Welcome to Running With Quills, your online newsletter designed to keep you up to date with what your favorite authors (that would be us) are doing throughout the year. Here you will find the release dates of our new books and get information about our backlists. We'll preview our cover art here long before the books hit the stores and we'll keep you informed about works-in-progress and special projects. You'll also receive advance notice of signings and appearances. From time to time we'll give you a peek at our worlds, tell you what we're reading, and introduce you to some new authors.
To fill in for Stella today, I'm going to share information about a Giant Giveaway that not only puts you in the running for some great prize packages, but will also make you feel really good about contributing to a worthy cause.
Helping others always makes ME feel great. At the times when I feel most blessed, like during the holidays with family all around me, I feel the need to do more for my community.
Opening your heart to those in need will put you in the running for a gigantic prize package!
Like most of us, I have my favorite causes, and children are always at the top of the list. Local to me is the "One Way Farm," a wonderful, caring home for abused and abandoned children. http://www.onewayfarm.org/
The holidays are fast approaching, so I hope you'll join me in giving to the "One Way Farm." To thank you, for every dollar donated you'll be entered in a special drawing to win an array of prizes.
One entry per $ dollar donated. Example: A $5 dollar donation to the "One Way Farm" entitles you to 5 chances to win. Identical slips of paper will be used to write the name of the person donating, one slip per $ donated. All of the slips will be folded, and put into a large container.
Names will be drawn at 3:00 pm on December 20th.
* With each donation, please be sure to include: Your name, address, and if possible, your email address. I will not add your name to any lists, but in case I need to contact you, email is the easiest way for me to do that.
Checks and money orders should be made out to "One Way Farm." Cash is accepted up to $5.
Mail to:
Lori Foster P.O. Box 854 Ross OH 45061
I will be unable to provide tax receipts, but you may receive one from the "One Way Farm."
Except for the $1 minimum, it doesn't matter how much or how little you donate: Everyone who donates has a chance for his or her name to be drawn to win.
Top Winner Prizes include: * Registration for the 2010 Readers and Authors Get Together * 2 nights stay at the Get Together hotel, for the weekend of the Get Together * An ARC of Back in Black, as soon as I get one (It will be before the release of the book, but the time often varies) * Plus the entire SBC fighter series, autographed by me, including: single titles: Causing Havoc, Simon Says, Hard to Handle, My Man Michael. * A T-shirt and a tote bag
2nd Winner * Autographed copies of the L.L. Foster series, including: Servant: The Awakening Servant: The Acceptance Servant: The Kindred Out of the Light, Into the Shadows * A T-shirt and a tote bag
3rd Winner * Autographed copies of related Winston family stories, including: The Winston Brothers (anthology) Wild (single title, mass market) Say No To Joe? (single title, hardcover) Double the Pleasure (anthology, mass market) Double the Heat (anthology, trade)
Over the years, certain organizations have touched my heart in amazing ways. I've collected a list of my favorite places to donate.
They include:
Hospice AAF (Animal Adoption Foundation) Hamilton County YWCA Battered Women's Shelter St. Jude Children's Research Hospital Toys for Tots One Way Farm
What about you? Do you have a favorite place where you like to donate?
Do you or your family have a tradition of helping out at your church or community center during the holidays?
Over the holidays, do you visit the trees set up in the malls to choose the name of a needy child to gift?
I believe that all of us, in one way or another, give according to our ability to do so. Sometimes, all you can give is a friendly hug - but believe me, for those in need, it means so very much.
I hope this giveaway will make it easier for some to donate, and in the process, I hope that donating makes YOU feel as wonderful as it makes me feel.
(To see his information on my site, visit www.lorifoster.com/fun/contest.php - please feel free to share the giveaway with friends! I'll appreciate it if you help spread the word.)
Last week my husband and I packed up the motorhome and just left town. I’d finished my latest manuscript, HellFire, the second book in The DemonSlayers series, and while it was with my beta readers we were free to take off. We figured we’d missed the fall colors in the Sierras because of the big rain storm a week earlier, but the idea of being away from cell phones and Internet had a huge appeal to both of us.
Anyway, we headed down our mountain, across the valley, through Sacramento and up along Highway 49 through the gold country. And, lo and
behold, the trees were ablaze with color. We hadn’t missed it at all. We camped the first night on the Yuba River not far from the little town of Downieville, and spent a couple of hours gold panning and hiking along the river where gold miners found and lost fortunes over a hundred and fifty years ago.
We didn’t find any gold, but it was still fun to swirl the sand in our pans and see the black sand in a dark sweep at the bottom. (and besides, I think my bearded spouse is beginning to look the part!) Black sand is heavier, though not as heavy as gold, and if you’re going to find any flakes they’re generally glistening amid all those dark grains of sand.
We used to go gold panning when the kids were little and always found at least a little bit of color, but I think, at the end of the season after tourists have been panning all summer, it’s going to take a few heavy rains to wash more gold down to the level where we were digging. No matter—it was a lot of fun and we both had an absolute ball.
