...to Susan's Blog archives

If you've made it this far you probably know that Susan's maiden blog is on Running With Quills. Be sure to check her main Blog page often for her latest entries. Read her past entries below and enjoy...

posted online at Running With Quills May 25, 2010

Susan brings you Christie Craig!

Last fall I was sent a copy of Christie Craig's Shut Up and Kiss Me for a possible quote. I just enjoyed the heck out of it and asked if she'd like to be a guest on Quills when it came out. Well, it was released yesterday, my pretties. And I'm here to tell ya, I think you're really going to like this one! She has a fun, fun touch, yet at the same time gives that "Awwww" factor that I really like. So please join me in giving Ms Craig a big Quillsville welcome.

Take it away, Christie!
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Thank you Susan and the rest of the Running with Quills ladies for having me here to talk about my new book. What’s my book about? It’s a humorous romantic suspense about love, family, soul mates, and a hit man. In case you’re wondering where the humor comes in, there’s a pissed off skunk, some equally pissed off fire ants, a good ol’ fashioned fist fight where plenty of grits hit the fan. Don’t forget about the man in the pink bathrobe or the hero’s foster father’s missing bottle of Viagra. Yup, there’s a lot of laughter on this road to happily ever after. However, another subject covered in my plot is that of dreams.

In Shut Up and Kiss Me, my hero’s foster father has prophetic dreams that tell him that Sky and Shala are soul mates. But Shala and Sky have almost lost their belief in love and their capability to dream. And that’s what I want to blog about: The ability to dream and to make those dreams come true.

I’m a believer in making dreams happen. Even if you have to spend years chasing ‘em down with a big fireplace poker, calling ‘em names that your Aunt Bertha would gasp at, and giving ‘em holy hell. You see, dreams are sometimes funny, slippery little devils that can get away from you. And when I talk about dreams, I’m not just talking about finding your true love who looks like Matthew McConaughey. Your dream could be about finding the potato that looks like President Bush Senior for all I care.

Honestly, finding a potato with the president’s face on it might have been easier that my own dream. Maybe not as easy as snagging Matthew, but I didn’t want a Bush potato, didn’t desire Matthew, except in that one movie, but we won’t go there. What I wanted was to see my stories on the bookshelves--to be able to say that I made my living sitting at my computer, wearing my pajamas and funky house shoes and penning wild tales about love, with a few skunks thrown in. I wanted to be a writer.

I knew my journey wasn’t going to be a walk down Rodeo Drive with a new credit card. It wasn’t that life hadn’t given me any talent. It just gave it to me in rough draft. I was in my early twenties, dyslexic, hadn’t finished high school and couldn’t spell the word “writer.” And that leads me to my five tips on making dreams happen.

1) Don’t focus on what you can’t do, focus on what you can, and then go from there.

If I’d fixated on the hurdles, I wouldn’t have taken this journey. Instead, I focused on what I could do. I might not have been able to write worth diddly squat, but being southern, storytelling was in my genes, and I could weave a pretty darn good yarn together.

2) Keep your dream watered and fed

You gotta put effort into your dream. I don’t mean effort for three months and then let it wither and die. Dreams are like house plants, you gotta keep ‘em fed and watered regularly. The speed with which you work on your dream isn’t as important as keeping it alive. Do this by continuously taking steps, even baby steps, toward making that dream come true—by feeding your dream the inspiration it needs to grow.

3) Remember, birds of a feather flock together

As parents we’re obsessed with the kids our children hang with, and for good reason. Peer pressure is real. Bad behavior is contagious. So is negativity, and that doesn’t change when you stop getting pimples. If you’re hanging with non-dreamers or people who don’t believe in your dream, keeping yourself motivated can be a bear. If you hang out with people who are go-getters, you’re likely to be proactive. So watch your circle of influence and kick the negative people to the curb and replace them with goal-oriented people.

4) Either embrace rejection or kick its ass, nothing in between

Rejection doesn’t make you feel good. But don’t fool yourself, no matter what your dream is, you’re probably gonna stare rejection in the eyes and smell its bad breath at least once. I have too many bad-breath pieces of paper telling me my book, my article, didn’t cut the mustard. I learned to study those rejections for wisdom that could help me improve. That’s the embracing part of this tip because improving is a must. But if there wasn’t any wisdom in that rejection, I did the next best thing. I got pissed off and bottled all that energy up in a can of whoop ass and used it as motivation. “You don’t think I can do this?” I’d chant. “Watch me.”

5) Dreams aren’t milk--they shouldn’t come with an expiration date

Who’s to say the day you stop checking out the potatoes, you accidentally cut poor Bush’s face up and French fry it? Who’s to say that the day you give up writing, is the day you finally understand plot? From the time I announced my dream, it took me a short ten years before I overcame the hurdles in front of me to sell book one, and only another thirteen years, to sell book two. Shut Up and Kiss Me is my seventh romance novel and I now have six more novels under contract with two major publishing houses. In June, I’ll also have my humorous self-help/relationship book, Wild, Wicked & Wanton: 101 Ways to Love Like You’re in a Romance Novel published, co-written with Faye Hughes.

