The Best is Yet to Read

A Day (Days, actually) in the Life...

2007-11-26T17:26:00.000-08:00

I don't have to tell you: the annual post-Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas madness is upon us. And it's getting crazy out there. Add to that, a bunch of back to back trips I've planned for some reason smack in the middle of the holiday season, and I'm almost certifiable already.

I'm also getting ahead of myself here.

First, I do want to tell you about a special Thanksgiving day this year. My husband and I flew to New York (one of those trips I mentioned) then drove to Connecticut to spend the holiday with our younger son, his delightful new in-laws and brand-new wife. Kim cooked a truly delicious meal: tender turkey with stuffing and cranberry sauce, homemade whipped potatoes, fresh asparagus, green beans, and rolls plus a heavenly sweet potato souffle that melted in my mouth. I must get her recipe. Our contribution to the feast? A store bought pecan pie (I wasn't near my own kitchen) that tasted like a New Orleans praline (I'm drooling again) and an apple-cranberry pie that managed to be both tart and sweet. Believe me, no one went hungry!

Good thing we had all taken a walk before dinner. Afterward we sprawled happily in the living room to re-watch the excellent pictures from the wedding in August and the honeymoon photos of Paris. Ooh-la-la. Right now I wish I was there. Well, I always wish I was there...but today I spent hours and hours at the mall instead.

It was raining and raw outside, and I'm not like Sophie Kinsell's Shopaholic character. No, I don't hate to shop, but I don't love--or crave--it either, especially in a crowd. Because I'm leaving for San Francisco shortly, however, I needed to get a big head start on my Christmas shopping. A large portion of my family lives out of state, in quite a few states, and I'm always under the gun at this point, trying to finish the gift buying, the wrapping, and the shipping of boxes before the last-minute rush begins at the post office and UPS.

I did pretty well today. I have about half my gift buying done and hope to complete more tomorrow, including something for Chirps, my "grand kitty," and Cooper, my "grand dog."

I may not love to shop, but I do love the excitement, the anticipation, and the trappings of Christmas--especially Christmas trees. Every year I buy a new one for my little collection, and what do you know? Today Target had a gorgeous tabletop tree with fruits and nuts on it that I just had to get. All in all, a good day. Progress.

I'll be enjoying Christmas--and another beautiful tree--with my older son and his family this December, and I can't wait to see them. Another special time.

All I need to do beforehand is finish that shopping, wrapping, sending, then write some notes for the Christmas cards I haven't bought yet...you know the seasonal drill.

I'm sure we're all in the same boat. Between trips to the mall, I think I'll de-stress in front of a cozy fire with a good book, a cup of frothy hot chocolate, and a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers. Ahhh. Won't you join me?

There's Much to be Thankful For

2007-11-19T08:54:00.000-08:00

Back when I was in college I met a woman who became a good friend. She was the Director of Students, but she was only a few years older than I was. She once told me that she was thoroughly depressed about losing a boyfriend. He was a high-profile actor and everyone recognized him. When she was with him, there was an added prestige she garnered from both her friends and his.

When the relationship broke up, the prestige went with it and it plunged her into a place that she thought was dark and so deep she couldn’t claw her way out of it. One night, in the wee hours of the morning when she was unable to sleep, she got up and took a piece of paper. She drew a line down the middle and on one side wrote Good and the other Bad. She wrote down the things in her life that were good and weighed them against those that were not. This list was much longer on the good side of the page.

I have never forgotten this technique when I’m feeling low or feeling that my life is spinning out of control and there is nothing I can do about. The good always outweighs the bad. At this writing Thanksgiving is approaching and I have much to be thankful for. Much to list on the good side of my paper and very little on the not so good side.

I sent in a manuscript this morning (wee hours mind you, but it’s done). That in and of itself is a monumentally good thing. I finished the book, developed the blank page into real live people who I liked and wanted to spend time with.

I have my family, immediate and extended, all well and healthy. I have my romance writer friends, all supportive and eager to share information. I have non-romance writer friends who I’ll see and toast the holidays with.

I have my shopping done for the big meal on Thursday and the beginnings of some Christmas shopping done. I can spend some quality time with my daughter since I don’t have a deadline to keep me chained to the computer. We can do whatever it is she wants to do (within reason). She’s five.

On the not so good side, I have to cook the meal. But then I do get the leftovers. I have to clean the house, both for Thanksgiving and before I begin another writing project. If I don’t, it won’t get done until after the next book. And by then I won’t be able to get into my office.

So you see the good is much longer than the bad. Have a good holiday. Don’t eat too much. And remember the soldiers who are keeping us safe to enjoy family, friends, and a good meal. Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is on its way...

2007-11-08T15:44:00.000-08:00

although here in Canada, it's already been and gone. So I thought this would be a good time for me to talk about Thanksgiving, sort of halfway between the two holidays.

And I thought I'd talk about Thanksgiving traditions - or maybe more the lack thereof. Thanksgiving isn't as big a deal in Canada as it is in the U.S. and it's not celebrated at all in England (except by ex-pats, I suspect) where my mom and her family grew up and lived until moving to Canada after the war. So Thanksgiving has always been an odd kind of holiday for me.

My dad's family celebrated Thanksgiving but without any kind of fanfare and once my mom and dad split up when I was 12, it went even more on the back burner.

But I like to celebrate it myself. I love the food, I love the concept, I love the party of it. Because every year I have something to be thankful for - many things, in fact. And so Thanksgiving is a way for me to share that thankfulness with my family and friends. I often call both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners my "orphan" dinners, inviting everyone I know who doesn't have family in town, which means that it can be any number from 4 to 14 in my tiny tiny apartment.

I do the traditional dinner - turkey, my dad's stuffing, four or five vegetables, pumpkin pie, plenty of wine and beer. I absolutely LOVE the smell of turkey cooking. My shopping expedition always includes two or three packages of those aluminum takeout containers because I always cook a turkey that's more than slightly too big for the crowd and I really really don't like leftover turkey. I do, however, love all the other leftovers and I eat them for breakfast - the pumpkin pie - lunch - sandwiches with dressing and cranberry sauce in them - and dinner - veg, plenty of mashed potatoes, stuffing.

If the crowd is bigger than 4, I have to rearrange my entire apartment. I have to move many things (furniture, TV, books, small tables) into the bathtub or onto the balcony. I have to pull out my IKEA table and chairs from the very back of the closet and under the bed. I have to move all the furniture in the living to the walls, while managing to leave a tiny space for people to get in. But it's worth every minute of it...

What are your traditions? Where did they come from? What new ones have you added?

Kate

WHAT'S NEXT IN DECEMBER

2007-11-06T10:52:00.000-08:00

ANNIE ON THE LAM: A CHRISTMAS CAPER by Jennifer Archer

Determined to prove she's no wilting magnolia blossom, jilted heiress Annie Macy strikes out for New York City to make it on her own. Annie's plan just never involved having a money launderer for a boss…or stealing "evidence" during the company Christmas party. Now with an angry Santa in hot pursuit, Annie jumps into the nearest cab, only to discover her "driver" is P.I. Joe Brady—hired by Annie's meddling family to keep an eye on her. Stuck in a rusty old taxi in the middle of one of New York's worst blizzards, Annie and Joe are dodging the bad guys and heating up the backseat at every stop. And while they are waist-deep in snow and clues and lust for each other, Annie is about to discover the woman she's hidden inside herself for too many years…

CHRISTMAS PRESENCE: THREE TALES OF LOVE by Susan Crosby and Lisa Childs and Donna Birdsell

Christmas Presence by Donna Birdsell

Young widow Astrid Martin wants to boycott Christmas?but her husband's ghost won't let her! Before long she has a tree, even a gift-wrapping job at the mall, where she meets the man who holds the key to her Christmas future.

Secret Santa by Lisa Childs

When Maggie O'Brien receives gifts from a secret Santa, she suspects one of the three men in her life has finally wised up to how special she is. Who's the mystery man—her ex, her boss, or that good-looking car mechanic? Come Christmas morning, will true love be waiting under Maggie's tree?

You're All I Want for Christmas by Susan Crosby

Divorcée Lauren Wright opts for a Bahamas Christmas getaway—only to be stranded at the airport by weather. But a very personable fellow traveler makes the time fly—and temperatures rise. Bahamas or no Bahamas, things are about to get steamy…

WINNERS AND NOVEMBER CONTESTS

2007-11-06T10:49:00.000-08:00

Hi, everybody:

Congratulations to Nathalie and Wakela Runen, who are the winners of the October Next Authors blog contest. Please contact me at kate@kateaustin.ca with your name and address and I'll make sure your prizes start winging their way to you.

And don't forget to enter the November blog contest - everyone who posts a response to the blog is entered into the contest. The more times you post, the more times you are entered.

The Next authors are doing one more big contest in November and December - to find out about the contest and to enter go to:

http://www.writerspace.com/contests/nextauthors.html

Kate

Little Pumpkin Meets Big Boo

2007-10-30T12:09:00.000-07:00

I grew up in northeastern Ohio. Back in the day (as the current expression goes) carving a pumpkin face then trick or treating on Halloween was a big deal. Like kids everywhere my brother and I carefully chose our costumes--except for one season when Mom picked that year's outfit for me.

I don't remember why she did, but at eight I was mortified to have to dress as a bright orange pumpkin! Nevertheless, with the promise of treats in mind and my little brother in tow, I loped through our neighborhood in the dark, ringing doorbells and filling our bags with candy, cookies, apples, and more candy. As a big sister, I knew this trek could be a dangerous undertaking. According to suburban legend in our town, an elderly doctor who lived in a spooky-looking brick house with all its shades drawn lured unsuspecting children inside each Halloween--and they were never seen again. This, of course, lent an atmosphere of delicious terror to the pitch-dark night.

Already trembling in our shoes, my brother and I managed to survive the encounter. In fact, somewhat to our disappointment, the doctor seemed perfectly normal. Nice, really. Breathless with relief, we soon ran up to another house on a different block, rang the bell, and dumped our treats into the bags. Heady with success by this time we turned the corner, climbed a set of steps to a porch, and repeated our routine. "Trick or treat!"

But when the door opened, who was standing there, glowering? Not that doctor, who I'm sure was innocent. No, like Scout in To Kill A Mockingbird, I came smack up against the frightening Boo Radley in the flesh. "Weren't you kids just here?" he growled with a suspicious glance at my orange pumpkin suit. Busted. I wasn't exactly invisible. We had inadvertently come to the same door, the same house as the one just before. It had a wraparound porch that faced on two streets. We weren't really double-dipping, and like the "evil" doctor, "Boo Radley" wasn't really an ogre. Ah, the imagination of an earnest little girl. Maybe she should have been a writer....

Where I live now, and write, on a mountain far from my hometown, the nights are even darker than the Halloweens of my childhood. Or so they seem. I still love this scary time of year, and things that go bump in the night, and having a pumpkin to carve, not to mention buying candy for this year's Trick or Treat handout (and of course, some Dove chocolates just for me). But my favorite memory of Halloween is that long-ago march through the fallen leaves in my pumpkin costume (Mom's choice, bless her heart). If I still had it, and it fit the larger, more whimsical me, I think I'd wear it.

Beware of Those Knee-High Boots!

2007-10-17T11:33:00.000-07:00

Brr, shiver--and I don't mean from the cold.

It's almost Halloween, that scariest time of year, and the chills are running down my spine. All around me are signs that Trick or Treat is upon us. The stores are filled with candy and costumes, their aisles covered with gossamer cobwebs, and in my local Wal-Mart there's a pretty scary guy in overalls perched on a tractor, looming right by the check-out counters. He's stuffed, not real, but he does make me pull up short every time I see him. As another sign of the season the grocery aisles are chockablock with fall gourds and piles of pumpkins, both orange and...white? Who knew? My sister-in-law tells me there are blue ones, too, though I haven't seen any. I like my pumpkins the traditional way.

Movies too, I guess.

"Psycho" is probably the most memorable horror film from my past (remember, "Norman? Norman!"), but has anyone here watched "See No Evil?"

The movie has two titles, actually, one for the U.S. market and another for the U.K., but unfortunately I don't recall its other, British name. In either case, like "Rosemary's Baby," it stars a young Mia Farrow, who in this one looks appropriately delicate and vulnerable, the latter in part because (like Audrey Hepburn in "Home Before Dark") she is totally blind.

A quick plot recap: While staying with relatives on their vast British estate, Mia comes home one afternoon--and instantly feels that something is terribly wrong in the house. It's not just the eerie silence. Because of her blindness (recent, if I remember right) her other senses have become more acute, and with growing horror she gropes her way through room after room of the manor house, only to find that everyone in the family is dead. Murdered. Why? She doesn't know. The viewer can see the carnage, but of course Mia cannot.

And she isn't alone in the house. The killer is still there. She can hear him.

On the other hand, he doesn't realize she's blind, and although she escapes (temporarily) he's now after her--the only "witness" to his crimes.

The viewer, like Mia (sorry, I've forgotten her character's name), doesn't see this part, but throughout the film the villain walks around in classic British hunt boots, stomp, stomp, stomp as he tracks, and terrorizes, our heroine. Yet he is photographed only from the knees down. We never see his face.

Is there anyone Mia can turn to? And trust?

Well, a nice romance might help to break the tension, and it does. But it also heightens the fear in both Mia and the audience. Our hero also wears hunt boots! Is he really falling in love with her, protective of her? Or is he the actual killer?

That's a simplified version of the story, but I guarantee it's frightening from beginning to end.

And, in part, glamorous. I like my horror movies to also look good. For some reason a beautiful setting (a fantasy) seems to intensify the conflict, e.g., the everyday, presumably safe environment of this country estate against the heroine's increasing fears for her life. There's also some exciting footage with the horses from the hero's stable, which play a role at the crisis point of the film.

If you can, get a copy of "See No Evil." I highly recommend it.

It'll scare the pants off you. Right on time for Halloween.

Scary Movie

2007-10-14T17:25:00.000-07:00

I love masquerade parties, always have. I suppose it’s being able to be someone else for a little while, release the inhibitions and act the part from behind a colorful mask that is appealing. This is probably why I love Halloween. You get to play dress up. I’m in the process of making my daughter’s Halloween costume. I cut the pattern out today and did all the marking. Now I’m ready to sew. She’s going to be a pilgrim. I have an Elizabethan gown I made several years ago for the masquerade party they have every year at the Romantic Times Convention. I’m going to wear it as I take my daughter trick or treating. The gown is beautiful and took me a whole evening to create each sleeve. It needs ironing and the photo doesn’t do it justice, but it is a beautiful gown. Members of my romance writers chapter have occasionally borrowed it for programs, fashion shows and demonstrations.

When I was younger, I used to spend Sunday afternoons in the theater watching horror movies. My friends and I used to love to do the "scare me to death in the dark" routine. And at that time, it seemed as if there was a different horror movie every week. Much like there are continuous teen movies today. If a movie truly met our qualifications, we’d be scared. If not, it was usually laughable.

One of my all-time favorite scary movies is Invasion of the Body Snatchers . It was hard to choose just one to write about, but this one still gives me chills today. It doesn’t matter how many versions of the movie they make, and I see another one with Nicole Kidman is about to be released, the black and white release from 1956 with Kevin McCarthy and Dana Wynter is the best in my opinion. It scared me when I first saw it because it was so real. I knew it could happen. I was convinced that in some small town in America the invasion had already begun. Even though I was and am a logical person, I knew this could happen so quickly and without the knowledge of anyone who could stop it.

I completely empathized with Dr. Miles Bennell (Kevin McCarthy). No one believed him. He was a well-respected physician, and other doctors thought he was crazy. If he convinced anyone, no one else could and if they did it would be too late for them to do anything.

I saw the story as it was presented. At my young age, Id didn’t get the underlying message of a story. It was decades later that I realized there was a metaphor in there for Communism or McCarthyism. For my purposes, it worked. I was scared. And today I continue to be entertained, even though I can see the flaws in the plotline. They don’t detract from the film. Halloween is approaching and I haven’t see it on the television schedule yet, but I’m sure it will be there before the holiday ends. Look for it and enjoy a really fine film.

Shirley

WAIT UNTIL DARK

2007-10-09T18:38:00.000-07:00

I can remember watching this movie - which scared me to death - when I lived in Toronto, years after it first came out. It was late at night, I lived by myself, I have this feeling it was in the winter so it was (or felt) especially dark.

Audrey Hepburn is blind and she's on her way home from a trip and a drug dealer puts something in the doll she's bringing home.

She lives in a basement apartment in New York and I think the reason it felt so incredibly scary to me was that I lived in a ground floor apartment at the time, I was about Audrey's age, though I hadn't just flown home from Paris and I wasn't married.

But still, this is probably the scariest movie I ever saw and it wasn't scary because it was violent or because there were ghosts or the devil or some big evil, it was scary because it was incredibly suspenseful.

The bad guy keeps showing up in Audrey's life as she maneuvers her way around her apartment, around the city, and she's blind. I still can't think of anything more frightening...

She couldn't see him, she didn't know he was following her, but things kept moving in her apartment, things kept happening that she couldn't understand.

You need to see this movie if you like suspense - but don't watch it by yourself late at night, okay? I'd never do that again. I have watched it since the first time but I either watch it in the daytime or with someone else. Too scary for me.

Kate

Truth? And Consequences

2007-10-08T18:34:00.000-07:00

My mother is so mad at me. She’s in the midst of reading Face Time, the newest Charlotte McNally Mystery. It’s being released this week! I say: Hooray. So far, Mom says: I’m sure that’s lovely, dear. You can imagine the tone.

Mom is terrific. She’s almost 80, and is absolutely beautiful. An artist, a reader, a wonderful intellect. (She doesn’t have a computer, so she’s not reading this.) I’m her oldest daughter, and any psychologist will tell you that can cause some friction.

So anyway. Why is Mom mad? She thinks I’ve “used her for art.”

It’s true: Charlie McNally’s mother in Face Time is a bit—persnickety. She’s opinionated. She thinks, for instance, that Charlotte might want to give up her very successful 20-year TV career to marry some tycoon and become a tycoon wife. No matter that Charlie is happy with the personal life (pretty happy, at least, for a 46-year-old single woman who is married to her job) and happy with her professional life (pretty happy, at least, even though she’s fearful she’s gong go be replaced by someone younger). Mom also thinks Charlotte (she refuses to call her Charlie, saying, “nicknames are for stuffed animals and men who play sports”) might want to visit the plastic surgeon for some face time of her own.

Now Mrs. McNally is not, I repeat, not, my mother. But in these days of controversy over whether books that are purported to be memoirs are actually true—I find myself fighting to convince her that my book is truly fiction.

It’s ALL MADE UP, I tell her. Yes, Charlie has a Mom, and I have a Mom. But I’m not Charlie and she’s not you.

Silence on the other end of the phone.

“Of course it’s me, dear,” she finally says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

So I’m wondering, do any of you have a problem with this? Do people “recognize” themselves in your books—and you have to convince them it’s a fictional character they’re recognizing? Would you “use” someone for “art”?

Or if you’re a reader, do you assume fictional characters are real people just put on paper?

And as it turns out—as Mom will find out if she’ll just get to the end of the book—it’s not only a mystery, and a romance, but kind of a love story between mothers and daughters. My editor said she had tears in her eyes. One reviewer told me she cried. (Which is odd, you have to admit, in a murder mystery.)

Yes, as authors we take elements of reality. Then we polish, and tweak, and exaggerate, and accessorize. But the fun is making up something completely new. Creating a new world. New characters and new relationships. And it’s ALL MADE UP.

Okay, Mom?

Do you have a contentious relationship with your mother? (or daughter?) Do you understand each other?

With love to all mothers and daughters...

Hank (okay, it's Harriet) Phillippi Ryan

What's NEXT in November

2007-10-03T09:46:00.000-07:00

I'M YOUR MAN

by Susan Crosby

There was a hot-looking man in her kitchen. And he was cooking!

Maureen Hart had never had a summer so crazy...not even the year she'd become a teenage unwed mother. Now her life was on track with a steady boyfriend and a big promotion looming. And the one person who could derail everything was now waiting on her doorstep!Maureen's estranged daughter desperately needed her to care for her six-year-old son for a while. She just never imagined when she said yes that the child's gorgeous paternal grandfather, Daniel, would insist on staying, as well.

Quarters were getting interestingly close. But Maureen was technically almost engaged...and a workaholic...and a control freak. And totally about to cut loose and indulge in a little fun with a man capable of doing his own laundry!

RT REVIEW OF I'M YOUR MAN:

Thirty-nine-year-old Maureen Hart's life seems like it's moving toward complete satisfaction. She has a serious man, good friends and a possible promotion. Then her estranged daughter leaves Maureen with the young grandson she adores but has never spent any time with. Handsome and unsettling Daniel Cregg, the paternal grandfather, follows. Since her daughter and grandson live with him in Seattle, Maureen feels he stole them from her after his son died. Soon her settled life is in turmoil as she fights her attraction to Daniel and refuses to put her boyfriend ahead of her grandson. I'm Your Man (4), by Susan Crosby, has an interesting, compelling hero, a complex heroine and a heartwarming ending—which might be too neatly tied up but is completely entertaining.
~ Romantic Times

THE SECRET GODDESS CODE

by Peggy Webb

What happens when two women swap lives?

Soap Opera Star Gloria Hart: After losing her celebrated soap opera role, she winds up crashing her Ferrari Spider and getting stranded in Mooreville, Mississippi. Will America's TV goddess discover the role of her life with handsome rancher Matt Tucker playing the leading man? After all, he's the first man she's kissed off camera in over five years!

Married Mom Jenny Miller: Up to her ears in pies she bakes for her husband's restaurant and the trials of an angst-ridden teenager, she's lost touch with herself. Can her budding friendship with Gloria change that? With a few margaritas, a memorable road trip and a little help from each other, these women are about to find friendship, love and their own secret goddesses!

Congratulations to the winners of the September contest

2007-10-03T09:26:00.000-07:00

Jenna and Ashley Ladd.

Would you email me at kate@kateaustin.ca with your name and address and I'll send them along to the prize givers for this month?

And don't forget to post for the October contest prizes...

Kate

Book review--The Lost Years

2007-09-20T13:30:00.000-07:00

In the past, I'd generally stick to pure fiction in my reading material. I love to get lost in other people's imaginations, and I like that there are no constraints. But ever since I picked a memoir I'd read a review about (A Girl Named Zippy) I've been on a non-fiction kick.

