old. She had to incorporate her vocabulary words in it, and that took some doing.

We got done about 9:30 (after doing a focus group presentation on the DH and a friend of the family). At that point, she wanted us to do a performance for my sister. So I called her up and put us on speaker phone and we did a radio broadcast. It was a lot of work, but The Kiddo had fun, and she learned more than she would have using the traditional approach.

I went to bed thinking that this must be how it is for editors and the agents who edit for their clients (not all do, from what I understand.) How do you tactfully say, "Um, this needs work," without crushing the dreams and aspirations of the writer? It doesn't help that we writers tend to be thin-skinned -- I have grown tougher skin over my writing career, but it still hurts when a VIR (very important reader) doesn't get what you're trying to accomplish.

My poor editor. I think she deserves a hug and a drink, and not necessarily in that order!

Toothaches, Wrecks and Movies

My poor Kiddo wound up with a toothache over the weekend (we had a LOT of soup), and it was a tooth that had a filling already in it.

The dentist worked her in this morning and found that a permanent tooth was coming in and dislodging the baby tooth and the filling -- so the simplest solution was to just go ahead and yank out the baby tooth. Ai-yi-yi, but it hurts to see your baby scared in a dentist chair. And then to have to send her back to school?

Other than that and not much writing getting done over the weekend, the only exciting thing that happened was how we (me and the Kiddo) narrowly escaped getting killed or badly injured -- literally. We were returning from shopping, coming home down the interstate in horrendous rain. An extended cab pick-up in the oncoming lanes lost it and went spinning over the median -- I thought the truck was going to cross into my lane. Thank goodness that the vehicle came to a rest right at the edge of the median.

The DH brought home two movies to watch (the reason I didn't get much writing done), New In Town and Gran Torino. I liked both very much, but was completely blown away by Gran Torino. Talk about "show, don't tell!" I haven't had a chance to look at the deleted scenes from Gran Torino, but I can't wait to see what Clint Eastwood decided wasn't necessary to tell his story. I always look at the deleted scenes, though. For me, it's a great way to learn the art of revision. (Or so I tell myself as I try to justify watching movies instead of writing.)

Editing a Southerner takes twice the effort

I love the South, don't get me wrong. But I feel for my editor when she has to take a sharp knife to my writing. She once pointed out that one of my favorite "repeat" words was "little." I will not embarrass myself by confessing how many times I found the word littering up my last novel -- suffice it to say it was more than a little bit. :-)

"Little" is one of those words that we southerners use to take the sting out of whatever we say. It is as reflexive as a "bless 'er heart" after a veiled insult. Since we pride ourselves on manners, we use the word a lot. "It's just a little trouble," we'll tell someone. "Or I got a little upset." To lengthen it out still longer, we will insert another word: "bit."

"It's not but a little bit of trouble," we'll tell someone who is asking us to move the world at the last second, without the benefit of a place to stand or so much as a crowbar to pry it into its new orbit. Later of course, we'll grumble, "I'm just a little bit upset about it."

I once watched a PBS special called, "Do You Speak American?" Fascinating stuff, for a writer. It left me curious to hear more regional idioms, like how New York's residents stand ON a line, not in it, or how in Philadelphia, if I'm remembering correctly, all red spaghetti sauce is referred to by natives as "gravy."

What idioms does your part of the world use?

26% done!

BeBe has got to be the slowest book I've ever written -- well, I take that back. There are a few that I started way back when, before I finished my first novel, that still aren't done. Not finishing a book really irks me. I have one that is not finished, mainly because I've been told it straddles genres, and I am still trying to figure out its identity crisis.

Back to BeBe. Regardless of how slow I'm writing -- about a thousand words a day, at half my usual pace, I'm still 26% done. That's the first draft. There are things wrong with this draft, but as Nora Roberts has been oft-quoted, you can't fix a blank page. I keep hoping I can fix a full page.

On the personal side, as I face a weekend of laundry and grocery shopping, the Kiddo is finishing up her first week of third grade. Third grade is hard already. We are learning how to study, and we are not having fun. I'd forgotten, after all my years in formal education, that "studying" doesn't come naturally. It has to be taught. Here I am, a mother with a degree in education, and I still find myself pulling my hair out, trying to figure out what works for the Kiddo.

The plus side is that the science textbook that we have tussled with so far has pictures of dinosaurs at the Fernbank Museum of Natural History. The Kiddo was delighted that she recognized the big dino skeletons. She's already planning on taking our vacation pix to show to her class -- that is, IF I can figure out how to get them off the digital camera.

This is just too dang funny!

My thanks to Janet Reid's blog ... not sure where it originated, and I'm hoping I can make the link work.

We're writing, we're writing, we're writing ...

Remember that scene in Dave, where the White House tour guide is walking backwards and leads the group by saying, "We're walking, we're walking, we're walking?" If you haven't watched Dave (and who hasn't?? Only one of my favorite movies!), then you can also see the Progressive Girl in action on one of those addictive tv commercials that are better than some of the sitcoms.

Well, I'm writing. Thank you, God. It's a scary thing when you know something is wrong with your efforts. For non-writers, the closest sensation is that feeling you get when you've left for a 17-day/8-European-countries tour ... and you can SWEAR you forgot to do something really, really important ... like turn the stove or the iron off or drop Fido off at the pet-sitter's.

I will not be done with my first draft by August 18 unless someone gets hold of God's remote control and presses PAUSE for me. But I did write a thousand or so words last night.

Of course, sensitive Princess-and-the-Pea writer that I am, I may be completely de-railed by a wonderful audio book I'm "reading": THE HELP by Kathryn Stockett.

Some books irritate you. They are poorly written. You weep for the trees these books caused to be sacrificed in vain. Their characters are thin. Their plots are so filled with holes that they resemble a mouse-nibbled piece of Swiss cheese. Books like that motivate me. I think to myself, "Self, if XYZ can write this tripe and actually get paid for it, heck, even get on a best-seller list, there's hope." (I try not to think that maybe my readers read my books and get similarly juiced, but hey, I'm sure it happens.)

THE HELP is NOT one of those books. THE HELP is the sort of book that is so good, I say to myself, "Self, back away from the keyboard. Back slowly, slowly away from the keyboard, and you won't get hurt."

If books that irritate me are all "tell," then THE HELP is all show. And what a wonderful, marvelous show it is. I'm only on Chapter Three, but oh, my Lord, this book is better than Starbucks Java Chip Frappuccino. I am praying, "Please, please, please, Kathryn Stockett, don't let me down. Keep all this good writing coming." The last time I felt like this was when I read GODS IN ALABAMA by Joshilyn Jackson.

My book is nothing like Kathryn Stockett's (or Jackson's, btw), even though it is Southern, even though it is women's fiction. I hope that "nothing like" counts only toward plot. But in my deeper, darker moments, I find myself wondering if I'm ever going to be that good.

Writing in the Gaps

People who know me always ask, "When do you find time to write?" The honest answer lately is, "Whenever I can."

I'm like so many writers -- heck, so many PEOPLE -- these days, with way too much stuff to cram in the scant few hours between putting my feet on the floor and laying my head on the pillow at night. There's the kiddo, who needed school supplies and back-to-school clothes. There's the dayjob, with two crisis-mode, "I need 'em yesterday" back-to-back projects. There's the poor neglected hubby, who would love for me to actually converse with him rather than simply grunt, "Writing. Can't talk now." There's the fact that a family can't survive on anything less than actual food, and budgets don't really stretch to eating out a lot, even if I liked that sort of thing. And laundry. OMG, don't get me started on laundry.

And then there's the kiddo again, with insomnia brought to us by Wizards of Waverly Place's flirtation with Zombies and Vampires. (Yes, we should have exercised our parental authority and switched off the tube, but how were we supposed to know that the kiddo who was laughing while she watched it would turn into a blithering, "Mommy, the Zombie's LEG fell off while he was DANCING! His leg was GONE!!!!")

