Friday, June 30, 2006

My guys

Yep, they're my guys. Sebastian Evinrude Hauf (aka Baz) is on the left and Toast (aka The Toaster with the Moster) is hogging all the room up front.

Baz has been around for 15 years, and Toast only half that time, though he is bigger, and is much more like a Meatloaf than a thin slice of toast. They're not really buds, but they fake it if they both want to sit on the window perch shown in the picture. There's a bird feeder to the right, outside the house, that attracts finches. It makes the guys happy to watch the birds, yet not have to actually chase them, since that would waste precious energy better spent napping.
Now, Baz has been diagnosed with psychogenic alopecia, which means he's got OCD. He chews off his fur for no particular reason, other than that it's there. He likes his tail to be hairless half way up. Looks like a rat tail, but I still love my guy.
Oh, and Baz has another talent.

Oh yeah. How many cats do you know that can invoke the laser beam of death (red eye) while simultaneously activating the spooky green night vision eye?

Michele

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Behind the Mask

I’ve always known I had a thing for Scottish accents. Heck, just about any accent can set my heart all aflutter. But I had no idea a mask could be so incredibly sexy.

Many of you are probably way ahead of me on this, but I just watched the newest movie version of Phantom of the Opera a few weeks ago. Even if you’re not crazy about musicals, it’s worth checking out. Not only is the music moving, the characters are wonderful, the set designs and costumes lush, and the phantom, played by an actor I’d never heard of before, Gerard Butler, is mesmerizing.

He wasn't a particularly likeable or heroic character, if you know the story. And I can't tell you exactly what it was about him as the phantom, his mask, his voice, the tortured nature of his character, his body movements, or some inexplicable combination, that had me running to my computer to Google him the instant the movie was finished. But I can tell you I was totally prepared, expecting even, to see some dorky, pasty-faced, (I never knew I could be so mean) opera singer.

Boy, was I pleasantly surprised. This is Gerard Butler sans mask.

Low and behold, he is Scottish and apparently a genuinely nice man. I knew I had good taste. He's been flying under my radar until now acting in Indie type movies and minor parts in big-budget movies since 1997. I'm hoping to see more of Gerry in the mainstream.

Ever been pleasantly surprised by the unexpected? Something that's stuck with you for years for some reason. Tell us about it. Was is a gift, a special word, an unexpected kindness?

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Helen's Pets (Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment!)






My son, Dylan, with his dog, Charlie, a miniature Australian Shepherd.







Prissy Missy.










The life of Riley. He'll curl up anywhere for a nap.







Ebby using Chester, our grey tabby, as a pillow.





The Burning Question


Today's question is from Linda. Who is one of your favorite heroes/heroines from one of your books? Why?

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Anne's pets

Meet Latoya, who lost a leg in a farming accident many years ago. The accident put an abrupt end to his farming career and he's been suffering an identity crisis ever since. "Who am I if I can no longer farm?"

But that doesn't keeps him from afternoon yoga.



Meet Harry, the incredible barfing dog. Two minutes in a car and Harry is throwing up. This was taken today at the Minnehaha Falls dog park in Minneapolis. The park is beautiful and amazing, bordered on one side by the Mississippi River where Harry's just been for a swim. Harry is my son's dog.

Bonding Time




Here’s what I recently discovered--there’s nothing better than being locked in a moving vehicle with one of your kids.

Okay, I realize there are some out there who are going to disagree with me, especially if they are in the dreaded toddler stage. But here’s the upside to a land journey. The kids have nowhere to go, no one to talk to, nothing to do but commune with you. It’s like…house arrest without the house.

Here’s how I know:
My daughter and I just buzzed down to Tulsa to the World Pinto Show with our favorite gelding, Sagacious Sage. And when I say ‘buzzed’, I mean we spent more than twenty-four hours bumping along in a pick-up truck, dragging a fractious horse behind it. I know it may not sound fantabulous, but it was! Without television or reliable phone service, we talked about every topic imaginable. I learned things I hadn’t even dreamt about. And even better, once we arrived in Tulsa, we knew no one, so we talked there too, slept together in the trailer, biked around the fairgrounds, showered at three in the morning, and laughed until we couldn’t sit up.


Now that I think about it, I realize it may be called bonding. I highly recommend it. After all, it’s summer. Now’s the time to get in some ‘kid time’. It doesn’t matter if your offspring are four years old or forty years old--they’re still your kids. So go ahead, neglect your job, ignore your spouse, lock up the stove, and get to know your wee ones. Tara and I used a horse show to get in some time alone but there must be hundreds of other poor excuses to get acquainted. What are your favorite ones?