I still have a way to climb the publishing ladder, but I’m here because I didn’t stamp an expiration date on my dreams. Yup, here I sit at my desk wearing my pajamas and funky house shoes and penning wild tales about love, with an occasional skunk thrown in. And speaking of dreams come true? I’m honored to be a guest blogger with so many fantastic writers. Thank you again, Susan, for asking me to blog and for giving me a wonderful cover quote.

Today, I’d like to hear how you accomplished your dreams, how you plan on accomplishing them. To one commenter, I’ll be giving away a $15 gift card to Barnes and Noble, so don’t be shy.

CC

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posted online at Running With Quills May 11, 2010

A Love Letter to My Mom

Dear M’ma,

I’ve always felt lucky to have you as my mother. You were a steady, stable influence in my life, showing me by example what was important and what was just. . . stuff. I mostly appreciated that, even if you sometimes made me do things I didn’t like. Okay, I still don’t get the not letting me quit Brownies until I “flew up” to the Girl Scouts. You know I wasn’t cut out for that organization.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’d be saying if you were still you. “Get over it.”

And, I have. Mostly. Because it's small spuds stacked against your smile, which lights up a room, or the fact that you gave me a foundation of laughter. Of security and values. That you built me a platform from which to grow.

I have a million memories that I hoard deep in my heart. Of you waking me up at midnight the night of the sixth grade Mother/Daughter tea to have me tell Dad the compliment my schoolmate gave me about you. Of you holding me the night I heard on the radio that Judy Meehan had been killed in a car accident. Of the work you put in on that long coat you made to go over my prom dress and the shoes you covered in matching material.

I can still picture your face on my wedding day when you gave me the locket Dad had given you on your eighteenth birthday. (I hope to someday give it to Christopher's wife). Can still feel the security of having you take care of the day to day stuff for us when we brought Chris home from the hospital—and a few months later when you took care of him while I was in a different hospital following my cancer surgery--as well as the rest of us during the recovery period.

You racked up hours and hours baby sitting when Steve's and my budget stretched to cover either a night out or to get a sitter—but rarely both. I have a particularly fond memory of the weekend you took care of not only Christopher but Doug and Mimi’s boys as well—and taught them all to play poker. I think the oldest was about seven.

But that's what kills me about Alzheimer’s—the memories that define our history have mostly disappeared for you now. You didn’t recognize Christopher when he picked you up on Sunday to bring you to our place. You asked me if I lived there--in the house I've been in for 39 years. We've seen too many people fall to this dementia. First Toni, then Jack, then Walt. Now you.

I often wonder what era it is in your head these days. I'm guessing it's from a while back, since you think that Daddy is still alive if elusively distant and you wonder where your folks are. I know you’d rather still be in your own home than in the nice little group home we found for you, but it's a huge load off our shoulders knowing you’re safe. Things went downhill so damn fast this year. I knew that Ken and Ron and I stopping by pretty much daily and the nightly help we had for you was no longer enough the rainy night the police called me at 11 pm to say they’d found you wandering far from home. And I'm happy to see that you're not so lonely where you are now, with all the activities and your friend Esther.

But, God, I hate this fricking disease. Because even though you're still here physically, the woman I knew is disappearing, piece by piece, in front of my eyes. And, God, I miss you, Mom.

Love, SuSu Maria

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posted online at Running With Quills April 13, 2010

Susan gives you: The Girl Who Chased the Moon

I tried to think of something to write for my Wednesday blog...but kept coming up blank. I have too much on my plate this week and just don't have the chops, you know? So I decided to report on a wonderful book I recently read--to treat myself to introducing you to an author you may not have yet discovered.

I came across Sarah Addison Allen a few years ago when I picked up her first book, Garden Spells. I have to tell you, it knocked my socks off. Not since Alice Hoffman have I read a writer who is so adept at mixing themystical with the mundane. Allen has the added bonus of being a Southern writer, so her stories are peopled with small town quirky characters who never fail to charm.

In her latest, The Girl Who Chased the Moon, seventeen year old Emily Benedict comes to Mullaby, North Carolina, the town her mother left without a backward glance and never talked about. Grieving for her perfect paragon of a parent, she arrives to live with a grandfather she didn't even know existed. He's the eight foot Giant of Mullaby. And it turns out her mama wasn't as perfect as Emily thought. She is, in fact, reviled by a sizable portion of the population, yet nobody will discuss the scandal that drove her out of town.

Julia Winterson is only in Mullaby temporarily. With external scars that serve as reminders of a one-time inner turmoil, she's anxious to get back to her life up north where her friends know her as the adult she's become, not the screwed up kid she once was. First, however, she needs to get the BBQ diner her father bequeathed her in shape to sell. Yet even as she's making plans to leave, she befriends Emily and doesn't do as much as she might to avoid Sawyer, the man who once broke her heart.

Mullaby enchanted me with its mystery lights in the woods, wallpaper that changed with the occupant's moods, a prominent family with an open secret that no one talks about and cakes that were baked to bring back a loved one. It gave me an entire day of pure reading pleasure.

But what about you all? What have you read lately that you can hardly wait to pass on to your best friend? You know me--I'm always on the look out for the next good book recommendation.

