Dreams DO Come True!

Pretty exciting times, chez Ridgway. My Christmas book, Must Love Mistletoe, is a finalist in this year’s RWA RITA competition. My older son was admitted to all six colleges he applied to and heard the “yes” from the final one last night…he’ll be going to his dream school, UCLA, in the fall. But there’s more. I’m very thrilled to say that on April 10^th a Silhouette Desire I wrote, His Forbidden Fiancée, will hit the shelves.

I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I decided to try writing romance, more than twelve years and almost twenty-five books ago. I’ve told the story elsewhere, that a high school friend of mine who was working as an attorney in Detroit was at a conference in San Diego and came over for dinner. I was then consulting as a computer programmer. She looked at me and said, “Why aren’t you doing what you always said you wanted to do? Why aren’t you writing romance novels?” That was in February. By April, I’d been to my first local Romance Writers of America meeting and had joined a critique group.

I went on to sell my first book and start a career in romance publishing. My friend from Detroit went on to state politics and is now in her second term as the first female governor of Michigan. There’s a dream for you.

But back to me! When I first thought of writing romance I began reading romance. Stacks and stacks of books. And remembering how much I loved the Harlequins of my teens, I focused on contemporary category romance and the line, Silhouette Desire. When I attended my first national conference, I went to the “Spotlight” session on the line, conducted by then senior editor, Lucia Macro, and just felt certain that one day I would work with her. Yes, I thought, I was destined for Desire.

Well, first I was rejected by another editor, Melissa Jeglinski. And though we kept up a “rejection relationship” (she’d sent me a nice rejection letter), I ultimately sold to another editor at another line, (Yours Truly, now defunct). Then I wrote for Silhouette Special Edition (and still do) and also moved on to write single title romance for Avon, working with…Lucia Macro!

Still, my dream wouldn’t die. I really wanted to write a Silhouette Desire. At another conference, a few buddies and I were talking, we made a pitch to the senior editor of Desire, and she bought the idea. And who would that senior editor be? None other than Melissa Jeglinski!

Dreams don’t die, and neither do those good relationships you foster in this business. So, this spring is turning out to be a banner one for me. My dreams didn’t come true overnight, but I kept at them, through editor changes and line changes, and all the ups and downs of this business.

Did you achieve a dream that was a long time coming? Or one you’re still waiting to fulfill?

A Few Things I have Learned From (and About) Editors

--Editors are human. They walk on the ground like the rest of us. They have families. They are just as proud of their children as we are ours. They occasionally spill soup on their shirts during a business lunch. They've been known to be fangirls about authors that don't write for their own house. They lust after movie stars. They laugh, live and love.

--Editors are God-like. Their magic wands resemble the common pencil with red lead.

--Editors are busy. They attend meetings; they discuss such things as Profit and Loss statements and Marketing Potential and Which Half Naked Man Do You Like Better For This Cover? They usually read manuscripts on the weekend—which should be their days off, but rarely is.

--Three editors can read the same manuscript, and each will edit it differently than the others.

--Editors like a good laugh written on the page. They like to have tears jerked from their eyes. They don't like it when the hero and heroine are violent toward one another. They do like originality.

--Editors do not know everything. (But you should let her believe you think she does every so often.)

--If I pay attention while reading through the edited manuscript returned to me after my editor has gone through it, I will learn something.

--I know that dialogue tag needs a sibilant; it's been mentioned four times in the margins of my edited manuscript. But what the hell is a sibilant? [Er...I digress. Sorry.]

--Assistant editors rock! They are often stuck doing all the dirty work, taking messages, reading slush and inserting deflag corrections (not to mention rushing to Starbucks for a six-pack of lattes before the meeting that starts in five minutes). They may also become your editor some day. Be nice to the assistant editor.

--If you want your manuscript to capture an editor's attention, you need it to land on his/her desk during the full moon, on a day he/she has just had a fabulous manicure and is walking on air, also on a day she was just given a raise, her stocks climbed, and hell has developed a thin layer of ice.

--If you want your manuscript to capture an editor's attention you merely need to write a great story.

So, Riders, what have you learned from or about editors over the years?

Michele

Spaghettios, professional wrestlers and oooh, those Brits

Welcome Pat White to the convertible today!

I write to stay sane. And to feed my family: literally.

See, when I’m struggling with a book I tend to busy my mind with other things, like cooking. Actually, my family can tell how a book is going if:
a) I’ve made five dinners for two people. (Characters are fighting me every with every word I type).
b) There are no groceries in the house. (Book going great – stay away from mom!)
c) The house is so clean the dogs want to move out. (Mom’s in plotting mode, remove sharp objects from her hands).

So, when the book is slogging along I cook for everyone: my family, pets, neighbors, the crossing guard down the street. It’s pretty weird. But it’s good therapy and everyone eats well, so that’s a plus.

On the other hand, when a book is going well I’m incoherent and everyone is stuck eating canned spaghettios, well everyone BUT the cats. They’d never put up with that.

Here’s the result of this afternoon, as I was thrashing about on the page and cooking between scenes. My teenager was so confused with all his choices that he just sat there and stared.

It’s no surprise that I have such completely different responses to the writing process. I’ve been told I have a split personality because I write such different kinds of books.

I started my career writing romantic comedy. My fourth romantic comedy, Love on the Ropes, was out last fall.
This book was part of my series set in professional wrestling. Whenever I say that in public people look at me with their eyebrows all scrunched up like I’ve just spoken Chinese, then they burst out laughing.

Then in 2005 I sold my first romantic suspense to Harlequin Intrigue. Very exciting stuff. I’m the nutcase who stays up till Midnight watching Law & Order reruns. Doesn’t matter if I’ve already seen them already they’re still fascinating. (And yes, I know, I should be writing .)

This month marks the release of the third book in my Intrigue series featuring The Blackwell Group. I couldn’t resist creating a series featuring British heroes. Those accents are too sexy, yeah?


This month’s book, Miss Fairmont and the Gentleman Investigator is set in the Highlands of Scotland. Talk about a beautiful place! As Grace Fairmont searches for answers to her dead mother’s past, she’s warned to leave the country by an attacker. The sexy Bobby Finn comes to the rescue and, unbeknownst to Grace, is assigned to act as bodyguard to protect her from the mysterious dangers of her mother’s past. All Grace wants is some closure in regards to the mother she never knew, but at what price?

Speaking of sexy Brits , I can recommend some movies featuring some of my favorites. Children of Men starring Clive Owen is released on DVD Tuesday. Also, 300 starring (Gerard Butler – Scottish!) is currently in theatres. Talk about six pack abs… hubba, hubba. And I hear Christian Bale, another Brit fav, is due out in a movie soon. Movies are my other passion. I use them to bribe myself to make my page count for the week.