Last night I finished a book called The Lost Years by Kristina Wandzilak and Constance Curry. It chronicles years of alcohol and drug abuse by a girl (Kristina) who was once an athletic, bright, and popular high school student who had the world at her feet. After Kristina's first drink of alcohol in high school, her life spirals down into an alcohol and narcotic addiction that tears her family apart and leaves Kristina herself broken and nearly dead.

Contance, Kristina's mother, whose marriage is troubled and whose husband is also an alcoholic, is at a loss as to how to help her daughter until she begins to take charge of her own life. As she grows and finds a strength she never knew she had, she realizes the only way to help Kristina is not to help her at all.

I cried several times while reading this book. It is emotionally wrenching and powerful, each scene recounted first by daughter and then by mother, in their own unique perspectives. How they lived through this ordeal, which is no doubt being played out thousands of times every day in this country, is inspirational. I recommend it if only for reaffirmation of the resiliance of the human spirit.

--DLB

All the Roadrunning

2007-09-18T18:34:00.000-07:00

These two talented musicians - and between the two of them they've been around the block a few times - have crafted a CD full of duets that don't feel like they did them just for the money. They work. Their voices are perfect together, Knopfler's guitar (as always) is sublime, and the lyrics are all about love and pain and longtime relationships. I could talk about every song on the CD, but just listen if you can to the first verse from If This is Goodbye, the final song on the CD:

my famous last words

are lying around in tatters

sounding absurd

whatever i try

but i love you and

that's all that really matters

if this is goodbye if this is goodbye

This CD is all about storytelling, about aging and living gracefully, about romance after many years, about surviving. It's about you and me and our memories as Knopfler writes in This Is Us.

You know how there are CDs you only play when you're in party mode and others you only play when you're nostalgic or sad or with your very best friend? And then there are CDs you play as background music. We all have music that works for different times in our lives - this CD begs to be listened to, the lyrics beg to be heard, so don't waste it on background music but do share it with your friends.

Kate

September From Both Sides

2007-09-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

I didn’t realize when I signed up to blog today that this Tuesday would be the sixth anniversary of the World Trade Center tragedy. Certainly that’s one thing to hate about this ninth month of the year because it will always be a reminder of that terrible time in our nation’s history. Because I've lived in New York City twice in my life, as both a single and then a married woman, and because my husband and I still go there regularly to enjoy the city, I feel a special connection to Manhattan—my second home—and a definite sense of loss on this anniversary of 9/11. May all those who were lost, and who did lose loved ones, find peace.

There have been other losses, too, sad to say. Personal ones. Both of my parents died in September—in different years but one on September 19th, the other on September 21st. My maternal grandmother, in fact, passed away in the same year just ten days after my father did. I truly hope that’s the end of that, and bad events come only in threes, no more.

That’s one side of this end-of-summer, beginning-of-fall time of year.

But there’s a better side.

The glorious days are still ahead. What things do I love? The dozen or so hummingbirds that swarm around my feeders, performing their jet-fighter pilot maneuvers as they store up food for their long flight to Mexico to spend the winter. The leaves changing color, becoming a riot of orange, yellow, red on the wooded mountain road that leads to my house, scattering the pavement and beautifying the hills. The cool mornings after a blazingly hot August that shattered old records, the warm, magical, golden afternoons under a true-blue sky, the crisp, cool evenings that hint of winter in the air. The first smell of woodsmoke rising from someone’s fireplace or stove. New clothes—and the rediscovery of old favorites taken out of storage for the season ahead.

Having just returned from Connecticut where my son was married on the last of August—thanks to all for your good wishes, it was a beautiful outdoor ceremony on a beautiful day!—how could I not love September? The post-wedding brunch was held at the bride’s parents’ home on the first of this month and the newlyweds are just getting back from their Paris honeymoon. This season I have a new “daughter,” a new extended family. It doesn’t get better than that.

So how can I not love September, its splendors as well as those poignant memories?

A poem for September...

2007-09-10T18:56:00.000-07:00

'Twas the Day School Began

'Twas the day school began, and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.

As I surfed the 'net and watched the soaps,
and outlined all my writing hopes.

The children were nestled all snug at their desks,
While teachers took roll call and talked about tests.

The stockings they sat in their hampers just waiting,
for someone to wash them but they weren't rating.

This day was for me, for writing and napping, and spending
uninterrupted time on the telephone yapping.

Before I knew it, the kids were returning,
telling me all about what they were learning.

But it's hard to be filled with too much sorrow
when I know it'll happen again, tomorrow!

Happy New Year!

2007-09-09T15:34:00.000-07:00

It must have been going back to school that did it. But don’t we all have fiscal years-- beginning in September--imbedded in our consciousness?

Oh sure, there’s the chronological year—Ending in December, beginning in January. New Years Eve, fireworks and all, champagne and black-eyed peas signaling the beginning of that new year.

But I think September begins another, just as deeply felt and deeply meaningful as any December New Year’s Eve.

As the August days zoom toward the end , and those lazy nights having dinner in the back yard get shorter and shorter, and it’s dark so soon you wonder where the day went, it feels like the end, doesn’t it? Of something?

And the ads for back to school fill the paper and the airwaves. And I always feel like I need new—pencils. And new clothes. (Although I always feel like I need new clothes. But that’s a different blog)

Something begins in September. No matter what age I am.

I do remember the clothes I wore on the first day back to school in—maybe 1963? When I was 14. No, still 13. It was still too hot in Indiana for my new all clothes—just because it’s back to school doesn’t mean summer weather is over. But I could not wait to wear my little black and white hound’s-tooth skirt and my big red sweater. I had new penny loafers and clean white bobby socks. My mother insisted it was too soon to wear it, that I would die in the heat. But I would not be deterred. I thought I looked great. I was all set for school, for sixth grade and my new classmates and maybe this year I would finally be deemed cool.

Then I forgot to brush my teeth. I just had time before the bus came to do it. I raced to the bathroom, got a mouth full of Crest—and dribbled a huge pasty glob of it down my front. My red sweater was…well you can imagine.

I frantically dabbed at it with a towel, thereby adding towel lint to the gunky mess. Let’s just leave the rest of it to history. It was a sad event. And I did not make it into the cool group.. (Although it wasn’t only the Cresty sweater. But that’s a story for another blog.)

And now, its September again. It’s beautiful here in New England. The pink and white roses in my garden are struggling to stay in bloom. The sedum are swarming with bees. The dahlias are taking their turns at being the stars of the garden, all lavender-edged white, and fiery red, and huge white blossoms that look like fireworks. The trees are still green, but as I look out my study window, I just saw a leaf fall, floating slowly to the ground. And so it begins.

The apples will be good soon. And the foliage will bring leaf-peepers from all over the world.

Even the sun sign for September is Virgo, the virgin. The symbol of changes to come, and new experiences, and innocence. And the time goes by so quickly now. Picking up speed.

In October, my second Charlie McNally mystery, Face Time, will be released! I can’t wait for you to read it. Soon we’ll race into Halloween, and then Thanksgiving, and then Christmas…and then that other new year. And it will all happen way too fast.

But isn’t September the anything-can-happen month? All you need is some new pencils and some new penny loafers. And to be careful brushing your teeth.

Do you have back to school memories? Have you ever gotten over the September cycle?

Have a wonderful September…and happy new year!

Love

Hank Phillippi Ryan

See You In September

2007-09-08T17:39:00.000-07:00

The first thing I loooove about September is the weather. It cools down from the sweltering heat of August and becomes comfortable. The days are perfect for walking and the nights great for sleep. I can open the windows and let the air in. I can sit outside and enjoy the day.

I also love that the vacation crowds are all gone and while the weather is taking a turn, it hasn’t turned yet. School’s open and all the vacation hot spots are still operating. The prices are slashed in half and it’s perfect for playing the tourist. The guides at the sites have time to answer questions and give you that extra bit of information that most people don’t get.

Fall clothes are also on my lists of things I love about September. Sweaters and sweatshirts, exercise pants, and patent leather shoes. Curling up in front of the fire with a glass of wine or apple cider and Smokey Robinson or Gladys Knight singing in the background is close to heavenly. I’m always cold, especially under air conditioning. It seems I can never find a comfortable temperature and I feel claustrophobic being confined to rooms where the air has to be cooled in order for my body to maintain an energy level where I can work. Honestly, I don’t know what we did before air conditioning, and while I prefer having it, to not having it, it’s not the same as a perfect fall day.

See You In September, I love September songs, and going back to school. See You In September always takes me back to those days. While the song was often popular in June when schools were closing, it was more popular as September approached and I knew I’d get to reunite with friends I hadn’t seen for three months. I was a person who usually traveled upstream. I loved school. I loved learning and the social part of school appealed to me too. Each succeeding year meant nine months of fun and new opportunities. At the time I was going through it, I knew it was the best years of my life.

I love that a new television season begins in September. After a summer of reruns, finally I get to see the resolution of the cliffhanger that the season ending left me with. I get to watch the new programs and find what appeals to me. Now that we have cable and can always choose a new movie to see, the new season still gives me a little jolt. I’m very selective now, since I have so little time for watching television, but I still feel a need to know what the new programs are.

The US Open (tennis) begins the last week of August and ends the second week in September. This is my favorite tennis tournament. It’s in the United States and close to where I live. I’ve spent days on the bleachers in the hot sun watching some of the best players in the world do what they do best. The bleachers are hard, the food is past expensive, the sun can be hot, yet the experience is priceless.

I love picking apples and making applesauce, apple jelly, stewed apples, apple pies, apple cobbler, apple brown betty, apple crisp, baked apples, apple turnovers, and all manner of apple dishes. Apples are the only fruit that I like when it’s cooked. I’d rather eat fruit fresh and raw, but for the American staple, I’m right in there enjoying it in any form. Years ago I used to go to a farm and pick vegetables and then can or freeze them. Then I’d go to orchards and pick fruit, peaches, apples, strawberries, blue berries, pears and make jams and jellies. I still like the apple dishes and look forward to cooking them every year. Nothing is better than a warm kitchen, smelling of apples and sugar, on a crisp September day.

These are all the things I love about September.

What I dislike about September is mainly that darkness comes early. The days no longer have the same amount of daylight. I love the daylight and in September it gets noticeably darker earlier. I get more accomplished when the amount of sunlight is longer. When it’s dark, I feel like my day is over and I should prepare for bed.

But the sunsets in September are spectacular. I can say this about all sunsets, no matter the season. They are all different. In September the sun is a huge red-orange ball dipping in the sky. Even driving home after a long day at work, the sunset commands that you notice it, practically forcing you to look at it. No matter how bad your day may have been, the sunset gives you a sense of wonder.

There’s more to love about September than dislike about it. Yes, it means winter is coming, but that also holds a lot of exhilaration. Embrace September. Enjoy it. And marvel at how much of your life you fondly remember that took place in September.

Shirley

Contests - The Best is Yet to Read

2007-09-08T14:23:00.000-07:00

Don't forget that every month of the year two lucky people who post to The Best is Yet to Read blog get a chance to win a prize from our authors. Don't forget to read the blog and post often...

Kate

September Song

2007-09-04T18:06:00.000-07:00

I love September - it's always a toss up for me whether I prefer April or September, but when it's September, I know that it's my favorite month.

One of the reasons I love September so much is because I live in Vancouver and the evenings in September are the most beautiful of the year. And that's going some because Vancouver evenings (sun or rain or the bi-yearly snow) are incredibly beautiful. Just look at the sky in this picture - it's gorgeous.

Other reasons I love September? Shall I count the ways?

I love the weather, the cool evenings, the warm days, the gentle rain.

I love the leaves changing color. It's not a big event in the rainforest because most of the trees are coniferous, but there are a few streets where there are deciduous trees and the colors are brilliant. It reminds me of the east coast for a very short period of time.

I love the feeling of starting a new year. All of us spent most of our formative years beginning the year in September and that sticks with us, at least it did with me. I tend to do more list-making, more organizing, more goal-setting in September than I ever do in January.

I love the way people come back from vacation rested and ready to go. They want to go out to play, they want to get working, they're ready to get back to their regular lives.

I love the movies in September - this is when all the Oscar contenders start hitting the theatres and I get to see great movies week after week.

I love the way people (including me) in Vancouver eek (eak?) out the last days of summer, wearing sandals and shorts and T-shirts even in the rain and the cool of the evenings, pretending that summer isn't over. Not yet.

I love the way I go to the mall or walk down Robson Street or Denman and not run into hordes of kids during the day. I love 'em but I'm glad they're back at school.

I love the way the Seawall and Granville Island and the Art Gallery and my favorite restaurants go back to their regular non-summer, non-touristy selves. Sometimes they're still busy but they're no longer frantic.

I love that I can buy next year's summer clothes at 50 or 70% off. And because my favorite shoes are sandals, I just know that I'll be able to buy at least one pair that I've been eyeing all summer at a price I can afford.

I love the evenings as they get darker, settling into my favorite chair with candles lit and a glass of wine, and reading a great book and not feeling the slightest bit guilty about not being outside in the sunshine.

September always makes me sing.

Kate

WINNTERS OF AUGUST CONTEST

2007-09-01T10:29:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody: ChristyJan and Anne are the winners of the August NEXT contest and prizes will be winging their way to you soon. Email me at kate@kateaustin.ca with your name and mailing address and we'll get them on their way to you.

Kate

What's NEXT IN October?

2007-09-01T10:23:00.001-07:00

Two great new books from Hank Phillipi Ryan and Kate, both of which got 4 1/2 stars from RT Magazine.

Kate Austin’s SEEING IS BELIEVING

There's a magic in life—But Ria Sterling has yet to embrace it, because she considers her ability to predict death from merely touching a photograph a curse. She yearns to use her sight to save just one life. On the other hand, tough-talking detective Carrick Jones and his partner profess not to care about saving anyone. But they do need Ria's help in solving a case. Instead, she predicts that Carrick's partner will die. Soon. And when her vision proves true, Ria goes from psychic to prime suspect.—The one thing she can't predict is her instant attraction to Carrick, a man who doesn't believe in the paranormal—only what his five senses tell him. But when danger threatens, Ria finally sees how to use her gift in a unique way. And to show Carrick the inexplicable power of a love where seeing really is believing.—

RT Magazine’s TOP PICK review of SEEING IS BELIEVING:

Seeing is believing (4.5 TOP PICK) by Kate Austin, has it all - - romance, sexual tension, mystery, adventure and a strong heroine. Ria Sterling has a psychic gift. She can look at photographs of people and know if they’re going to die within a couple of days. She accepts her gift and wants to prevent the deaths, but when she correctly predicts the death of Detective Carrick Jones’ partner, the nonbelieving policeman thinks she murdered him. Ria, however, has more amorous thoughts on her mind. She sees a possible future with him, but she also knows, on a psychic level, they are meant to work together to save someone. But with a killer after her, can Ria win Carrick’s trust in time and unmask the murderer? This is a page-turner from start to finish.

Hank Phillip Ryan’s FACE TIME

It's the scoop of a journalist's dreams!
New evidence in an old murder case could set a convicted woman free. Who better to crack the story than Boston's own version of Brenda Starr? Unfortunately, the prime source won't talk, the attorney general is trying to block the investigation, and the more Charlotte snoops around, the more people turn up dead!

An extended visit from her persnickety mother isn't helping. And Josh, the incredibly sexy new love of her life, may be the picture of perfection, but that includes a close-up of a prickly preteen who's not keen on sharing her daddy with Charlotte.
What's a star reporter to do? If anyone can pull it together it's Charlotte, but she'd better hurry, because someone wants her nose out of their news— for good.

RT Magazine’s 4 ½ star review of FACE TIME:

Face Time (41/2), by Hank Phillippi Ryan, returns to the Boston TV world of Emmy-winning investigative reporter Charlie McNally. In her first book, Prime Time, Charlie was almost killed by a sociopath. But she did meet a wonderful man, professor Josh Gelston, and now both romance and excitement continue. When Charlie is approached about helping to clear a woman imprisoned for the murder of her husband, the story seems perfect for sweeps. But soon Charlie and her producer are up against a politician running for governor on a law-and-order platform with the woman’s case as his selling point. Soon there are more murders, and Charlie finds both herself and her difficult but loving mother in trouble. Strong writing and an interesting plot make this a wonderful follow-up.

A Summer Book Party

2007-08-31T11:48:00.000-07:00

This past week my 16th novel came out. Quite a milestone for someone who never planned to be a writer and didn't start writing until after she was forty. (Before you make me Methuselah, bear in mind that I write really, really quickly!) I had a booksigning, but that didn't really seem like a big enough celebration, so I threw myself a "Sweet Sixteen."

I sent out e-vites, telling people that there'd be Books and Booze, and the acceptances came rolling in.

This is our friend Kate and some of the food. It vanished quickly!

Since I'd be at the bookstore until just before the party, I needed to come up with things I could prepare in advance. And prepare, I did! For two days I diced, chopped, combined and cooked. Everything was a hit.

We started off with Pineapple Martinis. In order to make them you need to first make pineapple vodka by coring, skinning and cutting up a whole pineapple. The piece of pineapple go in a large pitcher and you pour an entire bottle of vodka over them, cover it and leave it at room temperature for 24 hours. Strain out the pineapple (don't even taste it, just throw it out. Yuck, right? I knew you'd taste it!). Combine 3 parts pineapple vodka with one part apricot nectar and shake with crushed ice in a shaker. Strain out into a martini glass decorated with a slice of pineapple. Yum!!

I also made baked brie, which is really simple. Just cut the rind off the top of a round brie, cover it with apricot preserves and then cover that with chopped pistachios you've roasted for a while on the top of the store in a little butter. Then bake for 20 minutes at 350. It can't miss.

I did this incredible thing with figs-- cut off the bottoms so that they stand tall, then make an X in the top. Make a mixture of ricotta cheese, toasted chopped pistachio nuts (that you have left over from the brie) and some maple syrup to taste. Top with a honeyed almond and watch them disappear.

I made four different kinds of sandwiches: mini lobster rolls, roast beef and roasted garlic cream cheese on French bread with basil leaves and sundried tomatoes, brie and nectarine sandwiches and "mad hatter" sandwiches, which I found on the net and modified.

Then I made carrot cake cupcakes, zucchini cupcakes (both frosted with cream cheese frosting) chocolate chiffon cupcakes and golden buttermilk cupcakes.

As if that wasn't enough, my dear friend Lynette brought a chocolate fountain and we had fruit and pound cake which everyone enjoyed dipping.

Everyone had a great time, especially me!

Stevi

Summer's here and it's time for

2007-08-28T17:09:00.001-07:00

all those great summer picnic specials - Kentucky Fried Chicken and fries, souvlaki and Greek salad, hot dogs with sauerkraut and fried onions, mustard and ketchup. Ice cream from the Basken Robbins with 42 different flavors or soft serve from Dairy Queen. A burger and a strawberry milkshake from Fat Burger. Fish and chips from Lumberman's Arch.

As you can see, all my favorite summer foods are ones you pick up at the takeout place so, although I have recipes for some summer foods, I'm definitely a picnic fan and a picnic is no fun if you have to work too much to get ready.

I picnic on the beach fairly regularly in the spring, summer and fall and, lucky for me, in Vancouver there are dozens of great fast food places within a five minute walk of the beach. That means your food doesn't get cold before you get it down to the blanket.

But I do have one summer recipe you might enjoy - and it's easy.

Kate's Gin and Tonic

Start with ice, plenty of it.

Add the ice to a heavy crystal glass.

Add one slice of lime, lightly squeezed, to the ice.

Take two ounces of Bombay Sapphire Gin - not substitutes allowed - and pour it over the ice and lime.

Add Schweppes tonic as required.

Sip slowly. Think of summer.

Kate

Shirley's Orange Juice Special

2007-08-25T19:36:00.000-07:00

Food! I don’t like to cook. It wasn’t in my genes when I was conceived. I love to plan and prepare huge meals. I suppose I could have been a chef but for the hours. For holidays, picnics, family reunions, huge gatherings, I’m right in there. But this everyday stuff is boring. (“What is it tonight, beef, chicken, or pork – the choices are so limiting.) And a good meal is time consuming. I’d much rather do something else than prepare food.

So I go for the easy to do. In summer, when it’s too hot to cook, I like a refreshing drink, something that’s filling and delicious. If it’s also healthy, that’s just coincidence.

Years ago I went to visit a friend in Austin, Texas. Being from Buffalo, NY and living in the District of Columbia where they know humidity, I’d never felt anything like the heat in Texas. I decided to go for a walk the first day I was there and nearly died of the heat. I got to a small strip mall and ordered something called an Orange Julius. I’d never heard of it before and I’d never tasted anything so good.

They wouldn’t tell me how it was made so I experimented with my blender until I got something that tasted just as good. I don’t know if it’s the same. This is my personal recipe. One morning some of my sons’ diving team friends were here for breakfast. As athletes should have healthy meals, I made them Shirley’s Orange Juice Special instead of straight orange juice. Even the guys who didn’t like orange juice liked this. I hope you do too.

Shirley’s Orange Juice Special

Ingredients:
2 cups orange juice
1 large egg
½ cup sugar
Ice

Directions: Put the juice, sugar and egg in a blender. Fill with ice. Blend ingredients until they are smooth. Serve in tall glasses with straws.

Note – if you want add a banana for additional fiber and flavor.

tomatoes!

2007-08-25T17:36:00.000-07:00

I went down to the farm stand yesterday, and found some great stuff. Cantaloupes, fresh corn, peppers. And of course, tomatoes. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Stacked on carts, piled in tubs, crated in rows.

A tomato glut.

If you grow your own tomato plants you might have it, too. But don't fear, you can be a tomato glut-ton! Here are a couple of my favorite summer tomato recipes.

Fresh summer spaghetti sauce:
Take six ripe tomatoes, core them and cut them in half. Place them cut side up in a roasting pan or dutch oven. Top with minced garlic and drizzle generously with olive oil. Sprinkle with dried basil. Roast in a 375 degree F oven for 45 minutes or until soft when poked with a fork. Allow tomatoes to cool. Remove skins and place pulp in a large sauce pan. Squish with your hands until pulp is broken up. Cook over medium low heat for half an hour (no lid, but use a screen to cut down on splatter) to reduce liquid. You can also add a little bit of sugar if you like your sauce sweet.