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posted online at Running With Quills March 30, 2010

Susan does ZinZanni

The soulmate and I celebrated our 41st anniversary this weekend. It's been a crazy spring and winter, so we couldn't afford the time for a trip out of town. But we still wanted to do something special, so we went to the brunch show at Teatro ZinZanni, a Seattle (and, okay, copycat San Francisco) institution. I know that most of you likely hear Seattle and think Space Needle. But trust me, Teatro ZinZanni is almost as Seattlecentric.

I suppose you could call it a dinner theater--except that just doesn't begin to cover it. It's a unique blend of European cabaret and cirque, divas and madmen, vaudeville, improv and interactive theater.

You know it's going to be a different experience the minute you see the antique spiegletent (mirror tent) it's housed in. Made in Belgium at the turn of the twentieth century, it's one of the little cabaret palaces that were so popular during that era. Each consists of over 4000 pieces and are designed to be easily broken down and erected to move around the countryside. Ours now has a permanent residence across from McCaw Hall and down the street from the Opera House at the Seattle Center and is a little jewel box of lush fabrics, stained glass, mahogany and mirrors. Each spiegletent has a unique history. Seattle's is called the Moulin Rouge and was built in 1910. Very little of the original remains, however, as the Nazi very nearly destroyed it in retribution for a Resistance force that blew up a bridge in advance of the Nazi approach.

The License to Kiss show was two and a half hours of fun, laughter, good food and pure amazement. Even serving the three courses is part of the act. They also drag customers into their skits and I love watching how people handle that, as I would find it very self conscious making. But I discover that, by and large, people are really good sports. And I gotta tell ya, two of the acts we saw convinced me it was waaaaay past time to get back to exercising beyond my 5 mile walks. Not that I am ever, in this lifetime, going to achieve the strength and beauty of the aerialist or the vertical tango dancers (who gave a whole new meaning to the term pole dancing, lemme tell ya). I should be able, however, to do a little something to firm up at least some of the jiggle.

But I digress. I meant to ask what kind of city/town/area-centric things you associate with your little piece of the world. For instance, I hear Vermont and immediately think X-Country skiing. Yet Carla, who lives there, might have a completely different take. Won'tcha tell Mother Susan? Cuz you know me, me beauties. Enquiring (or do I mean inquiring?) minds wanna know.

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posted online at Running With Quills March 16, 2010

Spring in Seattle

I think I mentioned in my last blog that the weather in the Pacific Northwest has been bass-akward this winter. We appear to have gotten California's weather up here, while they've gotten ours. Consequently, it's been much warmer and dryer and spring has arrived early. Yesterday it was 65 degrees and sunny.

All I can say about that is...Woo-hoo, tres kewl! Today is more overcast, but it's still wonderfully mild. I took a walk around the neighborhood this morning and shot a few pics to show you springtime in Seattle. I mean, all my tulips are days from opening up--that's almost a month ahead of their usual schedule. There's only a dusting of blooms left on my plum trees--they're already turning from flowers to leaves--and my orchid's flowers are starting to dry up and will soon be gone for another year. All the cherry trees, on the other hand, are in full bloom. Here are a few of the shots I took (I tossed in the one I took of a sunrise a couple of weeks ago, just cuz it was so pretty).

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posted online at Running With Quills March 2, 2010

Susie's not gonna be foe no moe

Once Upon a Time, when I was a wee sprout about to turn five, I was asked how old I'd be on my birthday. Family history has it that I looked the questioner in the eye and said, "Well, I ain't gonna be foe no moe." So of course my fam has beat that to death over the years by bringing it up anytime I was about to turn 24, 34, 44, 54. I'm pretty sure I'll go to my grave with that bit of family lore attached to me. I can hear them now: Hmmm, guess she really isn't gonna be ninety-foe no moe.

I imagine every family probably has sayings that make no sense to anyone else, but tickle those involved. Or perhaps in your family, as in mine, they just won't let it die no matter how pretty you beg.

I don't remember exactly how old I was the year I got a cunning pair of blue flip flops with tinsel-shiny straps. I do remember we were calling them zorries that summer, that I loved mine to pieces, and had probably only had them a week the day we went over to Pleasant Harbor in my dad's old Hollywood, a 17 foot wooden boat we used to water ski behind. My cousin Colleen and I were messing around on a long, narrow dock 10 or so feet above the water when I managed to knock off one of the sandals. It fell into the water below and I flipped out in the way only pubescent girls can do. My brother Ron, who's 3 years older than I, said he'd get it for me--probably just to shut me up. He was wading from the shore out to where it floated fifteen feet away, when we saw that he was headed for an abrupt and very steep drop off. Being a know-it-all-teenage boy, however, he blew us off when we warned him-- only to immediately take the step that made him sink like a stone. So the saying he got stuck with is: "Hah! Wanna make a bet--glub, glub, glub."

Before my sweet baby boy had words, whenever we'd ask him where something was he'd say, "Eee ee ee!" with the same inflection you'd give "Here it is!" To this day the soul mate and I will still occasionally respond that way when we find something we've been searching for.