Writers and Their Faithful Companions



We writers need privacy. We crave solitude. But hermits we ain't. So many of us have pampered critters around, and we thought it would be fun to show some of them off. Here's my Bengal kitty--yes, he's on the counter again--developing a clever plot featuring the bettas our granddaughter named Blue and Red back when she was beginning to talk. She's a very chattery 4 now, and the fish are still alive, so I guess none of kitty's plots have come to fruition. He does enjoy drinking out of their bowls, which is a step above the bowls our family dogs have always preferred.

We Riders will be posting our own pet pix in the next week or so while we gather up a few guest authors' pets to showcase next month. Animal lovers, keep checking back. We have some cool surprises in store.

Monday, June 26, 2006

The love I lost . . .

I can't remember I time that I didn't read, at any and all opportunity, whatever I could get my hands on. In the bathroom when I was supposed to be getting ready for school, under the covers with a flashlight when I was supposed to be sleeping, in class with a paperback hidden behind my textbook. Books, yes, but also the magazines in the beauty salon waiting room and the back of cereal boxes and stray notes I found on the floor. Reading has always been one of the primary pleasures and passions of my life.

But then I started writing. I never expected that it would affect my reading so much.

I am so rarely swept away by a story now. I see the "seams" too much. I'm too aware of the technique they used, too busy rewriting stuff in my head. There's work I still enjoy, still admire, but I'm a bit more distanced from it now, occupied with trying to figure out how the writer did that.

It's the biggest downside of becoming a writer. Is that true for other careers? Can actors not enjoy theater in the way they did before, can musicians not listen in the same way? Or is this something that mostly only happens to writers . . . or just to wierd little me, which is always a possibility.

Susie

Sunday, June 25, 2006

short fiction contest

one of my favorite blogs is jason evans' haunting and serene clarity of night.

right now jason is having another one of his fabulous writing contests.

It's called "Midnight Road" and is paired with one of Jason's amazing photos.



short fiction contest




From jason's blog:

"Using the photograph above for inspiration, compose a short fiction piece of no more than 250 words in any genre or style. Paste your entry into an email and send it to me at jevanswriter at yahoo dot com any time between now and midnight, Wednesday, June 28th (Eastern Standard Time, United States). Each entry will be posted and indexed.

To make things interesting, the following prizes are on the line (and to support the publishing industry!!):

1st Place, $35 Amazon gift certificate
2nd Place, $25 Amazon gift certificate
3rd Place, $15 Amazon gift certificate
4th Place, $10 Amazon gift certificate
5th Place, $5 Amazon gift certificate

But this is about more than prizes. I hope you take advantage of the opportunity to meet and interact with your fellow writers. Read and comment on the entries. Teach, and learn, from others. Let's make writing a less lonely process."




other great short fiction sites:


kelly parra's fictional musings


tribe's flashing in the gutters

both of these sites accept flash fiction of 700 words or less.

if you haven't tried flash fiction, watch out. it's addicting!

Saturday, June 24, 2006

This Works For Me: Buttons in the Jewelry Box


Among my myraid collections of fascinating stuff, I have some vintage buttons. I've given lots of them away to people who use them for crafts. My daughter's s-i-l got a bunch for her gorgeous boiled wool bags. Last year our writers group got some for a crafty fundraising project. But I still have a bunch, and I found a use of my own. They help me keep my earrings straight! They have to have holes, of course, and they work for hooks and stud-type--especially nice in a jewelry box with an undivided drawer like this, but the beauty is that no matter how they get jounced around, the pair says together.

Most of the buttons shown here are made of Bakelite, which was an early plastic used in the first half of the 20th century. That's a Bakelite bangle bracelet in the photo, too. Bakelite jewelry has become really collectable. But I do buttons. I'm not so big on jewelry, but as you can see, I do like rocks and funky stuff.

Why collect buttons? Why not? Glass, celluloid, Bakelite, wood--some of the old ones are gorgeous. I'm told that when I was a toddler, I was fascinated by the jar of buttons my father brought home when he worked (briefly--it drove him to re-enlist) in his brother's drycreaning business. I know, choking hazard. It's a wonder I survived to tell the tale in a future non-fiction project--The Making Of a Packrat. Sort of a save-the-children thing, seeing as how the care and feeding of a packrat is costly and space-consuming. So I'm told.

What do you use your buttons for? Or anything else, for that matter. I also collect ideas for uses for the useless.

Friday, June 23, 2006

writing through bad advice and bad choices



INTRODUCTION:

My first book came out in 1988, a single title romantic adventure called AMAZON LILY written under the name Theresa Weir. I’ve included a copy of the amazing, campy, vibrant cover painted by the amazing and wonderful Morgan Kane.

First big mistake made right out of the gate: wrong agent. Very wrong agent.

After AMAZON LILY was released my agent advised me to forget single titles and write category romance in order to build an audience. This had worked for people like Sandra Brown and Jayne Ann Krentz, and a lot of agents were jumping on the concept.

Note to self: Chasing trends is huge in the publishing world.