Tomato and cucumber salad:
Slice two cucumbers lenthwise, remove seeds and cut into 1-inch chunks. Cut two tomatoes into 1-inch chunks. Slice 1/2 a medium sweet onion into ribbons. Put all ingredients into large bowl and sprinkle with dill. In measuring cup, mix 1/3 cup vegetable oil and 1/3 cup apple cider vinegar. Pour over vegetables and stir. Allow to sit in fridge for an hour or two or overnight before serving, to allow flavors to mix. (You can also add two stalks of sliced celery if desired.)

Salsa!
Finely dice two fresh tomatoes. Run half an onion, one jalepeno pepper (no seeds!), and half a sweet green pepper through the food processor. Add chopped fresh cilantro and salt to taste.

There they are! Hope they help you ride out that tomato glut.

--Donna

Dessert First!

2007-08-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Like most of the country, Tennessee is having a heat wave. Yesterday the high here was 103—thank goodness the humidity has stayed low—with the same predicted for today. The lawn is yellow in spots, and crunchy. So, in this temporarily quasi-desert environment, who feels like cooking?

Not me. I’ve been eating out a lot the past few weeks, especially while my air conditioner waited for the way-too-busy repairman to come fix it. When I do eat at home these days, I’m definitely thinking Cool. Easy. No Cooking.

And why not start with dessert? This one is scrumptious, refreshing, and so simple anyone can make it in a slowed-down summer heartbeat. Best of all, your family or dinner guests fix their own. Just take some…

Luscious, ripe red strawberries (washed, of course)
Sour Cream (you can use low-fat if you like, but the real stuff tastes better)
Brown Sugar
Dip a strawberry in the sour cream. Then drag it through the brown sugar.
Take a bite. And enjoy. As Rachel Ray would say, “Yum-o.”

Here’s another that requires slightly more preparation but not much:

Take one store-bought pound cake (Sara Lee is my favorite because it has a good, firm texture)
Whip one container of cream (the real, heavy-duty stuff)
Add a little vanilla if you wish, some sugar and powdered coffee/mocha mix to taste (the International Coffee brand works great)
Split the pound cake horizontally into three or four layers (your choice)
Slather the mocha whipped cream between the layers then reassemble the cake
Cover the whole loaf with more of the whipped cream concoction
Stick it in the freezer for a while (not too long, just enough to let the whipped cream set a little)
Slice and serve

That’s it! For dinner (before or after dessert), I love the cool mint and garlic flavors in Tabouli, and again it’s a simple dish: spices, bulgur wheat (plumped with water and a bit of olive oil), lemon juice, and fresh tomatoes. I prefer the Fantastic brand (I don’t like most others), and the directions are on the box. Takes five minutes to make. Cool it in the fridge for about an hour then serve. This goes with anything and would be a different side dish for that upcoming Labor Day picnic.

Happy holiday weekend! I’m off to my son’s wedding in Connecticut where I hope it will be cooler. Can you believe this (hot) summer is nearly over? Already?

Alternate endings - oh, yeah

2007-08-17T14:20:00.001-07:00

I usually give our bloggers some topics for the month and I've definitely fallen down on my job this month - but I love this topic so thanks for picking up the slack, Donna and Shirley. I've got topics for the end of the month and for next month and, I promise, I won't fall behind again!!!

I make up alternate endings for books and movies (and people's lives) when I don't like what happens. I want a happy ending so I just make it up. I spend hours and hours (usually walking on the beach) recreating the end of a story so it has the perfect - for me! - ending.

Casablanca? Absolutely. Yes, it's a great tragic romance, but I want Sam and Ilsa to get together so her husband dies a hero, Sam fights for the resistance all the rest of the way through the war, and the two of them end up - five years later, in the same bar in Paris. Ta da!

Gone with the Wind. Funny, I don't give Scarlett a happy ending but only Rhett. She doesn't deserve him. I know, I know, that's blasphemy - but... Rhett finally, after many years, meets a wonderful woman, they fall in love and travel the country for the rest of their lives.

Every book every written by Nicholas Sparks. Puh-lease. Can't just one of them have a happy ending? You know what's going to happen before you even open the book. I understand that sometimes a happy ending is impossible - but still. Book after book after book?

I haven't yet figured out a happy ending (except a paranormal one) for The Titanic? Do any of you have any ideas that don't involve vampires or ghosts or alternate universes?

Anyway, that's my short form take on alternate endings.

Kate

My Own Alternate Endings

2007-08-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

I’m glad someone put up a topic. Alternate endings is a good one. I've only seen one alternate ending on a DVD. That was Training Day and I agree the one that was played in the theaters was the better ending. But I kind of like seeing what another version would have looked like.

I think the marketing departments of the movie houses add the extras to entice people to buy the DVD. It’s the "more" you get when you buy a movie you’ve already seen. I never thought about whether I liked the choices or not. I definitely did not like the alternate ending of Training Day. But I have been guilty of giving my own alternate endings to movies and books.

Long ago in a time far, far away, I watched a movie called This Could Be the Night. It’s an old black and white with Anthony Franciosa and Jean Simmons. I didn’t like the ending. It was okay, but I wanted a more Happily Ever After-commitment ending. So in my mind I re-wrote it. And not only the ending, I re-wrote some of the scenes, even added some that weren’t in the movie. For years and years I thought about the movie, but never saw it again. I didn’t even know the name of it so I couldn’t look it up anywhere. And as time will do, it passed and I could no longer remember the actors either. But I never forgot the story or the ending.

My ending.

After DVD’s came out and Turner Classic Movies began releasing the old movies on videotape and DVD’s, I saw the movie again on television and immediately recognized it. I sat down and watched it to the end. But I was confused. It ended too quickly. Where were the other scenes? Surely they wouldn’t cut it. After all TCM shows movies in their entirety. It’s part of their advertising. So why did they cut this one? And the ending? What happened to the ending? This is not the same movie, I thought. But there couldn’t be two. I remembered some of the characters. Then I started to laugh out loud. I remembered. I’d re-written the ending. I’d added scenes that weren’t there. They were only in my head.

This Could Be the Night is the only movie or book I did this to and didn’t remember my own creation. I have changed other endings too. Yes, Gone With the Wind has an alternate ending in my mind. And not just an ending, there are additional scenes with Scarlett and Rhett away from Tara or Atlanta. In fact, they are in Charleston.

Casablanca is my all time favorite romantic movie and the hero and heroine don’t live happily ever after. Even so, I have never changed the ending of this movie. I can’t see any other ending. Even though I wanted Rick and Ilsa to end up together, I could see the bigger stake was world democracy and I was unwilling to fiddle with that even in a movie. At this writing I’m thinking I could fast forward to after the war, when democracy wasn’t an issue, and bring them back together at that point. Of course, I’d have to account for what happened to Victor (Ilsa’s husband), but that wouldn’t be difficult.

I like books that give me an alternate version of the world. I suppose that’s why 1984 was so popular long before the actual year arrived. And why it still works today. 1984 posed an alternate world for the future. Star Trek did the same thing for television and look at the survival of both of these forms of entertainment.

I read Clive Cussler novels. He write male adventure novels and his hero is a former Navy Seal named Dirk Pitt. All the Dirk Pitt novels pose an alternate to something we "know" to be true. For example, in Raise the Titantic, they raise the old ship and find a document that cedes Canada to the United States. In another Abraham Lincoln didn’t die at Ford’s Theater, but was captured by the confederates and spirited away on one of the iron clad ships of the day.

Even Cinderella got my personal ending treatment in relation to the wicked stepsisters. I’m far less forgiving than the fictional character, so I changed the ending to give the girls and their mother their due. Then Ever After with Drew Barrymore was released. Not only does Cinderella have a valid motivation for staying at the house and accepting her plight, but in the end she wins out over the life she was forced into. Bravo!

There are endings I can’t change. I loved American history. At English and French history, I’m pretty good at remembering the details, but when it comes to Russian history, I was never able to follow all the last name changes and the different families that ruled or their titles. So when I saw Nicolas and Alexandra and watched their love story unfold, I didn’t like what happened to them in the end. As I voiced this opinion to my history-major friend, she informed me that I could not change history. So I let that one stand, but I didn’t like it.

Dr. Zivago is a different story, however. That ending I did change. Laura looks back and sees Yuri on the bus. She never lost their daughter. The couple reunite and live happily ever after.

As you can see, I provide my own alternate endings on a regular basis. I wonder how Hollywood would have done it if they could go back and reshoot the endings to some of those classic movies. Would they satisfy my need? I don’t know, but if it didn’t, I can always change it in my mind.

Happy reading and movie watching. Let me know if you too change endings to suit yourself.

Shirley

Alternate endings

2007-08-11T20:09:00.000-07:00

Okay, what's the deal with "alternate endings"? All the DVDs being released these days advertise alternate endings. Do we really want that?

Personally, I want to know how the story ends. Just tell me! If there are three different endings, how do I know which one is real? I remember when the movie Clue came out in 1985, and theaters were playing three different endings across the country. I felt cheated. How would I know if I got the "right" ending?!

That's the point of suspended disbelief, right? We, the readers (or viewers) are swept into an alternate reality for a brief period of time, where the characters are "real" and the events are "really happening."

Imagine if Margaret Mitchell gave an alternate ending for Gone with the Wind (Scarlett finds another guy?)? What if, in one version, the Great Gatsby turned out to just another rich guy? What if Thelma and Louise stopped at the edge of the cliff?

They may be fictional characters, but if a writer has gone to all the trouble to make them real to us, shouldn't their happy endings (or their demise) be "real" as well?

Call me old fashioned, but I want a beginning, a middle, and an end. Just one, thanks.

WINNERS OF AUGUST CONTEST

2007-08-01T14:22:00.001-07:00

are Bettye Griffin and dceetee. Congratulations to both of you.

Please email me (kate@kateaustin.ca) with your mailing addresses so I can have your prizes sent to you.

Kate

What's NEXT in September

2007-07-26T11:06:00.000-07:00

September is the re-launch of the NEXT line with all new covers and great stories from great writers.

Marie Ferrarella and Nancy Robards Thompson lead off the new NEXT with:

DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE, by Marie Ferrarella, an RT TOP PIC!

Bailey DelMonico has finally gotten her life on track, and is passionate about her recent career change. Nothing will stand in the way of her becoming a doctor . . . that is, until she's paired with the sharp-tongued Ivan Munro.

BEAUTY SHOP TALES, by Nancy Robards Thompson

Can this "beauty operator to the stars" find her own Hollywood ending?"

Nancy's book was an RT 4 star review:

After being widowed at 35, stylist Avril Carson returns from Hollywood to Sago Beach, Fla., and the sometimes suffocating relationships of small-town life. The women in her mother's beauty shop form a warm, if eccentric, nest, but it's hard to keep secrets ‹ and there are secrets. Emotions spill out from the stress of always knowing everyone's business, and Avril must make a heartbreaking decision. Another complication is a handsome cowboy returning from L.A. to another small town in the area. They meet on the plane, and he pushes for a relationship she may not be ready for. The first-person Beauty Shop Tales (4), by Nancy Robards Thompson, is about forgiveness, letting go and moving on. There's sharply drawn humor as well as pain, and the book flies by.

Only my hairdresser knows for sure

2007-07-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

Remember that commercial? I can't even remember what color my hair really is - but that's a small part of aging gracefully for me.

I wonder what I was thinking when I suggested this as a topic for our blog - perhaps I wasn't thinking at all. Because I'm not sure just what that means. Does it mean letting it all hang out and not worrying at all about how or even if you're aging? Does it mean fighting every wrinkle, every sag, every grey hair?

For me, the answer is somewhere in the middle, something about balance.

I'm not the woman I was 30 years ago or even 10 years ago. I'm better. Certainly I'm better emotionally and intellectually. I've learned a lot of lessons - the most important of which for me seems to have been to enjoy the moment. The trick for me, I suspect, is to keep on getting better physically as well.

I don't want to run a marathon. I don't want to go to the gym every day. I don't want to bulk up. What I do want is to feel good in every way and that means walking an hour a day (which is easier than it sounds seeing as I live downtown and don't have a car which means I walk everywhere) and swimming for half or three-quarters of an hour two or three times a week and maybe even (when I get the time) taking a yoga class once or twice a week. I'm talking gentle exercise and mostly exercise that relaxes me as well as energizes me. I'm a big fan of the middle path.

I like the woman I am now. I'm not one of those people who remembers being young as the best time of her life. I enjoyed it, I did, and if you ask I'll tell you about those parts that aren't censored, but you could pay me a million dollars and I wouldn't be a teenager again. Or even in my twenties. I like this Kate Austin.

I like the things she knows and the things she knows she doesn't know. I like the fact that she's way more willing than she used to be to admit that she doesn't know everything - just almost everything. I like the way she can laugh about herself.

I like the way she's willing to make a fool of herself and try something new. I like the way she's open to new experiences and new people. I like the way she'll talk to anyone. I like the work she's doing and the books she's writing. I like the amazing, astonishing, wonderful women and men she's meeting. I like the way she appreciates what she has and who she knows. I like the way she - finally - understands that love and friendship and joy and laughter and tears don't need to be hoarded but need to be shared. I like the way she knows that she's got more than enough of all those things for everyone.

So I guess you could say that I am aging gracefully. And joyously. And I definitely can't complain about that.

Kate

Growing Older

2007-07-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

I'm older than most people think I am. At my high school reunions I always win the award for the most NOT changed. I kid people by telling them I have an aging portrait that I keep in the attic. My house does have an attic, but it has no floor and I never go up there.

When I was in graduate school one of the questions the professor asked us was to name some things that technology had made obsolete. My small glass of thirteen frowned and scratched their heads. I rattled them off like jelly beans. His comment, "You're a lot older than you look."

Same thing happened with a doctor when I went for a colonoscopy (now you know my age). He looked at me and said, "Why are you here?" These comments made me feel good. If they couldn't tell my age by looking at me, I must be doing it right.

I believe I'm growing old gracefully. Of course, I don't know what my real hair looks like because I keep having it done and redone. But why not? It makes me feel good and I'm the only one that I need to please. I've long since stopped doing things to please other people. That's a strong statement and I don't mean I'm a mean person, but if there is something I want to do, I don't need approval to do it. That's the me that's pleasing me.

I'd say growing old gracefully runs in my family. My parents died at young ages, but some of my aunts and grandparents lived long lives. Now that I'm equal to or older than some of them who have passed away, I can see that at the same age, I look as good or better than they did. I exercise (walking two miles a day) and try to eat right, although I didn't even think of resisting the chocolate at the recent Romance Writers Conference. I don't think that's all of it, however.

You just gotta be lucky.

And since I think I got gipped on the long hair and boobs genes, I at least got the good skin, weight control and non-dimpled thighs ones.

Getting older does worry me some. I have so much I want to accomplish and I'm afraid I won't get to do some things. I have a five year old to raise and educate, and I pray that she's an adult before I pass into the next level of creation.

I plan for the event by keeping things in order like wills and insurance and making sure my family knows where they are and how to get them. I also make sure they know that I have collections of value that they may not realize, like my first edition Nancy Drew novels and a huge non-DVD record collection, the vinyl stuff. Some of those are worth a lot of money.

All any of us can do is take it one day at a time and live it as if there was no tomorrow. And being romance writers, we all believe there is another day to live and love.

Speaking of living and loving, I love that song from RENT about 525,600 minutes. The end of the song says there are 525,600 minutes of love in a year. What a wonderful thing for anyone!

Aging . . . Just Like Mom

2007-07-19T07:44:00.000-07:00

Visible signs of aging – oh, the enemy, for sure. For years my goal was simply not to let it get me the way it had gotten Mom. Her fair skin was deeply lined while she was still in her forties. She developed a turkey-wattle chin. When an angry colleague told her she “looked about 95 years old,” she shrugged it off. “I work rings around the woman, and she’s just jealous” – but I knew the insult had hurt. Lesson learned. Nobody was ever going to have the chance to say such things to ME.

As I entered my middle years, Botox became a trusted friend. When my sagging face began to look . . . well, saggy . . . and my double chin grew floppier by the day, I steeled myself for a facelift. It got rid of the jowls and wattle but not the wrinkles. Time had its own plan for etching itself on my skin.

Then my 57-year-old husband, the handsome, fit-looking man I’d lived with for more than 30 years, died of a massive heart attack while hiking in the mountains with his brother. That was six years ago. I haven’t worried about my wrinkles since.

What concerns me now is spending time with people I love, while I still can. Working as much as I can, while I still can. I’ve even had the chance to write a few books about aging women, plastic surgery and all. Time and age, those old adversaries, have turned out to be gifts.

In the mirror these days, I see an aging woman with a pale, lined face, who looks a lot like Mom once did. I wonder now why I ever wanted to eradicate her from my reflection – why any of us do. Except for the wealth of warm memories, it’s all of her that I have left.
Ellyn Bache
http://www.ellynbache.com/

Aging, Gracefully Or Not?

2007-07-18T08:11:00.000-07:00

Aging? Who, me?

I don’t like to think about that, but this morning I’m almost forced to admit that time is, yes, marching on. I just got home after nearly a week in Dallas at the annual RWA (Romance Writers of America) conference, and as usual I didn’t get enough sleep.

Who needs sleep when a bunch of normally reclusive writers get together and the much-needed chatter starts flying? It was so good to see people from the various chapters to which I’ve belonged, and still miss, and to meet others among our group of Nexties with whom I’ve e-mailed. The PAN (Published Authors Network) workshops, plus a number of RWA sessions, certainly helped to recharge my creative batteries—one of the best benefits of going to conference each summer. And all those fabulous meals when I’m more used to simpler fare, even sandwiches all but inhaled in the race to finish a book by August? What a treat. It seems safe to say that a great time was had by all.

My stay in the beautiful conference hotel, the Hyatt Regency, was almost enough to make me forget the hassles of travel. My trip home proved to be quite a challenge—delayed flights, lost luggage (with all my best clothes inside the missing suitcase)—but I’m here. And ready to work again. Never mind that my not-quite-youthful body is still struggling to readjust after that (finally) five a.m. arrival in Chattanooga. My bag, thank goodness, did eventually, and unharmed, show up at my door. (sigh of relief)

But today—yes—I’m feeling a wee bit old. Older, that is.

How else to explain the white face I see in my mirror? Or those new dark shadows under my eyes?

Still, there’s hope. My mother-in-law will turn eighty-nine in October. She still wears makeup, styles her hair in her signature red beehive, and has her nails done, fingers and toes. Last week, while I was in Dallas, she went with my husband to dinner and the theater. She and I are planning a girls’ day out soon to shop for an end-of-summer suit she can wear to my younger son’s wedding in August. She’ll be taking the trip to Connecticut then, a traveler herself at nearly ninety.

Graceful? Yes. Old? I don’t think so.

There have been lots of articles written lately about the now-retiring Baby Boomers. In fact, we Nexties did a workshop at RWA on just that topic, well, and with some sex thrown in for spice. Our somewhat older characters still know their way around a bedroom! Today’s retirees are no longer riding off into the sunset of their years, or plunking down in a rocker on the front porch.
We—and our characters—are moving and shaking and developing second careers. My husband, for example, is in New York right now, building his new business as a consultant to the financial world. He’s been busier than ever since he took early retirement in February! No grass grows under his feet. And then, again, there’s his mother who must have given him that energy and drive, a little of which I could certainly use today.

Right now I’d rather take a nap.

But that’s not going to happen. I have a book to finish for Next. My forty-four-year old heroine and her still-hunky-at-forty-six ex-husband are waiting.

And as further inspiration I’m reminded of my great grandmother who lived to be 105. Even then, she thought of herself as a young bride.

With so many grand examples like these, I’m convinced that the old saying is true: Aging is a state of mind.

Or—to use another cliché—you’re only as old as you feel.

2007-07-09T15:28:00.000-07:00

My First Romance

I read my first historical romance novel at the age of 13, SHANNA by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, and from then on, I was hooked. I compared all my teenaged suitors to the dashing, steadfast Ruark Beauchamp. Too bad for them. No one could seem to live up to those standards.

Years later, inspired by Ms. Woodiwiss's works, as well as those by Johanna Lindsey and other greats who transformed the genre in the late 70s and early 80s, I started to write my own historical romance novels. And too bad for me, because my own writing could never seem to live up to their standards.

A few years ago, just before I was published, I had the honor of meeting Ms. Woodiwiss at a writing conference in New Jersey. I'm embarrassed to say, I cried. I blubbered to her that she was my inspiration, and yada yada yada. She was very sweet and gracious, and I must say, really embarrassed by my display. But she murmured some encouraging words and gave me a tissue, and it was one of my great writing-related moments.

Afterwards, I wished I would have said something else. Instead of telling her she inspired me to write, I should have told her how many hours of pleasure she'd given me as a reader--a gift I now know, as a writer, is no easy thing to give.

I learned yesterday that Ms. Woodiwiss passed away on July 6th. It was a sad day for romance, indeed.

I hope she is mentioned in tribute at the RWA National conference this week in Dallas, TX. I can't be there in body, but I will be there in spirit, and my guess is that Ms. Woodiwiss will be, too.

Because you simply can't have a gathering of romance writers without her.

Music--inspiration or. . .um. . .what was I saying?

2007-07-09T07:19:00.000-07:00

Is music a distraction for. . .
two out of three ain’t bad. . .
What was I saying? Oh, right. Music. Is it a. . .
If you see my reflection on a snow covered hill . . .
Yes, yes, right. So, music.
Here you come again. . .

Hmm. Maybe I should turn off iTunes.

The truth is, I love music–can’t produce a note, can’t even carry a tune. My older sister once said I sounded like a giraffe with a sore throat when I sang. She’s apologized many times for saying it, but has never said it wasn’t true!

Anyway, that’s beside the point. I love --when I’m alone and no one can hear me--to sing to music. Especially country music. I like to clean to it. (Well, as much as I like to clean. . .) I like to dance around to it (when no one’s around to witness that, either). I like to fall asleep to it, I like to wake up to it.

But write to it?

Ha! Words in my head are words on the paper, and if there are lyrics in the room, they are, as you saw at the beginning of this blog, on the paper.