So I get it. It wasn't that my family lived to annoy me by refusing to let go of my childish "Ain't gonna be foe no moe"--although I don't doubt in my brothers' minds that was a bonus. It's more that such family sayings anchor moments in our lives, moments that bring with them flashes as clear as the days the sayings came into being. I can still see Ron's face just before he stepped off the drop off, can still feel the sun on my shoulders and picture those flip flops as clearly as the day I got them. I can still see my baby's face, all lit up with the pleasure of telling us where the item we asked about was located, if only in babyeze.

So these are a few of my family sayings. What are the ones that have become part of your family lore?

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posted online at Running With Quills February 17, 2010

Susan's February so far

February's been a busy, sometimes up, sometimes down, month for me. It started with a bang with a ski trip (with all the usual suspects) to the Mazama Ranch House in Washington's Methow Valley.

Eat...Sleep...Ski. That's a motto worth living by. Right up there with Write hard. Die free.

It was very cool--and the only opportunity I had to ski this year since, as anyone's who's been watching the Olympics can tell you, the Pacific Northwest is having an El Nino winter of higher than usual temps. My tulips are up, if not yet open, my crocus and Daphne Odora are blooming and my Thundering plum trees are about to burst into bloom. I put in some new ground cover on one of my parking strips this afternoon while my cats raced up trees and pounced on the dirt I displaced. In February. Weird.

My oldest brother broke his leg snowboarding and my husband was held up in Sakhalin, Russia, for an entire week waiting for freaking Alaska Airlines to find his duffle bag with all his tools, so he could board an 18 hour ferry to Iturup Island, get his work done and get home. (the latter hasn't happened yet)

I attended a 90th birthday party up on Whidbey Island for my sister- in-law's mother--a woman I've known since I was a kid--and got to see the new dream home it where it was held.

I received the covers for my next release: Burning Up (September) and 2 reissues: Skintight (June) and Obsessed (August)

HQN, bless em, let me make some changes to Skintight. I wish, wish, wish Kensington would let me edit Obsessed as well, as it's an early book of mine with freshman writer mistakes. I still love the characters and the story, but I've developed my craft quite a bit since then and to be able to strike out a paragraph here or a sentence there would have made the pacing soooo much tighter. But, sigh. It's not to be.

As mentioned, the soul mate's been in Russia since the 2nd, so Valentine's Day was a non-event. But my sweet baby boy took his girl and me to a restaurant called Spring Hill for dinner on the 13th. And oh my gawd their food was good. By sharing dishes we got to taste mussels and clams and pan fried trout, rolls with creamery butter and sea salt, a fuji apple salad, dinah's cheese and handmade tagliatelle with crispy pork shoulder and hen of the woods mushrooms. For dessert we shared bites of popcorn hushpuppies and blood orange sherbert. Got two words for ya, my pretties: Yum-mee. (I really like to eat. Does it show?) If you're ever in Seattle I highly recommend this restaurant. Reservations recommended.

I had a scare with my mom, who has dementia and my brothers and I have made some adjustments in her care. I think we'll be lucky if we're able to keep her in her own home beyond this year.

I've been hard at work on the beginning of Ava's story, but it's slow going. This is not exactly news, as starts are always the toughest for me--starting books, starting scenes or chapters. But especially the book itself. I always have to pick my way through several chapters before I begin to figure out what the heck I'm doing.

It now has a title, though. Drum roll, please, maestro. Rat-atat-atat-atat! "LAdies and GENTlemen! Please direct your attention to the book in ring three! Officially Announcing........rat-atat-atat-atat!.... Playing Dirty! (too much build up, anticlimactic pay-off?)

As you can probably tell, I've been on my own quite a bit this month, so I tend to run on a bit. I was going to add even more, but this thing is turning into a manuscript in its own right and I gotta go catch the women's snowboard cross. So tell me, how's your February been going?

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posted online at Running With Quills February 2, 2010

Susan Welcomes back Kristan Higgins

She's baaaaaack! Join me in giving the always fun Kristan a big Quills welcome!

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Thanks as ever to the lithe and beautiful Susan Andersen for inviting me to be here! Of course, I had to remind her that yes, she really did offer to have me back on RwQ, but lucky for me, I keep meticulous records and had the hard evidence. It’s truly a pleasure to be back, and a little surreal to be in even the virtual presence of such amazing authors.

When I think about romance novels, one of the things I love best is when the hero and heroine are going to have a very hard time getting together. I think there are two fundamental questions that we author folk have to answer. The first is, Why are these two absolutely perfect for each other? And the second, of course, is, Why are these two so very, very wrong for each other?

In The Next Best Thing, my fifth romantic comedy, we find Lucy, a young widow. She deeply loved her husband, Jimmy, who died in a car accident five years ago…but it’s time to move on. She wants kids. She wants a husband (sort of). Someone she won’t love that way, because she never wants to have her heart crushed again. She figures she’ll pick someone decent, someone nice…but not The One. Husband #2 doesn’t have to be all that special. It’s fine. Lucy doesn’t need much.

