How I Got Here—The Bombshells

I clicked really well with that editor, as far as writing goes. I wrote and submitted Cat’s Claw. The heroine was most definitely kick-ass. The romance wasn’t foremost in the story. I thought I’d nailed it.

But no cigar. The romance was still too strong for Bombshell, but the conflict too external for Intimate Moments. Please try again.

While I’d been waiting for her response on that book, my mother died. She’d battled cancer 15 years before and won, but this time, she didn’t even know she had it until too late. Diagnosed December 9, she died February 6, my brother’s birthday. He flew up from Texas, I drove from Pennsylvania to Massachusetts, and we spent four days clearing out her apartment. At night, in the hotel, I wrote the first three chapters of what would be my last potential submission to Superromance. It featured a heroine who was dealing with mother issues and the guy who got away. It had problems. My agent was fantastic at helping me fix those, but it was the last remnant of my early career. It wasn’t the type of book I wanted to write anymore.

After I got the rejection on Cat’s Claw, I decided to complete another book I’d started before I met with the editor again at the National conference in July. I wrote the draft in eight weeks and revised it after the conference. My agent submitted the full to her, and the wait began again.

In the meantime, the Luna editor had liked Soul of the Dragon,, but it didn’t quite fit Luna. She wanted to hold onto it for other possibilities (that didn’t come to pass in the end). My agent suggested I try a more traditional fantasy, since that editor, too, had liked my writing. I did, and the editor was encouraging, but ultimately passed. That was the end of that, but I still had Bombshell.

And Bombshell was IT. I knew it with every fiber of my being. This was where I belonged.

Then the editor left, because her own writing career was taking off.

The replacement editor was less enthusiastic about my stuff. She rejected the next book, Behind the Scenes as too comic-bookish, too over-the-top. So I wrote another one, and met with HER at the national conference, and submitted it. She was encouraging in manner, if not excited about my submission, so I had no reason to think I was going backwards.

Then she asked me to call her to discuss the book. I knew she wasn’t going to offer a contract, but I didn’t expect her to hate everything about it. I asked what she LIKED, and she said, “well, the widow thing was kind of cool, but actually…” Nope. She hated that, too. I ran my next idea by her, and she said, “Great, but instead of this, maybe that, and make this into that…” I’ve since learned she did that a LOT, and she’s also left to pursue her own writing career. I’m sure she’ll be much happier. In the meantime, that proposal I wrote based on her ideas was rejected with a form letter.

I tried one more time, with a book *I* wanted to write. Another form letter. And now, as of this past week and effective January 2007, Bombshell is no more.

I guess I don’t belong quite there.

Tomorrow…How I Got Here—And Here I Am

Sick of Me Yet?

I'm all over the Internet this week!

For fun stuff, check out Trish Milburn's blog every day. Today I'm a guest blogger about Firefly! Different guests will blog about other Joss Whedon brilliance as the week goes on.

Elsewhere, my latest release, the anthology Indulgence, is the featured book of the week at Romance Readers. New content every day. Check it out!

How I Got Here—The Big Books

When my first child was about 3, we were watching a manga-style cartoon with a red dragon in it. I asked her idly if she wanted to meet a dragon someday. She said, "Yes. A red one." Very matter of factly. It sparked the first line of a book, a book I knew would be my first Big Book, Soul of the Dragon. I had the title and first line for two years. Scribbled on a piece of notepaper from one of those giant cubes they give out at business conventions, and sitting in my in bin, calling to me.

Alexa Ranger knew that one day she would meet a dragon. A gold one.

I wasn't ready to write that Big Book. I hadn't developed my skill enough. But one day, I had a brain surge and wrote 16 pages of the opening. Because my office had been flooded, I wrote crammed into a corner between empty stacked bookshelves and piles and piles of papers. That memory allows me the rare ability to pinpoint when it was: early June of 2000.

I didn't write anything more on it for at least a year.

Finally, I was ready. I worked on Soul of the Dragon steadily. There was no sagging middle. There was no period of “GAAAHHHH, I hate this book!” I LOVED it. Everything about it, from the ex-spy heroine to the dragon hero to the mysterious stranger and the magic and the villain. I entered it in the Golden Heart, and came >< this close to finaling. I started looking for an agent, then a publisher, then an agent again, and signed with one. I wrote the second book in the series, Soulflight, and that was the same incredible experience. I started writing the third book, certain my destiny was assured, because this was what I was supposed to be doing. And paranormal romances were becoming popular again. I was so incredibly happy.

For a while.

SOTD didn’t sell. I’m not done trying. That two-year gap between the first sixteen pages and the rest of the book have stymied me. At first, the book was finaling in contests and garnering great praise. But the part that wasn’t praise was similar from judge to judge. So I revised and revised and then rewrote completely. Each time I entered the GH, I got worse scores. Then I won a critique of my first chapter from an agent, and she had great things to say, that actually reinforced the original opening (that she didn’t read). So I’ve started another revision, but that’s on hold.

In November 2002, a rumor started going around that Silhouette was going to start a line of books about kick-ass heroines. I called and talked to the acquiring editor. Yes, it was true. Yes, I could submit my full manuscript about an ex-spy, and no, a dragon would not be an automatic rejection.

My agent submitted the book (not sure if she sent a partial or full) the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. The following Monday, the editor called her. The book had too much romance for the new line, but she’d passed it on to another editor for consideration for Luna, a fantasy line that was also in the works. Could I write a new book specifically for Bombshell?

I was so sure that was it. I was going to hit. My career would stop crawling along and start climbing.

But it’s rare that things go that smoothly in the publishing industry.

Tomorrow…How I Got Here—The Bombshells

Experiment

I am participating in a blogging experiment hosted at dearauthor.com. To enter the contest, put up this blurb, image, and trackback and you are entered to win the following prize package.

• $200 Amazon gift certificate


• Signed copy of Slave to Sensation


• New Zealand goodies chosen by Singh


• ARC of Christine Feehan's October 31 release: Conspiracy Game

You can read about the experiment here and you can download the code that you need to participate here.

SLAVE TO SENSATION

Nalini Singh

Berkley / September 2006

Welcome to a future where emotion is a crime and powers of the mind clash brutally against those of the heart.

Sascha Duncan is one of the Psy, a psychic race that has cut off its emotions in an effort to prevent murderous insanity. Those who feel are punished by having their brains wiped clean, their personalities and memories destroyed.

Lucas Hunter is a Changeling, a shapeshifter who craves sensation, lives for touch. When their separate worlds collide in the serial murders of Changeling women, Lucas and Sascha must remain bound to their identities…or sacrifice everything for a taste of darkest temptation.

Excerpt

How I Got Here—Writing Life

Part of the reason my first book took so long to complete was because I can only do one intensely creative thing at a time: Write a book, or build a baby. Once my first was born, I wrote like gangbusters, writing while she was in a swing or on the floor next to me in the late hours, during which my husband was working as a public accountant during tax season. I even devised a highly effective method of typing while nursing. She rested on my forearms while I had my fingers on the keyboard. That worked both at my day job, where she was with me until nine months old, and in the evening. I wrote when she napped and when she ate and when she was just happy to hang around, which wasn’t that often. I took her to my first meeting of Central Pennsylvania Romance Writers, and like I said before, she inspired my first published book. There’s a lot of her in Montana.

Side note: I was completely shocked when my friend Marilyn said, “I love the baby’s name. Montana Winter.” Shocked and horrified. I named the baby Montana because my daughter was Dakota. The heroine was Nikki Winter, the name I’d used in that ill-fated first chapter. I NEVER EVER put the two together. What a cheesy, stupid name! Marilyn was sweet to say she liked it.

With my second child, the creativity issue hit around the fifth month. I knew I was going to go into labor the day I wrote 8 pages, after four months of not writing anything. The footage of Columbine was on the TV in the labor room. I have no idea why I didn't ask to have it changed or turned off. The sights and sounds remain vivid to me, until the moment she was placed on my chest, surprising me by looking very different from her sister, yet far too much the same (someday I'll post same-age photos—we can't tell who's who without looking at the rug to see where the picture was taken).

Lots of things have derailed my writing, temporarily, over the years. My day job turned into a day-into-night job, and I had no time to write. I had horrible evening sickness with the second pregnancy, so Jim took care of the toddler in the evenings after I picked her up from day care and I napped on the couch, trying not to be sick. Moving, twice, meant packing (and unpacking) instead of writing.

For a long time, rejection and despair made writing difficult. I credit my husband’s support and my membership in CPRW with keeping me from quitting. Counting now, as Immediate Past President, and subtracting six months around the time #2 was born, I was on CPRW’s board in some capacity for nine and a half years. That commitment kept me going. I couldn’t let them down by reneging on promises I’d made, and if I was a member of the chapter and by requirement, RWA, I might as well keep writing. CPRW is also known as the Hobnail Boot Squad, inspired by Ginny Aiken, a former member who threatened to use her hobnail boots on us if we didn’t stop whining and produce.