The only time I write to music is in airports and on planes, where I can’t shut out the conversations around me and they begin to appear on my laptop screen (as in: “Well, it started as just a burning, but then the itch started and I don’t know how to tell him, but the doctor says. . .” and “He thinks I’m on my way to a conference in Dallas, but. . .”) Okay, not really. The conversations are always boring, but they invade my brain space and make writing impossible. And so I plug into my iPod. But I only allow myself the classical, non-lyric stuff that is really too highbrow for my tastes (remember I like country music. Gretchen Wilson, Dixie Chicks, etc.) but which block out the conversations around me.

After writing the above, I thought I should take a look at what my fellow Nexties had to say on the subject. Wow. We’re all, it seems, in the same Row, Row, row your boat. . .

Earworms? Thanks loads, Hank. The actual experience of having a song floating in your head isn’t bad enough? It has to have a gross name attached to it?

Anyway, right now I’ve got the music blasting because I’ve finished another Teddi Bayer book–this one is called WHO CREAMED PEACHES, ANYWAY? and now I’m allowed to blast the music and dance. And maybe even have a glass of wine. . .

So excuse me while I crank up the music and dance~ cause we all know you gotta dance like no body’s watching you, sing like nobody’s listening. . .
Stevi Mittman

Imperfect - Perfect Day

2007-07-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

Hi,

I didn't get to post a Perfect Day post when we were in that subject. I did write one, so late as it is, I still would like to post it. So here goes.

My perfect day is a fantasy since I’ve never actually lived it. I’ve been into reading biographies for a few years now and I read Katherine Hepburn’s Me: Stories of My Life. To sum it up, the book said: It’s All About Me! That would be my perfect day. One in which I was pampered and praised. Not too much praise mind you. Sometimes it can get embarrassing.

I’d begin the day with a relaxing massage. I had one massage in my life and I thought the guy was trying to force the fat out of my body through my pores. I hated it. By the time he finished, I could hardly walk back to my room. I slid into the bathtub and let the soapy water wash the oil off me and then I crawled into bed. However, at a conference in a resort in Arizona, my fellow friends and writers were having massages and raving that they wanted to marry the masseuse. It sounds wonderful and my perfect day would include one of those.

I’d have a light lunch prepared by my housekeeper/cook (who also shops and keeps me on my diet) and while it’s also delicious, filling and nutritious, it won’t add any pounds to my Barbie-doll waistline. Then I’d get dressed to be ready when the limousine comes to pick me up to take me to my booksigning. The line wraps around the block with people waiting for my signature. At the bookstore, my picture is on the store bags and walls. I’ve already checked out Barnes and Noble and know that not all the people on their bags and walls are dead, so I don’t have to die for the opportunity.

My publicist would be there to help with the books and store personnel for crowd control. We know NeXt fans are courteous and friendly, so most of the store personnel’s work is to talk to the people in line and give them papers to write the names they want in the multiple copies of the book they plan to buy. Of course this would be exhausting work for me, but I love this kind of exhaustion.

After a short drink (soft drink) with the publicist where we discuss promotional plans for the next book, I’m returned home for a short nap. I get up to write and the words just stream out of computer. My fingers can hardly keep up with the story the characters are telling. The book pours out of me like an open water faucet. When I finish for the day, I spend the evening with my family and we watch a movie – a love story, of course.

Notice, my perfect day doesn’t include kids or husbands or picnics in the park. After all if it’s perfect. And it’s all about me.

EARWORMS. YES. EARWORMS.

2007-07-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

I think they call them "earworms." Have you heard that term? Now that you have, you can’t get it out of your head, right? And that’s exactly why I can’t listen to music when I write.

Don’t get me wrong. When I was in high school, much to my mom’s chagrin I insisted I could not do my homework without listening to music. I had my little transistor radio, and I would put that plastic earpiece in, and bop around to Da Doo Ron Ron or I Get Around or It’s My Party. Dancing in the Street. And then: The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel, Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins… And then the Beatles Beatles Beatles. I cried when they were on Ed Sullivan. I was president of the Midwest Chapter of the National Beatles Fan Club. (High school. A blog for another day.)

But I digress.

Now, older and wiser. I’m a television reporter, have been for 30 years, and there’s not a moment of my workday when the television is not on. Sometimes three of them, all turned to different stations, all humming and buzzing in the background. And I ignore it, until my brain (is it the hypothalamus?) picks up on a word or phrase or sound that drags me to the remote to zap up the volume. Extraneous noise? Nope, it’s just the music of the news, and I’m used to it and embrace it.

But in my study, at home, at the computer, working on the next Charlotte McNally mystery--(Which, ta-dah! Just sold to the wonderful Harlequin Next line, and will be called Air Time. There’s Prime Time, on the shelves now as I hope you know, and Face Time, coming out in October. Then Air Time, and then Drive Time! So go meet investigative reporter Charlie McNally, age 46 and counting, savvy smart and successful—and just a tad worried about her age…)

But I digress.

Anyway, at home, working on the computer, I cannot, cannot listen to music. It’s the earworm thing.

What’s an earworm? Let’s say you’re in the grocery, and that Muzak is on. Just in the background. And you have the misfortune to hear "It’s A Small World after All." Ahhhhh. That darn song is going to stick in your brain, humming over and over, forever. It’s an earworm.

How about Saturday in the Park by Chicago? (Saturday, in the park, I think it was the fourth of July…) Ah…stop. Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind…

There’s a commercial for sour cream about "a dollop of daisy." Have you heard that? I heard it once, and sang it for about a week.

Hey, Macarena.

And so, that’s why no music when I write. Or read, even. If it has words, they stick in my brain and play where my own words are supposed to be.
Otherwise, bring it on. Turn it up. Radio. CD’s. Records! (remember those?) But not while I’m thinking about Charlie and her adventures.

Do you have your personal earworms? Tell me—if you dare!

Hope you’re having a prime time of a summer…

Love
Hank Phillippi Ryan

PS. Someone told me: if you get an earworm, the only cure is to sing Jingle Bell Rock. Okay, I know. It sounds weird. But it does seem to work.

Selective Listening

2007-07-04T09:31:00.000-07:00

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.

I don't normally listen to music while I write--not to have the distraction. I love music of all types from classical and opera to old ballads and country and western. But I tend to get so caught up in the melody, the lyrics of a song, that all of a sudden I'm humming along, swaying to the tune, and I've forgotten that I'm supposed to be writing.

Yet I also find music to be an inspiration.

For a while I wrote books with musical titles: Unforgettable, Just One of Those Things, Oh, Susannah, and Danny Boy. They were all my titles, too, from concept to print! I guess they worked from a marketing department standpoint because no one changed them.

For whatever reason, those titles actually seemed to make my writing easier.

With the memory of the particular song clear in my mind, if not actually floating through the air from a pair of sound-system speakers, the tone of the story became almost automatic. The emotions flowed. Even characterization seemed easier to develop. I don't know why this happened. But it did.

With Danny Boy I made an exception to my no-listening-while-writing rule.

Every morning, before I began to work, I played that song on the piano (maybe I was procrastinating). I'm not a very good pianist, mind you, but I did have an excellent arrangement of that old standard, which--as it does for my heroine in the book--always makes me weep. It was kind of like having a story conference with myself to start the day. I played, I wept, I wrote. Perfect.

And sometimes, without its title, music helps to inspire a story. The germ of Danny Boy, in addition to that song, also came from a Garth Brooks album. In my book the hero is a professional bull rider, and in the song, "Wild Horses," a rodeo cowboy calls his girlfriend from the road in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He knows he must quit the circuit, which he loves, as he keeps promising to do, "before I hurt her more than she loves me."

I love that line.

Its message was exactly what I needed then--Danny's goal, even at thirty-six to keep riding bulls until, finally, he wins the world championship. Yet if he keeps going, following his dream, will he lose the woman he loves but left behind? The wife who needs him to help raise their son?

There's another cut on this album that helped, too, with my book. It's called "Wolves," about the difficulty of being a rancher. It's a sad song that compares a friend's foreclosure by the bank to a pack of wolves bringing down cattle in a winter storm. It's about loss and hope and surviving, and in Danny Boy his Montana ranch is also in jeopardy, though of a different sort.

Oh, goodness. I'm doing it right now: sitting here, listening to that song on the computer, and feeling the inspiration, the distraction, all over again.

Music is, for me then, a little bit of both.

But then, we Geminis do tend to have somewhat split personalities!

And if that helps with my writing--with the next book--that's just fine with me. Maybe I'll do another story with a Western setting.

Music - inspiration or distraction?

2007-07-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

First of all, let's get this straight. I love music - of almost all kinds. In fact, I can't think of a kind of music I don't like, though not all at the same time - and at some times I like one thing and others, another.

If I had to have only kind of music - it would be blues. But if all I ever listened to was the blues, that would make for a very specific type of writing, wouldn't it? Now that's something I'd like to do a survey on - how many of you writers listen to a specific kind of music all the time - and does that affect your writing? If so, how? Wouldn't that be fun? Okay, I've stolen that idea so none of you can use it. But maybe that's why I listen to a whole bunch of different things.

But I don't, ever, listen to music while I'm writing. It's very very very quiet in my house when I'm writing.

I think I'm easily distracted - okay, no thinking about it - I AM easily distracted. I turn off the "you've got mail" feature on my email because even if I'm sitting away from my computer and I hear that sound, I jump up to see who's been mailing me. Most times, it's junk mail but I still get up and get distracted. I don't answer the phone and I really should put it on Do Not Disturb so that I don't hear it ringing, but then I'd still see the light flashing so why bother?

So music is a no-no. Very occasionally I will put on a piece of classical music - generally Bach - if I'm still working late into the evening. It can't have words, not even in another language, because I'll try and make up words for them. It can't be a piece of music that ever had words put to it (like for a movie or a commercial) because then I'll sing them. The reason I like Bach is because in some ways his music is quite abstract, there isn't a melody that I feel compelled to follow.

I do, though, once I'm finished what I'm doing, put on some music to cheer me up or make me cry or make me dance. Some nights I'll sit next to my CD player and play the same song over and over and over again, singing along with it the whole time until I get the perfect inflection. I NEVER get the perfect notes (I'm not a great singer!). Most recently, it's been Patsy Cline singing You Belong to Me. You know....

See the pyramid along the Nile
Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle
Just remember, darling, all the while
You belong to me...

I love that song...

So, for me music is a distraction - at the right time it's a wonderful distraction, at others it's a terrible one. I suspect most things are like that...

Kate

Blog contest

2007-07-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

First, the two winners of June's contest are photoquest and deseng.

Hi, you two, please email me at kate@kateaustin.ca with your names and mailing addresses and the prizes will be on their way to you.

The July contest began July 1 (so if you posted after that you'll be entered in the July contest) and the prizes are from Hank Phillippi Ryan and Stevi Mittman. Post and post often!!!

Kate

Distractions?

2007-07-03T09:48:00.001-07:00

Distractions? Who has distractions? Writers are notorious for finding any excuse for not getting their pages done. It’s not that we don’t love our work; we just need a few warm-up exercises to get us cranked up and in the mood to create stories. For me, distractions come in many shapes and forms. One of the main ones is the mail. Our mailman is sort of like the one in that Chevy Chase movie--Funny Farm--I think was the name. That mailman would fly down the road and toss the mail out without stopping. Ours is almost as bad. He used to come late in the day--which was great since I usually knock off work around three or four. Now he comes at 9:30 AM, just about the time I’m getting into my next chapter. Of course, I have to stop and read the mail, which usually contains a pile of lovely, tempting catalogues. I am a shopper, no doubt about that. So I naturally will drop everything to look at my catalogues. Not a good idea. I look up an hour later and my poor characters are stranded in mid-sentence, waiting for me to get back into our story.

Inspirations are a lot easier to handle. I get inspirations from reading, from music, and from walking around the neighborhood. A good long walk will usually help me figure out a plot problem. A song can help me set the mood for a scene. I haven’t combined the two yet--no
I-pod for me--I like to hear the birds chirping and the traffic whizzing by. But when I do listen to music I love everything from Jimmy Buffet to the Beatles to Bach and Beethoven. I love hymns that move my soul and I love good old fashioned rock and roll. Music brings out the emotions in me, while I try to bring out the emotions of my characters. So when I’m stuck, music will sometimes give me the push I need to take a scene to the next level. Of course, music can also distract me by pulling me so into the song that I'm sitting there, bouncing around in my chair and singing at the top of my lungs instead of being a studious, serious writer. But music helps to soothe me, too. And it certainly can inspire more complex, conflict-centered writing. Just think of a Johnny Cash song all about angst and pain and you'll understand. That's why I do love music of all kinds and I'm so glad that I'm able to enjoy such diverse choices when listening to good music. Some of my favorites are "Bridge Over Troubled Water", "The Long and Winding Road" and "How Great Thou Art." Oh, and Jimmy Buffet's duet with Martina McBride, "Trip Around The World."

There are many distractions and inspirations in a writer’s life. I guess the mixture of the two is what makes our job so unique. Even distractions can lead to story ideas, and so can good music. I’ve gotten lots of ideas for books while singing in church. I’m distracted by my ideas, but the paradox of that is that the very idea came to me while singing and being distracted in the first place. It’s quirky, but it works. So the best advice is to take anything in life--a distraction, a challenge, a crisis, or a joy, and allow that to become part of a good story. And music offers us all of these elements. We need the music of life to make our characters real. After all, our characters are only human. They get distracted and they get inspired, just as we do. And I love being able to help them along with my own experiences. That is, when I’m not busy looking at pretty things in my catalogues or dancing around my office to the tune of "Cheeseburger in Paradise"!

Lenora Worth :)

my favorite literary heroine

2007-06-29T13:40:00.000-07:00

Wow, this is a tough one. It's like trying to name a favorite flavor of ice cream. They're all delicious in their own way. But here are some that have stuck in my mind.

There's Scarlett O'Hara, of course, who's wily, wild, and stunningly beautiful. How can you compare her in-your-face presence to the quiet strength of Jane Austen's Elinor Dashwood (so wonderfully played by Emma Thompson in the movie)?

And speaking of Jane Austen and Emmas, Emma Woodhouse is also one of my favorite female literary characters.

There's the mystery set: Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Sue Grafton's Kinsey Milhone, Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta. And let's not forget Millie Benson's Nancy Drew!

Then there's the mystery-suspense/comedy heroines, including Lori Avocato's Pauline Sokol, Stevi Mittman's Teddi Gallo, and of course, Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum.

On the romance side, Joy Nash's heroines are always strong and intelligent. My favorite was Rhiannon in Celtic Fire.

I loved Amy Tan's LuLing in The Bonesetter's Daughter, and Alice Walker's Celie in The Color Purple.

There are dozens--maybe hundreds--more. But as Dorothy Parker once said, "Brevity is the soul of lingerie."

DLW

Brenda Novak's Juvenile Diabetes auction

2007-06-27T15:24:00.000-07:00

The Next authors donated an embroidered tote bag and 40 autographed Next books to the auction. The high bidder and winner of this great prize was Mary McCoy. Mary, the tote bag and books are on their way.

The auction raised $141,700 this year - thanks to everyone who contributed or who bid on any of the great items in the auction.

Mary, congratulations and enjoy the books.

Kate

Oh Dear, Oh Dear!

2007-06-27T07:53:00.000-07:00

Favorites again.

Let me tell you about a play I saw the other night. It's called A Marriage Minuet, and one of the characters in it is a college English professor. We see him lecturing to his classes (looking at the audience as if we are his students) and singling out one student, whose name is Cohen-Reinhart or something like that, and who he refers to as a "hyphenate" to his wife.

But I digress.

He's talking to this student and he says something to the effect of: "Favorite authors? Favorite? Favorite is something that should be reserved for ice cream flavors, not for the heights of mythical proportion to which authors aspire and have, over the centuries, the eons, reached." Okay, I'm paraphrasing in the extreme because I wasn't exactly taking notes. My point is that choosing favorites is simply inappropriate when it comes to the breadth and depth of literature and commercial fiction.

Which is to say. . .favorite heroine? Oh, puh. . . lease!

I love every heroine who's ever said something smart, sassy, sharp. I love every heroine who has said something touching, deep, true. I love my heroines because they reflect the best parts of me, and they overcome the flaws and weaknesses I find in myself.

I love the very idea of a heroine...not a main character, not a point of view character, but a true heroine. According to Wikipedia, which I realize is not any authority, but I love the way they put this, a heroine is: From the Greek ἣρως, in mythology and folklore, a hero (male) or heroine (female) are characters that in the face of danger and adversity, from a position of weakness display courage and the will for self-sacrifice, that is, heroism, for some greater good, originally of martial courage or excellence but extended to more general moral excellence.

Any woman who manages this in a book is my favorite, and any author that manages to make it believable is my heroine!

Stevi Mittman

A Woman for All Time

2007-06-26T08:59:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid in northeastern Ohio, the local library on Second Street was like another home to me. Every week my friend and I walked the few blocks to that old red brick building where we scooped up armloads of books to borrow. Treasure. There was no other word for it. I became an avid reader then, and the adventure in a good novel is just as much a pleasure today.

My favorite activity on hot August afternoons was to take a glass of lemonade, curl up on the glider on the front porch in the shade of a maple tree, and Read. Read. Read. I'm sure that glider would be really uncomfortable now, but then--with my younger bones--it felt cozy and cool.

Lying right there I was introduced to Katherine by Anya Seton. I must be on a historical kick, or something, because "Gone With the Wind" was the favorite movie I wrote about last time. But there's a common theme too, a special quality to those sagas of another era that calls to me, even though I write contemporaries. Katherine entertained me and taught me, and she still stands out as my favorite written heroine.

The book is a novel about real people in history, but boy, there's nothing dry or dull about this story. It's a true page-turner all the way. It opens with an intriguing line: "In the tender green time of April, Katherine set forth at last upon her journey with the two nuns and the royal messenger." From there, I was riding right along with her from the convent where she'd been schooled as a girl to the royal court at Windsor.

The story begins with Katherine at fifteen, the innocent daughter of a minor knight and whose older sister is married to Geoffrey Chaucer. Her first night at court, Katherine meets the handsome Duke of Lancaster, the third son of King Edward III--and his is a grand entrance, the stuff of pure romance. John of Gaunt is tall, lean, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed. Sigh. Be still, my heart. Too bad for young Katherine that he's twenty-six (pretty mature in the Middle Ages) and already married.

That doesn't last long. This is a big story with intimate characterizations, and in nearly 600 pages, Katherine is first a virgin, then the wife of another knight (an arranged marriage), eventually John's reluctant mistress and the mother of their children, and finally, after a lot of heartbreak (here comes the HEA), his wife and duchess. What a journey!

I've wallowed in this book, over and over, at most stages of my own life, and from a different perspective each time I learn something new. You should see my old copy! The pages are yellowed now, the red cover has long since faded, even the type isn't as dark as it used to be--and still, I want to read it again.

In her time Katherine experiences romance, love, danger, tragedy, sorrow, loss and triumph. There's a dash of mystery too--a beloved, missing daughter. Katherine not only survives all that, and The Black Plague, but flourishes. From that young girl riding toward court on a soft spring day, she grows into this amazing person. A strong yet vulnerable, entirely admirable woman who has been tested but never overwhelmed.

I love strong heroines. Hey, who doesn't? I love to laugh with them, and cry with them. And learn from them. I love their journeys from potential to fulfillment, which I also write about.

It's a pretty hot, humid day here in Tennessee, and although it's still June, not August, I just may take that tattered copy of Katherine out on my deck. Pour a tall glass of ice-cold lemonade. Curl up on the lounge.

And learn something new, again, from her.

Jane Austen's great heroines

2007-06-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

Many, many women writers will tell you that one of their favorite heroines is a Jane Austen heroine. Many of them, maybe most of them, will tell you that Elizabeth Bennett is their favorite heroine. And who can resist her? Or Mr. Darcy?

I like Elizabeth Bennett and I like Mr. Darcy, I very much like Pride and Prejudice. I like all of Jane Austen's heroines - but I do have my favorite.

Anne Elliot from Persuasion is my all-time favorite heroine. She's older, she knows what it's like to make mistakes, she understands that life isn't perfect. She, like many women, made decisions when she was younger that have changed her life. She gives up what she wants and needs because her family (mostly her surrogate mother, Lady Russell) ask it of her. She sacrifices for her sister, for her father, for Lady Russell and puts herself second to all of them.

All of these things make her real to me but it goes even farther than that. Anne Elliot sounds like a martyr but she isn't. She knows - at the beginning of Persuasion - what it is she wants. And she wants Captain Frederick Wentworth, the man she gave up at Lady Russell's urging 8 years before the book begins.

She wants the man he was, but as she grows to know the man he is, she realizes that he's even better than he used to be, and he realizes the same thing about her. This is what makes Persuasion a great love story.

Two people, separated by circumstances, go away and become better people and then ... come back together and realize that they still love each. How can you get a better love story than that?

Jane Austen is my heroine.

Kate

Movie Traditions for Generations

2007-06-14T04:44:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my mother and I watched Elvis movies on Saturday mornings, then scary movies on Saturday afternoons. Our entire Saturday was devoted to the TV. The King and his kitchy beach movies all morning (but he was so cute, the thin plots were totally not noticed), followed by things like “Hell House” and other really scary movies with tiny monsters under the bed that had mini Ginsu knife collections. [Photo of me and my mom, from 2005, before she died]

Even today, as a grown-up, those Saturdays are probably my best memories ever. We didn’t have a fancy TV. We even had to--gasp--get up and change the channel and increase the volume with physical exercise. But the whole time I spent with my mom, choosing our movies for the weekend, then talking about them later, was pure gold.

Now my daughter is a teen. We have a big screen TV. On-Demand programming. So many remotes, I can’t even find them. And three stadium seating movie theaters within fifteen minutes of our house.

But guess what? She and I still curl up on the couch and watch movies. She has two distinct types she likes. “Chick-flicks” like “Bewitched” and scary movies like “Dark Water.” She wants me nearby for both, for the first so she can eww through the icky parts when the guys get too romantic (she’s still not totally into guys) and remark on the cutest guys (but is into some guys) and for the second, to hold on to when the scary parts get too terrifying.