First order of business, stop sleeping with Ethan, her dead husband’s brother. See, Ethan and Lucy have been friends for years. In fact, Ethan introduced Lucy to his big brother, and the rest was history. A few years after Jimmy’s death, Lucy and Ethan start the privileges part of their friendship…and things start to get complicated.

So obviously, it’s got that so wrong feeling…not just her friend, but her brother-in-law! Not only that, but…well, Ethan’s very loveable. Because she (A) doesn’t want to kill him…there’s something of a family curse, you see, and (B) isn’t looking for love this time around, she cuts the benefits package, and off she goes, looking for Mr. Not-Awful.
Now let me just state for the record that I’ve always imagined being widowed. My mom was widowed young, so it’s regrettably easy to picture. And McIrish, my sainted husband, is a firefighter. And yes, he has a very good-looking younger brother. I mean, McIrish is very cute and I love him very much, etc., etc.…but his brother is gorgeous! Six-foot-three, blue eyes, black hair, killer smile. Have I mentioned that he’s single? And so nice. Imagine my conversation with said relation one fine day as he, McIrish and I drove merrily along on our way to the beach.

Brother-in-law: “So, Kristan, what’s your new book about?”
KH: “Oh, it’s about a young widow who’s trying to move on a few years after her husband dies.”
B-I-L: “Cool. Who’s the hero?”
KH: “The dead husband’s younger brother.”
Uncomfortable glances exchanged between brothers. Silence ensues.
KH: “Who’s hungry?”

The Next Best Thing is further complicated because Ethan, our hero, is tired of living in his brother’s shadow. Over the years, Jimmy’s become a bit of a saint, and if Lucy wants to find someone else, fine. Well, not fine, of course. Ethan loves Lucy…he can’t help it. But if she’s moving on, he’ll try to find something else, too. But you know how it goes. The heart wants what the heart wants. Throw in some fabulous desserts — Lucy’s a pastry chef — an Italian restaurant, a Mafia don of a cat, a tiny town off the coast of Rhode Island, and I think you’ll have a lot of fun with The Next Best Thing.

So here’s a question for you…have you ever fallen for someone who really seems off limits? A priest, for example? Your friend’s honey? Your sister’s ex? I’ll send a signed copy of The Next Best Thing to one of today’s responders. Alas, I did ask my gorgeous brother-in-law if he’d be willing to date one of the responders, but he took the high road and refused to let me auction him off. Sorry. You’ll have to settle for a book.

Looking forward to hearing your stories!

~Kristan
www.kristanhiggins.com

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posted online at Running With Quills January 18, 2010

Susan Welcomes Lucy Monroe!

I first met Lucy in--I don't remember when exactly, but it must have been around the beginning of the millennium. She'd invited me and my brainstorming partner, Caroline Cross, to talk with the Olympia RWA chapter. Lucy was unpubbed at the time, but I just knew she would sell one day--and probably sooner rather than later--for she was professional, focused and filled with perseverance, three very important traits in this business.

And once she did sell--Lordy, Lordy, the girl took off like a rocket. Lucy's published just shy of 50 books since 2004, from publishers and lines ranging from Harlequin Presents to Samhain Inspirationals to Berkley Sensations.

Shew! It makes me tired just thinking about it. But for those of you new to Lucy's books this is kinda like hitting the lottery, because what a backlist, eh? So, please, everyone, join me in giving Lucy Monroe a big, Quills welcome!

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Two Weddings and a Deadline

Thanks so much to Susan for having me as a guest. You know I'm a fan of your books, just like the other readers here, but I think you rock as a person too. I'm sure everyone who visits here feels the same. :) You are, as someone wise and lovely once said, one of the good people. :)

On to my musings...

With all the reality TV shows exposing the most bizarre, indulgent and negative side of weddings, it's a little surprising elopements aren't on the rise. Weddings are on my brain in a big way right now because my youngest is getting married on January 31st. That just happens to be the day before my latest manuscript is due and two days before my next release, Moon Craving, hits the shelves. Timing is everything!

My daughter had originally planned to be a June bride, but she and her fiance decided they wanted a winter wedding instead. So, my carefully plotted schedule with all the time in the world to be Mother of the Bride went out the window right along with my sanity. I can't say I mind. No amount of stress can diminish my excitement over the upcoming ceremony and celebration. My oldest married last March, so we've got more recent experience with wedding preparations than we did for hers.

Weddings are wrought with meaning and potential and social context. They're also romantic and special and a reminder to every married person who attends about their own love stories.

Many of our current wedding traditions only date back as far as the Victorian era. For instance, bridal white? Not everywhere. In Japan the color associated with love is purple. In China white is a color for mourning. But here, yep, the most common color for a wedding dress is white. And why? Queen Victoria's break with tradtional bridal silver and the common practice of wearing one's best gown rather than a special bridal gown to get married in. (My daughter would be so disappointed if she didn't have that excuse to buy the Oleg Cassini gown and trundle down the aisle at the Adrianna Hill Ballroom in it.) Speaking of walking down the aisle, it is still common practice in many places for the bride and groom to meet at the front of the church without the bride's slow march down the aisle on the arm of her father.

