No Problem

I feel like I’ve given the blog short shrift lately and the fact is, it’s true – and I’m sorry about that. We’re all working writers at Topdown (thank goodness) and sometimes looming deadlines simply have to take priority over the blog. I know. Hard to believe but us girls gotta eat. So do our critters. And occasionally the dh likes something other than take out :o)

In any event, I’ve been chasing a March 2 deadline for several months now on a book that I was hoping to wrap up in around 400 manuscript pages. It ain’t happening. I’m well over that page count and may soon have to re-title it: The Book That Will Never End. Somewhere along the way both the plot and the relationship got too complicated and I’ve been trying to write my way out ever since. And now, here I am, once again, attempting to slog my way out of a book that sounded like it would be so simple and so much fun to write. Will I ever learn??

I find this has always been a pattern with me. For example, when our son was still in school and I was asked to be a den mother for his cub scout pack, I said, "No Problem.” What was I thinking? Yes, it was enjoyable and I loved working with the kids but I would dream up these wild projects – once I took ten 8 year old boys hiking along a shallow creek bed looking for animal tracks that we then cast in plaster. You already see the problem with this scenario, don’t you? 10 boys? Water? Mud? Gooey plaster? OMG. I thought that afternoon would never end. I was also always the mom who got involved in throwing parties for the football team, taking a part in the local community theatre, stitching up costumes for Halloween or writing skits for pep club. No Problem. A LOT of fun – but yeah, it was a problem. And still I’d do it all over again.

This post is another example. I should have been a 'no problem' issue for me to get it posted but Blogger didn't like me last night when I tried to post and I've been scrambling ever since trying to figure out what the heck to do. What should have taken me 1/2 and hour tops, has ended up eating about 3 hours of my time. But it's up now!! (Thanks Helen)

Okay, so what I want to know is, do you ever get into a project anticipating it will take X amount of time and the next thing you know you’re utterly consumed and over run by it and there’s no end in sight? When was the last time your ‘best laid’ plans went awry? When that often uttered, “Oh, I can wrap that up in a sec. No problem,” turned into a huge time drain and a huge problem? And if this doesn’t happen to you …. How the heck do you do it?
Oh - and there were going to be pictures but guess what? It turned out to be a problem :o(

GUEST - Deborah Smith

From Debra Dixon: Soooo long ago when I was trying to decide what I wanted to be when I "grew up" as a writer, I decided I wanted to be the love child of Stephen Hunter, Deborah Smith and Tami Hoag. All I knew of Deborah Smith was that she could sling words that were so deeply human and true that her books piled up on my keeper shelves. Then in a twist of fate, Bantam bought a book of mine and I found myself at a fancy restaurant. Eating dinner with Tami Hoag, Deborah Smith, Iris Johansen. I said nothing and just smiled. Terrified.

Halfway through desert, Deborah Smith "yipped" (she yips) and said, "OMG. Who's desert coffee is this?" It was my coffee but I was too scared to say anything when she stole it from the waitress, who--I'm sure--thought Deb would hand it to me.

That was the beginning. Today she's the dearest of friends and I scramble to keep up with her mind. I hope you'll all join her in a rousing discussion. She loves to wrestle with ideas. So, you chime right in with your thoughts!

I have seen the future of books, and they will have a lot in common with my great grandpa's wooden-framed writing slate. He toted his slate (which I've inherited) every day of his boyhood to a one-room schoolhouse in the mountains above Atlanta, circa 1870. Great-grandpa Robert, who was named after Confederate General Robert E. Lee, (my great-great grandpa Kimbrough, Robert's father, was an infantry sharpshooter under Lee's command) could chalk no more than a few words or perform simple arithmetic ciphers on his little five-by-seven rectangle of smooth gray slate. And then, with a simple movement of his hand, those images could be erased.

You could say it was the original beta tester for an ebook reader.

A few minutes ago, as I started to write this blog on an entirely different subject, Jeff Bezos, head of Amazon.com, sat down on the TV screen across from my coffee-table-propped feet to be interviewed by Jon Stewart on The Daily Show.

And he handed Stewart the new Kindle.

I gaped at it. I'd never seen one in the flesh before, meaning on TV, not a still photo. So there it was. The size of great grandpa's boyhood writing slate. A screen inside a delicate white frame, at most one-half-inch thick (I bet I could slide it under a closed door) and small enough to tuck inside most purses, fanny packs, or the average Bible, if you wanted to secretly download the Sunday comics during church.

"You can download an entire book in sixty seconds," Bezos told Jon.

Jeff Bezos wasn't what I expected as the big kahuna of the massive online bookstore that's re-defining how we shop and read. He looks like a cross between Howie Mandel, Peewee Herman and a barista at a really trendy coffee bar: Slight, bald, hip, in slender pants, a black pullover and a simple jacket, but with a big, disturbingly confident laugh. He guffawed at least once every fifteen seconds at Jon's jokes. His laugh sounded so happy and boyish. Is he Satan in slick threads or an adorably successful elf?

I was still recovering from the "download a book in sixty seconds" announcement as Bezos went on to say that the Amazon Kindle books are all 9.95 (cheaper than most print books, he pointed out) and the latest Kindle model will hold fifteen hundred books.

The Kindle is wireless (and Amazon doesn't charge users for the wifi connection,) its battery will last up to two weeks without re-charging, and it will read aloud to you. "Is it like one of those robot voices?" Jon asked, to which a chortling Bezos admitted it was -- for now. Neither Jon nor Bezos mentioned the Authors Guild's recent challenge of Amazon's ability to, in essence, create audiobooks without paying the authors or the publishers for those rights.

But Jon did note, "Uh, publishers are worried about people being able to pirate books with this."

