Getting Something Accomplished

Sometimes I do my best thinking in that short span of time between my brain waking from a deep sleep and the rest of my body figuring out that I'm actually awake. I've spent the better part of the last month trying to figure out what to do with this book (the one I'm writing, that is), and this morning I woke up thinking it shouldn't be this difficult. Hard, yes. As HelenKay Dimon said in the post I referenced on Thursday, writing is hard. Being a writer takes work. But JT is forever saying that writer's block is merely your story's way of telling you something isn't right (yes, that's paraphrased, because she says it much better). So I've realized in my minor epiphany that what's wrong with this book is that I'm trying too hard to fix it when I'm not sure what the problem is.

I've done this before, of course. My previous manuscripts have all had one tiny little thing wrong with them that I couldn't see until well after the book was written but still not working. Once I figured out what that tiny little thing was, I was able to fix it, and now I have two pretty decent manuscripts completed. I discovered this morning that I'm at that point now, the point where the blinders I wear when I write have obscured the bigger picture so that I can't see the problem.

So my goal is to pull the blinders off, to look at the manuscript from an objective standpoint, and to find that missing element that when screwed in place will make this machine work like it's supposed to.

The to-do list is longer than my arm, but my CD player, John Williams, a few cats and one miniature beagle are here to keep me company, and with this fresh perspective I'm pretty sure I can get something accomplished today.

Wish me luck.

Expanding My Horizons

The TBR pile. There are still something like 150 to-be-read books on my bookshelves. I have managed to knock a few off (off the list, I mean, not off the shelves) - after A Kiss Gone Bad, I read The Two Deaths of Daniel Hayes, Pride and Prejudice and The Help - but by way of Christmas presents from my mother the numbers haven't changed much (we've added Dragonfly in Amber and Flipped Out to the stack).

Sigh. I do love to read.

The Classics. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love classical music. So the following shouldn't come as a surprise to any of you. Cue segue ...

My lovely and talented sister-from-another-mister and critique partner J.T. Ellison teamed up with equally lovely and talented authors Erica Spindler and Alex Kava to create a unique project - a novella in 3 parts, with each writer's protagonist working to bring down the same serial killer. It's called Slices of Night and is available in ebook format (I recommend the Nook version from Barnes and Noble). At its release on Christmas Eve it was available at a discount, and in order to read it I downloaded the Nook for PC reader. I love this thing. As avid a book (a hold it in your hands, read it over and over until it falls apart, made of actual paper book) lover as I am, having access to thousands of books at the click of a mouse is kinda appealing. With my download, I received 5 free ebooks, one of which was Pride and Prejudice - which, of course, I had just finished reading in the above-mentioned handheld form. Another was Bram Stoker's Dracula.

[Insert maniacal laughter here, accompanied by rubbing together of hands and gleeful skipping about the room.] With one Jane Austen under my belt and Stoker in my grasp, I decided to launch myself onto a classics reading binge. And that's the part that shouldn't surprise you.

Of course, this means the TBR pile has grown exponentially in the time it took me to type out this paragraph.

I have several "collections" heretofore mentioned (if not on this blog, then somewhere) of some of the best-known and best-loved stories of classic literature: John Steinbeck, Mark Twain, Robert Louis Stevenson. I have the complete works of Shakespeare, as well as the celebrated cases of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I'm thinking when I finish reading Dracula that The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a worthy applicant for my attention.

Renovations. In the meantime, the study makeover project I started before Thanksgiving is pretty much complete, and in my new cozy personal space I'm hard at work on the next manuscript. The storyboard is perched on an easel next to my writing desk, and the layout is coming together. I'm spending today (a rare day off alone) doing the kinds of things we writers do ... shaking off the day-job dust and getting back on track. I am inspired by the brilliance of my comrades-in-arms; this past weekend I ran a quick copyedit on JT's latest manuscript (it's amazing), and this morning I read this post about working hard at a job you love.

So here I am again, working hard.

Happy New Year to all, and to all a good read.

Learning to Focus

Do you ever have those days when you feel all out of focus and then something brings you back in? Life is busy, busy, busy - but for some reason I can't put my finger on, some days I feel like I'm just going through the motions. It's a very strange feeling to be out of touch with myself. I like having something to focus on because it helps me feel grounded. In touch. Having a purpose. Like working on the to-do list, which is getting out of hand again. Or reading a really good book. I did that this week. It reminded me why I do this writing thing.

Remember the Bookshelf Inventory Project? I've started at the top of the list and am working my way through the 150+ books I haven't read yet. Finally. One down, 149 to go.

First up was A Kiss Gone Bad by Jeff Abbott, an author I met several years ago at my favorite mystery fan conference in Birmingham. It's the first in his Whit Mosley series, and it starts the series off with a bang. Great stuff. I read Black Jack Point (Whit Mosley #2) shortly after (or was it shortly before?) I met Jeff and came by this copy of AKGB recently. Normally I like to start at the beginning of a series. When I don't have that opportunity, I like to go back and catch up when I can. In this case I'm glad I did.

I used to swear I'd never read more than one book at a time, and yet here I am years later doing just that. On my nightstand at the moment are several books with bookmarks in various places. I'm still plugging through The Chronicles of Narnia although it's been a while since I picked it up so I can't remember which of the 7 books I'm currently in the middle of. I'm finally getting to finish my pal River Jordan's Praying for Strangers. Shakespeare's Othello is my latest hunting ground for a title for the current WIP. And from the monstrous and never-ending TBR pile, I've just picked up Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. (Yes, shame on me, I haven't read it yet. Better late than never.)

In the midst of all this I'm working on the WIP, querying agents with the first two manuscripts, and prepping the study for a major decorative overhaul. (Today, I spackled. Spackled!)

I updated my Twitter profile yesterday to include a bit more about me than just "Author of romantic suspense." Because there is more to me than that, really. I think that may have been what started this state of focus I'm finding myself in. Today I actually (re)joined Publishers Marketplace (here's my page). Watched an industry video from an agent I queried. Wrote this blog post. And did I mention I spackled?

