Typing With Wet Nails

2009-07-16T14:26:00.002-04:00

My Summer of Putney, Part One

I like for my summer reading to have a theme, and most often that means some sort of schooling myself in the classics of historical romance. This summer’s focus is Mary Jo Putney.

While I do prefer a book that is complete in itself, I had set myself a broader study of collecting and reading the first books in many seminal (no puns, kthanx) historical series. Many of those were not intended as series starters, but the spirit or the market moved, and companion volumes followed. In pure business terms, my goal was to find out what made those founding books successful.

No such survey would be complete without Mary Jo Putney’s Fallen Angels. When I found a copy of Thunder and Roses in the UBS, I snagged it, and there it sat in my study shelf until I heard its call and soon snagged the rest. Also the Bride trilogy, as I count that as connected. The Bargain and The Rake are also in that shelf, with the Silk trilogy, and her return to the straight historical, Loving a Lost Lord, is the tippy top of my TBR mountain…after I finish The Bartered Bride. Phew.

Accordingly, I dub this my Summer of Putney. For the last couple of months, my default “don’t know what to read next” book has been a Putney, going through the Fallen Angels and then the Brides in order. (For those who don’t know me, I must read linked books in chronological order, or mountains will crumble, puppies will die and *your* celebrity crush of the moment will wake up ugly. But really, I do it for the puppies.)

More on that later, but for now, I am insanely delighted to have found this in my vault; Mary Jo Putney's one and only western novella. Extra points for having an Anita Mills title in the same volume. (Anita, if you're out there and ever want to come back to historical romance, you can bunk at my place.)

2009-07-15T17:19:00.001-04:00

yn7tfwe6c9

2009-07-15T13:55:00.004-04:00

Happy mid-July. This is the month that marks mid-summer in our family, and a good time for changes, but you may have guessed that from the presence of a new post, the new look of the blog and the new title. Or the old title. I'll explain.

A previous blog of mine was titled "Typing With Wet Nails" because I usually was, and my inner polish diva has resurfaced, bringing with her a desire to get back to the basics of how I create. Which spotlights something I've ignored for a while. I like pretty things. Normal for many girls, appropriate for a romance writer, and a part of me that deserves to be indulged. Plus I flat out like the title, so it is back.

The focus will be shifting as well, with less real life talk and more about the romance genre in general, and my contributions and observations in particular. My first exposure to historical romance was reading my mother's copy of The Kadin by Bertrice Small, and found what I would be reading and writing for the rest of my life. Mumblecough years and four e-books later, that love of the romance genre is still strong and getting stronger.

I love alpha heroes and equally alpha heroines, history and romance that depend on each other and a heap of angst on the way to a well deserved happily ever after. The same as I love closing a book with a happy sigh that things ended right, I also love typing "the end" after telling such a tale of my own. Romance is the genre where the woman always wins, and I consider that a very good thing. If I can spend a few hundred pages exploring other times and places, then even better.

As with all changes, it takes a while to get things settled, so please pardon my dust (but it's pretty, sparkly dust) and drop by as you please. Welcome to new readers and welcome back for those who have been checking in. I hope you'll like it here, because I certainly do.

2009-06-04T17:35:00.003-04:00

Thursday Thirteen: Favorite Ben Folds songs, not neccessarily in order
1)Brick
2)Cologne
3)Army
4)Carrying Cathy
5)Still Fighting It
6)Family of Me
7)Landed
8)Best Imitation of Myself
9)Effington
10)Late
11)Songs of Love
12)The Luckiest
13)Gone

2009-04-13T12:01:00.003-04:00

Thoughtful things on a Monday afternoon.

First, I hope all who celebrate Easter and/or Passover had a lovely and blessed season. Our church had an unusual celebration, gathering for brunch at a local hotel, with only a short meeting, and when we went to pay the bill, were told it had been taken care of already. Whoever our benefactor was, that was a lovely gesture, much appreicated, and it got me thinking (hence Jacqueline's thoughtful pose in today's picture.)

Since I've been known to pull from widely diverse reference sources, I'll start with a paraphrase from Dr. Phil. If what you're doing isn't working, do something else. Or, as Benjamin Franklin put it, the definition of stupidity is to perform the same experiment the same way and expect different results. Both gents are quite right and their advice works well when one hits a writing wall.

Next piece of the puzzle: the Ben Folds song, "Carrying Cathy" and the movie Love Actually. I'll have stretches of time when I get strongly focused on one thing that inspires me, and have to examine it from several different angles, to see why it resonates that strongly with me, and what I'm to do with it. Current object: song mentioned above. Particularly this bit:

Woke up sad from this dream I've been having
The last couple nights or so
With her father and brothers we're all at the funeral
Carrying a box through the rain

That image refused to leave my mind, and being the Anglophile that I am, the movie in my head had the men carrying the coffin at shoulder height, in British tradition (which brings in the funeral from Love Actually...and Four Weddings and a Funeral, come to think of it) instead of the American tradition, though Mr Folds is American and one might presume the song is as well. What can I say, I'm hardwired for British historicals.

So why is this random idea monopolizing my brain when I have a contest entry to get in, agents to query, and a schedule to make sure my ms is polished and ready to submit? When I'm also ripping apart a shelved story idea to see if it can be saved, if it's part of another partial idea, and ack, I have to research for the next historical once the time travel sails off to its requested appointment?

