Acronym Soup

It always blew my mind when my husband would come home and say something like…

“After retiring from the USMC four years ago, I went to work for the DoD as a PM with a PMP cert and have managed elements of the MTVR, HMMWV, MRAP and MATV programs, all ranging from ACAT III up to ACAT ID according to the DoD 5000 and DAWIA standards.  We work to counter IEDs, EFPs, RKG-3s with BFTs, Armor, RWS as well as the TAK-4 suspension from OTC and have expended billions in IR&D, PMC and O&M funding over the past 9 FYDB.”

Anyone understand what I just said? I didn’t either for the longest time. I had to learn to speak acronym.

Many people use acronyms, and some of them are so imbedded in our everyday lives that we don’t even realize we are using them. Things like TV, PJs, NASA, NATO, OMG, BFF, TLC, LOL, AOL, UPS, TGIF, LASER, RPG, USMC, USA… Sorry for the examples, I live with two teenage girls and a retired Marine…Yep, enough said.

Translation without the acronyms: “After retiring from the United States Marine Corps four years ago, I went to work for the Department of Defense as a Program Manager with a Project Management Professional certification and have managed elements of the Medium Tactical Vehicle Replacement, High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle and Mine Resistant Ambush Protected-All Terrain Vehicle programs, all ranging from Acquisition Category 3 up to Acquisition Category 1D according to the Department of Defense 5000 Order and Defense Acquisition Workforce Improvement Act standards.  Countering Improvised Explosive Devices, Explosively Formed Projectiles, Ruchnaya Kumulyativnaya Granata–3s with Blue Force Trackers, Armor, Remote Weapon Stations as well as the TAK-4 suspension from Oshkosh Truck Company and have expended billions in Industry Research and Development, Procurement Marine Corps and Operating and Maintenance funding over the past 9 Fiscal Year Defense Budgets.”

This may still sound like a garbled message from beyond and be just as alien if you do not work in military circles, but we do the same thing in the writing industry.

My CP thinks the heroine in my WIP will never get her HEA, or even a HFN, because she’s TSTL.

Translation: My critique partner thinks the heroine in my work in progress will never get her happily ever after, or even a happy for now, because she’s too stupid to live.

We romance writers tend to speak our own language, and that can be particularly challenging for someone new to writing. If you don’t understand what a critique partner or an agent or an editor is trying to tell you, then it is impossible to improve your writing.

I am going to leave you with a few commonly used writing acronyms and I invite you to add any that I may have overlooked.

CP (Critique Partner)—This is someone who gives you feedback on your writing, hopefully, in a constructive way. Usually this arrangement works as an exchange where you are expected to critique the other person’s writing as well. Some writers have one critique partner while others are part of a group.

GMC (Goal, Motivation, Conflict)—This tells you what your main characters’ goals are, their motivation for achieving these goals, and the conflict that is preventing them from achieving these goals.

POV (Point of View)—This is who is talking in the scene. You usually want to decide who is narrating the scene based on who has the most to lose, or what you might be trying to hold back from the reader or other characters in the scene.

WIP (Work in Progress)—The story you are currently working on.

MS (Manuscript)—This is a complete story you have already written.

HEA (Happily Ever After)—This is your happy ending where your hero/heroine are in love and all of the major conflicts have been resolved.

HFN (Happy for Now)—If you are not wrapping things up with the couple getting married or making a life-long kind of commitment, you at least want to make it clear they are happy and together for the long term.

TSTL (Too Stupid To Live)—This is a character that makes so many stupid decisions that the reader wants the character to die, or at least have consequences for their actions.

 

Calling All Underdogs!

 

Doesn’t everyone want to be inspired?  Let’s face it.  We all have that hunger to be the one-in-a-million shot.   And if we can’t be it, we at least want to root for that underdog.    

The first movie that had me sitting on the edge of my seat was Rocky.  With my heart pounding with excitement, I watched as he beat the odds.  I remember being so disappointed and even dumbfounded that Rocky didn’t win that fight with Apollo Creed.  I’m not sure I even knew that he didn’t win until years later.  I couldn’t imagine it.  Where’s the happy ending?  Between Adrian’s red beret falling off and her running, running madly for the man she loved and Rocky not caring a fig that the announcer was declaring the winner and him shouting, shouting soulfully for the woman he loved, it sure felt like he won. 