Incidentally, my need to be in a position of control (the charitable would call it leadership) and my propensity for saying “sure!” when asked to volunteer at chapter, regional, and national levels also kept me from writing at times. Educating myself by immersing myself in the World of Romance Writing (aka the Internet) has always been a time-sucker. There have been plenty of periods when I had to struggle to find balance.

Promotion, too, gets in the way. It’s easy to spend money for someone to create an ad, and then to spend money to place that ad, but money is hard to come by at this level of publication. Time is a better promotional currency. But time spent promoting is time not spent writing. Again, balance is difficult. When my first book was being prepared for publication, I spent six months working on promotion and marketing and not writing a single thing.

Over the last few years, as my kids got older and went to bed without waking again, my husband discovered City of Heroes and no longer had a need for my company, and the day job required only day work, I found balance. I took a year to avoid all volunteer opportunities. I wrote consistently, and brought my speed to excellent levels, which maximized my time. I developed procedures for making sure attention was paid to everything in my life, without anything getting neglected for too long. And it was working very well for a long time.

But it wasn’t enough.

Tomorrow…How I Got Here—The Big Books

How I Got Here—Short Fiction

When I sold to Echelon Press, they offered a short story program to keep their authors in the reader’s eye between novels. I sold several short stories to them that I’d written early in my writing, while I exercised my plotting and characterization and exorcised ideas that couldn’t sustain full novels. I also wrote a few new short pieces, with forays into fantasy and futuristic romance. When erotic romance started taking off, I tried my hand at that, too. Pirate of the Stars remained on bestseller lists two years after publication.

Short fiction is how I sold to Amber Quill, too, and my oldest daughter gets credit for the story that did it. My friend Megan Hart encouraged me to enter the erotic romance contest, and I had no ideas until my daughter said one day, “I wish money grew on trees.” The story of a colonized planet whose economic system was dependent upon leaves from one particular tree flew from my head to my fingers and became The TreeKeeper. Since then, I’ve published or contracted for eight additional stories with Amber Quill.

I’ve been very happy with my small press experience. Both publishers put out high quality products, and I’ve learned a great deal. But my goals are higher, farther, faster.

Which is WHY I “got here.”

Tomorrow: How I Got Here—Writing Life

We Interrupt This Boring Story...

Go to Google.

Type "failure."

Then either get really, really mad, or laugh your ass off.

How I Got Here—The “Category” Books

I’d known since that ill-fated first chapter that I wanted to write, but I also knew I hated longhand. So I waited until we bought our first computer in 1992. It had 100 MB of memory and Windows 3.1.

I'll wait while you finish laughing.

I took a fiction-writing class via Writer's Digest, bought lots of how-to books, joined Pennwriters, went to some workshops, and started my first book. I wrote 50,000 pages before I decided it would be better off as three category books instead of a single title.

The first completed book took me three years. Why? Because I liked King's Quest better. Jim and I spent our bonding years hunched over the keyboard, puzzling out the clues and watching the animation that was cutting edge then.

Papa Potential
It boggles my mind how little writing I did back then, Before Babies. This is the book that started as a Big Book, then got modified into a Silhouette Special Edition style story. It was about a kindergarten teacher who wanted to have a baby and enlisted her best friend’s brother to do it. I queried SSE. They requested the full. I had my first taste of excitement and, not long after, my first rejection. I’m not sure if I submitted it anywhere else. But I did start book two.

Hunter’s Song
Inspired by my experiences nursing my daughter, I wrote about a woman who was a single mother on purpose (this time by anonymous sperm donor), and the man who convinced her that being a family did not compromise her independence. Rejected by SSE, Superromance, a few larger publishers and several smaller, it was published in 2000 by Avid Press.

Against the Rules and Second Chance at Forever
I was in a dry spell for a while. Then I went with the women I worked with and my mother to a male dance revue, which sparked ALL manner of ideas. :) ATR and SCAF are about the reasons straight men might choose to strip for a living. ATR is a bit on the lighter side. SCAF deals with despair and loss and clawing your way back to a happy life. These were both rejected by Superromance. ATR was also rejected by Five Star. Both were published by Echelon Press, in 2001 and 2003.

Kira’s Best Friend, Sophie’s Playboy, and Brianna’s Navy SEAL
These are my best regular long contemporaries, about a trio of sisters and the men who are meant for them. They contain full casts of characters and complex stories with twists on frequent stereotypes. KBF and SP were both declined by Superromance, and though they politely asked to see anything else I wanted to submit, I knew I was done. I sold the trilogy to Amber Quill Press. BNS was a difficult book to write, both because so much time had passed and because I’d moved on, to other types of stories. But I’m proud of these, thrilled with their covers, and pleased they found a home.

Note: Brianna's Navy SEAL is in production and will be released soon.

Tomorrow…How I Got Here—Short Fiction

How I Got Here—The College Years

It never occurred to me to seek a degree in a field related to books. I am a compulsive reader, but I don't read just anything unless there's nothing else. I resented every book I was assigned to read in class, so English lit was definitely out. I took a physical geography class my freshman year to meet a distribution requirement. It was the only class I never fell asleep in, so I declared that my major. Another geography major and fraternity brother of my then-boyfriend-now-husband encouraged me to double major in environmental studies, which was more commercial, so I did. I also graduated a semester early (slap for shameless bragging).

Somewhere along the way, I started to get interested in writing. I was getting high accolades for my term papers. Two of them were selected for inclusion in the Student Scholar, for permanent shelving in the university library, and one of those won a writing award (first money for writing!). I also had some articles published in newletters and the newspaper while I worked a summer job at a nature center.

I'm not sure exactly when it was; possibly the end of my junior or beginning of my senior year. I wrote part of a first chapter of a romance (because though I read widely in high school and college, romance was very top of my list, and because I already knew I preferred fiction, despite my success in non-fiction). Back then, we had a computer lab in the library. I accidentally left my disk in a drive. Lots of us did that. Protocol was to leave them in the aide's desk until the loser remembered it. But when I went back, the Bigger Loser aide had used my disk to try to recover something for someone else, and erased it.

Yes, my romance novel was gone. As was my award-winning term paper, the other published paper, and three-plus years of college work.

No, I did not throttle her. I did learn a very valuable lesson, however.

Buy your own computer.

I didn't write fiction again until after I was married and we bought our first computer.

The early graduation was a really good thing, because it enabled me to apply for and obtain an internship at National Geographic Society. I worked the 27th International Geographical Congress, proofreading field guides and editing geographical abstracts, many of which were poorly translated or written by those for whom English was a late-learned language. The Chinese ones were the most fun.

This was the first time I was serious about working with words for money. I applied for a job with the industry journal Explorer, but it was given to someone else. Someone no more qualified than I except that he had a penis. But we won't go any further into my one and only encounter with sexism in the workplace. :)

Tomorrow...How I Got Here—The Books

How I Got Here—Before the Writing

My mother taught me to read when I was four.

I was reading Little House on the Prairie books before I was seven. I remember being called to dinner and resisting, sobbing because Jack got left behind when they crossed the river and wanting to get to the part where he reappeared while they were gathered around the fire. It didn't matter that I had read the book several times and knew what happened. I sobbed my little heart out.

That's good writing.

I say I wrote "My Very First Book" at age five, but it might have been six or early seven. I still have it somewhere. White paper and a piece of purple oaktag-like cover, folded in half and stapled, containing a story about Jamie Summers, the bionic woman. Hey, we all start out copying. Just ask Megan Hart. Oh, and I'm pretty sure that story was a romance.

I was a voracious reader growing up. Avoiding playing outside...not a lot of friends...reading under the covers late at night...begged to be dropped at the library instead of dragged along grocery shopping...scoped out my cousin's bookshelf instead of playing Chase...rushed to finish "homework" in the few minutes they gave us at the end of class so I could read for a few minutes...that was all me.

I recall a frank discussion with my mother when she found me reading Jude Deveraux's Velvet books. She was concerned about the portrayal of rape in romances. You can tell she was a bit behind on her own reading. This was mid-eighties. The only book I recall reading such a thing in was Whitney, My Love, (I think) which I bought because everyone raved about it. I was in my early 20s at the time, and I hated it. Returned it to get my money back. ONLY time I've ever done that. Which just illustrates how subjective this whole business is.

Tomorrow...How I Got Here—The College Years

More Photos

Thank you to Sherry Davis, who reminded me that the picture of her and Mary Karlik I was so sure I had, I did.

It's a cell phone photo, so it looks like newsprint. But otherwise it's a great shot:
















Here's one of Sherry and Julie Mensch, previously mentioned. I stole this from Sherry's blog, but she offered it to me, so I think it's okay:













And one more of Carrie Weaver and Lisa Mondello, both of whom were in my other post but I just like this shot.