Bezos breezily dismissed that concern. Publishers have the option of encrypti ng their books to protect them, he said, not mentioning that Digital Rights Management is considered the clunky Frankenstein of the ebook world and is fading away quickly. In other words, readers want NO hindrance to their ability to transfer their Kindle books to other readers or share them with friends. And Bezos surely knows that.

"We're finding that people are buying more books because of the Kindle," Bezos said. "They're buying more books and they're reading more." I assume he said that to reassure us book industry worrywarts that just because Kindle is lowering the value of the content authors create, *and* making it easier for readers to steal that content, *and* preparing to undercut the value of audio rights for books, that we'll make up the losses in volume sales.

"But I like the feel of a book on my chest when I fall asleep in bed," Jon pointed out. (Warning: paraphrase alert in effect.)

"You can do that with the Kindle," Bezos told him. "And you only need one hand to hold it."

The audience hooted and Jon moaned lecherously, "Ohhhhh, The Great Gatsby."

Then Bezos told him the Kindle's retail price. $359.

Jon stared at him. "And on top of that I still have to pay for the books I download?"

"Yeah," Bezos chortled.

Jon flipped the Kindle at him with comic disgust.

Okay, so . . . cute interview. But serious subject. The experts think we really are on the cusp of "Ebook Nation," a time when the always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride digital book finally catches the eye of the mainstream audience. Good news or bad news or both for the book world?

Readers are clamoring to remove all encryptions that hamper their use of the files. Pirated copies are zooming all over the world in increasing numbers. A whole bunch of "new media" gurus are calling for ebooks to be sold at a fraction of the price of print books, and there's even a respected school of thought that says ALL digital content -- books, articles, music, etc. should be free. Absolutely free.

I'm not sure how that rationale works. The "free for all" folks merrily insist we publishers and authors can come up with some nifty new ways to make money off our content other than charging people for the privilege of reading our stories. But so far none of the "Free the Books" crowd has displayed even a remotely accurate understanding of the costs of publishing -- costs that will remain whether the book is digital or print -- and so far, the suggestions for how to make money without asking readers to pay for anything have amounted to vague and ridiculously naive ideas based on the belief that, Golly gee, most people will be happy to contribute money to authors if authors are really really nice to them.

So I'm thinking about my great grandpa's writing slate some more. Maybe I'll go get it out of the display cabinet next to Grandma's wire-framed glasses and Great Aunt Ruby's hat pin.

Maybe I can stand on street corners, a tin can for tips at my feet, holding up my antique ebook with these words chalked on it.

WILL PUBLISH FOR SPARE CHANGE.

Debra - Itty Bitty Blankets

Charity work isn't new to most of us. We all give a little here. A little there.

So, when a group to which I newly belong began to speak of their charity project, I nodded and applauded the good work and told myself they had plenty of people working on the project. They make quilts for one of the local children's hospitals. Many of the children come from far away, especially for the new heart program. Their families don't have much money. Often the treatment is free. But hospitals can be cold, sterile places and putting a quilt into the hands of an uncertain and scared child at just the right time can make such a difference. Quilts allow the parents to wrap the child up and hug them tight. (I feel like a book can do that too.)

Most of the quilts made and given are "quick quilts." Just squares sewn together, usually out of some mixture of kid's fabrics and quilted on the machine. Nothing fancy. The last time the Chairman took a batch of quilts up, some nurses grabbed the small ones and took off for the nursery. I thought, well, I can certainly make a quilt that's only 24" x 24" if they need them that badly. You see, when some of the babies die, all their family might have is that quilt. It's not just about comforting the child.

You don't have to hit me on the head. I began to understand that this was Important Work. I made one one of these small quilts. A very humbling experience. Then I made a second and now I'm working on the third (see above) called "Cowboy Dots" and much cuter in person. I'm going to take some grief from the Program Chair. Or at least get the award for "Most unnecessary hand work on quilts which will know vomit."

It's not my fault. Seriously. The first charity quilt I gave them was hand-quilted because I was "testing" out my hurt finger. (Remember the I-almost-cut-off-part-of-my-finger finger?) So, after machine piecing the top, I selfishly used the little quilt to get back in quilting-shape. The Chairman smiled and patted me on the hand as if I was half-witted. "No one hand quilts these, dear. They're charity quilts."

Thank you. I was soooo confused.

Then on the second itty bitty quilt, Evil Kitty (black cat) grabbed the finished quilt top off the studio table and ran like the hounds of hell were after her. By the time I caught her, I HAD to applique two hearts on the quilt to cover up the big honking tooth HOLE. I applique by hand. And if you hand applique...you might as well hand quilt. Oh, and put the binding on by hand too! See? It's not my fault. They still laughed at me.

By the time I got to #3, I surrendered and accepted that for whatever reason, I'm supposed to make these quilts my way and not the quick way. Even if I'm destined to win(?) the "Most Unnecessary Workmanship" award.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who is in the running for a "Most Unnecessary" Award. Where is your over-the-top Achilles Heel? Is there an area in your life which takes that little bit of extra time and you're not willing to do less? Or don't want to do less? Come on. 'Fess up. You're in good company.

Traditions

Lois Greiman

As a historical romance novelist, I spend a good deal of time setting history on its ear. I mean, I stay inside the factual boundaries. I do my research. (Mostly so readers won’t tar and feather me.) But in some areas I take some pretty big liberties. Such as, even in the Middle Ages, my heroes had great teeth (not a blackened incisor or a missing molar to be found), they bathed regularly, no exceptions, and my heroines generally had a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude. They consider themselves the equal (or more) to any man. And that, we know, is pure fiction. In many cultures for many years, women were (and sometimes still are) considered little more than a commodity. Of course there were exceptions, but it hasn’t even been a hundred years since we got the right to vote. In 1840, common British law still prohibited a woman from owning property without her husband, and it’s only been a little more than half a century since American women were allowed to enroll in medical schools. For most of modern history, when women were married they were expected to work like slaves, bear children, and keep their mouths shut.