After toiling in category obscurity for a few years, I began writing single titles again, this time for Bantam Books. I also dumped my first agent and found a new one who is still my agent today. Bantam decided to employ the popular technique of putting a ton of money behind one author. I heard through the grapevine that the publishing house was trying to decide between me and Tami Hoag.

Tami got the push, and the editorial department started trying to position me for an eventual later push. But they suddenly wanted a different kind of book from me. I was told they had one person writing suspense and one was all the market could handle. This was before Kay Hooper and Iris Johansen made their switch.

Fearing that I was ready to jump ship, Bantam offered me a fairly decent contract but we couldn’t see eye to eye when it came to plots. They turned down my proposal for COOL SHADE and said they saw me writing books about older women looking for fulfillment in the autumn of life. (WTF?) All I was interested in writing at that time was straight suspense. I turned down the contract offer. My agent wasn’t happy. Walking away from Bantam was probably another career mistake.

Harper bought COOL SHADE and it went on to win a RITA for romantic suspense.

Naner, naner.

I still wanted to write straight suspense, or suspense with a paranormal element. My agent thought I should stay the course and stick with basic women’s fiction and single title romance. This was about 1998 or 1999. I sent out a few proposals that would now be called chicklit, but chicklit wouldn’t happen in the States for another year. After writing 13 romances I found myself unemployed.

I decided it was time to write what I’d wanted to write for so long – a thriller, something a little like Silence of the Lambs. HUSH ended up selling fairly quickly to NAL. They wanted to do a relaunch and came up with the name Anne Frasier. But then with Book 2 there was a shift within the house – and suddenly I was being asked to target female readers and make the books more mystery/women’s fiction. Over four years an unbelievable amount of proposals were turned down (Thirty? More?) because I was having a hard time making that shift from HUSH/thriller mode to some vague, undefined concept of women’s fiction meets suspense. They didn’t want romance, but women were the target audience. They didn’t want intentional murders, only accidental deaths that looked like murders. But maybe they did want murders….

It was like trying to guess a number between one and a thousand.

During that time a lot of books were recommended to me as examples of what they might be looking for -- most were dry, literary British mysteries. A few were dry, literary American novels.

The extremely odd thing about all of this is that HUSH has outsold the books that followed and is in its sixth or seventh printing.

I dug out an old proposal that had been turned down three or four years earlier. It had a vampire element, and vampires were suddenly a trend so I dusted off the plot and it was accepted. Once PALE IMMORTAL was done, my editor didn’t really care for it. I wanted everything to be very real; she was expecting a stereotypical vampire. Sigh. I’m working on a sequel, Book 6 for NAL, but not really feeling that excited about it given the editorial response to PALE IMMORTAL.

I’m seriously thinking of moving into nonfiction. I have three stories I’ve wanted to write for several years and I’ve started one of them. Maybe it’s time to once again to step back and away and tell the story I want to tell. But if PALE IMMORTAL does well.... We always hope.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Guilty Pleasures: Audio

So I thought to do another guilty pleasure entry, because sometimes I just come to the blog-entry page with no idea in my brain. That happens a lot. Idea-less brain. I think it's because of the humidty. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

When I write, I often do not listen to music. I need silence to let the words pour from my brain. But during edits I'll have the music blasting. And I don't think I can actually drive unless there's music playing. Honestly. It just feels wierd to sit in a silent car. Got myself an iPod a year ago, to encourage walking. Love toting my tunes around with me when I walk. (Yes, I do walk. But would have never started without the trusty iPod.)

Here are some of my favorites:

The soundtrack from Cirque de Soleil's DRALION. This one covers a range of styles, including Eastern, Chinese, Aborigine, and the vocals are haunting and surprising. My favorite track is Hinko, which is very erotic/bellydancing/sensual. I used it to put some moody stuff in a story about a priest who struggles with his carnal desires. (No, haven't sold that one yet, but won't give up on it.) The first track, Stella Errans is another amazing tune. All the songs on this CD are unique, and each one stirs a different emotion in me. It's great for background noise when you're doing housework. (Yes, I do housework. Er, every few months.) :-)

My daughter recommended a great single to me. IF I WERE YOU by Hoobastank. Now, the band name gives me a tickle, but this song is for everyone who ever wanted to shout back at that person who is always putting you down, criticizing you, or telling you how things should be done, or trying to run your life. It's perfect for a girl-who's-learning-to-be-independent and wants to tell her boyfriend to take a hike. (Hey, it worked for my daughter!) But it's also empowering.

For another empowering song you must listen to I RUN FOR LIFE, the song written by Melissa Etheridge following her bout with breast cancer. This one will make you cry, and then cheer.