The advantage of camera phones is the fading affect eliminates the shininess of my regular camera. :)

Breast Cancer Three-Day

Three and a half years ago, my mother died of metastatic breast cancer, after being free of it for 15 years. I'm hardly unique--can any of us say our lives have not been touched by this disease? More than anything else, it affects all of us to some degree.

The Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation is trying to do something about it:

About the 3-Day

Thousands of women and men will unite in cities across the country and walk 60 miles over the course of three days. It's a weekend of hope, as we honor lives lost, celebrate survivors, promote breast cancer research, and help bring breast cancer care to those who so desperately need it.

Net proceeds from the Breast Cancer 3-Days benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation to fund breast cancer research and community outreach, as well as the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund, to provide an endowment for breast cancer initiatives.

Team Parallel Heat, headed by Deidre Knight and members of The Knight Agency, are participating in the 3-day in Atlanta. Alas, I am unable to get down there to walk, but they are recruiting members (flights can be discounted if traveling for this purpose!) and seeking pledges. Head straight from here to www.the3day.org/Atlanta06/parallelheat to sign up or sign on.

It wasn't too long ago that a diagnosis of breast cancer was a death sentence. It's due to people like you and me, donating what we can, when we can, that research has brought us far enough to make it serious but treatable. Let's do our part to make sure it can be CURED.

www.the3day.org/Atlanta06/parallelheat

Best Part of National

There are multiple purposes for National: Education, networking, business, entertainment/fun. For me, those are important. But THESE are the best part of being there:





Cathy, Natalie, Mackenzie, Monica. Just you wait. This isn't going to be the last of us. :)













Some people are workaholics.














Great friends for life. I've known Cathy (left) and Lisa (right) for about 10 years now, and bonded quickly with Carrie in New York three years ago, as we are wont to do when sharing a room. :)










Cathy again (sheesh, she's EVERYWHERE) and Libby, whom I see at every conference and adore, but whom I never talk to in between. No idea why that is.













Me and my new friend Kelly. Part B of the best part of National is making new friends.







I'm kicking myself because I met some other great people, too (waves to Sherry and Mary) and connected with some close friends I talk to every day (Jody) and not very much anymore (Julie) but didn't get any pictures of!!! I'm such a dork. Carry the stupid thing around everywhere I go and not use it. Sheesh.

The Atlanta Marriott Marquis

I'm annoyed at how blurry these are, because I was trying hard not to let them be. I guess the camera didn't know what to focus on.





This is the lobby and conference levels as viewed from the atrium level. I think.












Here's the same view, from the 47th floor. Isn't it awesome???














This was up from three, I think.















And here's a shot from 47 of the elevator on the rise. Most of the elevators were glass, which I loved and a lot of people tried to pretend wasn't true. :)

Update from National

I tried to post...yesterday? Every day is endless, so I'm not sure...and I had trouble maintaining my Internet connection. Things seem to be working okay right now, so I'll give it another try.

I'm tired and due at the unPRO party in twenty minutes, so these are some highlights:

Paranormal is still big. Duh.

Erotic romance and inspirational romance are the two fastest-growing subgenres. Double duh.

Did any of us really not know this? :)

I've met and seen lots of awesome people, some I've met in person before, some I've only met online, and some are new acquaintances and hopefully friends.

They gave away EIGHTEEN frickin' books in the goody bags this year! Plus the free books at lunches! Plus the books we buy at the inSANE literacy signing (we'll know tomorrow how much money was made). Plus the books given away in the Goody Room and at publisher signings. My FedEx bill is going to be enormous.

Have I said thank you? :)

I haven't made that many workshops, but I did catch a couple of panels and what's exciting to me is that everyone talks about the market being really open. Some things are harder sell than others, of course, but there is very little any given publisher isn't willing to look at (generally speaking). I love that. It may mean fewer sales per title for each author, but it also means more opportunity for all of us, more fun stretching our wings to write what excites us.

They want fresh twists, as always. Some recently acquired stories include cowboy vampires (HQN) and a not-quite-turned-vampire middle school teacher in a non-romance mystery (Cerridwen).

The Marriott Marquis has been great. Not totally glitch-free for everyone, but the staff is very friendly and helpful and pleasant, and they are working hard to make everything go smoothly, from setting up a shipping station near our registration desk to having staff all over the place for AV issues and directions when we get turned around or can't find something.

The parties have been great, the official events well-done, informative, fun, and exhausting. I'm having the time of my life.

If you have any specific questions or anything you want to hear about, let me know. I'll try to post photos on Monday before I leave for Virginia. :)

Loving Loving Loving

I wasn't that excited, thinking about coming to National, even just yesterday. Normally I'm a pretty even person, not given to extremes of emotion for very long. (FOR VERY LONG, I said, Jim).

But now that I'm here...man, I'm soooo thrilled to be.

I had dinner with Cathy McDavid and Carrie Weaver and Libby Banks, and then went over to the Marriott Marquis bar where I met Toni Allerdice and Sasha White, and then on the way back through the lobby I saw Colleen Gleason (of the Japanese Beetle Solution) and a bunch of Big Name Authors who knew the people I was with.

The energy here is FIERCE. Tonight is like casual night, which...thank god, because I was in travel clothes and sweaty bangs. It's no hotter here than it was in PA, maybe a bit cooler, but I'm not usually walking six blocks up hill. But everyone is so excited and happy and eager for everything the conference will give them.

At this point of the conference, I can't imagine ever missing one.

Note: I would do links for the authors I named, but blogger's not giving me the link button, and I'm too tired to do HTML. Sorry.

I'm Here!

There is a huge difference between the fresh, new, airy, TINY Harrisburg, PA, airport and the giant, endless, dingy, under-construction Atlanta airport. Anyone who reads this before traveling--TAKE THE TRAIN TO BAGGAGE CLAIM. That airport is endless.

But other than that, it was fine. My flight was fine, getting there was fine, finding baggage claim was easy, getting my bags was easy, finding Atlanta Link was easy, the van was ready to go as soon as I got on, and there was very little traffic for 5:00 on a Tuesday night. My hotel was first, also.

Then I went all dorky. Most of the women on the shuttle were for RWA and going to the other hotel. I was in the back so no one talked to me and had no idea I was one of them. They were saying it was the wrong hotel, and I said it was my hotel, and then, for no good reason, I said, "I'll be seeing all of YOU tomorrow!"

I got a lot of blank stares.

Luckily, I wasn't yet wearing a nametag.

So. I'm here! Can't wait for the festivities to begin!

On My Way

I'm all packed and ready to go. Checked in online, so I only need to hand over my luggage and get through security. Which has an average wait time of three minutes at this time of day, so I should slide right through.

I love flying. I don't get to do it nearly often enough. Takeoff and landing are my favorite parts, so I always try to get a window seat.

Wanna hear how brilliant I am? I bought a new large suitcase for this trip, and fit everything into it with room to spare. But when I weighed it (admittedly only an estimate because it doesn't fit on the scale) it looked like it might be a bit over the 50-lb. limit. So I took some stuff out and put it in a second suitcase.

That's not the brilliant part. I have to travel between hotels very early tomorrow morning, so lugging two suitcases isn't appealing. I decided just now to take an additional carry-on instead. I don't need to move much to make the big suitcase acceptable.

That's not the brilliant part, either. I was lugging my case around, thinking about weight limits, and of course thought about all the people who complain that when their luggage is over the limit, the clerk makes them take something out and carry it with them. They always whine about how stupid that is, because it still adds to the weight of the plane.

My brilliance? I realized it's not about crashing the plane. It's about workers' compensation. Though there's a lot of automation with baggage handling, workers still have to sling them around to get them on and off the plane and conveyors. Bags over 50 lbs. contribute to repetitive strain problems, back strains, neck strains, and so on. Trust me, I've worked in a workers' compensation field, and ANYTHING an employer can do to prevent claims, they're going to do. Even if it pisses us off.

This morning I also did some work on my new book. It feels SOOOOO good to be writing a book I'm excited about. My goal is 4 pages a day between now and my next writers meeting, and usually I'm checking my page count every few minutes, struggling to get to the minimum. But today, I flew right through 6.3 pages.

Here's my current total:

20,155 / 85,000 (23.7%)

I won't have much to blog about tonight, but I'll try to hit the food court tomorrow afternoon or early Thursday. Tomorrow I have the Chapter Presidents Retreat (my newsletter editor is a finalist in the annual contest, which will be announced at the luncheon), meeting up with a friend I haven't seen in three years, attending the Literacy Autographing, and hooking up with some other friends with whom I'm embarking on a business venture. Should be a good day!

Title Help

It worked for MaryF, so I'm gonna give it a try. Though I wish Stacy Dawn, who came up with Mary's very awesome title of Breaking Daylight, read my blog. :)

Regan Miller has struggled for 18 years to balance a normal life for her daughter, Kelsy, with the knowledge that the child’s would-be kidnappers would try again. Regan and Kelsy’s training and constant vigilance prove their salvation when the kidnappers come for Kelsy at college and try to murder Regan in her bed.

