October, 2024

Hello, folks!

Time really does fly when you're a one-handed typist. And, I haven't missed the irony of being a writer who can no longer write in script with my dominant hand. I still remember how excited I was to learn script in third grade from Mrs. Kelsey, and now I'm back to printing. The legibility is questionable, however, just like it was back then. But I am still writing my stories, thanks to the keyboard, and bringing the characters in my head to life, albeit a bit slower than before the stroke. 

Recently, one of my publishers decided to close their operation and reverted all rights to the Cotillion Ball series and the Revolutionary Women series back to me as well as a few stand alone historical romances, so I am ever so slowly putting them up on Amazon. Gambling on Forever is now available on Kindle. I'm working next on the Revolutionary Women series, and, once I figure a few things out, they should be available in both digital and print. 

Stay tuned.

My Biggest Challenge Ever

When I published my first novel back in 2012 and had to quickly develop a website and find a readership, I thought I'd never done anything so challenging, so life changing. I could honestly refer to myself as an author. Well, now /i can add another moniker to my name. I am now a stroke survivor.

It happened  last October, right after I had written a scene for my current WIP. I'd like to say my writing knocked me off my feet but it didn't happen quite like like that. So now you know the reason for my six-month absence Long months in various nursing homes, working with physical therapists to get my right side to respond, two months spent with my sister from another mother, Linda, and yet some more therapists, and now, finally back home and more therapists. I still can't walk properly and I can't sign my name with my right hand like /i used to. I've come a long way but still have so far to go. But routine is returning and I'm starting to feel normal again.

I won't be posting every week like I had done for years, but it's part of my recovery process. See you soon.

Grocery Shopping 101

 Since my best friend moved close by, I've had the opportunity to go grocery shopping with another person for the first time since my move to NC. And, being the keen observer of people as I am, I've noticed two things that set us apart. 

One is I love grocery shopping and she hates it. While she considers it her biggest chore, I love finding new items to try out and encountering new ways to tempt my taste buds. My rationale for these opposing views is because she has a husband at home who wants fully cooked three course meals a minimum of three times a day, so food in the house means she now has to cook. On the other hand, I don't have anyone pulling up to the table a couple times a day demanding to be fed. I can skip breakfast and steer right to lunch if I'm not in the mood. Or I can have dessert first and then, if I feel like it, fix something more substantial. For me, shopping for groceries means I have a wide assortment of food available and I can eat at leisure, instead of it being a chore. 

The second observation is not so easy for me to understand. While I toss things into the cart willy-nilly,  with the exception of eggs, bananas and, at least for now, pumpkin roll, she carefully lays her food into the cart, keeping the produce separate from the meats, etc. Then, she brings separate bags for frozen foods, and another insulated bag for meats, because, God forbid, the food groups should touch one another. I thought I had an orderly mind, but I think she has me beat. 

So, what kind of shopper are you? Does a tidy, neat grocery cart mean you have a tidy, neat mind? Does a scattered cart reflect the inner workings of a creative mind? Or do you feel none of it matters as long as you bring home the bacon? Inquiring minds want to know. 

Ready To Hunker?

 My furnace guy paid his semi-annual visit on Friday, getting my house ready for the upcoming winter. It seems like only yesterday he was here to get the unit ready for spring. Where has the year gone? 

2020, with all the Covid shutdowns and restrictions, seemed like the longest year I'd ever lived through. Maybe that's why, by comparison, 2021 has moved with lightning speed. I'm not ready to pack away my porch swing just yet. 

But, with the approaching winter season comes the time to get some serious writing done. There are contests to enter, long-neglected works tugging at my conscious for their moment in the sun, which is ironic, since this season doesn't include a lot of sunny days. I'll keep up with my pool regimen and come up with brilliant scenes while floating which I can use in both my ghostwriting stories and my own manuscripts and try to stay warm. With a newly inspected HVAC system, it shouldn't be too hard. 

Am I Entering Hyperphagia?

Lately, I've been watching a lot of YouTube videos from a man in Asheville, NC who encourages black bears onto his porch while he's sitting in his rocker. My friend, who also lives in Asheville, has a healthy respect for the wild bears in her neighborhood, but this guy's boundaries are very loose, although he seems to know a lot about bear behavior. Recently, the man said he was closing the entry gate to his porch since the bears were entering hyperphagia, the period of time when bears prepare themselves physically for their winter hibernation by eating and drinking nonstop. Seems the bears get a bit cranky when they don't find food. 

Fall's coming, without a doubt. The local news is filled with tips on where the most vivid fall foliage is each weekend. 

