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.
10.01.2011
9.11.2011
Remembering
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.
8.27.2011
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.
"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.
4.27.2011
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."
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?
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.
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?
3.12.2011
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.
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.
2.07.2011
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!
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!
12.18.2010
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?
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?
11.29.2010
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.
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.
10.30.2010
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?
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?
10.23.2010
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 ...
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 ...
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