They can run again, but this time they have Kelsy’s boyfriend and roommate to worry about, and Regan’s mysterious neighbor, Tyler Sloane, is either a hired protector or hired enemy. They can’t play defense their whole lives, or it will be a very short game. Somehow, Regan and Kelsy have to reach each other, then confront the strangers, both good and bad, who have managed to orchestrate their entire existence.

This is a romantic adventure currently titled Unbreakable. It kind of works, because the main heroine, the mother, is 100 percent fighter (think Linda Hamilton in T2 without the insane part). The secondary heroine, the daughter, is more like a willow branch than a bar of steel, but still doesn't break. Also, the secret that everyone is after lends itself to that title.

Unfortunately, can anyone read it without thinking "somber M. Night Shyamalan movie with Bruce Willis who never smiles"? I don't think so.

I appreciate any brainstorming you feel like throwing out there. Even if I don't use one of your suggestions, it may spark something else for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Countdown to National

I keep laughing at all the people who ask me if I'm packed and the ones who have been packed for a week already. I'm just not like that. I am lucky that I have nothing else requiring my attention today, but even if I still had the day job, I wouldn't be doing it until tonight. I'm tempted to wait until tomorrow morning, since I'm not leaving the house until 11. But I'll do it this afternoon, once I finish revising the beginning of Unbreakable my WIP.

Now I'm excited! Can't wait to see you all in HOTlanta!

Oooooohhhhhhhhh Again

I have no idea why I said Oooooohhhhhhhh last time. It came up when I started to type the title. I'm either unimaginative, or easily awed.

Today I'm awed by this (sorry for the blurry cell phone photo):



I think it's a Luna Moth caterpillar. I was gonna ask the more gardening-savvy of my readers if it was okay to leave on my tomato plant, but decided to look it up first. I hope, if I'm right, it stays to metamorphose and we get to see the new moth.

Of course, I'll be gone most of the rest of the two weeks, so it will probably be long well on its way by the time I come back.

In another gardening note, I have four o'clocks running rampant in my front "garden." The previous owners had a nice little patch of them next to the front door. I pulled out some bushes a couple of year ago, and have been spreading the four o-clock seeds across the front of the house. Every year, they decide to crowd the front stoop, and the more brutal I am with them, the bigger they get. Nothing seems to deter them, including the ravenous hordes of Japanese beetles making lace of their leaves.

Which was my other gardening question. I'm doing nothing to get rid of the beetles. The flowers are still blooming in the late afternoon, the plants growing tall and lush (if lacy). I was wondering if feeding the beetles such a nice buffet will keep them from my neighbors' roses, or if they will overpopulate and spread. I can just see the teenage beetles rebelling against the smothering of their fat parents and moving out to the American Beauties next door.

Yeah, THAT will endear me to people.

Always Wear A…

I almost forgot about promising to tell my embarrassing National story. Thanks to Blogging National for being intrigued and mentioning it so that I saw it this morning.

Okay. It was my first National, 2000, Washington, D.C. We’re going back there in a few years, so take note: the Marriott Wardman Park hotel is weird.

There are three towers, and even being there for five days, I never figured out how the room numbering went. It’s VERY VERY important to know what tower your room number is in.

My friend Ginny Aiken had offered to help me with my pitch—very first pitch, very first time meeting an editor face-to-face, very first big conference. I was very nervous. Also, I don’t have a good bathtub at home.

So I was soaking in the tub late Thursday night, trying to write my pitch, when Ginny called me back and said she could help me. I interpreted her room number to mean she was in my tower, on my floor, and said I’d meet her by the flowers in the little conversation grouping by the elevator. I threw on a T-shirt and shorts and went out to meet her.

She wasn’t there. I realized I hadn’t specified which floor—ground level or our floor. So I went down. She wasn’t there. I went back up. Looked at the room numbers on the range cards (you know, the ones that say these rooms to the left, these rooms to the right) and realized her number was not part of the range. She wasn’t in my tower. So she was probably on the other side of the hotel.

No biggie. It was nearly midnight. The hotel would be quiet, right? I wouldn’t run into anyone.

All of you who have been to National are now laughing so hard you can’t see the screen. But remember, this was my FIRST big conference, and it was still early Internet days. There weren’t dozens of people blogging about the way things work.

The Wardman Park has a lobby bar. That means right next to the registration desk is a massive area of tables and chairs, jam-packed with authors and industry professionals. And here’s me, walking around in my T-shirt, shorts, and sandals.

Did I mention I wasn’t wearing a bra?

I’d been intending to just be right outside my room, hunched over a pad. No one would notice. But now I’m crossing the massive lobby, passing by dozens if not a couple hundred people, back and forth from one tower to another, trying to find my friend.

But it gets worse.

I got into one of the tower elevators, and standing there at the back is…

Ashley Grayson.

Of the then Grayson and Grayson Literary Agency.

And I’m not wearing a bra.

I didn’t have my nametag on, of course, and I kept my head down, but he saw my pad and pen and asked if I was with RWA. So we chatted about the conference and how it was going so far, as I tried to strategically but casually hold my pad in front of my chest.

I never submitted to Grayson.

So, some things learned as a result of my misadventure:

1. At RWA's National Conference, people are up and around ALL THE TIME.

2. Editors and agents can be anywhere at any time.

3. Most importantly (and most ridiculously)...Always wear a bra.

P.S. I found my friend, we perfected my pitch, and it went fine, getting a request that was rejected eight months later by form letter.

Stand Beside the Ocean

I was listening to the radio this morning and that LeeAnn Rimes (I think--I'm a music idiot) song, "I Hope You Dance." She sang the line, "I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean." And I thought, "I never feel small."

It's true, and it has nothing to do with being a woman of a certain size. The things that are supposed to make humans feel tiny, like vast starscapes or huge, craggy mountains, just...don't.

So that made me wonder if I'm arrogant. But I don't think so, because I never feel unsmall. I never think of myself as bigger than nature or of humanity as superior to it.

I do feel awed, and amazed, and inarticulate when faced with the beauty and majesty of such things. With the ocean, especially, though, I feel empowered. Like I really could do anything.

Even jog.

Budgeting National

Yesterday I finally got my prep/packing list done and my schedule organized. Like MaryF and Ember Case, I have a color-coded Excel spreadsheet of my whole schedule, including workshop possibilities. It's too big to print so I'm going to transfer the highlights each day. Usually the program has a place to fill in your schedule, and there are some author groups that make schedule cards for the goody room. They promote their work and the schedules are really handy.

So I was doing laundry this morning and started thinking about money. Some budget items are already spent, which is both a relief and misleading, because the conference registration and flight are half the cost of the whole event. I don't count new clothes in the budget, because they usually carry over to non-conference stuff. But then the little things really add up--tips for everyone, food, drinks, lattes, books, souvenirs...I start getting anxious thinking I won't be prepared.

Here's how my budget breaks down, beginning to end:

Conference registration, early...$325
I always plan to attend, and save the money to attend, so far in advance I can easily catch the early-bird registration fee.

Flight, booked in March...$320
I hate this part. I search and search for good fares, wait a little bit hoping they'll go down, then suddenly they jump up and I kick myself for not getting it when it was $265. Then someone else books a month after I do and pays half what I did. *sigh*

Shuttle from aiport to hotel and back, booked this morning...$29.00
The Atlanta Link, half the cost of a cab and easier than MARTA, save $2 each way booking online! But I'll be arriving at rush hour, something I didn't consider. Bah.

Hotel, sharing with two other people...$325
Plus whatever meals/drinks/Internet I charge to the room. Last time I was in the bar a lot, but not the two times before that.

Tips...$30-50
This is a really rough estimate. I have to tip the hotel cleaning staff [and am unsure how much--is $3 a night each for three people fair?], the concierge for holding my bags, the driver of the shuttle, cabbies, and bellhops if I let them help me with my bags, which I probably won't and then will feel guilty for

Books...$50
This is a low budget for me. I usually spend more than double that at the Literacy Signing, but I have to be more careful this year. Includes raffle tickets for cool chapter gift baskets.

Food...$200
This is the biggie. The conference offers continental breakfast on Friday and Saturday, and I have lunch covered on Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and dinner on Friday, but I hate to say no when friends want to go out the other days, even if it's an expensive place. These meals are the best opportunity to meet and hang with people you don't know, or people you know but only see at National.

So, grand total? About $1300. And remember, that doesn't include travel shopping for clothes or toiletries or zip ties for the luggage and so on. Is the event worth it?

Hell yeah.

Tomorrow I'll tell my elevator story as an example of what not to do at a National conference.

YAHOO!

It's HOT right here!

Peachtree Center offers FREE wireless internet connection in The Mall. With a battery-powered laptop, the internet is accessible in a "hot spot" of The Mall. Look for the designated areas in the South Food Court and near the Information Booth.