We slept like the dead that night and headed out early. A few miles up the road, a black bear crossed in front of us. I tried to get a picture. I wasn’t quite fast enough, but it was the first bear either of us has seen in the wild in about thirty years. The last one was in Yosemite, hanging upside down from an apple tree, gorging himself on fruit as the tour bus we were in slowed up for a look. He was definitely not as wild as the bear we saw this trip. We stopped in Sierra City at the Red Moose Inn and I had the best breakfast I’ve had in ages. The place was filled with locals and sitting there eavesdropping on all the conversations was such a hoot! We looked at the real estate ads in the local paper and we were ready to buy a place right NOW! (Until sanity prevailed...) It’s so gorgeous up there, and the history fascinates me. We both grew up with weekend trips to the Sierras, and the gold country holds a mystique all its own.
We camped our second night at a place called Grass Lake on the Gold Lake Highway above the town of Graeagle, and then it was time to head back home again. Anyway, I wanted to share some of my pictures of fall colors with you. I’ve got more of them on my Facebook page if you’re interested. Granted, we don’t get the brilliant reds here in California that those of you in the Northeast or the Pacific Northwest see, but there’s still a special glory in the beautiful shades of gold in our California Gold Country.
I got home to the reports back from my beta readers, none of whom liked the way I ended my book...so I’m rewriting the ending to get that “ahhhhhh” feeling we romance readers deserve, but I’m so thankful for that little bit of magic and all the colors of fall.
The Soul Mate and I have been married for 40 years. It's a really good marriage, but ya know, you live with a person that long and you become familiar with every bad habit they have (as they become familiar with yours). For instance, I know that when I tell him things, he sometimes doesn't listen--I feel like the parents on a Charlie Brown cartoon. You know the ones--they're just a pair of legs and a one note horn, which the kids hear as "Waa, waa, WAA, waa, waa."
But he's super competent and I'm telling you, that trips my buzzer every time. I find few things more attractive--or flat out sexier--than competence. And this past Friday night he was, hands down, my hero.
We were on our way to our cabin on the eastern slopes of the Cascades with our best friends Doug and Mimi and our cats Boo and Mojo. The cats are good travelers, but just before we reached North Bend where we were going to stop at a taco joint for a quick meal, Mojo started his dentist drill meow, the one that usually means he has to pee.
Facing the same situation once before, we'd stopped at a shopping center in Gig Harbor, whose parking lot was divided by meridians hosting shrubs, ground cover and evergreens. We parked away from the stores where it was quiet and I let Mojo crawl under the bushes where he did his biz, and we were all the happier for it when we continued our trip. The lot in North Bend Friday night was bordered with trees and bushes, so I thought I'd do the same thing, then we could go grab a bite to eat and hit the road again.
It didn't exactly turn out that way. It was not, in truth, one of my brighter moves. This parking lot was smaller and worlds noisier and the growth was dense and deep, with a fairly fast-running creek at its bottom.
Poor Mojo was completely freaked out. He disappeared into the thick brush, meowing up a storm. Then he went quiet, but that was worse, because we didn't have a clue where he was and he didn't respond to our calls. I was starting to quietly panic because he can be a stubborn little sonofagun and I was not only worried about him but had visions of our lovely getaway being spent in a fast food parking lot until the sun came up. We shined the glovebox flashlight into the woods, but his coat has always rendered him a stealth kitty. He's a smoky gray, which you'd think would make him pop against lighter or darker backgrounds, wouldn'tcha? And, of course, in some situations he does. Mostly, however, he's a chameleon.
We were getting nowhere fast and without discussion the Soul Mate suddenly headed into the brambles. He fought his way through them step by step until his flashlight finally picked up SmokyJoe where he'd hunkered down in a pile of leaves under a tangle of blackberry vines. Then Steve very patiently worked his way over to him, greeted him with a soft, "Hey, Moj," scooped him up from where he'd gone to ground and fought his way out again, cat cuddled to his chest.
Mojo didn't have a scratch on him. Steve, on the other hand, had a nick on his face that bled and his right wrist and forearm were criss-crossed with five or six nasty scratches, which he didn't even show me until Sunday night. But in his usual low key way he accomplished what he set out to do .
He was totally my hero. I don't care that he sometimes tunes me out when I'm talking. Or that he has a habit or two that gives me a temporary case of tight teeth. Because he'll rescue my cats without complaint or a show of temper and he won't say "What the hell were you thinking?" over my less than well-thought out decision that made the rescue necessary in the first place. He'll also rub my feet by the hour and clean my skis and put them away after we hit the trails or wash my paint brushes for me when I'm done painting.
And I gotta tell you, that so works for me.
What about you? What quiet everyday thing does your husband or wife do that gives you that warm sense of satisfaction?
