GUEST – Jean Brashear

“Jean Brashear’s wholly original, funny and poignant novel has a heart as big as Texas. Told in a warm and intimate voice, it’s like a road trip with your best friend. Don’t miss it!”~#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs


Sometimes life gives us gifts of pure grace; one such for me has been meeting Pea O'Brien, the protagonist of THE GODDESS OF FRIED OKRA. She began as an exercise in sheer fun—sitting on my deck in a wicker rocker, taking a few weeks off from my contracted writing to see if, after several years as a working writer, I still remembered how to play, how to write for the simple pleasure of it, a joy too easily lost under the pressure of deadlines and expectations.

I knew nothing about Pea, even her name at first—only that a psychic had sent this woman on the road to search for the reincarnated soul of the sister she desperately missed. It all seemed like a lark those first few days, drinking this killer Mexican iced coffee recipe I got from Barbara Samuel (so much of said coffee wound up practically eating a hole in my stomach, but it's not Barbara's fault I brewed it so dang strong.) I'd sit and sip and type on my Alphasmart while listening to birdsong under my live oaks...and see where Pea would take me next.

When it was time to get back to my deadlines, Pea was never far from me, and over the next few years I returned to her often, letting the flight of fancy take me away whenever I could scrape up a day here or there.

Sometimes flights of fancy lead to real life experiences...and vice versa. My husband and I love taking back roads whenever possible (he has a whole collection of photos of oddball sights) and on one of our rambles, I spotted a sign for the Conan the Barbarian Festival in Cross Plains, Texas. Who knew?!? We were too late for that year's festival, but we detoured to Cross Plains, anyway, and indulged in such landmarks as the mural on the side of the library (wanna see the picture of me and Conan?) and Robert E. Howard's homeplace.

The year following, I'd forgotten all about the festival until I ran across a notice that it would be occurring in three days' time. Ring, ring: "Lover man, I know you're trying to make a living, but this is important—how would you like to go to Cross Plains this weekend?" Long silence. Then laughter. "I'm sure that's exactly what I was thinking, I just didn't know it." Never let it be said that this man doesn't love me. (Also, don't ask him where else on God's green earth I've dragged him in the name of research, OK?)

Three days later, we were in Cross Plains, watching the parade. (I cannot tell you how disappointed I was not to find cowboys in furry leggings with breastplates and helmets, brandishing broadswords—and okay, it's my dirty little secret that there is no sword-fighting competition at the festival as there is in my book.)

But there should be.

Speaking of Conan's daddy REH...I cannot positively recall how Howard's bloodthirsty, sword-wielding women got involved in my story, but I think it began with touring the tiny library and looking at first editions and manuscripts, then coming back home and ordering some of his books. I read the one called Sword Woman, and—voila!

There was Dark Agnes on the cover, nosecone breastplate and all, trying to take off this big burly brute's head with an evil-looking sword. She'd been her father's work animal, then sold to a husband but escaped, only to wind up befriended by a man who taught her swordplay—then tried to sell her, too. Heck, she had to become bloodthirsty just to survive. She seemed to me to be exactly the sort of spirit guide the lost and lonely Pea needed.

But how to connect the two? Well...on another back roads meandering a few years earlier, I'd spotted this gun shop housed in a portable building (pictures of that, too, on my website) that never quite left my mind. Presto—Guns 'N' Glory, owned by a ferocious former Marine named...yep, Glory. She's the person, in the story, who decides Pea needs toughening up and hey, doesn't it seem perfectly in character that she's a big fan of warrior goddesses and good ol' whack job REH? (Gimme a big Heck, yeah!) I never went inside the real gun shop (closed every time we drove by) but I'm pretty sure it doesn't have crystals hanging from the ceiling or a lunch box collection.

But it should.

(Are you seeing a trend here? Ah, the godlike powers we writers wield!)

This book probably sounds a wee bit quirky—and, okay, it is—but I think I became the truest me as a writer I've ever experienced in the process of writing it. I went through a lot of agonizing and reworking and second-guessing myself (to say nothing of all the other people who second-guessed me) but in the end, I zigzagged and wrung my hands and got as stubborn as I was scared until I listened enough to my gut to unearth the version that I hoped like the dickens the amazing Debs of BelleBooks would "get" because I just felt in my heart that they would do right by the story.

