New Careers

Lois Greiman


I may have mentioned (a couple hundred times) that I’m in the throes of the final draft of my 31st book. And though I realize that some authors breeze through this phase like a leaf on the proverbial wind, my own methods aren’t quite so seamless and sometimes involve cursing and self flagellation. There may also be overeating and a fair amount of gnashing of teeth.

Hence, (I’m working on a historical…ergo the antiquated phraseology) at this point in the process, I often find myself considering alternative careers. And I wonder…if I hadn’t taken this particular, sometimes bumpy, often frustrating path, where would I be now? I’ve done some other jobs…vet assistant, horse trainer, exercise instructor… but they fell by the wayside, so in the fractured nanoseconds between one edit and the next I think about what factors make the perfect profession.

It seems fairly obvious that one’s career should be something she/he enjoys. Which brought me to the idea of a joyologist. That’s right. Apparently, it’s someone who figures out how to make people happy. What could be better than that?

Or…if you have something of a shoe fetish…how about a wrinkle chaser? It’s the guy/gal who smooths out the fabric on footwear. (I kid you not. I don’t have time to make up lies right now…and I LOVE making up lies.)

Then there’s the banana gasser. Apparently those little crescent-shaped goodies are picked while they’re still green, put in a hermetically sealed room and sprayed with ethylene gas to keep them from ripening. Gotta tell you, that one sounds a little scary to me. Like we’re not exposed to enough chemicals already… But hey, if it trips your trigger.

As for me, I think I’ve found the ideal profession. According to the job application it requires no formal education, (Need I say yeehaw?) previous training, or special talents. (If this was anymore perfect I’d pay them to let me do it.) All you need is two years of experience with horses and I’m pretty sure I had that much before I was born. The job title is detention barn assistant. But really, all it entails is standing around at the race track waiting for horses to pee, then collecting their urine in a little plastic cup. How cool is that???!

So what if my hero’s a wimp, my heroine’s boring and my secondary characters have failed to materialize? I’m going to be a pee col--errr…a detention barn assistant.

How about you? All money being equal, what would you do if you had your druthers? Let your imaginations run wild.

Oh, and if you could pick up a copy of the newly released One Hot Mess, that’d be great. Just in case this pee collecting thing doesn’t work out as planned.

www.loisgreiman.com

Paradise with the Muse

I recently returned from a week's vacation in paradise. Punta Cana, of the Dominican Republic to be exact. It's the sort of place with white sand and turquoise waters that I prefer to believe ceases to exist once I leave it. Somehow that makes it easier to go home.

Of course I had a looming deadline to finish before I could go. And given the spotty attendance of my muse recently, it was touch and go whether I'd finish in time. I actually completed most of the ending of the book on my laptop on the way to the hotel the night before the plane left. And then polished off the last two pages at eleven o'clock that night.

That's me. Always skidding in to 'THE END' just under the wire :)

I edited on the plane. Stayed up all night Monday night and didn't hit the beach until after noon on Tuesday to finish editing before emailing it in. But after that...it was a much needed vacation. One my muse really didn't deserve to come on, given her fickle comings and goings during this book.

After being under deadline for eighteen straight months, completing four books while I worked full time, I was in dire need of a break. It feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.

You'd think it would be difficult to unwind with the carry over editing and such but...not so much. On Wednesday and Thursday while there it was like I existed in a bubble. I thought of nothing but ocean and beach. Didn't think about the book. I'm ashamed to say the kids never entered my mind. Didn't consider school or my dad's medical issues...it was surreal. On Thursday evening I looked at my husband and said, "Do I have to go to work on Monday?" I really couldn't remember. That's how far away reality seemed.

That's a good vacation!

I'd actually thought I could get started thinking about my next proposal. But my irresponsible muse just lie there on a lawn chair, shades over her eyes, soaking up the sun and giving me nothing in return. Hopefully the break will stoke her creative energy because she's been worthless lately!

On the plane ride home I had galleys to finish for the July book. And now I'm working on revisions for the October book due in a couple days. But that's no biggie. The week's vacation was sheer heaven. And those two days of not thinking about One. Blessed. Thing. were enough to completely revive me.

Let's hope they do the same for the feckless Ms. Muse.

What about you? What do you do with you need to recharge or when your faithless muse takes a holiday without you in the middle of a project? What gives you the creative energy to forge ahead again?

Vote!! Last Round American Title V contest!!

The Romantic Times American Title V contest is down to only TWO contestants and our local Midwest Fiction Writer chapter member Tamara Hughes, author of ONCE UPON A MASQUERADE, is one of them!!

To cast your vote, all you have to do is send an email with the book title you'd like to vote for in the subject line to votes@romantictimes.com by March 29, 2009.