But then, I got it.  It was about GETTING THERE.  Getting the shot and not being afraid to take it. 

Everyone assumed Rocky would lose.  It was a publicity stunt, after all.  But they didn’t count on one thing.  The drive and determination of the average guy, the common man, to rise above and let nothing stand in his way. 

I love the real life underdogs as well as the fictional ones.  I love ‘em all.

As writers, we want to create characters that not only go the distance, but make the journey to get there inspirational.  As readers or viewers, we want to cheer for those characters. 

Who didn’t cheer for Susan Lucci when she finally received her Emmy?  After eighteen nominations, she finally won in 1999, and celebrities there that night openly cried.  Hell, Oprah Winfrey rushed the stage in her excitement!  Even though she’s beautiful and glamorous, we all felt a bit sorry for her when she lost.  Because she lost so many times and became an ongoing joke in the media, we felt sorry for her—glamorous life or not.  She was our celebrity underdog, and we rooted for her.  I never watched All My Children a day in my life, but I sure wanted her to win that Emmy. 

I also love the romantic underdogs or the story where either the man or the woman jumps life’s hurdles, takes the shot, and WINS!  One of my all-time favorites is the original Ice Castles.  Who can ever forget that moment when the blind ice skater finishes her program successfully only to slip and fall on the flowers? Or Robbie Benson coming to her rescue as he skillfully maneuvers her through them to the theme song “Looking Through the Eyes of Love”?  And him saying softly, “We forgot about the flowers.”  Oh. My. God.  I loved that movie when I was a kid.  The romance.  The blind girl not wanting anyone to know she could no longer see after her accident.   Wanting to be judged on her skill and not win by pity. 

So, when writing or life is getting you down, do you tend to see movies or read books where the Underdog wins?  And which of those stories are your favorites?  I wish I could name the top 100, but I’ll limit my list.     

Kim’s Top Ten Underdog Stories

  1. Rocky (of course.  I’d pick all five, but that really limits the rest.)
  2. Karate Kid (the original with Daniel LaRusso and Mr. Miyagi)
  3. Gladiator (where a gladiator defeats the emperor of Rome)
  4. Slumdog Millionaire  (all I can say, is OMG)
  5. Pretty in Pink (this is what I call a romantic underdog story)
  6. Gattaca (defying the odds at any cost)
  7. Twilight series (need I say more?  Vampire…human.  Yeah.  Work THAT out.)
  8. Eva Peron (from the common people to EVITA, for God’s sake)
  9. Ice Castles  (the original.  I Cried.  Cheered.  Cried.  Cheered.)
  10.  Cinderella Man  (Russell Crowe apparently plays a great underdog.  See #3)
  11.  Shawshank Redemption  (Okay.  I know I cheated with eleven, but, come on.  Who wouldn’t want Andy to get some recognition here?  Defeating a corrupt warden and his posse?  Climbing through literal crap to escape from prison after being falsely imprisoned….? )

Please share your top five Underdog stories.  You can cheat if you want.  I won’t judge if you list six.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar: Artist Date and Bento Box

When I was four years old, I made a caterpillar in preschool. I glued together cut-up egg-cartons to form the segmented body and stuck pipe-cleaners on the “head” to form antenna. When I finished, the teacher instructed me to put the caterpillar into my cubby hole, and the class went outside for recess. When we returned, the caterpillar was gone. In its place was a beautiful butterfly.

I remember staring at this butterfly, in delight and astonishment and wonder. Its wings stretched out in an array of color, and glitter dusted its body. Life was all about discovery and exploration, and anything was possible in this world. Absolutely anything.

Of course, then I grew up, and school was no longer about art projects and magical transformations. It revolved, instead, around analytical thinking and practical skills, and I forgot all about the pure joy I felt when I looked at my butterfly.

And then, I stumbled across Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way, “a course in discovering and recovering your creative self.” In this book, Cameron sets forth the concept of the artist date, “a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist… an excursion, a play date that you preplan and defend against all interlopers.” (Cameron, 2002, pg. 18). My eyes widened as I read these words. Two hours a week? To do anything I wanted? Unbelievable.

But there was more. The artist date is so important because “[i]n order to create, we draw from our inner well…. As artists, we must realize that we have to maintain this artistic ecosystem. If we don’t give some attention to upkeep, our well is apt to become depleted, stagnant, or blocked.” (20). While we fill this well, Cameron urges us to “think magic. Think delight. Think fun. Do not think duty. Do not do what you should do.” (21).