Later this week Fallon Jones will close the case that he has been working on there in Scargill Cove. As you know, he is chronicling events in a private case file on Twitter (http://twitter.com/ArcaneSociety No you don't have to register with Twitter to read the story).
This project has been intriguing for me as a writer on a number of levels. I wrote it the way I write all of my books, meaning I had no clear idea of where I was going when I started the story. Sadly, I don't know any other way to write.
I did the writing in chunks over a period of a couple of months. The process was simple: I'd get an idea for a cliff-hanger, write a bunch of tweets that took me to the plot twist and then stop. A couple of weeks later when I realized that I needed more tweets, I'd sit down and write enough to get me to the next cliff-hanger.
This approach works very well for me when it comes to my full-length novels because I know that I will always be able to go back to the beginning and make any changes I need to bring the completed story into focus. Frequently I get my best ideas toward the end of a book and then have to do a lot of heavy rewriting in order to insert them into the first part of the story.
But with Twitter there's no going back. Each time I sat down to write the next part of the story I had to write my way out of whatever corner I had managed to write my way into on the previous occasion. Somewhere along the line it dawned on me that this is as close as I will ever get to writing the kind of serialized novel that was so enormously popular in the 19th century. It was a blast.
It has also occurred to me that anyone who happens upon this story this week or next will, due to the nature of Twitter, read the ending first. The latest tweets are always at the top. You have to scroll down to the very first tweet and work your way up if you want to read the story as it was written.
Personally, I do not have a problem with this. I always read the ending of a book first.
Which leads me to the obvious question. Do you read the ending first?
As I was sitting in front of my computer, taxing my brain trying to come up with a topic for my blog, I got an email from Karen D., telling me that she and others had debated the Happy Ever After at a forum.
She asked, "Is marriage the only acceptable outcome for an HEA, or are other options acceptable these days? Like maybe someone is stuck married to another who lives in a country/religion that doesn't recognize or allow divorce, can that someone find happiness in a long term relationship?"
Great question - especially as a topic for a blog.
My answer to her: I’m not an author who believes in hard, fast rules. To me, there is any number of happy endings, depending on the skill of the author to deliver it in a believable way. I never say never... there are just too many innovative storytellers out there. So my answer is no, marriage is not the only HEA.
Used to be, the HEA involved a damsel in distress, a charming prince who saved her, and fairytale weddings. But... these days? Not so much anymore, at least not in fiction.
I've seen stories where the heroine saved the hero, or where they saved each other.
And of course, there are plenty of books where no one is in physical peril; the characters are on an emotional journey to find love.
Ages ago, a favorite author of mine disappointed me with her ending of a romance. The characters were married, but the hero was so arrogant and obnoxious, that I didn't want them to be. I almost wrote off that author.
Then Stella Cameron was visiting for one of our local conferences. She and I were riding in the backseat of someone's car, and she recommended to me a different book by that author.
I told her that, thanks to the last one, I wasn't interested. She was insistent, as Stella can be, and because I trust her, I read the recommended book - and LOVED IT. It's remains one of my all time faves.
A few years later, after several more books by that particular author, I reread the book that had disappointed me, and I had a totally different reaction to it. That second time, I kind of liked the ending. It suited the characters, and I found subtleties that I hadn't noticed in the first read.
Back when "Kill Bill 1 and 2" was released in theaters, I LOVED both movies. The concept of a feature length film that was only partially resolved in the first movie inspired me. I wrote JUDE'S LAW. The romance was wrapped up in that book, and they knew who the bad guy was, but they hadn't yet caught him.
In MURPHY'S LAW, the sequel, there was another romance with characters who were secondary in the first book, and the carry-over plot was resolved.
But some readers were not amused. They were more than furious that I hadn't demolished the bad guy by the end of the first book. I guess they didn't have the same fascination with Kill Bill that I had. :::grin::: I got a fair share of letters on those books, let me tell you. The HEA that I provided, which covered the romance, wasn't the HEA that they expected.
I'm finding that in romance, expectations are the driving force. If you're going to have anything different, then be sure to let readers know right there on the cover of the book, so that they start reading with knowledge of what will be different. In hindsight, it makes sense to me.
Many, many times, when critics have tried to pigeonhole romance I've insisted that the only set "rules" are: romance, and a HEA. But just as society has changed, can the definition of "romance" and the "HEA" change too?
What works for us is, sometimes, largely dependent on where we are in life, our changing perspectives, and societal influences. Our views aren't static, so romance, and especially HEAs, can't be static. We change, so they must change.
For the most part, I like to see characters in a traditional marriage, promising love everlasting both emotionally, and legally. But I don't HAVE to have that. If an author can make me a believer in whatever way she circumvents marriage, then I'm with her.
What about you?
Have you read any books that did not have the traditional HEA that you still loved? That you hated?
Are you okay with characters living together indefinitely, committed to each other, but not legally bound?
With all the paranormal books out there, can you buy into a HEA with a paranormal being, like a ghost, shape shifter, etc..?