And, we have our favorite TV shows. “Prison Break” and “Supernatural.” I’ll claim “Prison Break” is for the cool plot twists, but really, we both watch it because Wentworth Miller is just too hot for words. The plot twists are awesome, though. And “Supernatural,” because it’s in keeping with the scary movies that we both love (though I suspect my daughter is secretly infatuated with Dean).

Movies have become a bridge. They bridged the years between my mother and I, and now, they are bridging the years between my daughter and I. Down the road, I hope she continues the tradition with her children. And, when I’m old and gray, I hope she’ll stop on by with a few NetFlix and keep this granny entertained.

Or at least help me find the remote.

Shirley

My Favorite Movie

2007-06-13T12:23:00.000-07:00

I am a hard core movie junkie. There are many movies I've seen multiple times. Many, many, multiple times.

Gone With the Wind? At least thirty times. Casablanca, twenty or so. Pillow Talk with Rock Hudson and Doris Day, just about once a week when I worked the graveyard shift, and it was regularly the early morning movie on TBS. Grease? I lost count somewhere around fifty. And in high school and college, I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show at least a hundred times.

I love the Merchant Ivory films, Remains of the Day, Howard's End, A Room With a View; and the Jane Austen adaptations, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Pride and Prejudice. Amadeus and Dangerous Liasons are two of the best costume dramas I've ever seen.

The Color Purple, Terms of Endearment and Schindler's List are my seven-hankie movies.

Matchpoint and Thank You for Smoking are two recent favorites.

On the lighter end, I loved Raising Arizona, Groundhog Day, Harold and Maude, This is Spinal Tap, Best in Show, National Lampoon's Vacation, Pirates of the Caribbean, There's Something About Mary, and Four Weddings and a Funeral.

Pierce Brosnan was brilliant in the underrated The Matador. That was a wonderful dark comedy and a really fascinating character study.

I will watch anything with Johnny Depp or Mark Ruffalo. I would, in fact, watch them sit in a chair for two hours.

Since becoming a Mom, I've watched lots of kids' movies. Toy Story and Beauty and the Beast are two of my favorites, but Finding Nemo and Shrek come close. (I am looking forward to seeing more first-run grown-up movies, though!)

Dirty Dancing holds a special place in my heart, and so does the corny but hilarious Overboard with Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell (which I consider my guiltiest guilty-pleasure movie.)

But if I had to choose, I would say that Jaws is my all-time favorite. I know it backward and forward, inside and out. I love everything about it. The pacing is perfect, the dialogue fantastic. I loved the book, which I read numerous times as well, but in my opinion, the movie outshines it, which I rarely think is the case when it comes to adaptations.

When I give writing classes at my local library, I use Jaws to illustrate motivation and conflict, as well as the three-act structure. I literally can't watch anything else when I know it is on, even though I own two versions of the movie that I can play anytime. Is there anything better than hearing that music? Da dun. Da dun. Da dun da dun da dun dunnnnnnn!!! Even after all this time, the special effects hold up pretty well,

I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll think of a dozen more I wish I would have included...

Donna Birdsell

The Inside Scoop from Hank and Donna

2007-06-12T11:48:00.000-07:00

So TODAY, June 12th, is the big day.

The day you can buy PRIME TIME and MADAM OF THE HOUSE at your favorite bookstore.

In PRIME TIME, you'll meet Charlie McNally. Track down the biggest story of her career with her. Have adventures with her. Face danger with her. Question whether the handsome Josh Gelston is a good guy or a bad guy. Fall in love, and out, and (maybe) in again--and see the world through her quirky but determined perspective.

At 46, she's smart, savvy and sexier than she realizes. She's tough, she's honorable, she's a genuine journalist. And she wonders: what happens to a TV reporter who's married to her job--if the camera doesn't love her anymore?

And I hope, for a moment, you will have a thought of me, the author, sitting at my desk in Boston. I'll be wondering about each of you--and wishing I could talk with you personally. Do you like it? I'd ask. Do you think it's funny? Did you solve the mystery before Charlie did?

I remember the night the boxes of books arrived. My husband and I had been out to dinner with friends, and drove up the driveway. We'd stayed out later than usual on a work night, but we'd had a great time.

I could see on our porch, two brown boxes. Sealed with tape.

They were too big to be the shoes I ordered. Too small to be my stuff from Saks. It had to be PRIME TIME.

I leaped out of the car, engine still running, I'm sure. I raced to the porch, and began ripping off the tape. "Want me to carry those boxes inside?" my husband asked.

I ripped off more tape, ignoring him. "Why don't we wait until we're inside?" Jonathan persisted.

I ignored him. Risking manicure and paper cuts, I yanked open the flaps. One. Two. And there they were. Sleek and perfectly packed. More beautiful than I had imagined.

But they were--MADAM OF THE HOUSE. Donna's book. In one of those mix-ups that, you know, sometimes just happens, they had sent me the wrong books.

It was after 11 pm. I couldn’t call Donna and say--did you get my books?

DONNA:
I happened to get a box of books, too. But luckily, they were my own! (Or maybe unluckily, since I was dying to get my hands on a copy of PRIME TIME.)

This is the fifth book I’ve had published, and the second book I’ve written for NEXT (the first was SUBURBAN SECRETS, which was released in September). But I was still just as excited to have it in my hot little hands. There are few things more thrilling than holding a book that has your own name on it.

Just like when you have a baby, holding it makes you forget all the sweat and swearing and agony it took to bring it to life. You look at it and say, "Wow, that was so worth it."

And despite all the agony, MADAM was a fun book to write, too.

I have a real estate agent friend who helped me create the main character, Cecilia Katz, known as the Madam of the Million Dollar Deal. But unlike my friend, Cecilia gets into some hot water when she isn’t exactly ethical about how she handles a property she’s supposed to sell. In fact, she turns the mansion into a bordello, to make money after her estranged husband cleans out their joint bank accounts.

I like to use my characters to explore motivation—in this case, boarding school tuition for a special-needs child—and see how far they’ll push their own boundaries. It always gets me thinking about where I would draw the line…

HANK:
Ah, motivation! In a romantic mystery like Prime Time--the stakes are high. Charlie's got to save her career of course..that's life and death for her. And save her love life--totally pivotal. But it also comes down to real life and death! What would you do if you were being pursued by murderous thugs in a high-speed highway chase? What if you were being held at gunpoint by the person who turns out to be the bad guy? Could you have the presence of mind to figure out what to do?

One thing I love about Charlie as sleuth--she's just a reporter. She's only got a pen, not a gun. And although often the pen is mightier than the sword, sometimes you'd better have a pretty lethal Plan B. Charlie uses her wits and her determination to make everyday items--into deadly weapons.

Two years ago, I was sitting at my computer working on Prime Time. and I called my husband into the room. "Look, sweetheart," I said. "Watch this." And I typed "The end." And then I burst into tears. What makes the journey so sweet--is that now, you all will continue the journey. And instead of the end--it's The Beginning.

We'd love to hear from you!

Hank Phillippi Ryan
Donna Birdsell

May's contest winners - calling Shilo and Maura

2007-06-12T10:46:00.000-07:00

I've heard from everybody who won prizes in last month's blog contest except Shilo and Maura. Can you email me at kate@kateaustin.ca with your name and mailing address and I'll make sure your prizes get sent out to you.

Kate

Hollywood Comes Through

2007-06-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't been going out to movies lately. I have a looming book deadline, and by eight o'clock, after a day of writing, most nights I feel lazy. But the other night my husband and I watched the movie "Ruffian" on TV. Both of us love horses, and even though I knew the legendary filly, one of only a few winners of the female Triple Crown, would come to a sad end, hers was a heck of a good story. Bless her soul. Sam Shepard did a wonderful acting job--terrific characterization--as the horse's trainer. All in all, a satisfying movie experience. Three hankies, at least.

Which got me thinking about today's blog--and another film. My Very Favorite Movie.

What makes it the all-time winner?

Lots of things. Great storytelling, a sweeping epic, a fascinating setting, gorgeous costumes, characters good and bad who carve themselves into your heart and never leave, fine acting, moments of humor, plenty of drama and heartache and sexual attraction and, well, of course, love with a capital L. All the universal elements are there. Beautifully photographed, too.

The burning of Atlanta, for instance, is still effective onscreen today. Powerful images. And that's pretty amazing, considering the film was made in 1939, almost seventy years ago! Think of the technology developed since then, the special effects that directors can employ now, and then of "Gone With the Wind." Fabulous.

The envelope, please.

Yes, "GWTW" is my favorite movie. On top of everything else, it has a lot to say about the Southern culture it depicts during what was perhaps the most difficult era of our country's history. That something extra is what editors and agents often tell us should be part of our stories. "The added value," mine would say.

And boy, could Margaret Mitchell tell a compelling story. Like Harper Lee's TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD,GWTW was the only book Mitchell ever wrote. Hard to top, perhaps? That must have been a too-daunting prospect.

How does her splendid story help in my own writing? She sets a darn good example.

At the moment I'm working on THE GO-TO GIRL, a lighter project to be sure. Its setting is Cincinnati, not Civil War-time Atlanta. It's contemporary not historical. There's a strong relationship between my heroine and her ex-husband with mutual attraction and humor, and some poignant moments along the way. A serious issue also provides a bit of "something extra." But Tess and Grady O'Neill don't pretend to be Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. (Well, maybe a little, unconsciously) And I'm certainly not trying to top Margaret Mitchell. If only...

Still, GWTW, the book and the movie, are great teachers. In part because of that, although mine is a different market, I know what elements to work on, and ultimately what over-all effect I should aim for.

An absolutely, positively, completely Good Read.

Maybe (dream on) there's a movie in there too somewhere...

Shared Dreams

2007-06-08T08:38:00.000-07:00

Unlike Kate, I hate going to the movies. I hate being cold in the theater –or hot, having no place to put my feet up. I hate that woman who always seems to take the seat behind me and proceeds to narrate the movie to her husband: “Oh, she’s pregnant and it’s not his. . .” “See, she’s got a gun tucked in to her waistband. She’s going to try to kill him . . .”

I hate having to go to the bathroom and not being able to pause the movie while I go. I hate the smell of stale popcorn. And I hate when my shoes stick to the floor.

That said, I do love movies. I just love them on my own TV screen, in my own den, on my couch with the fireplace going in the winter or the air conditioner going in the summer. I like the pause button, the nearby fridge, the rewind that lets me listen again to something I may have missed.

My recurring character, Teddi Bayer, often gets together with her best friends, Bobbie and Diane for what they call Girls Night In where they watch old movies. Often it helps them solve the mysteries in the books. Which brings me to another thing I like about movies– I can rent them from Netflix without even leaving the house and when they come I can spend an afternoon watching a movie and call it working!

My all time favorite movie is It’s a Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed. First off, I love Christmas movies in general (like romances, they always guarantee a happy ending) and second, I do love Jimmy Stewart. Could watch him in anything. I love all the old movies, the ones with Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, with Clark Gable, Cary Grant . . .

I loved Life is Beautiful, which I only bring up now because the title is similar to It’s a Wonderful Life, though the stories are not.

I’m a sucker for sentimental movies, like An Affair to Remember. (There’s Cary Grant again!) I flipped for Somewhere in Time, that one with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve where he goes back in time for her. It was filmed at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island in Michigan and a few weeks ago my husband and I went there for a romantic weekend getaway. We rented our own horse-drawn carriage and went off into the countryside. That's my husband driving the carriage in the photo. I have a terrible voice, but there was no one for miles and I sang “Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry . . .” at the top of my lungs. It took everything I had not to run across their lawn yelling “Richard! Richard!” (This may mean nothing to you if you haven’t seen the movie, but if you have, you know. Oh, you know!

I like surprising movies, like the foreign films Bread and Tulips and Saving Face, both of which we rented from Netflix because they sounded “okay,” and then loved.

What I suppose I like best about movies is that they are like sharing your dreams. There you are, in another place and time, only whoever is around you is there with you. It’s a shared experience, though it drives me crazy when people like movies I hate, or don’t like movies I love.

It’s the same with books. Only better.

Stevi Mittman

My favorite learning tool - movies

2007-06-06T13:42:00.000-07:00

I admit it, I’m a movie addict. I LOVE movies. My friends go to movies and they’re much more discriminating than I am. I love ‘em all (with a few minor exceptions, mostly teenage boy movies). But other than those movies? I love being in the theatre in the dark, the sound everywhere, the big screen, the atmosphere – with or without popcorn.

Every movie I’ve ever seen has taught me something about writing –

I just saw MRS. PALFREY AT THE CLAREMONT and thought as I watched it that the spare writing style of Elizabeth Taylor (who if you haven’t read, you should) translated beautifully onto the screen. Not too many characters, no big special effects, just a lovely and intimate personal story. I wish I’d written not just the movie but the book. Check it out when you get a chance and see how to write an unusual, simple, relatively straightforward story in a way that makes you laugh, makes you cry and tugs at your heartstrings.

Then there’s my favorite Hitchcock movie – NORTH BY NORTHWEST. Oh, there’s Cary Grant for a bonus, but this movie is all about humor and sex. Really. The thrills and chills are just a way to get Eva Marie Saint and Cary Grant together. Goal. Conflict. Motivation. Perfect.

This movie – we never see anything overt because even in the sexiest of scenes they're wearing pajamas – but the dialogue between the two of them is some of the sexiest movie dialogue ever. This is how you write about sex. This is how you create sexual tension.

The humor starts with the typical mistaken identity which is funny, but even the most suspenseful scenes have humor in them.

THE PIANO – those of you who’ve read my May book LAST NIGHT AT THE HALFMOON will already know just how much I love this movie. Another subtle movie – the setting is incredibly sensual, wet, tropical, steamy. The characters are complex but they’re not beautiful, not in the way we see them so often in Hollywood movies. They feel, at least to me, like real people, people with complicated lives who are doing the best they can. So this movie taught me not only that the smallest touch can be incredibly sensual but that setting has power to bump up the heat.

And then there’s THE ENGLISH PATIENT – I’m not a giant fan of tragic love stories. I want a happy ending – but I can’t resist this movie.

What I love the most is the way it moves seamlessly from the past to the present, from Tuscany to the desert, from one story to another. I love the way it uses images to do this. My favorite example is the way the ridges on the bedsheet turn into desert sand dunes.

I love the way people aren’t perfect – they do what they need to do but they’re not black and white, not always confident in what they’re doing, so they make mistakes. And even with those mistakes, they are still loved.

I love the high stakes in this movie. War, death, love. All those things that we, as writers, want to write about and want our readers to understand how difficult it is to live in those complicated times and how, sometimes, we just put one foot in front of another and do what we have to do – never being quite sure whether it’s right or wrong.

And then there’s my favorite movie ever – WINGS OF DESIRE, Wim Wender’s great German movie about Berlin, about love, about desire. (City of Angels – a very bad remake was made a few years ago, don’t see it, see the original).

So what is it about this movie? There are many things that work in this movie but here are a few to start with.

Angels in trenchcoats watch over post-war Berlin and its shaken inhabitants. But Daniel (the wonderful Bruno Ganz) believes that maybe being an angel isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe, he thinks, human beings have something, know something, that angels don’t. And he’s right.

He falls in love with a trapeze artist (Solveig Dommartin) and she (along with Peter Falk playing himself) teach him that he needs to take the bad with the good. Yes, human beings have the pain of reality but they also have the joys of being human – like the combination of coffee and cigarettes and love – and Daniel finally decides that he’s going to choose the pain so that he can have the joy.

He takes a huge risk - giving up angelhood to become human - without knowing whether that risk is going to pay off. He jumps off the cliff and right into the midst of the human world. Whether he gets what he wants or not, the movie is about taking the risk, taking the leap. It's about hope in a situation that doesn't seem to have any, about courage, about love and desire and pain.

This movie is about everything.

Kate

My Favorite Movies! and what they mean for my books

2007-06-03T21:36:00.000-07:00

Everyone says--ooh, do you think Prime Time can be a movie? I can'twait! Who do you want to play to play Charlie McNally—the smart,savvy and sexier than she realizes forty-something TV reporter? Andwho do you want to play the fabulously handsome (and perplexingly)mysterious Josh?When you read Prime Time—let me know!

I'd say, oh Rene Russo forCharlie, or maybe Meg Ryan? And maybe that guy who plays the new James Bond would be a good Josh—now that Gregory Peck is no longeravailable to play the devastatingly handsome (but possibly sinister) potential new man in her life.

It's so tempting to cast any book we read—it's so easy to see just the right actor to play our favorite roles.Maybe it's because I've been a TV reporter for, um, thirty years, I think about every story I write as visual—on a page, you tell a story, on TV you can show it—and the old picture is worth a thousand words chestnut is illustrated perfectly by TV.. and by the movies.

And it's why we so often cant take our eyes off of a moving picture.Especially when we feel so close to the action we're terrified at the suspense, or cry at the end because these are characters whose lives we shared. So in my writing, I try to make whoever is reading—when they open that first page and enter my world—that they're therewith me. Just like in the movies.

My favorites? And how they helped me with writing?

Rear Window—what you might predict is the least cinematic becauseit's basically Jimmy Stewart--who's laid up with a broken leg—and Grace Kelly (has anyone ever been lovelier?) watching with binoculars out the rear window of Jimmy's apartment. They are watching the sinister-looking activities of a suspicious and sneakyRaymond Burr—did he kill his wife? Anyway—somehow it all works perfectly, even in that closed environment. And it illustrates one of the real puzzles for mystery writers like me--how do you handle a big scary climax when your character isn't a cop or a federal agent even anyone who might have a weapon. How do you get rid of the bad guys? By your wits and by using what's around you, is what I learned from Rear Window—do you remember how Jimmy does it? It's fabulous.And it's believable. Oh, you think. That could work.

(And—maybe you don't consider them classics but I do-- My CousinVinnie and Legally Blonde use the same techniques. The unique and quirky knowledge that a character possesses—make them triumph in the end.)

The Philadelphia Story—for proof that hilarious comedy and wry wit and good writing and swoony romance can be spare and slick and classy.

Adam's Rib—the cracklingly wonderful Katherine Hepburn/Spencer Tracymovie where they're husband and wife--but he's the DA and she's the defense attorney in the same murder case. Remember that? A perfect example of how a serious topic—a woman who has a slime of a husband, and how the rule of law is important no matter what the emotion---can be woven in to what might otherwise be just another fun romantic comedy.

Erin Brockovich to show how a tough, devoted woman can win the day with determination and dedication. To Catch a Thief—remember how they showed Cary Grant and Grace Kelly making mad passionate love? Aha! They didn't! But you sure know something was going on. Which teaches me you don't always have to be explicit to be exciting.

Oh—we could chat about this forever! And I know as soon as I post,I'll think of a whole list more. OH! Of course To Kill AMockingbird, for voice alone—the strongest, sweetest most personal and memorable voice in the movies.

But I'd love to hear from you—what movies could you watch a million times? And how do they change your life? Talk to you soon!

Hank(and who wants to guess my real name? It's not Henrietta...)

May contest winners

2007-05-31T20:48:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody:

Here are the winners of the May contest on The Best is Yet to Read blog. Next to your name is the name of the writer who is going to send you a prize:

Sue A. - Peggy Webb
Shilo - Kate Austin
Stacy S. - Nancy Robards Thompson
tam - Jennifer Greene
Virginia - Hank Phillippi Ryan
Maura - Donna Birdsell

Can each of you send me an email at kate@kateaustin.ca with your full name and address which I'll pass along and then you'll get a lovely prize in the mail.

Don't forget that this is a monthly contest, so starting June 1 you're going to want to check out the blog and keep posting for more great prizes. Next month's prizes will be posted June 1 or June 2, but you can post before then - just don't do it before June 1.

Good luck and congratulations!

Kate

What's NEXT in June?

2007-05-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

What's NEXT in June are two great books, one by Hank Phillippi Ryan (brand new to NEXT) and one by Donna Birdsell, who you already know.

PRIME TIME - Hank Phillippi Ryan

Could an innocent e-mail offer really result in murder, mayhem and a multimillion-dollar fraud ring? The last person to ask is dead - but that won't keep Charlotte McNally from poking around. Face it: in the cutthroat world of television journalism, this seasoned reporter knows that she'd better pull out all the stops or kiss her cushy job (and that means her life) goodbye.

But all too soon her investigation leads her straight to Josh Gelston, who is a little too a lot too handsome. Could she trust a word he said? Charlie might have a nose for news, but men are a whole other story. Which means she is putting her job, life and heart on the line....

MADAM OF THE HOUSE - Donna Birdsell

It was a great idea — why not bring lonely hearts together and make money? Real estate agent Cecilia Katz's brilliant brainstorm gave a whole new meaning to an open house. Especially with her hunky new assistant hiring the hot young studs to mingle with bored housewives. Who dreamed a game of Truth or Dare would lead to a flourishing business for the nearly broke single mother?

Until a stash of drugs is found and the cops start nosing around. Add in a lethally gorgeous real estate rival, and a risky business just got a whole lot riskier. But Cecilia's up for the challenge. And with the help of Jake the babe- magnet, watch her transform a life that's boring and sexless to one that's hot and reckless!

Enjoy!

Kate

My Perfect Day? Hmmm...

2007-05-30T05:49:00.000-07:00

Okay, first off, my perfect day has to be a lot more than 24 hours. (Hey, I'm a fiction writer--I can play with time, right?)
If I had more than 24 hours, I could both loll in bed late with my husband and also get up early and get e-mailing and that sort of stuff out of the way before the day started. I could have pancakes covered with sauteed blueberries because I'd not only have plenty of time to prepare them, but time to exercise the calories off after I ate them. (Cool, huh?) Maybe I would even sit with a cup of coffee and read the paper.
I would write twenty pages. . .before lunch. That way I'd be free for the rest of the day. I'd spend an hour using the webcam to visit with my granddaughter and watch her gurgle and coo and have a bottle.
Oh--This is Lela:

Then I'd take off in my convertible because my perfect day would be 74 degrees and sunny, and I'd find a craft fair to stroll through. Then I'd go real shopping and all the size 8s I tried on would not only fit, but flatter!
While I was shopping, my daughter would call and tell me what a terrific day she's having. I'd conference in her dad and she'd tell us all about how they are filming the episode she wrote for South of Nowhere.
Call waiting would interrupt us and I'd receive a call from my agent that publishers all over NY were fighting for my next series.
I'd meet my husband at the wonderful cafe up the lake where we'd have wine and dinner outside--bug free.
We'd leave his car there, to pick up on a less than perfect day, and drive home together under the stars in my convertible.
We'd be cold from the drive, so we'd hop in the hot tub and then hurry up to bed (here's where I close the door on the details. . .).