Well, they did get it—and like it enough to buy it, these women I have so admired for years—which made every low point worth it, every moment of trying to hold onto my faith and keep going. And since then, I've experienced the enormous pleasure of spending several months playing with these fascinating and brilliant women in the most author-friendly environment I can imagine. To then also have some fabulous writers love it enough to give me killer quotes, well...as a writer, I don't know how life gets any better than this.

Mission accomplished. Joy rediscovered.

Jean Brashear is the author of 23 novels in romance and women’s fiction, with sales of more than 1.6 million copies, she is a three-time RITA finalist and Romantic Times BOOKReviews Career Achievement Award winner.

Book Trailer: http://bellebooks.com/books/GoddessofFriedOkra.asp

Guest - Parker Blue

Hey, this is Debra Dixon. I'm here briefly to introduce you to our exciting new young adult fantasy author, Parker Blue. Her book BITE ME from Bell Bridge Books has gotten great reviews so far.

Help me welcome, Parker Blue !

The Idea Fairy

 

Writers are often asked where they get their ideas, as if there's some obscure idea fairy who bestows the perfect idea upon you with her sparkly wand if you know the magic words. Yeah, right. For most writers, finding ideas is not the problem. Avoiding them is. I've tried to duck as they come whizzing in, but they're sneaky little devils. They like to attack when I can't avoid them. They especially like to blindside me when I'm in the bathtub or shower (there's some strange relationship between story ideas and water I've never understood). Or, lately, they've been waiting until I'm driving 75 miles an hour on the freeway (in my hour and a half commute to work) to hit.

Yes, the diabolical things wait until I have no possible way to write them down, then they strike. You see, if I could just record them immediately, I could get them out of my brain and go back to working on whatever current work in progress I should be writing. But because I can't jot them down, I feel compelled to examine their sharp little edges, poke their intriguing extremities and play the "what if" game to form them into some sort of shape. Then, over the next few months, other bits and pieces pop in. I'll bump them up against other ideas I've had and if enough puzzle pieces fit together, I begin to see a story emerge. I call this my "gelling" period, when the ideas start to gel together. Once I can see a form emerge, then I can start working on a story.

Because of this process, I rarely remember the initial impetus for my books, the very first idea. However, in the case of Bite Me, out this month from Bell Bridge Books, I do remember. This is one of the rare times I went looking for a specific idea instead of letting it find me on its own. I wanted to write for the women's action/adventure line, Silhouette Bombshell (now sadly defunct), so I sat down to come up with four ideas to pitch to the editor. I love paranormal, so I knew I wanted to write an action novel with a female heroine and paranormal elements. My first thought of a vampire slayer. But, since Buffy has obviously been done (and very well!), I wanted to put a spin on it. So, what about a vampire hunter who is part demon as well? Even better, what if she's part lust demon and she has to fight vampires to keep the lust under control? Bingo! I had my idea.

Unfortunately, Bombshell folded and when I rewrote the book as a paranormal romance, the publisher who had expressed interest decided they didn't like it after all. But Deb Dixon at Bell Bridge Books pointed out that it would really work better as a young adult urban fantasy--and she was right. So, I rewrote it once again, dropping the heroine's age a few years, and giving her faithful hellhound a voice (who knew hellhounds were so snarky?). I love the result and I hope readers will, too. Here's what it's about:

Bite Me by Parker Blue, Bell Bridge Books, October 2008.

Eighteen-year-old Valentine Shapiro got a raw deal in the parent lottery. Her father was part incubus demon, and her mother's never forgiven her for that. Thrown out of the house by her mother, Val does the only thing that seems to make any sense—she takes aim at the town vampires, figuring a stake a day keeps the demon at bay. Soon enough, she finds herself deep in the underbelly of the city, discovering the secrets of the Demon Underground with the help of her faithful hellhound, Fang, and fighting to save those she loves. Whether they love her back or not.

Parker is blogging on NovelTalk as well--check it out and comment there for a chance to win an autographed copy of her book! Plus Bell Bridge Books will be giving one away today, so start racking up those comments!

Pam McCutcheon / Parker Blue
http://www.parkerblue.net
http://www.pammc.com

GUEST BLOGGER - GENNITA LOW

Okay, kiddies! We are in for such a treat today.