My freezer is full of food and I've got plenty of work to keep me busy. We don't get a lot of snow here, but enough cold weather to make me cranky. I'm ready to snuggle under my comforter and not come out until Spring. 

Does that mean I'm entering hyperphagia? 

Getting My Groove On

 I had an idea months ago for my ghostwriting client to produce a series about four guys lamenting the lack of ladies in their town. The client gave me the go-ahead, but then realized he needed Christmas stories more than he needed the Lonely Hearts Club series (or whatever he'll end up calling it.) So, I put the idea on the back burner and focused on Christmas. 

Now, I'm resurrecting the series idea and getting back to work on it. I'm nearly 2/3 done with the first book, and am enjoying this concept and the characters, who will appear intermittently throughout the entire series. This should keep me busy until the end of the year. When I sit down in the morning and reread the previous scene in this book, I'm enthusiastic about where the story is headed. It should be a great way to wrap up the year. I'm in the groove.

As for my own story, which was mired in the mud portion of my brain, it's still stuck. All I'm doing is thinking about story lines for books I'll never write. For example, yesterday there was a young couple sitting across from me as I waited for my dinner partner. The guy glanced over at me and told me he was ten days sober. I congratulated him and told him I liked his tats. The woman he was with laughed off my comment, as if someone my age shouldn't even know what a tat was. There's a story line there, if someone wants it. As for me, I'm in the writing groove, but I'm living in the 1860s in Colorado, not modern day North Carolina. Far safer, from my perspective. 

Hopelessly Lost

 As most of you know, I'm a plotter who works from a sketchy outline when I compose my manuscripts. None of this writing out of sequence stuff or coming up with a plot twist willy-nilly for me. I like to know where I'm going and how to get there. Some surprises might show up along the way, or the plot line might alter a bit during the writing phase, but I usually have a good idea of the how the story will progress before I start. 

Not so, this time around. 

I wrote the outline and sent it to my writing buddy, who shot it down, starting with the first graph. There were still parts of it that were good, so I took her critique to heart and began again, ironing out the problems. I got the first part of it written, and then looked at my outline again to see where the path was to go from here. 

It was like I was reading a totally different story. Nothing about the manuscript matched any of the outline, except for the name of the hero and the fact he began the story wearing an eye patch as a disguise. 

So, I've spent the last week splashing around in the pool on a floatie, staring at the ceiling and trying out various scenarios in my head. Usually, this works and I come away from my physical therapy sessions with hips that don't ache and a solid idea for the next scene. This past week, though, all I've come away with are good hips. 

How do I get my H/H out of the south with a runaway slave and a belligerent horse? How do they get to participate in hanky-panky while hiding said runaway? What mode of transportation will work? Will the hero give up in disgust and ride off into the sunset on the belligerent horse without a backward glance? 

I'll keep staring at the ceiling until the answers emerge. Or maybe I'll break down and write a new outline. That would definitely make life easier. 

Back To School Time

 I'm no parent, but once upon a time, I was a child, and the Labor Day holiday meant the fair was over and your new school shoes had been adequately broken in after two weeks of wear, so you were set for the school doors to open the day after Labor Day. The final week of summer spooled out in long, hot days, lying in a field, staring up at white puffy clouds racing by overhead, as if to escape the walls of school that were closing in on us. 

It wasn't so much that I hated school. I would have rather just been outdoors instead. With my nose in a book, one of my own choosing rather than being told what to read. With my feet bare rather than in ill-fitting shoes. But, I must admit, some of the lessons I learned in school were unexpected and have helped formulate the adult I've become. Case in point:

My best memory of high school was my first day as a sophomore, when I was on the committee to select our class jackets.

A few of us wanted to push the envelope and try a new style but the majority went with the teacher's recommendation and decided what had been popular the last ten years would once again be the norm. I elected not to order one. And for that, the teacher labeled me a rebel. 

I've tried to live up to his assessment of me ever since. Here's to you, Mr. DeMarco. 

And, to anyone who started back to school this week, I offer this advice. Take a breath of the outside air, keep your nose in a book of your own choosing, and run your naked toes through the grass. Keep that rebel spirit alive. You're going to need it as a grown-up.

Christmas Is Nearly Over

 Over the past few months, I've been tasked with writing several Christmas-themed novellas as part of my ghostwriting work. I promised my client two stories for certain, and, if I had time, a third. I turned in the two promised ones, but then he did something not done before by this particular person. He sent me a rough outline of a story he wanted written. Usually, it's been up to me to create the story line and run with it, but this time, he'd put the story together for me. All I had to do was write it. 