For more info go to: http://www.romantictimes.com/news_amtitle3.php

Thanks!
Helen

Thursday's Winner...

...is catslady.  

Please email Michele with your snail mail address!  (toastfaery@gmail.com)

Follower Friday: Guest Arkansas Cyndi

Today Arkansas Cyndi is sitting behind the steering wheel. She's been following for a while, so we thought we'd slow down and let her in for a ride. Who knew she'd take the wheel? ;-)

SPRING CLEANING

Thank you to the ladies of RWTD for the invitation to blog. I’m honored to be the third “follower blogger.” RWTD is a MUST on my daily blog tour. My congratulations to Susan Kay Law and Cindy Gerard for their RITA nominations.

Like so many of RWTD followers, I am a writer...unpublished (for now) but working on it. When I’m not writing, I am a huge reader. One of my goals for this year is to read 50 books. So far, I’m up to 21 books since January. I’m keeping a running tally on my personal blog. Feel free to drop by and see what I’ve read this year.

The day Michele emailed me to ask if I would do this blog, I was involved in my other main time consumer. That day was the first day of Spring Cleaning. You’re thinking house, right? Nope, yard. The weather is too perfect in Arkansas to be inside, and we have a yard that requires work. That particular day was mowing. First time this spring. I have a lawn tractor that has seen better days. We call him “Patches” because it’s a patch here and a patch there that keeps him going. However, not all my yard work goes well.

We have an inground sprinkler system. I have a love/hate relationship with Mr. Sprinkler. Love that he waters my yard but sometime the spout sticks too high out of the yard. I have been known to mow off a one...or two...okay, I’ve leveled three. Here is my husband’s solution... I’ve drawn an arrow toward a 5 gallon bucket that my husband puts over the sprinkler head to keep me from mowing over them!


He says we have a 50/50 relationship. I break stuff and he fixes it.

But mowing isn’t my only yard challenge. Some previous owner apparently thought that planting a huge volume of English Ivy would be a great way to avoid, well, I’m not sure what they were thinking actually. What I’m thinking is what a mess. Did you know you can’t kill English Ivy with Round-Up? Something to do with the glossy leaves. The only way to get rid of it is to pull it out by the roots. And let me say, I have A LOT of ivy. This is ONE of my ivy projects for this year. This is all ivy at the side of my house that needs to be removed before it kills the trees. Lot of labor required. But there’s scads more under my deck that will have to be dealt with also.




But I don’t mind the yard work because the outcome of the labor looks like this...


The old dogwood in the middle of my drive.


The azaleas ready to burst into bloom.


This is the purple phlox that we dug at my grandmother’s house and moved. It seems to be happy.



Not the best picture but this is Rosemary. Not only does it smell like heaven but the blue flowers are beautiful




This is also something we moved from my grandmother’s house. She always called it “Hens and Chickens” I have no idea what it’s really called. If someone recognizes it and can give me a real name, that’d be great.



And finally, after many years, the vinca minor (it’s ground cover in my flower bed) is finally taking off. I hope you can see the small blue flowers. (This could be vinca major...I don’t know!)

So that’s what I’m doing when I’m not writing or reading. I’m outside. If not working in the yard, I’ll be motoring around the lake on an old pontoon boat that we stripped down to the pontoons and rebuilt 2 years ago.

So that’s a little about ArkansasCyndi. When I’m not here, I’m at Cynderella’s Castle (cynthiadalba.blogspot.com) or Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers (http://pinkfuzzyslipperwriters.blogspot.com). Or Tweet me on Twitter. (http://twitter.com/ArkansasCyndi) Y’all know about Twitter, don’t you? It’s like the cool kids’ table in high school! So I’ll see you around the net. Be sure to say HI!

Making lemonade in the middle of a blizzard

Promo time again. I'm in the MIDNIGHT CRAVINGS anthology that should be hitting bookstores right about...now. It's a collection of six Nocturne Bites stories, each featuring a werewolf or some kind of shapeshifter. These stories have previously been published only as electronic novellas at eHarlequin, so it's very cool to finally see them in print. My story is about a werewolf racing the moon to get home before his 'beastly' side wants to come out and romp. But he's stranded in a little dustball of a town in ND, and the only one around is a sexy female familiar who is up for the romp. Only problem is, when familiars have sex...well, demons show up, and not the nice kind. If that intrigues you, look for it in print—isn't that the sexist cover?—or you can still get the story, Racing The Moon online at any eRetailer, including Amazon.  (Amazon also has the first few chapters up, so go ahead and start reading!)