I suppose that by doing all these things I'm learning how to stay in that focused state. ("Things that make you go, hmmm ...") Maybe I should do stuff like this more often.

What's your focus on today?

Time Out

It's been a long week.

A long week.

I've decided that time is relative. Isn't it funny how we say "It's been a long day" or "It's been a long week" when the day or the week we've just lived wasn't any longer than the one before? There are the same number of hours in a day, the same number of days in a week. But when you've had a week like I've had, you know what I'm talking about when I say it's been a long week.

Everything's okay now. It's Saturday. It's an absolutely gorgeous Saturday here in the Mid-South. At my house it's 57 sunny degrees, and I'm staring out my kitchen windows at blue sky and green leaves, dogs in the yard and hummingbirds on the feeder. I'm sitting here listening to my iTunes playlist with my query letter and my agent list up and ready to work on, as well as a printed copy of the next manuscript in its very roughest condition on the table next to me, ready to start polishing. The house is quiet. Life is good.

It's also the first of October. The first of a month that's going to be incredibly busy for me - in my "real" life, that is. Not sure yet what's going to happen in the other half of my life, that half that involves the queries and the agent search and the writing and editing and submitting and everything else that goes along with it. I do have a plan, which is to spend as much time as possible on this side whenever and wherever I can.

Do wish me luck, won't you?

Music of the moment: My iTunes ("Mom's Playlist") is running in alphabetical order by song title. Crocodile Rock (Elton John) just ended. Now playing is Crucified with Christ by Phillips Craig & Dean. Yeah, it's an eclectic mix.

Remembering

September 11, 2001. I've seen a lot of blog posts and news stories over the past several days about what has come to be known as "9/11". There will be hundreds - even thousands - more today, the 10th anniversary of a day no one in America thought they'd ever see. There will be church services, temple services, and yes, even mosque services that will commemorate this day in one form or another. A lot of people will share a lot of memories - answering the question, "Where were you ...?"

Over the past 10 years I've done my best to avoid 'remembering' 9/11. I turned the station on the TV when anything about it came up. I didn't want to relive that day, didn't want to see the images, didn't want to hear the countless stories of loss and suffering. Of course I was affected by it. I don't believe there's a single person in this country who wasn't affected by it - everyone knows someone who knows someone who knew someone ... no one can rightly claim otherwise, because we live in a tiny little world where everyone is connected to some degree. And it wasn't that I wasn't 'remembering' - it's a day I'll never forget, just as millions of Americans will never forget. It was all just too personal, just too overwhelming. Just too incomprehensible. But I'm confident I wasn't alone in my aversion to the endless coverage, the endless stories, the endless heartache, the endless tears.

That's changed now. Somewhat. I still don't like to see the horror of that day splayed all over the television. What I'm beginning to appreciate more, in addition to the stories of heroism and sacrifice, are the accounts of coincidence and salvation, Divine intervention and genuine compassion. I read one such story yesterday, a firsthand narration of the events of that day by author Meg Cabot, who lived in Manhattan, mere blocks from the World Trade Center. Meg's story touched me in a way that made me realize there are probably hundreds if not thousands of stories just like hers, that help make a little sense of an otherwise senseless event.

Our story isn't nearly so touching or heartbreaking, but since it's true that everyone has a story to share, I'll share mine. It was an ordinary Tuesday at our house - except that I was home, in bed and asleep, sick with an upper respiratory infection that would keep me knocked down and away from work for nearly a week. My husband had the day off as well, and we'd put the kids on the bus and gone back to bed.

The phone rang somewhere around 8:00 a.m. our time. It was the kids' godmother, a longtime family friend who works at the corporate office of one of the major banks in downtown Nashville.

"Are you watching the news?" she asked.

"No. What's going on?"

"Turn on the television. It's bad. It's just really bad." And she hung up.

We turned the TV on in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center.

From that moment on, for the rest of the day and into the evening, we were glued to the coverage. It was horrifying. Unfathomable. We kept asking ourselves the same question over and over: How could something like this happen?

When our kids arrived home from school that afternoon, the first thing our son, then 10 years old, said when they walked through the door was, "The Twin Towers collapsed!"

They sat with us and watched the news. We prayed. We cried. They asked questions we couldn't answer. We prayed and cried some more. Their godmother called back later, sobbing. Some of the 3000 people who died in the towers that day were colleagues, people she talked to on the phone every single day at work. One of them always addressed her as "Hotshot." She said, "I can't believe I'm not going to hear him say, 'Hey, Hotshot' ever again."

What do you say to that?

All we could do then, and all we can do now, is offer a shoulder to cry on, a hug, and a prayer. (Brace yourself, 'cause I'm gonna preach for a second.) Our pastor said in his sermon this morning that 9/11 was a wake-up call to America. That it should be a wake-up call to Christians everywhere: We need to pray for this country, for its leaders (even if we don't agree with the way they're running things), and for its protection.

Lastly, and most especially, pray that nothing like 9/11 will ever happen again.

God bless America.

This, That and The Other Thing

A little of this. "This" is my life in the real world. That is, I have a day job. True, it's only part-time, but that makes me a part-time writer. A lot of writers have day jobs. Unless you're Lee Child or James Patterson or J.T. Ellison or Tess Gerritsen or Nora Roberts or Charlaine Harris, you pretty much have to have a day job, because there's that little matter of having bills to pay and kids to send to college and ... well, you get the general idea. I'm sure there are more of the fortunate few I didn't mention by name, but it's a scant few compared to the rest of us thousands of writers who haven't achieved that status. The writers I did name have bills to pay and kids to send to college, too, but they also have something the rest of us don't - writing is their day job. It's a goal, a dream, an ambition that a lot of us aspire to, to be able to write and not have to work a day job. I know I do - I want to be a writer full-time, instead of part-time. Now that's not to say I don't love my day job. I wouldn't be there if I didn't, because it's truly a blessing to work where I work. But I know in my heart of hearts what I'm meant to do, and I look forward to that "someday" when working a day job will be something I won't have to do.