Because ::deep breath:: I haven't written for fun in a while, and if one doesn't enjoy one's work, it's going to be harder. I did not remember this before now, why? Hmm. Yes, writing is a job and a career and needs professionalism and dedication, but there needs to be the joy of it as well. Not that writing has been joyless of late, but a bit of a reminder, and sometimes it's in the playing around that the best ideas present themselves. Guess what I'm doing today.

2009-04-06T12:16:00.003-04:00

Back from the NEC conference (okay, a week later) and as always, revved to get back to the grind and get another book out. Everyone who saw the gorgeous cover art for Orphans in the Storm loved it. I got to attend a wonderful workshop with Emily Bryan on writing sex, and found Sally MacKenzie (she of Naked noblemen fame) makes a delightful lunch partner. I was able to tell her how much I'd enjoyed her presentation last year on writing linked books and that her entry in the Lords of Desire Anthology was waiting on my nightstand for me at home. ::Happy sigh:: I love conferences. Must attend more.

Good results; my roommate for the conference got a request for her first thirty pages of a novel with romantic elements, I won a free critique of first three chapters and synopsis from Sourcebooks, but the big news is...drumroll...I got a request for the full ms of Endless Summer from Leah Hultenschmidt at Dorchester! ::does cartwheel:: Time to polish and send out.

The not so good result of the trip, though, was driving away with my suitcase still on the hotel curb, but the DH and I went up with our friend, Linda, to retrive it, everything was there, and we stopped at Chili's on the way home, so all's good there.

2009-03-24T11:38:00.002-04:00

Barney is here in my icon to remind me that the payoff for putting bottom in chair and fingers to keyboard (instead of playing Sims2 all day, which is what part of me wants to do) is success at my ultimate goal.

Another great reminder that the goal is in reach is having a good friend tell me I have to wait to talk to her because she's reading Orphans in the Storm at the moment. Positive feedback is always a good thing. Tell a favorite author what they're doing right and dollars to donuts, there will be an extra bolt of energy when they sit down to do it again. As much fun as writing is, there are times when it's hard or inconvenient or we don't feel like it. Then again, imagine if your doctor or bus driver didn't have to go to work when they didn't feel like it. What if a homemaker didn't feel like wrangling some combination of kids/pets/seniors/housework? Nope, we all have work, and we all have to do it. As a former writing group facilitator of mine used to say, the process can lead to the passion, or as my mother used to say, the more you do, the more you'll want to do. They are both right.

Yet another reminder is the fact that I am in the start of the end of the second draft stage. In a handful of days, I will be at the NEC conference, pitching Endless Summer, possibly to its future home. There's an incentive if there ever was one. Plus the free promo items (I will never have to buy a pen again if I can go to enough conferences, truly.) and free chocolate (source of my "I can only have Lindor truffles if I wrote" rule) not to mention free books at every meal. Even better than that is the fact that I will be among other writers for the better part of a weekend, metric tons of creativity in the air.

Here's the part of my post where I remind myself to add a random Orphans in the Storm fact: the look of Eben, Simon's friend and right hand man, was inspired by British decorator Laurence Llewllyn-Bowen.

2009-03-20T12:41:00.003-04:00

::Cartwheel:: It's here! It's here! Orphans in the Storm is finally here!

It seems like a lifetime ago that Jonnet and Simon came into my life, but now that they're ready to mingle with the wide world, it's easy for me to slip back into their world. I've always loved the history of the British Isles, and a project with a collaborator, begun a few years back, gave me an appreciation for Dutch history as well, so it was a natural that an idea would present itself at a time when British and Dutch history intertwined.

Near the end of England's Civil War, times were tough in Charles II's Court in exile in the Netherlands. Loyal British subjects who longed for their king's return and the end of the Protectorate contributed the finances needed to bring their rightful monarch home. Throw in a guilt-riddled hero with a strong sense of duty, a heroine out of her element but determined to prevail, even in the face of serious family dysfunction, and an adventure that sweeps from the Isle of Man to the frosty Netherlands, and Orphans in the Storm was born.

Sound interesting? Go here to read an excerpt.

2009-02-04T17:16:00.004-05:00

I meant well today, I really did. See Barney there? I showed up at the puter with every intention of reconstructing the six pages the puter ate at the end of work yesterday (eventually found them and saved them the right way, but I'm whining here)and...poopy. DH and I were both poopy-feeling puppies last night (him more than me, but nobody slept well) and I spent the day waiting for someone to come look at the tub and figure out why the drain doesn't drain (one guess who never showed)and though I noodled with the ms today, it feels flatter than a smushed pancake. Especially deflating as yesterday, I was on fire at the keyboard. Such is life. That's why they make tomorrows, as I say, but today, poopy, poopy, poopy.

Things about which I will whine:
General but manageable poopiness in the physical department.
Feeling like the day was spent applying head to brick wall again and again.
The tub which may or may not be able to drain.
Someone in our family is going to have to go grocery shopping or we will be forced to embark on the breatharian diet.
The really great dialog I banged out yesterday but have no idea where it goes in the current ms.