You know, yesterday was actually just like that.

Except for the breakfast. And the exercise. And the shopping. And the call from my agent. And the sitting with coffee and reading the paper. . .

But I did have a visit with my granddaughter, hear from my daughter about her great day on the set, go in the hot tub. . .

And you know what?

That's perfect enough!

Hope something is just perfect for you today!
Love,
Stevi

My Perfect Day(s)

2007-05-25T09:25:00.000-07:00

My perfect day?

That's easy. It was only yesterday. My birthday. And a great one it was, too.

I think I talked with everyone I love, which was awesome. Those little "gifts" of conversation went on and on, one here, one there, from morning until night. I even had a nice long chat with my one-and-only-brother who lives in Ohio. We don't get the chance to catch up all that often these days, and it was so good to hear his voice.

The weather cooperated yesterday with a gorgeous late-May day of clear blue skies, low humidity (a minor miracle in Tennessee), a mid-80s temperature, and a balmy breeze.

Isn't it wonderful to be able to wear summer clothes again, not all those heavy winter things?

I admit, I didn't work yesterday. Oh, I kicked a few ideas around for the next chapter in my new book, jotted a couple of lines of dialogue on a notepad, but I never booted up the computer to actually write. I gave myself permission to take the day off.

And sat in the sun.

Later, my husband took me to dinner at one of our favorite places, the Back Inn Cafe, here in Chattanooga where I was given (surprise) a free dessert (yummy Italian cream cake) to celebrate. The salmon I ordered for dinner was tasty too, but that cake definitely topped off the evening! Good thing it didn't have candles, though. Wouldn't want to light up the entire restaurant--and besides, at this point in life who's counting?

I think I'll pick a permanent age and stick to it from now on.

Perfect.

What did I get for this birthday? My husband presented me with the Rosetta Stone Spanish lessons I've wanted. Apparently, my few broad hints did the trick. So the next time we go to Cabo San Lucas, probably in December, I'll be fluent. I hope.

We were there in early May with our son Hal and his girlfriend Kim, but none of us had a good grasp of Spanish then. We did, however, have a marvelous time. It's hard not to in such a beautiful place among such friendly people. With family. Great company.

In Mexico, even on vacation I did do some writing. The timing was excellent. I was at the point in my new book where the heroine Tess and her ex-husband Grady unexpectedly spend a week together in --guess where?--Cabo. This changes their post-divorce relationship to the max. So imagine me on the deck of the condo on another gorgeous morning, gazing out at an expanse of the Sea of Cortez that stretches endlessly from the beach below the building to the horizon. Laptop on my, well, lap. And the words flowing from my fingertips. It was easy to get the details of setting right when I was sitting in the same spot, more or less, as my characters did. I hope they had as good a time as I did. I am a lucky woman.

I've digressed here, I know. One perfect day into another.

But something does tie these two times together--and that's people.

The people I love, real or even imaginary, are the most important aspect of any day for me.

Absolutely perfect.

Thanks, you guys, for being the very best part of my life.

my perfect day

2007-05-20T13:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, are we talking "Perfect Day" like in my fantasies? Like spending the morning with George Clooney, the afternoon with Johnny Depp, and the evening with...my husband? Like eating chocolate croissants for breakfast, s'mores for lunch, and chocolate souffle for dinner?

How about a day where I'd see the sunrise without having to get up early, write ten perfect pages without effort, play with my kids without having to worry about the housework, and then go out to a five-star restaurant for dinner without worrying about calories (or the bill)?

No? You want reality?

Well, then. I'll tell you about some perfect moments I've had, and if I put them all together, I'd have the perfect day...

Sunrise on the morning I gave birth to my first child. I was holding her in my arms as I watched it through the hospital window.

Breakfast on the first mother's day my children were old enough to serve me breakfast in bed. Burnt toast, two strawberries (each with a bite taken out of them), and a mug of lukewarm tea.

The morning I walked into a bookstore and saw my first book on the shelves, for the very first time. I cried.

A picnic lunch in the backyard on a perfect spring day, sitting beneath a blooming spice bush. The sunlight shone in my daughter's hair, and she was looking at me like I was the best thing on Earth.

A summer afternoon writing on the back porch, listening to the sounds of birds and lawnmowers and children laughing.

The dinner when my husband proposed to me.

Prom night in tenth grade, when I was all dressed up and the music was playing, and my friends were all there, and I finally believed my mother when she said it would never get any better than that.

Watching the town fireworks with my husband and kids, leaning back on a blanket, the grass tickling my ankles as colors exploded above our heads.

If I could put all of those things together, that would be my perfect day. Although an afternoon with Johnny Depp wouldn't suck.

Donna Birdsell

A perfect day

2007-05-17T11:54:00.000-07:00

Hmmm, there are so many of them.

A spring day in Paris, sunny, warm enough to wear a sweater, my favorite walking shoes, and a companion who loves the city (and the art) as much as I do. Then a late lunch at a small cafe, wine and jambon sandwiches, then an afternoon nap. Then a walk along the Seine, a terrific dinner (mussels, maybe) and another walk back to the hotel.

Or a day like today. I started the day with a walk, then a little shopping, then breakfast by myself, then back home for a little work. This afternoon I'm off to the hairdresser (who's a great friend of mine) for cut and color, then meeting friends for dinner and a movie. Wine included, of course.

Or there's the day when the work is going perfectly, when everything I write feels fresh and clean and perfect. I love those days. And I can look out the window and see this view while I'm writing:

Or the days when I need a mini-vacation and I take the bus from Vancouver to the Victoria ferry and spend the hours on the ferry looking out at the water and if I'm lucky, I see a dolphin or a whale, but always see the ocean moving past, the islands, the boats. And then I spend the day in Victoria, gallery hopping, listening to buskers, going to museums, walking, walking, walking, having lunch and dinner wherever I want, and then I take the bus to the last ferry home. Coming back across the water in the dark and arriving home just in time for bed, feeling like I've been away for a week, rested, refreshed, energized.

Or the day when it's warm, but there's that soft rain, so soft you don't feel yourself getting wet. And I go for a long walk on the beach - and there's almost no one there. And the sky and the ocean merge into one and the mountains look like mist on the horizon. And the ocean is perfectly still and the only sounds are the seagulls mewing off in the distant. And the whole world smells like water.

And then there are those days - which don't happen as often as the others - when you meet a new friend and it's perfect from the moment you meet each other. You talk and laugh and learn about each other and everything you learn, everything you say, every time your eyes meet or your laughter drowns out the noises around you, you realize you've met someone that you'll know forever. And you'll always remember that first meeting. I have friends like that, male friends and female friends, and that first click of connection is like a miracle.

Or the day when I find a new writer and a book that I love and I spend the whole day with that book and that story and those characters. Those are some of my very favorite days.

And the day when you make your first sale (or your tenth!) - those are pretty good days as well.

But for me, the perfect days are the days that I can control. The days on the beach, meeting new friends, good working days - I can count on those days. I can plan for those days.

Perfect days for me happen often - it's an attitude more than anything, I think, at least it is for me. I wake up 99 days out of 100 knowing I'm going to have a good day. And I do. Because you know what? People respond when you smile at them, when you chat with them, and that reinforces the good day. Hard to have a bad day when people smile at you and chat with you and are nice to you.

Here's wishing you a perfect day.

Kate

Sorry I've been AWOL

2007-05-14T10:56:00.001-07:00

Wow! So many responses to my blog about forgetting...and since I didn't answer any of them, you probably thought I forgot that, too!
I was out in Phoenix visiting my granddaughter again. Her daddy was away at a conference and I spent four days doing her night feedings as well as lots of her day feedings so that her mommy could get a few good nights of sleep and run some errands, etc. I got back last night and checked the blog and wowie!
So, to all of you who said they couldn't retain the books they read either, thanks for making me feel "normal!" And to those of you who can't part with your favorites, I've gotten lots of comments that my romance novels were "keepers" and nothing thrilled me more! I still have all my Lavyrle Spencer's.
My mom was a really avid romance reader and she had a fabric book cover that she'd keep whatever book she was reading in. She passed away before my first book was published, but I put a copy inside her cover and it sits on my shelf . . .
Anyway, thanks for all the comments! Keep 'em coming!
Stevi

ANNOUNCEMENT - THE BEST IS YET TO READ ONGOING BLOG CONTEST

2007-05-13T10:47:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody:

Each month, the bloggers at THE BEST IS YET TO READ are going to give away prizes to some of the people who post at the blog. The prizes will be contributed by many authors, especially we hope, those whose books will be coming out in the following month.

This month - MAY - is going to be a banner month because we're including the writers whose books are out in May and June.

The prizes will range from autographed copies of backlist books to chocolates, candles, bubble baths and other fun stuff.

In May, you could be one of the six lucky winners of a prize from PEGGY WEBB, KATE AUSTIN, NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON, JENNIFER GREENE, HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN or DONNA BIRDSELL.

Post, and post often.

Kate

2007-05-10T08:50:00.001-07:00

I have many favorite books, but the first time I got this type of question I was embarrassed when I heard other replies. The real question was what were the first books that influenced you. Influence meaning changed your perception of the world. My friends and fellow writers were all mentioning books they read as children, Nancy Drew, Little House on the Prairie, Harriett the Spy, Pippi Longstocking. I never even knew those were books. They were movies. I never heard of Nancy Drew until the television series came on. Laura Engalls was not part of my circle of influence. I read a series of young adult books by Rosamund du Jardin and I read biographies.

The first book that changed my perception of the world was The Stand by Stephen King. It’s a horror tale and you may be gasping in horror as you read this, but from that book I understood that all of us, me included, would have to take a stand on whatever we believe is right in this world. Life presents us with challenges and we were obligated, to ourselves if no one else, to do what we believe and to stand by that decision. So when I think of favorite book, The Stand is on the top of the list.

I cut my teeth on reading romance novels. Emilie Loring, who wrote books set in the 1940’s (contemporary times for her) and had already died by the time I discovered her, was the first author I read and loved. I wished I’d saved her books. They were full of the concerns that people in the northeastern seaboard had about Germans invading the U.S. during World War II. They also had what I came to know years after I began writing as the “feisty” heroine. Her heroines were no wilting flowers. They were strong and spoke their minds, even to the hero, especially to the hero. They were the women of the ‘90’s back in the ‘40’s.

Sandra Brown became a favorite later on and she continues to be on my automatic buy list. I’ve never been disappointed by her. Having her roots in series romance and then single title, she moved to writing thrillers and suspense with romantic elements. The plot twists of these larger books only added to my enjoyment. Charade, Exclusive, and Envy remain all time favorites, although anything she’s written is a favorite.

Dean Koontz, for me, is an author to study. If you read his books in the order he wrote them, you’ll find each one is better than the one before. I want to be like him when I grow up. Favorites are hard to choose because the last one is the best one. I especially like the Christopher Snow novels, Fear Nothing and Seize the Night. At the end of Seize the Night, I was convinced there would be a third book called Torpedo Alley. The ending was set up for a third book in the series, but so far he hasn’t written it and I have not written him requesting it. The Key to Midnight is high on my list of favorites. For Dean Koontz, I’m a collector. I keep all his books, in any pseudonym he’s used, even his children’s book and a book on writing. And, a little known fact to his legends of thriller/horror fans, he wrote romances at one time for Harlequin.

The first African American romance author I read was Sandra Kitt, Adam and Eva. She was the forerunner for an entire list of favorites. Donna Hill’s, Rooms of the Heart. Eboni Snoe’s The Ties That Bind. Francis Ray’s Any Rich Man Will Do. Felicia Mason’s For the Love of You.
I can’t forget Jill Jones, whose first book Emilie’s Secret spawned a genre of its own. Jill hasn’t written that many books, but her back list pumps a wallop in enjoyment of reading.

Like one other author said, the list of favorites can change from day to day. These are some of those I love. I hope you do too.

Shirley Hailstock

Favorite Books? Oh My!

2007-05-08T06:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, I have two confessions to make here.

One is that if I could remove two words from the English language they would be "should" (don't even get me started) and "favorite." When my kids were little they would always ask me what my favorite this or that was. "What's your favorite color, Mommy?" For what? Shirts? White. Walls? Never White! "What's your favorite food?" For what meal? "For dessert?" Hot or cold? Lunch or dinner? In summer or winter? I'd avoid it any way I could. Luckily, I had a boy and a girl so that when they asked about "favorite children" I could say which was my favorite son and which my favorite daughter!

I simply don't do favorites.

Second confession: I don't retain well. No matter how much I adore a book when I'm reading it (and I never read books that I don't adore--I just pass them on), when I'm done, I'm done. So to list my favorites . . . Ugh! That word again!

Oh, gosh! I've just realized I have a third confession. This one has to do with my mother, who was an avid reader, but this has nothing to do with reading. My mother had what we thought of as a very strange affliction. When she spoke with anyone who had an accent, she unintentionally picked it up and replied in the person's accent. Now, this could be very embarrassing because if you didn't know her, you'd think that she was making fun of you. One time she. . .but I digress.
(And while I am out there, digressing, I'm thinking that I really will have to give that problem to a character somewhere along the way. . .) Anyway, when I read, I think I pick up the "accent" of the author. Once I was writing a book and reading Pam Morsi at the same time. It was the one that took place in the Ozarks, I think. At any rate,one of my characters, who'd been doing just fine up until this point, suddenly admitted she couldn't read and started saying ain't. Sooo...I don't read when I'm actively writing, which is nearly all the time.

All that said, who/what do I like?

In no particular order:

LaVyrle Spencer, whose books led me to write romance, especially Years
Alexander McCall Smith's First Ladies Detective Agency Series. His simple truths appeal to me
Legal Thrillers, maybe because I'm married to a lawyer
Books in the Next series, because I'm not twenty anymore but I'm not dead yet, and the heroines in these books feel real to me
Diet books, because I always think that this one will hold the key to those five pounds I'm always trying to shed
Gardening books because winter lasts a long time in Upstate NY

There are probably loads more that I am forgetting. I love being swept away, forgetting I'm on a plane, or down with a cold, or worried about something. I love the act of reading, of cracking a new spine and feeling the pages in my hands.

I LOVE TO READ. And to write. I love the world we escape into together.

Stevi Mittman

Kate's favorite books

2007-05-03T12:28:00.000-07:00

This is one of the toughest questions any reader (or writer, for that matter) gets asked. Those of you who've checked out my website will know that I read an average of a book a day and have done so for almost forty years. Ouch. Didn't really mean to tell you how old I was - but there you go.

So what are my favorite books? They change - month to month, sometimes even week to week - but there are some books or authors that never change. I love:

Jane Austen - I like them all but I love Persuasion - maybe because it's about reunited lovers.
Michael Ondaatje - everything he's ever written, poetry, novels, memoirs - but my favorite is In the Skin of a Lion.
Gene Stratton-Porter - books I learned to read at my grandmother's house, written in the early part of the 20th century, about places I hope to go. Keeper of the Bees is my favorite.
Margaret Laurence's The Diviners, as astonishingly beautiful, insightful, perfect book.
Bronwen Wallace - both her poetry and her single book of wonderful short stories. Even her poems are stories in disguise.
Anything by Neil Gaiman and William Gibson - both amazing writers.
Harry Potter - I'm counting down the days to July 21.
Anything by Alice Hoffman - although my favorite is Turtle Moon.
Barbara Kingsolver, I love all of her books, but probably The Bean Trees is my favorite.
Al Purdy and Patrick Lane - great poets and both of whom have written fiction - Pat Lane's book of stories, Purdy's novel, A Splinter in the Heart.
Suzanne Brockmann is one of my heroes - especially the SEAL team books. I read them when I'm racing for a deadline.
Christine Feehan, though only the Game series; Marjorie M. Liu; Judith McNaught, but mostly the romantic suspense; Linnea Sinclair - fabulous.
Barbara Hambly's fantasy series; Mercedes Lackey's Victorian magic series; Mary Jo Putney's Guardian series.
Because I'm obsessed with the First World War, I love Timothy Findley's book The Wars, Pat Barker's Ghost Road Trilogy, poets of that war - Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon, Rupert Brooke, John McRae.
Dick Francis, P.D. James - my favorite mystery writers.
Carl Hiaasen who always, always, always makes me laugh.
Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, one of my favorite books ever.
Short story writers Mavis Gallant, Raymond Carver, Alice Munro.
Non-fiction writers - Malcolm Gladwell (The Tipping Point), Margaret McMillan (Paris 1919.
Art books of all and every kind.
Margaret Atwood - I like them all but my favorites (this month) are Oryx & Crake and The Handmaid's Tale.
Robertson Davies - he writes amazing complex perfect books.
Stephen King (who wouldn't love someone who can write perfect sentences?), Dean Koontz, Clive Barker - though not all of any of them.
Jim Butcher - I love Harry Dresden.
Charles Dickens - I want to be able to write that omniscient narrator like he does.
E.M. Forster's A Passage to India - I read it when I want to understand how to write a setting that is one of the best characters in the book and A Room with a View when I want to understand true love.

That's probably enough because I could go on forever and I know I've missed a whole bunch of writers I love. But if you saw my apartment - floor to ceiling books, books in drawers, books in closets, books everywhere - you'd know that I can't tell you how many different books I do love. All of them, really. Every single one of them.

Kate

What's NEXT in May

2007-05-03T10:19:00.000-07:00

Last Night at the Halfmoon by Kate Austin

Every important event in Aimee King's life has taken place at the Halfmoon.

Her first kiss, Brad Mackey's proposal while parked under the starry sky… Even Aimee's son, Hayden, was conceived there. But as the Halfmoon Drive-In was readying to close its doors, her ex-husband was returning to the Sunshine Coast for the summer. Even though Brad could never stay in one place, he was always a welcome part of the family. It wasn't as if he and Aimee had ever stopped loving each other—and Hayden, more than ever, needed his father. But was it all enough to stop Brad's adventurous ways? Before the drive-in ran its last picture show, would Aimee discover that Hollywood endings aren't reserved solely for the silver screen?

Like Mother, Like Daughter (But in a Good Way) by Jennifer Greene and Nancy Robards Thompson and Peggy Webb

Don't miss these three unforgettable stories that look at the unbreakable—and sometimes infuriating—bonds between mothers and daughters. And the men who get caught in the madness (when they aren't causing it!).

Born in My Heart (Jennifer Greene). A heartwarming and tender look at what it means to be a mother, in her story about adoption.

Becoming My Mother, and Other Things I Learned from Jane Austen (Nancy Robards Thompson). A mother's surprise birthday visit teaches her daughter about living and loving in Paris.

The Long Distance Mother (Peggy Webb). A Mother's Day call brings a woman home to the two mothers who raised her…and helps her discover the answers she's been searching for all her adult life.

Synchronicity in Action

2007-04-28T09:16:00.000-07:00

Lately, there’s been a lot of buzz about the book “The Secret,” which espouses if you “Ask and believe, you will receive.” Some people regard it as a bunch of hooey. Still, I can’t tell you how often I’ve experienced the gift of this wonderful phenomenon actually working. Call it coincidence; call it the fruit of planning your work and working your plan. Call it whatever you want, but when that happens, it absolutely takes my breath away.

And it recently happened to me in a big way…

I’m very big on setting New Year’s resolutions. It’s a first-week-in-January ritual I return to year after year. Don’t ask what happens to those resolutions come mid-year. Deadlines get in the way; real life takes a stronghold and my good intentions drift off into the ether not to be thought of until the new year… You get the picture. Well, this year, I resolutely vowed to break this self-defeating cycle. I would pick and choose my goals carefully, going for quality over the usual laundry list of whims. Near the top of my list was “Learn to speak French.” I’ve wanted this for so long. I had French in high school and college, and I dust off the useful tourist phrases when I travel to France – always feeling illiterate until the day or so before I leave, when my ear finally tunes into the French frequency. How wonderful it would be to be able to communicate upon arrival. I mean, as a writer, stripping away my means to communicate is almost wors than withholding food and water.

I read somewhere if you devote as little as thirty minutes per day to the study of something you want to accomplish, over time, it’s enough to make you an expert. I don’t know about the “expert” claim, but the application made sense. I could study French for the thirty minutes I was on the elliptical machine doing the daily workout that also occupied that whittled down list of goals.

So I made the commitment. Then a funny sequence of events happened. A few days later, my husband and I started talking about when we could next go to France. It probably wasn’t possible this year. Perhaps next? Wistfully, we agreed, “Yes, next year.” It would be something to look forward to. And by then I’d be nearly fluent in French. Right?

The very next day – I kid you not – the very next day, I got a call from a woman who had hosted a book club that read my Next Novel, "Out With the Old, In With The New." Little did I know, she was on the board of trustees for the Atlantic Center for the Arts . Because she had enjoyed my books, she invited me to be part of a package the art center was auctioning off on April 1 (No April Fool's joke!) at their 24th Annual Horsin’ Around Auction, a gala to raise money for the Art Center.

Here’s the description of the package as it appeared in the auction catalogue :

Lot 28 What Happens in France, Doesn’t Stay in France…
Not in this case anyway, because, while spending a week with five of your friends in the beautiful, early nineteenth century grand Norman Manor House , Le Manoir des Labbes, <http://www.manoirdeslabbes.com/home> in the French countryside between Paris and Rouen, you will be accompanied by Orlando-based award winning author Nancy Robards Thompson, who will be writing YOU into her Next novel. Take a train into Paris for the day, tour the coast to the glamorous resort town of Deauville with its luxury hotels and casinos, visit Honfleur’s charming harbor village and re-trace Monet’s travels through the streets of timbered houses or, of course, spend the day in Giverny, Monet’s picturesque village – a real pilgrimage for art lovers! Seven days and six nights in the Norman Manor Home with six bedrooms (three of them suites), 3½ baths, large living room and dining room, full kitchen and lovely grounds.

So I put it out there and Voila. I’m going to France! But wait it gets even better… About a week later, a friend introduced me to her sister-in-law, because she’s as big a Francophile as I am. During the course of conversation, I mentioned how determined I was to get a better grasp of the language. Come to find out, the woman is a former high school French teacher who has developed a method of teaching French that she was eager to try out.