Okay, speaking of pleasure...I always get immense pleasure listening to anything sung by Chris Cornell, currently of Audioslave. The man has just got this voice. It's probably nothing spectacular in the realm of musical afficianados, but it's deep, direct and always stirs me deep in my belly. LIKE A STONE is just one such song. Listen to it. His voice will TOUCH you.

Hey, for pure fun, PUMP IT by the Black Eyed Peas will get your hips shaking, and your legs pumping if you're out walking. It starts with a great riff sampled from Pulp Fiction.

Don't we all love Cheap Trick's I WANT YOU TO WANT ME? If you can't listen to that song without singing along, well then...

Okay, I adored Moulin Rouge. And the soundtrack? Perfect. Everytime I hear Ewan McGregor sing COME WHAT MAY with Nicole Kidman I can see Ewan's gorgeous white-toothed smile and, though he's not a professional singer, it's the heart that goes into the song. Makes me want to dance across the rooftops of Paris and find my own Ewan clinging to the Eiffel Tower wearing tails and tophat. Nummy.

Thanks to a recent eBay commerical that played The Monkees classic DAYDREAM BELIEVER, I now have that on my iPod as well. Now THAT is a guilty pleasure. Davy Jones, anyone? Yes!

One final recommendation, and this one is flamenco, because that is my purest guilty pleasure. Sabicas is an excellent guitarist who combines flamenco pureo with flamenco neuvo. This guy will bring you to the streets of Andalucia without even leaving your home. You'll want to don your ruffled flamenco skirt and swirl your arms seductively as you stomp out a zapateado and shout ole!

What's your favorite guilty pleasure song? And how does it make you feel?

Michele

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

The Burning Question


Today's BQ is of particular interest to me. I can't answer it because I'm a newbie, but with my first book hitting the shelves in, darn it, eight months, I'm trying to prep myself for potential challenges. So let's listen to what the experts have to say.

Ladies, today Michelle asks: How do reviews affect how you feel about the books you’ve written?

Monday, June 19, 2006

Second sale!


You know a couple weeks ago I made a post about how waiting to hear from my editor was killing me? Well, as it turns out, waiting is worth it when there's a sale at the end of the line. Harlequin Superromance is buying another one of my books!!

Don't have any details on pub date, but I'm hoping for some time in Fall 2007. For now, the working title is THE SUN HUNTER. It's another adventure romance, this one set partially in Peru, and involves a fractured marriage, a secret baby/child and an ancient lost Inca city, high in the Peruvian rainforrests.

Where do we come up with this stuff, huh?

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Fathers Day

Parents always make mistakes in raising their children. That’s a given. My husband and I so firmly believe this that we set up college and therapy accounts for our kids at the same time. My parents were no exception. My dad, for example, was probably the fairly typical absent father of the sixties. He owned his own business, so twelve to sixteen hour work days were the norm. After all, he did have eight kids to feed.

I remember really not liking him as I was growing up. He was much more strict than other fathers and had quite a temper. There was this chant us kids would say as we walked along the sidewalks. “Step on a crack, you break your dad’s back.” I used to stomp on the cracks. On purpose. As I’ve personally dealt with the concerns of parenting, specifically a daughter, it’s occurred to me that there are many things my dad did right. Today, one thing in particular comes to mind.

I remember coming down the stairs dressed to go on my first date, a dance up at the high school. I don’t remember what I wore, but I do remember what my dad said when he first saw me. “Well, look at you!” He grinned. “Miss America!” And for one split second I believed him. For one fairy-tale blink of an eye, I had complete and total confidence that I looked gorgeous. I was Miss America, the prettiest girl in the entire country.

His encouragement wasn’t only for dressy occasions either. At ordinary times, school days and weekends, I’d hear, “You don’t need all that make-up. You’re pretty enough just the way God made you.” Of course I didn’t really believe any of that bologna at the time. I continued primping as much as the next girl. But I think some part of what he’d said must have rubbed off, deep down inside.

Years later, he’d call my nieces Miss New York, or Miss Minnesota, or Miss Oklahoma, but the top title, Miss America, has always been reserved for me. Of course, these days he calls me Mrs. America!

What did your father (or mother if you were raised in a single parent home) do right while you were growing up? Tell us a favorite memory and then tell him.

Friday, June 16, 2006

The Writer's Road: Loading up my Possibles Bag



I've been to Bear Butte in South Dakota many times. I've also visited Vatican City. They're both amazing. I found so much to inspire me intellectually at the Vatican. But Bear Butte is something else. Because of the way it stands alone, making its silent, timeless statement, Bear Butte strikes me the way it probably does most people--straight to the heart. It stirs my soul. No wonder it's a sacred site for the Lakota. It's part of the National Park System, and it is park policy to show due respect for those who go to the mountain to pray. Prayer ties fill the bushes, and visitors are steered away from those who would be left alone in prayer.