Things about which I will squee:
I banged out some really great dialog yesterday, and all I have to do is find its right place.
I recovered those six missing pages and can add more tomorrow.
Discovering the DJ function on my mp3 player (I know, fancy name for "shuffle" but I love it.)
The fact that DH may be braving the grocery store at this very moment. (May is the operative word, but I hate grocery shopping, and he is my superhero, so he will save me the chore if he can.)
That I know my hero and heroine well enough that when they're together on the page, things fly.
That my dream editor, Leah Hultenschmidt, will be at the New England conference in March.
That Orphans in the Storm comes out in March, so I'll be attending with a current release.
That the tub may be back in business tomorrow (and if so, I am pulling a Maggie Osborne and sinking up to my neck in bubbles, likely while writing on a pad held above same -- but will not photograph this or use is as my new author picture)
I can watch Lost with the DH tonight and share theories during the commercials.

Hmm, all in all, the squees outweigh the poops, so I'm calling it a good day. How's your poop/squee ratio?

2009-01-22T10:56:00.003-05:00

Shippy Goodness, part the first

Ever since I decided that embracing my inner fangirl is actually good for the creative process, life has been a lot easier. Give me a couple with chemistry and a story will form around them -- then it, and they, will pick up stakes and tromp off to some other century, leaving me no choice but to follow behind, furiously scribbling notes. Of course they'll pick up other influences, discard a few points of source canon along the way, and when all is said and done, there's something entirely unique and new that comes out of it. Since I tend to blog more when I have a theme to follow, let's go with that.

Today's entry is the newest pairing to tickle my fancy, a bit different from the usual, but that's what makes it interesting. Barney and Robin from How I Met Your Mother. Romance readers will spot a soon-to-be-reformed rake, I do believe. Whether you've had the pleasure of meeting them before or not, here are a few gems I've stumbled across on YouTube. None of them mine, so credit where credit is due.

one to feed my angstbunny:

and for our neighbors to the north, some Sandcastles in the Sand, eh?

2009-01-21T15:37:00.003-05:00

Ever have one of those days when things don't seem to gel? One where an accurate account of how the day's productivity *felt* might read "smashed head against brick wall until one or the other caved in. Cannot tell difference at this point?" Where the cat gives you the "aren't you forgetting something" look, then sits as patiently as a cat can next to the empty cat food dish? Where you know there's this "writing" thing you're supposed to be able to do, but darned if you can remember how? Umm, yeah. That was mine.

We start out those days with great intentions, don't we? Morning caffiene of choice, settle in front of computer chair, and make great plans for double digit pages...and then before we know it, it's time for the other family members to come home, and darned if we aren't exactly where we started the day, page-count-wise? Easy to get distracted, fed up, mad at ourselves and ready to wonder why we're chasing these imaginary people in our head and trying to persuade them to see things our way.

The issue of "the muse" may come into play at times like these, and I'll say up front that I fired mine years ago. The lazy wench always showed up late, if at all, and usually wanted to lie on the couch and channel surf. Work, for her, was sooooo (insert teenage girl eyeroll here) pedestrian. Which is really what got her fired, but she was right, in a way, with her pedestrian comment, though not in the way she thought.

Let's look at "pedestrian" in the sense of "one who walks" instead of "boring." For one to walk, that's one foot in front of the other, over and over until we reach our goal. When we walk, in the physical sense, there are any number of things that can trip us or make us stumble. Uneven ground or floor, the wrong footwear, weather, distraction, health, of the physical or mental variety, traffic, etc. Think on the places you've walked today, even if only from the bedroom to bathroom. Odds are you've probably stumbled at least once.

Even with a stumble, a skid, even an outright trip and fall, if you're at your computer, I bet one thing happened; you got up. That same foot that placed wrong once did as it should one more time, one more after that, after that, after that and so on.

Same thing goes for writing. Okay, today was not productive for page count. I did, however, fix the borked internet browser, so I once again have a working tool for my communication and research (and downloading of Sims2 content.) I scanned some favorite family photos to send to relatives who haven't seen them yet, and proved that yes, I did install the new printer correctly. I made contacts for our RWA chapter's next semester of online workshops. I cleaned out a good deal of my backlogged email. I did feed the kitty. Hmm, that looks...productive. Not exactly where I'd hoped to be at the end of the day, but y'know, that's what they make tomorrow for. I get another opportunity tomorrow morning, and I'm looking forward to that. As I'm fond of saying to others and need to remind myself, it's not how many times we fall down that matters; it's how many times we rise.

2008-12-29T14:53:00.001-05:00

This week is my favorite week out of the entire year; those seven days tucked snugly between Christmas and New Year’s Day. Past, present and future seem all a bit closer together than usual, and time in general seems to move a little slower. Christmas treats like candy canes and egg nog flavored anything also have the added indulgence of being termed leftovers, though they are considered still current in our family as we extend Christmas as much as we can to the full twelve days. (Starting, not ending, on the 25th.)

We had a quiet, peaceful family Christmas this year, sticking close to home, keeping the traditional Christmas dinner at a local Chinese restaurant (nothing to do with any movies – this came about when one family member forgot to get groceries on Christmas eve many years ago, and we did a frantic flip through the phone book to find a restaurant open on Christmas Day.) My real life romantic hero earned major points by presenting me with a digital camera, and though I swore up and down I would only make a mini Christmas album this year, I’m getting a full sized one together because of the vast array of Chirstmassy stuff that seems to find me. There’s a time when even the most organized of us has to throw her hands in the air and go with the flow.