All these things make me a tad upset when I think about them. But to be absolutely honest, I’m not perfectly comfortable with the direction we’re taking now either. I worry, for instance, about the children of our modern society. Believe me, I understand why women work. Why they need to work, why they want to work, why they should work. But most women also want children, and if this generation’s mothers are in the workplace, that puts this generation’s kids in daycare. And no matter how phenomenal the daycare facilities are, we cannot pay others to love our children.

I also worry about marriage. Now don’t get me wrong, I, for one, don’t believe that matrimony is for the faint of heart. The divorce rate still stands at about 50%, which, I imagine, is one of the factors that encourages many couples to live together instead. But studies show there is more abuse among those couples than among couples who marry. And again, what about the kids produced from these unions?

I recently heard a theory that stated that the generation that was first put in daycare was the generation that began putting their parents’ in ‘old folk’s homes.’ I don’t want to go to an ‘old folk’s home.’ Remember the longevity test Helen had us take a few months ago? According to that, I’m supposed to live to be 106. I figure that would give me about thirty years to stare at the eggshell walls of some institution.

The heroine in my most recent novel, Seduced By Your Spell, out…..tomorrow, is a about a woman (who also happens to be a witch) who fictionalizes her history, making herself a widow and therefore being allowed more freedom than most women enjoyed in Regency England. But sometimes reality raises its ugly head even in my world. For instance, my wee, adorable daughter has been making noises about marriage lately and even though I adore her boyfriend, I worry. About everything. For instance, she’s brilliant, so sometimes I think she almost feels that she’s obliged to get her PhD and have some out-of-this-world career. But what if that’s not what she wants? What if she wants to be a housewife who stays at home, darns socks, and makes dinner every night. Is that okay or she failing the sisterhood?

So hmmm, what do you think? Are we on the right track? Which traditions should be nurtured and which should be drop-kicked into history? Should women be more serious about keeping their maiden names and hence retaining their identity? Should there be rings involved in a marriage ceremony or does that demonstrate a weird sense of ownership? Should the bride’s parents’ pay for the wedding or is that like paying a man to take her off their hands? And tell me, what do we do about the kids? Do we send them to daycare? Do we raise them ourselves? Or do we encourage our wee adorable brilliant daughter to stay home during their little ones' formative years?

Chime in. Neurotic minds want to know.

Oh, and I'm having a fun little contest on my website at www.loisgreiman.com. Drop on in, vote, and we'll throw your name in the hat for an Amazon gift card.

www.loisgreiman.com

Kathleen recommends "Taking Chance"

I watched HBO's "Taking Chance" last night and had to post this morning, partly as a bookend for my post on Friday. "That Lucky Ones" is about coming home from war wounded inside and out. "Taking Chance" is the true story of a Lt. Col. who volunteered to escort the remains of a soldier killed in Iraq--to take him home. It, too, is a simple story--an experience, really. It's moving from beginning to end. Very understated. Kevin Bacon is wonderful. I had no idea how carefully the military treats the remains of our fallen soldiers. It's beautiful. Don't shy away for fear that it's too morbid. It's not presented that way.

Back in 1973 when I was on my way home for Daddy's funeral (he's buried at Arlington) I watched from the plane window as a military escort supervised the loading of a casket onto the conveyor belt and into the belly of our plane. I was still in denial, but I remember that moment vividly.

"Taking Chance" shows ordinary Americans honoring Chance Phelps all along the journey home, and in that way it presents a real contrast with "The Lucky Ones." There's truth in both, of course. I read recently that Iraq War veterans are joining the ranks of the homeless in ever-increasing numbers. So many Vietnam vets on the streets, and I often wonder what "Support Our Troops" means. Certainly nothing that can be reduced to a 3-word bumper sticker. I do feel that movies like these help us realize as a community that these are our sons and daughters.

Chance Phelps was buried in Wyoming. The horse-drawn wagon reminded me of so many funerals for members of Clyde's family. I've blogged about this before--in Indian country, the VFW plays a big part in every veteran's funeral, and reservations are replete with veterans. There's nothing more moving to me than Taps and a 21-gun salute. At Arlington there was a fly-over for Daddy. For my retired cavalry officer grandfather, there was a horse-drawn caisson and the riderless horse, Blackjack. The spit and polish, the pomp and circumstance--until we find a way to get along in this world without sending our young people into the line of fire, these things somehow remind us of the gravity of it all even as they comfort us.

Even if you don't get HBO, watch the trailer.

Winner!

We have a winner!!

Magolla, you’ve won a hot-off-the-presses copy of Seduced By Your Spell. Please email your snail mail address at lgreiman@earthlink.net.

Kathleen Ponders: Who Are "The Lucky Ones"?

With all the Oscar buzz, along with the discussions we've had lately in the convertible about how many of the nominees we've seen and whether we're even interested, I've been thinking about storytelling in movies. It occurs to me that some of the best storytelling can be found in independent films, and I'm wondering why that is.

Here's one we rented recently and really enjoyed. "The Lucky Ones" features a fine cast and a good relationship story. It's a simple story--one that's been told time and again--but it's one that hits home for me, and I think our Topdowners (I liked that term, MichelleB!) would enjoy it.