Since I sensed this was important to him, I agreed to write a third story. After all, he'd done the hard part and come up with the storyline. I fleshed out his basic idea and began writing the story a few weeks ago. 

I'm closing in on the ending now, and should have it ready to send off early in the week. This story will bring to a close my Christmas story-telling for the year. I'm pleased I got so much accomplished, but come December, it will all start again, this time not in a story. Will it feel like an after-thought?

What, Me Worry?

 Like most of us who tune in the nightly news, the tendency is to be overwhelmed by the scope of tragedy in the world. A world-wide pandemic coupled with a Cat 4 hurricane setting its sights on already beleaguered Louisiana, and the horrifying scenes coming out of Afghanistan make me want to bury my head in the sand until it's over. I have to keep telling myself I've done what I can to make things easier for myself and let the rest go. Worry will only tie me up in knots and I have too many obligations to let that happen. 

The same holds true for those situations that are closer to home. Health issues are plaguing my friends and family, causing sleepless nights. Again, I realize worrying about it is pointless. I've done what I can to help the situation and the rest is out of my control. 

My good friend is moving for the first time in a long time and she's got a hamster running around in her head with all the things she has to do, the questions that must be answered, the timing of everything, how much of her belongings will fit in her new place, and all the rest. I'd love to be able to take some of the burden off her shoulders, and I've done what I can to make life easier for her. The rest is up to her, and no amount of my worry will help her. 

As for my ghostwriting. I recently responded to an ad for a holiday-themed novella . I've been working on Christmas novellas for several months now and am finishing up the last of my promised ones, so why not sign up for one more? The deadline is a bit off from where most authors aim to get their holiday books into the hands of the public, but once I write the book and get paid for it, it's up to the client to market the book. Again, it's not my worry. 

So, folks, what's keeping you up at night? I hope for all our sakes, it's merely a good book that you can't put down. 

Logistically Speaking

 Since I began my writing journey, one thing has become clear to me. I'm a linear thinker. I like working from an outline, even a vague one, since it keeps me pointed in the right direction. While I admire the writers who can write scenes out of sequence and fit them all together later, it's not a talent I'm blessed with. 

Long before I discovered Blake Snyder's beat sheet, I did write a story that wasn't well thought out. I had to keep revising the story line and when I was reading the final draft, I realized I'd put the Christmas celebration ahead of Thanksgiving! That's when I stopped freewheeling it. 

But my logistical nightmares don't stop with my plot ideas. Take yesterday, for instance. I needed to get gas, but as I was getting ready, I ran out of moisturizer. Fortunately, the grocery where I buy my face cream is in the same parking lot as the gas station, so I cleverly thought I'd combine both on my way home from the gym. But as I got halfway down the road, my growling stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten anything yet that morning. Since working out on an empty stomach only means I'll start getting dizzy, I decided to change things around and go to the grocery and get gas before I headed to the gym, since there was a fast-food place there as well. My plan was firmly in place, and I was combining my trips and saving on fuel and time. Good on me. 

But the line for the fast food place was wrapped twice around the building. Changing my plans on the fly yet again, I gassed up and then went into the grocery. I am expecting company next week, so I needed to get a few things for that in addition to my moisturizer. Oh, and then Klondike had their new Reese's peanut butter cup Klondikes in stock and in front of my face. To be fair, the frozen dessert aisle is a mere hop and skip from the aisle where the creams and shampoos are. While I was in the ice cream aisle, I searched for and found an elusive flavor that comes and goes from the aisles. I looked at my shopping cart and realized there was no way I could subject that ice cream to a 45-minute stay in a hot car while I exercised. So my plans for the gym were scratched. I grabbed a bag of Cheetos to eat on my way back home with my ice cream. 

See what I mean? This trip was me putting Christmas before Thanksgiving again. I suck at on-the-fly logistics. Or maybe it was just the ice cream talking. 

The Weekend

 No, I'm not talking about the singer, the R&B artist with the totally fake name. I'm talking about the actual weekend and when it begins. Let me explain: 

A writing buddy and I were talking about our schedules. I told her I had 3,000 words to go in my story and I'd probably finish it by the weekend. Since it was already Friday afternoon, she pointed out to me that we were already at the weekend. 

But when you're retired from the 9 to 5 world, weekends tend to lose their significance as something different from the week. I count Saturday and Sunday as work days, as a normal part of the week. So, when I say I'll have it done by the weekend, I mean 11:59 pm on Sunday. 

It may be the wrong way to look at the week, but it's my way. And, it works for me. I've still got a bit to write as I pen this blog, but hey, it's only Sunday morning! It'll get it done on my timeline, I'll do a read-through Monday and send it off. The next idea awaits. 