Hollywood romances are often not based on marriage. Do you think that could influence the book industry?
I'm curious about your take on the HEA - and maybe it'll help someone else in a future debate on a forum. LOL
In September, I did something I'd never done before: I took myself on a two-week writing, research and personal retreat. To Ireland. I stayed in the pretty village of Kenmare on the southwest coast, and I walked 8 to 10 miles almost every day, I wrote, I did spa visits and I saw rainbows. I also had Irish brown bread every day, either for breakfast or for lunch. Sometimes for both. In THE ANGEL, Keira Sullivan, an artist and folklorist, first hears an old story that's at the heart of the suspense (and the romance!) over tea and brown bread.
I've discovered that there is no one recipe for brown bread.It's like so many other well-loved dishes. Think of how many versions there are of apple pie! Many of my Irish and Irish American friends have fond memories of brown bread their mothers or grandmothers made. I've been collecting different recipes.
When I was in Cleveland to promote THE ANGEL, I met a son of Irish immigrants who gave me a copy of his mother's handwritten recipe for Irish soda bread. He's in his seventies, and she's been gone for a while now. It's a simple recipe:
Irish Soda Bread
4 cups flour
4 tsp baking powder
1 " baking soda
1 Tbsp sugar
2 " butter
1 egg
Caraway seed
About 2 cups buttermilk.
Knead for a few minutes. Bake at 375 for 1 hr.
Thank you, Denis, and Denis's mom. I suspect that seeing this recipe and making this bread bring him back to his childhood and close to his mother.
It's funny how something as passing in a novel as brown bread can resonate with me as a writer. My mother-in-law loves to cook, and I have a number of traditional Southern recipes she jotted down for me. Some of them include my favorite instruction: "Cook in a hot oven until done." I need temperatures! I need times! She's in her nineties now and not in the best of health, and when my daughter came to visit recently with her newborn baby, her grandmother managed to make her fried apricot pies. (I have the recipe!)
Do you have cherished recipes from your childhood? Are they handwritten, torn from a magazine, in a special cookbook? Is there a special dish that you make that your family loves? It doesn't have to be fancy. In fact, maybe it's better if it isn't. But if there is…maybe write it down for them in your own handwriting. So many of us don't cook as much as we used to (or at all!), but you never know what'll happen. When my son moved into an apartment-like suite at college, he called me from the grocery store and asked, "What's your apple crisp recipe?"Of course, I had to e-mail it to him. But I'll write it down. Today.
Have a great day, everyone!
Carla
P.S. And if you have a recipe for Irish brown bread, I’d love for you to share it with me.
We're in for another treat from my dear friend,Yasmine Galenorn! Yasmine is here to tell us about her upcoming books, and other, otherworldly things:) Enjoy.
Hey people! It's me again. Yasmine Galenorn, author of the Otherworld Series and the upcoming Indigo Court Series (Berkley). The lovely Stella Cameron of Running With Quills has invited me back and I'm happy to be here and thank the wonderful RWQ ladies for their hospitality.
Yes, it's true, I have a new release coming out the end of this month on October 27, 2009, right in time for Halloween and Samhain!
NEVER AFTER is an anthology of four tales of almost-marriage and happy-to-run-away brides. As the cover says, "All-new tales of magic revealed—and matrimony refused—by four of today's most provocative authors." I'm keeping good company. My co-authors are: Laurell K. Hamilton, Marjorie Liu, and Sharon Shinn and all of our tales border on fairytale, but with our own skewed visions. No shy princesses here, no Cinderella waiting for her Prince, or Sleeping Beauty who must be wakened by a kiss. No, the women in our stories stand up for themselves, they're the ones who run off and do the adventuring, but yes—true love can still find it's way into the mix. It just doesn't come with a glass slipper attached.
My addition to the book is a novella titled "The Shadow of Mist." A tale from my Otherworld Series, the story is from the viewpoint of Siobhan Morgan, the selkie friend of the D'Artigo girls. Selkies are long-established folklore. They're beings of the sea—whose natural forms are that of a seal, but who can also take the shape of humans. They must carry their seal skins with them if they hope to ever return to the sea in seal form once they've been on land. If you want to see a wonderful examination of this legend, I suggest watching "The Secret of Roan Inish"—a mystical, haunting, beautiful movie.
Siobhan's story weaves between her life back in Ireland, and why she fled to America. Her secrets, long buried under the hundred years she's been on this shore, are brought to light when a man emerges who once brutalized her—whom she was promised to in marriage. Now she must stop him before he destroys the life and love she's built here. In true fairytale form, you'll find a prince who's more nightmare than charming, true love in a man who makes his living with his hands rather than through wearing a crown, and a fight to the death against the monsters from the past.
