Ah, Winter

All in all, it's been a very mild winter so far. The weather folks here in NC said there has only been one day in January so far that the temperature has been below normal. Well, that's about to change. Starting this weekend, Old Man Winter has decided to show up.

It's going to rain and the temperature not getting out of the 40s. But it could be worse. I just checked the weather in Ohio, where I used to live. They will not have rain this weekend. Their precipitation is in the form of snow!

What does this have to do with writing, you ask? I had been planning to take a short road trip to a historic site in NC. But it's raining. Instead of doing research, I'll spend time editing my next manuscript. And my health club is having an open house and giving free chair massages. And I can always curl up with my dog, Mary, and stay warm and toasty as I finish the book I'm reading.

Things will still get done, just differently from what I expected. But my manuscript is coming along nicely, so it's all good. Here's the scene I worked on today. Hope you enjoy.

She began her morning with what she thought of as an easy sale. Entering a clothing store for women, she stopped to touch the fine silk gown in the window. Yellow had never been a flattering color on her, but this gown was more gold than yellow, so quite possibly…

No. She had no place to wear such finery anymore, nor did she wish to spend her money on such foolishness. 

“May I help you, madam?” The seamstress of the fine gown glanced up from her work. 

“You do lovely work.” Libby wandered further into the shop. 

“And you have a fine eye.” The woman smiled as she rose from her worktable. “Are you in need of a gown?” 

“I’m Libby Wexford, from the Gazette, and I am here to drop off some information regarding advertising in the paper.” Libby’s sales pitch faltered when she spied the red shoes. She picked up one of them, caressing it as if it were alive. “Oh, how lovely!” 

“As I said, you have a fine eye, madam. These just arrived from England.” The woman drew alongside Libby. “I have a few more pairs if you’d like to see them.” 

“No, if these fit, I’ll take them. No need to tempt myself with more. I’m sure these are the finest ones of the lot, since you put them on display first.” Libby hadn’t let go of the shoe. Instead, she unbuckled the shoe she wore and slipped the right red one onto her foot. “Perfect. May I pick them up later in the day?” 

“Yes, of course.” The proprietor of the shop only gave a cursory glance at the advertising information Libby handed her, but eagerly took her money. “I am Diana Radcliffe, by the way. I hope to see more of you, Mrs. Wexford.” 

“I’ll return this afternoon to retrieve my new shoes. Thank you for holding them for me.” Libby left the store and wandered down the wooden sidewalk. 

How Story Ideas Are Like Trying On New Shoes

Since my contract with Crimson has come to an end, and I'm free to try to write something else other than about the Fitzpatrick family (don't worry, though. They will reappear in some future endeavors), I've been trying out a lot of different story ideas. It seems I have a new idea for a story every couple days, and it occurred to me that trying on different ideas and different genres is not unlike going to the shoe store and trying on new styles. You pick up a pair from the shelves, try them on for size, gaze in the ground-level mirror every which way, talk to yourself and either put the shoes back on the shelf or hold them out for further consideration and maybe another round of looking in the mirror and talking to yourself.

There's my historic YA novel about the Revolutionary War. I've written a couple chapters of it, but, as we all know, writing a couple chapters is the easy part. I need to do more research on what Boston was like in those days before I can continue.

Then, there's the contemporary Christmas novella. I completed it before finding a possible publisher. They want it set up a specific way, and want it before May 31. So, that's my focus right now.


My historic adult novel is finished (but is it ever, really?) and is being shopped around.

Adding to my plate, I had a notion about another contemporary, which I'm about 7,000 words into right now.

Another contemporary is also sitting on my desktop, waiting for a revision.

Will any of these ideas make it into print? Right now, it's hard to say. But after years of wearing one type of shoe, it's nice to be able to try on all kinds of new ones. If I'm having trouble deciding between stilettos and flip-flops, it's okay, for right now. I'll settle on a style soon, and will forge ahead with whichever idea is the most comfortable, the one who gets me excited.

How about you? Are you comfortable wearing one style of shoe, or do you like to experiment?

Black Friday Blog Hop

Are You A Black Friday Person Or Not?

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The air crackles with excitement and anticipation as we count down the minutes until the doors open this morning. You either love this day, or avoid the crowds like a lobster avoids a pot of boiling water. It’s one of Anne’s favorite days. She’s one of the sisters in my upcoming baby-boomer contemporary, Blame It On The Brontes. She has a debilitating designer shoe fetish. Think Carrie Bradshaw with red curls. Her work as the buyer for her family’s fledgling  jewelry and gift shop ease some of the pangs of not having a designer shoe store at the nearest corner. It’s like Black Friday every day in the store, since she only pays wholesale prices for the merchandise.