I thought that was worthy of its own post rather than another update. :)

For Your Inconvenience...

Early this morning my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I know people from that area code...and, well, I'm pretty much incapable of ignoring a phone call unless I'm watching a football game (if I ever do let it go to voice mail, I check it immediately). So I answered it.

BIG mistake.

It was an automated call for "Ron Anderson" about his Citi Card. Wrong number. So just hang up, right? But no, they'd just keep calling and calling if I did that. So I waited through the menu choices:

"If this is Ron Anderson, please press one."

"If Ron Anderson is currently unavailable, please press two."

"If we have reached this number in error, please press three."

I pressed three and was asked to hold for a representative. Then it went on and on about stupid junk I don't remember, and finally someone came on the line.

And that's when my calm got seriously damaged.

"May I please have your 16-digit card number?"

If you're going to dial a wrong number, acknowledge the likelihood of dialing a wrong number, and ask your wrong number dialed recipient to HOLD, then you'd damned well better have a system in place so that representative knows what's going on.

And she sucked, too, because she kept interrupting me, talking over me, and yelling at me for yelling at her. I worked in customer service, and the fastest way to piss off your caller is to ridicule their annoyance. The fastest way to hook a customer for life is to SINCERELY agree with their issue and apologize for it and resolve their problem as soon as possible.

I think I'm going to go cancel my Citi Card.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blogging National update:

I'd like to say the Atlanta Marriott Marquis financially rapes their guests, but that's a harsh and offensive way to put it. But that's how I feel about being charged $12.95 for a day of Internet access or 25 cents a minute for the wireless access in public areas. (Full disclosure: The $12.95 provides unlimited free local and long-distance calling, so that's nice for certain travelers, but not most of the RWA crowd who won't be in their rooms very much and probably, like me, have cell phones with free local and long-distance calls. The .25 per minute is after an uncertain amount for the first 15 minutes, quoted as being something like $2.95 or more.)

Why do you care? Because all of you (ha!) waiting at home for my scintillating reports, full of wit and verve and industry info (double ha!) may get less than I originally anticipated. As you may or may not know, I quit my job last month to write full time, and my writing income does not come close to replacing my non-writing income. I have to watch not only my pennies, but my rounded tax percentages, even. So we'll see. If I can't make it online, please do check out Blogging National often for those who have the big bucks and blog every day, and I'll give FULL reports when I return.

UPDATE: I took my own advice and headed over to Blogging National, and HER update days the Mall at Peachtree Center has free access. If so, I'll be over there every day, even if it's MIDNIGHT!

Entourage

Thanks to Netflix, if a TV show gets enough critical and popular acclaim, I'll check it out, as long as it's something that seems mildly interesting. I may even add 24 to my queue.

But right now, it's Entourage. I just finished season 1, and beyond the "WTF?" response to a "season" being a lousy 8 episodes (I knew it going in, but it's still annoying), I actually enjoyed it. The second half of it.

I watched the first four eps, and wasn't charmed. Vince is a self-absorbed asshole who doesn't deserve the treatment he gets. Turtle is disgusting. Ari makes you want to rip his ear off with your teeth. And though I know it's naive, I'd like to believe that not every single person in Hollywood is doing drugs and having sex every five minutes.

Luckily, the show's not about Vince. It's about Eric, or "E," his best friend and manager, who still does drugs but is at least a considerate and well-mannered human being. It was enough--barely--to get me to watch the second disk. That, and I didn't get to the queue in time to stop it from coming.

The second half was amazingly different. Ari had moments of honesty and sincerity that made me actually like him. Turtle was still disgusting, but Johnny Drama was played by Kevin Dillon (who I've always really disliked) as endearing and sweet and much smarter than he acts most of the time. They're still doing drugs, but there's a complexity to the relationships now, a depth that took five episodes to develop, that make me glad I waited it out.

Looking forward to season two, with the hope that they'll bring in at least one woman who's not perfect and vacant. :)

Tickle

Did you ever "accidentally" click on one of those Tickle IQ ads and get sucked into taking one of their IQ tests and then register with them because you HAD to see your score?

I kinda just did that.

S'what happens when you've been writing too long and producing too little and need to take a break. You do crazy things. Impulsive things. But then, it can lead to something interesting, too.

I won't say my score, 'cause it's not really relevant. IQ scores mean different things because different protocols have different ranges. But the REALLY interesting part is this:

"Your Intellectual Type is Insightful Linguist. This means you are highly intelligent and have the natural fluency of a writer and the visual and spatial strengths of an artist. Those skills contribute to your creative and expressive mind. And that's just some of what we know about you from your test results."

I can't do visual art worth a damn, but those visual and spatial strengths would also contribute to my analytical ability. And of course, I *AM* a writer! Those tests are really awesome!

Almost makes me want to pay to see the 15-page report.

But not quite.

Quick Thoughts

My 7-year-old is writing a story. It's pretty stream-of-consciousness, and she doesn't like paragraphing, but it's got some good details. She has a writer's mind--she said she keeps writing a sentence, then backspacing to write it "the same idea, but different words."

I'm so proud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't know why I read letters to the editor in People magazine. They are full of judgmental jerks. This week, there was one chastising Kirstie Alley for saying "if I can do it [lose weight], anyone can." This person, of course, snidely said if she got free portion-controlled meals from Jenny Craig she could do it, too. Sounds like big excuses to me. 'Cause if *I* got free portion-controlled meals? I still wouldn't lose weight, because those meals don't force me to exercise or prevent me from eating Pringles and ice cream and large bowls of buttered popcorn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We had a slumber party here last night, four 11-year-old girls. While they were doing manicures, they voiced the following opinions:

--The voting age should be raised to 21 because some 18- and 19-year-olds are jerks

--Bush is such a good president, he should be able to run for another term

--If the new president doesn't care about kids, we (they) could all end up living on the street

--The No Child Left Behind Act sucks

In the same five-minute period, they also discussed:

--The new war in Israel

--The plane that was heading for the White House and crashed in PA, the heroism of those on board, and how they saved us ("But we weren't in the White House" said with a remarkable lack of "duh" in the tone)

--Starbucks

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are three bills addressing stem cell research coming up for vote. One would allow embryos createde for in vitro fertilization and about to be destroyed to have stem cells extracted. Bush will veto the bill. Because, you know, if those stem cells aren't extracted, the embryos will live.

How come there are no activists protesting in vitro fertilization in the first place? I'm sure they're out there, but they aren't very visible. Why is it okay to create and destroy embryos because you want to have a baby, but not because you want to find a way to treat or cure debilitating and fatal diseases?

Those are rhetorical questions, by the way. I don't want to start a flame war here. But that doesn't mean you can't post your thoughts in the comments. Just no hate mail, please. :)

Blogging National

I'm going to RWA's National Conference in Atlanta in (eek!) less than two weeks!

Let's see. Am I prepared?

__ Make packing list (nope)

__ Organize schedule (nope)

__ Keep track of who to see at the conference (ha!)

__ List goals and objectives (yeah, that would be smart)

Truth is, this is my fourth National conference, and my most unfocused. The first year was in Washington, DC, and it was to learn. I mostly attended workshops and met a bunch of people. I did also do some promotional activities with my first publisher, now defunct (Avid Press). But I was a true newbie and absorbed every minute like a very, very thirsty sponge.

The next one was a few years later in New York. That one was all about networking. Meeting the editor who was so interested in my work. Hooking up with authors writing for an exciting new line I was destined to write for. Talking to another editor about my work. Meeting more people. I also did a workshop for that one, and it was great fun.

The following year, I went to Dallas. That was the most laid-back of my conference experiences, probably because I'd become an "old pro." I had a plan, and every event had a purpose.

This year should be my most focused ever. I'm in the midst of Great Change. I parted ways with my old agent and am seeking a new one. I left my day job and am writing full time. Everything I do is focused on building my career. But even though I have a few specific people to meet, there is no overriding theme, no set of goals to accomplish, no Big Plan. Not sure if this is a mistake or not. I guess we'll see. Hey, maybe I'll be all about "going with the flow" and that flow will take me to huge things. HUGE!

Blogging has been around for a while, and last year most of the dirt (and boy, do I mean DIRT--you won't be seeing that from me) on Reno came out on blogs. This year, we've gone...shoot, I can't think of the word. Serves me right for blogging at 1:45 a.m. after spending over six hours in the ER. No, thank you, I'm fine, and so is he now. Anyway, it's a word like conglomerate that's not conglomerate that makes me think of the Mob. I bet Erica would know it.

ANYWAY. Many of us will be blogging from National. Picture hundreds of women sitting with laptops on the floor of the meeting areas and lobby, where there is free wireless access. :) And we are ORGANIZED, thanks to Jude. I'm thinking with this lineup? Any and all opinions and perspectives will be offered and debated and probably a few flame wars ignited. But not by me. Not here. Here is just going to be good stuff. :)

Join me!