Folklore, myth and legend have always captivated me. I read through all the fairytales I could find when I was very young. I read Aesop's Fables for fun. I hunted down mythology and reveled in the tales of the Greeks and Romans. The Faerie lore of Celtic countries—well, actually, worldwide because it is a worldwide phenomenon—always intrigues me. Yes, I do believe in the Fae—but not in Tinkerbelle's type. My beliefs in the Fae hearken back to the wild folk of legend, to the glorious Sidhe and to their darker cousins, to the goblins and kobolds and kelpie and pooka and bean sidhe. And when I write about them, the Fae in my worlds are not safe, nor are they cute.
And then, there are the delightful creatures of legend and myth that truly belong to October—the vampires and the werewolves, the shapeshifters and ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Now, I firmly do believe in ghosts. As to werewolves and the rest, I keep an open mind. But ghosts—ghosts are perfect for October. Ghosts can be found year round, but really, what better time to watch spooky movies and tell tales of things that go bump in the night, than this glorious burnt orange season. (I admit, I got that phrase off a card. I love it, and it speaks volumes to this time of year).
As I said, I do believe in ghosts. As some of you know from my previous posts here, I'm a 'modern-day' shamanic witch. I've dealt with spirits and ghosts—clearing them from a few houses. And now and then, I find them dropping in on me. I admit, they can, and do, spook me, even though I'm used to the idea that they exist.
One spirit in particular scared the hell out of me and my friends. We'd cleared a few houses for people before, but this was the hardest one to shake loose. There were several spirits living in Cindy's house, and most were willing to go once we showed them the way. But this one ghost—an old man, a vicious old man—didn't want to budge. Finally we managed to roust him out of there but over the course of that evening, the spirit pulled several tricks on us, including manifesting as a skull. My friend D. and I happened to glance at a door that had a window in the top half (it was an inner door, so nobody was outside pulling pranks) and we plainly saw a skull with glowing eyes staring at us. Talk about low budget horror film fodder, but at the time it was terrifying.
For witches, Wiccans, and Pagans (I'm a pagan and witch, but not Wiccan—but we all share similar beliefs), Samhain—November 1st (and pronounced Sow-een)—is the day of the dead. The day when we celebrate those who've gone before and pay honor to the dead whom we miss. During this time, in my tradition, we invite our lost loved ones to join us, to visit and spend an evening with us. One of our rituals is to perform a silent meditation, thinking about what they meant in our lives, what we learned from them, and quite often we'll catch glimpses of them, or snippets of conversations from them. We usually do this on the night of October 31st, the time when the veils between the world are thinnest.
During one Samhain, I was sitting in my living room and the spirit of a tiny kitten—a little orange tabby—crawled in my lap. I could see my dress shift as it curled up on my lap. I started to cry because I realized it didn't understand that it was dead. I called to the Lady Bast, who cares for all cats, and asked her to help it over to the other side. I've seen a number of cat spirits, I think they feel safe in our house.
And on another Samhain, we gathered with friends and a young man appeared in the doorway. I could see him clear as day. He was wearing a mechanics uniform and carrying a motorcycle helmet and he told me, "Nobody remembers me..." After the meditation, we all talked about what we'd experienced and a friend of mine, when I described the red-haired young man, let out a startled shout. Turns out that years before, she'd dated a young man named Rusty. He had red hair, he was a mechanic, and he'd died in a motorcycle accident. So after that, she included him in her remembrances at Samhain.
After my mother died, she began to show up here now and then. She always looked so much happier and so much stronger than she had during life. I know she keeps an eye on me, and she also shows up at my sister Wanda's house. Mom's watching over her girls in death, since she couldn't do so in life.
So tell me, in this wonderful burnt orange season when wood smoke curls into the sky, when the rains drizzle from silvery skies and the cedars and firs lend a crisp scent to the air—tell me, have you had any ghostly visitors, pleasant or unpleasant? Do you hear things that go bump in the night, and do you sometimes glance around a corner, thinking you've caught a glimpse of someone...or something...from the other side?
Bright Blessings, Yasmine
NY Times Bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and paranormal mystery for Berkley. She's also written eight nonfiction metaphysical books. A shamanic witch for almost thirty years, she collects tattoos and teacups (the former on her skin, the latter in the china cabinet), and lives in Bellevue, WA with her husband and a rampaging horde of cats. You can find her at her website: www.galenorn.com and on Twitter: www.twitter.com/yasminegalenorn
I’m working toward a deadline that’s flying at me like a speeding freight train. I’m not complaining a bit—I love what I do—but on occasion I do get tired of staring at the computer screen. Of course, my grumpy levels are through the roof and when I do crawl out of my office, it’s generally because my coffee has grown cold or I recognize the signs of impending starvation—ie: I am NOT good company.
So yesterday my spouse dragged me out of the cave, otherwise known as Kate’s office, and took me for a hike in the woods. I know I’ve written about our hikes before, but for some reason, every time we go, it’s like the first time I’ve ever been along that familiar trail. Yesterday was spectacular—more so because I hadn’t been out of the house in days.
