All About the Writing

Guest Post: I'm Hanging with S.J. Maylee

Today I'm a guest at S.J. Maylee's blog. She's a fellow coffee addict, and she's invited me over again to talk about whatever kookiness is in my head. I'm actually chatting about my newest release, An Encouraging Word, and how I got started with blogging five years ago. There's also mention of my first solo trip to NYC, and. . . well, stop by and see what else!

New Release: AN ENCOURAGING WORD

Everyone needs encouragement, and some days it feels like writers need at least twice as much as everyone else. I've compiled several of my blog posts from the past five years into this volume, titled An Encouraging Word, in the hopes that it could help a writer who feels stuck, or who might be thinking about giving up on writing for a while.

Here's the blurb:

A writer's life is filled with second guessing, and revising, and starting over from scratch. It can make a writer determined to forge ahead, or decide to stop putting words on the page forever.

This collection is meant to raise your spirits when it seems like the writing is at a constant black moment. You'll see how to handle that cranky inner critic, outsmart the fussy muse, and turn avoidance and procrastination into valuable productivity tools.

An encouraging word can help revive your writing mojo--and keep those writerly fears at bay.

Carrie Spencer made another awesome cover, and I'm continously amazed at how she can turn my vague emails into exactly what my brain had in mind. (Maybe it has to do with our shared love of brownies.) Make sure you check out what else she has to offer at her site, Cheeky Covers.

Right now, An Encouraging Word is on sale for 99 cents, at Amazon. I hope you find it enjoyable, as well as encouraging! 

Excerpt: I Do. . . or Die

I love all of my heroines. I can't help myself. Although I'll readily admit I love them even more when their story is done and their book is published.

But I really really love Shelby, from I Do. . . or Die. She's a commitment-phobe, fond of saying she's had colds last longer than her romantic relationships. She deals with life's craziness with a good dose of neurotic snark. And a lot of crazy happens to her in this story.

When the book starts, Shelby has just been shot at during the wedding where she's a bridesmaid. Ryan, the detective who is investigating the case, has brought her to his home for safekeeping. Shelby knows she hasn't done much to impress this hunky guy she's already attracted to, but things get worse: she trips on her blood-stained bridesmaid dress while going through the front door.

I gave up holding back my embarrassment, and concentrated on staying on my feet--which meant my arms were forced to wrap around Ryan, and his nicely sculpted musculature.

His lips were suddenly against my ear, and I heard a warm, rumbling, sexy sound that made me think of warm toffee and caramel and chocolate. He was dessert all right. And boy did I have a sweet-tooth craving that would not quit.

“This is so not like me,” I started to explain, my blazing cheeks hidden against his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said, patting my back in a comforting way, although it was probably a brotherly type of touch.

Or, God forbid, one of those “yeesh, poor clumsy doofus” pats.

He made sure I was steady on my feet, which was tricky since having his hands on me made my legs about as sturdy as a Gumby doll that had been heated in the microwave for twenty minutes.

Right now I Do. . . or Die is only $1.99 at the various Amazon venues. I'll add the links below, in case you need to add this to your TBR pile. :)

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon AU

Amazon DE ~ Amazon IN ~ Amazon CA

Newslettery Stuff

My inaugural newsletter will be going out tomorrow. Ish. While I was writing it, I saw a discussion about author newsletters on an email loop I belong to, and it made me ponder what people expect, or want, from a newsletter.

Some people said they hated chatty newsletters, and all they wanted was info on new releases and where to get them. Others felt that latter type is akin to a spammy sales pitch.

I actually prefer a newsletter that is a little chatty, because I view it as an extension of the author's stuff on Facebook (which I can only hope FB will let me see) or on Twitter (which can be easy to miss since it's real-time chatter 24/7). Since it's also getting harder to find time to read individual blogs, it's nice to have a little bit of that in an email form.

Also, a newsletter IS a letter, with news in it, so I do want to see info on book-related items, sales, upcoming releases, etc.

So when you get my newsletter, it will be a blend of the things I prefer. I hope you'll find it entertaining, and informative. I also like to think it's a way to stay in touch, in case the other methods we currently use change drastically (like if FB decides to charge a zillion dollars just to sign in to our accounts).

If you haven't had a chance to sign up yet, I've got a link below. I will be picking one lucky signer upper, someone who subscribes in January, to win a $10 gift card. And eek--how are we almost done with January already?!

Newsletter Signup

My First Christmas Romance Story

Do you remember your first Christmas romance story? It took me a while to remember mine, but then I realized it was. . .

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!

At first glance, it seems to be a story about a lovable reindeer with an odd quirk--that bright red nose of his--and an elf with a seemingly unattainable career choice. But when you dig a little deeper, you can see how this tale really does track with the romance stories we love so much.