I opened Wednesday's Minneapolis Star Tribune and there it was. The picture was worth all those thousand words--the sky, the land, the horses grazing at the base of the butte. The headline: NEAR STURGIS, A FIGHT OVER THE SACRED. It seems that a developer wants to repace the pasture at the base of the butte with two complexes designed to cater to the annual motorcycle rally. Biker bars and other entertainment venues. Below the picture of the butte is another photo--an Indian in full regalia and a white man wearing a white cowboy hat. I know the Indian. He's the pipe carrier who has inspired a couple of characters for me. I don't know the cowboy/developer personally, but the picture speaks volumes, and I can already see him as a character. Contrast. Conflict. Irony. History. Pathos. "The people are not defeated until the hearts of their women are on the ground," say the Lakota. Nothing touches me more than a story about a heroic underdog.

So Wednesday's paper goes into my file. Like the mountain men of old, I call it my "possibles bag." My files are my oyster shells, and I load them up with grains of sand. This one has particularly sharp edges.

We're bombarded with information every day, but sometimes a chunk of it hits you square between the eyes, doesn't it? Bam. Lightning. Meteor. Has anyone else made one of those connections lately?

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Susie talks about her first time



Do you remember your first time? I do.

I was in junior high. I’d always been ahead of the curve, reading books that were supposed to be too old for me. (What did you think I was talking about? First romance novel, people.) But I’d never read a true romance. At the risk of dating myself, they hadn’t been around all that long. Those were the glory days of Kathleen Woodiwiss and all who came after her.

I was in math class, and I was bored. Gee, what a shock. My very dear, and clearly more sophisticated friend, Merrill, tossed me a copy of THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER. I had no idea what I was getting in for, but I was hooked from the first line. From then on every time I went to replenish my book supply, the first things in the pile were big, fat (and in those days they were FAT) books with PASSION and WIND and SAVAGE in the title.

To their credit, my parents didn’t try to censor what I read. Yes, those books had SEX in them, but in truth they probably had the opposite of the effect that Mrs. Koslowski warned my mother about. After a steady diet of Damiens and Lucases, the dorky 14-year-old who sat next to me in choir and thought a fart was a mating call really didn’t have a whole lot of appeal.

I got away from my true love in college. For one thing, I was too busy reading things I was supposed to. Also, despite all things I loved about those first historical romances – notably the grand scale, and the fact that those characters got to trot all over the world to really exotic places – a steady diet of older, dominant heroes started to wear on me. Oh, I get that those really alpha men and the rape fantasies that went along with them were many women’s fantasies. But they weren’t really mine. Ands much variety as there was in plot and setting in those days, there wasn’t much in characters.

I didn’t come back to romance for almost ten years. But I live in Minnesota, and someone gave me a LaVyrle Spencer book. Oh, wow! This was new to me. Real people, men that weren’t necessarily rich and weren’t always domineering, but always heroic in the ways I saw around me every day.

I went on a binge, finding all those wonderful books that I’d missed. I discovered category fiction for the first time, Kathleen Korbel and Jennifer Greene and Rachel Lee and Elizabeth Lowell. Romantic suspense, and all the historicals I’d overlooked. For a year and a half or so, I read at least a book a day.

Then I started writing and it messed up my reading. But that’s another blog.

So . . . tell me about your first time.

Susie

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The Burning Question


Neroli asks: If we think of a novel in terms of THE HERO’S JOURNEY [ by Christopher Vogler] how long/short should my “ordinary world” setup be? How quickly can the heroine/hero get into the “special world”?

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

More Improvements...


What does it take to change yourself? really change yourself? Last week's burning question and Kathy's post got me started thinking.

I've come to a time and a place in my life that requires something new, something fresh, something different. My writing voice, my outlook, my routines, my location. . . everything is up for grabs. (Relationships, not so much. They're my anchor.) I'm hip-deep in the process of reinventing myself.

So where do I start? I'm on a quest to find out.

Clearly, some things are in my control and some aren't. One thing I CAN do something about is my health, which isn't bad but could definitely use some improvement. Get thee behind me, Cholesterol! Need to drop some weight and get into better shape. There are times I feel I'm melting and merging into the keyboard. I need better posture, better work habits, and regular EXERCISE.

In that vein. . . my nearest and dearest strong-armed me into buying the latest fitness thing for the ambulatory: MBT walking shoes. These things look like the foam from an old car seat tied on with piles of white ace bandages. I opted for the sandals, since I live in Florida and wear open toes year around. Not that you can see much of my exquisite polish job through this spandex-gone-wild stuff.



These shoes are designed with "Masai Barefoot Technology" which gives rise to the name "MBT." It's like walking in loose sand. . . heel sinks and you have use major muscle to walk up and over the rest of the shoe. Supposed to strengthen the legs and align the spine. . . improve posture and double the workout from walking. I'll let you know if it helps. Or stops hurting. They ought to sell the damned things with accessorized Advil. But I'm determined. Fitness, here I come! I'm going to be a new woman by this time next year.