You hear writers talk all the time about writing at their children's practices or in the car pool lane or dictating chapters into a tape recorder. I admire them, but I can't do it. I have to have a block of time and quiet to write. I have to listen to my characters, and dadgummit, they whisper.

But a writer writes. If she doesn't, well, she's not a writer.

So last night, in desperation, cranky from being stretched in so many different directions with no writing time, I found a gap for writing. After she'd interrupted me with pleas about insomnia remedies (this is Day 2 after Wizards and Vampires and Zombies, and still she can't sleep) I grabbed my laptop and went into the kiddo's bedroom.

"You gonna work in here, Mommy?" she asked as I snuggled in beside her.

I started typing away. "I will as long as you go to sleep."

"Okay." She curled up beside me and started reading over my shoulder.

"Go to sleep."

"I will."

"Now."

But by then, the only sounds were her little baby snores and my fingers, finally, blissfully, clicking away on my keyboard.

The pesky internal editor

Ms. I. Editor has made her presence well and truly known this week. Just as soon as I'd rounded my 13K mark, she wouldn't be quiet. So I did the sensible thing. I stepped away from the keyboard and listened to her.

Sometimes the old gal knows of what she nags. This time was one of them. I went back, listened to my characters, analyzed what I'd written, bug the stew out of my critique partners, my beta readers and any unsuspecting person walking down the street that I could accost and ask, "So if you were reading a book about a woman who is ..." (Survey results: canvassing Unsuspecting People Walking Down The Street nets a 100% response rate of "uh, are you crazy or what?")

I figured out what was wrong. Now the question is, can I figure out how to fix it and make up all my lost ground in my challenge with Kate the BritChickLit writer? I'll bet she's fired her Internal Editor and just sailing along.

On a more personal note, my little angel caught her first fish today -- an oversized minnow. She's already told her dad that she wants to go fishing tomorrow. She asked, since the fish she caught was not quite frying size, if we could put it in our fish aquarium. Somehow I think that would have required A LOT of explaining to our goldfish.

Isn't she lovely?

My blog, that is! My lovely and wonderful friend Bosey has removed the tentacles of HTML from around my neck and helped me update the template. Bosey calls me a technophobe, but that's not true. I'm more of a technifumbler -- sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I don't.

Writing ... is ... not ... going well. There, I said it. Another writer that I know, Michelle Styles talked about table-dusting, where two actresses in the role of maids dance around a table with feather dusters while their dialogue sets up the play. My internal editor, confound her, is now convinced that all 13K plus words of BeBe are the sum and product of table-dusting. Meh.

Still, all the more reason to write quickly and not let Ms. Internal Editor get her evil clutches into me. Why can't that woman ever go on vacation?? She could take the jaunt to Rome I want to take!

THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY: Word count is 13,416. Still lots of writing ahead of me today.

WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING INSTEAD OF BLOGGING: Folding clothes, working on that writing challenge, visiting my mom.

Well, pride goeth ...

Okay, okay, so much for my big, fat mouth. In the past 24 hours, I've managed to write only a thousand or so words. However, in the spirit of my challenge, I've decided to post the good, bad and ugly.

Current word count: 11,195. (Do all the words your Internal Editor zapped count? Because that witch scrapped a bunch!)

WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING INSTEAD OF BLOGGING: Making good on that challenge, and feeding the kiddo and the hubby.

TO DO LIST: Figure out how to edit this blasted sidebar ... HELP! ANYBODY! I'm being strangled by HTML!

A challenge in the spirit of NaNoWriMo!

As I was researching how to replace my old non-working word meter, I came across a fellow (and better disciplined) blogger across the Pond, Chicklit Work in Progress (And wouldn't you know, I'm so technologically challenged, I can't even get the hyperlink to work. Blast.)

Kate, who writes British Chicklit (some of my absolute favorite writing, btw, though I can't write it to save my life!) recently cranked out an amazing amount of words in one sitting. She was wondering if perhaps she could finish her rough draft of her YA in two weeks if she kept up the present rate.

By sheer coincidence, I, too, had cranked out a similar number of words on Sunday (just over 3500) on my latest women's fiction project. I'd figured that I could be done with the rough draft by August 18 if I continued to write another 2500 words each day.

So what's a writer like myself to do except to challenge her? As one of my CPs just posted on my Facebook wall, "Um, insane much? :)"

The details are still being worked out -- Kate needs to finish her rough draft in two weeks, whereas I have the luxury of waiting until August 18. But I figure, hmmm, whoever gets to 50K words first wins ... bragging rights? A one-way ticket to the nuthouse? Or at least just the chance to type THE END.

We'll see. To keep me honest, I'll post word counts on this blog and on Facebook and perhaps eHarlequin.

Been MIA for awhile

Uh, from the looks of it, about a three books-long while. Yep. In the interim, I've written and sold three more books. The last one was For The Sake of The Children (Harlequin Superromance Dec. 08.)

My lovely editor, Victoria Curran, has another proposal from me ... hopefully it will be a go as well. That's one thing they don't tell you (or maybe can't convince you about) before you sell a book for the first time: that squirrelly, nervous feeling about a project's prospects? It never goes away ... or it hasn't yet.

I'm tweaking another proposal for Victoria, and I'm also working away at two totally different projects, just for fun. One is a women's fiction MS, and the other is a cozy mystery.

WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING INSTEAD OF BLOGGING: uh ... grocery shopping? GROAN. I hate grocery shopping!
NEXT THING ON THE TO-DO LIST: Figure out how to get the word count calculator off my sidebar ... it never worked that well anyway!

New time on Statesboro Signing!

Ooops ... my bad!

The Statesboro Wal-Mart will start at 11 a.m., not 10 a.m., on May 5.

Sheesh. I'll never get the hang of this!

My book's on the shelves!

I have news! I've wanted to share it, but unfortunately Blogger and I have had a disagreement about whether I should move to the New and Improved Blogger. Grrr.

Blogger won.

Double-grr.

Onward to news: My book, THE BABY WAIT, is now on the shelves! People -- complete and total strangers -- are picking up my book, turning it over, reading the blurb, flipping open to the first page, and ...

Eeek. I don't know what's next. Will they buy it? Or will they say, "Eh, not for me."

Oh, well -- it's a treat for me to see it on the shelves! My friend Cindy Miles spotted it first -- and called me to share the good news!

Later that day, I took Kate and my dh to see it -- and while I was standing there, I sold and autographed two books -- to complete and total strangers! Yay!

More news: I am doing several signings, basically because I am a nut and won't believe what experienced writers tell me -- it's a waste of time. I'm a hard-headed person and I have to learn this for myself.

On Saturday, April 28, from 10 a.m. -12 noon., I'll be at the Vidalia Wal-Mart. That's during the middle of the Vidalia Onion Festival, so come for the air show and stop by Wally-World to see me.

Later that day, (April 28) from 2 p.m. - 4 p.m., I'll be signing at the Dublin Wal-Mart.

I know, I know, two signings in one day -- I must be a loon, right?

On May 5, you can catch me at the Statesboro, Georgia Wal-Mart -- home of the GSU Eagles! I'll be there from 10 a.m. until noon.

On May 19, I'll be signing at the Barnes & Noble at the Forum in Norcross -- I believe that signing will begin around 2 p.m. I know I'll be signing with one other pubbed author of GREAT talent -- Berta Platas, whose CINDERELLA LOPEZ I just absolultely loved!

On June 23, I'll be signing with loads of talented ladies at the Savannah B&N -- I'll update you on who all will be there soon, I promise! (Especially now that Blogger and I have come to an understanding!)

Writing: How do I do it

Tess Gerritsen, a thriller writer I much admire, on her blog had a very interesting pair of entries. They were about how she wrote.