There are two young lovers, Rudolph and Clarice, who have strong feelings for each other, despite their parents' objections. And Clarice's dad is horrible, isn't he? It's cool to be protective of your daughter, but he gets a little too alpha about it, literally butting heads with Rudolph's dad. He's the reason the young reindeer are torn apart, even though we know how perfect they are for each other. 

One minute Rudolph is flying through the air because Clarice has let him know she's smitten with him. The next he's leaving his home, and his detractors, because they have shunned him and his glowing nose. Talk about heartwrenching!

Fortunately he joins up with Hermey, the would-be dentist, and the two are off on a grand adventure, gaining experiences that will aid them in the future.

There's even a black moment, when all seems hopelessly lost. The Abominable Snowman has captured Clarice, as well as Rudolph's parents, planning to make them his holiday snack. In true heroic fashion, Rudolph sacrifices himself to save those he loves. It looks like HE might be the next thing nibbled by The Abominable One, but Hermey gets to use his dental training, rendering the big guy toothless, and harmless. 

And just like in all the best romances, the character trait that seems to be a flaw in the beginning turns out to be just what everyone needed, although they were unable to see it at first. Rudolph's beacon of a nose saves Christmas, since Santa was ready to cancel the whole thing (he said it was because of the weather, but maybe he finally realized how tough it is to deliver that many toys in just one night--we'll never know for sure).

Rudolph also rescues the lonely toys from the Island of Misfit Toys, so they can be given to children who don't have any play things--demonstrating Rudolph's compassion, and giving us a lovely misty-eyed moment, like all great romances do.

I've always believed the story ends with a happily-ever-after. And if it doesn't, I've already written one in--because after all those romantic, heroic things we've just experienced, it wouldn't be right for Rudolph and Clarice to be denied their HEA.

There's Something About A Highwayman. . .

I have always had a soft spot in my heart for highwaymen. They are generally charming, and witty, and chivalrous in their own way. It's no wonder I had to have one as a hero for one of my books.

After doing some research, it turns out I'm not the only one who has tender feelings for them. Back in the heyday of highwaymen, high-born ladies visited them in their gaol cells and wept at their executions. Hard-working men envied them their wealth and freedom (and no doubt the female attention they received). In short, they were the bad-boy rockstars of their era.

So just how did a criminal who robbed carriages earn such a devoted fan base?

In The English Highwayman, A Legend Unmasked, Peter Haining traces the highwayman's popularity back to the legend of Robin Hood, and the need for poorer people to have a champion against those in authority. However, although highwaymen robbed the rich, there doesn't seem to be evidence they gave much, if any, of the spoils to the poor. Yet that doesn't seem to have diminished their vaunted reputation with the local populace.

Another interesting source of information is The Great Road to Bath by Daphne Phillips. This particular road was a profitable one for highway robbers not only because of people travelling to their country homes, but because of the nobles traveling to court at Windsor.

Ms. Phillips describes how highwaymen came about after the English Civil Wars, when people had had everything taken from them, or had no prospects after being discharged from military service. In later eras, some took this career path after losing their family fortunes at gambling, and these are the ones considered "gentlemen robbers" or "knights of the road".

A boon for highway robbery was the invention of the flintlock pistol, which was a great deal easier to carry while riding a getaway horse. Improvement in roads and carriages increased the number of rich personages traveling to their estates with all of their worldly goods. Combine these things with the lack of a police force and it's easy to see how much opportunity there could be for an enterprising highwayman.

Adding to their notoriety were the broadsheets and poems devoted to their thrilling exploits. As Mr. Haining remarked, "There seems little doubt that many highwaymen confessed readily to their crimes, their vanity unable to contain their tongues." These confessions were instant bestsellers, going through multiple printings, so it's possible that a few were fiction, or at the least made more exciting with some judicious "revision" of the facts.

Which brings us back to my fictional highwayman, Lord Midnight. He is a product of my imagination, with his own reasons for this choice of career, but he definitely carries on the legacy of the charming knight of the road, stealing ladies' hearts wherever he goes.

In celebration of Lord Midnight 's two-year anniversary, I have put this book on sale. For a limited time, you can enjoy a rousing romantic adventure with this highwayman for only 99 cents!

Amazon ~~ Amazon UK ~~ Amazon Australia ~~ Barnes & Noble

The Apple of My Pie

If there's anything a writer loves more than typing "The End", it's procrastinating. Er, I mean "doing research". This week my research happened while I pondered what to write next in Driving Miss Crazy.

I had to do something while I was giving my brain some room to breathe, so I decided to make my favorite apple pie. One reason it is my favorite is because I don't have to make a crust. I made a pie crust once--maybe twice, if you count that time I did stuff to earn my Girl Scout cooking badge way back when.