"This" is part of what's been occupying a majority of my time over the past several months. But only part. Read on.

A little of that. "That" would be the other half of my life in the real world - my family: one very supportive and understanding hubby; three great kids; and our zoo (three dogs and three cats). Each and every one requires a chunk of my time, though obviously for different reasons. Our summer seemed nonstop this year, filled with church camps and fishing trips, movies, shopping for groceries and shopping for school, a new drainage system in the front flowerbed and a new puppy, car repairs and car repairs (and yes, I said that twice), visiting relatives, birthday parties and family dinners, both in and out. Our oldest is out on her own now. Our son and his girlfriend found an apartment to share for their last two years at college. Our youngest is deciding on her own career path and where she wants to go to school next year. All of them still need advice from mom and dad on a regular basis. Not to mention that my husband and I do like to spend time together occasionally. But there are only so many hours in a day, and only one of me to go around. It's a balancing act. Which brings us to ...

A whole lotta the other thing. A writer's life is a lot of hurry up and wait. Hurry, get that manuscript finished. Hurry, write that query letter. Hurry, get it submitted. Now wait. And wait. And wait some more. And while you're waiting, hurry up and write the next one. Over the past few months (in between the this and the that), I have been working furiously on a revision of a novel I wrote some years back, whose time just hadn't come yet. Now it seems it may have - it's being looked at. In the meantime, we're still waiting to hear on the first one, which is in the hands of an agent who offered to read it. We're in that fingers-crossed holding pattern at the moment with the first two, but I'm about to start working on the next one. Because that's what we do, us writers. We write.

Among other things - you know, a little of this and a little of that.

You're killing me, Smalls ...

Jane Austen said, "Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings."

True, Jane. Very true.

I have discovered the meaning of that quote, especially over the last few years. My life is pretty much go, run, do. Having three children - three active in everything children - will do that to you.

But I've also noticed that things do, in fact, seem to be slowing down as I get older. Not so much go and run anymore, still quite a bit of do. It's scary, how quickly time flies after 40. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to cram several years' worth of accomplishments into a 24-hour period. And I have to keep telling myself I can't do that. My inner voice just shakes its head and says, "You're killing me, Smalls."

One thing I've been doing a lot more of lately - to my own benefit - has been reading. It's hard to put into words the joy that floods my soul when I escape into someone else's world for a while.

One of the patients where I work (the day job) lent me a book called The Map Thief by Heather Terrell. I liked the premise of this story - a modern-day art sleuth is hired to recover an ancient map stolen from an archeological dig, and the present day storyline is intertwined with historical accounts of the map's journey into existence and history in two separate time periods. As a writer myself I can appreciate the time and effort that went into the researching of this book, and I enjoyed this author's depiction of the 'what if' factor with respect to the historical events. I also enjoyed the book overall, though I was a little disappointed with the structure, as the book didn't seem to flow from past to present and back as fluently as other books of this type that I've read (see my notes on Christi Phillips' The Rossetti Letter and The Devlin Diary, for instance). And - spoiler alert! - being a romantic at heart, I was more than a little disappointed with the way Terrell ended the book with regard to the romance between the art sleuth and the archeologist. I'm not a fan of being left hanging with no promise of a resolution.

Although anyone who knows me knows I am a believer, it might surprise you to learn that I'm not big on "inspirational" reading - either fiction or nonfiction. I try to read the Bible on a daily basis (in fact, I have an app on my phone with different plans for reading and studying the Word - it's pretty cool), and occasionally someone will recommend a book that I'm willing to give a chance. Additionally, I belong to our church's women's ministry book club, and we meet every couple of months or so to discuss selected works - both fiction and nonfiction - some of which I'll take the time to read and some of which I will admittedly (and unashamedly, really) not. For our last meeting we chose a sweet little book called Heaven is for Real, the story of a 4-year-old boy who slipped into unconciousness during emergency surgery, returning to his family and full health with an amazing account of how he had visited heaven, accurately describing both his great-grandfather (who had died 30 years before he was born) and his sister (whom his mother had miscarried and about whom he was never told). Those ladies in the book club who had already read the book assured me that I could finish it in a day (I actually finished it in about 3-1/2 hours). The thing I enjoyed most about this book was that though it was written by the boy's father (Todd Burpo, a small town Nebraska pastor) - along with a professional writer, Lynn Vincent - the story is often related in little Colton's own words, which makes it both appealing and believable.

Another inspirational nonfiction book I'm currently reading (and absolutely loving) is my friend River Jordan's Praying for Strangers: An Adventure of the Human Spirit. A couple of years ago, River made a New Year's resolution to pray for a stranger every day, and this book is her account of how that decision affected her own spiritual journey. I'm only about a third of the way through it but it's a simply beautiful book. I love the way River writes, both her fiction and her nonfiction; I'm a bit envious of the way she can put together fluid sentences that steal the breath from your very soul. I've previously mentioned here her most recent fiction novel, The Miracle of Mercy Land. If you haven't read anything by this charming and dear lady, please rectify that!

My ever-inspiring critique partner gave me (actually bought and had shipped to and demanded that I read) a book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. Yes, that Steven Pressfield, the one who wrote The Legend of Bagger Vance. The War of Art ranks right up there with Stephen King's On Writing for anyone who wants to call themselves a professional writer. Remember what Yoda said? "Do or do not. There is no try." JT is using this as her new sign-off on her emails. It's more or less the theme of Pressfield's book. Either you're a writer, or you're not. There is no in-between. The one nugget of advice from the book that stuck with me is that amateurs talk about it, professionals do it. 'Nuff said.

I've said repeatedly that my dream job is to be a film critic - combining two of my favorite vices: writing and watching movies. I'm so tickled to have a Netflix subscription. Last weekend Little Bit and I watched Inkheart. How apropos, a movie about a book (and based on the popular children's novel of the same name by Cornelia Funke). Brendan Fraser and Eliza Bennett play a father (Mo) and daughter (Meggie) who share an unusual gift - they can read characters to life out of books. When one of the characters who comes out of the book turns out to be a treacherous villain, Mo and Meggie must find a way to read him back into the book. It was delightfully fantastic (and I mean fantastic in the truest sense of the word).

