New Beginnings?

What a week last week, huh?  My heart goes out to the people of Boston.  I had a friend who ran in the marathon, thankfully unharmed. She was two miles from the finish line when the world went haywire, and had no idea what was happening up ahead. The city made America look good last week, showing us all how proud we can be to live in this country. The downside would naturally be the excess of media coverage. I REALLY hate when a reporter shoves a microphone into someone's face and says something stupid like, "tell us how horrified you were when you first saw all those bleeding bodies, etc."  I'm sorry, but if that person was me, I'd want to slug the reporter.  These are not things people want to relive. I saw the same thing with the Sandy Hill thing. It is my opinion you should NOT ask a child how horrible their best friend looked, lying on the floor next to them riddled with bullet holes. Leave the kid alone!

Alright, off my soapbox.

And then there was the explosion in Texas. Wow. These events make the overabundance of rain in my part of the country seem trivial. And in true Illinois fashion, after the five inches of rain, we got snow (just a trace, thank heaven). We were out today and the Fox River near where I live has lost track of its banks, but the sun is shining, a reminder that it's a new day, a new beginning. Prayers go out to all the people impacted by these disasters in hopes that they can find a new beginning, a place to start over.

And speaking of starting over, I'm eight chapters into the new book when one of my beta readers

Flora and the Zephyrs - John William Waterhouse

pointed out that I seem to be stuck on paintings. Living Canvas had a painting as part of the main plot. This new story also has a painting in it, although it is much less "front and center," it's more a point of reference. Like the movie "Laura," the hero compares a subject in a painting to a woman he meets, but the woman in my story is not dead, and until the hero meets her, he wasn't necessarily infatuated with the subject of the painting.  But I'm giving away all the details of my story and it isn't even done yet!

My friend's observation highlighted another similarity in some of my stories, which did make me stop and consider whether I should start over or continue along the path I'd begun. Writer's angst is common and to be expected, although generally not this early on in a novel.

Maybe a new beginning isn't what we need. Maybe what we need to do is carry on, through the potholes in life, through the horror and the pain. Starting over discounts all the trials and victories we have already conquered. So while I continue with my work, I am reminded that we can find strength in the things that have happened in our lives and as dark a day as we've had to contemplate, I have faith that there are brighter days ahead to chase the gloom away.

Peace.

Moments of Grace

Do you ever have those moments where Mother Nature catches you by surprise? Those moments where the world seems to stop and you have no choice but to enjoy the peace and the beauty contained in one moment?

That was what started me on my journey to writing Mist on the Meadow.  I was driving to work one cold winter day and passed a meadow when a stag stepped out of the woods. He paused, and I could see his breath in the air. He was beautiful, the moment was perfect. You can never get those moments back. But how do you write a story about one moment? And so I began to gather moments. Originally, there were going to be several different types of these moments in the story, until I settled on just that one, magic moment.

Some of the scenes that have touched me:

A buck emerging from the woods, his breath steaming in the crisp winter air.

The first snowfall over a ridge of pine trees.

Sunbeans filtering through the trees.

Mist/fog over the moor.

Clouds banking over the mountaintops.
The sea lapping against the beach.

Snow falling, a bonfire on the common, the silence was so crystal clear, then out of the darkness came a horse drawn sleigh and all you could hear was the clopping of their hooves and the ringing of the bells on their harnesses (one of my friends lent me that one). 

The moments sneak up on you, unexpected, until you find yourself staring off into space and contemplating the magnificence that is contained in the span of a few seconds. Often I will pick one of these memories out on a particularly stressful day, and it reminds me what a small part of the universe I am, and the greatness of the world around me.

Have you encountered a moment of grace? A few seconds when God opens a window to show you something beautiful in the world around you that you might normally take for granted?

Natural Born Artists

I had a young high school girl interview me the other day. Among the questions, and one of the most commonly asked questions I field, is "how did you know you wanted to be an author?"  It's a common question, not only for me, but for other authors/songwriters/artists, etc.

There are just some things in life you know. When I was in high school, I desperately wanted to be a professional tennis player, but that wasn't my calling. It was an ambition. I had talent, I did well, but there comes a point in time when you have to face the reality of it. One injury and your career is over, often before it even starts. But writing? I've been writing as long as I could hold a pencil.

I saw an interview with Billy Joel once where he'd been asked that question. His response was that if you weren't sure, then you should look for something else to do. Likewise, I have a very dear friend who has always wanted to be a musician, IS a musician. While he hasn't "made it big," there is no Plan B. That's all there is. Something he was born to do.

We aren't always able to make a living using the gifts we've been given. Being an author is not a financially lucrative field. For most of us, that's not why we do it anyway. We do it because we can't not write. It's inherent. Innate. Inborn. and a bunch of other "in" words.

I was actually surprised the first time I realized that other people don't see things the way I do. I was getting a haircut and my stylist was asking me about my books and she told me she couldn't begin to even name characters, much less the scenarios that go into plotting a story. Another frequent question, "where do you get your ideas?"  For me and most authors I know, it's a case of fertile, and often overactive, imagination. There is a story everywhere I look. It's hard for me to imagine that other people don't play make believe the same way - that's all it really is at the end of the day, make believe.

Still on deadline at the day job. Have to make it through the end of April. The unfortunate part about that is that it requires a lot of my attention, leaving little time for my imagination to go strolling (I still have to pay the bills). Oh, I have story ideas! There's no shortage of that, but right now, there isn't time to spend developing them. Just a few more weeks and I can open up the floodgates and let those ideas loose.