Making Something From Nothing

With company in town last weekend, I took some time off from my computer and spent a few days enjoying my adopted state of North Carolina. One of the places we stopped at was the Ball Garden at the Sandhills Community College, where an art installation had been erected several weeks ago and was causing quite the buzz. By weaving together different sized branches and sticks, rooms were created out of nothing.

 

Complete with windows and doors, these various cubicles towered over us. They were quite unique and wonderful, which got me to thinking about my writing and how similar it is to this art form. 

 

What's that, you say? How can sticks and twigs possibly be the same as words and paragraphs?

It's very simple. The artist of this stick room creation had an idea. He or she probably sketched out a configuration of the completed work. Then, they started construction, weaving all their piles of twigs and branches together to form a completed room. And, unless I miss my guess, some of these rooms didn't turn out exactly as envisioned, but the end result was a sturdy and striking structure that is quite beautiful in its originality. 

So, too with writing. We start with an idea, and maybe put together an outline of how we imagine the work taking shape. Then, we start the construction of each paragraph, forming chapters to weave the piles of words and sentences into a cohesive unit that's sturdy, striking and quite beautiful. And, unless I miss my guess on this, too, the outline and the finished product vary to some degree, since stories have a way of veering off as they're being written, and bending at points different from what we originally envisioned. In the end, both this art installation and a new manuscript were created out of nothing. 

Then, to top off a perfectly delightful experience, I got to play with my favorite sculpture of all time. I'll have to get away from the computer more often. 

Where Are the Lines?

 I'm reading a book right now, called Lady Wallflower, by Scarlett Scott, a new to me author. It's a Regency romance, which our author community has made a most romantic period of time, unless you get too much into the weeds about it. Most Regencies are full of clever dialogue as our hero and heroine get to know each other. Sometimes things get really steamy, bordering on erotica. But what is striking me as unusual with this book is how the author creates one of the most erotic scenes I've ever read without having the hero and heroine even touch one another. 

It was one of the hottest, most erotic scenes I'd read in a long time and I waited breathlessly for the guy to finally break his iron control and touch the woman. When he did, it was just one finger, lightly touching her collarbone. I melted in my seat along with the heroine. I don't know if it was technically erotica, but it was certainly swoon-worthy. Nicely done, Scarlett!

As with so much in the publishing world these days, I think the lines are blurring. And, since I like to be surprised when I read new-to-me authors, I find it refreshing to not know what to expect all the time. 

Inspiration Time

Every author, at one time or another, gets asked the question of where the ideas for their stories come from. And most authors have a simple, generic answer that family, current events, or television shows are the inspiration. For me, most of my ideas come while I'm floating mindlessly in my health club's pool. I prop some floating devices under my arms and rotate my hips while I begin to think of my next book. 

Right now, I'm writing Christmas novellas for my ghostwriter. If I have to think of Christmas in July, I want to be lying in a bed of 85 degree salt water, suspended weightlessly while my thoughts drift.

Today, there was a gentleman in the pool near me, helping his two young daughters with their swimming. He was covered from head to toe with tattoos, which normally you'd think would belong on a surly, motorcycle-riding gunslinger of a guy, but the way he interacted with his girls was very sweet. He was young, good-looking, clean-shaven, and a perfect hero. Just covered in artwork. As I watched him playing with his daughters, and he watched to make sure they didn't get in my way, I thought about a hard-boiled hero with a heart of gold. One who thought Christmas was a useless holiday until he met a woman who could stand up to him and change his mind. 

Were tats even a thing in 1870? 

I need to do my research before I begin the story, but at least it's a grain of an idea. Or should I say a drop of an idea, since we were in the water?

Knee Deep in a Snow Drift

We're halfway through summer now, and I must say, it's been one of the most weird seasons yet. 

I should be busy promoting my beachey book, Blame It On The Brontes,

which is one of my all-time faves, but instead, I'm trying to write two novellas about Christmas. 

Quite frankly, I'd rather be at the beach instead of knee deep in a snow drift. 

But speaking of drifting, my eyes keep wandering to the porch swing and away from my computer screen. I even volunteered to help a friend clean out her shed to avoid working on my story. I'm finding momentum hard to come by. 

What I need are some Christmasy ideas. Toss me a lifeline, will you? Any and all ideas will be gratefully accepted. 

Coming Full Circle

 A few years ago, I left Ohio for the warmer climes. Problem was, while I'd sold my house up north, I hadn't yet found a place in the South. So, for a few months, I became a crasher. Mary and I moved in with my best friend and her husband, in Virginia. They graciously let us camp out with them for a couple months, and my friend and I made more than a few trips to North Carolina, searching for the right place. 