Today is the rainy day we've all been saving for ... a perfect day for snuggling up with a good book. That's what's on tap for me for the next couple hours, until these storms pass through far enough that I can drive down to the oldest daughter's place and help her finish moving.

So, what are you reading?

Good Days and Bad Days

Cats and dogs. You automatically think rain, right? Well, yes, it has been raining rather more than seems normal around here so far this season. But I'm literally talking about cats and dogs this time, in concordance with the title of this post.

Every day is a good day for a cat. A cat's life consists of eating, napping and playing. Day in and day out. All day long. Every day a new adventure, exploring the house for new and interesting smells and new and interesting things to play with.

Case in point. Merlot (technically our oldest daughter's cat, of whom we have temporary custody) is currently sitting behind my laptop, rummaging through the large plastic stadium cup full of pens and pencils that sits on the left back corner of my desk. It's the same cup that's been there for months, with the same pens and pencils in it that he's played with before, and yet he's pawing at it as if it's some fascinating new thing.

He slinks down off the desk and saunters over to my recliner, on which our miniature beagle, Calliope, is napping, intent on causing whatever mayhem he can stir up by popping her on the snout with a splayed (clawless) paw. There's the dog's life. Pretty much same as the cat's, only the napping involves a snoring, deep-seated sleep which leaves the pup groggy for a minute or two upon wakening - whereas the cat by definition does not sleep so much as rest with its eyes closed, then awakens with a start to run off and chase whatever the new and interesting item of the moment may be (in this case, the dog).

Oh, to be a cat, and there would be no such thing as a bad day. Cats don't care if their bosses yell at them, or if they get stuck in traffic in the rain and miss their daughter's rugby game, or if they forget to order their son's new flannel bedsheets so that they'll be ready for him when he gets home for spring break.

Cats don't care if they write endlessly for days and end up cranking out nothing but blibbering drivel, a pile of superfluous crap which must subsequently be deleted and rewritten.

Balance. Fortunately, we humans have a slight advantage over cats and dogs - we possess the power of positive thinking. We can take our bad days in stride, knowing there are good days ahead. We can find and revel in the joy that is balance. Last Friday may have been a bad day for me, but the days that followed were good enough to make up for it.

On Saturday I braved the rain to go to JT's only Nashville signing for So Close the Hand of Death, the sixth book in her Taylor Jackson series - she (seated right) was joined by author Sophie Littlefield (seated left), an altogether delightful woman who writes three different series (I've added the first book of her crime fiction one to my tottering TBR pile). They were both charming and lovely and entertaining and a well-deserved, much-needed boost for my sagging spirits.

Monday was also a good day. (Given that this is usually a contradiction in terms, I was pleasantly surprised.) Our oldest came home for the day and treated me and her brother to a lovely lunch at our favorite local Mexican restaurant, and I was able to rest and recoup from the week-long sinus infection I'd been battling.

Finally, Wednesday night was our bimonthly writers' group meeting, and though there were only three of us there, it was a very productive and beneficial session. With the others' input, I am revitalized, inspired and motivated once more to work on the heretofore referenced pile of superfluous crap I've been writing.

I have a feeling today's gonna be another good day.

The Bookshelf Inventory Project

Back in August I mentioned my goal of sorting and organizing the bookcases in my study. Well, here we are, six months later, and the project is just about complete. And I've discovered I really wasn't exaggerating the numbers. I should've taken "before" pictures but neglected to, but here are the "after"s:


As you can see, the eight shelves are pretty much packed to the gills. And yes, these books are in some semblance of order - alphabetic by author, for the most part, given I'm a bit particular about stacking books by size. I now have a spreadsheet (appropriately entitled 'Bookshelf Inventory 2011') with the titles and authors of all the books on these shelves. I also marked the ones I'd read - and here's where the numbers come in.

Of the 321 books catalogued in this inventory, there are 150 that I haven't read yet.

That's a lot of books.

So, the goal is a book a week, right? Which means it will take me just on the shy side of three years to read them all.

Sigh.

During the five days it took me to complete this project, I did what I said I'd never do - I boxed up a fair number of books that I will be ... oh, it just hurts to say it out loud. Getting rid of. Ouch. Some will go to McKay's. Some will go to the church library. Others will be returned to their rightful owners, from whom I have gratefully borrowed and merely forgotten to give back.

Of the ones remaining, some I've had for several years - some are newer. All are worthy of my time and attention, so I hope you'll bear with me as I go through the shelves and report on them (however briefly). Along the way, I hope you'll chime in with comments on those you've read or those you'd recommend to others.

Happy reading!

Resolutions, Schmezolutions ...

As posted on my Facebook page this afternoon: "Starting off the new year with a sinus infection does not motivate one to work on one's manuscript. Especially when flannel sheets are calling one's name."

It's difficult at best to come up with anything remotely profound when your head is full of ... well, suffice to say I am not firing on all cylinders at the moment. JT and I conversed briefly this afternoon (one of her lines was, you're sick again?), and I vaguely remember telling her that I firmly believed a nap was going to rejuvenate me so that I could get some writing done.

Between the telephone, the WGH and Little Bit coming home from work and school, respectively, and gathering the trash so LB could take it to the dump, said nap has yet to come to fruition. There is, however, a half gallon of Gatorade sitting on the table next to my laptop. For some reason, drinking Gatorade when I'm sick always seems to help me feel better. Maybe it's the electrolytes; that whole hydration is good for the body thing. What do I know? I'm a writer, not a scientist.

I have attempted in the past to make reasonable resolutions for the new year, most of which fall flat somewhere around, oh, February. Weight loss is always a challenge. Keeping the house clean (stop laughing, dear) - June Cleaver, I am not. One "resolution" that I held to fairly well for a couple of years was my attempt to read at least one book per week for an entire year. Fifty-two books in a year seems doable, don't you think? Heh. Have you seen my life? I actually did manage upwards of 35 or so for the two consecutive years I tried that.