Three soldiers just home from Iraq meet at a New York airport gate where flight schedule screens show a flood of cancellations. They've never met, have little except a general direction in common, but they end up renting a car together. Cheever (Tim Robbins) is headed for St. Louis with a discharge after a porta-potty fell on his back. Colee (Rachel McAdams), still limping from a leg wound, plans to use her 30 days to deliver a guitar to a dead soldier's family in Vegas. TK (Michael Peña) is going to Vegas, too. His wound has left him impotent, and he's looking for a way to get his groove back so his girlfriend back home won't have to go looking for woodier pastures. There's a great deal of humor here, and it's played naturally. The characters feel like real people dealing with stranger-than-fiction circumstances. Different personalities who come to care about each other in a way that only people who have shared one of life's most bizarre circumstances can. (Having lots of family and friends who've been there, I can still only guess.)

This is a road picture, and these characters are riding with baggage, trying very hard to keep the top up, or screwed on in the face of one storm after another. It's the friends-become-family, us-against-the world theme with some twists. The characters and the actors make this movie. It's the kind of story fans of relationship stories love. That would be me. But it was also a movie that kept hubby watching beginning to end. It had both of us laughing. Michael Peña is a dead ringer for a nephew whom we lost a year ago, but the character he plays--a guy who's Army all the way--reminds us of lots of family members. (Lots of military on both sides.) Colee is a wonderful character--the school of hard knocks hasn't killed her optimism. Cheever is the family man who just wants to get back to his life. Early on he discovers that, in his absence, life has moved on.

I've always liked Tim Robbins, and I expected more of an anti-war feel in this movie simply because I'm familiar with his political views. Not so. This movie is not about politics. It's about people. Even though it's absolutely contemporary, with a few adjustments it could be about soldiers returning home from any war. It won't be the "Coming Home" for our time, but it's head and shoulders above so many movies we've seen lately. I recommend it.

I find a lot to like among the Indies--the small budget films, many of them, like this one, available in theaters only in limited release. When I see good actors heading up the cast in an independent film, I'm there. So many big name actors say they look to the Indies for the best scripts, the best parts. They do the Indies for love and the big budget studio pictures for money. But the good Indies are easy to miss unless they break out, like "Slumdog Millionaire." It's mostly word of mouth.

Have you seen any good Indies lately? Do tell.

A Winner!

The winner of a 6-pack of books from Wednesday's guest, Michelle Bounfiglio is...traveler! Traveler please email me at toastfaery@gmail.com with your snail mail address.

Burned

Did you know when a spy gets 'fired' that means he's been burned.  Blacklisted, stripped of all his assets and resources, with no explanation whatsoever.

I had no idea!  And yet, I'm learning every week as I watch the hot hit BURN NOTICE.  Have you seen it?  If you like spy shows and light thrillers you really should check it out.

I initially avoided the show.  Watched a few minutes of an episode, decided the main guy didn't do much for me, then never gave it another thought.  I must have been bored one night and decided to sit through a whole episode.  Okay, so this show had promise.  I saw the first season DVD on sale, and bought it.  For some reason, watching a show straight through, without any commercials, makes it very different.  I think I watched season one in less than a week.  The lead character, Michael Westen, the sexy, resourceful burned spy, had rubbed off on me.  And yeah, he's very sexy.  I don't know what it is, but he really does it for me now.  ;-)

Is it the narration that occasionally talks over the action during the show?  Could be.  Michael Westen provides details on spy stuff that is like candy to an author, or just plain fun to the casual watcher.  Jeffrey Donovon plays Michael perfectly.  Not over the top, not a bit cocky.  He's calm, cool and usually clad in Armani and those sexy amber aviator glasses.  He even allows Michael a bit of desperation, which really endears him to me.  He's not always got a handle on the current situation, and will admit when he needs help.  And when he does, the two supporting actors add fascinating dimension to the show.

Gabrielle Anwar plays Fionna GlennAnne, an ex-IRA operative who really loves her explosives and big guns.  Guns bigger than she is, tiny little thing.  She shoots first and asks questions later.  But when she is asking questions, it's the uncomfortable relationship kind of questions aimed at Michael.  They once had a thing, and though it's not clear how it ended, we know she feels rejected and wants some straight answers.  The sexual tension between the two is tighter than a harp string, and the show's writers have really been tweaking that string a lot lately.

Though the show never takes itself too seriously and has a lot of humor, Michael's best friend, Sam Ax (played by Bruce Campbell) provided the comic relief as he trolls the locals Miami bars for mojitos and Sugar Mommas.  He's former Navy Seal and is always willing to help Michael get out of a bind (sometimes those binds are results of Sam's innocent interference).  If you haven't seen Campbell in Army Of Darkness ("Give me some sugar, baby.") you are missing something!

Why blog about a TV show?  I hadn't any other topics in mind for today, so it just popped into my brain.  It's such a fun time, with the perfect mix of action, adventure, spy-stuff and sexual tension.  I can't do the alphabet soup of crime shows because they're too gritty, too complicated.  I love to read stories like this.  What about you?

Do you eagerly wait for Burn Notice every Thursday night?  Ever hear of the show?  What other shows that may be similar could you recommend?  Shows that don't take themselves too seriously except when it comes to providing entertainment.

Michele

Guest: Michelle Bounfiglio

Welcome the lurvely Michelle Bounfiglio to the convertible today. Hold on to your hats, ladies, this chick just turned the radio up to eleven and is shakin' those hips...


24 Things I Promise Not to Tell You About Myself

If you’re a facebooker – in addition to being a groovy Topdowner! -- you’ve probably been tagged at least once by a facebook friend affording you the honor of being one of the 25 Chosen Readers of their “25 Things You Don’t Know About Me” list.

Now, oftimes, one is tagged by someone one cares about deeply. In this case, it’s cool to learn the things that surprise us, make us giggle over or give us the warm fuzzies when our friends fess up to ‘em. Sometimes, someone we thought we knew well (we’ll call them, em, family members) leaves us jaws all waggin’ agape at the stuff they choose to admit – or for some unfathomable reason choose to lay bare before two dozen of their closest cyber friends.