She is a pantser -- a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, where she has no idea who the bad guy is when she first starts out with the book.

I'm amazed that anyone could do that. I'm a plotter, a planner, a list-maker extraordinaire. It drives me crazy to go grocery shopping without a list, so how on earth could I write a book without at least a little planning?

She does it, and does it well, so I'm not knocking it. It's not for me, though.

People ask me how I do it. How do I plan so much of the story and not get so bored out of my mind that I can go ahead and write it?

The trick is to have faith that your characters will surprise you. A minor character will leap off the page and take over -- like in WHERE LOVE GROWS, my Superromance that will be released in October. My heroine visits a farm only to be introduced to a guy who surely loves his porcine pets. He was such an unexpected, loveable character that I plan to use in him in a spin-off novel (please, Lord, let my editor like it!)

I don't want to know EVERYTHING about my characters -- just enough to have more than a conversation of smalltalk with them. Later on, like I do when making a new friend, I'll discover new and small things. I'll discover my heroine hated Spaghettios or never got to wear a pair of red ruby slippers she coveted (I'm making this up about these characters -- but it's got my creative juices flowing).

For me, it all comes down to the old saw about luck being preparation meeting up with opportunity. If I wasn't sure where the story was going, I might be impatient and ignore these subtle clues my brain is using to help me improve the story. As it is, I have learned to listen ... but I'm still not able to leave home without the map.

Sorry to be MIA

OK, OK, so I'm the world's worst blogger and I haven't blogged in ages. But I come bearing excuses: (a) the dayjob is kicking my backside; (b) I've not long got off the revised version of WHERE LOVE GROWS -- it's in production, according to my lovely and talented editor Laura Shin, who swears it's "very far from crap." (That's good, isn't it?); (c) I've been working on proposals ... and (d) the fact of the matter is, life's swamped me.

Today I caught up on tax prep (ewww, yuck. Why CAN'T I be organized and do this expense stuff monthly), took Kate to an Easter Egg hunt and gardened. This is the first year in a while that I've actually took the trouble to put a garden in. I do it by the Square Foot method ... anybody ever heard of that?

I also (yay!) got some writing time in, though only six pages, not my usual 10. Still, I only have about four pages left to write of this partial, and I think I can finish it up tomorrow.

Operative word there, think. I have church, a visit to my mom, and Kate's singing in the special Passover service at church tomorrow night. But I'm determined! And sleep is HIGHLY overrated!

Oops ...

Okay, upon looking at my Blogroll, I find I don't have my fellow Super author Amy Knupp on there ... but you can find her at www.amyknupp.com (and no, I can't make that a live link -- remember, browser issues?).

While I'm at it, I'll tag Stephanie Bose, CP extraordinaire, and Tammy ... why not share the love and find out weird things about my buds?

Six to Ten Weird things about myself

Teresa has tagged me, so I guess I should honor her tag and figure out six to ten weird things about me.

I'm a fairly boring person, so I don't know that I can come up with three things, but I'll try.

Hmmm ...

Weird Fact One: I'm only 4'10" tall. That means I go through life at arm-pit level to everyone else. So PLEASE, for the vertically challenged around you, wear your anti-perspirant.

Weird Fact Two: I wear a size three and a half ladies shoe ... which means that I have a heckuva time finding shoes to wear.

Weird Fact Three: Something about my elbow, shoulder or wrist joints is super-flexible, and I can rotate my arms in a way that makes my dh gag.

Weird Fact Four: I have not very much feeling in my left big toe. I kid you not, I can't even test bath water with it.

Weird Fact Five: I'm dyscalculic. I'll let you guys look that word up. Consider it your vocabulary word of the day.

Weird Fact Six: Speaking of dictionaries, when I was little, on rainy days when I had exhausted all the books in the house, I actually DID read the dictionary. (Yes, I know I'm weird. Isn't that the point of this exercise?)

OK, that's about it. I can't think of another weird thing that wouldn't make you guys yawn with boredom. I'm back to Art Fact Sheets that are due on Feb. 22 (Happy Birthday, George Washington!) and proposals that my editor is asking for as she reads over WHERE LOVE GROWS (which is, by the way, the official title of my book that will come out in in October.)

Oh, hmmmh, I suppose I should tag some other folks. I'm on a 9.2 version of Mac OS, which means my browser is giving me fits (yes, I know, I know, I should upgrade ... but that comes after the dayjob, the writing job, the kid, the hubby and the laundry -- and notice dusting isn't mentioned ANYWHERE in that list.) So use my links to my favorite blogs to get there from here.

I tag Cindy Miles and Tanya Michaels and Amy Knupp. All three of them are probably swamped, but they'll get to it eventually.

GOT MY COVER!!

Who knew a paragraph here and there would be so impossible?

Not me... but I do now, what with a book that is finally in the hands of my editor-- yay -- and then on the other hand, sheer terror!

But I did want to share my early Valentine's Day present with whomever might still be tuning in ...

Igot my cover! Isn't it a beaut? My hero looks just like Joe, and Sara looksa whole bunch like some actress that I can't place ... any guesses or isit all just in my head?

As an added plus, I'm actually on Amazon.com ... eek!

Of course, I would highly recommend you buy any online copies from, say, eHarlequin.

I am also considering doing a contest giveaway ... would anybody be open to, say, a lovely batch of Supers?

Past the 20K mark!

I'm sure I'm boring the fire out of what few people stick their head in here ... but nightly reporting my progress on my blog keeps me honest ...

I am proud to report my CWC (computer word count) stands at 20,023! Yay! I have 93 pp, as well, which means I'm almost done with the horrid first hundred. Does anybody else have trouble with the first hundred pp?

My calculations (again, forgive me, I'm not tangling with that blasted progress bar) tell me I'm 28% done ...

Oh, and good news from three of my CPs: One has several agents VERY interested in her ... yay! She actually has an offer on the table and other agents are breaking their neck to finish up her stuff. Another has two requests on her YA project -- and it's good stuff, so yay for her! And my third CPs good news is non-writing, but let's face it, until we're all NYT best-selling authors, dayjob good news is welcome any ol' time ... she has a new job, her first in management. I know she'll do well, and that this will give her a good step up in the right direction.

So yay! Atta-girls all around!

A quarter of the way!

OK! I now have 17, 487 little words, and according to my calculations, that means I'm 24.9% of the way! Yay!

If I can keep up this pace, I will have the rough draft done in 23 more days ... more like 25 more days, because I intend to take off Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

This makes, however, the third day straight where I have fallen asleep during my goodnight snuggle with Kate ... I wake up to find it's really late, but I MUST write. So I wind up writing until one or two in the morning and then ... that next night, I repeat the cycle.

The good thing is that after tomorrow, I should have off until the first part of January, which means I can get some writing done during the day, catch up on sleep and make some headway. My wonderful dh has said he will babysit so that I can get ahead on my writing. Maybe he's tired of sleeping by the glow of the laptop?!

Another 12 pages

My dh says be reasonable ... but reasonable to a writer with a deadline is to kick it in high gear and write while the ink is flowing. So tonight, after a Christmas dance program for Kate, supper out at Mickey D's, and baking cookies for Kate's teacher, parapro, music rotation teacher, P.E. coaches, computer rotation teacher, speech pathologist, a teacher who is next door to Kate's class AND a teacher who Kate knows (all this was Kate's idea, mind you, and I felt like a bah-humbug for wanting to say, "uhm, let's ..." so I didn't.), I got kicked into high gear and wrote an even dozen.

I'm not fooling with the progress bar, but according to my spotty math, I'm 21% done now ... a chapter a day keeps the editor saying, "Yay!"

A Little Progress On The Progress Bar

Well, tinkered with the progress bar, and got it to register word count, which says I'm 17% of the way done ... onward, onward!