I read a lot as a child. And I mean A LOT. My thirst for books has never waned over the years, but the opportunities for quiet reading time were sparse when I was in college, even more so when the kiddos came along. I did read to them, and I am proud to say that all three are good readers. LB is a lot like I was - you rarely see her without a book in her hands.

Fortunately, as my children have aged, my life has started to slow down (and yes, that's a relative term) so that I'm able to read A LOT again. In the past few weeks, for example, I've moved four books from the To-Be-Read pile to the ... er, Done-Been-Read? ... shelf.

Jennie Bentley is a friend of mine, a lovely woman and a writer I love to read. Her third DIY mystery, Plaster and Poison, is just as darling as the first two in the series. These are the kinds of books I like to read when I need something fresh and fun, light and zippy but still holds my interest with a well-written puzzle to solve.

A coworker lent me a Nicholas Sparks, whom I've not read before (I know, gasp). I'd heard differing opinions on his books, some favorable, some not, so The Lucky One surprised me. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, and although this one had a bit of a tragic twist, it satisfied my requirements quite nicely.

My sweet friend and fellow writers' group member we affectionately call Dingo gave me a book to read as a "gift" for our annual Christmas party, and I was delighted to discover that it was by an author I was familiar with - Christi Phillips - having done a review on her second book, The Devlin Diary, in a previous life.

The gift/loan was Phillips' first, The Rossetti Letter, and it was every bit as enjoyable. I'm becoming a huge fan of historical fiction, and Phillips' books combine modern-day mystery with historical romantic suspense for a fast-paced, sexy story. And I actually learned some things.

One of my top picks of 2010 is a book I mentioned back in October, The Miracle of Mercy Land by another friend, River Jordan. This is one of the most beautifully written books I have ever read (and I'm not just saying that because I know the author). The pace is perfect, the story riveting, the prose flows with grace and a hearty helping of Southern charm. Really. You have to read this book.

Currently on my nightstand is another loaner, a book called The Map Thief, another of those that combines modern action with historical settings - in this case, two different scenarios set in disparate time frames. It's early on in the reading yet, but so far it's not too bad - we'll just say the jury's still out.

So, what are you reading?

So much for that idea ...

As you've probably figured out by now, my November didn't exactly go as planned. That's not to say I haven't been writing. As a matter of fact, I've been working very hard on this manuscript. It's been going in stages, though, because it's a revision rather than a from-scratch, start at the beginning and write until it's finished project.

So, we'll start with the bad news. There's no way I'm going to be able to say with any degree of legitimacy that I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days. I won't "win" NaNoWriMo this year.

The good news? Where do I begin?

What's in a name? For starters, this book finally has a title. Yay. My illustrious critique partner and Wonder Twin has this thing about titles - she says she can't write a book unless it has a title first. And her titles are undeniably fabulous - four of the six are her originals (as you may or may not know, the title an author gives a book may not necessarily be the one the publisher sends to press). I'm more subscribed to the school of thought that a title can be added after the fact - although admittedly it gives me a better sense of direction if I can establish a title that fits the story. I usually come up with a title that works for me when I have the bare bones of the story down.

To say that I admire Shakespeare would be a gross miscarriage of justice. The Bard fascinates me. While I am woefully lacking in any scholarly knowledge of the man or his works, I still love to read him for the simple joy of the language. And the more I read, the more I learn, so maybe someday I'll be able to amend the above disclaimer. For now, what I take away from his works are snippets of genius that provide me with the titles for my books. Some writers have title patterns (e.g., John Sandford's Prey series, Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels - even John Grisham's books, with a few notable exceptions, have a common title theme). I am one of those writers - at least until my future publisher (whoever that may be) decides to accept or reject my theory. No Evil Lost is from The Comedy of Errors. The new book's title - One Sweet Kiss - is taken from Master Will's poem Venus and Adonis. One of the lovely ladies in our critique group gets credit for steering me in that direction (thanks, Dingo!).

The gist of it. During the first week of NaNoWriMo, Harlequin sponsored a program called "So You Think You Can Write?" on their blog - a five-day workshop on writing romance; how-to tips, advice from HQ writers and editors, and daily challenges where they invited writers to submit first chapters, query letters, and questions. The Final Challenge was to submit a first chapter and synopsis. Encouraged, prodded and generally kicked in the seat by my critique group, I submitted my entry. Which meant I had to write a full synopsis of the book. Which meant I had to really nail down what it was about and what would happen over the course of the story. Most of it was in my head, tumbling around without a finite sense of order, but getting it on paper really helped me focus on the details. By that point I'd not accomplished very much toward the total word count, but at least I'd accomplished something to build on. And build I did.

Higher math. Word count is a tricky thing. No, I did not write 50,000 this month. I did, however, delete about that much from the previous version of the manuscript. More importantly, I added 18,251 words of almost entirely original material - er, meaning, of course, that I re-used some of what I'd written before.

No excuses. I didn't accomplish what I set out to accomplish at the beginning of this month. I could list myriad reasons why ... day job, illness, laziness, Thanksgiving (14 people at the house for the day), and a bazillion other distractions. But there are no real excuses. When you're a writer, you make time to write. You just ... write.

What I did do was to accomplish a lot more than just slapping words on a page to reach a goal that might not mean much in the long run. What I did was to make real progress on this manuscript, and we're in a far better place now than we were when this madness started.

For my own sense of self-worth, it's not the win that counts, it's how you run the race. And I'm still running.

A Month of Madness

November is National Novel Writing Month - affectionately referred to as NaNoWriMo. I did NaNoWriMo a few years back and came up with what is actually now (after many, many revisions) the manuscript currently on submission, No Evil Lost.

This year, I'm going to do NaNoWriMo again. The concept is simple - write 50,000 words in 30 days. No editing. No polishing. Just flat-out frenetic writing. Get words on page.

I'll try to put my word count up every couple of days just so you can keep track of my progress. You'll be my accountability partners - knowing I have to report in will motivate me to keep going. Keep in mind, the day job monopolizes my Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so I won't be writing much (if at all) on those days. But Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays - count on the numbers going up, up, up.