Here’s a sampling of Anne’s story, as she puts her acting career on hold to move back to her hometown for a year. That’s the only way to get her claws into her mother’s considerable estate. And designer stilettos cost a fortune.

Anne Bronson pressed her foot to the gas pedal, trying to ignore the little red light on the dashboard—the one highlighting the E on her gas gauge. She willed the rental moving truck to make it up the next hill, hunching over the steering wheel to help with the climb. The truck leaned into the steepest part of the incline, its headlights illuminating the crest just as the engine began coughing and sputtering in earnest. No good gas-guzzling piece of crap. Anne pulled the truck to the side of the road and set the brake so it wouldn’t drift down the incline. There should have been plenty of fuel to get to the house.

If she hadn’t already maxxed out her credit card, she would have gladly paid a professional moving company to get her from New York to Maine. But here she was, driving her own belongings north, and out of gas. Her stomach became even tighter. Is this the way a NASCAR driver feels when he runs out of gas on the final lap? Anne’s race was even bigger. She had an inheritance at stake. Eighteen minutes till midnight. Damn.

Hauling out her purse and overnight bag, she climbed down from the truck. She kicked a tire and let out a small scream at the damage her instinctive motion caused her black leather Manolo Blahniks. Tapping her fingernails against her teeth, she peered up and down the dark road. No headlights. No life. No sound. She fished into her purse for her cell phone and stared at it. No signal either here in Backwater Maine, of course. With a deep sigh, she wrestled her old suitcase with its wonky wheel and strapped her oversized purse across her body as she began to climb the rest of the way up the incline. Two miles to the house. She had eighteen minutes to get there. In six-inch heels. Looking skyward, she muttered, “Hey, Mom, you up there? If you are, I need a little help right about now.”

Headlights crested over a hill in front of her. Anne blew a kiss skyward. “Thanks, Mom. Always could count on you.”

She put down her purse and bag at the side of the road and moved to the middle, waving her hands, hoping the driver spotted her before the car either mowed her down or went whizzing on by. This was a million dollar hitchhike.

The white car slowed, and then came to a stop about fifty feet away from her. Anne blew out the breath she was holding and moved forward, out of the harsh glare of the headlights. As she stepped closer, she noticed for the first time the light bar mounted on top of the car. Relief flooded her as she realized she had flagged down a police cruiser. A glimpse of the dark-haired officer sitting behind the wheel made her lips turn up into what she knew was her flirtiest smile. She couldn’t see him well in the dark with just the glow from the dashboard lights across his face, but it didn’t matter. She knew how to work any man.

"Hello, handsome," she purred as she rested her hands on the car door’s windowsill and leaned down to see him better. "You've saved my life." She tapped his nametag. "Officer Willoughby. Can I hitch a ride into town?" Not bad looking. She waited for his reply. Wavy, dark hair cut a bit long, a fit body, at least what she could see.

"Are you Anne Bronson?"

Anne put her hand to her chest. "You recognize me? Well, how special is that?"

"Get in the car," the dark-haired man growled.

Anne straightened up a bit and backed away a step. She threw a saucy look his way, to show him she wasn’t intimidated by his gruff manner. "I usually wait for the gentleman to open the door, but I am in a bit of a hurry tonight." She grabbed her bags from the side of the road and then scurried around to the passenger side, throwing her suitcase into the back seat and then hopping in before grumpy Officer Willoughby changed his mind and drove off without her.

As she settled her purse on the seat between them, Anne said, "I live up the road here, only a couple miles away..."

Officer Willoughby spoke into his police radio. "I found her, and I’m bringing her in now."

Anne swiveled her head toward him. "Hey, are you talking about me on your radio? You're bringing me in? For what?”

“For being late.”

“That’s now a crime?” Anne squirmed in her seat. ‘Listen Officer, I’m enjoying our time together, but I really, really need to get home before midnight."

"Yeah, Cinderella, relax. I'm taking you to your sisters."

So it's your turn. Leave a comment here, telling me what kind of Black Friday person you are, and you'll be eligible to win a prize. We have THREE grand prizes. You as a reader can go to EACH blog and comment with your email address and be entered to win. Yep, you can enter over 200 times!

Now what are those prizes?

1st Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire or Nook Tablet
2nd Grand Prize: A $75 Amazon or B&N Gift Card
3rd Grand Prize: A Swag Pack that contains paperbacks, ebooks, 50+ bookmarks, cover flats, magnets, pens, coffee cozies, and more!

And don't forget to enter here to win an autographed copy of my historical novel, The Reluctant Debutante.