But the Tag 25s that bewilder me most are the ones that happen when somebody I haven’t seen for a couple decades – and had to research to figure out from whence I knew them -- tags me, and reveals things like, “I work out so I look good naked,” and, “I never really went all the way with Jimbo, even though I wanted to.”

Then, after I’m the first-and-often-only one to comment into the cricket-chirp-laden digital void, TaggerFriend proceeds to IGNORE my comment that seeks to say something (anything!) that can possibly validate the double-baker’s-dozen-minus-one train wreck he just gacked forth in perpetuum facebookiensis.

Don’t worry. I’m not talking about the list you tagged me on.

Thing is, I like you. So I’m not going to tell you 25 things about me you never wanted to know. Besides, what could I write about that I haven’t revealed already in that, oh, how do Hauf and Greiman put it…

Hauf: She seems to have no sense of –
Greiman: Decorum? Propriety?
Hauf: Yeah. She seems to say the first thing that comes into her head –
Greiman: Just after she’s figured out some way to reference length, girth or various euphemisms for the male member…

So as not to bore Mizzes “Too much sex talk makes Buonfiglio a dull girl,” I thought I’d reveal to you one thing about me that I kinda just figured out about myself in the last six months or so, something I think is kinda cool:

I’m a hard-core hard-rock light-skirt.

I find the artistic pulse and creativity of the music energizing, and the youthful exuberance and kinda naïve lense through which some of the young guys writing the stuff view the world sweet in a grungy kind of way. And, frankly, I love the deceptively simplistic exploration and in-your-face poetic treatment of good ‘ol fashioned sex-and-drugs-and-young-men-breaking-loose culture. It’s loud and exciting and awe inspiring and ridiculously naïve and -- when the riffs and mics are in the hands of the today’s most wicked-talented musicians -- I feel hopeful that Madonna and Britney Spears and Kid Rock haven’t ruined for ever the genius that was and is and ever shall be bona fide rock ‘n roll.

But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna’ be dressing in leather hip-huggers and draggin’ the Topdowners to any rock clubs anytime soon, not the way we hared off to see Chippendale’s a while back. Well, not unless Kathy Eagle learns all the words to Buckcherry’s “I’m Too Drunk to F*ck Ya…”

What surprising thing about yourself do you just find pretty gosh darn cool?

I’ve got a 6-pack of new romances for one randomly chosen commenter. And, since I’m pretty sure after this post I’ll never see the inside of the convertible again, grazie for letting me visit today. Hope you’ll all visit me at my new/old “In the Pink” digs, www.RomanceBuyTheBook.com. Please sign up for my new newsletter by 2.28, and you’ll have a shot at a $25 Borders gift card.

Michelle

A Bite for All Seasons, or It's All About The Food.

Okay, I admit it. I LOVE the Valentine's Day. . . primarily because of the cheesy chocolates. I love the flowers and all that, too, but Valentine's Day is the only holiday that I relax my vigilance against sweets and truly indulge. Hahahahahaha. Whew. And this year, I was surprised to see, the candy companies have finally taken my suggestion and gotten rid of those pesky candy wrapper cups that always made such a mess. . . not to mention giving away the fact that some of the candy was gone.

Then I went to the supermarket yesterday to pick up a few things and the table of girl scouts and brownies was there! It's girl scout cookie season already! That was when I realized: other people may have seasons designated summer winter, spring, and fall. . . but I have a few more than four. . . and they're all named after food.

January, except for New Year's Day, is generally casserole season for me. When I was growing up, casseroles were a way to use leftovers. But these days, I spend hours in the kitchen making up fresh ingredients to put into a casserole. . . which will then taste mostly like leftovers. Go figure. The only saving grace of this season is cheese. Without cheese melting and spreading a benediction over everything, casserole season would be a bizarre starchy wasteland.

Then comes heart-shaped chocolate season. . . which we have just completed. Centers on Valentine's Day, but extends a week or more on either side of the actual date. It was a short, short season this year. Five days. Resulting in the "licked clean" box you see above. sigh. Every year it seems to get shorter.

Then it's girl scout cookie season. . . which begins with the first "cookie table" sighting outside my favorite Publix supermarket. Some years I've been fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood with one of the little "distributors" and have gotten to order direct. But I always feel guilty about giving the little scouts' dads hernias when they deliver my order.

Following close on is peep season. . . which begins on the first day of Lent. It will be a very short season this year, Lent starting so close to the beginnning of GSC season. This is celebrated mostly in front of stores carrying marshmallow "peeps" in the shape of chicks. You can always tell the sacred celebration spots because the trash cans overflow with yellow and purple "Peeps" wrappers. Most people don't want to admit eating these things, so they consume them close to the point of purchase and then try to pretend they didn't indulge. I say, be proud of your heritage. . . even if it is nutritionally bereft.

Afterward comes egg season. Boiled, baked in brunch casseroles, and used to bind together all manner of unlikely ingredients. . . eggs are perhaps our most primal culinary delight. Not to mention being a fertility symbol and connected with Easter. Early to mid spring, we need a jolt of cholesterol and some reminders that warmth and better food are just a few warm days away.

Then comes strawberry season. Hurrah! Dreary spring rains have actually contributed something useful to the world. . . strawberries! I have strawberries on cereal, in salads, in jams and dressings and Jello. . . they dress up my cakes and I put them over puddings and dip them in contraband chocolate. . . I order them in margaritas and drop them in champagne at weddings. They are everything that's right with the world.