Do you seeing the beauty here?

But wait it gets even better… About a week later, a friend introduced me to her sister-in-law, because she’s as big a Francophile as I am. During the course of conversation, I mentioned how determined I was to get a better grasp of the language because I was going to France! Come to find out, the woman is a former high school French teacher who has developed a method of teaching the language that she was eager to try out. She needed a student. I needed a teacher.

So whether you want to travel or write a novel or do something else to enrich your life, no matter how far out there it may seem, the first step to achieving is believe that you can, that you deserve it. Once you’re clear about what you want, it’s amazing how things line up and the Universe finds a way to deliver your heart’s desire.

À la prochaine,

Nancy

2007-04-26T09:45:00.000-07:00

Reading a good book takes my breath away. I'm sure that sounds trite coming from a writer, but when I find a book that I wish I had written, where the words just carry me along, I find it inspiring and breathless. I reading one now. It's by Dean Koontz and I like all his books.

Other things that can take my breath away are a good love story (movie). I keep watching The Lake House over and over. The story is simple and complex. It's complex because of what I am inferring with the plot; the father-son tug of war, the love of two brothers, the need to find that one true woman who will complete your life and the willingness to move heaven or hell (or in this case time) to make it happen. it's simple because it's boy meets girl, boy gets girl.

The unconditional love of a child is a miracle, a wonder, and a breathless encounter. No matter how bad your day had been, the simple act of small arms around you neck can put everything into perspective.

Friends succeeding or trying, giving it their all to do something that's not easy and may even be impossible, but they keep trying. In time maybe their tiny movement or change of persepctive on one person will have the same effect as moving a meteor on a collison course with the earth one tiny centimeter, making it miss the planet by thousands of miles. I have a very good friend who never misses the chance to try and set a child on a positive course. She's a judge and it's not from the bench that she dispenses advice, but from a face-to-face conversation allowing the child to speak his or her mind. Who know how many ripples that affect can have?

There are so many things that can make me breathless, but the last one I'll mention follows an old television program's tag line -- I love it when a plan comes together. There are thousands of directions to take a book, a character, a story. But when you get to the last page, whether you're reading or writing it, and you have that long sigh of breath (ahhh) that signifies contentment, you understand completely what breathless is. Page one has become The End. Oh what a feeling. It happens every time.

Shirley

Breathless

2007-04-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

What leaves me breathless?

I'm still fairly new to blogging, but I have noticed that people usually blog about whatever it is that's going on in their lives at any given moment. Just thinking about everything that's going on in my life leaves me quite breathless. But I really wouldn't want it any other way.

My weekend at the shore was filled with breathless moments; warm sand between my toes, a glorious magenta sunset, the distinct mating chatter of the sandpipers. When I'm at the beach—my favorite place to be—I don't have to look too hard for breathless moments. They're everywhere I turn.

Every Monday I can be found spending the day with Michael Lee III. M3 we've taken to calling him. He's the cutest nine-month old on the face of the planet. He's sitting up and rolling with utter perfection, and he's nearly crawling. When he graces me with one of his bright, toothless grins—I'm breathless.

My father has faced two major surgeries in the past few months. He's home, resting and recuperating. I am proud to say his doctors have called him Superman. My dad is one tough cookie. We went through some rough days together, and I'm hoping that the worse is behind us. But I have found a new appreciation for him, for all he has done for me, for all the love and support he has given. Whenever I see his blue eyes flash with humor or hear him laugh—I'm breathless.

As a writer, I often 'see' my scenes unfolding in my mind's eye like a movie on a theater screen. I have no idea where this ability comes from, but it never fails to leave me breathless.

Last fall both my children moved far away; one to AZ, the other to RI. When the phone rings and I hear the voice of one or the other of my boys—I'm breathless. When my husband comes home from work, sneaks into my office and plants a kiss on my neck—I'm breathless.

I once read that life shouldn't be counted by the number of breaths you take but the number of moments that take your breath away. I believe that with all my heart. I try hard to remain aware and alert. . .because I don't want to miss a single breathless moment.

Donna

What takes my breath away?

2007-04-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

There are so many things it's almost impossible to tell you - but maybe because it's different things on different days I can narrow it down a little.

It's April 22 and that means something to me. Just last year - believe it or not - I realized that although I'd always considered September to be my favorite month of the year, April was starting to become a close second, if not actually winning the race to be favorite. Maybe it's because I'm getting older and I appreciate the spring more, but I think, actually, now that I'm writing about it here, it's that I've been out of a school for a long time.

I'm sure all of you, having spent part of your life going to school, know what I mean when I say September used to be the beginning of the year for me. A new school year (college, university, whatever) meant I got new school supplies, new clothes, new ideas and insight. And September, wherever I've been living (Vancouver, Kelowna, Toronto) has always been a beautiful month. Still warm, but no longer too hot, the tourists are, for the most part gone. And the skies are gorgeous.

But April? I know the quote - April is the cruellest month - but I don't believe it. Not anymore.

I look out my window today and it's cloudy, yes, a little windy, but it's definitely absolutely completely spring. And that includes many things that take my breath away...

The daffodils and tulips - brilliant yellows and oranges and reds - lining the streets. The cherry blossoms, palest of pale pinks, drifting down to the street in a sweet soft replica of winter's icy snow. The lovely pale greens of the new leaves on the trees, the almost fluorescent yellow of the dandelions before the gardeners get to them.

And the smells? Oh my god, the smells of spring. The sweetness of hyacinths, the lovely dankness of the manure spread on flowerbeds, the salty enchantment of the spring breezes carrying in over the ocean. The chlorine of the outdoor pools.

And the sounds? The giggles of children enjoying the mild weather. The thump-thump of the runners' pounding feet as they practice for the marathon. The dogs barking as they dash in and out of the water. The bells of bicycles as tourists and residents alike take to the Seawall.

But most of all, spring means birds - songbirds, baby ducks and geese, swans, blackbirds, and most especially, the great blue herons. They're everywhere at this time of year, flying like great pterydactyls across the sky, standing motionless in the shallows waiting to pounce on a frog or a fish, hurrying home in the early evening to their nests high in the trees. I think they're lucky birds for me.

The idea for my first published book - DRAGONFLIES AND DINOSAURS - came from a walk around the Seawall one early spring. I started counting herons in the shallows or flying by and realized that my progress was being measured, not by the time it was taking or the distance I was walking, but by the number of herons I was seeing. The line I dreamed up on that walk was:

I measured my progress by great blue herons...

The line in the book changed, but I thought of that walk and those birds the entire time I was writing the book. The line ended up as:

We measured our progress by red-tailed hawks and the iridescent carcasses of dragonflies flickering against the windshield in the warm light of the setting sun.

but the change meant nothing to me. It was always about that walk on the Seawall and those herons. And, to compound my feeling that they're lucky, just before I sold that book, I was sitting in my living room on a rainy day and a heron came down to land on the railing of my balcony. He sat there for almost an hour, and I spent that hour fascinated and almost frightened by the size of him. Wow.

And there's another thing that takes my breath away? Finding that perfect line or phrase. There's nothing like it.

Kate

Staring into Space

2007-04-12T09:56:00.001-07:00

Staring Into Space (April 12th)

I was curled into my favorite chair on the sun porch the other night when my husband suddenly appeared with a curious expression on his face. “Why are you always staring into space?” he asked, as if he hasn’t lived with me for, lo, these many years.
“I’m working,” I said, as if patiently explaining some mystery of the universe, “on the new book.” It takes time. Lots of daydreaming.
This is one problem with being a writer. Nobody seems to think you’re really getting anything done (and of course, sometimes I’m not but have a neat excuse). Yet this staring into space is a necessary part of the creative process in all its magical permutations.
But where do ideas come from in the first place? Sorry, but who knows?
I once heard an editor say that any given idea seems to circulate in space, and a number of writers grab the same premise, for instance, as it floats past. On the other hand, that may be a result of everyone watching the same newscasts, reading the same magazines, absorbing the same episode of “Oprah” as they—in my case—grind away on the treadmill.
Sometimes inspiration can come from eavesdropping on a conversation, the touch of a hand, a familiar scent, a remembered taste, even an unexpected observation. The senses can be a great starting point.
Two examples: One steamy afternoon on vacation in Louisiana, I saw a brief exchange between the local guide for a bayou tour and a darkly handsome guy in city clothes who lent a hand to tie up the boat. Muscles bulged. In the docking process these two taunted each other as men do with rough humor and a few Cajun epithets (I assumed) thrown in for good measure. The well-dressed guy’s voice was like dark velvet.
All at once, in a heartbeat, I had the hero of a new book. After all, he’d just saved me from drifting back out into the impenetrable bayou. My mind went spinning. This guy had grown up tough, maybe without a father—but he’d made it out somehow. Let’s say he escaped to New Orleans and became a homicide detective. He has a problem now returning to his roots. Voila, a character was born.
And off I went.
Songs can be very evocative too. I’ve always loved “Danny Boy,” its heartfelt lyrics. But what if Danny is a bull rider who yearns to win the world championship? What if he’s still clinging to that dream when he should be hanging up his rope? What if he’s estranged from the more pragmatic wife he loves—and left behind on a Montana ranch?
Still, any idea is just the start. I don’t pretend to understand what happens after that. Taking that germ of a premise or character, however it first appears, letting it percolate, then making it into something wonderful, deep and rich and textured, perhaps even funny and wise, is where the real work begins.
That’s where the lots of time comes in, and all that staring into space.
Excuse me. Gotta get back to the sun porch now.
Yesterday I read a quote from Dr. Joyce Brothers: “The best proof of love is trust.” Synchronicity. That’s what my newest heroine needs to learn!
Oh. No. I just gave away the ending…

Leigh Riker

The Mystery Of It All

2007-04-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

Synchronicity ~n~ Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.

Call me naïve. Wide-eyed. Innocent. (Heck, call me anything, as my grandmother used to say, just don't call me late for dinner.) I'll offer a secret smile and sing, "Sticks and stones," while silently thanking the heavens for the many blessings that have been gifted to me and mine.

Yes, you've got it. I'm one of those ingenuous people who firmly believe everything happens for a reason. There's no such thing as coincidence. Of course, I have no proof to offer. There's no tangible evidence to be had to substantiate my certainty that there is order and direction in this seemingly chaotic universe in which we live. Planets are whirling, asteroids are flying, our globe is warming, wars are raging, but I still hold tight to my faith that some One (or should that be Someone?) is in complete control.

There's simply too much magic that presents itself for me not to believe. Take me, for instance. In the grand scheme of the universe, my life—my existence—is tiny, infinitesimal. Yet, unexplainable mystery shows up too often for me to dismiss. Case in point: While researching Pennsylvania towns near the Susquehanna River for my current work in progress (HINDSIGHT), the name Wikweko popped up on Google. Now, Wikweko isn't the name of a town (it's described as "an area near Philadelphia") and it isn't near the Susquehanna River, so why did it pop up on my search? It was one of those hair-raising moments for me. Moments, I have come to realize, that deserve full awareness and attention.

Upon further investigation, I discover that Wikweko is a Lenape word meaning "place where something ends" which is absolutely perfect for the theme of my book. And the strangest part of all? My male protagonist is of Lenape heritage. Weird, right? This was dropped right into my lap from the swirling chaos of the cosmos. (Chaos? I don't think so. :::wink:::) How could I not accept this gift from the heavens? HINDSIGHT is set in a fictitious Native American community nestled in the rolling hills near the Susquehanna called Wikweko.

I am careful to stay alert to the great mystery of it all. I don't want to miss a single enchanted event that the cosmos brings my way. Go ahead and think me naïve if you must; I'll just grin furtively, ever vigilant for that next cosmic blessing.

Donna

Ideas'R'Us

2007-04-07T19:21:00.000-07:00

It's one of the things people always ask me - Where do you get your ideas? I don't have one of those great stock answers like other writers, like I get them at Office Depot or I get them in Kaslo.

But in some ways, both those answers are true for me. I get ideas just about everywhere. Here's a list of the few places I've got ideas for stories or books in the last little while:

a deserted drive-in (LAST NIGHT AT THE HALFMOON)
a glimpse of a neon sign in a rain-wet alley on a dark February night (AWAKENING)
a walk on the beach on a day when there were great blue herons everywhere (DRAGONFLIES AND DINOSAURS)
a friend's story about a Second World War pilot (ORION)
a phrase of graffiti on a wall as I walked home from work (NAKED FOR JESUS)
a tiger (yes, a real tiger) in a downtown parking lot (THE FINE SIBERIAN PARKING LOT TIGER)
a title, A Charmed Life, that got changed to THE SUNSHINE COAST NEWS
a thrown-off phrase in The Sunshine Coast News (THE GOSSIP QUEENS)
a story from a stranger about a group of men who called themselves the losers' club (THE LOSERS' CLUB)
the name on a store as I traveled by on a bus (FAR-FETCHED)
a story by a friend's mother about the t-shirts she and her friends wore on a trip to Disneyworld (THE TWISTED SISTERS)
another story by another friend about a small mountain town (HEARTSTONE)

Every story, every book, every poem comes from something very simple. A phrase, an image, a single line in a story. I never start a book with an idea or a concept, always with something that feels tangible to me. I almost never start a book with a character, but the character comes very quickly once I have that tiny thing, that tiny glimmer of something, that nugget of - I don't even know what to call it - but I guess it's inspiration.

It's something that gets stuck in my mind and rattles around in there, sometimes for a few minutes and I find myself walking down the street writing on an ATM slip or a receipt as I'm hurrying to an appointment. Sometimes for months or weeks, occasionally, though rarely, for years.

It's as if that something, that phrase or line from a story or image, has to stay locked inside, rolling around in my brain, accumulating weight and warmth and texture until it's solid enough to be plucked from the vast dizziness of that universe and locked down into the real world of words.

The other question people often ask is Do you run out of ideas? Sometimes I wish I did. No, what I run out of is time - time to get all the wonderful ideas out of my head and onto the page. I could live forever and still not have world enough and time.

Kate

April's Nexts

2007-04-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

Hi, everybody:

Just wanted to let you see the great covers of the Next books that are on the shelves this month.

Ellyn Bache's RASPBERRY SHERBET KISSES - The first kiss reminded her of raspberry sherbet…

And no man's kiss has since matched that wonderful, summery essence in all its glory. LilyRose knows her rare ability to "see" sounds and "taste" shapes—synesthesia— is a gift that defines who she is…but it's also made her an object of ridicule.

And made her an outcast. That is, until a mean-spirited customer mocks a young girl—and kindred spirit—she's befriended. Years of repression suddenly give way when LilyRose hurls a basket at that customer. And finds herself being escorted from her shop in handcuffs!

For decades LilyRose has searched for that special man who could teach her to embrace her uniqueness. She just didn't expect to find him waiting to pick her up from jail….

And Merline Lovelace's EX MARKS THE SPOT...

Forced to leave her beloved military life behind at the ripe old age of thirty-seven, USAF Colonel Andrea (Andi) Armstrong comes to the Florida panhandle for a fresh start. Little did she know—at least until that auspicious knock on her next-door neighbor's door—that there were some things about her old life she wasn't quite finished with yet.

And evidently, if the expression on his love-struck face was any indication, her ex-husband, Colonel Dave Armstrong—aka said next-door neighbor—wasn't quite finished with her yet either. Hmm. Who was it who said the best is yet to come? Maybe there was something to that after all….

Don't forget to pick them up.

Kate

What's Next?

2007-03-28T08:49:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness--so much is on my plate it's slopping over and I'm in danger of slipping on it and knocking myself out!
First and foremost, my first grandchild is due on April 5th! Everything has taken a back seat to the big event. Last week I hosted a shower for my daughter-in-law and women flew in from all over the country. It was a huge success and we all had a ball.
Now, for just a little while, it's back to work on an on-line read scheduled for this summer and another Teddi Bayer mystery due August first. This on top of SUMMER DREAMS, an anthology I did with Kate Austin and Jennifer Greene scheduled for July and WHOSE NUMBER IS UP, ANYWAY? scheduled for August.
As you can see, the next few months should be pretty crazy for me. Lots of traveling to see the new baby, conferences, etc. I'm learning to write in airports, on planes, in hotel rooms. . .
I'm also working on Teddi's website, TipsFromTeddi.com. In the series Teddi, a decorator, maintains a website with hints and tips on decorating on a shoestring. I had a site for her but I've moved it and now I've got to figure out how to get everything from the old site loaded on the new one --while I'm writing the on-line read, making a quilt for the baby, promoting the summer books, running a super contest (do you know about that? You can enter at nextauthors.com or at my website, stevimittman.com . ), etc. etc.
It's been nice chatting with you, only now I'm even more stressed about getting all this done. What's Next for me? How about Valium?
Stevi

Ever Heard of Synesthesia?

2007-03-27T06:50:00.000-07:00

What's NeXt for me? My April title, Raspberry Sherbet Kisses, about a woman with synesthesia -- a rare linking of senses that lets her "taste" shapes and "see" sounds. I never knew a thing about this until I read a fascinating article that made me think, "What a wonderful way to experience the world!"

It also made me think, what would happen if you blurted out, "Turn off that radio! I can't see the road because the emergency broadcasting signal is turning the everything bright orange!"

People would make fun of you. Right?

Right. LilyRose Sheffield loves the images that pass before her eyes when she hears music or enjoys -- well, a kiss -- but she keeps this a secret after a boyfriend tells her she's not just weird, she's crazy. Then one day a mean-spirited customer comes into LilyRose's gift basket shop and insults a child she's befriended. Throwing off years of repression, she impulsively hurls a basket at the woman -- only to end up being escorted from her shop in handcuffs! LilyRose desperately needs someone who can teach her to embrace her uniquess. She just doesn't expect to find him waiting to pick her up from the jailhouse.

Romantic Times has named Raspberry Sherbet Kisses a Top Pick, and calls it "irresistible and a completely original story [that] bubbles with unexpected details, sparkles with humor, and has an emotionally satisfying ending." What a thrill this is for me! I hope you'll have as much fun reading the book as I did writing it.

Ellyn Bache

What's Around the Corner?

2007-03-25T08:50:00.000-07:00

Spring! I'm thrilled to report that the season has arrived in Tennessee. It's more than the date on the calendar this week; the flowering trees and shrubs are in bloom here, along with "a crowd, a host of golden daffodils" (as the poet Wordsworth wrote). The grass is lush and green.

Spring is always a cause for celebration but this week more than ever (drum rolls, please). On Tuesday my agent called with a two-book offer from Harlequin Next! I'm still floating on air, and very glad to have the opportunity to write these stories.

The first is called THE GO-TO GIRL (working title), a real-life condition that has become common among women of this Sandwich Generation. My heroine not only cares about her son and his family, her clingy father, and even her ex-husband, who was once a compulsive gambler, but she has made a career of helping everyone else too as--you guessed it--The Go-To Girl, a personal shopper. She handles it all, somehow, sustained by her sense of humor, and I hope you'll root for her to find happiness again along the way. Should she take another chance with her sexy ex?

In the second book it's April in Paris, no, make that Montreal, and while trying to save her job my heroine is at last falling in love...with the wrong man. Can anything else go haywire? Don't be silly. Of course it can.

With more trouble brewing for my characters (I do love to torture them), I can't wait to get started on that first book. Should be fun. I'm already rubbing my hands together in glee. I absolutely love writing first draft.

This season, with notebook computer raring to go, I think I'll just mosey on out to the deck to work. As it turns out, there was a method to my madness--ordering the new laptop before I stopped to consider how to pay for it--but as Kevin Costner said of his baseball field, "Build it and they will come."

In May for a week's vacation in Mexico that laptop is definitely going with me. And about a gallon of sunscreen, SPF 36. The sun will be blistering by then but sublime. Just add the occasional nice cold pina colada and I'll be in paradise. Sounds to me like just the right, restful preparation for a June working trip to Cincinnati for a very special readers' event there, and then the RWA conference in July in Dallas. Talk about hot weather.

And that's what's next--literally and figuratively--from here.

Happy Spring to all.

The NeXt is the First

2007-03-22T05:17:00.000-07:00

I'm getting excited. My first NeXt is the next thing on the agenda for me. I'm not sure when it will be released, since I have no pub date yet, but I'm looking forward to it joining the other wonderful books in this group. The story is tentatively titled, FAMILY ALBUM and is the story of combining families. Often people re-marry and families are joined who don't have a shared history of growing up together. This is what happens to the two characters in my book. To add to the mix, both the hero and heroine have grown children who find the adjustment a little more difficult as their parents' attraction seems to come from left field.

While I'm waiting for the above book to be scheduled, I'm working on another proposal which I'm calling ROAD TRIP. The idea spawned from an old TV series call ROUTE 66. My heroine is taking to the open road in a 1959 red Corvette which she restored to drive the famous route and find her own freedom. But like Route 66, which had nearly disappeared in some places, she discovers that life can be just as adventurous as a stretch of highway.

Please drop by often for more updates on NeXt.

Shirley Hailstock
http://www.geocities.com/shailstock

What's Next for Shirley Jump?

2007-03-21T05:39:00.000-07:00

My next book for Next is tentatively titled Common Grounds and hasn't been scheduled yet, but I think will be out in 2008. With 7 or so books out a year, heck, even I have trouble knowing what's coming out when :-).

This one doesn't star Harvey the Wonder Dog like The Other Wife did (sorry, folks :-) but it does have Reginald the pig and is a mother-daughter relationship book with some crazy RV people (who call themselves "road warriors") and a cross-country road trip that would make any daughter insane.

Every book I've done for Next has been a blast. I get to start writing another one in a couple of weeks, tentatively titled Goodnight Gracie, which has more of a romantic thread through it, and can't wait to do a third. Next has to be my all-time favorite line to read and a total thrill to write for.

I get so much mail about Harvey the Wonder Dog, too, with people wondering if he's real. Sadly, no, I don't own a real Harvey. I met a man who owned a dog much like Harvey and got a lot of my dog information from him. I own Max, the incorrigible pointer, who has been put on this earth to test my patience. And I also have Heidi, a Golden retriever who reminds me why dogs are actually good pets. She tempers Max and keeps me in the dog-lover category. Plus I have two cats, which means I technically have a small zoo around here.