What’s coming out this weekend I wonder? Oh, do I wish it featured Clive. Then I’d get my pages done for sure! ;-)

Who are some of your favorite hotties?

Thanks to Michele Hauf for inviting me to blog today. I’m thrilled that she and I have conspired to write the Dark Enchantment series (with Nina Bruhns and Cynthia Cooke) for Nocturne. Michele’s book, Familiar Stranger, will start us off in August. I can’t wait!

Cheers from the Pacific Northwest,

Pat White
www.patwhitebooks.com

Michele's comment: I've had the best time and the neatest opportunity to be able to work with Pat on the Dark Enchantments series. If you like demons and alpha heroes and very capable heroines, you should probably check it out. :-)

Do stop by Pat's website to read more about her books and check out the sexy Blackwell Group covers!

RITA Finalists Announced!

Here's to our 2007 RITA finalists!

Kathleen Eagle - Ride a Painted Pony
Betina Krahn - The Book of True Desires
Cindy Gerard - Under the Wire
Christie Ridgway - Must Love Mistletoe

You guys so deserve it! We'll all be cheering you on at National in July!

For a complete list of Romance Writer's of America's RITA finalists, check out this link: http://161.58.67.252/ritafinalists2007.htm

Are You an Angry Person?

Helen has another quiz. Yay!

This one’s a little meatier than my Vanity Quiz from last month. This time, I’m playing therapist. My qualifications? I’ll warn you, fair and square, I have none. Just been married for twenty years this June.

I guess I’ve learned a few things, not many, but a few. One of them is that people experience anger in different ways, some not so healthy. It’s not always the Mars vs. Venus thing either. It’s also about how you were raised and your own unique personality mixed with how someone else was raised and his personality.

But I’m getting too deep here. This is supposed to be fun. Or not. So let’s go.

1. You get up in the middle of the night to go “potty” and just about fall through the toilet and into the sewer. The lids up, again, and your butt is wet. Again. You ...

a. Don’t even notice.
b. Wipe off your butt and go back to sleep
c. Calmly remind the offender the next morning that there are at least two people in the house and each of them needs to be considerate of the other’s needs.
d. Slam down the lid, slam the door on the bathroom and make as much noise as possible when climbing back into bed, including pulling those darn covers over where they belong in the middle of the bed because there are two people who sleep here. Hello!

2. You’ve been standing in line at a retail store for a while. The line keeps getting longer. And longer. Finally, another clerk opens a register and you don’t get to be the next one checked out, despite being the next one in line. You ...

a. Don’t even notice
b. Start humming a happy tune and tell yourself that everything happens for a reason.
c. Remind yourself that these clerks are probably getting paid, at best, minimum wage.
d. Keep track of who makes it out of the store ahead of you and drag your keys alongside their car once you reach the parking lot.

3. You’ve ordered your meal. Salad, dressing on the side, hold the tomatoes. Fettuccine Alfredo, whole wheat noodles. Yes, chicken. Grilled, not fried. Please. Extra napkins. Water, no ice. I don’t even want to begin describing what you’re served. Let’s just say, it’s not pretty. You ...

a. Don’t even notice. (But then you probably wouldn’t have made any adjustments to your order in the first place.)
b. Brush your lettuce leaves off on your napkin and vow never to return. Of course, you forget the bad service and end up in the same position three more times before finally getting wise.
c. Take a deep breath, ask for a new salad, deal with the white noodles, ask for your money back on the unrecognizable chicken and scoop the ice out of your water. Amazingly, you still leave a moderate tip.
d. Ask for a manager, insist on not paying for the meal and even get a coupon for a free entrée upon your next visit.

4. You ask someone, I won’t say who because that would be telling, to do some laundry and cleaning while you’re out of town for three days on a business trip. When you get home, not only has no laundry or cleaning been done, but the kitchen countertops look as if someone spilled a bottle of maple syrup, another someone had a hankering for chocolate chip cookies late the previous night and the last someone remained blissfully unaware you were even gone. You ...

a. Don’t notice. Set your purse in the syrup and don’t notice that either.
b. Take care of the dishes, countertops and two loads of laundry after everyone else has gone to bed.
c. Ask everyone to help out before they all head to bed.
d. Serve the offenders breakfast the next morning right on top of the dirty countertops and refuse to do laundry for at least another week.

You get the idea, right? So here’s my take on the scores.

A’s: Are you people even alive?

B's: I’m not buying it. You’re getting angry and chances are it comes out in weird ways and at times that have no connection to what made you angry in the first place. Can you say passive aggressive?

C's: Wish I could be ya. You’re able to separate the anger from the offense and keep your cool while still standing up for yourself.

D’s: You’re the hotheads. Like me. And, yes, you’re dysfunctional. Me too. People say you have issues with anger. I say they have issues with anger.

The truth is that we all have conflict in our lives. It’s part and parcel to being human, I think. I got these tips from StayHappilyMarried.com. A resource for married couples.

"Remember, the purpose is to resolve the conflict, not to simply vent the anger."

And here are the rules:

1. No threats during argument.
2. No blanket judgments or labeling generalizations.
3. Stay on the topic at hand.
4. No interrupting.
5. Stay in present tense.
6. Don't argue in the dark.
7. Don't walk away or leave the house without saying to your partner, "I'll be back".
8. No finger pointing.
9. Take responsibility for your thoughts. Use "I" language.
10. Write down the topic at the beginning to insure staying on topic and clarify the issue.
11. Try to avoid over-dramatization.
12. Allow time to collect your thoughts. Immediate response is not necessary.
13. Approach the argument with a problem solving attitude, rather than blame.
14. Try to avoid statements so critical that the other person has no course but to retaliate.
15. Don't save up feelings and dump them all at once, try to air feelings often.
16. Try not to yell.
17. Don't use abusive language or labels.
18. No gossip.
19. Speak for yourself.
20. Neither person is right, there are only differences. Both win when the conflict is resolved.
21. Admit you're angry.
22. Go forth as equals. Don't use power plays. Gauge the intensity of your anger to the ego strengths of the other person and be responsible with the things your mate has entrusted to you in your relationship. YOU ARE ON THE SAME TEAM!

I think I’ll get these laminated and mounted in my kitchen.

I also found some useful tips at the American Psychological Association’s website. They suggest that sometimes angry people need to learn to be more assertive. Isn’t that interesting?