I wanted to talk briefly about making a good thing out of something not so good, like my characters do in the story. You see, when I sat down to write this story, I was trying to think of where I could possibly strand my hero. And then I remembered the time my hubby and I, and our two kids (they were both under age 8 at the time) were heading to the in-laws in ND on Xmas eve. It was blizzarding, as is to be expected in ND in winter-time. Highway 94 is not the place to be during a blizzard that has suddenly become a white-out. If you've never been in a white-out, snow storming sideways at ridiculous speeds, trust me, you don't want to experience one. You cannot see a car's tail-lights twenty feet in front of you. The wind seeps through the flimsy steel cage of your car as if it were mere cloth.  Even with the heater blasting, you shiver.  Add glare-ice to the mix, and well...we ended up spinning into the ditch, along with dozens of other cars.

That night we managed, all of us in cars that had been towed out from the ditch, to form a sort of worm-pace convoy, bumper to bumper, and crawled along to the nearest exit. The town of Steele, ND welcomed us with an all-night diner and a hotel that just happened to have rooms available.  I remember how thankful we were to be alive, and yet how miserable the kids were that we'd spend Xmas eve in a motel. Would Santa Claus even know where to find them? They were devastated. Being the germ-nut I am, I was freaking over the three-inch pile shag carpeting that likely hadn't been vacummed since the seventies, and the huge pink wad of gum stuck to the toilet rim. Ugg. This was not a memory I wanted to give my kids.

But you know, Santa did find the kids the next morning (thank goodness I packed the 'Santa gifts') and the lumpy old beds were actually pretty comfy. The morning was filled with laughter and amazement as we went downstairs to the restaurant and actually saw Santa eating breakfast. I couldn't have planned a more perfect Xmas for the kids that year. It was filled with wonder. And now when I think of that particular Xmas eve I don't dwell so much on the awful part as I smile to remember the kids' smiles.

I still think it was kind of wicked though, to strand the hero of Racing The Moon in that same town. Hee.  (Hey, at least I didn't put him in a blizzard.)

Some of life's best memories come from our ability to see the good in the bad.  So what about you? I want to hear about when you've been faced with disaster or a less-than-desirable situation, and were able to turn it around and make lemonade.  

I want to give away a copy of MIDNIGHT CRAVINGS, so I'll draw a random name from the comments and post the winner on Saturday.
Michele

Woohoo! It's RITA Time!

Two Top Downers have been nominated for Romance Writers of America RITA Awards!

Susan Kay Law's THE PAPER MARRIAGE for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements.

And Cindy Gerard's TAKE NO PRISONERS for Best Romantic Suspense.

And, dang it, they're both unavailable today.

Cheers anyway, ladies!!!

Read the entire list of finalists at http://www.rwanational.org/cs/2009_rita_and_gh_finalists_announcement

Guest Author: Rhonda Pollero

My Fake BFF . . .

First, thanks to the great ladies at Riding with the Top Down for letting me chat about my third Finley Tanner book, FAT CHANCE.

Finley is my fourth series, so I thought I’d share a little bit about writing continuing characters and/or locations. The first thing you need to know is that there are some plusses and minuses when you’re writing the same character. The biggest plus is that you really get a chance to explore the character. Finley is my BFF. I know her secrets, her strengths and her weaknesses. And she has an abundance of weaknesses. That was intentional. Reading about a perfect person is boring. So when you sit down to give birth to a continuing character, think about all aspects of her (or his - I did do a seven book hero series) personality as well as her world. Finley’s name set the tone for me - she’s Finley Anderson Tanner, all family names but not in the way you might think. They’re the family names of the men her mother was sleeping with when she got pregnant with Finley. That also provided the tone for the mother-daughter relationship in the books. Then I did friends, siblings, work, play and eventually she evolved into an under-achiever by choice. And just to set the record straight, Finley and I have virtually nothing in common. I don’t like to shop, the latest fashion doesn’t even enter my consciousness and I’m a security junkie who refuses to carry a balance on a credit card. We do share the same sense of humor, mostly because I write all her dialogue and thoughts because she isn’t actually real.

When it comes to building a world, my advice is to cast a wide net. When I wrote The Rose Tattoo series for Intrigue™, it was meant to be a trilogy. Then it turned into a continuing series and thus far, I’ve written twelve. Because I didn’t think with a broad brush, I’ve had to get a little creative introducing new characters.

Maybe the trickiest thing to accomplish when you’re writing a continuing character (or location) is what I call the necessary recap. I won’t kid you - I loathe this moment in the book. This is when you have to sum up the history of the character without making it sound like an info dump. You don’t want to bore your established readers but you also don’t want new readers feeling as if they’ve come late to the party. I use the friend approach. If possible, I introduce a new character who will ask questions that elicit the information. If possible, I do some carry-over. Part of what happens in FAT CHANCE happens because of things Finley has done in previous books. Since she can’t seem to stay away from dead people, her law firm adds a criminal attorney. I got double bang for my buck on that one - I also gained a potential new love interest for Finley.