Ohhh, ohhh! I almost forgot! Following the current Hollywood trend of combining names to create a new gossip-and-promo-worthy entity. . . I have decided henceforth to be known as one half of the blended-moniker: "T-Rex." ("T" being the appelation of affection my family and intimates use; "Rex" being the name of my dear fiancee.) So T-Rex it is. At least where people refer to the two of us.

Note to the daughters-in-law: Feel free to continue with Mom or Betina. . . no need to refer to me as "Mother T-Rex."

What about you? If you decided to change something about yourself, what would it be? And where would you start? And if you're hooked-up or married, what Brangelina-Vaugniston-Bennifer-style moniker would you choose to go by in the tabs? (Better to be prepared, eh?)

Monday, June 12, 2006

There's less of me to love...

Since January I've lost a bit over 30 pounds.

There. I've said it publically. I tend to be fairly quiet about things I'm trying to accomplish until I have some sense that success is within reach--that I'm actually going to do what I set out to do. I didn't tell my mother, sister or closest friends about my writing until I had completed a manuscript and had an agreement for representation with an agent. Maybe I'm worried about jinxing my goals by talking about them too soon. Or maybe it's pride. If it doesn't pan out, no one has to know that I tried and failed. It never happened.

This business of being overweight was relatively new for me. My life "before the pause" didn't involve a lot of weigh-ins. My dress size was consistent through most of my adult life. It was nothing I did--the only sport I truly love is horseback riding, and I'm not very good at it. I guess was blessed with good metabolism. I don't know exactly what happened to that, but it's sure not what it used to be, and I'd been telling myself, well, this is life; these are the changes. But I was beginning to feel prematurely creaky. Not exercising and continuing to eat the way I've always eaten--pretty much anything I wanted--was taking its toll on my joints and my energy level. I decided to do something about it. To wit: eat less and move around more.

And it's working! I'm not grocery shopping or cooking the way I used to. I'm not using any of the ubiquitous diet plans. I'm not into starvation or miracles or magic. I know I need to eat smaller portions and stay away from empty calories. I'm not killing myself with exercise, but I've added half an hour on the stationary bike to my daily routine. And I weigh myself daily. I'm happy with about a pound lost per week, but sometimes if I go away for a few days or there's a holiday, that doesn't happen. That's okay. I just get back in the saddle. I don't have that much further to go, and I feel so much better.

I'm throwing this revelation out here for any comment people care to make. Women and weight--such a sticky wicket. Motivation was a problem for me because I spent most of my life not thinking about what I weighed. Anyone have any tips on staying motivated? Do you think we're more likely to get ourselves in better shape when it's about appearance or health?

Friday, June 09, 2006

Root Doctors and Savannah

















This is part of an interview done for a zombie magazine that never launched. Most of it deals with research -- I thought people might find it interesting. Or not!




The premise: Dead bodies aren’t staying dead.

Turn on the news and there’s another story about somebody waking up in an autopsy suite just as the Y incision begins. That was the trigger for PLAY DEAD.

The David Gould character bounced around in my head for years. I liked the idea of someone dealing with life and death issues on the job while personally trying to keep from falling apart. A character whose reckless malaise hides a tragic past. This book seemed a good place to finally put him. His partner, Homicide Detective Elise Sandburg, came about in a totally different way. She’s an example of how research sometimes drives the plot, and how it can even help develop
characters. I had a vague idea of who she was, but it wasn't until I started doing in-depth research that she solidified and I came up with the plan to make her the daughter of a famous root doctor. From the beginning I knew she'd been abandoned in a cemetery as an infant, but
everything else about her came from researching Gullah culture.

I wanted the plot to involve voodoo, but New Orleans seemed too obvious. I settled on Savannah. In researching the area I discovered that a fairly small region of South Carolina and Georgia was home to a group of people called Gullah -- African-Americans whose ancestors had
been brought over on slave ships from the southwest coast of Africa. This coastal Atlantic Ocean Lowcountry is made up of hundreds of small islands. It's a world of water and flat marshland,shanties, and sandy lanes leading into dark vegetation. Weathered churches, and desolate cemeteries. Gullah culture is embedded in the belief of herbalism, spiritualism, and black magic. While other regions call it voodoo, ubia, etc. the Gullah call it the root, and practitioners are called root doctors.


Back in the eighties I found myself fascinated by Wade Davis' book THE SERPENT AND THE RAINBOW. In his search for the poison used to create zombies, his journey eventually led him to the puffer fish and tetrodotoxin. Davis discovered that many of the zombies had committed crimes previous to their zombification, and their new, lobotomized state was much cheaper than incarceration. Creating zombies was also something witch doctors did in order to prove their power and to gain status. The practitioner would use a concoction to secretly put the victim in a state that mimicked death, then dig up the "body" in the middle of the night, bringing it back from the dead.