So are you an angry person. Have any great suggestions for how to deal with conflict in our lives?

Debra - MONDAY MORNING REVIEW

BLOOD TIES - Lifetime Television

Sunday Night

Who doesn't love a good triangle? Especially if you've got a vampire nailing down the apex! Toss in a heroine (Vicky) who is a former-cop-turned-private-eye, her former detective/partner (Mike), an urban setting and supernatural hijinks and I'm going to turn on the telly.

Here's the question...am I going to keep tuning in?


I've felt a definite void in my life since they scrubbed Buffy and Angel. (We won't talk about my depression caused by the cancelation of Joss Whedon's other series - Firefly.) So when I saw a commercial for this new series my ears perked up. (Okay, I stopped in my tracks and swiveled toward the television like a bloodhound on the scent.) As the commercial progressed, I thought 'Huh. That sounds like the Blood series of books by Tanya Huff.' And yes, the series is based on those books.


Next I was sad to find out that the show had already premiered. Don't you always hate missing the beginning of anything? But...wait...some marketing genius put the first hour of the 2 hour premier on I-tunes for FREE. Cool! And then I remembered I'd never been to I-tunes and didn't have an account. I quickly remedied that. Well, not so quickly but I did manage to finally get the show downloaded. I also paid the $ 1.99 for the second hour of the premier. (I may become an I-tunes addict.)


Here's what I know:
I like (but not adore) the characters.
I enjoy some of the dialogue.
Vicky has an eye disease that will eventually leave her blind.
The vampire Henry is boy-toy yummy and a bit young for the heroine.
The triangle is progressing predictably.
The supernatural crimes are predictable.
I want to look like Vicky in a pair of jeans.

Sunday's episode involved a young girl (maybe 8) who's kinetic abilities have scared away her father, killed her mother and landed her in the clutches of a private school administrator who's building his own little empire of "gifted children." We find out the administrator has been scheming for a while and was intrumental in nudging the girl to the point her powers killed her mother.


The problem is, I knew all of this from the moment the grandmother sought the help of Vicky in finding the runaway dad. Grams said, "Gee, I can't care for her. If it hadn't been for her school's willingness to take her in, I don't know what I would have done." I watched anyway. I wasn't bored to tears. But I'm hoping for better.


Episodes 2 & 3 haven't lived up to the premier for me. But I've liked enough of what I've seen to tune in a while longer and see if the series can strike that balance between humor and drama that will keep me coming back for more. Right now they seem to be tilted toward paint-by-numbers drama.

Anyone else watch this show? Or have recommendations for something I'm missing and should be watching? (Besides Dresden. I've got that covered!)

Sunday Brunch with Betina and the girls

Welcome to Sunday brunch. Pour a cup of your favorite brunch libation, grab a croissant or (gasp) a donut, and put your feet up. Feel that sun on your face! Ahhhh.

You know, in my office I try to surround myself with stuff I like, that means something to me, that stimulates me. Yesterday, my beloved sister gave me something that went straight to my heart and straight onto my desk: a mouse pad of my favorite critters. . . the Madagascar Penguins. . . in this very pose.

I am now a happy woman. I grinned this morning when I entered my study and saw the mouse pad. I have a feeling it will be with me for along time.

Also on my desk are several stone hearts of different sizes and mineral content. Red Jasper, Turquoise, Laboradorite, Honeycomb Calcite, Dalmation Jasper, Snowflake Obsidian, Adventurine, Chevron Amethyst, Mossy Agate, Tiger's Eye, Blue Pietersite, a Septarian nodule heart that looks like it has big pieces of milk chocolate imbeded in it, and Rainbow Fluorite.


The hearts just please me. I got my first heart stone , a big pink rose quartz piece, several years ago as a gift, then found and bought a large, earthy Mossy Agate Heart. When I'm thinking, brainstorming, noodling plot, I pick one of them up and hold it or rub it. . . maybe to aid in concentration. I don't want to analyze it-- it just makes me feel good.


I love the different textures of the rocks and minerals, the rounded shapes, the brilliant colors, and the play of light in several of them-- which can be mesmerizing. I'm not much for the New Age crystal explanations of crystal resonances that foster "increased concentration" or "drawing love" or "psychic protection." But if some of that stuff happens, that's fine by me.
I'm really drawn to the variety and lush range of different stones in nature and love to imagine the conditions and forces that shaped each particular mineral or stone.


So, in spite of myself. . . I'm a collector. And much as I've tried to ignore or resist the urge. . . every time I go onto E-Bay, I have a look around for stone or crystal hearts. Some are fairly cheap, some are quite pricey. I often find myself yearning for a new acquisition.

So, after all these years and a failed attempt a collecting tea pots (too bulky and too hard to display, even though I still have quite a few!), I find myself my mother's daughter. My mom used to collect glassware that most of the family thought was odd at best, sometimes questionable or downright awful. But she loved it. And later in life, she began to collect elephants. . . always with the trunk up. Go figure. So we indulged her and sometimes took her a little carving we found. She beamed with pleasure.

I'm sure somewhere she's having a good laugh about how you can't escape heredity and savoring the fact that the collecting gene was finally turned on in me. And I'd like to think she'd approve of the hearts. . .

What about you? What kinds of things do you keep around you for comfort/stimulation/interest. Anything at your writing place that helps ground or inspire you? Anything you collect that just satisfies your soul? I know some of the gals in the car have collections. . . let's hear about em and about what makes them so special to you.

My space, your space – Cindy wants to know: Whose space is it anyway?

Okay. Decision time. To myspace or not to myspace, that is the question. For me at least. I’ve got a pretty active website and the hits are building all the time but I’m wanting to be more visible and all I hear about now is myspace … so of course I’m thinking of jumping off the merry go round and jumping on the bandwagon.

I know. I know. Like join the present with the rest of the forward thinkers, already. I’m late for everything, though, so you’ll just have to tolerate my foot dragging on this one.

Frankly – and I’m loath to admit this – but the whole myspace thing kind of freaks me out. I mean – is everyone in the world but ME out there for everyone in the world to see? And do I want everyone in the world to see me? And if everyone in the world wants to see me and read about my books, how does everyone in the world find me and why should they care? Especially when – at the risk of repeating myself – EVERYONE in the world (but me, remember) has a myspace sight. Won’t I just be another grain of sand on an already crowded beach? A blade of grass on a highly fertilized and manicured golf course? (okay, so I won’t be so manicured) Just another white dog hair on the black coat of life?