A chuggin' along

OK, another nine pages done tonight ... and it's only half past midnight. If I don't get sucked into Miss Snark's Crap-o-meter, (pay no attention to the woman in the stillettos, pay NO attention to the woman in the stillettos!) I will actually get to bed at a semi-decent time.

I am still at a loss as to how to fix my little progress bar. I know how to change the numbers, but I'll be John Brown if I can figure out why the progress bar doesn't move forward like it should. Very demoralizing, I tell you. Maybe it's my browser?

Today was quite busy ... my little one had to do an encore performance of a special interpretive dance at church this morning, and she had to do it solo, without her friend. She was all tears last night, until I said, "I know you can do it, and you're going to do so well that afterwards we're going to go anywhere you'd like to for lunch."

I was expecting McDonald's or Wendy's or Burger King.

She said ... "Red Lobster."

Guess that last sale celebration I had stuck in her mind!

So toss in church (she NAILED that dance, btw! Proud mommy moment there!), the celebratory lunch afterwards, a visit to my mom's and my grandmother's and then back here for supper, bath, storytime and bed (and sleep came VERY hard for Kate tonight!) ... and I was doing good to get to my laptop by 10 p.m.

Oh, and Jenna ... they ARE trying to bankrupt us! Grandparents! Why won't they get that excited about investing in the COLLEGE fund?! I know, I know ... not any fun at all!

Pshew! Still got it!

For various reasons that would bore most people to tears, I've suffered that dreaded writer's disorder (no, not Writer's Block ... it doesn't exist) Lifeus Interruptus. I'm sure there's a nice Latin word for Life, but for the life of me (no pun intended), I can't think of it.

But yes, life has interrupted and I've been away from my laptop for my nightly sessions. Coming back intimidated me ... would I still be able to churn out a chapter a night?

Well, tonight, I got back on the horse. Yes, I started late (10:45, after a day of cleaning, gift-wrapping and cell phone programming ... DON'T ask!), but at 1:30 a.m., I had 11 pp like I wanted 'em for now.

How I'll make it to Sunday School in the morning (er, today), I haven't a clue ... but if anybody has any toothpicks, I would appreciate it. Maybe I'll be so razzed to have the first 50 pp written (the first 38 revised per my editor's request) and written that I'll not require any toothpicks?!

Santa and the Tooth Fairy

You know, I’m cruisin’ for a bruisin’.

For the past few years, I’ve had it pretty well made when it came to Santa lore. Kate was an only child with no just-a-few-years-older cousins to muck things up … well, it made me a bit complacent. I started doing things my way.
(My dh, of course, would opine that I’ve ALWAYS done things my way, and that it’s the normal course of events.)

That “my way” part was a few clever little stitches in the tapestry of Santa’s life. Kate has never questioned that Santa only brings ONE present to each little girl and boy; after all, how else would he fit everything in his sleigh? She knows that mommies and daddies provide the rest of the kit and caboodle under the tree on Christmas morning.

She knows because that’s what I told her. It seemed like a stroke of genius at the time … I was, truth be told, sick of the Big Red Guy getting all the credit for the neat toys and so forth Christmas brings. Plus, I figured that the prospect of her losing one present from Santa would make it easier for her to come clean when she dispenses with the whole notion that Santa is … uhm, well, you know.

Now, however, she is in school. And she just might compare notes with some other little boy or girl … like she did about the Tooth Fairy.

Kate is sporting her first loose tooth. She worried about when her teeth would start falling out more than I expected … she worried because at least two other classmates already had visits from the Tooth Fairy. Naturally, she was ecstatic about having a wiggly tooth.

When I inspected that loose tooth of hers for the first time, I said, “Oooh, Kate, you’ll get a visit from the Tooth Fairy! Wow! She’ll leave you a bright shiny quarter under your pillow.”

Kate’s face got all scrunched up. She pondered that statement of mine for the longest time. Just as I started worrying that the Tooth Fairy’s visit might incite in Kate an unwelcome case of insomnia, my daughter allowed as to what was troubling her.

“Mason said that the Tooth Fairy leaves you a dollar.”

My heart did a double-skip. I did some mental digging into my brain’s databases … how many baby teeth were there? Twenty? Twenty-two? Whatever the number, that was a heckuvalotta greenbacks. No, no, a quarter would have to do.

“Uh, baby,” I said brightly, “that’s just for the FIRST tooth. You know, your FIRST tooth is a special tooth. But after that, it’s just a quarter. How else would the tooth fairy ever be able to afford to pay for all those kids’ teeth?”

I have similar visions of imminent catastrophe: some little kid, repeating the family tale he’s been told, will tell Kate that Santa brings him all manner of presents.

And that is as worrying as having to figure out just how I’ll pry that tooth out of Kate’s head when the time comes.

Printouts and Christmas Trees

Don't ask.

Yup, that's what I'd say if you asked me how my weekend was. But in order for you to fully appreciate the weekend, I guess I would have to cough up a few details.

Say, how I squeezed in the reading of a printout (double-checking for spelling and typos on THE BABY WAIT which is due back in Toronto by Dec. 15) in with putting up my Christmas tree, participating in a parade for my dayjob boss, hustling my little one to practice for the Christmas Cantata and going to her teacher's Christmas Concert.

I will say this -- during each and every event on my busy weekend calendar, I found myself saying, "Gee, I'm glad I took time for this!"

The tree was the worst chore. I'm too chintzy to buy a pre-lit tree, and I HATE putting on the lights. I usually put up my tree on the first Saturday in December. Kate would NOT let me put it off beyond Sunday. Which, I guess, was a smart move on her part. Any closer to Christmas, I would have stuck a bow on a poinsetta and said, "Ho, ho, ho ..."

No, I wouldn't have. I don't think.

Kate is big enough now to put ornaments on the tree, which is a bad thing and a good thing. The good part is that she basically did it. The bad thing is she was bored out of her skull until I could get her to that point.

Which brings me to another good/bad point: having so many ornaments. The bad part, of course, is the storing and the putting them on the tree. But the good part is that I have so many that you can't see any green on the tree when we're done (and we're talking MAMMOTH eight-footer here), so it didn't matter where Kate installed the ornaments -- it wound up looking as good as I could do it. The only thing I really did was help move the breakable ones to the top, in vain hopes that our two demon cats wouldn't trash 'em.

THe best part: it's DONE. And I got the printout read, too! Yay!

Not Right For Me

When agents say in those hated form letters that your project is "not right for me," well, they also mean it when they tell you it could be right for someone else.

Tonight, I pulled a very flat SASE from my mailbox. An agent, who shall remain nameless so that this is not construed as a "neiner-neiner" post, sent me a very belated reply on a query letter I'd done, oh, eons ago.

It was in regards to THE RED THREAD (which is now being pubbed under THE BABY WAIT). And yes, it was one of those form R's.

In early July, this form R would have crushed me. By then, I'd been waiting for it for ages ... had even nudged the agent to no avail.

But in late July, two agents I really respected said I had "voice" and they said it in front of God and everybody at an RWA workshop. One of those agents, Miriam Kriss, eventually signed me.

And of course, having sold the book in question makes ALL the ouchies go away. I'd clean forgotten that this lone query was still out there.

So if you have one or a ton of those form R's, tuck 'em away and keep submitting. You'll get there. It's only a matter of time ... and a good bit of sheer, south-Georgia cussedness.

My deepest apologies ... and NEWS!

Okay, so I've been out of commission for, like, ahem, a month now, but Turkey Day did interrupt ... along with day job woes, family deals and --

Excuses, excuses.

I'll shut up now, and I'll commit to this: On Mondays at least I shall update this blog. I have a column due that day (newspaper dealie), so I will impose the same deadline for my blog.

On to the rest of the news: I sold book number two!