Of course, the best thing about a continuing character is continual employment. Things are tough in publishing and if you happen to have a publisher excited about your character, count your blessings.

Think outside the box. Cast a wide net. Be willing to drop and add secondary characters as needed. Most importantly, write a character you can live with for years. I’ve been writing Finley since 2005 and I still have fun with her. She’s the best fake BFF I’ve ever had!

Thanks,
Rhonda

Betina wants to know. . . Where's The Limit?

If you're looking for a little light reading or have a weak stomach, you may want to give this blog entry a pass. I'm venting here and it won't be pretty. Last night, I finally reached my limit. I've suffered through decades of mind-dulling television advertising, but I've discovered my common sense and sense of taste haven't been battered into oblivion yet. I can still be revolted and nauseated by commercials.

Case in point, the creepy, stomach-turning concoctions of a group called 180LA to promote Boost Mobile-- Sprint's pre-paid arm. Gee, and I though that Sprint CEO with his calm appearance and straight talk was such a nice guy. . .

The commercials I'm talking about started with a female with the 3 foot long arm pit hair that blows wildly in her biking partner's face. I cringe, physically, every time I see that commercial. It makes me want to hold my breath. I realized I had blocked all perception of what product was being advertised. I finally made myself watch the final seconds to get the name of the product so I could be certain never to buy it.

I'd rather go back to the stone age of cords and pay phones than have to talk on a Boost mobile phone.

Then came the pigs. Two creepily lifelike pigs are seated at a linen-draped table in what appears to be a restaurant, eating a big platter of-- of all things-- ham! Then one looks at the camera and talks about enjoying his fallen comrade's "flavors."


My stomach churneth. If the bizarro specter of porcine cannibalism doesn't make you want to rush out and buy their brand of cell service, what will?

Then came the coroner doing an autopsy while eating a burrito. . . some of which falls into the body he's working on. The desirability of planting the image of desecrating a body in our minds to sell a product-- is beyond me. Is this really meant to be funny? Or are they just going for shock value?

Tonight came the final straw. . . a grown man (?) riding in a "Snugli"-type baby carrier on a larger man's stomach as they cruise the frozen foods aisle of a supermarket. Not only does it look creepy. . . the guy mentions how it's his thing, implying he shouldn't be judged for it. . . and how much he loves the taste of breast milk. Say it with me. Ewwwwwww.

Hats off to the Boost Mobile people. They have truly transcended. They've taken CREEPY to a whole new level.

Am I being too sensitive here-- or are these commercials a new low in advertising?

Are they funny? Can you explain to me why? Okay, I know it's hard to explain humor. . . and I promise not to browbeat you if you find them humorous. I confess, I just don't understand it. And I've studied humor for along time. The basis for most humor is "the unexpected". . . that which doesn't fit. . . something anomalous or startling. From that definition, these commercials should be a blast. I think they're just squicky squared.

Have you seen them? What do you think? What are your "worst"commercials? What makes you want to dive for the remote and turn the channel-- besides political attack ads-- that's a given.

Me? I'm headed for the shower and my Venus razor. . .

Debra - Come on...cry like a baby!

Okay. I'll confess. I love those moments which have readers trying to read through tears. I love people who cry when accepting an award. That's good clean fun! I want experiences to mean something and a good honest cry just screams "meaning."

I do like a "good" cry more than the sad cry, but both are a signal we've touched the reader. The pot at the end of the rainbow for a writer is finding the scene that brings all the emotions together, the scene which can just play out before the eyes of the reader and is filled with subtext and meaning. So much meaning the reader is moved.

I remember being unable to read the end of FLOWERS FROM THE STORM by Laura Kinsale because I was so busy slinging snot and trying to see through a gallon of water in my eyes.

In an older book in the MOSSY CREEK series (Summer In Mossy Creek), I wrote what I thought was a very funny story about the Chief of Police acquiring an Australian Cattle Dog through no fault of his own. But the story snuck up on me, and funny became something more. My Police Chief, gorgeous Amos, resisted a stray dog and his horribly embarrassing antics for most of the story before giving in and accepting he wasn't alone anymore; that he had a dog now who shadowed his every step. He'd been dealing with the death of his father, the old Chief. (When you move back to town and step into the shoes of a father you don't understand and didn't respect, perspective is a cruel mistress.)

Amos had also been struggling with the fine line of jurisdiction, neglect and abuse of a young boy just outside town. As the story winds down, Amos breaks some of his own rules--calls in every favor he has--to pull the boy (not so legally) out of the bad situation by suggesting his father would do well to disappear and not claim his boy from foster care. Then on the porch of the wonderful childless couple (Amos' best friend from grade school) who have welcomed the boy with open arms on a moment's notice and no guarantee they really will get to keep him, Amos and the boy say goodnight.