You get the picture. I’m conflicted. Not good, people. Not good at all. And it doesn't help that an author friend of mine with an active myspace page recently received a death threat. Okay. So hopefully it’s just some harmless cyber loon out there causing havoc, but jeez. A death threat? Isn’t that a bit extreme? All because he didn’t like her book?

So here's the question: Can anyone out there with a myspace site or with a friend who has a myspace site please help this poor conflicted soul? Tell me the pros. Tell me the cons (exclusive of the death threats - that one I've got a handle on). Tell me what I should know and even what I shouldn’t. Tell me what you think. Tell me what you know. But for heaven's sake, tell me. Even if it's just opinions or suggestions. I’m all ears.

Even a Caveman Can Do It

What’s wrong with stereotypes?

Good question; glad you asked. I’ve been thinking about that lately—lately being the last coupla few decades—and I have a coupla few thoughts on the subject that I’d love to tie in after I trot out my Alpha Man of the Hour.

Here he is: The Geico Caveman. I love those commercials! Remember the old Folger’s coffee ongoing romance commercials? Misunderstood Caveman is way better. “So simple, even a caveman can do it.” Currently our sensitive, tortured, hirsute hero is in therapy. “How would you like it if they said ‘So simple even a therapist could do it?’” Well, that just wouldn’t make sense. Love it, love it, love it. If we have to stereotype somebody—some human body—it might as well be the caveman, right? Is this not the ultimate alpha male? Or, at the very least, a great piece of satire.

And our society does enjoy the easy caricature—the stereotype. Stereotyping is lazy writing and lazy visual art, but it’s a powerful political and social tool. It’s powerful because it seems so innocuous. It’s just a little joke. A fable, a fairytale. A story to entertain the children. Or teach the slanted lesson about history, tradition, identity or social values. Or a way to underscore one group’s claim to being “in” or chosen or elite or somehow superior to another. And that other group is so simple, so easily boiled down to a few “characteristic” traits that they become a cipher. A stereotype.

So far we’re probably mostly in agreement. But what about the stereotypes that creep into our little corner of the world? I’m talking genre fiction. I’m talking Romance. We don’t see as many of the noble savage/white captive covers as we once did, but when I got started in this business—back when Geicoman was knee high to an eohippus—we’d pay a visit to the
paperback book rack in the grocery store, and my kids would zero right in on the 101 “Savage” titles and pipe right up with “Why is this Indian dude dragging the white lady onto his horse?” Their dad’s a damn good rider, so I can’t imagine why he’s never tried to pull that trick. (Okay, he didn’t have to. Two days after we met he got his horse to rear up Roy Rogers-style, and I said “My Hero!”) Ah, how time doth add romance to the past. But what’s wrong with the “noble savage”? It’s a stereotype, sure, but it’s a good one, isn’t it? It’s conceived in love. Well, isn’t it? What can it hurt?

And what about those team mascots? My husband’s alma mater, the University of North Dakota, steadfastly refuses to retire their “fighting Sioux” mascot. They can’t afford to. A gazillionaire alum single-handedly built them a new hockey arena only after the U agreed not to give in to NCAA pressure. So now they’re in court. Makes you wonder why the guy cares that much. He’s not “Sioux.” Not American Indian at all as far as I know. Does he have an ax to grind, or simple control issues? I grew up in Massachusetts, and I’m proud to say that UMass changed the “Redmen” to the “Minutemen” a long time ago. I doubt they lost any games or alumni contributions because of it. I’ve been thinking about this because I saw that UIllinois finally sent Chief Illiniwek to the Happy Hunting Grounds. (Yes, folks, the HHG is a fantasy of the white man’s making.) You can go to their web site and watch a video of his final dance, which is like no dancing I’ve ever seen at any powwow. The video is moving, really. You’ve got your school spirit, your nostalgia and all that. But a mascot is a pet. It’s a good luck charm.

And it’s represented by a caricature—a cartoonish logo, a person dressed in a silly costume (the one to the left is for sale online intended for use as a mascot), sometimes a hapless animal, although PETA and the ASPCA have cut down of the number of bears and wildcats getting trotted out on the playing field these days. Why American Indians? Why not Chinese or Africans or Scots? Is it really fair to create a cartoon image of a living, breathing people and trivialize their culture this way?

Mind you, I don't presume to speak for American Indians. Only for myself. And I’m just asking.

Helen's Vacation Gone Awry

I know. Roxanne Rustand was supposed to guest blog today. She'll come another day when she isn't tearing her hair out trying to get a book finished in eight, count em, eight weeks! So you're stuck with me, telling my tale of woe.

We went to Colorado for some downhill skiing a couple weeks ago.

I’d never been to the mountains, unless you count a one day diversion into Lake Tahoe so long ago it’s probably not worth mentioning. My husband, on the other hand, has skied in the past several times in both Washington and Colorado, and he’s wanted to take the family for years. My son’s an avid snowboarder and has been begging to go to Colorado. Apparently Minnesota doesn’t have a hill big enough for him. Go figure.

Anyway, that’s how I got roped into going. The family conspired against me.

I don’t know why I’ve been hesitant all these years. Normally, I jump at the chance for a vacation to a new destination. Doing something physical is right up my alley. But surprisingly, I could take the mountains or leave them. After going, I’m leaving them. As far behind as possible.

We got into Denver Wednesday night, an hour or two late, but these days that’s worth writing home about. We rented a van and headed toward Winter Park as a snowstorm blew around us. A mountain pass. In a storm. Dang. Added at least an extra hour onto the drive, not to mention scared the begeebees out of me.

I will admit, the townhouse was gorgeous. I’ve never stayed anywhere quite that nice. Hot tub, fireplace, heated ceramic tiles for the footsies. I would’ve liked it much better if it hadn’t been situated 9,000 miles above sea level. Can you say altitude sickness?

The next morning, we woke up and couldn’t see the ski runs from our mountain view townhome for all the snow blustering around. That first picture up there? That's what we should've seen when we woke up and couldn't.

But it’s my son’s first day in the mountains and we’ve only got three days to ski. Zero degrees outside, forty mile an hour winds, twenty below windchills, and I’m riding a little chair strung by some cable a thousand vertical feet in into the clouds. They’d even closed several chairlifts due to the windy conditions.

My face froze, but I did okay until we got back to the townhome. I got the chills. Climbed into bed under a heavy down comforter and it was a good twenty minutes before my body quit shaking. Nausea. Headache. Altitude sickness isn’t fun. I felt terrible for putting the heroine in my second book through it. Sorry Sydney!

The next day it was snowing even harder. I felt marginally better.