Food

You Are Mexican Food

Spicy yet dependable. You pull punches, but people still love you.

What Kind of Food Are You?

Plotting

My answer to Jody's question in the last comment trail got me to thinking.

Conventional wisdom is that there are writers who plot everything before writing (plotters), writers who fly by the seat of their pants (often called "pantsers" but I prefer the seldom-used "flyers"), and hybrids who do both.

I'm a bit of a hybrid, but I almost never plot very far ahead. The books I have enjoyed writing most were books that I completely flew through, mainly because of the surprises that came up.

Some people assert, without allowing any flexibility at all, that a good suspense/mystery book CANNOT be written if it's not all plotted out in advance.

I say that's bunk.

Sure, there are writers, even writers who are normally flyers, who can't do it. And it certainly seems smarter and more logical to do it that way. But I've written several books with plots that contained secrets that I didn't know in advance. In one book, I didn't even know who the villain was until more than halfway into the book.

Some would point out that I said GOOD books, and that maybe my books written via the soaring method are not good. Maybe they have disconnects, and unfollowable clues, and lapses in logic. Maybe they do--it's often hard to judge your own work, of course.

But I don't think they do. "Flying" does not mean "scatterbrained." I write for a while, go back and revise and think ahead a little bit, write for a while more, hit an "ah-HA!" moment and go back to see where I need to seed clues, or make adjustments to events or backstory. I also, as I mentioned in an earlier post, have a subconscious layer to my writing, which lays in things without my knowing why, that later come to fruition. Maybe not all writers have that layering in their creative process, or maybe they're not in tune to that level of thought, or maybe the plotters are TOTALLY in tune to it and that's why they get it all up front.

The point is (yes, heh, I do have a point, not just rambling for fun LOL)...the point is that every writer has a different process, a different ability, and NO ONE should ever say that a way CAN'T be done or MUST be done. You do a lot of damage with those kinds of remarks.

Brothers

I was listening to an old Firefly Talk podcast, and the question of the week was, "What is your favorite moment between Simon and River?" Lots of people had written in, and some of the scenes mentioned actually brought tears to my eyes.

Brief background:
River was a brilliant child sent to an Alliance Academy where they did unknown experiments and enhancements on and to her. She's psychic and strange. Simon is her older brother, a brilliant surgeon who gave up everything to rescue her and go on the run from the Alliance.

Some of those favorite scenes:

River: "You came for me, and found me broken. You gave up everything you had."
Simon: "Meme. [Chinese for sister] Everything I have is right here."

River has displayed her psychic abilities and been called a witch, dragged away to be burned. After failing to reason with the townsfolk, Simon climbs up on the platform, wraps his arms around her, and says, "Light it."

Simon sitting over his newly rescued sister as she drifts off to sleep, his thumb slowly stroking her hand, the expression on his face full of love and pain.

(Simon's been shot, is weakening)
Simon: "I'm sorry. I hate to leave."
River (sobbing): "No. No, Simon. You take care of me. You've always taken care of me." (Gathers herself, calms, and turns to face the room where the deadly Reavers await them.) "My turn."


Regular readers know I am a Firefly/Serenity obsessive, and I love everything about the show. But I have to admit, nothing about it touches me as much as the relationship between Simon and River. And I can't figure out why.

It may be because of the depth of my feelings for my own brother. With us, the relationship is reversed, as I'm the oldest. And he's not as brilliant as River.

Okay, I'm not as brilliant as Simon, either.

He's also not damaged like River, and neither one of us has been tested. But I believe the depth of our love for each other would take us to the same place, if one or the other of us was that threatened. (Andy, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. :) )

My parents divorced when we were very young, which meant, despite the three-year age difference, that my brother was the strongest male influence in my life until I met my husband. I've always had a lot of admiration and respect for him, and he SAYS he has the same for me. Luckily, we live thousands of miles apart so I can't test the limits of it. But that might help explain why the brother/sister relationship is so much more compelling to me than any romantic relationship, even though I'm a romance writer!

That got me to thinking. I have, amazingly, not written many books that feature a strong brother/sister relationship. None of my published work even have brothers in them, I don't think. I have a book with a brother and sister whose relationship develops into a strong one, and the third book in that series, only partly written, will have some elements of that. One book I'm shopping around now has a heroine motivated by the death of her brother, but he's been gone a long time, so his influence is only historical.

Ah, but then there's my superhero book. I don't plot very far ahead when I write. I like to see where the story takes me, and my subconscious does a lot of the work. So I'm writing, and this character shows up, and I know he's going to be important to the heroine, but he seems very intensely interested in the heroine's best friend. And suddenly, out of the middle of nowhere, it hit me--he's the brother!

That's all I'll say. It was a wonderful moment, and in the car, thinking about writing a brother/sister worthy of the tears in my eyes over Simon's willingness to sacrifice, I realized this book will be really awesome to write. I've put it aside to catch up on other things, and I'm almost there.

So what am I doing here, for Pete's sake??????

Pure Genius

JJ Abrams. Joss Whedon. And now Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio. All writing GODS.

I just got home from the midnight showing of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. And the fact that I'm blogging at 3:10 in the morning will tell you what I thought of the movie.

It was amazing. Incredible. Fantastic. It made me think, every fifteen minutes, "how do they come UP with this stuff?"

I promise, only mild spoilers in this post. You MUST go see it, IMMEDIATELY. It will make your whole summer.

Jack is Jack, though a bit more serious, a bit more intense.

Elizabeth has matured a bit. She's as kick-ass as she was in the first one, but fiercer, more confident, more in control. Several of the crew returned, as did the undead monkey (if you plan to rewatch The Curse of the Black Pearl again before you go see Dead Man's Chest and never waited through the credits, make sure you do this time). Even some of the people on Tortuga are back. Norrington is back, and his life and his role are very different than before.

But the whole cake, for me, is Will. Ah, Will. I commented in an earlier post (or comment to the post) that Orlando Bloom is different in his current media appearances. He's got a confidence and maturity he didn't have in his last few sets of media go-rounds, and I thought it might show in his performance. It really does. Some of it, of course, is the writing. Will Turner is a leader. People follow him unquestioningly, and he never hesitates in his expectations that they will. He really sells it.

The story is complex, but unlike with the first one, there's no need for a second viewing to understand what's going on--why they need who and where and how come that happened a certain way. The relationships are complex, too, as Will deals with his discovery of his father, and with...well, I can't say, 'cause it would spoil.

Like the Lord of the Rings movies, there is no final resolution to this one. It leads directly and specifically into At World's End, the third movie, with a big surprise that I should have seen coming before I did. Someone in the audience actually yelled, "holy crap!"

When I left the theater, I had no complaints. No questions or disappointments. I'm sure that will change, after I see it again Tuesday night and my pickier friends start complaining. As I come down off my entertainment high, I've already thought of one question without an answer, though it's something that can be rationalized and in no way detracts from the film.

But right now, this film is without a doubt the movie of the summer. Superman Returns' studio has to be really, really happy they released before Dead Man's Chest did, because there's just no competition. And woe betide anything that comes after. This movie is more than entertainment, more than spectacle.

It's spectacular.

Best. Evanovich. Ever.

You always hope your favorite authors will just get better and better. For me, most of the time, they don't. They grow stale, or the problem is me, and my tastes change. Sometimes, when they branch out, I don't like the new stuff as much as the old stuff. Sometimes, I like the new stuff better.

I just read Twelve Sharp, Evanovich's latest. It's a fully qualified 10. Out of the 37 books and 10 novellas I've completed this year (and not counting the 15 books I started and didn't complete), I've only scored eight of them a 10. And a few of those didn't FEEL like 10s, but were 10s because I didn't really have any complaints.

This book has humor. No other author makes me literally laugh out loud. She does, a dozen times per book. It has suspense, though of the light kind (my favorite). But most importantly, it has Ranger.

Lots and Lots of Ranger. Like, three times as much as any other Evanovich book has had.

Babe.

Ranger is right up there with Roarke with most readers. What makes those two so damned appealing? Part of it is what others call the "bad boy" element, but what I call intensity. Yes, there is a bit of the criminal in Ranger, as we don't ever know how far he has gone over the line. And with Roarke, because he did a lot of "wrong" things in his fight to survive and succeed. But more than the actual criminal pasts, I think they are appealing because they focus and control their passions.

They are also appealing because of how much they care about and for the heroines, yet let them do what they need to do without interference. Their rescues are partnerships, not superiority issues. They respect their heroines the way they are, and don't try to change them. They're also funny and real and complex and have flaws that make them even more appealing.

Joe Morelli, the other hero of the Stephanie Plum books, is the same way. He's just tamer. Most readers seem to lean in his direction, but...man, Ranger. I have no trouble with Stephanie's inability to choose. The longer this tension goes on, the better (with interludes desired in between, of course).

The Real World

I was just reading a Q&A in the Parade newspaper supplement that talked about Ryan Seacrest telling Simon Cowell that he doesn't live in the real world because he's so rich.