The exchange of rings is also a fairly recent wedding practice and one I personally love. While some men and women still opt not to wear weading rings, it is definitely the exception, not the norm. (You don't want to hear the horror stories of cutting fingers off in emergency my oldest daughter told her sister when she found out the fiance wants a titanium ring. The fiance wasn't swayed however and his ring is gorgeous.) Did you know that in Greece the wedding ring is worn on the right hand? In some cultures the practice of wearing the ring on the left thumb as a symbol of devout love is still used. I don't really care what finger I wear it on, I just like that little symbol of my lifelong love for my dh.

I'm also partial to the whole "removing the garter and tossing it" tradition. Do you see the look on my dh's face as he removes mine? That man had some seriously kinky thoughts going through his head in that moment. LOL But tossing the garter and the bouquet came about because brides didn't want to be chased down for torn strips of their "lucky wedding dresses" (circa Middle Ages). Yeah, I'm thinking traumatic, how about you? And we thought it was stressful to catch the bouquet! It would certainly justify buying a pair of good running shoes before the wedding.

I love writing weddings as much as I love attending them. In fact, I've been known to write two ceremonies into my stories for different reasons. Below you can find a shortish excerpt of Abigail and Talorc's wedding in Moon Craving. I had a lot of fun writing that scene, but the one that moved me to tears is the private Chrechte (the name of my shapechangers) ceremony later in the book.

Yep, I'm a sucker for a good wedding and it's a good thing too...or I think I might be losing my mind right about now. :)

What are your favorite wedding traditions? The ones you find most bizarre?

Excerpt © 2009 Lucy Monroe

Talorc stood before the English priest in the small chapel. The MacDonald warriors and most of the English baron’s soldiers had to remain outside. His own warriors, the MacDonald and five of his men, his bride’s family and a few English soldiers were the only witnesses for the wedding to come.

There were no flowers, no pomp and ceremony for this royally dictated marriage. That should not have bothered him, but the soft-spoken woman he had met the night before seemed to deserve more. Even if she was English. She had been so vulnerable, and yet when he had demanded to know if she planned to marry him, she had taken her time replying.

She had weighed him. He could feel her doing it, and she hadn’t been adding up the size of his lands in her head. She’d been judging him personally and something inside him had refused to be found wanting.

She was nothing like Emily, which was both good and bad. He did not relish the prospect of being likened to a goat by another Englishwoman, but he had no desire to see Abigail Hamilton eaten up and spit out by his clan. Emily had come to the Highlands to protect this very sister from such a fate. He could not help believing her fears had been justified.

Abigail spoke in whispers, seemed oblivious to her beauty and had a nervous habit of holding her hand over her throat when she talked. As if she was preventing the wrong words from coming out. His wolf felt protective toward her like he had no other besides family. Since the only one left, his younger sister Caitriona, was now mated to the Balmoral’s second-in-command, it had been a long time since Talorc had felt those instincts stir so restlessly.

He wanted to believe it was only because the woman was slated to be his wife, but his wolf had shown no such concern for her sister when King David had originally instructed Talorc to marry Emily. The wolf had wanted to howl at the evidence of bruising on Abigail’s pale skin.

And then hunt.

Talorc spent his time waiting for his bride’s arrival glaring at the woman’s mother and forcing down the wolf’s threatening growls.

Lady Hamilton had that same greedy, unreasonable look to her that his stepmother Tamara had had. As if she expected the world to do her bidding and woe betide anyone who refused. At first, the bitch had attempted a smile, but Talorc merely warned her with his eyes how close to death she had come by mistreating the woman that was his.

The fact he had not wanted an English bride made no difference. The kings had dictated that Abigail was to be his and no one dared to mistreat a Sinclair. He was still tempted to kill Lady Hamilton, despite his bride’s pleas to the contrary. His wolf clamored for retribution, if not death.

Eventually, the English lady began to squirm under his hostile regard.

Good. She had no place in Abigail’s life and he meant her to know it.

Niall cleared his throat, but Talorc did not need the prompting. He had picked up Abigail’s scent the moment she entered the chapel. Fragrant herbs, known to heal, mixed with her own unique perfume creating a heady fragrance that called to his beast. It was all Talorc could do not to turn to watch his bride walk up the aisle.

It would not do to show such interest though. The English baron might take it as a courtesy. Not that his wolf seemed to care that Abigail herself was English. The beast never took notice of women, but he certainly noticed Abigail.

And wanted her.

With a ferocity that forced Talorc to keep strict control of the semi-stiff member under his kilt.

The wolf fought to get out and make itself known to the woman about to marry the man. Talorc had to concentrate harder than he ever had on keeping his wolf inside while he waited for Abigail to make her silent trek up the aisle on the arm of the baron.

Finally, he turned, if only to appease the wolf.

Abigail was not smiling, but she did not hesitate in her slow procession toward him. She looked scared, but determined and he respected that.

It was easy to face battle without fear, much harder to face it with uncertainty of the outcome. Eyes the color of rich earth reflected fear, but not terror. That was something. He should not care, but he did not like the idea that marriage to him would terrify her. It was natural for her to be somewhat worried about her future.

She was leaving England for the Highlands. Her life would never be the same.

Nor would his, a low voice inside him insisted. One that sounded suspiciously like his wolf.