Which is a useful thing in writing romance. I am a plotter. I am a big plotter. I have been asked to teach a class on my extremely detailed outlines and am in the process of planning such. I have been drafted as keeper of the family calendar, and the hubster and I are relying on planning and organization to get us through the final stages of clearing out my dad’s house so we can get that on the market. Phew. I get misty eyed in the planner section of department stores and my ears perk at the mention of Franklin Covey. I love lists, planners, organizers, color codes, tabs, files, etc and 2009 is the year we end clutter in our family. (pause to climb off color coded soapbox)

Even so, I’m intuitive. I’m known to go through entire half drafts (abovementioned extremely detailed outline) with a hero named Hero and likely secondary characters named That Guy, Tall Chick and Upstairs Maid because they haven’t told me their names yet. They might even live in that place called Way Off Over There, because…again, none of those people who live in my head have told me where they are. This does not dissuade me. The combination of planning and intuition may seem odd at first, but for me, it’s natural and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This week also transitions into the new year, and resolutions, new starts, and my vow to scream and kick wastebaskets (as Diana Gabaldon puts it) to keep my writing time sacred. For today, though, there’s a Psych marathon on TV and I need to change my toenail polish.

2008-12-19T13:05:00.000-05:00

The well-connected reader

It's happened again. After reading parts of two Christmas anthologies, having to skip at least one story in each because I have not read the author's previous tales of the Fanfavorite Family, the League of Hottie Heroes, or Studmuffin Siblinghood and know that I would feel lost as a babe in the woods, I turn to a new release by a favorite of my own. What do we find here? After a great opening, getting invested in hero and heroine, and all comfy in the setting and premise, heeeeeeeeeeeeey, those names mentioned in passing look familiar. Uh huh. Thought so. The heroine's brother and sisterinlaw are the deliriously happy Mr and Mrs Previousbook. Put bookmark in place, set book aside, throw small fit.

Calm self with knowledge that previous book is indeed in my possession, then throw second fit because A) it is at home, B) I am not, and C) there is a looming snowstorm that may trap me away from previous book. Ask self why self did not finish reading previous book because one clearly remembers doing happy dance in Barnes and Noble when seeing a whole dump of that title. Remember that previous book did not make it into the hospital bag on one of many ER trips and lots of things got lost in the shuffle during those summer months. Grouse. Kick wastebasket. Peer out window. Snow yet? Not yet. Make mental note to check the area around where hospital bags were assembled.

Look at large selection of books where I currently am and try to reason with self that self wants to read all these too.

Self sticks out tongue and retorts that self wanted to read the book self brought.

Cannot argue with self. Look for other, nonrelated books by author of book and previous book. Yes! Yes! Do happy dance over finding other book by same author that has no sequel, prequel, spinoff or tie-in. Stop in middance. Will this confuse self when self gets home and dives on previous book like book-starved hyena self is? Self does not know. Self reads back cover blurb. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes -- young lovers separated and reunited. Self settles in for good read.

Ooh! Author's note. Self loves author's notes. Self reads author's note. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaitaminit. "Secondary Character, whom readers met in This Book and This Other Book." Self sighs, pencils a tiny "3" in the corner of the cover page and makes mental note to dig out This Book and This Other Book, because self knows self has them around here somewhere. Self can hear author now -- yes, self knows that Secondary Character is a secondary character and will provide a supporting role...but s/he knew those other people, and there's going to be something mentioned, somehow, somewhere, not neccessarily spoilerish, but possibly. Self has learned these things the hard way. ::coughcoughCatherineCoulterSongseriescoughcough::

Self pops honey-lemon cough drop and ponders the situation whilst shutting down for the day, as self is heading for home due to oncoming snowstorm. Self now knows exactly what self is going to read when self gets there.

2008-12-11T12:27:00.003-05:00

I'm calling it printercide.

There I was, attempting to print out a particularly nifty Borders coupon, and boom, printer leaps right off the printer cart and onto the carpet. Still attempting to print, mind you, even as it lay there upside down with its back cover off. I take this as a sign that it's time to install the new printer.

Which will afford me the added benefit of either procrastinating fixing yesterday's scene (which turned out to be a trip to nowhere, even after whacking my head against a brick wall all day) or time to think it through while disconnecting and reconnecting and figuring out what the thingamabob is and where it goes. Ah, the glamorous writing life.

In the end, though, I will have a brand new, straight out of the box printer, which is also a scanner. This will also save me from begging my technologically minded friends for advice in what might be making every single thing I scan on this machine have a bright yellow overlay. Which is also a good thing.

2008-12-03T16:31:00.003-05:00

In one and a half hours, I will be sitting across a table from my critique group, and they will ask me if I blogged. I do not want to tell them "no," because these are smart, loving women who can seriously hurt me if I fall short (but I love you gals, really I do) and they know blogging is good for me, so here I am. Plus I get a chance to use one of my icons if I do.

Real life still pit bull, me still pork chop a good deal of the time, but through it all, life does go on. Christmas preparations are full steam ahead here, as we do a lot of homemade gifts (hey, when you have artists and knitters in the family this is a very good thing) and the wheels of probatey things move slowly, but they do move. In short, life goes on, and so does blogging. I'm a talker by nature (gee, what a surprise) so it's not normal to be quiet, even in cyberspace.

Writing goes well; I'm looking (finally!) at the second half of the second draft of Endless Summer, and I'm excited to get Angus and Summer into their HEA at very long last. There should soon be more content from me at Purplepens, with an article and reviews in the work. Including some rather optimistic pontificating about the state of the historical romance in the near future (and not just mine, but I do have a new e-book coming out in March, so that fits, too.)