We hear that all the time. College students don't live in the "real world." Even though they are often exposed to more cultures and more temptations and opportunities than they may have at any other time of their lives. Rich people don't live in the "real world," even though their money doesn't insulate them from illness and death and business obstacles and emotional pain. Clergy, politicians, doctors, celebrities...all are accused of living somewhere that others, apparently, don't have access to. Some kind of bubble, I guess, or an alternate dimension.

It's not that the world is not "real." It's just different. Sometimes the accusation comes from jealousy, but mostly it seems to come from a perception that certain realms are immune from "the bad." That somehow, the single mother trying to support three kids on minimum wage is living a more "real" life than I am, with my creature comforts and financial security. But that's not a valid assertion to make, to anyone.

Totally unrelated comment:

I'm getting really tired of the "surrender" jokes made at France. It's been decades. Get over it!!!!!

Enamored Of My Own Words

9,140 / 25,000 (36.6%)

Lusty League AmberPax story progress

A friend posts her progress to her blog just about every day, and usually adds a "line of the day." I tickled myself with this one, so I'm stealing from her. My words, her presentation.

Line of the day: When he first leaped off the car, his body tried to do what it knew how to do, but his brain tried to control it, and gravity said, “Ha ha, you fool,” and almost overruled both.

Always the Writing

Most forms of artistry done for entertainment or commercial purposes are collaborations. Even books and articles and stories aren't solely the product of the writer, because editing and packaging are essential.

But the more collaborative a thing is, the more important the writing.

Three examples.

One is something I've discussed before. The most-named episode of Firefly is "Out of Gas," which was written by Tim Minear. It was amazing. Three timelines, layers of meaning and conflict and emotion. The acting and the set design and the lighting all ensured the story was portrayed well. But without superb writing, it would have failed miserably.

My next example is the TV show Arrested Development. It was a huge critical success, with Entertainment Weekly, in particular, extolling its virtues constantly, and begging people to see it. It was a Fox product, so I kind of assumed that was the problem. I started watching the show last week, and finished the first season. And it's good. The acting and lighting and even the shooting are very well done. I laugh a lot. I have a crush on Jason Bateman. But when my husband calls it my "latest obsession" I have to say it's not. I have no desire to leave my computer (no matter how hard I'm procrastinating writing today) to go watch the new disk I just got. And he, himself, hit on the reason the other night as he went up to bed.

"Nothing good ever happens to these people, does it?"

And he's right. No matter how amusing the characters and their lines are, it's a really depressing show. Every so often the writers attempt to ease the load by making Mom come through for Michael, or making Gob redeem himself. But overall, it's one big hit after another, and that weighs on the viewers. It's stuff that's close to home, too. Divorce, and money, and cousin-crushes. That's too hard to sustain, even if Ron Howard is the one doing the narrating.

And finally, the bomb. The proof that it's always the writing. The Break-Up.

I went to see this two nights ago, and I couldn't believe how bad it was. The acting was fine. The condo marketing told us they were fighting over was divine. And Jennifer Aniston was just too sexy to be real.

But OH MY GOD I hated them. Every word out of both their mouths was so cliché, so stupid, and unimportant, and eye-rolling. There was nothing likeable about either person, and even their supporting cast was bad. They had nothing to do, and the things they said were just stupid. The worst part was that near the end, there were two touching scenes between the main characters, and one really insightful scene between the "hero" and his best friend. I even had tears. But it was empty, because nothing that had come before supported the sentiments in those scenes.

It makes me wonder. There are three writers credited on this movie, and who knows how many more might have been involved but not gotten credit. I think those three good scenes were written by a different person than all of the fighting scenes.

Man, I can't wait for Pirates of the Caribbean. Sequels are rarely, rarely as good as the first film, but this one was written by the same screenwriters as the first one, and I have high hopes.

The rest of the summer...let's just hope The Break-Up was the worst of it.

One Little Word

Jude Deveraux was one of my first adult favorite authors. I remember reading her as a teenager, which concerned my mother because she was afraid there'd be rape scenes and I'd learn about "bad sex." But Deveraux was never one of those kind of writers, and what I learned was about connection.

I loved the sets of series. She had the Montgomerys in Britain/Scotland and the Taggerts in the American West, and they intermarried and then we had a new set of books, in the more recent past, with all the family tree. And then contemporary stories full of Montgomerys. Time travels and, in the past couple of years, some really, really weird paranormals.

I can't say she's one of my favorites anymore. I've changed, and her voice doesn't speak to me as well as it used to. But I still buy and read her books, and usually they compel me. And she'll always be the reason I love interconnected stories of any type.

So the past few days I've been reading First Impressions. I've had it for six months, and just haven't been in the mood for that type of book. It took me a little longer to get through it than usual, because I was able to put it down and read Time, People, and Entertainment Weekly instead. There is NOTHING in the book to connect it to any of her previous books (that I can remember--let me know if Mrs. Farrington had anything to do with The Summerhouse or something and I'm missing it).

I'm getting off track. Point: The book was good, but less compelling than I'd hoped, and not one that was too hard to stop reading. But man, the last line made the whole book memorable. It's so cheeky, so winky, so delightful!

SPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILERSPOILER

"Montgomery. Jared Montgomery."

END SPOILER END SPOILER END SPOILER END SPOILER END SPOILER

If you highlight the lines in between the spoiler lines you should be able to see it.

I just felt the urge to share that, in the hopes someone would understand. My husband sure didn't. :)

My Pimping Mother-in-Law

I'm watching Arrested Development, just after midnight last night. The phone rings. Panic does not ensue. Our phone number is off by one digit from the local Dominos. We don't get as many calls as you might expect, and handle them, usually, by playing around with the callers ("we're all out of pepperoni" or "that will be $50 plus delivery charge"). After midnight, it's likely someone drunk, and they're even more fun to mess with.

But of course there's always a chance it's an emergency, and when I answered and my mother-in-law said "Natalie!" in a very excited, strong tone, I went into crisis mode. Crisis mode for me is emotion clicked off, brain working a mile a minute cataloging possibilities and responses. In this case, I figured Dad had another heart attack and I was mentally already upstairs yanking Jim out of bed to drive to Hershey.

"What, what's wrong?" I ask.

"Orlando Bloom's on Jay Leno!"

Do I have the BEST relatives in the world or what????

Stupid Owl

1,150 / 10,000 (11.5%)

story for Lusty League AmberPax


A couple of weeks ago, I was doing some surfing online late at night, and I heard an owl outside. Which was amazing, because we're not exactly in an owl area. I was delighted. Over the next several days, the owl returned, ocassionally hooting a lot, ocassionally just once. But it tickled me that he/she was coming back. My desk is right next to the window to our back yard, so I figured he was in the big tree just outside.

Two nights ago? I discovered just how stupid I am.

It wasn't an owl. It was JK Rowling.

Here's what happened.

Most nights, one of the last things I do is read all my favorite blogs and stuff. I started going to JK Rowling's site every day because she updates it very infrequently, but if she puts up a new diary post, you can't access any old diary posts. At least, I haven't figured out how to. When her page opens, you click on the language you want to surf the site in, and that opens in a new window. It always takes a little while to load, so I click back to the first window.

Now, her site has sound. A radio. Cars passing by an open window. And, yes, an owl.

You know how I figured it out? The other day, I went to her site when the sun was still up.

Man, I'm dim.

Next Step, Vitamins

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

When I had a day job, plus family responsibilities, plus writing, I routinely got 4-6 hours of sleep a night during the week, and slept really late on the weekends (when I could), and was tired all the time. I hated it.

Being well-rested is supposed to be one of the benefits of being home this summer. I've gotten 8 hours of sleep or more almost every night. But last night I was so tired I went to bed at 9:00. And when I got up at 7:30, I was still tired. Even after my shower.

So I need to do two things: Eat better, and start taking vitamins.

I'm off to have popcorn and ice cream salad for dinner.

Sidetracking

I'm so amused at myself.

I'm writing (4.9 pages so far today) but I'm writing a school board meeting scene and I wanted some agenda items to mention. (This is the kind of research I do--as little as possible, where and when I need it.)

Anyway, I'm reading my local school board's summary from the March meeting ('cause my scene is set around March-ish), and it lists some approved appointments, including new girls soccer coach and assistant soccer coach at the middle school.

Now, my oldest won't be able to play for nearly two years, because PIAA soccer only allows seventh graders to play, not sixth, and it's a spring sport in the schools. But I'm curious anyway. So I started Googling these guys, looking at some couple's wedding pictures because one of the coaches was in the wedding (I think--they had soccer pictures, too, so it's probably him) and weeding out the assistant coach from links to an industrial realtor in California and a family tree in the UK.

Next thing I know, it's been twenty minutes of sidetracking, for no good reason. They might not even be her coaches, two years from now.

Do you get the impression I'm trying to avoid writing this book?