The End to March Madness

In celebration of my new release, I'm giving away five copies of Mist on the Meadow over at Goodreads.com.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Mist on the Meadow
by Karla Brandenburg
Giveaway ends April 30, 2013.
See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.
Enter to win

Generally, my parents read my books prior to publication, but Mist on the Meadow went through the process relatively quickly. The ideas flowed, the story tracked, the edits were done and voila!, here it is. So when I told the folks it was published, they naturally asked when they could read it.  I don't know about you guys, but I still worry about what my parents will think, even after all these years of being "grown up."

When they read the original version of Living Canvas, my mother told me it needed more sex and violence! Imagine! My Mother! So I stopped worrying about what my parents thought. However, with Mist on the Meadow, I did provide them with a caution that there is "language" in this one. I know they don't appreciate "colorful" language in movies, but parents never cease to surprise. Again, they told me that if it fit the story, they could understand where that might happen. My hero, Wolf, is a little high strung. He has some major issues to deal with in his life.

When I went back to read what I'd written, I have to admit to a few moments of panic about Wolf's behavior. I write "in character." Often, the words tumble from my head through my fingers without any filter or forethought. Fortunately, I have a very good friend (hi, Jen) who assured me that Wolf's outburst was totally understandable given the circumstances, and she wouldn't change a thing. It was a normal reaction.

Yes, I worry about these things. One does not wish to offend, and yet, some behavior is offensive, no matter what you do about it.

March Madness at the day job has come to an end. The good news is that March is the most challenging deadline to meet. That bad news is that there's one more major deadline in April before we can take that collective sigh of relief and get back to our normal lives. This is where I usually start looking ahead to vacation time - that light at the end of the tunnel. The 14 hour days should be at an end, which means I can reclaim some of my life and have time to do some writing. Now if I can only find those misplaced brain cells that disappeared in the deadline melee.

Guest appearances

Appearing at fellow author Terry Odell's blog today.  Here's the link:

Terry's Place

Back with my regularly scheduled post tomorrow.

It's Here! It's Here!

Forgive the brevity of my post - deadline is but a few days away and we are going through what is affectionately referred to as "hell week."

The new book is now available!

For Kindle

For Nook

Paperback version (which will soon be available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon - and everywhere else - shortly)

St. Patrick's Day for the non-Irish

I have to say that growing up, we celebrated St. Patrick's Day, just like every other non-Irish person. We added an O' in front of our last name, and my parents used to get cards in the mail addressed that way.  It's all in fun, after all.  Everybody's Irish on March 17. For that reason, you might think it odd that I completely forgot about it this year.  Why does that matter?

My dear husband is a very caring man. He sees me working so hard this time of year and all he wants to do is relieve some of my stress. "Let's go to a movie." "Let's take a walk." "Let's go to a museum." He wants to get me away from my computer and the cursing that happens when the day job doesn't work the way it's supposed to. On St. Patrick's, it was "Let's go to the Art Institute." (You may remember my post a couple weeks ago where I'd seen they have this cool new app . . . ).  It worked out so that we could actually go - work was under control, my other duty calls were handled, and so we ran (yes, literally ran) to catch a train into The Big City. And what did we find on that train, you might ask?  Revelers. Hooligans. People wearing green hats and green hair and green "attachments" on their faces, celebrating IN grand style with disguised cans and bottles (alcohol is not permitted on the train during peak revelry times, the St. Patrick's Day parade day being one of them). Sure and begorrah, it was a loud and raucous ride. And THEN, after we got into The Big City, they were everywhere! Revelers. Hooligans. On a Saturday! We had to push through crowds to walk the mile to the Art Institute, but we made it.

My dear husband isn't all that interested in art. He is a very kind and caring man. (Did I say that already?) I asked him which exhibits he was interested in and he looked at me with that confused look on his face as if to say (and bless him, he didn't say it), "I'm not interested in any of it."  And so I saved him the effort by thanking him for taking me to the museum and told him I was going to assume he wasn't interested and this was for my benefit and he was tagging along and to correct me if I was wrong. Then he smiled and nodded. Yep. That about summed it up. Don't get me wrong.  He isn't completely disinterested (otherwise there wouldn't have been any trip, no matter how kind and caring he is).  We found some fabulous pieces of hand-crafted furniture that piqued his interest.  For me it was the impressionist paintings. Renoir. Manet. Monet. Degas. Toulousse-Lautrec. Van Gogh.  When I was little, it was the miniatures. We didn't get to see them this time.  There was a Roman/Byzantine exhibit from the British Museum.  I found some new painters that I didn't know before, and I wished for an exhibit of John William Waterhouse. His paintings are the inspiration for my latest writing endeavor - if I can ever get back to writing (two more weeks to the end of the month and the last major deadline).

When we left, we forgot to check the Chicago River - we walked right over it. The city dyes the river green on St. Patrick's Day every year. And I didn't make corned beef or cabbage. Maybe we'll remember it next year.

Mist on the Meadow is in production! I'm crossing my fingers that it will be available by April 1, but that depends on my availability to comb through the ARC and give it the green light.  I'll keep you posted!

From the back cover:

For her twenty-fifth birthday, a family legacy is passed on to small town pastry chef Marissa Maitland as a Kundigerin, which means she has come into secret psychic power. She will know things about people at the brush of a hand, and use this to help them—but she cannot talk about being Kundigerin without suffering pain. 

Named executor of his grandmother’s estate, Wolf Harper must find something called a “Kundigerin” before he can sell the place. If he could sell his remaining family too, he would. Keeping the family business afloat is his priority, in spite of his uncle’s bad management putting them in the red.

Wolf runs into Marissa—literally, at an icy intersection—and is enchanted by her beauty. One bite of her baked goods bewitches him and enflames a passion Marissa shares. But Marissa blurts long-buried details about the car accident that killed his parents, and knows far too much about the problems at Harper Electronics, neither of which she will explain. Should he be afraid of her?