I immediately thought of my caterpillar. When I made it, I didn’t worry about whether or not I was any good at gluing. I just created. When I saw the butterfly, I didn’t analyze how it had gotten there. I just marveled. The artist date encouraged me to do things I’ve always been afraid of doing. I bought a sketchbook and colored pencils and drew. A pot of flowers, an olive jar. I wasn’t all that good, but it was fun. More importantly, the artist date gave me permission to see myself as a creative person. Now, when I am intrigued by a new project, whether it is tie-dying T-shirts or decorating cupcakes, I don’t question my ability. I just do it.

Since I’ve had children, it’s been more difficult to take two hours a week for my artist date. But I like to think I’m keeping up with the spirit of Julia Cameron’s ideas by incorporating creativity into my life. My latest endeavor? Bento-box meals for my children. They’re fun to make, my kids love eating them, and when I look into their eyes, I see some of the same wonder and delight I felt when I experienced magic for the first time.

What is your idea of the perfect artist date? How do you fill your creative well? We all feel depleted sometimes. I’d love to hear your thoughts and be inspired by your creative outlets!
(Bento boxes pictured inspired by the recipes in Yum-Yum Bento Box, by Maki Ogawa and Crystal Watanabe.)

If Voice Found, Please Return to Rightful Owner

Here, voicey  voicey.  Come out, come out wherever you are.  Dang blast it.  I’ve lost it again.  My dratted voice.  Not the one I use to issue dictates to errant children, ultimatums to disobedient husbands or false sincerity to overbearing bosses.  Definitely not that one.  The voice I lost, or maybe never had at all, is that mellifluous fingerprint-like identification of that quality only the best writers can convey.  It’s like a lineup or a taste test.  If I had a slew of books, covers, bios and dedications ripped away, with only my eyes as the guideposts, I can tell you which writer wrote which book.  You know exactly what I’m talking about.  It’s that voice, takes you by the lapels and yanks you into whatever or wherever it wishes you to go.  That’s the voice I’m looking for.. and the one I still can’t find.

That’s not to say I don’t hear voices.  Oh, believe me, I do.  My voice hearing ability can rival all the faces of Eve.   The problem is, as I struggle to find my voice, all the other ones drown it out.  My voice finding process goes something like this: 

10:30 pm.  I’m at the computer, trying to find my voice, when I hear another one,  “Mama, I want you to buy me these shoes when I get to be your age.. you know, when I’m 68.”  How nice, I’ve aged over three decades in under a minute.  The 4-year-old owner of that voice shows me a pair of 5-inch platforms I once bought for a Halloween party and shoved to the back of the closet.  How did she ever find them?  I assure her that of course, I will buy them for her, while silently mouthing over my dead body.  She happily totters off to bed..  for the 14thtime that night.   I close my eyes and try to feel the characters, whose emotions I’m trying to convey on a page.  Is the message coming through?  Do I even know what I want to get across?  As I try to answer those questions, I hear another voice, “Aaaaaiiiiiiiwwwaaaaa… babababababababab…  phluuuuuuuuu.”  I look at the video monitor and see the 8-month-old trying to tear apart his bed.  For the past few months, it appears he has been finding his voice too, although it sounds more like a mating call since all the neighborhood cats congregate under his window.  He’s not crying so I still sit at my computer.   Now I’m just trying to remember what I was even thinking about before.  I look back at the monitor and see he’s trying to eat the blanket with his one shiny new tooth. 

6:43 am

I’m on the Metro, paper and pencil in hand.  I have 23 minutes to find my voice before I enter the “corporate world.”  I close my eyes, in hopes of hearing it, that stupid, annoying, all important voice I’m trying to find.  Instead, an unfamiliar voice blasts through the intercom:  “The next stop is Dupont Circle.  The train will be moving shortly.  Sorry for the inconvenience, especially for the one car that has no air conditioning.”  Now I don’t even remember what it was I was thinking about.