Now it's my friend's turn. It's time for them to live on one floor instead of constantly going up and down stairs. Fortunately, they've decided North Carolina is the place to be. But since their previous trips here have been few and far between, they need time to determine which part of the state is best suited to their needs. Will it be the mountains in the west or a beach community on the east? A big metropolitan city like Raleigh or something smaller and quaint? Hopefully, I'll be able to return the favor and let them camp out here while they're exploring. 

The first step in the process is to get their home in a sellable condition. Having bought and sold more than one house, I'm going to help in that regard. The hunt begins in earnest this weekend. 

And maybe I can get a story line out of it. 

Christmas In July

 My career as a writer has taken many twists and turns since I decided I wanted to fulfill a lifelong ambition and write a novel. Several years ago, I added ghostwriting to my resume. 

The gentleman I'm currently working for has asked for series books. My first idea was to write a trilogy, but he wanted four books. Who am I to argue with this? I get paid for writing one more book. I just wrapped up the fourth book and presented my next idea for a four-book series about a gentlemen's poker club, for which I got the go-ahead and began working up the concept for the four books. I wrote the outline for the first book and the first chapter and then came to a screeching halt on the project. 

Why, you ask? 

Because it's July, and any stories with a Christmas theme need to be done and ready for publication by no later than September. My client and I had collaborated on two Christmas stories last year, and he wanted a repeat. So, even though it's 90 degrees outside, I turned up the A/C and put on my Christmas hat.

I need to come up with a couple good solid seasonal ideas and get them done by August. I promised him two, and possibly one additional. I need to get to work. 

Then, and only then, can I get back to my poker game. 

New To Me Authors

 Here's the way it's supposed to work: A book is offered up for free or 99 cents in the hopes the reader will love it so much they'll go back to Amazon and purchase other books by the author. This is supposed to work best in the cases where the author is brand new to the reader. Or so I've been told...

This particular marketing technique has been preached by publishing industry experts since the invention of e-books. On occasion, I've tried it myself with my own books, with limited success. But recently, I read the blurb for a free book that was just what I needed at the time–a raunchy, laugh-out-loud contemporary set in Vegas. The author was someone I didn't know but at the discounted price I thought, nothing ventured, etc. The book was everything it advertised itself to be, and I got a warm buzz from having read it. Not wishing to be done with raunchy contemporary comedies, I picked up another of the author's books that was offered up for free. Not as good as the first one, but still mildly entertaining. I went for broke on the third one, paying actual money for it. Maybe it wasn't as funny because I actually coughed up money for it? Whatever the reason, I was disappointed. 

Hoping against hope that I could find another book by this author that would rival the first, I scrolled through the list of other options by this person. Much to my surprise, Amazon told me I had purchased one of this author's books in 2019! I ran to my Kindle, and lo and behold, this was not a new-to-me author after all. I'm now reading the book I bought two years ago. Still not as good as Vegas. But then again, destination wedding books have never been my preferred choice. 

So, does the marketing strategy actually work? Well, I'm in the middle of the fourth book by this author, two of which I actually spent money on, and only one of which I'd read again. Unless the author can capture the magic she had in the first book I read, I won't spend any more money on her. If someone asks for my opinion on her, I'll give them my honest answer: Sometimes the magic only happens once. 

Reentering Life

The effects of the pandemic are far-reaching, even if you've never come close to the actual illness itself. People have changed the way they work, the way they live, and all of it was unscripted. We figured it out as we went. 

My work as a writer helped me be a step ahead of the rest of the work force, since I was used to working from home, by myself, and communicating via computer and phone. But for a lot of Americans, that scenario became, overnight, the way business was done. Zoom meetings replaced actual face-to-face contact. People gradually began to lose social skills. 

Thankfully, a large percentage of America is now vaccinated, and the infection rate has slowed to a crawl. America is now reopening, a little at a time. I took advantage of this rebirth by doing something I hadn't been able to do in over a year. 

I went to the movies. 

I didn't quite know what to expect. It was a much anticipated movie and, even though it was a Friday matinee, I thought there would be a crowd of folks clamoring for a seat. But it seems Covid has made everyone cautious. Only about a third of the seats ended up being occupied, and we sat a respectable distance from one another. Covid has changed the way we interact with one another. 

As a romance writer, I can't help but wonder if this shift in the way we respond to each other will affect story lines in the next couple of years. Even without a mask, we're still guarded. Will it crop up in our creative endeavors as well? 

What do you think?