In short, there is lots to say, so the fear of my critique partners is not the only reason to resume this blog. A valid one, but not the only one.

2008-10-13T15:18:00.004-04:00

No, I'm not referring to the fact that I have actually posted within a reasonable amount of time. (Ahem) Nor do I intend to make this entry (much) about real life, but the fact that yesterday came with an annoying surprise in a real life matter (other family terms for such things: hiccup, extra step) did provide some good food for thought about reading and writing romance. Characters surprise writers with, well, surprising frequency, packing up their stuff and tromping off to different centuries or subgenre when we're not looking, giving us no chance but to grab a beverage of choice to go and follow along. I'll never forget the original love interest I gave a long-ago fanfiction character...who was only supposed to be a blip on the radar and obligingly die so character could pursue his canon match.

Umm, no, she told me, quite firmly. First of all, her name wasn't what I thought it was, it was something else altogether, and I'd call her that or nothing at all. Furthermore, she didn't have the job I thought she had, she had a different one, she had a large family when I had thought she was an orphan, and she didn't want the secondary character I'd picked out for her. Oh no, she wanted one of the big guys, and for my information, she was going to get him, and that bit about dying? No. She was going to live, get her man, and eventually made off with him (and other family members a writing partner and I came up with) into a romantic historical world with absolutely no ties to the original source that inspired it.

My current WIP people (calling them characters at this point would likely only make them angry and some of them are rather vocal about it) started out in similar fashion, jostling me out of my misconceptions every step of the way. Rather like a small child's teddy bear while the child runs through an airport. Teddy's head bonks against every orange plastic chair in the terminal, getting quite the view, but it will all end with a seat on a ride to somewhere wondrous. Hopefully in first class, but seriously, as long as I get tea, I'm fine with coach. I think. Can we make that plane a train, or better yet a ferry? Kthanx.

LOLcatspeak. Another surprise. This has worked its way into the vocabulary of many of my friends and family. Not sure how it started, but it did, and it's here, and we're okay with it. We have also adopted our pastor's term, "going off on a bunny trail" to denote veering off topic with no discernible departure point, which it looks like I've done here. ::shrug:: Had to save something for next time, didn't I?

2008-10-08T10:32:00.004-04:00

Toenails, the will of God, and a pole-dancing bunny

My pastor once mentioned that when a person is feeling out of sorts for no discernable reason, it may be a good time to check and see if they're doing what they were fashioned to do. Opening a clam with a butter knife isn't going to be good for clam or butter knife. Best to let the butter knife shine next to the butter dish and use the appropriate instrument to open the clam (since I don't do seafood and the hubster is out and about, the name of the thing escapes me) and let's all get on with dinner. In more theological circles, one could call this being in the will of God. Not in a dictatorial sense, but using one's natural assets and abilities.

Bringing things down to earth, I have had multiple occasions when I know the reason I can't think straight is because my toenails are the wrong color. (Hey, I'm intuitive. It makes sense to me.) A quick polish change, and I am once again ready to roll. Maybe it's the actual color, or the mindless, repetitive tasks of applying coats of polish that let my brain sort things out in more important matters. The psychologically minded may postulate that the color of my toenails is something I can control when other life issues go haywire (and those, I let God handle) or that I need to nurture my inherent femininity/girliness (trust me, that will never go lacking. Really.) All I know is that OPI loves me for it, and the love is mutual.

Such was this morning. I'm polishing the time travel, excited about writing again, clipping along at a good pace, and doing some surgery on one of my favorite scenes, but brain was a few hours behind body this morning (maybe that's due to our apartment getting fumigated today, so base camp has been made at a friend's house until the fumes are gone tomorrow) and I came to the place of "I cannot deal right now. Brain not here. Must nap in front of TV." Real cat nap in the presence of real cat (who did not quite know what to make of me doing this strange thing) while discovering that I am not missing a single thing by not watching daytime television, and somewhere in there, my brain showed up for work. Still on a bit of time delay, but I am picking out the new polish color so all will be well soon.

What about the pole dancing bunny? Completely unintentional, I promise, but too funny not to share. Bunny came with me to a writers' conference this past spring, and I plopped him down on the hotel room lamp to snap a picture, and got the image you see above. That's a water glass next to the bunny, thankyouverymuch. Le sigh. A good reminder that things are not always what they look like, and that discrepancy can be good for a laugh in hindsight.

2008-09-26T12:17:00.002-04:00

I have a cover! Squee! Orphans in the Storm, my spring release from Awe-Struck E-Books, gets all dressed pretty by the talented Kathleen Underwood (whose name I will steal for a heroine one day) and I couldn't be happier.

The images were taken from unrestricted stock images at DeviantArt. Anybody want to guess at how many pictures this picture actually is? I'll share links to the original images soon, as well as an excerpt, but since I'm spending today burning sampler CDs for my backlist (hey, I get to say "my backlist!" ::pumps fist::) and an advance peek at Orphans, I'll give you the short blurb today.

The Hidden Countess:
A black robe brought Jonnet Killey to the Isle of Man and a black robe would take her away to the noble English family she has never known.

The King’s Man:
All Simon Burke wants is to carry out his mission to return Jonnet to her birth mother and secure the funds to help finance Charles Stuart’s return to British soil.