And feel free to wish me luck. Me and the other 100,000+ writers who are about to settle in for a month of crazy.

Are you a WriMo?

A Book Lover's Paradise

The second weekend in October is highlighted on my calendar every year. This is the weekend that Humanities Tennessee hosts the Southern Festival of Books, a 3-day, free festival that offers book lovers a veritable smorgasbord of authors, publishers and booksellers. In one capacity or another, I have gone to or participated in SFB for about the past 7 years. This year was one I've enjoyed more than most.

For starters, my good friend and first independent reader (we call her the WMVR, or World's Most Voracious Reader) flew in from Florida for the weekend. I haven't seen her in a couple of years, and it was good for both of us. The two of us yutzed around the Festival on Friday and Saturday - the weather was perfect, the crowd was good, and the panels we chose to attend (see below) were entertaining and well-organized.

The WMVR doesn't read books, she devours them (that's a direct quote from her dad). And she's what we call a superfan. We writers love these people. They genuinely appreciate the effort that goes into our writing, the cultivation of our art and craft. They're well-read and knowledgeable about not only our books, but about literature in general. I stand in awe of those like the WMVR (and both my daughters, for that matter) who can read a book a day. And they encourage others to read - case in point to follow.

The first panel we attended on Friday included my sweet friend Bente Gallagher/Jennie Bentley (on the right). I've read the first two of Jennie's Do-It-Yourself mystery series, Fatal Fixer-Upper and Spackled and Spooked, and am currently reading DIY#3, Plaster and Poison. Too cute - well written and very readable. At the Festival, she talked about her new series, the Savannah Martin Real Estate series, and her first, A Cutthroat Business, is on my to-be-purchased list.

Later that afternoon we selected a panel that another writer friend was on, and discovered why The Pulpwood Queen's Book Club is "the largest 'meeting and discussing' book club in the world." Founder and Original PQ Kathy Patrick (center) was the moderator; her Friday panel featured "Great New Southern Fiction" and included (R to L) my friend River Jordan, Michael Morris (a delightful Southern gentleman), the adorable Denise Hildreth Jones, and the lovely Melissa Conroy. My bank account is not going to like me much when I drain the life out of it buying their books.

River and fellow Southern writer Susan Gregg Gilmore joined forces on Saturday morning for "Nixing the Nest: Novels of Women Ahead of Their Times." I've read Susan's wonderful second book, The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove (see this post from August), her first (Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen) is now on my TBP list, and I'm currently reading River's The Miracle of Mercy Land.

(By the way, I have a tee shirt that our beloved Mamasan from my writers' group gave me a couple of years ago that says, "So many books, so little time." Are you getting the idea that this statement is my mantra?)

After a quick lunch of delicious pulled pork on the Plaza, we trucked up to the Capitol building for the highlight of our weekend - the panel featuring my uber-fabulous Wonder Twin JT Ellison (right), the super-cool Libby Fischer Hellmann (left) and the simply spectacular Erica Spindler (center). These ladies held their audience captive for an hour and a half talking about their thrilling books. JT's I've read, of course, but now Erica and Libby have a new fan (i.e., yours truly). The WMVR has read several of Erica's books and has added Libby to her new-found authors list.

The case in point I mentioned a few minutes ago? We went up to the Signing Colonnade after JT, Libby and Erica's panel, and we were walking around the sales tables (lined up end to end to end in a rectangle about 40 feet or so long by 10 wide, stacked and stacked and stacked with books - did I not tell you it was paradise?). We stopped near JT's stacks, and the WMVR got to talking with a couple of the Festival volunteers, two young ladies about high school age, who both said they liked to read but had not brought any money with them. Turns out they attend the very high school that's featured in JT's latest book, The Immortals. JT and I were talking and perusing, and the WMVR went over to the cash register to pay for her selections. A minute later, one of the other volunteers came up, handed JT two copies of her book and asked her to sign them for the teenagers - the WMVR had purchased them each a book. As she put it, "Anything to get kids to read." How awesome is that? (JT was beside herself. She said, "She really is a neat lady, isn't she?" Yes. Yes, she is.)

All in all, the weekend was - to put it mildly - ah-MAY-zing. There's nothing like abundant sunshine, thousands of books and throngs of book-loving people to get your spirits up. Can't wait to do it all over again next year.

Sigh. So many books, so little time ...

Let's Do Lunch

Indulge me for a few minutes while I engage in a brief exercise. (Yes, it's a writing thing.)

On Thursday, I had lunch with a few other writers and book lovers, organized by the fabulous River Jordan. My critique partner/Wonder Twin was there, along with this very nice writer/professor guy (whom I have known for quite some time now), as well as a few new faces (incredibly interesting Brad, bubbly adorable Tomi, sweet lovely Gloria - all of whom were great company). We gathered at the Capitol Grille, the restaurant in the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville.

Thank God for the Internet.

I'd never been there, but I'm thinking this is definitely not the kind of place that you can schlep in wearing your faded jeans and WILL TALK BOOKS WITH ANYONE t-shirt. No. (Picture Julia Roberts walking into the Regent Beverly Wilshire for the first time in Pretty Woman.)

So I find and peruse the website. Valet parking. Dress code. Doormen in those uniforms. FIVE. STARS.

I am not - not, I tell you - a 5-star hotel/restaurant kind of gal. I'm way more comfortable in said jeans and t-shirt than I am in a dress. But dress I did (blouse and skirt and sandals, quite appropriate, I discovered), and let the buff guy in the black slacks and golf shirt park my Honda, and let the doorman direct me to the restaurant (to the right and down the stairs, miss), and proceeded to enjoy a lovely lunch (quite reasonably priced, actually) with old friends and new. I even used my knife and fork (although admittedly did eat my dainty chips of the fish-and-chips special with my fingers, as everyone else who had it did too).

I felt so uptown, tipping the valet when he brought my car back. But I tell you, I couldn't get those nylons off fast enough when I got home.