Before Mac closed the door, he said, "Son, you just knock when you're ready to come in. We'll be here."

I nodded and waited for Clay to tell me whatever it was he'd been working up to all night. He kissed Dog on the head, then looked at me. "He didn't want me."

"Maybe he was just scared. He may be back."

"No." Clay's eyes were bone dry and his voice didn't so much as quiver. "I mean he didn't want me before. So I don't want him now."

I wasn't sure if I was supposed to argue or agree that it was okay to feel that way. This was Patty's job. Not mine. I didn't know what to do, especially since it was my fault his father was gone. Battle would have been proud of how I handled this one. I sure as hell nudged it the way I wanted it to play out.

"Hey," I said, "why don't we give it some time?"

He nodded, kissed Dog again and knocked on the door. Just before it opened he said, "I'll be okay."

Patty gathered him in. I don't think I've ever seen her look happier. Clay is definitely going to be one of her visionary pieces if everything works out like we've planned.

Dog followed me to the car, looking over his shoulder once or twice. As we reached the car, he balked and sat down.

Woof. [Do you need me?]

In that moment my heart sank, because I knew exactly what he meant. My dog was asking me to be a hero. "Do I need you? Like do I need you as much as a scared young boy who's just lost his father?" I took a couple of deep breaths. I sure as hell didn't want to cry on the phone to Patty. And then I dialed her number.

"Hey, I need a favor. I need you to take Dog."

"What? Why?"

"Clay needs him more than me." I cleared my throat. "Just open the door and let Clay's dog in."

She did.

I went home to my leather chair and discovered that you need a lot more than a leather chair to be happy.

You see...now you'll understand why when my niece Shelby said she was flying in this weekend because she had to see Grandma (who you may know has had a scary didn't-think-she'd-live-or get-a-good-prognosis-surgery)... When my niece said she had to see for herself that Grandma really is getting better... Well, you'll know I couldn't resist calling my mother and saying, "You want to see Shelby cry like a baby?"

We'll be at the airport, in the terminal, with Mother standing under her own power to greet her granddaughter when she comes out of the gate area. Shelby is going to cry like a baby. This will be a moment. It's going to take a will of steel, but my mother has that. That's why she's still here. That's why she absolutely said, "Sign me up for the crybaby plan."

How about you? Do you have memorable scenes you've read, written, or ...um...engineered?

Kathleen's Belated Birthday Blessings For Barbie

Dear Barbie,

I'm sorry I missed your 50th on March 9th, old friend. I don't know what I was thinking. We didn't actually meet until Christmas, 1959, when you arrived as a gift for my 6-year-old sister from her godparents. I still feel a little guilty about weaseling you away from her, but she wasn't old enough to fully appreciate you, and she never really liked dolls that much, anyway. I remember how the adults sort of made fun of you when Jill opened the box. "They're making babe dolls now?" The word inappropriate wasn't in vogue then, but there was some discussion of just how a little girl might play with something like you. I was supposed to be outgrowing dolls at that point, and Jill was supposed to be squeezing water into Tiny Tears's mouth and out her behind. (Yes, her behind. I have several Tiny Tears dolls, and the hole is smack in the middle of the left butt cheek. Anatomically correct wasn't in vogue then, either.)

I've always loved dolls. I've never outgrown them. I have quite a collection, and even though none can claim to be my own personal childhood doll, I have their representatives--dolls once loved by girls who are now my age. I have more than 50 of you now, Barbie, (vintage, about 1960 through 1972) but none as old as the one I "appropriated" from my baby sister. (I owe her. If I hadn't played that doll to death, she'd be worth a small fortune.) And I knew exactly how to play with you from the moment we met.

I grew up on paper dolls. You don't cuddle paper dolls. You dress them, walk them, talk them, be them. You imagine yourself as a young woman. Not a young wife or mother, but a woman in her own right. You do things with your girlfriends. Yes, you have a Ken doll around, but nobody wants to be Ken. He comes in for the date or the wedding or whatever, but his clothes are boring, and he doesn't talk much. I knew that in my circle of friends, we would each soon have a Barbie. Back then it was one per girl. (Little Miss Revlon--two to the right--would soon be relegated to the closet because she just didn't have what you have. Chutzpah.) In the summertime we would spread a blanket on the grass, and that blanket became your stage. We acted out our dreams all afternoon. "And you said....And you didn't know that I was...." We made stories for you, Barbie. And guess what I grew up to do for a living.

So, did you know that some ditzy male lawmaker has introduced a bill to ban you in West Virginia? He says you put too much influence on appearances and materialism. Doesn't he know that over the years you've had over 100 professions, including U.S. President? Ruth Handler, the mother of your invention, thought long and hard about the perfect size for the kind of play she had in mind--the kind paper dolls lend themselves to--and to this day you're 11 1/2 inches tall.