Working title is WHERE LOVE GROWS, and the best way I can describe it is You've Got Mail goes Down on The Farm ... Due sometime in February, but hopefully, once I get past the day job woes and actually get my Christmas shopping done, I'll be able to hunker down over the computer and write, write, write and get it done super early.

Tawna's tag answers

Tawna Fenske was very prompt in her response to my "exam" that I sent her way -- and, like everyone else's books, make me feel a bit like a lightweight. But I'm a firm believer in different strokes for different folks. And yes, I do realize that I'm blogging twice in one day, but very possibly later this week the day-job and the family will complete my relocation to slap-dab-crazy, so I'd guess I'd better do it now.

Thank you muchly to Cynthia for “tagging” me with this one. I was an English major in college (would you like fries with that?) so it got me thinking about all the really swell books I’ve read over the years. Actually, none of the ones on this list were required reading in college. Go figure.

I actually can’t think of anyone else to tag next, but here are my answers anyway.

1) One book that changed your life:
DH and I have always been avid world travelers, and I happened to read Franz Wisner’s memoir, “Honeymoon with my Brother” right after we returned from a month in Australia and Fiji this past summer. That’s when we started talking seriously about the idea of selling most of our earthly possessions and moving overseas. It’s still too soon to tell whether we’ll really make the leap, but I credit that book with sparking a fantasy that’s become a recent focal point of my life.

2) One book that you've read more than once:
I obsessively re-read books, so there are tons of these. I’d have to say that Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal Dreams” or Diana Gabaldon’s “Outlander” are my favorites to read over and over and over.

3) One book you'd want on a deserted island:
Tough call. I’m fascinated by Mary Roach’s “Stiff: the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers,” so that’s a maybe. I also adore Judy Blume’s “Summer Sisters.” (Er, could I possibly choose two more drastically different books?!)

4) One book that made you laugh:
David Sedaris, “Me Talk Pretty one Day.”

5) One book that made you cry:
Anything that involves and animal being sad, hurt, or killed. I adored “The Dogs of Babel” by Carolyn Parkhurst.

6) One book you wish you'd written:
“Player Piano” by Kurt Vonnegut or “Welcome to Temptation” by Jennifer Crusie (again with the drastically different books!)

7) One book you wish had never been written:
I can think of a few I’ve hurled at the wall in frustration, but can’t actually remember their names (and out of kindness to my fellow authors, wouldn’t name them if I could!)

8) One book you're currently reading:
“A Thousand Days in Venice” by Marlena de Blasi, our book club pick of the month.

This was fun. And it makes me want to go home now and re-read some of my favorites!

Tawna Fenske
http://www.tawnafenske.com

I've been tagged

Sorry about the delay, Steph, but I just realized I HAD been tagged! Whoops!

1) One book that changed your life: I don’t mean to sound crass and money-grubbing, but it would HAVE to be a tie between The Millionaire Next Door and The Automatic Millionaire.

2) One book that you've read more than once: Hands down, Gone With The Wind, oh, and To Kill A Mockingbird, oh, lemme see … Little Women – oh, shoot, they just said ONE book.

3) One book you'd want on a deserted island: I get just one? Aaack! I read too fast for me to have just one. Uh, maybe The Complete Works of William Shakespeare? That’d keep me busy for a while.

4) One book that made you laugh: I love humor … so, hmm … I guess any of Mary Kay Andrews’ books – that woman has southern humor nailed DOWN.

5) One book that made you cry: Blessings by Anna Quindlen. I “read” it as an audio book, and I sat in the car on a hot July afternoon, sobbing at the ending.

6) One book you wish you'd written: Gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson.

7) One book you wish had never been written: Ewww … I dunno. There are tons of books out there that make me weep for the trees sacrificed for them – I’ll color in broad strokes here and say any poor knockoff book of any really good author.

8) One book you're currently reading: Falling Off Air by Catherine Sampson.

And now, hmmm ... who to tag? Well, obviously Cindy Miles and even if Tawna doesn't have a blog, I'll give her space here ... and, hmmm ... Tammy.

Cartwheels and other impossibilities

I'm trying to teach my daughter how to do a cartwheel.

Quite a feat, seeing as I myself can't do one.

I've researched on the web, and all they say is it's a matter of timing -- one, two, three, four.

But Kate wants to be a REAL cheerleader, and apparently all REAL cheerleaders can do cartwheels.

I came the closest this evening as I ever had to doing my first ever cartwheel as I was showing her how you get a running start, do a little skip and then commit. Only, I landed funny on my left hand, and I messed up my little finger.

It wasn't a bad injury, but just enough to make me worry. I've made my living at writing for so long that I have long been concerned about what would happen if I injured my hands or fingers. I've had one near miss -- a friend of mine slammed a car door shut on my hand once, back when I was working at my old newspaper. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to type. Thankfully, the hand was okay, and I could.

But it made me wonder ... does Nora have a policy with Lloyd's of London on her hands? What famous actress was it that had her legs covered by Lloyd's? And could I ever write by dictating?

I have had to make adjustments. For years I wrote longhand, but I have fibromyalgia and my hands couldn't take it. I went from a ballpoint to a big fat fountain pen, and finally I just had to start using a computer -- it was a tough transition because I was used to words flowing out with the ink, not on the screen. But I was glad I'd done it when I wound up working at a paper on deadline.

Still ... if I do eke out a career in this writing business, maybe I should at least give the Aflac duck a call, huh?

Oh, and anybody who has a no-fail method of teaching a five-year-old a cartwheel ... I would so appreciate it if you'd share the recipe!

More movies ... and a failing

Thanks, Cindy M, for the Demi Moore suggestion -- you know Paranormal well, so I know I'll love Half Light. I'll just have to close my eyes until I get past the demise of the five-year-old ...

Which brings me to a failing I have. Before Kate, I could watch almost anything and it didn't bother me (well, except for slasher/horror flicks, which I've never liked.) But since I've had Kate in my life (nearly five years, can you believe how time FLIES?), I cannot watch movies where children get hurt -- or worse. I can't even watch small-screen stuff where that happens.

I know they're trying to tap into emotion and get a visceral response ... but it just throws my over-load switch and fries my circuitry. It's the same way when an animal gets hurt -- a dog or a cat or any family pet in a movie. I just cannot bear to watch it.

I don't suppose I'm very different from other moms, so I'm assuming this isn't odd.

Speaking of kidlets, Ricky made another trip to the video store ... came back with that Disney movie In The Wild or Out of the wild or something like that.

I have to share my reactions to this, because I got a flash of what agents/editors think when they see a project. At first I was thinking, "Haven't I seen this before?"

And I had ... the opening was not very different from Madagascar.

But then it took a different turn and had some hugely comic elements, and the animals were negotiating the wilds of New York. I was thinking, huh, maybe this has some merit after all -- especially when the lion was attacked by a poodle that strongly resembled how I see Miss Snark's beloved Killer Yapp.

So I'm enjoying their travels through NYC, and I'm thinking, "yeah!"

Ennnnh. Wrong Answer buzzer going off. The movie dissolves into the requisite trip to the requisite jungle isle so that the zoo animals can make their requisite faux pas as they try to find their inner requisite jungle wildness. Hugely reminiscent of Madagascar ... and I don't think as well-done from that point.

But Kate enjoyed it ... and I think Ricky got the movie free (our video rental store is shaking in their boots at NetFlix, so they give away loads of free movie rentals.) He also rented Eight Below and a movie I'd never heard of called The Weatherman. But it's got Nicholas Cage -- I think it's got Nicholas Cage in it. Could be wrong. Anyway, one of the actors I like usually, so I don't think it will be a hardship.

To go back to the toon flick I saw tonight, and how I channeled agents/editors while watching it:

Let's assume, for the sake of argument, there was no such thing as a synopis.