One of the funniest and most original writers I know is here. She's such a well-behaved lass that she neglected to mention her recent (Mira 5/07) and upcoming (Mira 12/08) books! Plus she's got an entire world of kick-ass heroines and yummy heros. Here a SEAL; there a SEAL, everywhere a SEAL. What's not to like?

So, she's here for one day only to entertain and answer our questions about suspense.




I thought I would relate about my writing process.

Mine is like getting a massage. And I don't mean just a plain old ordinary massage because suspense is all about plunging into a series of action-packed scenes, with dangerous things happening to the hero/heroine, and of course, letting things slide out of control. And while all this is happening, the writer (me) has to keep saying, "Well, it can't get worse than this," and of course, I make it so.

I can hear you now. Come on, Gennita, massages are lovely and relaxing experiences, meant to make the mind zone out, and put you in the zen state. There is no such thing as a suspenseful massage.

Well, you're so wrong. Let me tell you about the Korean Super Special Spa Pack.

One day, my sister booked me for a spa appointment in Fairfax, VA. It was a holiday weekend, and everything was either closed or booked, but she finally found an opening in a Korean spa. Okay, I've never been to one before, but I'm no stranger to the exotic and odd since I've been to a unisex Finnish spa before (another adventure for another time), so I just shrugged and told her, "Sure, sis, book me. It's in Fairfax. How foreign can it be?" She booked me for the Korean Super Special Spa Pack.

1) First step in suspense. Something odd happens.

I knew something was up when the Korean lady (who spoke no English) handed me a toothbrush. I took it from her and stared at it. Why would she want me to brush my teeth before a massage?

There was an open shower area and I guess I was expected to shower too. Okay. Did both.

2) Second step in suspense. Strange things begin to happen.

It didn't take long before I found out that the Special Pack was a total NEKKID facial and body scrub massage punching bag elbow rubbing head to toe humiliation process.

A half-nekkid lady appeared. I blinked. That was the last time I blinked because, the Special Pack also included a facial. If you're the claustrophobic type, this one ain't for you. I was wrapped in this seaweedy mummy gauzy padding and could barely see through the slits.

Remember, I was nekkid. And I thought (yes, you got it right), "How much worse can this get?"

3) Third step in suspense. It gets worse.

My masseuse (whom I couldn't see) started working on my body like it was a piece of meat. I kept thinking, in a oddly calm hysterical way, “A NEKKID woman is soaping me!” I have never had a nekkid woman soap me. The fun really began when she started to deep massage me and SMACK me. Not hard, just like: Smack, Smack! Massage, massage...Smack! Smack! Massage. I was having visions of being in a Bertrice Small novel and I started to crack up, except that I dare not laugh because seaweed would fall into my mouth...

And I thought (go on, repeat after me), "How much worse can this get?"

I was turned over. Whew, at least my boobs weren't staring up in embarrassed surprise any more. My masseuse started elbowing all the knots in my muscles. Then she SPANKED ME. SPANK! SPANK! I think I swallowed some seaweed. I was still cracking up when she started to punch my legs. PUNCH PUNCH! Massage, massage. Then she punched the BOTTOM of my feet. PUNCH! PUNCH! Massage, massage.

My arms and legs were moved in all sorts of positions that would rival the Karma Sutra. Trust me, some of these positions would make your face red.

Through it all, I thought, "It can't possibly get worse than that."

No?

4) Fourth step in suspense. Prove yourself wrong.

THEN to TOP IT ALL, she CLIMBED ON TOP of me and started sliding her knees up and down behind my oiled thighs and calves. It felt great BUT A NEKKID WOMAN WAS SLIDING UP AND DOWN ME. ARgggghhhhh.

There was nothing I could say or do. I had seaweed in my eyes, on my face, in my mouth. I was supposed to be relaxed and feeling at one with the universe. I wasn't. And I couldn't run away. A naked, hysterical woman with weird stuff pasted on her face running down the street in Fairfax just wasn't me. So I lay there. And hoped there was no camera taping this adventure for some Internet Weird Site.

5) The Suspense Ends. Your Heroine and Hero Survive.

The last part of the Super Pack involved the Mummy Experience. My masseuse scalded me with the HOTTEST towels I ever had and deep massaged me. Then she cooled me off with cold towels. Repeat with Hot Towels.