Sunday Ramblings

You would think, now that I'm home with a primary focus on writing, and this blog is about writing (though I rarely write about writing), that I would post to the blog every day.

Wouldn't you?

So, I'm sorry, I've been terrible. I have this belief that I'm only talking to myself here, mainly because of the lack of comments, despite the fact that people are always telling me they read my blog. (Hi, Cindy! Hi, Bethany! Hi, Jennifer, and Susie, and Patty, and Smith. Or whoever really told me they read it, 'cause I can't remember.)

Okay. So. Time for me to say all the stuff I've been bottling up for a week.

*crickets*

Seriously, I had blog thoughts. At least six times I thought, "I should blog about that."

Right now? Mind's a total blank. Dammit.

Well, how about an update on how this whole work-at-home thing is going?

Nothing like I planned, of course. My cleaning schedule fell apart Wednesday, which I spent in a sick haze (thanks, Ohio people! *waves*). I briefly but incompletely resurrected it on Thursday, and said "to hell with it" on Friday. My kids were happy.

But I did keep up with the dishes, which made my husband happy, which alleviated my guilt for sleeping to 8 or 9 every day.

I also managed to get some writing done. I met my goal almost every day I set one. The Blue Silver project is coming along nicely, though late. A five-author collaboration does run into obstacles. But we're all really pleased with the results, and I hope you readers are, too. Sequels and prequels are being considered.

Brianna's Navy SEAL would be about 15 pages from being done, except the story's longer than my minimum page count called for, so it will likely be another 50 pages before I hit the end. But that may be by the end of the week! Woo hoo!

Ah, sad news. Inara Press is closing its doors. That's a big shame, because Dawn and Sara and the editors and authors over there were doing a bang-up job, but reality is often difficult to predict. That means Black Widow won't be out this summer/winter like I announced, which means Cindy has to wait for her dedication. Sorry, Cind. I'll make it really good when it finally makes it out there.

Got a new cat. Her name is Frisbee, because the rescuer saw her get thrown from a truck on the highway. She's sweet, but she's also a candidate for meankitty.com. She's affectionate and likes being around us, but nips. McKenna got scratched several times, too, which is possibly her own fault, but is a bit worrying. She hasn't eaten much that we can tell, because Maya/Garfield keeps getting into her food. She is either low appetitish because of the move up here, or finicky. She sniffs and walks away, and then if Maya doesn't chow it down, the dog does. She also took offense to our litter box, and used the clean sheets in the laundry basket instead. I went to buy a second litter box. Someone's used it, and I hope it's not Maya, because that kind of defeats the purpose.

Dammit, I don't want a smelly house! So far, we've completely avoided it. If she starts pissing all over the carpet, we're in trouble.

Ummm...Oh, yeah. In case anyone doubts the problems with the ozone layer--I was in the sun for two hours on Friday. SPF 60 slathered on before we left the house. SPF 50 layered over it after an hour, and I'd done minimal swimming (one dip in the water, no toweling) and sweating (not wiped off). These sunscreens proclaim to be effective for 4-6 hours, even with swimming, sweating, and toweling.

Yeah, you know where this is going. Burned! The worst spot is a place I obviously missed, along the crease of my arm next to my armpit. But my face and shoulders and chest, which I paid close attention to, are fried. My only consolation is that the sunscreen seems to have worked better on my kids, who do appear to be a bit darker, but did not burn. They've had one minor burn in their entire 10 and 7 years, respectively. I'm very proud of that.

Of course, the only reason I try to be careful with myself now is the pain. You know how they say one bad sunburn in childhood predisposes you to cancer as an adult? I'm totally doomed. Try one bad sunburn EVERY YEAR, MINIMUM. I was always a nice dark brown by September, too. So we'll see.

Okay, is that enough content to make up for the past week? For those of you who haven't fallen asleep? All one of you? :)

I'll try to be better...

The Sun, She Is Too Bright

I have a serious problem.

I was writing by the pool today--I know, true hardship, right?

But seriously. I was doing revisions on my laptop. The sun was mostly out, so it was too bright to go without sunglasses.

But I couldn't see the screen with my sunglasses on. I bumped the Zoom up to 200% and squinted at the screen, and got 47 pages revised, which is probably half of what I could have done if I'd worn a hat.

But did I wear a hat?

Nooooooo.

If I wear a hat, the sun won't lighten my horrible uncolor hair.

Serious problem.

First Day of Summer Vacation

I'm sure I made references over the years to it being a cold day in Hell when I would be a stay-at-home-mom. Heh.

In case you can't tell from this amateurish camera-phone shot, that's hail.

Leaping With Glee

One of my mother’s favorite sayings was “Leap, and the net shall appear.”

As a single mother, she did that a lot. New jobs, new homes, new marriage…somehow, she had the faith she needed to make the leap, and somehow, it always worked out. Not necessarily the way it was expected, I admit, but always in a way that felt positive.

Today, I took my own leap. I have left my solid, secure, ego-boosting day job to write full time. To fully embrace the dreams I’ve been pursuing for nearly fifteen years. And it feels so good, I’m not even worried about the net.

Writing, like most creative pursuits, is a “don’t quit your day job” proposition. For every American Idol finalist there are hundreds of night club chanteuses and chanteurs struggling to find success. For every Orlando Bloom, there’s a Joey Tribianni. And for every Nora Roberts, there’s a me.

We work hard, fitting our writing time around all of our other obligations, working sometimes fulfilling, sometimes soul-deadening day (or night) jobs to feed our families and our NFL Sunday Ticket needs. Some of us can make that work and slowly build success, selling more and more books and building the writing income until it is enough to replace the day job’s income. But some of us need to take the leap.

Over and over again, throughout my entire life, I’ve heard about people who did it, who faced horrible odds and dire consequences, and found corresponding success instead. I’ve always known, deep inside, that I was going to be one of those people. It was only a matter of time until I reached the cliff.

My circumstances aren’t dire, of course. I have backup. I wouldn’t have quit my day job if my husband and I hadn’t positioned ourselves financially to absorb the hit. The sacrifices we will be making are closer to Netflix than fresh vegetables. And I’m doing it as much for my kids, the oldest of whom is entering middle school but still too young to be home alone every day, as for myself. It’s possible the gods who hold the net will laugh at my pathetic little jump (my vertical leap is about negative one inch). But I can’t know unless I try.

So here I go…

So All Men AREN’T Sexual Pigs?

Note: I wrote this back in January and never posted it.

I hate when people have negative opinions about something they haven’t read. But I hate generalizations more, so here I go, voicing a negative opinion about something I haven’t read, and actually have no intention of reading.

The book in question is Self-Made Man by Norah Vincent, who spent quite a bit of time pretending to be a man so she could write this book, which is apparently all about how different men are from women.

Obviously, her observations are more valid than mine, because they are based on her experience. But the parts I have read (excerpts in magazines and quotes in reviews) seem to work too hard to push those observations further than they really go.

One that bugged me was that she said she learned to adapt an attitude of entitlement, and that women apologize a lot more. An example was that when ordering food, she’d say “Get us two filets,” where as a woman she would be more like, “Excuse me, so sorry to bother you, but when you get a chance do you think you could maybe get me a glass of water?”

A--If I were on a date with a man who ordered the waitress to “get us two filets,” that would be our last date.

B--While I acknowledge the tendency expressed in the second example, she is going way overboard in her demonstration. I don’t know any women who go that far to be apologetic about asking the waitress to do her job. And my husband says, “when you get a chance” to people all the time. He never says, “get me a filet.”

Some of the excerpts and references state that men are expressionless and hide all their emotions under armor. Sorry, but my brother (non-gay, fairly masculine, and very comfortable with himself) is one of the most emotional people I know. The references I’ve read imply (or I’ve inferred) that she took her observations of one group of men (rough-and-tumble types in a bowling league) and applied it to ALL men.

The final “big observation” that’s been discussed in the media I’ve read is about how women have sexual power. She made it sound like we have it in an unfair way, but I think how we feel when a man we’re not interested in approaches us balances with how they feel when they do the approaching and are rejected. Our power to reject directly equals their power to reject by omission.

The Time magazine article also quoted her as saying that while in recent times men have attempted to “learn our language,” women have made no attempt to learn theirs. I just gaped at the words. What about all those women who’ve battled for success in the last four decades (and longer) to succeed in traditionally male-dominated professions? I betcha anything the first female major in the Army would take offense at her oversimplification.

The bottom line, for me, is the generalization. SOME groups of women may not have attempted to “learn men’s language,” but it doesn’t apply to all women. SOME groups of men may pretend not to feel emotion, but that doesn’t mean all of them do. In my opinion, trying to give her research broad application to society as a whole does damage to her purpose.

This really turns me off to reading the book, so I could be wrong. Feel free to correct me or voice a different opinion. However strong I may feel, I always welcome the opportunity to admit I’m wrong. No, honest. I do.

Really.