Saturday, hubby had a rehearsal with the Nashville Praise Symphony (of which he has been a member since its inception in 2002 - pardon my pride moment there). Our youngest and her friend went with me to help serve lunch to the orchestra members. We set up tables, set out the food, poured drinks and cleaned up afterward. A couple of the other wives rounded out the serving team. As I stood back and observed the crowd (a sometimes unnerving habit of mine), I couldn't help but marvel at the stark contrast between the two days.

It's quite a study, really.

Thursday: Suits and skirts, valets and doormen, tips and tablecloths, and one stunning art deco men's room (yeah, you're supposed to see it, even if you're not men - JT took me in there). A relatively quiet, conservative atmosphere. Me, being served, even pampered a little.

Saturday: Jeans, t-shirts, shorts, golf shirts. Big Baptist church choir room. Lots of activity and fellowship. Me, serving other people.

As a writer, I can look at the two scenes as described above and picture them in my head (the fact that I was present for both aside). Can you? And can you see the differences beyond what I've listed here? You can picture it, can't you?

These are the kinds of things we think about when we're setting a scene. With a few notable but rare exceptions, not every story takes place in exactly the same setting, scene to scene. Right? Wouldn't you, as a reader, be bored to tears without a little variety (as I said, notable exceptions notwithstanding) within the story? The most exciting aspect of this is that every reader has his/her own imagination that fills in whatever gaps we writers might leave (purposely, because less is more), and may see each scene just a tiny bit differently than someone else sees it.

Character and plot are important, obviously, but you have to have setting to complete the triangle. How exciting would James Bond be if you couldn't see where he was? Or Lucas Davenport? Jack Reacher? And Taylor Jackson? I'm admittedly a bit biased when it comes to Taylor, but JT does an outstanding job of describing Nashville in her series. She insists the city is a character in and of itself, and it is, especially the way she draws it.

It would be interesting to see a list of books that you (gentle readers) consider great that take place all in one setting. I'm sure there are some out there, and I'll beg your forgiveness that I don't know any off the top of my head. But feel free to contribute your picks in the comments section. Or, if you want to expound on any that do incorporate setting well, please don't hesitate to list those too. We'd all like to see what you see.

Wouldn't we?

I have an idea ...

It's the age-old question, the one every writer on the planet has been asked at least once (if not a bazillion times) - where do you get your ideas for your books? And every writer on the planet has pretty much the same answer, albeit in many, many different forms. The simple answer, at least from where I'm sitting, is ... from life itself.

For instance, after I dropped our youngest off at school this morning, I took the back way home, and at a stop sign I pulled up behind an SUV that had a Northern Arizona University sticker on the back window, along with an NAU Alumni license plate frame. (Having been born in Arizona and having spent part of my Air Force Brat childhood there, whenever I see anything from or about Arizona, it captures my attention.) My first thought was, I'm going to have to hit the Interweb when I get home and find out where Northern Arizona University is, exactly. (It’s in Flagstaff, in case you’re interested.) My second thought was, how did an NAU grad end up in Tennessee?

And there it is. It sprouts from a tiny seed of wonder into a full-blown barrage of questions. Was this person originally from Arizona? If so, where? How did s/he end up at NAU? What did s/he study there? What brought him/her to Tennessee? Is s/he married? Does s/he have children who might be going to school with mine? What does s/he do for a living now?

These are the kinds of questions you ask yourself, as a writer, when you're creating a character. Where did s/he come from? Where is s/he going? What makes him/her tick? Once you have your character in mind, then you get to wonder things like, what kind of job does this person have? What if s/he's, I don't know, say ... a cop? Or a private investigator? A lawyer? Which leads to more questions: Is s/he going to work, placing the SUV in this exact spot in front of me so that I could begin to wonder about all these things? What does this job have in store for this person today? What if this lawyer's most important client just discovered a dead body in his house ... and it isn't anyone he knows?

And there's an idea for a story. Admittedly not a great one, but maybe now you see my point. Ideas for our books take root and grow from the tiniest, sometimes most innocent, innocuous thoughts. And they grow, and grow, and eventually you have 95- to 100,000 words expanding on that single, tiny thought.

Our kitchen has a bay window that overlooks our back yard from second-story height. To the south of the window, off the hallway that leads to the garage and the other levels of the house, is a deck. Attached to the deck rail on the north side is a hummingbird feeder, which is strategically placed so that I can see it from - you guessed it - the bay window in the kitchen.

I love to sit here at the table and watch the hummingbirds. I watch the field birds (cardinals, finches, chickadees, jays, and the occasional woodpecker or oriole) eat from our bird feeders, which are smack in the middle of the back yard. I watch McCartney and Calliope (our English shepherd and miniature beagle, respectively) play and romp and chase each other all over the place. In the fall, I watch the deer come out of the woods to graze the long, flat rectangle of grass between the back of our yard and our neighbor's. And I sit at my kitchen table, watching the birds and dogs and deer and thanking God I have the ability and intelligence and insight to do this, because it brings me to a place of peace and relaxation so that my mind is free to ponder on the things I have observed, those things from whence my ideas for writing come.

What about you other writers? Do you answer this question - where do your ideas come from - in the same way? Do you look at life and say, what if ... ?

The TBR Pile

Anyone who reads knows that at any given time she might have half a dozen or more books on the ol' TBR (that's To Be Read) pile. And by 'or more' I, of course, mean 87.

You think I'm exaggerating. Let me assure you I am not. As a matter of fact, I'm probably underestimating the actual total by ... well, a lot.

Now that I am free of some extra writing obligations, I'm making a promise of sorts to myself. A few years ago I set out to read at least one book a week (and almost made it, 2 years in a row). I'm going to try again. At that book-per-week rate, I have enough on the TBR pile to get through the next year and a half (at least).

At some point I really need to go through the bazillion (again, not exaggerating) books on my study shelves, sort and reorganize them. I'm not a type A personality, really. But it's just a real mess. I have books shelved and double-shelved, stacked and double-stacked. It's bordering on ridiculous. My husband suggested at one point in the past that I should (gasp) get rid of some of them. My look of horror followed by the rather feral snarl that erupted from deep within my core must have been enough to convince him to never (ever) make that suggestion again.