By the third day, our last, the storm had passed, and although it was still windy and cold for Colorado and I still didn’t feel 100%, the sun was shining. We had a beautiful day. Got onto the slopes shortly after the lifts opened and stayed out there until the last dog was hung. Their highest run, 12,000 feet, was open finally and it was amazing. It looks like another planet up there above the treeline and in the clouds, doesn’t it? Our last run down that day was the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but, unfortunately, the damage had already been done. I don’t think I can get myself to go back.

Then again, maybe it was worth it to see the smile on my son's face.

We probably all have stories of vacations from hell. Go ahead. Whine a little. Where else should I never go? What else should I plan never to do?

Save me. Please.

Betina and the Action Heroine's Handbook

So, how many books have you read lately where a woman had a knife fight, dangled from a helicopter skid, broke into a building or safe, dug herself out of a cave-in, or crossed a crocodile-infested river? Yeah, me too. Action-adventure is all the rage these days. Women in books --yes, even MY women --are expected to be able to take care of themselves. And sometimes even to save the hero!

So, where do you go to find out how to fight, escape, drive, track, chase, survive. . . you know, the stuff that action heroines need to be able to do?


I just found a book titled The Action Heroine's Handbook, which purports to give you the skinny on: "how to win a catfight, drink someone under the table, choke a man with your bare thighs, and dozens of other TV and movie skills." I snatched it up and headed straight for the checkout counter. I mean, who wouldn't want to learn how to choke a man with her bare thighs?

I settled in with a cup of International Coffee (Cafe Vienna, my sugar-free fave) and started taking notes. The book was organized into sections dealing with "tough chick skills, beauty skills, brain skills, brawn skills, and escape skills". . . with techniques gleaned from real life heroes and heroines identified as "FBI agents, stuntwomen, sexologists, beauty queens, drag kings, champion boxers, dominatrixes, and detectives."

The first advice offered: "How to win a high-speed chase in high heels and a bustier." The illustrations are of Wonder Woman. Special tips include: staying on the balls of one's feet, pitching forward, and countering up-and-down breast bouncing with side to side elbow movement, and as a last resort-- flashing your opponent a bare breast to distract him. Upon catching the quarry, the reader is instructed to use her shoe heels as weapons.

Gee. I felt more powerful already. I went on to "how to pop a nose wheelie on a motorcycle," "how to navigate a room full of laser beams" (involves a lifetime of yoga), and came to "how to drink someone under the table."

Unfortunately, in order to drink someone under the table, you have to get used to drinking liquor, to "build tolerance" before hand. [Thus, I will never be good at this.] According to their expert, before the competition you have to fill your stomach with a normal sized meal, agree to which kind of liquor to consume (avoid mixed shots!), and consume one glass of stout beer half an hour before the competition to prepare your body to metabolize liquor. During the contest keep a sober demeanor--no chit-chat. Choose straight tequila if you can, since it contains a stimulant, remain standing through the competition, drink your shots at the same time as your opponent, maintain eye contact and focus, and order a harder or potent mixed shot when your opponent shows overt signs of inebriation-- slurred speech, wild laughing, or inability to get additional liquor into his open mouth.

The next chapters deal with recognizing the "undead" and escaping them, outwitting a Sasquatch, and giving birth under pressure. Huh? Giving birth under pressure? They cite Dana Scully of the X-Files as an example and urge the reader to remove as many external stressors as possible. Then "dim the lights, light candles for focus, put on some soft music," and "ignore external distractions such as gunfire, aliens, and flowing magma." The rest involves two clean shoelaces, a clean sock, some scissors, two baby blankets or large towels, and a large drop cloth. I had to quit reading at the drop cloth.

Moving quickly on, I learned "how to make yourself into a hottie in five minutes or less". . . which seemed a little optimistic and involved additional mascara, hair gel or hair spray for "action heroine volume", using bright red lipstick to emphasize your mouth, and using bronzer to better delineate your cleavage. Then there were a few quick dance lessons. . . tango (which is NOT simple-- I know, I had lessons!), fast "maniac" dancing, and of course striptease. By then I was really ready for instructions on "How to hook a millionaire," which involves identifying millionaires by their watches and shoes and then playing coy and letting them pay for things until they fall madly in love and insist on showering you with information and/or material goods. Alternatively, the next chapter is titled "how to turn a man into a sex pawn." (Shrug.) Different strokes, I guess.

I began to suspect the guide might not be as good as advertised when I got to the section on profiling a serial killer and found it consisted of three pages and six easy steps. Hey, why hasn't anybody shown this to the FBI? This is where I skipped ahead to the "choking a man with your bare thighs" part, which was why I bought the book in the first place.

Imagine my dismay upon learning you have to knock the guy to his hands and knees (doggie-style position) before you can start. Then you straddle his shoulders, taking his head between your thighs and pulling his head up by the hair. They caution you not to sit on his back. . . bad form, I guess. For additional "stunnage," box your opponent's ears while he's under your control. . . like you're clapping your hands, only his head is in the way. Hmmmm. If I could actually get a guy down on all fours, I would be able to run away right then. . . so, who needs the whole choking thing? If I do it this way, it seems like gratuitous choking. And don't I lose reader sympathy if my heroine is too eager with her thighs?

Then there was the "how to fight with your hands cuffed" section. . . where I learned I should-- I mean, the heroine should kick her opponent in the throat. Go on. . . just stretch up there with your hands cuffed behind you and kick that 6 foot 4 inch baddie in the throat. Or kick him in the groin or head-butt him in the bridge of his nose. Also, the front teeth are sharper for biting through skin than side or corner ones. . . and can easily bite through an ear or the end of a nose. . .

Ewwwww. I stopped right there. Before I even got to "how to win a chase across rooftops". . . which was based on the moves in "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." And, after paging ahead, I had been looking forward to learning how to do that flying stuff.

But, maybe I'm not cut out to be an action-adventure writer.

Or maybe I just need a different kind of guide book. Yeah, that's it.

Okay, I've decided to collect my own set of moves for action-adventure heroines. Starting now. So what mad skills does a gal have to have these days to survive big adventures and dangerous thrills? If you were a heroine, what would you need/want to be able to do to survive in the big story? I'll put 'em all together, figure out how to do them, and make the list available. . . I promise!

Canadian Alphas

Posted by Lois Greiman

Several months ago Helen and I agreed to speak at a ‘Get Romanced’ workshop sponsored by the Manitoba Writers Guild. I think I can speak for both of us when I say we don’t get an overabundance of romancing these days, and although Winnipeg isn’t exactly thought to be the epicenter of all things sexy, we headed north…for seven hours, through my native tundra of North Dakota, across the border (where they didn’t feel a need to strip search us or anything) and on to friendly Manitoba. The directions were ‘drive north until you come to a fork in the road. Then take a right.’