Yes, you have a tiny waist, but that's because you were designed for skirts and pants with waistbands, which add a certain bulk to a girl your size.

Did you know that 50 of the world's top fashion designers created looks for a fashion show during New York Fashion Week in honor of your 50th birthday? We Boomers have fond memories of you, but so do our daughters. And now our granddaughters play with you on BarbieGirls.com and watch your movies. And of course they have their own toyboxes full of you--although they love those early versions of you every bit as much as Grandma does. You and your clothes were so well made back then. And most girls only had one Barbie. It was a special occasion when we got a new outfit. But, to my great joy, the play hasn't changed very much. For girls who love dolls, you're still tops.

We've talked about games recently. How about our favorite toys? Do you still have any of your? What toys have you particularly enjoyed giving to children? What makes a cool toy?

New Interests

Lois Greiman

I’ve just developed a new obsession. It’s riding sidesaddle. I’m blaming this latest craziness on research because although I have a book due in ummmm 11 days, a book that just came out a couple weeks ago, and a new book, One Hot Mess, ready to hit the shelves on the 24th of March, I’m writing a Regency fox hunting scene and am absolutely fascinated by what I’ve learned.


For instance: Did you know that Anne of Bohemia was the first woman thought to popularize the art of riding aside? Granted, in the late 14th century, the sidesaddle was little more than a bench set atop a horse, but as the years went by, riding aside evolved and became associated with ‘ladies of quality.’ Gently-reared young women wouldn’t think of exposing themselves to the pernicious evils of riding like a man.




In fact, it wasn’t until the 20th century that women seriously began questioning the good sense of riding perched on a horse’s withers like a tipsy songbird. It was a young suffragette, Inez Milholland, who popularized straddling a saddle (And I mean, seriously, how cool does she look in her long mantle!) as she led 10,000 marchers across New York City. When her ladies were attacked by outraged antagonists, Inez charged the mob, turning the attack until the Cavalry arrived (literally). Hundreds were injured, but the women marched on.

That story kind of gives me goosebumps, and yet the thought of all the women before her does too. The idea of thousands of women too bold to give up their equestrian pursuits just because it was deemed improper to ride like a man, which, believe me, is a much safer mode of transportation, gives me some pride. In essence, if a horse fell, went over backward, or generally freaked out as horses are known to do on a fairly regular basis, the sidesaddle rider was probably NOT thrown clear of the animal. Instead, she was most likely trapped beneath her writhing mount. Nevertheless, women not only rode aside every single day, they jumped that way. They followed the hounds and hunted and traveled that way, clearing six foot obstacles as a matter of course. In short, they were amazing. And even though women’s political rights are associated with riding astride, the entire process of riding aside still fascinates me.


So I’ve decided to give it a try. In fact, I’m hoping to train my boy Sage to be a ‘lady’s mount.’ Right now he’s just MY mount, and believe me, there’s a world of difference there. I’ll keep you apprised.

So tell me, what’s your latest obsession/idea/insanity? Let’s talk bucket lists.

www.loisgreiman.com

UGLY COVER CONTEST

Hey Authors,

I’m hosting a WORST COVER CONTEST here at ridingwiththetopdown.blogspot.com. ‘Cuz it’s been a long hard winter and I need to laugh.

So ‘fess up, you know you’ve had ‘em--covers that make you wonder WHAT the art department was thinking. Covers where the humans don’t look human or the background should have been WAY farther back. Maybe your heroine had three hands (okay, not many of us are THAT lucky) or maybe they forgot to give your rider reins for his horse (that’s one of my favorites) or maybe your handsome hero is just a little short of well…handsome. Whatever. Let’s poke fun…but only at ourselves, please. You cannot nominate someone else’s cover. That would be rude. (Even for me.)

If you’d like to enter please send your name, email address, and your cover, or a link for your cover to lgreiman@earthlink.net by March 31st. There will be conciliatory prizes. :)

And readers, tell us, what do YOU like to see in a cover? On the flip side, what do you NEVER want to see again.

Debra- Nightie Nite

I have been gown shopping.

Not for me. I'm a crop-pants jammies kind of girl. But my mother is a gown woman. The fifties warped her; what can I say?

Since last week she had major, emphasis on major (thought-she-was-going-to-die-didn't-we-
all-jump-for-joy-because-we-got- a-miracle) surgery, I thought I'd humor the woman and try and find some gowns for her recovery.