An Adventure in Exile:

A new life awaits Jonnet, with a mother on the brink of madness and a treacherous uncle who will stop at nothing to keep Jonnet’s inheritance to himself. While the end of exile nears, danger mounts. Can Simon and Jonnet depend on their newfound love to sustain them while the storm of treachery rages around them?

2008-09-04T10:06:00.004-04:00

Fall is undoubtedly here. Ignore the current temperature in the seventies, the temps that may actually creep up a bit more during the next few days. They do not scare me; they will settle soon. This means cool, crisp air (and hopefully put us out of athsma season) I can see color on the tree outside my office window, and that's what counts, so I'm calling it fall. Umm, and Labor Day was a few days ago, so I think that fits.

Another week, and yet more real life curveballs. Nothing involving a hospital, but I am picking up some extra cat-sitting time for three cats in two different places (because friends had to be out of town unexpectedly -- for a good reason, not a traumatic one, but still on short notice), Rheuben is begging boxes (if you're in the Enfield, CT area and have boxes, we want them! Really!) because we are moving in two weeks. ::runs around in circle, pulling at own hair:: and I want to be at the living out of boxes stage so we can be ready when it's time to schlep our worldly goods down the street, which is where new place is. So that we can live out of boxes there, and begin all conversations with "honey, where's the ______?"

The week is before me, though I'm still getting through last week's insanity to figure out what day it is (right now, I'm calling today "the day after Bones went to England" -- because I kindasorta half listened to the Bones season premiere, but don't quiz me on anything) and planning out when I'll be writing (desperately miss the momentum I had during our chapter's Book in Six Weeks program...which I think we are unofficially continuing, but I'm behind on emails) and when I'll be packing, box-begging, or doing any of the other moving related tasks, not to forget the wondrous joy of estate stuff and such. I think I may need to play Sims2 for a while to get a needed dose of silly; also to back up my favorite games in preparation for Apartment Life (ironic, b/c we are moving from an apartment to a small house in real life). Because of course the cable is out and was supposed to be fixed by 5AM; it's after that, and no cable. Harumph. I wanted to get current on my new addiction: Nanny 911. I love watching those women whip families into shape. Do they do all -adult families? If not, I am willing to put a frilly bonnet on at least one of the cats.

Finished reading a book that I'm still deciding if I liked it or not, and need to pick something else, but definetly salivating over the new/upcoming Elizabeth Hoyt, Tracy MacNish and Bertrice Small historicals. Picked up a fair amount of promising inspirationals at the library as well, so will sort through those and see if I get any volunteers for the next read. If you hear any supressed growling and stomping about, it is probably me venting my frustrations over having to miss the one local event I look forward to all year, which kicks off the fall season for me -- a library book sale in the town where my dad's house is. Out of my control that I won't be availiable on that day, but a gal's allowed to fuss over such things, right? I'll bring my own box to the used bookstore next week (if I'm not packing) and pretend.

2008-08-21T12:16:00.004-04:00

Claire is here because I'm feeling a wee bit lost, regarding the day's schedule. Also because she has quite the look of the historical romance heroine about her. Not only the long blonde hair and delicate features (because heroines come in many shapes and sizes and colors) but that determined look in her eye. She is also bringing Charlie because I refuse to give up on the little Hobbit, same as a good heroine will never give up on her hero, no matter what circumstances may be. We still have a couple seasons left on that show, and if they can have a polar bear, then Charlie can swim. So there.

But that's not why I'm here. With real life getting all changey --and make no mistake, mostly good changes, but some are a bit, shall we say, poignant-- keeping the discipline of writing daily is a must. I have a second draft of the time travel to polish and start querying about, and any day now, edits for the new historical are going to land smack in my in-box. On top of that, I'm researching my darkest historical yet, but I promise the dark is going to pay off with a big triumph. At least for the characters.

At church this week, one delightful gent prayed that I would "sell more books than Harry Potter." I laughed, but I also said "amen." Who wouldn't love sales figures like that, with loyal readers who keep coming back for more? I sure wouldn't turn it down. Which ties into the advice I referenced in my previous post. The best way to be a writer is to write. Every day. Something.

So, as the castaways on Lost have to dig in and do what's needed to survive, there are times we writer types must put on the real life blinders, put posterior in chair and fingers to keys.

Why is Sawyer here? Do I have to answer that? Umm, because he is a reader, of course.

2008-08-20T15:27:00.002-04:00

Why lawn flamingoes? No reason, beside the fact that my real life romantic hero does not see the ironic appeal of installing them on the front lawn of our soon to be new home. Plus I'm making oodles of icons lately (they are insanely relaxing) and am determined to put them to work. So keep an eye on this blog; there will be art.

There will also be words. Thrashed as I was yesterday from real life stuff the day before, I spent the morning doing business of writing things, rewarded myself with writing a letter to another writer buddy, lining up some promo for this spring's upcoming release, and getting current-ish on email. Phew. I'll have to admit that a good deal of my antsiness went away when I hit the "print" button for the letter. It's a fundamental fact that writers must put fingers to keyboard, or writing instrument (be it by MontBlanc or Crayola) to paper. Daily if at all possible.

This past week, at house church, two new acquaintances found out that I write historical romance novels. The gal next to me responded with an enthusiastic, "Yay, those are my favorites! Where can I buy them?" and the other response was good, too. The second gal approached me after the meeting to ask some general questions about writing. We didn't have much time to get into specifics, but since I had to advise on the fly, the best thing I could say was to put bottom in chair and fingers to keyboard/instrument to paper. Every day. Even if all that gets down is "I don't know what to write." As a former writing group facilitator once said, the important thing is to keep writing. Blathering for a while is fine; things will start to flow eventually. It's a good thing to keep in mind, and I'm glad that telling that to someone else also helped me remember it myself.