And I’m so glad we did, because we met some amazing people. The writers who attended the workshops, both aspiring and published, were enthusiastic and talented (we plan to see several of them on the best sellers lists soon). The city was environmentally…if not literally… green, and the guild members were spectacular.

We were introduced to the lovely Millennium Library, fed East Indian fare until we couldn’t waddle, and escorted from television interviews to radio talk shows like visiting royalty.
So forget all those tedious locales like Nepal and Paris for future novels. From hence forth I decree that all my books be set in the Peg, filled with characters who say ‘aye’ and ‘aboot’, and starred in by heroes far too amusing to be alpha. So thanks: Kathleen, Robin, Jim, and Jamis.

But this brings me to one of the topics that kept repeatedly popping up over the week-end: Alpha versus Beta. If you could choose the hero in your romance novels which would it be? Super-alpha like Gerard Butler who played Leonidas in the movie 300, or house-trained beta like…say…Hugh Grant from Music and Lyrics?

Now…how about in your kitchens? Same thing, or would you choose someone entirely if you actually had to live with the man?

Chime in please; I have about 37 seconds before I have to start my next book and I need a hero STAT.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

What Susie Knows About Men

I know a lot about men. Oh, not in the femme fatale, hey-big-guy, get them to do what I want by making them want me way. In fact, I'm quite hopeless at that.

But I've always been surrounded. A brother, no sisters. Many male cousins. Three sons, no daughters, and a house that is the hangout for crowds of their friends. One aunt, but three uncles. You get the idea.

And here are a couple of things I've learned:

1) Televisions exert a strange and powerful hold over the males of the species.

It's really quite wierd. I can have the tv on - and often do - while I'm doing other things. Reading, cooking, paying the bills, whatever. But my males . . . they can walk by a set that I have on, to a program they have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Paula Deen, or A Wedding Story, or ice skating. And still, I'll look up and find them stopped dead, standing three feet in front of it, staring, glaze-eyed, having completely forgotten what they were on their way to do.

2) That "through his stomach" saw is mostly true. Oh, I know there are a few strange men out there that aren't ruled by their appetite. I just don't know any personally. It works best on the young adults of the species.

Now, I like to bake, but rarely do, because our family is small enough that they don't eat it all and save me from myself. But I cook when the boys' friends are there, and it's like magic. All I have to do is throw a pan of brownies in their direction and I am suddenly transformed into The Best Mother Ever.

3) Naked boobs are good. Naked boobs they are not supposed to see are somehow much better.

It is very strange. I mean, most of the men in my life are - at least technically - adults. If they wanted to, they could go buy a Playboy. They could even go to a strip joint. Several could even go to the women in their lives and see actual, live breasts anytime they want.

But still, the ones they are not supposed to see hold an extreme fascination. Remember when cable channels used to scramble their signals? And you could just catch a bit of what was going on? I used to find my husband - who is in many ways a very mature and accomplished adult - standing in front of the TV, with it turned to HBO, which we did not at the time get, and going "Do you think that was a boob? I'm pretty sure that was a boob." Though I suppose point #1 feeds into this as well.

4) They have one-track minds. Which is sometimes very good, in particular when that mind is focused on you. But it is quite detrimental when they are supposed to be doing two things at once. Particularly if one of them is child care. (Mine are excellent at child care if that is their only task, btw. But if they are supposed to be working and doing child care at the same time, look out!)

I once left my husband in charge while I went on a business trip. Now I leave long daily instructions, with nearly hour-by-hour schedules of what he's supposed to do and check.

But on Friday afternoon, he was working at home, waiting for the boys to get off the bus. At about 5:30, he calls me in Texas. "What time is son #2 supposed to get home?" "Umm," I say in rising panic. "That would be two hours ago." "Oh," he says. Calm, distracted. "Don't you think you should go FIND him?" I say. "I suppose so. Just let me finish this memo . . . "

One of my uncles oversees an amount of money that runs to 10 figures (Yes, 10) and receives regular and flattering mentions in the Wall Street Journal. When his kids were teenagers, and pretty self-sufficient, my aunt went on a trip. My uncle's only task was to, before he went to work in the morning, make sure one of them was actually up, because he was prone to sleeping through his alarm.

You guessed it. First morning gone, she gets a phone call from the school. She calls my uncle at the office, persuades him to go home, and finds the kid still curled up asleep.

My neighbor is head of an emergency room, and has a law degree to boot. Obviously an accomplished and brilliant man, one who saves lives on a daily basis.

One day I met his wife in the street, shaking her head and laughing.

Her husband happened to be home one morning, reading the paper. She had to take one of their children to preschool, and so got EVERYTHING ready for the other two. Dressed them, fed them, packed their backpacks, left them playing. Told her husband that he just had to make sure they went down to the bus on time. When she returned a half an hour later, where was everybody? The girls were still playing, her husband was still sitting at the kitchen table in his underwear reading the paper, and the bus was long gone.

Speaking of which . . . what is it with guys and their need to wander around their home in their underwear? It was the thing my husband hated when the older boys started bringing home girls; it was no long safe to lay around in his boxers.

So . . . what have you all learned about guys?

cindy's movie review

When I go to a movie, I go to relax, to be entertained, to smile and feel good. I can find all the other elements I need to be a well rounded paranoid anxiety ridden wreck in my daily life, thank you very much so I mostly avoid any movie that sounds like it could add to that mix. But imagine my surprise when I finally got a chance to see Little Miss Sunshine and found that I’d entered the best of both worlds. I relaxed. I was entertained. I smiled. I felt good – all during the course of a movie whose cast of characters were living a well rounded paranoid anxiety ridden wreck of a life. A two-fer. Cool.

Here’s the official premise for Little Miss Sunshine that I lifted from the official home page: “What happens when you stuff a failed motivation speaker, his wife, the nation's number one Proust scholar, an elderly potty-mouthed heroin addict, a teen who’s mute by choice, and a bespectacled little pageant hopeful into a mini VW bus for a three day road trip? You get this hilarious but moving satire about a dysfunctional family obsessed with winning. Credit must go to the ensemble cast that includes Greg Kinnear, Steve Carell, Toni Collette, Alan Arkin, and Abigail Breslin and the delightfully funny script by Michael Arndt, which first-time directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris handled perfectly.