11:45 am

I’m in my office.  The meeting is done, another brilliant use of my time (and everyone else’s).  I open up my notebook and stare at whatever it was I wrote last.  Suddenly, an inspiration strikes me, I begin to write.  The words are a melody flowing from my head.  A few sentences and I can barely keep up with my thoughts.  I feel my blood pumping, I’m exhilarated.. and then I hear it.. “Um, I wanted to talk about the meeting.  Do you have a few minutes?”  I placate my boss and just as I sit down, a gaggle of co-workers come in and we commence discussions about.. you guessed it, the meeting.

And so it goes on, and on.  Somewhere in the midst of bathroom breaks, I take a moment to think about my writing.  What works (very little), what doesn’t (almost everything).  I think about my favorite writers and try to reconstruct what quality their writing possesses that makes me want to beg for an introduction.  And amidst it all, I hear the silent but deafening voices in my own head.

 “C’mon fat ass, the Stairmaster won’t climb itself.  I need to call my cousin.  Did I remember to brush my hair?  The presentation isn’t done yet.  I need to write that dreaded synopsis.  Am I happy?  Where are my daughter’s ballet shoes?  I have to buy my mom a card.  You’re an illiterate foreigner, stop trying to pretend to be a writer.”

On the way back home, I sit in what seems like the same non air conditioned Metro car, thinking about how little I was able to accomplish.  Most importantly, I still couldn’t find my voice.  The thought is very depressing.  Right now, finding my voice is all consuming.

I get back and home and the cycle starts all over.  I hear the kids, “Mama, mama, mama… bllaaaaaa….aaaiiiii… wwwhhhhaaaaaa.”  I hear my husband, “… and then we have to prune the tree.  I went to Target and bought more formula.  Let me tell you about my day at work…”   I don’t tune out.  I’ve learned to listen as the kids are getting fed, I’m cleaning up the kitchen and trying to herd the cattle for the bedtime/bathtime route.  As he passes me in the hallway upstairs, he gives me a lopsided smile and I hear his voice in my ear, “Maybe after the kids are asleep…” his voice trails off and somehow, despite all the voices, my heart skips a beat.

 All around me, it’s quieter now.  And then I start to hear them.  Not my voice, but the voice of the characters.  They want to be let out.  I walk up the darkened stairs and they are louder, more demanding.  I make it to the landing and I can really hear them, juxtaposed against the silence of the house.  There’s still an hour before midnight, if I write for just a bit, I can still get six hours of sleep, provided the kids don’t wake in the middle of the night.  I stand in the darkened hallway, the voices are calling me to write.  I look toward the bedroom and see a sliver of light underneath the door.  I turn to look at the computer room and it is dark.  I shift my head from side to side.  The voices inside my head are now screaming, begging to let them out.  I almost turn toward the computer room and then an image pops into my head.  I see my husband as he walks into my hospital room, his eyes are red but dry.  I’m still groggy from the anesthesia but he sits at my head and smoothes my hair.  He rests his forehead on mine and I feel something wet hit my cheek.  “I promise you,” he whispers, “this is the last baby we send up to the Heavens.”  I snap back to our darkened hallway.  The voices are still ringing in my ears.  I take one last look toward the computer room and with wistful smile head toward the bedroom.   If I do have a voice, it will still be there in the morning.

Rewriting: the Love/Hate relationship of writing and how we manage it

I have a draft open on my laptop right now:  “Lucky Numbers v12 100p June4”.  Tomorrow, the version 12 will be version13.  One hundred pages will have been re-read and minute changes made, for the thirteenth time.  If I can finish those hundred pages tomorrow it will be submitted, along with the synopsis (currently version 14) to an editor who requested it at the WRW retreat in May.

But my secret is, I didn’t write all of it.  I’m putting the final rewrite on a manuscript I’ve been writing with a collaborator for two years.  This is the most recent version of the tale, and it’s been a long and complex production.

How do you handle rewrites?  Is putting the story down a breeze, and the rewriting a slog?  Do you plot as you go, and then have to go back and patch up all the holes you left behind?  Or is it all carefully planned, with minor time needed for revision?  Do you struggle for the words, even though you love the craft?

I’ll out myself here:  I rewrite too much, and it ends up being an excuse not to submit.  I’ve done rewrites where entire pages were dropped or scenes reworked.  My heroine in “Lake Effect” had a sister (briefly) suffering from Multiple Sclerosis.  Poor thing, she’s gone after one scene and six pages.  Reworking the plot yet again, she was unnecessary.