2008-08-18T14:43:00.003-04:00

Only a month, this tme. For me, this year, that's pretty good. Sebastian will now demonstrate my current level of energy, over there in that icon. Currently exhausted from going through my dad's house with the auctioneer, picking the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, with a few quick conferences with the hubster in the next room so we can decide if the whatnot stays or goes. All in all, a good day's work, and another big step to new things.

Speaking of new things, I have not yet seen the new Brideshead Revisited movie, but likely will, even though I admit right now that I am one of those "the miniseries was absolutely perfect and the movie can only be a pale imitation" snobs. Loved the miniseries, loved the book, and if they hadn't actually filmed at Castle Howard, I likely would be giving the movie a pass, because Castle Howard *is* Brideshead, really and truly and Castle Howard is only a psuedonym. There are Flytes in those halls, I tell you. Flytes! Flytes! (Plus, seriously, a brunet Sebastian? Oh nononononono, my dear. Poor dear doomed Sebastian is most definetly a blond and nobody can tell me otherwise.) Still, I probably will go, because I have a deep burning need to watch incredibly rich yet troubled Brits make complete hash of their lives in the years between the wars. Then I will go to the library and get the miniseries and not be seen for a week.

Still haven't seen Atonement, though I'm keeping my eye out for the DVD at Target. We really do need more films with historical settings -- can they really be *that* much more expensive than bajillion dollars spent on special effects for SF/fantasy/horror films? I'm just saying.

Have not yet seen The Golden Age or The Other Bolyen Girl, even though the whole Tudor era is a big favorite with me, because I have a hard time with biopics. I want to see fictional characters in historical settings. I know what happened. I want to know what could have happened to new characters. Picky, aren't I? ::shrug:: That's how I roll.

Also between books, reading-wise. Finished Emily Bryan (aka Diana Groe)'s newest, Pleasuring the Pirate, after Meredith Duran's Duke of Shadows, started to read Joanna Bourne's The Spymaster's Lady, and it's not clicking right now, so will go into the "try again later" pile. I have absolutely no shortage of books. Preferably something on the angst level of Duke of Shadows.

Writingwise, I am still busily at work on polishing my time travel and researching a new historical, and new release news is coming soon, huzzah. But for now, Sebastian and I are tired and must loll in the grass.

2008-07-15T17:05:00.003-04:00

My friend, Mary, is making me blog again. It's, mm, shall we say, been a while. June was mostly a blur of ambulances and ERs. When you're able to tell the hospital security staff thanks, but you know a better route than the one they just recommended for getting out and back in after hours, you know you're dealing with something. In this case, Rheuben's asthma. For June, we were its chew toy, but that's passed and he, and the family, are doing much better.

Part of the deal is, this is supposed to be a blog about writing historical romance, and none of the above felt very on topic. There was some writing done during that time, and some reading. Those of you who have ongoing reasons to have contact with medical professionals probably know all about the hospital bag; that lovely, handy dandy thing one keeps ready by the door in case it's hospital time again. Special bag only for hospital visits, with important stuff in it, like lists of medications, phone numbers of friends who will gladly come get you at the ER at three AM for the second time in a week and spring for mini burgers at Denny's on the way home. Clean socks (trust me, these are needed,) toothbrush, lotion, books for each family member to read.

For me, the choice is easy; historical romance. While for most of the summer, I've been reading the VC Andrews (ghostwriter only) backlist for study purposes, when I want something to read for me, historical romance is the ticket. Ever since I was eleven years old and devoured the copy of Bertrice Small's The Kadin that I'd purloined from my mother's bedside table, I knew I'd found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. What's more universal than a love story? In many ways, this rough summer has been a recharge; yes, this is what I love and want to do for the rest of my life.

One might call it research in the rough side of being a romance heroine; the life or death concern for the one man in this whole world that means everything, and the joy in bringing him home. The sharing of odd moments, like both noticing that you/he's stayed in this hospital room before. The "we've been through rough stuff before and we'll get through this" squeeze of the hand when one of you isn't able to speak. How can anyone call such things unrealistic when I've lived them? This seals it; romance is real life. The grit and the angst that naturally find their way into my stories, those are real parts of romance as well. Hopefully we won't have to have a summer like that again, but neither of us would trade it; we've grown, become more us (and more him and more me) and I can honestly say it's made me a better writer as well.

This past weekend, my friend Linda (who has been to many many late night ER trips and subsequent mini burgers) and I reconnected with Mary after family responsibilities had taken time usually given to socializing, and it was like a whole retreat in an afternoon. Cold beverages, kitchen table, talking of life, loss, faith, furbabies (Mary has a new puppy, our family has Skye kitty) and of course, romance novels. Who's reading what, what wouldn't each of us touch with a ten foot pole, what's good that we've missed? What stunk up the place like week old flounder? What's coming out new? Normal and healthy talk, if you ask me. As part of which, came my promise to Mary to blog again.

I'm writing this entry at the end of another day of prepping the final manuscript of Orphans in the Storm, my English Civil War historical romance to Awe-Struck. I wrote this a couple of years ago, and now as I'm putting the final polish on Simon and Jonnet's adventure, revisiting the fabled Isle of Man and Charles II's Dutch court in exile, again, like that afternoon at Mary's, it's like a homecoming. Historical romance is my home, and I ain't moving.