"Little Miss Sunshine" is an American family road comedy that shatters the mold. Brazenly satirical and yet deeply human, the film introduces audiences to one of the most endearingly fractured families in recent cinema history: the Hoovers, whose trip to a pre-pubescent beauty pageant results not only in comic mayhem but in death, transformation and a moving look at the surprising rewards of being losers in a winning-crazed culture.”

This latent movie critic couldn’t agree with the synopsis more. I LOVED this movie. Was thoroughly surprised that it met all of my expectations. It was touching, sweet, quirky, and chuckle worthy. I’m a huge Steve Carell fan (never miss The Office) and he didn’t disappoint me in his role as the gay, out of work scholar. And the finale, when our little heroine performs her ‘talent’ portion of the Little Miss Sunshine competition as taught to her by her sex-on-his-geriatric-mind grandfather (Alan Arkin) is too funny for words.

In short, if you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favor and rent the DVD. It’ll give you all the feel good you can handle. If you have seen it, I’d love to hear your take on the movie.

Guest ERIC GRIFFIN, editor/writer/fiction developer

Mar 13, 2007
St. Columcille's
Norcross, GA

Before we get to Eric's contribution to the day, let me start by saying Eric has written novels, graphic novels, edited the same for various publishers/gaming companies, and been involved in developing fiction for cult series titles. He obviously works the horror/SF side of the street but he's a great supporter of women's fiction as well. Now...to Eric...


It's a still Sunday morning. Downstairs, Antonio Banderas, in his underwear, is playing poker online.

I'll pause a second so that you can get that first bit fixed firmly in your mind. We'll be coming back to it later and the moderator may be on to us by then. Best to commit it to memory now.

Got it? Okay, let's keep moving.

My name is Eric Griffin. I'm a writer (gawd, that's even more awkward to write down than it is to bring up in casual conversation), an editor, a fiction developer. In my misspent youth, I worked just about every angle of the book trade right down to the old-fashioned brick-and-mortar bookstores you used to see -- back before malls grew coffee shops with intrinsic magazine racks. I even met my wife in a bookstore.


[This space intentionally left blank for sentimental awwwwwww.]


I will leave it as an exercise for the reader why this arrangement is preferable to finding your spouse at a lending library.

I first met Deb Dixon at a convention. An editor's aside: writers need to be aware of the transitions between their paragraphs. That last one was a doozy. If you didn't snarf your coffee, you need to go back and try it again.

Now before you get hold of the entirely wrong end of the stick, I think you need to pause a moment and ask yourself just what conclusion you jumped to when I told you that Antonio Banderas was downstairs in his underwear. I'm willing to bet it was an equally misleading one.

Where was I? Conventions! I met Deb Dixon at Dragon*Con on a writing panel, which is how (indirectly) I ended up here. If you don't know D*C [http://dragoncon.org], it's a hugungous scifi/fantasy/gaming convention.
Four days, 30,000+ people, spanning three city-block-sized hotels in downtown Atlanta. Bedlam. I've been an inmate-by-invitation for years.

I hope I get a chance to tell you some D*C stories soon, but mostly I'm bringing it up so that you know I'm long-suited in horror, fantasy and scifi. If y'all have genre-specific questions about the craft or business of writing, I'd be glad to take a whack at 'em. Post them to the comments section or, if they are personal and potentially embarrassing, POST THEM IN ALL CAPS. I mean, you can grab my email addy from my website (link below).

The single biggest problem I find when reading/editing is that writers don't actually hear what they have written.

There's a world of difference between Antonio Banderas, in his underwear, playing online; and Antonio Banderas online, playing in his underwear. That link, incidentally, is here.

[http://eg.home.comcast.net/shame.htm]

I'll tell you one quick story before I go. True story. My seven-year-old
(youngest) son -- apple of my eye, prop of my old age - is coming out of Mass with his grandmother. He gets collared by the Bird Ladies (you know, the elegant prim older ladies that roost in church social halls). Because he's cute, and their little boys were cute. So they get to asking him questions and eventually they come around to, "and where's your daddy this morning?"

So this eager-to-please young cherub pipes up with, "Oh, he's at home.
Playing poker in his underwear."

Now this would be funny enough, even if the child -- flesh-of-my-flesh, true son of his blarney-spinning, poker-bluffing, fiction-writing da, hadn't made the whole thing up on the spot for the entertainment and edification of the church ladies.

Couldn't be prouder. In that mortified, can't-show-your-face-in-church-again
sort of way.

By the by, that's the further reason I wanted to impress upon you the image of Mr. Banderas - I think I can call him Antooonio at this point - of Antonio playing poker in his skivvies. As a writer, it's very important to guide the image that springs to the reader's mind when she reaches key passages. I wanted to make sure that when you heard "playing poker in his underwear" you were thinking Antoooonio, and not Creepy Tony.

Anyway, I'd like to thank Deb Dixon and the rest of the crew here for inviting me to drop by and hang out with all the Ladies with their Tops D.
Did I just write what I think I wrote? Oh h*ll, the editor will catch it.

--Eric

-------------------------------
A sidebar:

I am aggressively Irish year-round (did the "Griffin" part tip my hand?).
With St. Pat's coming up this weekend, I would be remiss if I didn't leave you with a little music to help celebrate/break things/spill into the street
by:

Feel free to jump over to iTunes and sample a bit. Tell me if you find any pleasant surprises. There may be some stuff that's new to you as well as a few twists on traditional favorites:


Drunken Lullabies Flogging Molly
Zombie Cranberries
Sunday Bloody Sunday U2
Pogues The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn
Johnny Cash Danny Boy
Dropkick Murphys Wild Rover
Pogues/Dubliners The Irish Rover
Van Morrison Tuppelo Honey
Aaron Neville Ave Maria
Bing Crosby When Irish Eyes are Smiling
Sinead O'Conner Molly Malone
Metallica Whiskey in the Jar
Shilelagh Law Black and Tans
Street Dogs Tobe has a Drinking Problem
Wild Colonial Bhoys God Save Ireland

Enjoy!

--Eric

Christie's Keepers

I was in the mood for a comfort read the other day, and opened the door to the closet in my office to peruse my keeper shelves. Yes, I have a lot of keeper books. And running my fingers along their well-used spines, I realized how many of them are older books. Linda Howard’s Mackenzie’s Mountain, copyright 1989. Elizabeth Lowell’s Fire and Rain, 1990. Nora’s Special Edition (maybe one of her last?), The Perfect Neighbor, came out in 1999. That was eight years ago! Another Special Edition, Miracles by Mary Kirk, was published in 1990 and it was that book that convinced me of two things: 1) category romance is a beautiful thing and 2) yes, I can actually like a book with paranormal elements (this point has to be proven to me over and over again, currently I have J.R. Ward to thank for it).

