A walk with the Lord

This has been a busy week for me. It is with mixed emotions that I tell you I lost my mother this week. For those of us left behind, we will miss her nurturing and guidance. For my mother, she held her hand out when the Lord called her home and stepped into his loving embrace.

Forgive my brevity this week. This is time to spend with family and friends and those who knew and loved my mother, and perhaps more importantly, to shore up my father as he learns to go on alone after 65 years with the same woman by his side.

Peace.

Being Sick in Fiction

Guess who promises to get a flu shot next year? And not only did I get it, I shared.

We all know men are babies and women are troopers (how's that for a broad, sweeping generalization?) In my house, my DH is very attentive. "Can I get you anything?" "Do you need anything?" and in turn, he is not one of those big babies generally speaking. My DH is a caveman when he gets sick. He goes to his bed and doesn't come out until he's better. This can be alarming considering he doesn't answer the phone, doesn't speak. But it beats him whining and having me wait hand and foot. Not that I don't get that opportunity also. Today, for instance, as he's on the mend, I'm working feverishly at the day job (we're on deadline, in case I forgot to mention it), and suddenly he needs things. A glass of something cold to drink. Breakfast. Jello. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to take care of him, but for a man who usually refuses to allow any assistance of any kind, his timing is a bit off. Now when he wants something, so does everyone else and now I'm juggling to keep up! (am I whining? Stop that right now!)

Does it bother you to read about sick people in novels? I've read a couple of stories lately where the heroine was ill and the hero, great guy that he is, stood by her, held her hair back while she tossed her cookies, and generally hung around to make sure she lived through it. In the one story, the heroine had bad sushi and got food poisoning. In the other, she was seasick. It rather endeared the hero to me that he would take care of the heroine, but I'm seeing a trend that I really don't need to see. On the other hand, it does bring to mind the differences in how men and women react to getting sick. Does it create a better characterization for you to see how caring/thoughtful characters can be? Or is that one level of characterization you can do without?

While I have your attention, don't forget to tell all your friends about COOKIE THERAPY. Release day is April 4. Check the sidebar for a chance to win a copy at Goodreads. And if you don't want to forget to buy it, you can always preorder!

Back to my deadline ....

Sisterly Love

I'm finally reading Kristan Higgins' book IF YOU ONLY KNEW, which I got for Christmas. It's a touching display of sisterly love and struggles (I'm only halfway, so not ready to provide a review, although I love her writing).

The timing is perfect, as I'd like to take this opportunity to share some love with my sisters. There are four of us, and as much as we may have fought or hated each other growing up (as siblings will), I am eternally grateful to have them in my life as an adult. Having grown up together, we know more about each other than anyone else ever will, and those bonds pull tight whenever one of us needs support. We're there for each other, even when we're miles apart.

I'm using this very public forum to especially thank two of my sisters, who have done so much during a very difficult time for all of us, taking time out of their days, time off of work, away from busy schedules. It helps so much to be able to share the burden, and they are shouldering the lion's share. My sister "miles away" provides knowledge and expertise, which helps even when she can't be close.

I am thankful for my family. Love you all.

Thank you for indulging me today.

I'm So Excited!

I'm really pleased with the new release. Drum roll please... it will be hitting stores April 4! Stop by the web page for more information.

In the meantime, thought I'd tempt you with another little snippet (its available for pre-order in case you want to buy it now - so that you don't forget when it goes live!)

In spite of the grime that threatened to choke Elizabeth, the apartment had possibilities, like her. It needed someone who would love it. 

She sputtered. As if anyone would ever love her. Her own mother didn’t love her. Elizabeth was definitely a fixer-upper, if anyone was willing to spend the time. She might be beyond hope, but she could transform this apartment. 

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.