2008-05-22T14:54:00.002-04:00

Taking control of the out-of-control

With a muffled "oof" sound, picture one pair of writer's hands (we can tell they're writer's hands because the nails are au naturel, tinged with ink and have trace amounts of cat hair held on with Bath and Bodyworks lotion (today's scent: pineapple.)) grappling over a ledge. More "oofs," and a head of long red hair held by a black scrunchie becomes visible. A mighty heft and the rest of the writer appears. The experienced reader can tell immediately what's been going on.

The writer's spectacles, perched on the end of the nose, bear more finger smudges than they ought, and sit slightly askew. The writer thumbs them back up into their proper position and the reader gives a knowing nod. That's how the smudges get there. The writer dusts herself off, brushing hands on her long denim skirt and adjusts her sandals. She looks around. Almost summer. Huh. So time does pass outside the pages. She reaches down below the ledge and tugs on the rope that lifts a bulky bag. Books, of course. Lots and lots of books. She spills them out onto the ground, casting a furtive look about her.

Not, of course, that she cares much what others might think of her treasure. If they don't want it, more for her. The scent of books long-loved wafts through the air. The viewer catches a whiff. Is that...pre-1995 romances? Arguably the dividing line between styles of historical romance. The reader inches closer, but takes a step back. There be adverbs there, the viewer reminds herself. Alpha jerks, too. Lots of room for them to lurk in all those pages.

Ah, the writer reminds her, but there is room for alpha heroines as well, and all the world to roam. All the time they need to acheive their goals in there as well. Years and years if that's what's needed.

Years? But what about the rest of the series? If the first hero is taking all that time to win his heroine, what about his friends/brothers/cousins? Surely they're not sitting idle.

The writer settles back on her haunches and takes two Diet Cokes out of the bag. She opens one and sets one at a safe distance between herself and the reader. She peers over the rims of her spectacles. There isn't always a series. Sometimes the book ends with only one hero and heroine's story.

But what, the reader asks, scratching her head with one hand and taking the offered beverage with the other, happens to everyone?

They live happily ever after, the writer says, as though that's the most natural thing in the world.

But, the reader asks, we never see them again?

The writer pauses to allow herself an amused chuckle. Anytime, she tells the reader, you want. Their future turns out exactly as you wish it to. That's the happily ever after part. That's what heroes -- and heroines-- do. It used to happen more often.

The reader takes a cautious sip. Do tell.

Oh yes. Sometimes, the writer says, pushing one book toward the reader, the same couple comes back for another adventure.

To help the new hero and heroine, right?

The writer presses her lips together and tilts her head back for a moment before answering. Sometimes, she says, and usually it's their children, but no, not always. Sometimes, she continues, her voice dropping, something bad happens and they have to regain their footing and rekindle their love. But, she's quick to assure the reader, it's always okay.

Happily ever after, the reader repeats on a whisper. She settles on the ground, close to the outside of the spread of books and peruses the covers. That doesn't look like England, she says, pointing to one illustration. Neither does that one, or that one. Oh, that one does, but what's the frilly thing around the hero's neck?

A ruff, the writer says, nudging the book closer to the reader. See how the shape is echoed in the heroine's farthingale? Quite lovely, isn't it?

The reader's eyes narrow for only a moment. That was a passive tense the writer used.

When needed, she answers, it isn't the end of the world. It's like the white crayon in the big box; one doesn't use it all the time, but when needed for the proper effect.

You can do that? The reader's voice has a prickle of doubt and a glimmer of hope.

Yes, the writer answers, I can. There's a whole bag of tricks in here, and it's fun to play with all of them. That, she says, is where the stories come from. Come and stay a while.

2008-05-05T13:25:00.004-04:00

Phrases you do not want to hear your handyman say:

That's a very aggressive snake.
He's rattling.
He's only moving this slow because it's not warm enough for him. (from me: that was slow?)

All of those come from yesterday's session with the handyman at my dad's house while getting big icky things out of the garage. Realizing that the snake on the ground, he (she?) of the rattle and fangs *was* the "metal hook" on the hinge of the paint can I had just carried in thirty seconds ago does things for ye olde blood pressure, let me tell you.

In the end, handyman and assistant handyman were able to trap snake and rehome him on a different part of the property, but "our" snake may have relatives in the basement. In either event, going in with nice bright lightbulbs next time.

What does this have to do with romance writing? Not much on the surface but every session of clearing out the house does uncover things. My father was an artist all of his adult life, so when I find some of his neatokeen art supplies (thank you, Dad, for buying the good stuff) it gives me a little creative boost. Similarly, every trip over there means new discoveries, sometimes about the man himself, sometimes about previous generations, parts of my own life I'd only seen from a child or teen's perspective, or the creative process in general. One could call it a form of archeaology. There's always something to mull over or dust off and use in a new and different way.

Which is what writers do anyway, so it sort of counts as a creative endeavor. So does speculating over what I might be "missing" by using this time to work on the house when I had three, count them, three novels in my bag, in the car, all strongly calling my name. What were the characters doing while I was away? Sure, they'll be considerate and sit on idle until I can get back but in a *good* book, characters are people to me, and when I'm not with them, I miss them. We'll be having some special time after dinner tonight. The snake is not invited.