In “Lucky Numbers” this evening, Joanna’s cat went from having silky fur to having almost none.  After all, a life that’s trying to achieve perfection needs something that can never be perfect at all.  It’s a minor detail, but it says a lot about what she’s been through.

I have a deadline for the “Lucky Numbers” project, though, and a collaborator who is waiting for me to perform.  I can’t let them down.  So, I will read every line of these 100 pages for detail.  I will find the periods that were deleted by accident when a line was changed.  The awkward phrasing will be reworked.  A better word will be chosen.

And, though these current 100 pages has been through twelve versions, I’m reminding myself this weekend that I’ve had my hands on just six of them.  We send the work back and forth, with strict rules for rewrites and comments and (most important) version control.  Yes, I’m thrilled to have the final say in this manuscript.  Terrified, too.  Tomorrow, it goes out.  I owe myself, and my partner, that much.

So, back to the question:  how do you approach your rewriting?  Are you eager to tackle the job?  Is it an excuse not to submit?  And how do you cope with someone else’s comments if they mark up your cherished words?

 

The Muse…To Tell or Not To Tell?

Today I happened to be innocently surfing the web, in search of…well, a kick start for a character, yes…a muse.  I came upon the official website of a talented and handsome actor and decided to check it out.  The website was under construction but there was one active tab I could click on.  So I did.  And it was a link to contact the actor through email. 

That is a dangerous thing in the hands of a writer on the search for that little something to give her some oomph behind a character.  My first reaction was to click on the link, type something cheesy about how talented and handsome he is and to be clever, add a little thank you for being my inspiration today. 

Thank goodness my secret sense kicked in just in time before I made a fool of myself!!

And it got me thinking…as a writer, which aspects of your personal process do you feel should be kept secret and which ones do you think are safe and beneficial to share with the rest of us?

As for me, I definitely think that the muse is the one thing to keep mysterious.  Share everything else because it helps others.  But the pictures we paint in our minds as we read about a character are so personal and subjective; I would never want a reader to have my own taste get in the way of theirs.

That being said and to have a little fun, (because it’s entirely too hot out not to have some fun!) I am going to give my “five hottest guys” list.  Please don’t leave me hanging…come on, let’s see yours too!

Disclaimer—No active muse of mine is listed below!

1. Snoop Dog

2. Andy Whitfield

3. Dave Gahan

4. Jimmy Fallon

5. Robert Pattinson

The Dreaded Synopsis

Tell me, how do you write the synopsis to your W.I.P.? Because here’s how my typical synopsis writing day goes. 

First, I remind myself and anyone within earshot of how much I hate writing the synopsis. Then I open a Word Document. After staring at said blank page for about three straight minutes, I toggle over to Twitter and tweet about how I despise the synopsis.

Then, I eat something. After that, I let the food digest. We’ve all heard our mothers remind us to wait twenty minutes after we eat before working on our synopsis. Don’t want any writing-related cramps after all.

Finally, I go back to the blank page and eek out two lame sentences. I berate them. I judge them. Then I take the time to berate and judge myself. You suck, Kerri!

If there is any time left I send my BFF an email expressing my extreme suck-age. And then she tells me over g-chat that I don’t suck and reminds me of her favorite thing I ever wrote, which was my first attempt at a romantic suspense novel and involved a shattered woman, FBI agent and a fat cat. Personally, I think it blew. But seven years later, she still insists it was fabulous.

And then she tells me what she had from Starbucks that day. Usually, a Chai Latte.

Why do I hate the synopsis so much? It’s a part of writing after all. And I love writing! When I’m writing a novel the words just flow from my brain (or heart?) through my fingers onto the keyboard and out to my computer.

But the stupid synopsis? That feels like work. Like school. Except I actually liked school. So like the gynecologist. Yes, that is more appropriate. The synopsis as a gynecological visit.

Or, maybe… writing a synopsis reminds me that I have finished a manuscript. I’ve spent countless hours conceiving of an idea, creating characters and plotting out the best story I can. That means it’s time to send all that hard work out into the world for editors and agents to have the opportunity to reject.

I’ve dreamt the same dream scenario as many of you. You get a call on the first query you send out begging you to sign with that agent or editor. I will be the exception to all of the rejection stories we’ve heard.

But dream time is over. I have to send my baby out into the world. For better or worse. (And then I call my BFF just to hear once again how much she liked that sucky story seven years ago….)