That being the case, at the query stage, if the writing was phenom, I would have probably asked for a partial. Then I would have got the partial, and it would have ended at the part where the zoo escapees are navigating NYC, and I would be thinking, "Pretty darn funny -- send me the full."

But then, I would have gotten the full, and the MS would have completely fallen apart for me.

So, not to dis Disney, but I would have sent them a nice (probably personal to some extent) R, saying, "story has promise, but a bit too predictable."

Has writing completely screwed up the way you watch movies or read books? It very nearly has for me ... tomorrow (or Sunday, whenever I get a chance to blog again), I'll blog about two vastly different books that completely shut off my inner line-editor.

The Lakehouse

My dh, wonderful soul that he can be, recently rented me the dvd of The Lakehouse, with Sandra Bullock and Kenau Reeves. I loved the pair in Speed, and I'm a diehard Bullock fan. Reeves? Eh. He's hit or miss for me. Some of the stuff he's done is great -- others, not so great.

But The Lakehouse is one of his great ones -- at least I think so. This is a wonderful love story, the kind I love, because it brings out all sorts of baggage that the characters have been hauling around.

My dh tried to watch it ... but the format just was too much for him, and he couldn't get into the whole "two-times-existing-at-the-same-time" deal. Me, I'm much more forgiving about deals like that. As long as the universe you create follows the rules you've created, I'll go along with your premise.

Of course there were some weak points (ones that I won't share because of spoilers), but overall, the theme is one that I have always liked: it's the little decisions we make that bring us to the big ones. To follow a dog -- or not. To make a left-turn ... or not. To grab that extra cup of coffee, to choose that particular firm to do whatever professional service you require.

My own dh and I wound up together based on just such a small decision. My sister and I decided to eat lunch at a steak house. Yup. That's what ultimately led to three years of dating and a marriage that has lasted for nearly 16 years.

When we were leaving the restaurant, my sister ran into an old friend of hers -- who worked with my dh. My dh saw me, recognized me as a customer he'd always liked, and later that night (I kid you not) saw my picture in his local newspaper. With a little help from Ma Belle Detective Agency, he tracked me down, called me up and asked me for a date.

I said no ... but I just had to see this guy, this complete stranger, who'd called me up. So I went on a re-con mission to scout him out. He asked me again ... I said yes.

And the rest is history. See? A small decision ... my sister and I could have opted for McDonalds instead of the Western Sizzler. But maybe it was destiny, you know?

The Leaning Tower of Books

I used to shake my head over readers/writers who had towering To Be Read piles of books. I was such a voracious reader that a paperback rarely lasted more than an afternoon, and a hardback might have taken me two or three days, tops.

But in the last year, I've found myself more and more relying on audio books to get my reading in while I do my daily commute.

Part of it is because the time I used to spend reading is now devoted to writing -- and carting Kate to and fro from all her extra-curricular activities. Part of it is that fear that I will unconsciously copy others in my genre. I remember listening to a best-selling author talk, marveling at how he said he couldn't read within his own genre any more. At the time, I thought, "If you write mysteries (which he did), you must prefer them, so why wouldn't you read them?"

Ahhh ... Now I know. I don't read romances while I'm actively writing -- save those of my CPs, who don't write in the same sub-genre I do. One writes paranormal with yummy ghosts (that's Cindy Miles who's releasing SPIRITED AWAY in the spring), one writes romantic comedy with heroes to die for, one writes romance with a liberal dose of mystery (or mystery with a liberal dose of romance), and one writes women's fiction with a healthy dollop of romance.

So all those other authors? Well ... I just have to wait until I take a break between projects. My TBR pile gets higher and higher ... And my reading addiction seeks its fix in the audio books of another genre.

What about other writers? Can you read within your genre while you write?

And readers who are not writers -- do you go through authors and genres until you're satiated? Or do you jump around?

For both readers and writers, how do you choose new authors? That's a tricky one for me ... But I guess that might make another blog entry, huh?

Changing Tastes

Sunday night I bit the bullet and washed an armload of turnip greens and roots -- well, I had help, as Kate decided she wanted to assist in the endeavor. It took me, no joke, from 6 p.m. until 8 p.m. to get the turnips washed, stemmed, in the pot and cooked -- along with the peas and rice and cured ham that went with it. I did NOT fix cornbread. The labor in the turnips alone was sufficient to say, "I love you!" to my family.

Kate, of course, took one look at the heap of turnips on her plate and scowled. "I don't LIKE turnip greens, Mommy!"

It took me back: how many times had my own mother washed and cooked fresh-out-of-the-garden greens for me? And how many times had I thanked her by saying, "I don't LIKE turnip greens, Mama!"

I was an avowed greens hater until I came home from college for Thanksgiving and I tried some after years of barely tasting the stuff. They were, gasp, good. Had I been missing something all these years?

Hmmmm ... nope. I don't think so. At the same time I avoided anything green and leafy, I had a few other preferences: milk chocolate over dark; big white-columned houses over the cozier "English cottage" variety; trendy clothes over the classics; Louis XVI over Shaker; cozy mysteries over thrillers; Coca-Cola over tea.

I think that our tastes evolve, just like life. Our tongue becomes more tolerant of the more complex, less straightforwardly sweet tastes as we grow older. Why is that?

Scientists say that babies come into the world with a prediliction for all things sweet, so they can find their mother's milk and survive. That may be true. But I have another, more poetic, theory.

I think as we grow up, life reveals more of its own complexities. We grow and change ... and our tastes reflect that.

What sort of things did you like when you were younger that you can't abide now? (An example -- I adored Juicy Fruit gum when I was little, but now even its sweet smell makes my stomach roil.) What sort of things did you not like as a kid that you like now?

Gotta share!

Cindy Miles, my very first Critique Partner -- the one who encouraged me to join RWA and who very kindly yanked my head out of my butt when it came to passive voice -- has got her cover!

Yes! I didn't think I could be any more excited than the day she called me and told me she'd sold -- but I'm just as excited to share her cool new cover with you guys. It looks like a movie poster, IMHO, and I can assure you that the book is GREAT! It's coming out in May of 2007, and it's called Spirited Away. It features a hunky ghost and a tenacious archeologist ... just put it on your to-buy list now!

I'm On The Web!

Yup, I'm really on the world wide web! My website is up and running, thanks to the patient folks over at Stonecreek Media!

Of course, the first thing that I did once I checked it out was to google myself -- and it's amazing what turns up! My blog shows up ... but so does a few more Cynthia Reeses ... there's a California realtor, an Atlanta make-up artist, a softball player ... my doppelgangers have quite interesting lives.

I do wonder what they'll think when a book comes out in April with their (my) name on it!

What's the funkiest thing you've ever turned up when you googled yourself? (Or somebody you know?)

It Never Gets Any Better

Right now, all those pubbed authors who told me that it would never get any better, that I would always feel that panic rising about submissions, that nothing would ever get "old-hat" (unless you're La Nora, but there's only one La Nora, right?) ... well, all of those guys would be sagely nodding their heads at me right about now.

Because ...

Well, it never gets any better.

I sent off my MS of UP FROM ROCK BOTTOM last Wednesday by Global Express. Usually it takes eight days for mail to wind its way from middle Georgia to Macon, Ga. to Miami and then to Toronto. It has to go through Customs and everything.

So that was eight days I could relax, right? I requested e-mail updates from USPS about my tracking, and I ordered myself to get busy planning my next book and getting my webhosting and domain names straightened out.

Imagine my surprise when I got an e-mail from my own lovely editor, telling me that the MS was on her desk. Gasp! Chortle! I was seized by the inexplicable urge to catch the next flight to Toronto and rip it from her hands and shriek, "It's not done yet! NO PEEKING! I'm not ready for you to look at it!"

But of course, at this point, I am done with it. I've done all that I can until I get an expert's opinion about what to do next -- and she's the best expert I know. She's a jam-up editor!