Her long ringlets, the color of pure, sweet honey swayed just above her hips with each step she took. Talorc experienced an unfamiliar desire, nay need, to reach out and run his fingers through the silky strands.

He bit back a curse. Where had that thought come from? He had never wanted to touch Emily. Or any other woman. Not since the years during which his body had transitioned from boy to man. His sexual urges had run rampant then, but he had not acted on them.

He had not been ready for a wife and had not found a mate. He would never dishonor his family by not following through on the promises of the flesh either.

Unlike the Balmoral, the Chrechte among the Sinclairs believed sex a binding act. The Balmoral held more lax standards so their warriors could gain control of their ability to shift at will at a younger age.

Luckily for Talorc, his father had had the good sense to mate a white wolf who passed that ability at birth on to their children.

That control over the beast within him had never been truly tested until now.

The wolf wanted Talorc to claim Abigail in the way of his people, but he had no intention of doing that in front of a chapel full of people. Nor did he intend to mate her on anyone’s land but his own.

It was bloody frustrating, but for an Englishwoman, Abigail was beautiful and all too alluring. She had perfect bow-shaped lips in a feminine, oval face. Her nose was small and straight and her brown eyes were big and expressive. She’d tried to hide her body’s allure in the English clothes she had donned that morning.

She wore her father’s colors for the last time. The female tunic over the long dress covered every inch of her skin from her neck to her dainty feet. At least she wasn’t wearing the awful cowl-thing her mother had donned. He thought the English women called them wimples. Tamara had insisted on wearing one with the Sinclair, constantly reminding the clan she would not relinquish her English ways.

If Abigail thought to dress so, she would soon learn her mistake.

He would not allow it.

A question came over her lovely features and the baron blanched beside her. Talorc realized he was scowling. He smoothed his features into expressionless repose and put his hand out to take her from her stepfather.

The priest cleared his throat. “We are not yet to that part of the ceremony, my lord.”

Since the man spoke English, Talorc chose to ignore him.

He lifted a brow to his bride, asking why she had not complied with his request.

In a move that surprised him and clearly Sir Reuben as well, she dropped her stepfather’s arm, stepped around him and took Talorc’s hand.

He nodded, grasping her hand firmly and turned to face the priest.

The man looked flustered and took several moments to collect himself before beginning the service. In Gaelic after only one false start.

Talorc spoke the vows of his people in Chrechte when the time came, ignoring the murmurs around him.

When his bride’s turn came, he moved her so the saw only each other, not the rest of the congregation gathered as witnesses. He told her the vows to speak, speaking slowly so she would not stumble on the unfamiliar words.

Her expression puzzled, but accepting, she whispered them back to him, making lifetime promises he was determined she would keep.

If you'd like to read the rest of the scene, follow this link to my webpage: http://lucymonroecotm.com/excerpt_mc.htm

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posted online at Running With Quills January 5, 2010

Reads for the new year.

I'd intended to write about New Year resolutions...but, really, has anyone ever stuck to one of those? Me, not so much, no matter how sincere my intentions going in. Not being fond of that I'm-such-a-failure feeling, I've long since given them up. So I decided to write about books instead. Because, hey, we're all big-time readers here, yes?

I got to read a lot in December. I won't bore you with the reasons for my sudden free time (HQN!) but depite not planning on it, it was nice to have time off during the holidays. I particularly enjoyed having guilt-free reading time. I'm on one of my usual genre-within-the-genre streaks--this one paranormal--so I read the entire Lynn Viehl Darkyn series before Christmas. Then my sweet baby boy bought me the newest Charlaine Harris "Grave" mystery and the 2nd and 3rd in the Devon Monk Magic series, which I read mostly over the long New Year weekend while snowed in at our cabin. I'm currently reading J.R. Ward's Covet. I can honestly recommend them all--but am particularly pumped over Monk's books. She's got a terrific voice and interesting plots and they're set in Portland, Oregon, which for me just makes them that much more fun.

I'm heading out to get Jayne and Kate's new January releases--after which I think I'll probably be ready to move on to a new genre. Maybe I'll look into historical romance.

Hmmm. I wonder if Suzanne Enoch, Sherry Thomas or Elizabeth Hoyt have anything new. I'll have to check that out.

So what about you? Have any hot recommendations for me for 2010?

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posted online at Running With Quills December 7, 2009

Susan finds the perfect tree

Every year at Christmas time I say the same thing. "This is the prettiest tree we've ever had."

This time I really mean it.

Okay, I always mean it. But back in the 70s, when we first bought our house, I used to pick Christmas trees to fit the 9 foot ceilings. The problem was, they had a correspondingly giant circumference that took up half of the living room. Not to mention that in those days I had about 12 ornaments. It wasn't a happy marriage of circumstances and eventually I discovered Frasier firs and started getting beautiful little trees around 6 feet tall.

I didn't head out for the annual Christmas Tree Slaughter last Saturday with a new agenda in mind. The soul mate and I make a game of finding a tree with a yellow tag size that sports a red tag, which is less expensive. (Hey, have you seen the prices of fresh trees these days?) And the selection at the tree farm was outstanding this year. I guess closing a field for a year really pays off because I'm telling ya, every tree looked prettier than the last. I liked the first one I saw, but of course you can't just buy that without looking at a selection.