But there's a lot of effort involved in making a pie crust, not to mention a ton of guesswork. How much flour do you put on the rolling pin? Too much will cause one dire result, too little will cause a different one. No matter which choice I make, it pretty much looks like PlayDoh when I'm done, which explains why there have been decades between my pie-crust-making episodes.

A few years ago on Twitter somebody retweeted a link to "The Best Apple Pie Recipe Ever". Naturally I wanted to know WHAT made it the best. So I clicked on the link, and my heart was captured as soon as I saw there is no pie crust to make. You slice up apples and put them right in the pie plate. It does have a crust on top, but it's almost like a sugar cookie--kind of chewy and a little crunchy and easier than easy.

Normally I'm a fussbudget about wanting exact, precise measurements--primarily to help stave off epic disaster. But how could I resist a recipe that calls for "a fist of sugar and a fist of cinnamon"? It sounds like a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western, only with pastry instead of pasta.

Since it's not my recipe, I'm not going to reproduce it here. But I'll give you the link again, so go check it out. It's SO easy. Seriously. I've made it many, many times, so that should tell you how simple it is.

When I made this recipe again the other day, it didn't turn out quite as good, and I wondered if it was because I didn't use the right kind of apples. Don't get me wrong. It's still edible. It goes great with that first cup of coffee in the morning. And again later when I need dessert after getting in my NaNo word count.

But, this is where the research comes in. . .

I had to find out more about the apple I'd used. It was labeled "Cripps Pink", which I didn't recognize. According to the Washington Apples website, this variety was developed in Australia, and it is a cross between Golden Delicious and Lady Williams. (Yes, I'm beaming that this fruit has a title of nobility.) According to this same site, this apple is also known as Pink Lady, it's the last of the apples harvested each season, and it is excellent for baking.

What? Maybe I just got an under-performing batch of ladies.

Since I was doing so well in research mode, I thought I'd find out why Eve is always shown tempting Adam with an apple, when the phrase is "fruit of the forbidden tree". This is when research typically goes amok, because you find one interesting thing, which leads to another one, and next thing you know, it's a day later and you can't find your way back to the first page of Google search results to figure out what the heck you started researching.

Instead of finding the answer to my original question, I discovered there's a Garden of Eden Apple suite in the Poconos, complete with a massive heart-shaped tub. Candy-apple red too. Not really what I was looking for--

Wait a minute. This is perfect. My hero and heroine in Driving Miss Crazy are on this long road trip, and they have to stay in a couple of motels along the way. What if. . .

Okay, research time is over. Enjoy the pie! 

Autumn Again? Already?

Autumn is when New England gets to show off, and it does so in a glorious fashion. It's one of the reasons I was tempted to move here from the dreary, rainy, grey Pacific Northwest. Autumn is a celebration of colors that seem garish at any other time of the year. What other month but October could have orange everywhere and not feel self-conscious?

These lovely things are called "Cinderella Pumpkins", and if you're fanciful enough you can see how a fairy godmother could work some magic and turn them into a coach fit for a woman on her way to make Prince Charming fall instantly in love.

I am always amazed at the numerous varieties of pumpkins and squashes. Have there always been this many and I wasn't aware? Very possible. Or do they keep creating new ones so I'll have something else to wonder about? Mmm. . .

For instance, when did Jabba the Hutt become a pumpkin? And the person who hoisted him up onto that bale of hay--are they still collecting worker's comp, or are they resting comfortably at home now?

New England is also known for its apples, and until I moved here I thought there were only about four varieties, and two of those had the word "delicious" in them. Apple orchards are everywhere here, which makes it too easy to take them for granted. And no, that "one bad apple" wasn't there when I snapped this picture. I have no idea why it wants to try to spoil the whole bunch.

"An apple a day". . .this ought to keep you going for a few weeks. Just don't look at that one apple. What? You can't see it? I'm not gonna point it out then. You'll just have to find it yourself.

Yes, autumn is a beautiful moment in this part of the world. My only complaint is how quickly it fades into the next season, which is fast becoming my least favorite of the four choices each year. Winter is way too eager to shove autumn out of the way, as if it's greedy to dispel the spicy scents of apples and the poetry-inspiring foliage of oak and maple trees. Knowing that the bitter cold of winter is hovering nearby is what gives autumn a bit of a melancholy air, so it's a good reminder to savor all its beauty.

After all, in a very short while, this is what will be here. . .

(Don't worry -- that crazy chair actually prefers winter.)

Autumn is speeding by way too fast this year, so fast that I had no time to take new pics. Hopefully you'll enjoy these pictures I took a couple years ago. And fingers crossed that winter gets lost on its way here!

Dear Brain: Can You Work A Little Faster?

I bought a crockpot a few days ago, and I've been raving about it on Facebook and Twitter, and to anybody who can't get away from me fast enough.