I was finally unmasked...and had to hide my maniacal trying-not-to-scream smile. She cleaned me off, picking seaweed crumbs off my face, MY ARMPITS, even washed my hair and massaged the top of my head. I prayed that this part would NOT include smacking the top of my head. No thumping on the head, whew.

She poured milky stuff all over me and did a slow rub down. I almost slid off the table, the stuff was so slick. Finally, she matter-of-factly tapped my shoulder and pointed to the nearby spa pool to wash off. I crawled away in relief.

I will tell you girls, just like finishing a suspense novel, I couldn't walk properly the next morning. I still couldn't feel my body parts. I felt like I'd been in a Korean SPAR.

And *that* is my writing process.

Success, comfort, and other confusing things.

Sometimes I feel like the Rip Van Winkle of writing.

My first RWA national conference was 20 years ago, 1987 in Dallas. . . and I came away from those tumultuous four days with the distinct impression that everybody in this business knew more about it than I did. I had already published two books, but the newest pre-pubbed members seemed to know more about publishers, contract terms, and editor/agent relations than I did. And that was without mentioning the technical aspects of writing. . . story arcs, conflict, voice, research, scenes and sequels, "beats," and POV. What the hell was "POV?"

Boy, did I have a lot to learn.

This year-- 20 years later-- I came home from Dallas with a Rita and a delirious feeling of accomplishment. Which came crashing down around me like a leaky Macy's parade float the minute I opened my current WIP and realized how much I still have to do to make it presentable. Even so-- I'm still smiling. And for today, I feel like a success. Which is a feeling I intend to hang on to for as long as possible.


Which of course led me to ponder "success" and all it's ramifications. The most immediate of which is this blissful feeling of well-being that makes me want to do NOTHING! I want to sip champagne or Snapple and lounge around in the sun like a lizard. Which may be the karmic reason success never lasts too long for me. . . it wouldn't be good for me. I'd probably never write another word. I have discovered that discomfort is actually productive for me. Go figure.

Okay, I'm not talking buying size 8 1/2 shoes despite the fact that I wear a 9. . . just because they were out of my usual size. . . and then getting blisters. I am talking about the trap of emotional and mental comfort. Being too comfy to move. Or grow. Or create. The Comfort Trap.

I knew for some time that I needed to kick the writing up a notch and get back to the place in me where I really ENJOYED crafting stories and putting ideas on a page.

"The Book of True Desires," which won the Rita, was that book for me. While writing that book, I rediscovered what I truly love about writing. And it was glorious. I couldn't wait to get to the computer each day. I wrote pages and pages without a halt. At the end of the day, I felt totally satisfied. That, I said to myself, was WRITING. And I wanted to feel that passionate, that involved, that creative with every book I write. At the end of that book, I felt energized in a way I hadn't been in years.

That lasted about a month.

Until I started on my next project, and then another, then another. . . none of which seemed to be right somehow. I was comparing them all to the "success" of writing True Desires. Hmm. So I took a risk and decided to do things differently: I got a critique group.

My only real complaint about writing as a career is that it's so isolating. So why didn't I think of this before? I had a process-- big, sprawling, messing, sometimes incoherent, but mine-- and I didn't want anybody messing with it. Having critique partners meant I'd have to listen to them. And maybe change things I wrote. Out of my comfort zone. Clearly. But I was in real need of some productive change and this seemed. . . do-able.

As we get to know each other better and learn how to work together, we're really enriched by each other's ideas and perceptions. And I'm feeling less isolated and I'm forced to actually make pages for my partners to read. Sometimes I struggle with whether or not to take their advice, but I know when they really like something that it's good. It's just enough "discomfort" at the right times to keep me on my toes.

Maybe that's the key to an enduring career. . . challenging yourself to grow beyond your usual. . . never being too comfortable to look for better ways to do things. Because when we get too comfortable, the market will change, the "next new thing" will outpace us, and we'll be in Jurassic Park before we know it. As exhibits.

Now my hairstyle. . . that's a comfort I don't intend to let anybody mess with. Not even in the interest of growth. Oh, yeah, and the clunky Clark's shoes that Rex says make me look like I shouldn't be trusted with scissors. And of course those elastic waist shorts. . .

What about you? What areas of your life does your comfort zone rule? What do you do to keep yourself current and involved? What is your reaction to success? Do you ever get too comfortable for your own good?