Tuesday last my Wonder Twin and I met up at a book signing at Davis-Kidd Booksellers here in Nashville. I have a hard time going to a book signing and not buying the author's book. In this case, I'm very glad I did. Currently on my nightstand is a lovely Southern fiction book called The Improper Life of Bezellia Grove by Susan Gregg Gilmore. I'm less than halfway through it at this point, but I only started it yesterday. Let me just say - AH. MAY. ZING. As soon as I finish this one I'm putting Susan's first, Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen, on the To Be Purchased list. Sigh. Which also has about 87 books on it.

It's a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon in the South. The weather forecast is pretty much the same for the entire week - abundant sunshine with highs in the upper 80s to low 90s. Which would be gorgeous if it weren't for the humidity that seems to be a prerequisite for any state south of the Mason-Dixon line. Perfect for staying in the AC and reading a book.

What's on your TBR pile?

Reading, Writing, and ... No, Just Reading and Writing

I can now say I have read the entire Twilight series. And enjoyed reading it. But I'm not going to get into a long, drawn-out, detailed, element-by-element comparison between Twilight and Harry Potter, as I've seen happen waaaaaay too often in the forums devoted to such. On my list, Harry wins. Hands down.

As a writer, I tend to be - at least subconsciously - more critical when I read. I'm reading our church book club selection, and it's a lovely book, but I almost threw the thing across the room when the author described this particular Veteran's Day as one of the warmest of October. What went through my mind at the time was, how did the author make that mistake and nobody catch it?

Because my Wonder Twin is about to release her fifth novel, I've learned a bit about how the whole manuscript-to-book process works. At least four people (sometimes more) read the thing before it goes to print. Could one of these four not have fixed this glaring error? (To be fair, it may only be glaring to me, considering I'm the daughter of a veteran, but still. Look at a calendar, for Pete's sake.)

Our critique group has an unwritten list of rules for writing well. One of these rules is, Variety is Queen. Especially when it comes to adjectives (which are not evil, really). Don't use the same word to describe something over and over again, or even different somethings ... for instance, do you have any idea how many synonyms there are for the word 'good'? The late, great George Carlin used to do a bit about 'nice' - "He's so nice, and she's so nice, and they're so nice together, and isn't that nice?" And from one of my fave movies, Pretty Woman: "I'm fine." / "That's seven 'fines' since we left the match. Could I have another word, please?" / "[Expletive]. There's a word." / "I think I liked 'fine' better."

Maybe I'm hypersensitive, or hypercritical. Maybe it's just ingrained in my psyche from being in my fabulous writers' group. But when I read books that break our rules, I cringe. Not that I always follow them, either, but just as there are unwritten rules with our group, there also seem to be unwritten exceptions. Not always, but sometimes.

Today I'm reading more than I'm writing. I added 3000 words to the WIP over the weekend, most of which will constitute my 10 pages to take to group Wednesday night. I'll be out of pocket tomorrow evening, so I'll probably print those 10 pages today so they'll be ready. That small burden lifted leaves me time to finish this book club selection as well as catch up a bit on my saved industry articles I've been promising myself I'd read.

Sigh. So much to do, so little time.

What are you reading?

Girls' Day Out

My youngest and I are going up to the lake to spend the day with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law - 'just us girls,' while the boys are on their annual fishing trip.

I'm taking three books with me - finally got Breaking Dawn back; also have a book called Babydoll (a Saylor Oz mystery by Allyson Roy) and Karen Kingsbury's Take Four that we're reading for our church book club. Not that I expect to get all three read today, of course. But I do expect to make a huge dent ... er, let's say move the bookmark back a lot of pages.

Our day is all about relaxing and enjoying the quiet of our surroundings and doing practically nothing. Last year it was just my MIL and I, so we'll have to see how adding 2 more to the mix affects the dynamic. I have a feeling there will be card games in our future too.

Enjoy your day today - if you're in the South like me, it's darn hot, so keep cool. We're apparently going to be spending the day in the camper with the AC on. I'm okay with that. ;)

And read a book!

A Writing Day

I have a lot on my plate today. The to-do list is 9 or 10 items long. But prominently featured on today's list is a goal of writing 1500 words.

Having a day job, I don't get many writing days.

Let me rephrase that. Having a day job and a household to maintain (1 hubby, 3 kids, 4 cats and 2 dogs), I don't get many writing days.

But hubby and our son are off on their annual fishing trip, our oldest is now living in her own apartment, and the youngest spent the night at her best friend's house, so I have 3500 square feet of pure peace and quiet in which to write. As my uber-fabulous critique partner would say: Bliss.

Time to put on the music and ... well, write.

Is today a writing day for you?

Recent Reads

I have read some terrific books lately but have been woefully neglectful about sharing them here. Bad, bad me. So, without further ado ...

Notes from the Underwire: Adventures from My Awkward and Lovely Life by Quinn Cummings. A new friend gave this to me for my birthday eons ago, and I finally had the chance to read it. What a precious, heartwrenching, funny, marvelous book. Really. Read it. You won't be sorry.


Original Sin by Allison Brennan. Excellent paranormal thriller, the first in the Seven Deadly Sins series. Makes you want to sleep with the lights on. I really like her main character, Moira O'Donnell - she's smart and sexy, but she's one of those atypical heroines that you just have to like because she's about the farthest from perfect you can get and knows it. The second in the series, Carnal Sin, was just released in June, and it's on my to be purchased list.

Twilight. I mentioned in last Thursday's post that I've read the first three in this series. I did enjoy them, although at one point I was starting to get really tired of hearing how much pain Bella was in and how gorgeous Edward is. Whine, whine, whine. Enough, already - get to the good stuff! But she did, and I enjoyed the read. Now I just have to see how it all ends, as soon as my daughter gets #4 back from her friend's stepmother.

I'm always looking for new books to read, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to post them in the comments.

Until later!