We’ve just had our first drenching rainfall in over seven months—almost seven inches came down over the past few days to help ease a three year drought—and there were pine needles and leaves everywhere. The dogwood has gone red, the poison oak is absolutely scarlet, the big-leaf maples are a beautiful bright yellow and the bracken fern has turned a mellow gold. The sky was a dark pewter gray and we were in a cloud for most of the hike, which gave all the colors a soft, muted cast.
I couldn’t wear my glasses because they kept misting over—steaming up from fog on the inside, covered with drops of water on the outside—so I hiked without them. The fact I can’t see well at all added to the almost surrealistic feel of our hike, so that I felt as if I were floating through a Matisse rendition of Boggs Forest. We only went four miles, but during that time we didn’t see another soul. We didn’t hear cars or voices—just the wind in the pines and the occasional raven reminding us who was in charge.
I didn’t even think about the book, and when I came home, I shut off my computer, went downstairs and read. It was wonderful—it’s also why this blog is going up a bit late. I took that little mini-vacation and extended it to an early night to bed and a late morning sleeping in.
Today I’m ready to write. I’m not feeling grumpy, the coffee tastes great and I’m looking out my window at blue skies and a perfect Fall day. I hope your day is a good one. I hope you can find a moment to step away from your cares and the woes of the world and appreciate the beauty of the season. It’s out there—sometimes we just need to be reminded that it’s there, and it’s not going to wait for us.
What’s your plan for the weekend? Will you be taking any time for yourself? I do hope so. And I do hope you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season before the long, cold days of winter settle in for the next few months.
Don't ask me why, but I suddenly started wondering how many of our blog-ees are lifelong romance readers and how many came to the game later. I think of myself as a lifer, but the romance genre as we know it today bears little resemblance to what was available when I was a kid and young adult--which I considered at the time to be zilch.
That wasn't entirely true, of course. There were the early Harlequin books, and I loved them for a while, but then they began to bug me because the hero was always this older than dirt guy (to my 12, 13, 14 year-old mind) of 30, who treated the 18-year-old English flower like crap through most of the book then pledged his undying love on the last page. Huh? I could never see where that was coming from, because he sure as heck didn't show it. ("I love you darling, truly I do. And by the way, you look lovely in your frock. We must spend a fortnight in my flat.") Gak.
But then came the Gothics, with their covers of women looking over their shoulders at a castle/manse/decrepit old house with its one lighted window as they fled in their nighties into the night. Hey, at least those heroines got a little lovin' with the non-communicative broody guy, which, I gotta tell you, I think is great fun in fiction, but would probably be a nightmare in real life. And Mary Stewart, bless her Queen of Woman in Jeopardy books heart, always did me right. Charlotte Armstrong did, as well. So, while I read mucho non-romance in my younger years (and, okay, still do), I still believe myself to be firmly in the lifelong romance reader camp.
I've met plenty who were late bloomers romance-wise, however--readers and writers. I remember Tami Hoag coming to a Greater Seattle RWA meeting and telling us she'd disdained romance until one afternoon when she and her husband got stuck waiting for a tow-truck after their car broke down. The only thing to pass the time was a romance book her sister-in-law had left behind. (I think it was a Woodiwiss, but I'm not positive about that) Like other late blooming romance readers I've spoken to, she became a believer--even if she ultimately found her true love to be suspense.
What's your story? Were you born with a romance in your hand? Or did someone hand you one after years of reading brand X genres, whereupon you declared with heartfelt fervor, "How the heck have I missed out on this for so long?" And does anyone remember the very first romance they ever read?
Tell Motha Susan, my pets. She's nosy and wants to know. Just because.
I'm almost finished with a manuscript and I am in desperate need of a name for my hero. We're talking the last chapter of the book, mind you. The thing is, I never liked the original name that I'd picked but I couldn't find the right one and I didn't want to wait until inspiration struck. So I just started writing with a "place holder" name. Kept thinking I'd come up with a better one somewhere over the course of writing the book. Unfortunately, nothing brilliant came to mind. But now it's crunch time. This guy needs a name.
Names are tricky. An unusual or difficult name stops a reader cold. I still get email from people who want to know how to pronounce Iphiginia in my old Amanda Quick title, MISTRESS. But that's nothing compared to the mail I get when I accidentally name a hero "Sue", or, rather, the equivalent.
If you ever read the hardcover edition of WICKED WIDOW, you met a hero named Artemis Hunt. If you read the paperback edition, you knew him as Artemas Hunt. Artemis, of course, is the name of a female Greek goddess -- goddess of the hunt, fact, which only made the whole thing more ludicrous. Artemas is the masculine version of the name. Thanks to a lot of sharp-eyed readers, I was able to get the name changed for the paperback edition but, trust me, I'll never go near that name again. I admit that I'm little weak on Greek mythology and, yes, I was a huge fan of WILD, WILD WEST. But, really, it was just plain embarrassing.