This little piece of machinery has become my BFF, my boon companion, my own personal chef that has delicious food waiting for me when I come home, or even when I am home. All I do is put basic ingredients in the stoneware container, and several hours later they have been magically transformed into a mouth-watering meal.

Naturally I think how this is similar to the writing process. (I've warned you before how everything reminds me of writing. Now you can see what I mean.)

I discovered this link between crockpots and writing because I have a sort of deadline in mind for publishing Lord Wastrel. This is the next book in The Curse of True Love series, the one that follows Lord Rakehell's Love.

I would say Lord Wastrel is about 85% done--but don't hold me to that, since my math skills can be a bit sketchy. Also, my characters love to surprise me with unexpected, unsanctioned work stoppages and slowdowns, especially when I believe we're all in a good groove.

Anyway, I would like to publish this book in the next month or so, but some parts aren't quite right yet. It's not one of those situations where I can just pound out a certain amount of words and everything will be fixed. No, what is required is sitting and stewing.

I take all I know about my characters, as well as the scenes I've written, and dump it into the big crockpot of my brain. I ponder why the chapter I devoted hours to on a previous day is decidedly lacking in zing. I cogitate about how the character is going through the paces, but they're a bit begrudging about it, as if they are aggravated that I can't figure out what they need to say and do.

Sometimes my crockpot brain does its thing while I'm occupied with chores, or reading, or commuting. It's nice to multi-task, since my contrary characters will take as long as they need to. I respect that. After all, I'm a contrarian too.

Still, I can't help but wish it was a quicker process. While the crockpot takes mere hours, my brain might take a couple of days to finally produce that result I've been impatiently waiting on.

So if Lord Wastrel takes a little bit longer than I'd hoped, now you know why. I'm constantly stirring, lifting the lid to check the progress, trying not to whine, "Aren't you done YET?"

I just have to be patient with the process. It always works. Always.

Until then, I'll just wish for that day when my writing brain acts more like a microwave than a slow cooker. 

Summer, We Hardly Knew Ye

This is a post I wrote last year, and it's eerie how closely it reflects this past week, from the cobbler to the weather. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

I hate to see summer leave. It's one of my favorite seasons, filled with freedom, and leisure, and all kinds of delights I wait all year to enjoy.

So I decided to celebrate the end of summer by making a peach cobbler, a treat I always associate with this time of year. I had some fresh peaches I'd bought at a favorite farm stand, and it seemed like a good idea to use them before they morphed into fruit leather. (My fridge is some kind of vampire, sucking out the essence of produce behind closed doors. You should see what it did to some oranges recently. They ended up looking like Yoda. Well, without the big ears. And if Yoda had used an orange-ish spray tan for a week straight.)

But I digress.

Cooking is not a simple thing for me. I may be a pantser when I write, but I don't wing it when it comes to food. It doesn't make sense to experiment with stuff that I plan to eat. There's not really an effective delete key with food either.

Which may be why I love cookbooks. Someone else has already done all the experimentation and come up with the final list of ingredients, in the right measured amounts, and then provided a roadmap that can be followed to a culinary HEA.

After a little online searching, I finally found a peach cobbler recipe that closely matched the ingredients I had on hand. I rejected one candidate because I wasn't about to make a trip to the store for self-rising flour. If I made it to the store, I could just buy ice cream and let the fridge do its dehydration thing on the peaches, and we'd both be sated.

Still, there was a little glitch. I didn't have 4 cups of peaches. I had 2. So I checked to see if I could easily cut the recipe in half, meaning I wouldn't have to do anything fancy with fractions. Whew. Yes, I could cut it in half, without scrambling my brain over a half of a half teaspoon.

Crisis averted.

Another potential issue was when I belatedly realized the peaches were supposed to be mixed in the same pan as the melted butter. The wording of that section of the recipe could use a revision/edit, for clarification purposes, which just goes to show that ALL writing can be improved.

While the oven did its part, I worked on the WIP, feeling productive and virtuous, knowing there was going to be a reward for all my efforts.

At last it was time to sample my culinary masterpiece, and I gobbled it up quickly, with only a smidge left over for today. (It was half a cobbler, if you remember.) It was delicious, evoking memories of summers past, while staving off dread of winters-to-come.

The funny thing is today is dark and dreary and cool and rainy -- as if Mother Nature wanted to reinforce in my mind that summer has been sent packing, thanks to my culinary endeavors, and its evil cousin winter will be swooping down to torment us before we're ready.

But before that happens, I'll have autumn, another one of my favorite seasons, as well as a wonderful array of apples to utilize in the kitchen.

You can bet I'll be rhapsodizing about my favorite apple cake pretty soon.

Unless it provokes winter into showing up early.