She does hospital gowns in the hospital. It isn't until we get home that she begins to bemoan the state of her nightwear. It's always wrong for whatever it is that we're rehabilitating or recuperating. And we always come back to gowns she's had since Eisenhower was President. Which wouldn't matter except they're old and have seen better days and this will be a long recovery. (I would have tossed them, but Mother doesn't toss anything that could possibly be used.)

Her gown style does not look like the black one above. My mother's style is the blue one below. Which is apparently only made by one company (Shadowline) these days. Nylon, gathered yoke, long length, and short but not cap sleeves. (Heaven forbid we flash the arms. She isn't one of the women who've made peace with the state of their upper arm flesh.) I spent the better part of the day doing my daughterly duty of nursing and surfing the internet for gowns.

And a bed jacket. Yes, my mother wants a bed jacket. Another item more popular with the Eisenhower woman.

After a hard day of surfing, where did I finally buy the gowns? Amazon.

Yep. Amazon. Who'd a thunk? They had a sale.

SURGEON HUMOR: After opening my 75 year old mother up and seeing the reality of her medical history, he said he was going to have these words tattooed across her belly. "No More Enter Here."

That is a sentiment with which we can agree.

P.S. You've probably figured out by now why I haven't been around for a while!

What's your "Night Gear?" Did you inherit your mom's style like you did her laundry detergent?

Winner of Dirty Sexy Knitting ARC is...

Katy!

Congrats, Katy. Email me at christie @ christieridgway.com (omit the spaces, note no "e" in Ridgway) and send me your snail mail addy. I'll get it out to you ASAP!

Party Time...and Chance to Win Free Book!

It must be a female-only ritual, because I can’t think of any parallel in the male world…any parallel to the shopping party experience. Did it start with Tupperware? I remember my mom hosting and attending Tupperware parties and I went to a couple many years ago…still have a lot of Tupperware in my cupboards.

I’ve been to candle parties, home décor parties, jewelry, bath products, make-up, and cookware/food. Invitations come often, and guess what? I never say “no.” Why is that? Because I’m the consummate consumer? Some of it is that I do enjoy shopping, but it’s the communal experience, shopping with a roomful of “sisters” that really makes an evening of “stuff” fun. While I have been known to comment to strangers in the dressing room (“That looks great on you!”) I rarely solicit opinions when I’m shopping alone. At a shopping party, no one is a stranger, and everyone feels free to weigh in on your potential choices.

Last week I attended a new kind of party for me…clothes. Specifically CAbi clothes. The event was hosted by my hair stylist (which added some pressure…hair had to look good!) and I went with two friends who are also her clients. I was coming down with this crummy flu-y thing, though, so was sure I wasn’t going to try anything on…but that lasted about twenty minutes. Energized by the other women and the whole experience of admiring colors and textures, I managed to try on several items and make a few purchases.

I keep going back to thinking of something men do that’s similar…attending a ball game? But that’s all about “watching” something, not examining, debating, admiring (and purchasing) together. As a matter of fact, we women want to rush the presentation part of the evening, eager to get our hands on the clothes (or candles or whatever) so we can talk about them and talk to each other. Maybe it’s because I live in a houseful of men that I appreciate the inherently social nature of we women.

We turn just about anything into a sharing experience. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve signed on to do something that seemed like a chore at the onset (decorating for a school party, manning a table at a fundraiser) that turned into a delightful gabfest with a few new friends. Yep. We women are darn good drawing lines of connection between us. Again, as a woman living with guys, as a girl who grew up with only a brother, I treasure this aspect of our gender.

I honor this ability of women to create bonds in my current Malibu & Ewe trilogy, which centers around a knitting shop in Malibu, and three women who come to create a family. The last book of three, Dirty Sexy Knitting, is out in June, but I have an Advanced Reader’s Copy to send to one lucky commenter! Leave a comment telling us what kind of shopping parties you’ve attended or hosted. Is there anyone who hasn’t been invited to one of these kinds of events?

Feng Winner!

The winner of the Feng Shui book our Follower Amy is giving away is JEANNE! Jeanne please email Michele at: toast faery @ gmail . com (no spaces) with your snail mail address.

Congrats!

Follower Friday — Featuring Amy!

amyskf has been following the convertible for a while now, so today we decided to slow down and let her ride shotgun for a while. She's kinda fengie, and I mean that in the nicest way. ;-)

What The Feng?
So here I am, tra-la-la, thinking, some day I should write a blog, oh puh-shaw, I say to my brain, what would I have to write about?
Fast forward to an e-mail:
"Hey, would you like to be our Follower Friday for the 13th?"
Why, yes I would.
Ooh, I could write about alternate universes and string theory, or how you need to keep spending during a recession, or over the top martial arts films and why I adore them…then it hit me. My brain needed de-cluttering. I needed to feng shui my brain. And maybe I did have something to write about every day—or at least this day. Feng Shui.