And now we have Cruz Sweetwater in OBSIDIAN PREY. How could I go wrong with a masculine-sounding name like Cruz? So hard-edged. So macho. So cool. So feminine! Aack. One of my Spanish-speaking readers wrote to tell me that Cruz is a feminine name in Spanish as in "Maria de la Cruz" or "Santa Cruz". Again, I have no excuse. I took Spanish in high school and did two more years of that beautiful language in college in a town called Santa Cruz. I am mortified.
And just to complicate things, so many names that used to be considered masculine have become feminine in recent years: Jordan, Cameron, Ashley, Drew, Madison, etc.
Back to choosing a name for my hero. What about you? What happens when you hit an odd or hard-to-pronounce name in a book? Does it ruin the story for you?
If you're like me, there are things you love about the changing seasons - and things you dread.
The beautiful colors are a plus. I love to look out my bedroom window and see the changing leaves on all the trees. And driving along the highway is more relaxing with fall colors everywhere. Soooo pretty.
I hate seeing those leaves begin to drop off, though, sometimes ripped away by a cutting breeze! Brrrr....
I love decorating for the holidays. My grandson is making that extra fun this year because everything is better through the eyes of a four year old. He helped me put out scarecrows, choose pumpkins and mums, and hang some ghosts in the trees.
I also enjoy picking up those gel window clings for him to play with. He arranges and rearranges and fills up every window! They're perfect because they stick easily, and are cheap enough that if he mangles one, it doesn't matter.
And for whatever reason, my grandson enjoys carrying around the glow-in-the-dark skeleton that normally hangs outside. Sort of cracks me up!
I don't like that it's dark so early in the evening, and dark when I get out of bed. I'm a sunshine fan, and I think I could even handle the colder weather if the sun shone all the time.
I love cooking "cool weather" meals like one-pot stews and baked bread, roasts and mashed potatoes, stuffed chicken or turkey and steamed veggies - all the things we avoid when it's 90 degrees outside. In fact, in the summer, almost every meal is grilled. That has its own appeal, but now I like how the house feels and smells while food is baking. Yum!
But boy do I dread the weight I pick up in winter. All that baking really packs on the pounds!
And speaking of pounds... the layers of clothes I have to wear is a total bummer. I hate being cold, so I usually wear long T-shirts under bulky sweatshirts and when I go outside, a coat over that! It's tough to move.
On the upside, extra clothes hide lots of body flaws. LOL You can barely see me under there!
What about you? What do you like or dislike about the rapidly changing weather?
Do you have certain winter and summer meals? Do you decorate for Fall and Halloween, and if so, what type of decorations?
Whatever your preferences, I hope you're staying healthy, warm, and happy during this brisk October!
We are all in for a treat. Carla Neggers is joining us at Running With Quills, in fact she is our new permanent Quill and we are so excited.
Carla has published more than 50 novels and has been with MIRA since she wrote KISS THE MOON in 1998. Her last book is THE MIST which came out in July (hardcover), and is part of a loosely connected series about FBI agents and Boston detectives set in Boston with touches of Maine and Ireland. Next up is COLD RIVER, a follow-up to COLD PURSUIT, romantic suspense set in Carla's home state, Vermont.
The kid who always loved to write and never wanted to be anything other than a writer, Carla went on to become a New York Times, Publishers Weekly and USA Today Bestseller.
Thank you, "quills," for having me here! I'm honored and thrilled, and I'm sure we're going to have a great time. Up here on my hilltop in Vermont, I'm writing and enjoying the bright fall foliage. I was out for a walk the other morning, and a red squirrel chattered at me from high up in a hemlock. Next thing, an acorn almost bonked me on the head. It couldn't have been deliberate—squirrels just can't be that smart—but it got me thinking about autumn rituals.
When I was in Ireland last month, I treated myself to the incredible Sámas spa in Kenmare. According to the brochure, translation of the Gaelic word Sámas implies "pure indulgence of the senses." Autumn's a perfect time to indulge the senses, don't you think? Just entering the spa gave me a feeling of tranquility and focus that I wanted to recreate at home. I decided to go for the candles in trays of small rocks and the glass bowls of clear marbles and sprigs of greenery.
I mean, how hard could it be?
The first challenge was finding small, smooth rocks. Rocks from the garden would involve digging, scrubbing and worms, and they wouldn't be smooth. I tried the flower shop in the village—no little smooth rocks. The woman there suggested JoAnn's Fabrics. Ah. Off I went, and, indeed, not only did I find rocks, I found an entire section of rocks. Who knew? I loaded up.
For candles, I stopped at Simon Pearce, the Irish glassblower who set up shop in a renovated mill on the Ottauquechee River. I had cheese soup in their restaurant (an indulgence of a different kind) and bought pillar candles.