In fact, I have had a small zoo at my house--twice, being a glutton for punishment, which is why animals star in my books so often. For each of my kids' birthdays, I have had a local lady who brings out a pony, llama and small petting zoo to the house for the kids and their friends.

And because my life is too funny to be believable, there is indeed, a very funny story behind this. For my son's birthday, the pony lady was late. I had two dozen five-year-old boys (and you can imagine how chaotic it was here) waiting for their pony rides. My eldest was making balloon animals to keep them busy. Pony lady calls and says she'll be detained a bit more because "The llama has climbed on top of the pony and won't get off."

As in...taken a romantic liking to the pony. In doing so, he knocked over the entire petting zoo, so pony lady had ferrets and chinchillas and rabbits everywhere. It took her about a half an hour to corral everyone, and for the llama to finish his business. She arrives, unloads the animals (including a Tennessee Fainting Goat, which appears in The Marine's Kiss and a kissing pig, which later became Reginald) and saddles the pony and llama up to give rides to the kids.

Except the llama won't cooperate. Apparently he's all tuckered out from his amorous afternoon. He, ah, can't perform.

So not only did the poor pony have to take care of him, but she also had to carry all the children for all the rides and do double duty that afternoon. Poor girl. I really felt for her and hoped she got extra carrots when she got back to the stable.

Shirley

What's Next for Lenora Worth?

2007-03-18T11:26:00.000-07:00

My second book for Next is tentatively titled Sidelined and should be out in late 2008. It's about an ex-jock and his "life coach." NFL quarterback Lenny Paxton is having a mid-life crisis, or so the world thinks. When his hotshot agent sends in a life coach to get Lenny back on track, Lenny decides to show prim Jane Harper that he doesn't need a coach, and she's the one who needs to get a life. Lenny doesn't mind one bit being a has-been. But Jane can't let go of a good challenge and she can't tolerate a wasted career or a new opportunity. Before it's over, she might have to let go of her heart and some of her preconceived notions about jocks.

What's next for me? I will be in lovely Birmingham, ALA the first weekend of April, speaking at the Southern Magic Writers' Conference about what it's like to write for Steeple Hill and Harlequin. Last year, I celebrated a milestone with the release of my 25th book with Harlequin and Steeple Hill. I've been busy with a three book contract and a suspense continuity that is set near Savannah in my home state of Georgia. Also in April, I will "celebrate" my 51st birthday. Or mourn it?? Not sure which. I don't mind growing old so much. I've learned a lot over the years and it's kind of nice to wonder what might be just around the bend. That's why I love writing. It's a constant adventure and mystery. And writing for Harlequin's Next allows me to explore the world as a mature woman who knows that life doesn't end with the last birthday. Indeed, it begins all over again with each new season. I invite all of you to find out what's next in your own adventures. And while you're at it, please consider reading the many wonderful books from the NEXT authors. They keep right up with mature women who have attitude, class, and a whole lot of experience in life. Don't miss out!

Lenora

Warmhearted, Wholesome, WorthwhileBooks by Lenora Worth ( http://www.loveInspiredauthors.com )http://www.lenoraworth.com January 2007--Fatal Image (Secrets of Stoneley) LI SuspenseSeptember 2007--Secret Agent Minister

What's next for Kate?

2007-03-16T15:03:00.000-07:00

This is a tough question because it depends on whether you're talking about the next week, the next two weeks or the next six months. Hmmm, where to start?

I'll just give you the interesting stuff, okay? There are things I do two or three times a week like:

1. Blogging on The Best is Yet to Read, the blog you're reading right now.
2. Blogging on my own blog - www.kateaustin.blogspot.com.
3. Blogging on my Witchy Chicks blog - www.witchychicks.blogspot.com.

Next week, I'm off to New York for a week. The flight is about 4 1/2 hours and I'll spend it drinking a couple of glasses of red wine and doing the line edits for my novella "Summertime Blues" in the Summer Dreams anthology - Stevi Mittman and Jennifer Greene also have stories in that anthology and it promises to be great. And funny. And once that's done, I'll spend the rest of the flight judging some short stories for a contest.

When I get there, I'll spend the weekend speaking and doing workshops and panels at a conference at Rutgers and the week in Manhattan. I love New York - and it doesn't even matter if the weather is bad.

When I walk in the door, my author copies of Last Night at the Halfmoon should be there. There is something very satisfying about opening that box and seeing them. Yes, I've seen the cover - this is what it looks like and it's gorgeous -

But holding the book in my hand? Amazing. Maybe a bit like the difference between seeing a painting and touching a sculpture, looking at a lion in the zoo and petting your own cat. Tactile, it's very tactile.

And then I'm into a summer worth of writing. I've just sold two more books to Next and they're due in August and November - the first one, The Losers' Club, is already bubbling around in my mind and I expect that I'll write at least the first chapter while I'm away. The second? Who knows? I don't even know what it's going to be but I guess I'd better start thinking about that as well.

While I'm doing that, I'm going to conferences. Write on, Vancouver at the beginning of May, Writers' Weekend in Seattle at the end of June, RWA National in July, PNWA (also in Seattle) at the end of July, Emerald City in October. I think I might - if I'm lucky - take a week's holiday in September and go somewhere that isn't work - where do you think I should go? I have no idea.

So, as you can see, what's next for me is busy. And it's the kind of busy I love.

Kate

Work Spaces I Have Known (and Loved)

2007-03-11T09:31:00.000-07:00

My latest office--like my new book--is a work in progress. It just occurred to me that I've been in this Tennessee house for almost five years (!). And there are still no photos, no award plaques, no artwork on the walls. Even my bulletin board is leaning against the rear of my desk. Here and there are still-unpacked cartons.

Hmm. I wonder why that is?

I swear, I'm not neurotic.

I'm happy in this house nestled in the Tennessee mountains. The view from my lower-level office window is an ever-changing panorama of natural beauty. In the yard and the woods beyond that lead down into a ravine then to North Chickamauga Creek, I can watch Gold Finches and Chickadees and a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers. This week a devoted couple of Blue Birds (they're monogamous) are building their first nest of the season in a corner of my deck. In the distance the occasional, magnificent Bald Eagle skims along the ridge. Talk about inspiration.

I long ago finished decorating the rest of the house. But my office is still...another work in progress.

It's a perfect space for a writer, too. I've gotten a lot of work done here. The basics are all in place. I have a corner filled with tall bookshelves, another corner that holds my L-shaped desk overlooking that gorgeous view, and several storage pieces fill another wall.

So what's my problem?

For sure, I've had a lot of different work spaces in different places. In Connecticut, where I began to write and eventually sold a first book, I perched over a portable typewriter on the living room carpet. Then (my back was killing me) I "graduated" to the kitchen table and from there to the basement. The basement? Yep, my first bonafide office. One summer while I was visiting my parents in Ohio, my husband (bless his heart) constructed that space for me, sheetrocked the walls, hung a beautiful fern above my new file cabinet, and even bought me a real desk! I took it from there.

I loved that office--until we moved. Still in Connecticut, in a different house, I worked again for a while in the living room then the dining room, even on the sunporch. At the time my kitten, Miss Kitty, loved to doze on top of the nice, warm Selectric typewriter while I worked. A friend suggested a better name for her would have been Louisa May Alcatt, which I still think is the best cat name ever. When my older son went away to school, I used his room.

Then I moved. Again.

In southern Ohio I got my very own writer's garret, a long, somewhat narrow space upstairs with a window that overlooked the driveway (gotta be able to see the UPS guy coming), and a peak-of-the-roof ceiling. It was truly perfect. All my stuff fit there, I chose a color scheme, and bought a sofa to sprawl on while I edited my manuscripts.

Then, a few years ago, I relocated to Tennessee. Sometimes it seems as if I've written half my books from the back of a moving van!

Hey. And maybe that's the answer: I'm actually afraid to personalize this space because if I do, I may have to leave. But I have no intention of moving again. I'm here to stay.

And what do you know? I guess I'm like my newest heroine who hasn't quite gotten around to decorating her Chicago apartment in--guess what?--five years.

Good grief. The timing can't be a coincidence. She and I will just have to spruce up our separate spaces while we finish this book together...our works in progress.

Along the way, I'm sure we'll have my new cat, Daisy, to "help." Right now she is basking in a shaft of sunlight under my window. Softly snoring, she doesn't seem to notice the view.

It's Not Just One Space, It's Every Space

2007-03-08T20:00:00.000-08:00

I write everywhere in my house, except for the living room and diving room which no one ever goes in unless we have company or a party going on. I used to write in my bedroom. Yes, I'm divorced. My computer was a step away from the bed and it was so easy to get up on Saturday morning and begin writing before I even brushed my teeth. If an idea was burning, I could write it immediately.

Then I moved to a larger house and used one of the bedrooms as my office. I love it. It has everything, a desk, an expensive and comfortable chair that's worth every penny I paid for it. I used part of my first advance to buy that chair on sale. My books quickly outgrew the office, but there was no way I could do anything about that and I feel comfortable with them around me.

A few years after working in my office everyday life changed and my office was too small for a child to run around in without hitting herself on a sharp corner. So I bought a Dell computer where you got everything ans et up a small area in the corner to write while I could still watch her and she could watch me. But my main writing room remains my office.

After she goes to bed, I write in my office. Surrounding me, other than the boxes of tax records, are some of my favorite authors' books, momentos of past conferences, framed pictures of clowns (which I love), and my wall of placques and awards. In the summer sunlight filters through a leafy tree outside and provides the right amount of inspiring light. I find I write a lot more during the daylight hours in that room.

Even though the room is crowded, it's comfortable. I can even find a place for some of the knick knacks that people and fans have given me.

I don't know how your writing space is, but I haven't become used to any one place, where I have to write, have to concentrate. And I like it that way.

Hope your space is conducive to your writing too.

Shirley Hailstock

We're celebrating!!!!

2007-03-08T17:10:00.000-08:00

Two of our Next authors have won RT Reviewer's Choice Awards this year.

Stevi Mittman won Best Harlequin Next for Who Makes Up These Rules, Anyway?

Shirley Hailstock (whose first Next is out in 2007 won Best Kimani Romance for My Lover, My Friend.

Congratulations to Stevi and Shirley!

Kate

What work space?

2007-03-08T14:26:00.000-08:00

Work space? What's that? Seriously, I used to have a really neat office. That was, let me see, um, eight years ago when we first moved into this house. The reason we moved was because I had no room to work in our old house--my office was a small sitting room off the master bedroom and I was literally going crazy for lack of space. I could actually stand it before my husband retired because I could spread out to the kitchen or the living room or dining room. I could walk around and talk to myself--well, I could talk to my characters and they talked back--so I guess that qualifies, since the characters were in my head.

But then my husband retired. And suddenly the cute little patio home we bought after all our kids were grown and gone and we sold the two-story five-bedroom home we no longer needed was entirely too small. Worse, I no longer had any privacy at all. I couldn't even talk on the phone without every word being heard by my newly retired hubby.

After about six months of being cooped up in my tiny office, I gave my husband an ultimatum. He could either go back to work, I could rent an office somewhere else, or we could buy a bigger house with a decent-sized office for me. He thought about it for about ten minutes. Then we moved. But you know that law about people managing to spend whatever income they bring in? Well, the same goes for filling up space. The office that seemed so huge to me in June of 1999 miraculously filled up to the point where I now have stacks of papers piled on the floor, all three bookcases are jammed full and overflowing, my desk hardly has an inch of free space, and every filing cabinet needs cleaned out so there's room for more papers.

Wonder what hubby would say this time if I said we had to move again? :)

Pat

My working space isn't working

2007-03-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

Meet Smudge, who is no longer sitting on my desk as she is in the picture, but pacing back and forth in front of my computer screen. If there are typos in this, blame her and not me. I wish I could say that she is my muse. She's not. But she's a friendly face and a bit of noise when I'm feeling particularly alone in my lovely office and the words aren't flowing.
I started a new book this morning, which explains the relatively clean state of my desk. I always clear my work area when I start a new book. It lasts about five minutes. Apparently I work well in chaos.
Like Ellyn, I used to live and write somewhere else. In my case, it was Long Island. This is kind of ironic, since when I lived on Long Island I wrote historicals that took place in the midwest, and now that I live in much more rural upstate New York, my books are set on Long Island. Go figure! It took leaving Long Island to see it with an author's eye. It's a very funny place, which accounts for my new hysterical mysteries.
Somehow when I'm writing I'm back there, at the mall, driving on the Long Island Expressway, eating at the diner.
Like Donna, I write where I happen to be--I once finished a wonderful historical romance in a store room of a computer company in Taiwan. I finished a novella waiting in the jury pool at the courthouse in Mineola. Have laptop, will travel. . .which is a good thing, because I'm expecting my first grandchild and the chances are I'll be at the kids place on the other side of the country typing with one hand while I'll balance a baby over my shoulder.
Maybe I'll practice with the cat!

Working Space

2007-03-05T09:24:00.000-08:00

Last year when I moved from my longtime home in North Carolina to the Philadelphia suburbs, I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to write. A completely new space. And UP NORTH, where in winter the sun barely breaks through the clouds for months on end (or so I thought). I would be too depressed to set pen to paper. You would think I’d been sitting in the same spot in my NC house for 20 years, infused with sunlight and inspiration.

If only that were true. Actually, I’d hauled my computer to a different room for practically every book. If a novel didn’t like the master bedroom (honestly, this was exactly how I thought of it), we tried the guest room, the little office downstairs, the kitchen table, every nook and cranny until the story began to flow. Did I say it was a big house?

I particularly liked the mud room, a tiled rectangle that faced south, chilly in winter, hot in summer, and so sunny the blinds had to be closed in order to see the computer screen. I was happy there. Some of the stories weren’t. Once when I was really stuck I carted everything into the dining room and onto my Thomasville table, the only "good" piece of furniture in my house. Flattered, the book began to take shape. It liked fine furniture and muted light.
But to move north and still be creative? Okay, I wanted to be near two little grandchildren I love. All the same, I didn’t leave until the book I was working on was half finished. If I stalled, at least I’d made a start. And surely my looming deadline would help.

To my amazement, I moved into the best workspace I’ve ever had – a finished loft with a window looking out to trees and a banister giving a view to the great room below. True, the winter has been cold and snowy, but also full of more bright sunshine than I expected, and a herd of deer behind the house that the dog loves to chase. I wasn’t depressed. I was exhilarated. After 20 years in the south, it’s been an adventure. I turned in my first novel on time and am halfway through the second. I have no inclination to move.

At least not yet. The next book brewing in my mind seems to call for something else – maybe the sunny front bedroom downstairs, with a view to all the goings-on on the street? If I move the bed over a bit, I think there’s just room – though of course I’ll have to get some shades . . .

Invasion of My Desk

2007-03-04T15:17:00.000-08:00

My desk, in fact, my entire office, was neat when I left it on Friday. But I come in on Sunday morning (after being gone all day Saturday at a speaking engagement) to find a fort built on one side, toys scattered all over the desk, my husband's pile of weekend work beside my monitor, an empty soda can, several empty glasses, notes, pens, my favorite post-it pad with scribbles on it, my tape dispenser (which has been a bright pink note taped on one side that says, "Mom's Tape: Do NOT TAKE OUT OF THE OFFICE") gone, and shoes and socks under my chair that don't belong to me.

Not to mention my wallpaper and color scheme on my computer have been changed. Again.

I love my family, don't get me wrong, but when they mess with my office, I seriously consider adopting every last one of them out.

No one seems to understand that this is MY space and they need to leave it alone. I don't want cute kitten wallpaper. I don't like sand-colored color schemes. I like to see my tape dispenser where it's supposed to be so that when I need some tape, it's there. And I already do enough dishes, thank you very much, so the last thing I want to do is cart MORE of them downstairs to the dishwasher.

I ordered the fort taken down. Which it mostly was. The things that had been moved to make room for the fort assembly weren't put back, so I'll have to get on the kids about that. They'll be good about it--they seem to be the most understanding about this being Mom's space and when I ask them to get their stuff off my desk or out of my office, they tend to listen.

The worst offender is my husband. Who, I might add, has a pristine office at his company that scares away dust bunnies. I'm not quite sure why he thinks it's okay to leave soda cans and shoes and socks in mine. It's an invasion, to be sure, and I need to find a way to launch a counter-attack. Perhaps when he gets to work on Monday morning, he'll find a few things on his desk ;-)

After all, I'm a writer. I can get pretty imaginative ;-)

Shirley

My Work Space

2007-03-03T20:30:00.000-08:00

Right now, my work space is messy. I've been working on two different books so I have papers scattered everwhere and research books all over the place. But that's okay. I love my office even when it's messy. I started out working at a small typewriter desk, then my husband built me a desk with surrounding bookshelves. When we moved, we took all of that with us. Then finally we moved into this house and now my office is upstairs. I love the beach just like the characters in my Next book "Once In A Blue Moon". So I designed this office with a beach theme. It has pretty light blue walls like the ocean and it has pictures with ocean views on each of the walls. My husband took an old shelf that once belonged in my son's room and painted it a darker blue and over that we put a picture of a lone white chair with a blue scarf flying from it, sitting out by the ocean. I love that picture. Across one wall I have a long counter that is pebbled blue. It looks like the beach. I use the counter for doing research, paying bills and tossing all the other paperwork until I can get to it. I also do editing there at times. Over the counter I have a small mural of yet another beach scene. The mural looks like an open window and it looks down on a beach with palm trees, a sail boat, and a mountian off in the distance. (I love palm trees.) I have a comfortable chaise lounge by the window and a beautiful throw scattered with sea shells lying across that. (A friend gave me the throw.) And I have books, lots and lots of books everywhere.

So even though my office is cluttered and messy right now, it is still a retreat. I love sitting in the chaise lounge, dreaming or plotting or sometimes reading. This is my workspace, but it is also my retreat. I feel safe here. Very safe. Because this is my room with a view, and this is where my dreams come true.

Lenora Worth :)

Moving work space

2007-03-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

My work space depends on where I am and what’s happening in my life. As I write this, my laptop is perched on a TV tray and I’m sitting on a hard wooden folding chair facing a wall where childhood pictures of me and my brothers are arranged. My father has been experiencing some health issues and needs some tender loving care from his daughter. While he snoozes, I write.

Hey, when a writer is under contract she writes. . .whatever circumstance life throws at her. I have found myself writing in the oddest places lately; doctors’ waiting rooms, hospital rooms, the car. It isn’t glamorous, but I’m doing what I love, and not many people can say that so I’m going to suck it up and roll with the punches.

Most of each spring and summer I can be found at my beach place. My writing space there has a wide sliding glass door that opens to a gorgeous view of Assawoman Bay. Fishing boats, sailboats, herons, sea gulls, and puffy white clouds. The atmosphere is peaceful as well as inspirational, and I’m most at home there by the water. The Atlantic Ocean is a short block and a half away and I spend an hour each morning and evening walking barefoot on the beach. To me, it's close to heaven.

At home in northern Delaware, I have a regular, run-of-the-mill office with a cherry wood desk and matching bookcases. It’s a cozy space that overlooks a lush wooded area. I’m visited by blue jays and cardinals and cute little yellow chickadees. I’ve seen woodpeckers and owls, too. I’m only a mile of so from the C&D Canal, so blue herons and other sea birds often fly through. Sunlight streams through my windows, and I feel blessed that I have a space that I can call my own to create my stories.

I used to think I needed to be in one of my special places, either my office at home or at the beach, in order to write. I was adamant that I needed order and quiet and lots of alone time. But I have found that I can write anywhere. I’ve learned that my creativity is like a cool, refreshing spring located within that I can tap into at any time, no matter where I am physically. In a waiting room, my car, or staring out at the bay, I can get lost in my imagination and the real world seems to melt away. (And I actually make money doing this! I am one lucky woman.)

Ah, my dad just called my name. The real world awaits! Until next time. .

.~Donna~
www.DonnaFasano.com

My working space is...

2007-03-01T09:06:00.000-08:00

My working space is...

small, part of my living/dining/library/music room, overcrowded, but with a great view. The picture is the view out my window every day. Okay, the trees may have more or fewer leaves, the cherry trees might be blooming or not, the grass might be less green at the end of the summer, but every single day I get to see the bridge and the water.

I live where I do (despite the rent and the limited space) because I'm a water baby. Every single day I spend at least a few minutes looking at the ocean right outside my door. I think, mostly, of the ocean as my working space.

But inside the apartment every single thing is set up as inspiration for writing. My desk is tidy - most of the time. I have four pieces of art above my desk - a large piece by Weisbuch with a violinist and an angel reaching for him. The title is L'ange est venu c'est soir (the angel comes this evening) and it's all about the muse or inspiration. I have a piece by Shimoda - a twist on Japanese calligraphy, called Verse. And I have a piece by Anton Tapies, a Spanish compatriot of Picasso. Abstract and dark but filled with hope - it's a window, looking out from (or to) the world, the world of the Spanish civil war. And I have a drawing a dear friend did for me of Paris. All of these pieces are windows for me, and inspiration.

As for the great room - as I laughingly call it - I have my desk, filled to the brim with files and boxes and three ring binders and books. One wall is filled floor to ceiling with crammed full bookshelves and I have bookshelves on two of the smaller walls as well. I have my cello and music. I have my writing chair - a big comfortable chair by the window and where I often do my first drafts by hand. I have Sam - my ever-so-sexy new computer - named after Sam Elliott. I have a small dining table. I have, not including the four pieces of art over my desk, another 23 pieces of art on my walls. Floor to ceiling, basically, on the few walls that aren't covered with bookshelves and above the bookshelves on the walls that are. As you can imagine, this leaves not much room for anything else.

But I love my space. I have friends who want to spend time in my space when I'm away because they think it's a perfect space for a writer. So do I.

The only problem with my space?

It's a little small and every time I sell another book, I end up with boxes of books, piles of paperwork, and even less space for anything else. I have this terrible feeling that I'm going to have to move, but I'm resisting. Being this close to the beach makes it worth every time I have to move three things to get at the tool box at the bottom of the closet or squish one more thing into a too-full bookshelf.

Kate

Welcome!

2007-02-23T17:56:00.000-08:00

Hi, everyone:

We're delighted that you've decided to join us. This blog will get rolling in March - but until then, you can go to http://writerspace.com/contests/nextauthors.html and enter our contest.

Keep watching, the best is yet to read.

Kate