Compare that plethora of panic to my phobias a year ago. Back then, I worried and fretted about whether it had got there. Did the absence of the returned self-addressed postcard mean that the mechanical wizardry that runs our mail service had chewed up my MS and spit it out?

I wasn't worried about what an editor would think of it -- at least not immediately. I took weird insulating comfort in the certain knowledge that, when it got there, my work was safely in the confines of a towering slush pile.

Not on my editor's desk. Not like now.

Guess it just goes to show.

We writers worry about everything.

It never gets any better.

Rules To Win

Miss Snark recently had a would-be Harlequin writer ask her about whether she should listen to friends or follow Harlequin guidelines.

I wrote a comment there, but I figured I'd expound on it here.

Rules. Everybody has rules. Nobody seems to like 'em.

But they are there for a reason. It keeps the system running more efficiently. Take for instance, your car. It's designed to run on a certain type of fuel. If that's gasoline, think what sort of havoc you'd create if you decided, "Hmmm ... off-road diesel's 30 cents cheaper. I'll use that instead."

Uh, well. That "savings" will turn into a huge expenditure by the end of the deal, now won't it?

Same thing with publishing submissions. Follow the rules, and you'll stand out from all of those folks who thought that NOT following the rules would result in a savings -- in the publishing world, that's usually a savings of time.

Sure, we all hear about the exceptions to the rule. There's got to be at least one person who got pubbed even though they subbed it written in marker on college-ruled paper, front and back and sent it to a publishing house without a SASE.

But why stack the odds against you? Show them that you are easy to work with. Show them you respect their rules, their system. They'll reward you for that -- if it's only their internal, silent, "Wow. Just what I asked for -- now that's an oddity."

The flip side is this: what rules have you broken and still come out ahead? And were they REAL rules (codified in some way by The Powers That Be?) or just the "rules" that people create out of superstition and anecdotal research?

TV or Not TV

That is the question ...

OK, so growing up, I didn't watch a lot of tv or movies ... it wasn't that my parents were weird or anything; nope, they just owned their own business, so we kids (extra labor) didn't get a whole lot of lollygagging time. We did watch Dallas (I know! Wasn't that freaky? My parents let me watch Dallas? But then Dallas is so tame compared to the things that are on tv now.) and Falcon Quest (loved David Selby ... sigh.)

But Tammy mentioned something in the comments trail about how TV (good TV) teaches pacing and chapter hooks. Absolutely ... I agree.

I think all those years of watching Law & Order helped me see how you could reveal character with just a few well-placed lines of dialogue. In fact, the old Law & Orders (of the Lennie Brisco era) are better than a lot of movies out there. Same with the CSIs (yes, I know, it's NOT really like that ... CSIs don't get to question and investigate ... but they make it seem real!)

I saw the pilot of a new show called Smith -- it's about a heist team, something I would normally avoid. But I wound up watching it halfway through, and just thought the writers had done a fab job of taking very UNSYMPATHETIC characters and showing them in a more sympathetic light. Will I continue to watch it? I dunno ... I suspect that to be real, it will wind up being more in line with a Greek tragedy. And you guys know ... I like my HEA.

You know the shows I really like these days? Alton Brown's GOOD EATS, Rachel Ray's 30 minute meals and her $40 a Day, What Not To Wear and those makeover shows that redo a house on a rock bottom budget ... But I also like good drama. It irritates my dh, who is more of a sit-com kind of guy. I put up with his ESPN (which stands for Every Sports-Particular Nut!) and he puts up with my love for fluffy make-over shows and gritty dramas.

Shoot, Even When I'm Relaxing

OK, so Michelle celebrates with chocolate and a glass of wine and Tammy takes in a movie ... I took the hybrid approach and treated myself to chocolate chip cookies (not as good as a bag of Dove chocolates, but in a pinch, cookies'll do) and a movie.

It was supposed to be a time when I could relax and lose myself in a movie -- a thing I find very hard to do with books anymore. I availed myself of an unexpectedly a free video rental -- the video store actually -- gasp -- called me to say they'd missed me. Sheesh, I really have been in a cave!

I rented JUST MY LUCK. It looked funny, and I liked the premise. I'm a sucker for romantic comedy and thrillers -- I know, two opposite ends of the spectrum!

So off I go to lose myself ... only, I couldn't. I found myself analyzing the heroine's sympathy quotient (at first, not much ... dang, I'd hate someone that lucky). And then I found myself REALLY pulling for the hero ... great character with many layers, and the screenwriter didn't take the cliche way out and have the hero corrupted with the good life. He remembered where he came from.

But it was the black moment that got me ... that's when the conflict -- which sprang forth so organically from the way the movie was put together -- really hit me in the face. How WOULD the writers work this out?!

I got it then, again, in a new way, what conflict does for a story. (Sorry to bore you non-writers out there with writing stuff, but this is really how my puny, pathetic brain operates) It must come from the characters -- their goals, their motivation. You have to create those layers first ... and then you can threaten them with something that really scares the be-jeebers out of 'em. And it must be, uhm, not opposing, but almost (at first glance) a clear win/lose situation -- if the hero loses, the heroine wins, and vice versa ...

And THEN, to top it all off, you have to think outside the box (and this is where JUST MY LUCK fell apart for me) and create a solution to that conflict, something believable and credible, something that supports the idea that the heroine and hero will indeed be able to live happily ever after.

Any of you want to share with me when/how a lightbulb moment went off for you? Either about writing or life in general ... what and how?

Back From The Swirling Maelstrom

Or life, as the less dramatic of us are wont to call it. Yes, I am back.

I have my full manuscript winging its way to Toronto today ... along with, bless Harlequin's lovely heart, my contract, signed and initialed, and sealed with a kiss -- well, a prayer.

I could use the money -- for the second month in a row, one of our felines has landed in the animal hospital. And for the second month in a row, Kate wound up at the doctor's office. Neither was inexpensive!

The kitten is on the mend, and Kate, after two days out of school with Strep throat, is thrilled to be back in class. Says a bunch about my ability to entertain sick kids, huh?

So how do the rest of you guys (if there's anyone else here) celebrate finishing a big project and moving it off your desk?

One of THOSE Scenes -- aaack!

OK, so it's midnight, and I've just finished up my 10 pp per night quota ... but it feels more like I've finished writing something the length of WAR AND PEACE.

Yes. I have been writing one of THOSE scenes.

I don't write gratuitous sex. It's got to move the plot forward. I also don't do behind the bedroom door very well -- as you can tell from that noise over yonder -- that's the cackle of my CPs who are rolling on the floor, laughing their butts off.

I've had all sorts of advice about how to get this scene done ... from the sly wink and the "go experiment!" all the way to someone advising me to read The Song of Solomon. I admit, that particular part of The Old Testament is pretty racy!

Other advice has fallen somewhere in the middle -- a good bottle of wine, they tell me, will help loosen up the ol' inhibitions.

Yeah. Only, here's the problem. I don't drink.

I feel like maybe I should get started on rectifying that problem ASAP -- especially after this scene.

I've got it roughed out, but I can tell you, the rest of the story will be a piece of cake compared to writing this scene. The black moment is still firmly ahead -- something I usually dread writing. Not this time. Uh-uh.

Yup. Give me any number of black moments to one of THOSE scenes.

So how do you do it? How do you write THOSE scenes? I could use some advice right about now! And if you're fresh out of advice, how about sharing the misery and your opinions? Why ARE those scenes so blasted hard to write?!

So ... Do You Like It?

See all the cool new stuff on my blog? See? Doesn't it look pretty?

*preening*

Now before you guys call me vain, I have to say I had NOTHING to do with making the changes -- save for ordering them up. My buddy/CP/talented-writer Steph Bose did my redecorating! It's like when someone compliments my daughter's looks, I say, "Yep, she IS beautiful -- and I can say that, because I had nothing to do with them!"