So I ask you, fellow writers: Any synopsis-writing advice?

Expectations, Infidelity and the Terminator

I am an avid reader (and hopeful aspiring author) of Harlequin Blaze, the hottest and sexiest line of their category line stable.  In it you will find the trademark hot-lovin’ in a variety of positions, locations and with or without accompanying toys.  This line is lava-hot but also promises a happily- ever-after (HEA) or a happliy-for-now (HFN) ending for one man and one woman – an emotional connection in addiiton to the sexual one.  If you want sex with multiple partners of either gender, you need to look elsewhere (like the Harlequin SPICE line).

So, when I picked up and read, ‘Reckless Pleasures” by Tori Carrington (a long-time favorite of mine) I was thrown by my reaction to the plot.  Here’s the blurb from the back of the book:

”Six months apart is a long time. For security expert, Megan McGowan, it feels like forever since she’s felt the strong arms of Darius Folsom around her. Since Dari’s military deployment six months ago, every minute apart is another minute that Megan finds herself tempted . . .

Bad boy Jason Savage is Dari’s best friend – and partner in the new security firm Dari and Megan have formed. Only as Megan and Jason work closely together on an emotionally charged case, the attraction between them goes from hot to nuclear meltdown.

But even as Megan’s libido screams “Oh, yes!” she wonders if it’s possible to love one man – and give in to her hunger for another . . .”

 

Hmmm . . . . now let me caveat that I am not a book reviewer. I know what I like and what I don’t. I like some plot points (celebrities and sports stars) more than others (cowboys) but I can always enjoy a good book.  And this was  good book.  Tori Carrington is a solid writer who delivers hot sex, well-developed characters, and an intriguing plot.  This book was no exception on those points.

But, I had to struggle to complete it and at the end it left me . . . well, I was many things. I’ve had my fill of stories about infidelity and the consequences (and, it has totally ruined my enjoyment of “Total Recall”) and this book was well-timed to be caught up in my thoughts on that  area of discussion.  And, add to the mix that I work for the military and many of my friends have deployed and faced this very occurrence – so yeah, I have baggage on this one.

I had a hard time liking Megan or Jason and I was disappointed in Dari and his reaction to the news when he returns home, injured due to an IED. As a writer, I was intrgued by the thought of tackling infidelity in a Harlequin Blaze novel but I was also left with a sense of disappointment of reader expectation. After much thought about my reaction, I determined that the source of my disappointment wasn’t the storyline or subject matter – it was the fact that because of the reactions, excuses, explanations, and feelings of all three interested parties, I didn’t get the sense that any of them were “the one” for the other.

The love story, the connection between the hero, heroine or third wheel, didn’t grab me enough to make me emotionally invest in the story.  I wasn’t turning the page with that gut-twisting, angst and my inner voice saying “You were meant for each other.”  And that is the source of my disappointment – I didn’t fall in love with either of the men and I didn’t want to be Megan.  The book was well-written and it did get my attention but not for the reason I read romance.

This book has created a stir for many readers and the Web is full of blog posts and book reviews on the subject matter.  The bottom line is this: whether they love it or hate it, it has garnered a reaction from a great many people.

What books have you read that didn’t live up to your expectations but “stayed” with you anyway? Are there some plotlines, stories, subject matters that you will not read?

Robin

I’m a Romance Junkie

Hi, my name’s Avery and I’m a romance junkie.

It all started in middle school with purloined copies of my mother’s V.C. Andrews and Jackie Collins. So brazen did I become that my sixth grade teacher – oh, she of the see-through blouses – sent my mom a note ratting me out for bringing The Thorn Birds for my independent reading time.

That wasn’t enough to rid me of my demons. No. I scoured used book stores for dogeared Harlequin novels. The sweet and sheltered heroine whose innocence reels in the arrogant and demanding hero (who later in life I realized was often a total prick). I’d devour the books in one marathon session in the tub, refilling it with hot water as necessary. Then I discovered Johanna Lindsey’s regency romance novels. Independent, smart, spitfire heroines out to right a wrong. And the heroes? Oh, yeah. Brawn and brains – and a title to boot.

The list goes on and on, there’s rarely been a romance novel I didn’t caress with lust, eager to rip open the cover and loose myself in the pure joyous high of the happily ever after, the adventure, the intrigue, the mystery, the black moments, the rediscoveries, the plot twists and the laughter found within its pages.