I have other books I’ve saved besides category romance. Susan Johnson’s sexy historicals from that same time period, as well as Patricia Veryan’s A Dedicated Villain, a Georgian-set story copyright 1989.

Sure, I have more recent books, but the fact is, when I feel compelled to cull the shelves I find them easier to part with than the older ones. I think it’s because these were collected at the time I rediscovered romance and was beginning to dream of writing in the genre myself. Perhaps those books are like a first love. None that come after have quite the same sweet magic.

There’s a new/used romance bookstore I frequent, and a few years ago I came across an old Iris Johansen category romance tucked away on its shelves. I clutched it to my breast with such passion that the bookseller came up with an offer I couldn’t refuse: She had a complete library of the Iris Johansen Loveswepts in a bin at her house that she no longer offered for sale in the store since interest in them had died. Did I want the whole lot?

Well, you know the answer. I only wish I had more room on my keeper shelves for them. Since I don’t, the bin is in storage at my house in a place that’s harder to access. Still, every 18 months or so I drag it out and indulge myself for a few days, wallowing in those old stories with the same kind of pleasure I get looking at my high school yearbooks or walking through memories of that 14-year-old blond tennis-playing boy who owned my heart one summer long ago.

What’s on your keeper shelf? Do you see a trend in subject matter or time period?

Debra - Deadlines & Daylight Savings

I have exactly 18 minutes to make my deadline for a short story.

I would have had an hour and 18 minutes but Daylight Savings swooped in like an over-eager buzzard and ripped off a large chunk of my deadline clock.

So, I'm playing the deadline game.

I really have 8 hours and 18 minutes as long as I email my story by tomorrow morning.

Wait. No. I only have 7 hours and ...now 16 minutes because the editor is in Eastern Standard Time.

Welcome to the warped world of writing where everything is measured by "how long 'til deadline."

The good news is that as soon as I finish the blog which gives me a much needed break from the story, I can settle back in for the last push.

I'm at that stage of any story when all the pieces are in place. Snippets of dialogue are written either in my scene notes files or in my head. You know where it's going to play out and what the characters are going to do. Everything you've set up has brought you to this place. You can see the finish line. You can't control how long it takes to get there but it really is just a matter of fingers on keyboard.

Lest you think badly of me, I couldn't change the fact that my deadline was in my busiest season of the year as a consultant. I couldn't change the fact that my son called yesterday and said, 'I think I broke my hand." Anybody been in an emergency room on a weekend lately? Yep. We were there a while. Not to mention the time it took to convince my son that a wait-and-see policy might not be the best thing for your dominant hand. (No, not broken on first xray reading. Nasty sprain. Sling for 3 days unless they call after the second set of people read the xray, which is standard.)

I wasn't able to write while there but I did get a ridiculously tangled skein of thread untangled and rolled. Woohoo, me!

And I took a movie break before that because I had all Saturday to write. Ha.

The ends of stories and books are like mirages sometimes. You can see them but you can't quite touch them and the camel train is heading down the track straight for you.

What do you do when your plans go kaboom! Do you push more? Accept that life is life and you'll finish when you finish? Are you someone who simply can't continue to work because the quality suffers? Are you someone who amazes yourself by writing/doing some of your best work which pushed to the wall?

POETRY IN MOTION

HBO's weekly "Def Poetry" unexpectedly grabbed me by the ears a few weeks back, and I've become an accidental but devoted fan. I stumbled on this half hour gem because it follows Bill Maher's "Real Time," which I try not to miss on Friday night. I can't afford too much devoted fan time, so I'm not that easily hooked. (If I didn't subscribe to HBO, I'd be left with HGTV, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, the History Channel, and the T-Wolves. Okay, I guess I do have my devotionals.)

Anyway, I gave it a look because I've been impressed with "Def Poetry" host Mos Def in one film after another, most recently "16 Blocks" with Bruce Willis. Good film. Before I noticed him in movies, I associated him with hip hop or rap--not sure which and not sure I know the difference--which isn't one of the choices I punch into on my car radio, but it's a form that has given rise to many wonderful performers, like Mark Wahlburg and Queen Latifah. So I hung around for a few minutes after "Real Time" thanks to Mos. Those few minutes, a few fresh voices with their considerable passion and promise, and I was hooked.

Halleluiah, the beat goes on!

These kids are feelin' it. They want to change the world, just the way we did back in the day. Frankly, much of the rap I'd been able listen to and decipher didn't appeal to me. What I heard was a lot of glorification of violence. Not that we're not subjected to that in other forms of "entertainment," but that's what I had come to associate with rap music. I like to think of myself as open-minded, and I have an abiding interest in the teenage mind. Plus, I've got a rock 'n roll heart. I remember what it feels like to be young and rebellious and determined to change the world. Rock music has long been a voice for the social conscience. I didn't hear that voice in rap music, and that worried me. Coming from the group that said "if it's too loud you're too old," I was beginning to think I was getting too old. But maybe I wasn't listening.

So I'm really glad I tuned in to "Def Poetry." It's all about young people speaking their minds and undoubtedly getting so much resistance from all sides. This show provides a forum for some powerful voices. Stop, children, what's that sound? They perform their poetry, offering universal themes in contemporary rhythms and words. I am mesmerized. Everybody look what's goin' down. Mind you, I don't have teenagers in my house anymore, and it's been more than 20 years since I taught high school English, but I miss having daily contact with those voices. There's nothing more crucial in any society than intergenerational communication. We can't develop without it. We'll be too busy reinventing the wheel. Understanding and relating among the generations is a theme I love to read about and often write about.

Which brings me to another reason I've glommed onto "Def Poetry": writing. Back in my school marm days I was a big believer in student writing, and I got involved in curriculum development in a big way. I was worried about increasing class sizes and seeing a decline in the amount of writing that was going on in school. My daughter recently started taking college classes again, and she's been bemoaning the fact that she really doesn't know how to write a research paper. (So, yes, off we go to the library, Daughter and her personal trainer.) But I can't tell you how many times I've heard teachers say that they don't have time for student writing because they "don't have time to correct it." Yikes! I'm sorry, but text messaging and e-mail-speak doesn't quite get it. I know every generation has its own language, but I every writer needs good, solid, functioning tools.

Has anyone else watched Def Poetry? What do you think? Can you dig it? What are your hopes and fears for--the age-old lament--"kids today"? With all the technology available to them, are they mastering traditional forms of communication? Do they need to? Is writing relevent? How about grammar? Where do the languages of young and old intersect--or do they?