It's also interesting to note that tetrodotoxin is a powerful painkiller, and has recently moved into a second phase of clinical trials in Canada.

I recall reading an article stating that scientists hope to one-day use TTX to put astronauts in the state of suspended animation for deep pace travel.


Eating of puffer fish is big in Japan. 100 - 200 people die from it a year. I came across an article claiming that macho guys like the risk, but they also get a pleasant buzz from the toxin. I just took that another step. Who knows? Maybe one day we'll hear of TTX being used recreationally.
I spent months researching PLAY DEAD. Too much time -- but I kept coming upon more and more fascinating things about Savannah and the area. I guess I was having too much fun. One day I suddenly realized I had a book due in a few months, and I'd barely started it. At the
same time I was frustrated because I felt I still didn't know enough. Every police department has its own rules and methods, so the police procedural aspect alone took a lot of research. Then I had a city I knew nothing about, plus two cultures -- Gullah and Southern -- that were also new to me. To that add a large dash of zombies and TTX!

Many people have asked me about the Savannah tunnels. They really exist, and were used to transport plague victims from hospitals to cemeteries. Here is what someone who had been in them told me: "It was the nastiest place I have ever been. The city sewer system was
leaking raw sewage, and there were more cockroaches than you have ever seen in your entire life. I'm talking billions covering every nook and cranny. They are dark and very cramped, nothing like the catacombs of Paris. The bricks and ballast literally crumble if you
lean against them, and I would urge no one to ever go there."

Another person who peeked in from the Candler Hospital basement said this: "It was sealed off, but the opening could be opened and closed. The walls are brick, rounded ceiling... In the basement was an OLD cage elevator, and a lot of equipment, like old wooden wheelchairs."

That’s some crazy stuff!



watch a video of savannah footage on my website:


go to video, then play dead trailer

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Guilty Pleasures: Visual

Yep, you know what I mean. The stuff that gives us great pleasure to view, peruse and linger on. More specifically: What's your favorite guilty pleasure movie?

I'm asking because, to be honest, I have ulterior motives. I feel any good blog should never avoid the opportunity to display a chunk of manflesh every now and then. :-) Trust me, it all ties together.

What movie do you like to watch, over and over, strictly because it's so much fun, interesting, or just plain fascinating to view? I'm not talking movies with a message, or documentaries. I'm talking visual excitement. It may be a historical drama with costumes so detailed and gorgeous and accurate it gives you, yes, the patented 'costume orgasm'. (Hey! It exists!) Those movies are Farinelli and Dangerous Liaisons for me. It may be be a CGI animated cartoon that fascinates you merely because some of those silly animal characters are getting so detailed nowadays. How DO they do that? Just saw Over The Hedge. I could get lost in the detail of that movie! It could be one particular scene in a movie that gets you. Hey, it could be a well-executed sex scene. Maybe a silent scene that pulls off emotion so well you just shake your head in agreement. Whatever it is, you love to watch it over and over.

So my favorite guilty pleasure movie is The Transporter. It's about a getaway-car driver. Heck, I'm not into cars. Or violence. Or even the insistent rap music that plays in the background of this movie. It's all about the actor: Jason Statham. He is my guilty visual pleasure. Now, he's not even, to me, the most physically attractive fellow. An average guy, I'd say. Until you see him in action. To say the fight scenes in this movie are incredible is putting it lightly. They're so original. The fight in an oil slick in a bus garage being just one delicious moment. And the actor makes you feel as if he really does know that karate/judo/kung-fu/whatever-it-is-he-does stuff during the fights. And yeah, he goes from average to sexy in a split second the moment he gets that fierce look on his face, and you just know the bad guys are going to get it. Muscles, action, over-the-top fight sequences. But a silly thrill to me, who likes to watch the movie over and over. The man is buff, and that adds to the overall enjoyment. There is a sex scene, but it's so brief, and the bedroom door is literally closed after the couple get together. So it's all about the action for me. There's no 'message', it's just some darn good fun.


I love the movie so much, I had to write a story with my own getaway car driver. Sort of my tip-of-the-hat to the film. But my version features a female driver. It'll be out this September, and you know I'll be plugging it here. :-)

So what's the movie you watch over and over? And what about it draws you back again and again? Is it the costumes and scenery? The stylish look of the film? Or some sexy chunk of manflesh. ;-)
Michele

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

The Burning Question


Hazel was being tricky this week with her burning question. She crammed three into one. I’ll send it out to everyone and then I’m off to an all day end-of-school picnic with my son. Can’t wait to see what everyone has to say on the blog, but for now here are my answers to each question.