Until recently, I had no idea I had a problem. Sure, it wasn’t unusual for me to burn dinner because I was too engrossed in the tale to pay attention to my cooking. But that happens to everyone, right? At the romance junkie house (AKA the bookstore), the pushers knew me by name. Then, they started sending me e-mails recommending other romance authors they thought I would enjoy. I’d buy the romance books unable to resist their heady charms.

Then a life coach explained that romance novels are addictive and as horrible as porn (I clutched my pearls at the thought because everyone knows only dirty men like to watch porn). Romance novels can cause major problems in a person’s life. She even had the pseudo-science to back up her claims!

The news hit me like a thunderclap. Crack! And here I thought I was doing OK. I graduated from college, own a business, married a devastatingly handsome and smart man, am raising three kids, have good friends, volunteer for local non-profits and donate to charities. But no, I am a romance junkie and it’s time I faced facts.

Fact One: I experience a thrill when I read a romance novel. Goosebumps. Butterflies in my stomach. An overall feeling of happy. We all know there is nothing worse in the world than allowing yourself to experience happiness.

Fact Two: For years, romance novels and their required happily ever after ending have been one of my major stress relievers. Obviously, I should have been scrubbing the floors to work out my stress.

Fact Three: Sometimes, I am so drawn into the lives of the characters that I cry (cry!) when misfortune befalls them. Caring about others? What was I thinking?

Fact Four: The heroines in romance novels have taught me to stick up for myself, to fight for the underdog, to be willing to take risks and to not settle for anything less than I deserve. I need to get back to my subservient role immediately.

Fact Five: Romance heroes have taught me that not all men leave, that strength and intelligence are sexy in men and women, that even boys get scared and that they, too, should not settle for anything less than they deserve. I know now, this is pure poppycock.

Shame is welling up within me as I type these facts. No jury in the world would fail to convict me.

I am a romance junkie.

And I’m off to take another hit.

Asking the Right Questions

Hello, world, and welcome to June!

It doesn’t feel like this year should be half over yet. I know that the older we get the quicker time flies, as each second becomes a smaller and smaller percentage of our overall lifespan…but six months into 2011? Really?

And even more incredibly than that…how on earth did I manage to interview 30 authors on my website in the month of May?

It all started out innocently enough: I had a laundry list of authors on my to-do page that needed to be addressed, and I had my fairy goddaughters for Bring Your Child to Work Day. It was a match made in heaven. We came up with a list of fun and silly questions and decided to send them to everyone.

Yes, everyone.

Within a week I had twenty sets of answers from fiction authors whom I’ve known and respected for a very long time. Add to that five authors from the Magical Words Blog, and I was left with only a week to fill on the fly once I got back from the Nebula Awards. Easy-peasy-Japanesey.

What I didn’t realize when the girls and I came up with those quick and silly questions was how incredibly insightful they would be. (More than few of them were turned into Mermaid Profile Questions.) The interviews weren’t only fun to read, they were intriguing and inspiring. They were everything Barbara Walters hopes she can get out of her victims and more. (You can see the full list of interviews here.)

In The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams told us that the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything is 42. What we don’t know is the question. There is much wisdom in asking the right question.

I learned some very interesting things last month. I learned that I am not the only author who chooses coffee or tea depending on the situation, or who is afraid of really silly things. I learned that writers dream big…but also realistically. When asked to list three things they wanted to do before they died, most people listed incredibly attainable things. When asked how many words they wished they could write in a single day, most people’s goals were easily reachable. (Only Avery Mermaid and I really went crazy on that one.) And I found so many more things to put on my Princess List.

Writers are clever. Writers are funny. Writers live to experience things. Writers thrive on a sense of community. Writers love answering questions (but often hate choosing between two things). But most of all, writers are real. We build our castles in the sky, but we know our foundations must be planted firmly in the ground.

Last month, I learned things I never knew about friends I’ve had for…well, for some, around a decade. It is amazing how much you can find out about a person by asking a silly question. What’s your favorite word? Your favorite dessert? Your top 5 desert island albums? What schoolyard songs do you remember? How about your favorite board game as a child?

What are some other great silly questions? Go on, ask them.
If we’re lucky, we might just stumble upon Life, the Universe, and Everything.