Leap Year Birthday!

Attention Leaplings! I'd love to hear your stories about how a February 29 birthday has affected your life. Inquiring minds, along with active imaginations wanting to create a story around such a character! Care to share?

A Sneak Peak at the new book

Have you read Living Canvas? Return to Hoffman Grove? You don't have to in order to enjoy the new book, but you'll recognize some of the characters who stop in to say hello... Cookie Therapy, the next in the Northwest Suburbs series is due out April 4.

Plastic boxes showed off lightly browned chocolate chip cookies with two more days on the freshness stamp. Elizabeth flagged one of the ladies working in the bakery. “Excuse me. The cookies. Are they crispy or chewy?” 

“Chewy,” the woman replied. “Would you like a sample?”

“That’s okay, I’ll buy the box.” She grabbed one from the stack and snapped it open—she needed a cookie now. While she headed to the checkout, Elizabeth took out a cookie, but when she tried to close the box, the plastic edge sliced her palm. She dropped the box and clutched her hand to her chest.

What else could go wrong? 

Blood oozed through Elizabeth’s fingers and she blinked to fight off the cloud of gray that threatened her vision. She squeezed her eyes closed while panic took over, screams echoing in her head, blood everywhere, people running, ducking under desks. 

Behind her, a man told someone to “Go get the kit.” An arm curled around her shoulder. 

“Easy.” The man helped her to sit on the floor and gently pushed her head toward her knees, all while he held her bleeding hand high.

Air rushed through her ears while blood trickled down her arm. She grimaced when she smelled ammonia and grabbed the waving hand beneath her nose holding something that looked like a broken cigarette filter.

A man was attached to the hand. His coffee-colored hair touched his collar and dark, concerned eyes were hooded by a pronounced brow. Even dressed in dark blue, his skin appeared tanned and Elizabeth had the oddest desire to see where the tan ended. Broad shoulders filled out the knit shirt with a fire logo on it.

Romance in Real Life

And yes, I should have posted this last week instead of this week, in honor of Valentine's Day, but then again, maybe it will help with the disappointment after the holiday when we realize we don't live in a Hallmark card.

I am a hopeless romantic. Grammar Nazis will correct me to say hopeful, but I disagree. Hopeless because it's hopeless to convince me romance isn't alive and well in spite of all the heartbreak and disappointments in life.

We all remember that first blush of love. My first love was a card sender, a note writer (in case you were wondering how I came to idealize the mystique around emotion). The very first card he gave me, for no particular reason or holiday, said something to the effect of "I love every millisecond we spend together," among many other very sigh-worthy turns of the pen. I'm pretty sure he was 20 at the time, so this isn't little boy stuff. For Christmas, he bought me a floating heart necklace (with some help from his sister). It was story book stuff, I'm telling you.

The truth? People are flawed. Relationships are flawed. You have to work at them to make them work, and it takes the efforts of both parties. There comes a point when you have to block the negative emotional responses in order to support the positive ones.

In my later years, when my marriage was falling apart, I went in search of romance one more time. Aren't we all told we can live happily ever after, after all? Romance is out there - the storybook kind - but in real life it's more than hearts and flowers. The truth is that happily ever after is a state of mind you have to adopt all by yourself. No man (or woman) is responsible for providing that for you. I learned that lesson on my journey. So when the storybook romance ended, I worked on being happy with my own life, and what do you know? Prince Charming showed up.

Romance in real life isn't pretty. It's two people who are there for each other-emotionally. One hundred percent. Through the arguments, through failing health, on sunny vacations, and when we laugh at awkward times. Being silly together or being serious as warranted. Acceptance of each other's warts and idiosyncrasies.

I believe in love, I'm a hopeless romantic. And it's true. It's hopeless to tell me romance doesn't exist. Sometimes you need to shift your definition. Although chivalry and good manners play a part, true romance is thoughtfulness. Truly listening to each other. Connecting on a soul-deep level. NOT having to spend every waking hour together so that you can look forward to the times that you DO spend together. Knowing that special someone will "show up" for you.

So I'll keep writing romantic stories, because I do believe there are people who are meant to find each other, to be together. I like to create hopeful romantics through my writing, people who understand that even when life isn't pretty, there just might be someone out there who is willing to stand by your side.

Leap Year!

I'm still randoming about my life - finishing the new book (which goes to the editor next week - are you ready, Kelly!?), tapping beta readers, and preparing for the BIG CRUNCH at the day job.

While I was randoming, I realized this is a leap year. An extra day on the calendar. The day women are supposed to be able to propose to men, but is that really a restriction? I mean, I proposed to the Big Guy and it wasn't a leap year. (He was unhappy that I stole his thunder, btw. Told me he was planning to take me ring shopping, so no, it wasn't a surprise.)

What about those people who are born on Leap Day? Do they only celebrate their birthdays once every four years?  And of course that makes me want to have a character who is born on February 29, just so I can obsess about all that entails.

Anybody have any February 29 stories to share?

On Branding- Publishers or Authors

I'm in that "pre-busy season" sprint to finish everything on my plate before the day job takes over my life.

The new book is nearly editor-ready (and my use of the word "nearly" would be pointed out to me in this sentence). I'm also judging books for a major contest - it's a simple "how would you rate this book, did it have what it was supposed to in it" and then the books pass to the next round. And before I started those books, I was in the middle of another one that I had to finish. I was chosen as an ARC (advanced reading copy) reader for one of my favorite authors, and fortunately have not yet received that book to read and, finally, one of my crit partners is also on the home sprint with her next in series book.

Wow - that was more than I expected to tell you, but here's the thought of the day. I'm a little whiny while staring stress in the face, so bear with me, willya?

As I'm reading through the contest books, I had two from one publisher, a publisher I used to bash when I was younger. It's a well-known house with a well-recognized brand. You know what to expect from the books, but even when I was younger, I spent more time noticing the editing flaws than enjoying the stories. This from a kid with an overdeveloped English gene. I never had the issue with any other publisher. The stories weren't strong enough to overcome the shortfalls, and so I vowed never to write for them. As the years have passed, their brand has become somewhat stronger, producing some very well-known authors and a couple of my favorites. Those authors have also written for other publishers. So why is this relevant today?

The first book I read wasn't bad. The second book ended one chapter with "... last final breath." which was indicative of the way the story was written overall. As opposed to the second to last final breath? I feel confident that my editor would pull out her red pen all over that phrase. She won't even look at my work until I cull out all the poor grammar and incorrect usage, yet this book made it through a major publisher.

Let me back up a minute. Many of the classics have horrendous issues with grammar and usage. It's the story or the message that resonates and allows a reader to overlook the language issues. Jane Eyre is my favorite example. I loved that book, in spite of it being difficult to read in places.

Back on task. When reading a book, do you look for a particular author, or a publisher that you trust?
When I read a "new to me" author, I don't necessarily care who their publisher is, whether its one of the big dog houses or if they are independent. It's the story, the author's voice. This current set of books reinforces for me that you can't write an old trope with bad editing. If your story isn't "something completely different" (anyone else hear Monty Python when they hear that phrase?) you'd better make sure it is well written. Without a strong story to hold my attention, I turn into an editor. A proofreader. A writer who reads. I hate that. I want to get lost in a book.

Authors and publishers preach branding. This experience has reinforced this publisher's brand for me. They may sell a ton of books, but when I'm looking for a strong story, I'm going to hesitate when I see that they've published the book. Author branding outweighs the publisher. Regardless of who publishes their books, I have several go-to authors, and that's because those authors are better than their publishers, better than their editors.