1. Doesn’t everyone?

2. Never

3. I’m a newbie, so what do I know. But I would hope that the publishing world and readers understand that if there’s any art form that improves with age it’s writing.

So here’s Wednesday’s burning question:

I know all of you are highly successful authors, so you've probably heard this one before: Do you dye your hair and if so, at what point do you plan on going natural? And do you think there’s a bias against authors who reach “a certain age?”

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Men and Modesty


Okay, here’s a little something that recently came to my attention--men have no modesty. Now I happen to be one of those people who really bought the line about gender differences being caused by nature and not nature. As in…give your sons dolls and they’ll grow up to be just as sensitive and gentle as girls. I have sons. I gave them dolls. They used them as guns, hid behind the furniture, and shot each other over the arm rests. And modesty? What modesty? I once found my teenager trying on pants in the middle of a department store…took too long to find a changing room, he said.

For a while I thought I must have done something terribly wrong. That somehow I had damaged them beyond compare, but I recently returned from the Romantic Times convention. RT is a magazine for romance readers. Once a year they host an event to introduce readers to writers. More to the point, they introduce everyone to romance novel cover models and cover model hopefuls. They host a contest for these models. Somehow I was convinced to help out with costumes behind stage.

And this is where the full weight of the truth came crashing down on my naïve little head. Not only do men have no modesty, they don’t care that they have no modesty, and they don’t care if everyone knows they have no modesty.

Now I’m a mature woman (kind of) but sometime during the evening I found myself hiding behind the curtains. Maybe it was when one of the models had to relieve himself in a bottle. I’m not sure. But the fact remains…regardless how they are nurtured, men and women are terribly different, and I don’t just mean anatomically, although I recently learned…well…never mind. Anyway, yeah, granted, these guys are models and confident of their ummm attributes, but still, this immodesty thing seems to have very little to do with physical attributes and so much more to do with simple gender. I mean it doesn’t seem to matter if a guy is as pale as belly button lint or as hairy as an ogre, he’s still willing to strut his proverbial stuff.

So why is that? Why are they so different than women? Am I totally off the mark here? Or am I just jealous that I’ve never perfected the art of peeing in a bottle?

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Summer Recipe

This one's from Lois. She's experiencing technical difficulties and asked me to post for her.

It's finally summer. I can tell because my house is a shambles. Actually, unless there's some kind of court order involved, my house is usually a shambles. But even I have to admit that my cleaning habits have hit a new low. I mean please. Who doesn't have better things to do than squeegee toilet bowls when it's eighty degrees and sunny? Or, for that matter, eighty degrees and raining.

Living in the northland, where our extremities don't thaw out until Independence Day, one learns to appreciate the simple things in life, such functioning knuckle joints and the lack of need for defrosters on your eye glasses. On the other hand, we northlanders have a fabulous method of hiding our physical imperfections. It's called goose down. Layers and layers of fowl feathers.

But it's time to shed the layers, kick back, and enjoy life. So, in lieu of a Sunday recipe, which I can't supply because I don't/can't cook, I'm giving you my formula for summer fun. Here goes:

Get lots of sleep. I like to have 12 hours a day. But some people can stumble along on 10 if a portion of said sleep is taken on a hammock under a well aged shade tree.

Add plenty of fluids--something sporting an umbrella usually does the trick.

Mix in copious amounts of food, and aim high--toward the top of the food pyramid.

Season liberally with your favorite recreation--reading for instance. I have several books I could recommend, some of them have my name on them.

Laugh. Laugh long and often.

And do all these things with people you love.

Life is short. Summer's even shorter. Don't waste your time cleaning toilet bowls.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Waiting ... and waiting ...


I’ll say it right up front. I’m not a patient person. I put covers on my pans of water to get them boiling quicker, and, yes, I watch the pot! Driving in my car, I sweat and swear behind someone on the freeway going the speed limit in the left lane. It is considered a passing lane afterall! In a store, I always count the number of people ahead of me before choosing a checkout line. I’ll even hover sometimes if I know they’ll be opening a new lane.

How in the world I continued writing four plus books, suffering rejection after rejection, before finally selling is beyond me. I think maybe I had hope there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Now I’m wondering.

I’ve been waiting for a decision from my editor on a second book for five weeks. The book is finished, just needs some revisions. (Not the least of which is cutting 100 pps from a 425 pps manuscript, but hey, who’s counting?) I also sent in a proposal for a NASCAR trilogy about three weeks ago.

My editor said they’d have a decision after Memorial Day. I don’t know about you, but to me, that meant within the week after Memorial Day. Well, it’s Friday, and I still haven’t heard anything. I even emailed my editor the other day to tell her about this new blog in the hopes of triggering something. Surprise, nothing!

I scheduled lunch with a friend today to keep myself occupied, but it won’t be enough. This waiting is killing me!

What do you hate waiting for and how do you combat the pins and needles?