The 1st of July ushers in hot dog season. Traditionally the 4th of July kicks off this season, but for simplification purposes (and to get in a few exxtra foot-longs) I've moved it ahead a few days. I don't ever miss out. Weinie roasts, pigs in blankets, family cookouts, and ball games. . . they're everywhere. The older and more sophisticated among us often graduate to "brats" as they age. . . but the hot dog season and it's devoted following survives.

Late summer is the time for fair food season. . . a mercifully brief, confusing, MardiGras-like period of excess and abandon. Fried elephant ears, pork chops on a stick, fried snickers bars, fried cheese curds, fallafal on a stick, corn dogs on a stick, fried ice cream on a stick. . . it's a good thing this lasts only ten days. . . during State Fair week. Otherwise western civilization would be brought to its knees.

September is apple season in the north and even though I'm southern by geography these days, I still cling to the old ways. Cider, apple pies, caramel apples, apple kucken, fried apples, dunking for apples and then eating them. . . Apple season is a time of plenty and tart sweetness that reminds us regularity can be fun.

October is alternately known as chili season in the north and overgrown zucchini season in the south. . . which in my estimation is why the South lost the war between the states. Chili with it's iron-and-protein-packed ground meat, fiber-rich beans, prostate-healthy tomatoes, and varying levels of heart-wise pepper and onions is nothing short of a superfood. Pair it with cornbread muffins and some sharp cheddar cheese. . . you have the stuff that could power an army, a nation, an economy. Albeit a rather odiferous one. Which gives us a whole new slant on the phrase "this economy stinks." (Note to Mr. Obama: declare a shortened chili season. Everybody has to make sacrifices.)

November is turkey season, despite the fact that most of the turkey consumed is squeezed into the last week of the month. Turkey and it's blessed leftovers, which are often bagged and frozen to be consumed during casserole season, casts its shadow over the entire month. The accompaniments of cranberries and stuffing and the ubiquitous mashed potatoes and everpresent pumpkin pie are overshadowed but not forgotten. It is truly a month of culinary indulgence and delight. Oh, and afternoon naps.

December 1st kicks off cookie season. Yes, I know there are ham and homemade rolls and egg nog and Chex Mix at parties. I know there are candy canes, cheese balls, hot spinach dip and chocolate fountains that populate the season. But cookies are the thing I most associate with the time around Christmas. Hey, it's MY season and I get to name it. Snickerdoodles. Peanut Blossoms (with the Hershey kisses on top). Buttery cookie press cookies. Sugar cookies for decorating with lots of piping and sprinkles. White chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Thumbprint cookies. Date bars. Pinwheels. Lemon bars. Candy cane cookies. And those caramel thingies Susie gave us the recipe for some months back. Sigh. Better yet, we have parties where we swap cookies to get a greater variety and share our bounty with others. I mean, generosity and intense carbo-loading. . . it doesn't get much better than that!

So that's my private calendar. My own special seasons.

What about you? Do you have your own special mental calendar? What's it based on?

Do you have foods that you love so much that you'd gladly name a season after them?

Winning Fashion

Lois Greiman

Fashion. It’s a crazy thing. Are you old enough to remember when we weren’t allowed to wear pants to school? It seems a little silly now. I mean, especially since the dresses I wore in high school were far more scandalous than any pants ever designed.

But despite how we may feel about today's fashions, there have been crazier times.

And that’s part of the beauty of penning historical fiction. As writers we can mentally design amazing costumes. The Renaissance garments were…well sometimes they were a little strange--I mean, men wearing velvet doublets and breeches and lace. Codpieces in every conceivable color and design! Notice the fellow with the hound. Is he proud or what?

But sometimes the clothes were marvelous. Personally, I’m pretty sure every manly man should have a hardy pair of cuffed boots and a plumed hat for whenever he has to go maraudering…or whatever.


And although I’m not crazy about the
idea of spending my days trussed in a whalebone corset and wearing a clown collar, this 1575 portrait of Queen Elizabeth’s gown is all but mesmerizing.












Marie Antoinette was beheaded in the late 18th century, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of her fashion sense. I mean, who doesn’t want to wear a cotton candy wig floating a made-to-scale man o’ war?





And the Regency years! Despite its foppish foolery, women’s clothing returned to a kind of Grecian elegance. True, sometimes tons of cleavage was involved and more than a few 19th century ladies would wet their gowns to show their ummm…charms.







But I’d throw out every article of clothing my husband owns in lieu of a tail coat and a tall pair of Hessians. I mean seriously…that era understood sexy.

The world has been having a love affair with clothing for hundreds of years. Personally, I rather desperately long for the triumphant return of bonnets and gloves that reach your elbows but only if they can be freely exchanged for ratty cowboy hats and woolen mittens.

So how about you? What bygone years do you find most intriguing? Is there a particular article of clothing you’d like to see resurrected? Or are you thrilled to spend each and every day in well-worn sweats and house slippers?

I’m giving away a copy of Seduced By Your Spell (released Feb. 24th) to one commenter, so please blog on.

www.loisgreiman.com

Happy Valentine's Day????

In keeping with our humor theme, I thought I'd share these lovely Valentine sentiments. Enjoy! Cindy

THESE ARE ENTRIES TO A WASHINGTON POST COMPETITION
ASKING FOR A TWO-LINE RHYME
WITH THE MOST ROMANTIC FIRST LINE,
AND THE LEAST ROMANTIC SECOND LINE:

1. My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you has screwed up my l ife.

2. My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

3. Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not.

4. Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
But I only slept with you 'cause I was pissed.

5. I thought that I could love no other
-- that is until I met your brother.

6. Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl's
empty and so is your head.

7. I want to feel your sweet embrace;
But don't take that paper bag off your face.

8. I love your smile, your face, and your eyes
Damn, I'm good at telling lies!

9. I see your face when I am dreaming.
That's why I always wake up screaming.


10. My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe 'Go to hell.'

11. What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.



WHO SAID POETRY IS BORING?