The progress bar to the right shows the sorry truth -- I am STILL not finished with UP FROM ROCK BOTTOM. But I am further along than I thought, so yay!

Within the world of category, I have some hot news! Peggy Webb, a NEXT author, has been nominated for a Pulitzer! Yeah, a Pulitzer -- you know that thing Margaret Mitchell snagged for GONE WITH THE WIND? And the thing Harper Lee picked up for her book TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD?

And, yes, Peggy Webb's nomination was for DRIVING HER CRAZY, a category paperback! I don't know her, but, WTG, Peggy!

OK, so I like fridge magnets

YOU try saving thirty gajillion drawings that your daughter churns out -- and that's just the ones she's churned out in the past ten minutes. Even if I only keep the masterpieces (which you have to do, because you know one day she's going to be famous and this here first attempt is going to be your oil under the petunias), you still need lots and lots of magnets.

Most of my supply comes from freebies that I either get in the mail or with things that I buy. I still have a Happy Kitty magnet that came with a thing of catfood back when my hubby and I were spending our first married days together.

If someone were to ask me what PR gadget would be the best bang for the buck, I'd have to say fridge magnets. Why? Because they stay there, on the fridge, sticking in your brain with a subliminal sneakiness that can't be beat. Heck, I actually feel guilty that I don't buy Happy Kitty -- what with the magnet being so useful and so faithful all these years. No matter that my current cats much prefer Kit N Kaboodle to the point they would revolt if I brought anything else home. And revolting cats -- well, they're simply revolting.

Nope, I have to confess, when writer friends give me their goodies -- bookmarks, pens, pads of paper, sticky calendars, those post-card sized versions of their covers -- I don't always treat them with the proper TLC.

The bookmarks just make me feel guilty, because (gasp! Yes, I do!) I still dog-ear pages. Hey, they're my books, I can dog-ear them if I want. The pens I write with until they run out of ink (usually pretty quickly) or I lose them (usually even quicker than the ink runs out.) The pads of paper I give to my dd -- for those art messterpieces, you know. The sticky calendars I get rid of poste-haste, because my hubby, bless his heart, WILL pick the WORST place to put those suckers, and you CANNOT get them off without removing at least one layer of paint or wallpaper. I really feel guilty about tossing the full-color post-card versions, because we all know how pricey CMYK printing is these days -- but what do you DO with them?

I'm definitely a form follows function kinda gal.

Magnets, now. They're useful -- gimme, gimme, gimme! The only thing I like better than magnets are Anna Destafanos's bookmarks, because she always attaches two pieces of Dove chocolates with them ... Yum! I'd buy her books just to encourage her to keep giving out the chocolate -- and that's TWO pieces -- one for you, and one to share. Thoughtful of her, isn't it?

Which reminds me ... I still have some Dove chocolates left over (no, not Anna's -- what, are you crazy? Those things got eaten THEN!) ... I need to have my Vitamin Ch today!

On the subject of hair

Raise your hand if you hate your hair.

Yup, me, too. When I was younger, I hated it because it was down to my butt and straight as a board, too fine to hold a curl. My mom loved it. My grandmother loved it. Try bucking those two.

My sophomore year, after I convinced my mother that I would suffer permanent psychological damage if one more football player yanked on my braid, she cut it off in layers. This was the 80s, mind you, and big hair was in. Thank God for hot rollers -- but curse 'em, too, because my curl usually all fell out by lunchtime. And that was on a good day.

So after I graduated from college, I said, "To heck with this. I'll just get it cut in a bob and wear it straight."

Only whaddya know? The dang stuff CURLED. It wouldn't STAY straight.

I progressively got it cut shorter and shorter, until it was to the point my own mother begged me to let it grow out. My hubby kept telling me to get it "just like it was when I first met you." Yeah. Right.

In a fit of insanity, I did that -- well, let it grow out longer, if not the same style. I thought I would kill me, the hair dryer or my husband, none of which was a good thing. So I chopped it all off again.

In the midst of all this, I started having trouble with finding a hairdresser. My usual hairdresser, who had been doing my hair for years, is rich enough (or content enough) to work only weekday mornings (except Wednesday, when he's off all day.) Not good for my schedule.

I won't bore you with the tears and travails I've had trying to find me someone who is good, open on Saturdays and will continue to cut hair. I'm having about as much luck as an explorer trying to find definitive evidence of Big Foot or The Loch Ness Monster.

But my hair is in dire need of a cut. Dire. I'm beginning to look like a sheep dog. Plus, we won't mention all those grays I keep seeing creep in there. Maybe they'll think they're highlights?

I am a BAD Blogger, I am!

Eeek! I haven't blogged in days, and by now probably, all three of the folks I could ambitiously call "regulars" have gone off to do something much more interesting. Yanno, like watching paint dry.

Mea culpa.

In the interim, I have been busy -- I have my final revisions done on THE BABY WAIT, and I have mailed that sucker off! Yes!

Plus, I finally have my new adapter for my laptop -- yeah! Thought I was going to have to resort to a little breaking and entering at the closest Fed Ex Ground terminal, but they at last came through for me.

I have also been busy writing on UP FROM ROCK BOTTOM -- if I hold fast, avoid getting sucked into the Internet Black Hole, I just might be able to finish it up by mid-September -- or earlier. Discipline. Discipline. That's the key. That and a laptop without a portal to the world wide web.

Of course, that last bit doesn't help my problem with being blog-challenged! I promise to do better, how about that?

Next on my to-do list (in addition to finishing UP FROM ROCK BOTTOM)

1) Get my hair cut (don't ask -- hair dressers are hard to find these days! But that's another blog) and have some pix made of me. That way, you guys can actually see what I look like. Oh, it would be good for that website I'm trying to get going, too.

2) Write a proposal for another Superromance.

3) Get that aforementioned website up and running.

4) Survive the month of September, when it seems Kate will be doing soccer games three times a week -- what gives? Why can't it be like football and be one time a week?

5) Actually get round to doing some de-cluttering. Aaack! This house of mine!

6) Get some business-card magnets printed up with my logo -- I love magnets -- much to the despair of my sister, who thinks that my fridge is going to fall over from the weight of so much stuff I have on it. But yanno, it's stronger than she thinks!

Pshew!

A short blog to say a few "pshews!" I'm not sure if that translates to a long sigh of relief for the rest of the country, but here in the South, that's what you say when you feel like you've dodged a bullet.

Dodged Bullet Number One: Got my revisions for THE BABY WAIT ... and they are mercifully easy. I've heard all sorts of horror tales of revision letters after a sale ... but this letter (e-mail, actually) was so sweet it could be a bedtime story. I have a tiny little to-do list, and the hardest thing for me will be printing it out and saving it to a disk or a CD.

Dodged Bullet Number Two: Got my three-paragraph synopsis in and my Art Fact Sheet done -- and reviewed ... apparently, everything looks good to my editor, for I've had no complaints.

Dodged Bullet Number Three: Kate's soccer coach has worked with her a bit -- and reassured Kate's dad that he won't let all those hooligan boys run over her (I'd like to see 'em try when she's really good and mad, but that's the feminist in me.) So Kate's dad has now decided that it's really okay for his Little Princess to tackle team sports.

Dodged Bullet Number Four: Ernesto didn't march through Georgia in a reverse Sherman attack (very sorry for the Carolinas and Virgina and all the folks getting the rain now, as well as any other victims of Ernesto), so that means we are not lighting candles and manning the kerosene lamps. You think I worry too much? Two years ago, Hurricane Frances, by then Tropical Storm Frances, left us without power for nearly a week. I now have a healthy respect for even "wimpy" tropical storms -- and an even healthier respect for modern conveniences!

That's all, folks! Just ... "pshew!"