I brought my rocks and candles home and realized I couldn't indulge my senses and recreate my Irish spa experience in a messy office. I had to file, dust, vacuum and mop. After my Ireland excursion and two weeks away, the spiders had their own ideas about autumn rituals, and I had to deal with them, too.
This is a little how I write. I think—oh, what a great idea, I'll write about a cop, and next thing, I'm at a shooting range firing a Glock. One thing tends to lead to another.
With my office mopped, vaccumed, dusted and de-spidered, I found handmade glass and pottery containers and was all set to light the candles.
Matches.
Our big woodstove matches weren't going to do it. I dug in my office "miscellaneous" (i.e.., junk) drawer and found a box of matches from Gramercy Tavern in New York. I had lunch there once, I think in 2003. I remember I had fish over Brussels sprouts, each little leaf pulled off…and I was with friends.
I lit my candles, and out my window, I could see another little squirrel scurrying up a hemlock, getting ready for winter. It was perfect.
Next I'm tackling the clear marbles and sprigs of greenery. I'll let you know how it goes. Do you have any autumn rituals—any indulgences of the senses that have caught your fancy as winter approaches? I'd love to hear about them.
Thank you, again, for having me here, and have a great day!
Glums? What does she mean, glums? I made up a new word, okay? Everywhere I look I see glum people and hear glum news so to shorten things up I've decided the plural of glum shall be glums. I shall be talking to Webster's about it. Oh, I'll go for broke--Oxford English Dictionary.
When it becomes too much of a downer to turn on a television or read a newspaper, glom on to the anti-glums. There will be a test shortly.
As many of you know, I'm a Louisiana buff. Now the people in LA know how to make you laugh. With a completely straight face they might say something like: "Is it hot around here? Listen. That's the trees whistling for the dogs."
So I'll start the attempts to bring on a few smiles with:
YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN LOUISIANA IN JULY WHEN . . .
The birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.
Hot water now comes out of both taps.
You can make sun tea instantly.
You learn a seatbelt buckle makes a good branding iron.
You discover that in July it only takes two fingers to drive your car.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up cooking to death on the pavement?"
Potatoes cook underground so all you have to do is pull them up and add butter.
Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying boiled eggs.
The cows are giving evaporated milk.
I have hundred of these things so be grateful I've stopped now! But it's your turn to tweak a smile:
Okay, so I'm in Hawaii with my daughter and granddaughter, the weather has been great, but I haven't left the house, haven't been to the beach and haven't missed it a bit. I'm spending a week babysitting our one year old grandson and three year old granddaughter, our son and daughter-in-law's two kids. I cheated, because I brought Jon's sister Sarah and her five year old, Gracie, to help. They're wonderful--Sarah has hauled Gracie and Ella all over the island and they've got events scheduled every day of our visit. Sarah knows how to "do" an island vacation, right?
Me? I'm staying here at the house with Owen and having a ball. We played blocks today, chased the new puppy, read books, climbed on the swing set, crawled on the wet grass and tried really hard to climb bamboo. I swear that if the kid had a tail he could have made it--he was THAT close! It's so much fun seeing the world through a baby's eyes. I don't have the time I'd like with these little ones because of the distance, but I want them to remember Dabba when they're all grown up and I'm long gone...so right now, we're busy making memories.
That's Ella painting and Owen eating chalk.
I never knew my father's parents, but I have great memories of my maternal grandmother. She was a nurse with three small children who lost her first husband in the 1918 flu epidemic. She remarried my grandfather and had two more children, but he wasn't cut out for marriage and she divorced him, back in the day when divorce just wasn't done. She continued with her nursing and raised five children on her own, but she never lost her sense of humor or her strong will. I have great memories of her when I was growing up--she died when I was about twenty--but the times I spent with her added so much to my life in so many ways.
Of course, so did that grandfather of mine, the one we used to stop and visit at a little bar in the Napa Valley. He might not have been much of a family man, but he was a real cowboy and had great stories, and he, too, enriched my life. That's him in a photo taken up near Mount Shasta around 1921, where I've set my DemonSlayers series.
Families aren't always close. I'm so lucky to have mine--we don't always agree but I know that if I ever need anyone, they'd be there in a heartbeat. I love seeing our son and daughter--both of them in happy marriages with children--still get together and enjoy each others company. How about you? Any favorite grandparent memories, or a special time with an aunt or cousin or even an "adopted" relative--you know, the kind that are such good friends they become family? I'd love to hear them!
And thank you for letting me indulge myself with talking about the grandkids. Seeing them so rarely is a reminder of how much I'm missing with them, which also reminds me that I can't leave Gracie out! Here she is--artist at work. Do you remember being five? I wish I could, because I've decided it has to be about the perfect age!
The holidays are fast approaching, so I hope you'll join me in giving to the "One Way Farm."
Over the years, certain organizations have touched my heart in amazing ways. I've collected a list of my favorite places to donate.
...antidote to the glums.
YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN LOUISIANA IN JULY WHEN . . .