Follower Friday: Keri Ford

Thanks to the Riders for letting me come in and hang out in the convertible! Nothing like chilling out with the top down, wind in my hair, and sun on my cheeks.

Since it’s Friday the 13^th, I suppose I should be talking about scary stuff. But I don’t really like to be scared. At all. So to me, this is just another day.

With one of the most romantic days of the year being tomorrow, I thought it’d be fun to talk about one the most romantic moments of your life. That one special day. Some are over the top, some are a bit cliché, and some have no romantic side to them what so ever to the outside world, but to each couple, this one day is special.

The Wedding Proposal.

(If you haven’t been proposed to yet, stick with me. I’ve got a question for you, too.)

A friend of mine is a fireman, and with help of his local volunteer fire department, he concocted the sweetest proposal I’ve ever seen. Seen you ask? How did I see it? The guy even thought to have the darn thing recorded! How cool is that? To be able to pop the tape in and watch that 30sec clip. It may not be terribly original, but I never pinned this guy (I went to school with him my whole life) to be able to pull this out of his rear.

But anyway, back to my friend. He dressed in full out fireman gear. Hat and everything. Got on the truck with his buddies and drove up to her house with the sirens and lights going. She came out of the house, you know wondering what in the heck was going on and whose house was on fire.

Her arms are out to the side with the big question on her face, What’s going on? And then here comes my friend (remember, dressed in full gear, helmet included). He steps off the fire truck, walks straight for her, all determined like, and drops to one knee. He pulls off his helmet and holds up the ring.

According to my memory, you can’t hear him asking on the video, but you can hear her squeal of total and complete shock. And her face is just priceless. Her hands come up and cover her mouth and then they’re all hugging and happy. By her surprise, I’d say the talk of marriage wasn’t one that came up often. They played the video at her wedding reception, which is how I was able to see it.

My wedding proposal wasn’t so flashy. Hubs is a bit more on the shy side and I think I would pass out from shock if he ever did anything this grand. I knew after about three months of dating that this was the man I was going to marry. I was all of 17 when I knew this, but hey, I knew what I wanted and I wanted my boyfriend to be my husband. Let me tell you, it was a long two years waiting on him to propose. The ‘talk’ came up often.

I’m one of those, I know what I want, what use is there in waiting? We’re burning time here and we do only get a limited supply of that stuff, you know.

Back to my wedding proposal, Hubs called me and told me he was leaving work sick. It was December (yes, I got cheated out of Christmas presents that year because he proposed about a week or so before the 25^th), so I didn’t think much of it. It was cold and he’s an outdoor construction worker.

I was picking out a puppy at the time and was in no hurry to leave the cute little critters to go tend to my sick boyfriend who last time he was sick, passed it on to me.

Eventually I leave the pups and he’s calling me on the phone, wondering where the heck I am. I assure him I’m on my way and that he should shut up, get in bed, and get his rest.

I get to his house (finally, in his opinion), and in his room, I find not my sick boyfriend, but a bouquet of flowers. At the time, Hubs often gifted me with flowers, so I was trying to remember what day it was to see if I’d forgotten something.

I turn around to go find him and there he is, on one knee, big smile on his face and he’s holding out my ring. He asks me to marry him and I of course said yes. I try putting on the ring, but he slaps my hand away and says, “No way. I want to do it right so you can’t fuss about it later.” He proceeds to put the ring on my finger himself.

Not the grand gesture of my friend, but it’s ours and it’s special and I’ll tell my kid about it one day.

Last week on Grey’s, a patient told how she’d been proposed to in the supermarket—between the tampons and toilet paper. And you know what? It made me smile, because you could just see the love on her face at recalling the memory.

What was your proposal like? Heard of any funny ones? Sweet ones? If you haven’t been proposed to, how would you like it to be done?

Keri’s (www.keriford.com) been pounding at this writing thing since July of ’05. She’s unpublished, but hoping to change that as she actively writes everyday. Most everyday. She writes southern mysteries and regencies—both in romance.

If you haven’t gotten enough of Keri today, then you can visit her at her blog every Friday, www.EverybodyNeedsALittleRomance.com. Today’s even special there. All this week we’re doing Darn, Why Couldn’t That Have Been Me? Be sure to stop by for a chance to win a trio of books by Scottish Historical author Monica McCarty!

Who's driving the car??

Since we're talking about humor this month AND since we're all in the convertible together, I thought I'd combine the whole car theme with grins and offer up this little gem of a video. I have watched it more than once and each time I laugh out loud.
So take a look - then come back and answer my question :o)
CAUTION: if you're watching at work, there is sound so you might want to turn it down a bit - but the music REALLY adds to the grins.



So - obviously, they were picking on women drivers here - but also obviously, these women needed to be picked on! So, how are YOUR driving skills. Did you see yourself in any of these little scenarios? Are you a PRO parker or are you like me and the woman who FINALLY had to have a man help her out? :o) Oh, the horror!!

Wednesday's Winner!

And the winner of Nicola Marsh's book, The Boss's Bedroom Agenda, is .... Abi!

Please email me at helenbrenna@comcast.net with your address and I'll pass it along to Nicola.

Thanks to all for Riding with us.
Helen

Guest Author: Nicola Marsh

I’ve always wanted a convertible.
Really, really wanted one.
But with young kiddies, I drive a ‘mum’s taxi’ and will have to make do with an exhilarating ride with the top down alongside the fabulous authors here for today :)

Okay, slipping out of comfy ‘mum wear’ and into something suitably slinky as befitting a romance author…think figure-hugging slinky dress, sparkly stilettos and gorgeous make-up.