I love these fine women at RWTTD—and I’m lucky to know most of them through the local RWA chapter. I’m amyskf to you guys, but I’m other things too, I’m mom, wife, grandma, friend, daughter, sister, volunteer, employee, and writer. Sometimes writer is the last thing on the list, sometimes the first thing on the list. I’d actually like it to be on its own list, a separate list…an alternate universe list. But before I go off on a string theory tangent— maybe I’ll do that on my non-existent blog—I’ll get back to my point ( I do have one) the venerable Chinese tradition of Feng Shui, meaning, wind and water.
Say it with me: fung shway—it’s way fun, or shway fun.
Since I am much more left brained than right brained, I found a book that didn’t need a compass (seriously) for me to navigate: Move Your Stuff, Change Your Life, by Karen Rauch Carter. She has a great website as well: www.fengshuipalace.com.

The first thing you need to know is invisible energy surrounds us—you know you’ve felt it, you’ve walked in somewhere and immediately felt good, that’s happy chi, or bad, that’s sad chi— it wants to be happy and let me tell you, if chi ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Chi likes to flows and it flows best when you get rid of clutter and dust. I know. I feel your pain. I love things and, apparently, dust. But once I realized it would make the invisible energy happy I got rid of both. Well, it’s an ongoing battle. Sometimes the dust comes back…alright, the clutter too.

Chi likes things in certain places and you can figure this part out by using a map, everyone likes maps, right? Like a map of Paris, only this is a map of different areas of your house and your life—the bagua. So you need more money? Hah! Strengthen your fortune/wealth sector by adding something green—each sector correlate to certain colors and elements, see? Isn’t this fun? Yes…Amy, it is.

The last thing is to do everything with intention. Know that you are doing these things for a purpose.
I’m wicked simplifying it, but it is fun and I believe in it so much, I’m going to give one commenter a copy of Move Your Stuff, Change Your Life.

So, tell me, would you try feng shui? Have you used anything like feng shui? Tell me some cool results of using something like this.

Finding Words

I've been on a bit of a slow slide downhill lately regarding my writing. We authors live and breathe by our creativity. It is not something you can see, feel or hear. It exists inside our skulls, it flows through our veins, and at times, it can be elusive. I'm sure my friends are tired of me asking them for 'words'. You see, I have an 80K novel due at the beginning of May and I'm 25K words short. It's not writer's block, it is simply stifled creativity.

So I've been looking at how I get the creativity flowing lately, which then results in 'more words'. This can apply to any creative project, not just writing, even business stuff because there is a spark of creativity in all that we do. Usually when a project refuses to budge for me I'll set it aside for a week or more, if I can. (Current 25K-lacking project has been sitting two weeks.) Sometimes if I pick up a new project that I haven't been staring at for six hours a day, seven days a week, it's as if a butterfly opens its wings inside my head. Ah! There it is again. That part of me that sparkles and sings.

I don't have a real hobby (though my son once termed my writing a 'hobby'; I don't recall him being fed that day AT ALL). I like to color, yes color. I find an afternoon of artistic play gets my brain humming and often I'll end up with a few notes scribbled in colored marker to be used when I find myself behind the computer again. I do play guitar, and music always takes me to a creative private place, though I haven't touched it much lately. Hmm...

For writing, and starting new projects, I have a trick to get the creative ideas going. I was recently asked to come up with a proposal for a story in two days. It may sound easy to write four pages detailing a world and its inhabitants, but trust me, it's a challenge. So when I've no idea where to start, I use pictures and especially artwork to stir the embers. Take a look at this cool pic I found at cghub.com.

What kind of guy do you think he is? Good? Bad? A little of both? The moment I saw him I knew he had to be my villain, but not necessarily a bad guy. Visuals help me to tell stories, so I always tend to have pictures of my hero and heroine on the desktop. After over an hour of combing this fantasy art sight, I had the plot for a new story in mind.

Music is another creativity booster. I can't listen to music while I'm writing, but let me tell you, there's nothing like a drive in the car with the stereo blasting. Man, do I get ideas that way. Anyone else work that way?

Fiction is good, as long as it's not in the genre I'm writing. And magazines are awesome. I can't get through a magazine without tearing out a page with a picture of furniture, a car, a person, or clothing or a landscape. And don't get me started on movies; we all know how images on the screen, even a few seconds, can fix into our psyches and influence us.

I think whether you are a writer or not, we all incorporate some tricks to boost our creativity/productivity in our daily lives. It may be that brisk lemon soap you use in the shower every morning, or the re-run episode of NYPD you have to watch before you do the household bills.

I'm interested in hearing what you all do to 'find your words'. Or in other words, how do you get your creativity flowing?

Michele

Y'all come back tomorrow for another Follower Friday featuring Follower Amy!