Wait, hang on a minute, I’m confusing myself with my latest heroine, Bethany Walker in my current release THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA (Harlequin Presents). I love being an author. Even when I’m feeling and looking my grungiest, I can live vicariously through my heroines. Gotta love that!

In THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA, Beth is a metal sculptor moonlighting as a tour guide at Melbourne Museum, only to find her stint turned upside down by one very sexy, very commanding archaeologist, CEO Aidan Voss. Bubbly, effervescent Beth is the least likely person to walk the pristine, hallowed halls of the museum but what she lacks in knowledge she makes up for with chutzpah and fabulous shoes!

Or when I’m not fantasising about being an outspoken Glamazon, I can slip into the shoes of my heroine next month, Lana Walker (Beth’s geeky cousin), a shy curator who gets a makeover and a man when she sails the South Pacific in TWO WEEKS IN THE MAGNATE’S BED (Harlequin Modern Heat). Nothing like a cruise with a sexy sailor…moonlit beaches…star-studded skies…hot, balmy nights…

Hmm…right…where were we? That’s right, heroines and getting swept away into their lives.

For me, I love a book where I can identify with the heroine, if not her lifestyle then her faults/fears/expectations. I love a heroine who is real, who leaps off the page and has me cheering for her all the way. When I write, I fall in love with every hero just a little (okay, a lot!) and creating a woman worthy of these heroes can sometimes be tough. In my books to date, I’ve had a wide variety of women capturing the hearts of my heroes: from an aromatherapist theme park operator to a butler, from a web designer to a fairy shop owner, from a horse strapper to a patisserie chef to name a few. Each of these women had one thing in common: an inner strength which I think is vital to a real heroine.

So what do you think makes a great heroine?

I’m giving away a signed copy of my current Waldenbooks Bestseller, THE BOSS’S BEDROOM AGENDA, so please share your favourite heroine in the comments and I’ll choose a winner at random.

Now, before I get swept into the life of my latest heroine, I must go. I hear a toddler demanding attention…

Funny Happenings

To continue the humor theme we have going I thought we could share funny or humorous happenings that have occurred in our lives. Because, as Cindy pointed out, my life often seems more like a sit-com than real life, I have plenty of material :)

For some reason most of the funny happenings seemed to involve the kids when they were smaller. There's something about having children that works as 'the great equalizer'. No matter how superior a parent we think we w ill be, having our own kids re-alters our reality.

I worked in a local K-Mart when I was in high school. I didn't understand parents who couldn't clean their kids' faces before taking them to a store. Especially their noses. Ugh! I swore, when I had kids I would never ever let my kids out in public with crusty noses.

Uh, yeah. Somewhere along the line I learned that no matter how you scrub in the car, those noses are running again by the time you cross the parking lot and enter the store. Nor had I figured on my eldest son, who had to be broken of the habit of wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. If necessity is the mother of invention, the kid was a genius. Even short sleeved shirts posed no problem for him.

But nothing makes a parent feel better about their offspring than taking them to church. Because let's face it, there's nothing you can *do* in church, short of taking them out, to alter their behavior. Not unless you want cries of, 'Ow! Mommy, stop pinching me!' to drown out the priest and choir.

I figured taking five kids to church every week means an automatic ticket to the heavenly beyond. I always dressed them really cute, hoping the people would remember their clothes rather than their behavior. (with four boys, this was probably a futile hope). The funniest thing that ever happened to us was when my third son was 2 1/2. The babies were newborns and the other two 7 and 8. So we're spread out in the pew and Jordan is climbing around and finally sits down on the floor by the kneeler. Fine. He's not hurting anything. Until people start wanting to kneel. My dh left him down there to his own devices. And then my son took the high heel pump off the lady kneeling in the pew in front of us and handed it to my dh :) When the lady turned around she didn't see Jordan on the floor. She only saw my husband with her shoe in her hand.

To this day she won't sit by us in church :)

Humor has healing properties and we can all use a smile. Anyone want to share a funny story that happened to you or someone in your family?

Where Does Humor Come From?

Ever have it happen where you're watching a movie, either in a theater or at home, laughing your butt off and the person sitting next to you never cracks a smile? Unfortunately, it happens to me all the time.

So why is humor so personal? What makes some of us funny, some of us seeing humor all over the place, and some of us stone-cold sober? Is it genetic or learned?

I'm going to guess that the differences between the sexes, inherent or otherwise, plays a role. My dh as well as a lot of other guys think Caddy Shack, Superbad, and the Ace Ventura movies are hilarious. I think they're silly and sophomoric. While I thought There's Something About Mary was funny, I've never seen him laugh as hard as the first time we watched that movie. He almost couldn't breathe at one point.

But there's got to be more to it than gender. How about family history?

My dad comes from a family of ten and not a one of them are particularly funny. All stoic German Catholics for the most part. One of his sisters married a very funny guy, and it just so happens that every single one of my cousins from that family is hilarious. They see humor in everything. I'm smiling and laughing constantly when I'm around them.

Genetic? Or what they learned from their dad?

What about our birth order, whether or not we were shy as kids or bullied? Does that influence or sense of humor? Our size, shape, hair color? Life experiences?

So what do you think is the biggest influence in the development of our sense of humor? Do you think it's genetic or is it learned?

Have and awesome day!
Helen

Animals and FUN

We seem to have a theme going here. . . humor and animals. And since my blogging day is a way off, I'm using a weekend day to share some of my favorite humor-animal blends.

The first is in honor of the Valentine season. . .


Everything else is just for fun!

Ouch. Kitty with Attitude.

http://www.premierphotographer.com/

And my very favorite!

This guy makes me smile, even on a rotten day!

Hope this has brought a smile to your day, too!