And I'm so glad I did. Our tree was nine feet tall before S cut five inches off the trunk, and it's full without taking up every inch of space. My ornament collection has grown over the years and with the smaller trees I usually have quite a few that I leave in the box. This tree took every single one and I could have used some bigger models.

At first I feared it was too big, but as I looked at the proportions I realized it was...perfect. And this really is the prettiest tree we've ever had.

Lights and trees are a couple of my favorite parts of the holiday season. That, and my copy of A Cup of Christmas Tea that my auntie Jean gave me in '88 and which I always put under the tree once it's decorated.

How about you? Do you have a favorite aspect of the holiday or decoration, ornament or book?

Happy holidays, from my family to yours. I'm taking a little hiatus but will be back the first part of the new year.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 23, 2009

Susan Presents: Margaret Mallory

Dont'cha miss the good old days when you could get your hands on a books about knights and kings and kirtles and stuff? Well, I have a treat for you, because today's guest blogger is Margaret Mallory, and she writes medieval romances. Knight of Pleasure, which is hitting the shelves as we speak, is the second in her series, ALL THE KING'S MEN, and--whoo-hoo!--she's giving away autographed copies to two lucky posters. Take it away, Margaret!

(Oh, wait, wait! I forgot to mention the pic below the star line. That's Caen Castle--there are several scenes in the book set here. Pretty cool, huh?)

Okay, now take it away!

******************************************************************

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Thanks so much for inviting me, Susan. I’m thrilled to be rubbing quills with such wonderful authors.

Tell me, when you are a bestseller, do your relatives still give you a hard time about your love scenes? It’s not that my family members don’t read plenty of books with sex scenes…but knowing I write them is something else altogether.

Shortly after my first book came out in July, I did a book signing at my sister’s library. She is the librarian in the town where we went to high school, so between relatives, old family friends, and library patrons, a lot of people showed up. Every time someone said they were buying my book for a daughter or niece, my mother would shriek, “She better be over 18!” My mother, who is not young, was prepared to wrestle the person to the ground if the answer was no.

With my second book coming out, I have visions of my mom standing in the romance section of her local bookstore checking ID’s to be sure no one underage picks up my book.

And then there are my in-laws. When they kept joking about how hot they were going to get reading my book, my 19-year-old son had to leave the house. (It was hard, but I refrained from going with him.) He told me later that thinking about “old people” having sex—and I suspect he meant his parents as well as his grandparents—was just too “disturbing.”

Your children, of course, don’t want to know that you ever had sex, let alone that you write love scenes for all the world to read. My son’s friends did not help matters when they threatened to read my love scenes aloud to the freshman dorm. How mature. I considered advising these young men that reading romance novels could save them years and years of missteps with women, but I bit my tongue.

Really, don’t you think romance novels should be required for college freshmen?

My son asked me to cut the love scenes from his copy of my book. Paper-clipping the pages or blacking them out was not sufficient; the offending pages had to be removed completely. He still hasn’t read it—probably because I warned him I could not possibly cut out all the places where my characters are THINKING about sex. It is a romance, after all. :)

While I have family members who want the love scenes removed, a number of men friends want to read ONLY the love scenes. They pretend to be joking when they ask for the page numbers—ha ha—but I don’t believe them. Yes, it is a little weird.

My daughter, at least, stopped being embarrassed after she saw how enthusiastic her girlfriends were about my books. Luckily, her friends are all over eighteen, so my mother won’t have to track them down and rip the copies out of their hands.

All kidding aside, my family and friends have been amazing in their support of my new career as a romance writer. I am sure every one of them accosts strangers in the grocery store to tell them about my books, and I am grateful. In fact, I dedicated my new release, Knight of Pleasure, to my parents. All the same, I hope they don’t read past the dedication.

It’s a good thing I don’t write my books for the relatives. If I did, they wouldn’t be fun at all.

I would love to hear your advice and comments!

~Margaret

www.margaretmallory.com

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posted online at Running With Quills November 10, 2009

Sister Susan Says: It's never too early to give thanks

Friday night we had a storm in Seattle. I was sacked out on the couch, finishing up Linda Howard's Burn, when around midnight lightening lit up the window next to me. Right on its heels came a horrendous clap of thunder. Electrical storms in this area are mostly seen over the Cascades, not downtown, so it was a rare event. But that was just the opening act, for the skies then opened up in a torrential downpour.

I knew Mojo was in but thought Boo must still be out as I hadn't seen him for awhile and he's a fool for the outdoors. I figured he'd want in out of this, however, and, boy, it was blowing when I opened the front door! Rain poured down in silvery sheets.

But Boo wasn't in his usual spot on the balustrade on the covered front porch. He wasn't perched atop the big blue flowerpot (which I've given up planting flowers in as he seems to think its his personal lookout post). So I headed for the door between our kitchen and the basement, since The Boys' backup stay-dry spot is under the back porch right outside of it.

The minute I opened that door, however, I got soaked in a deluge that blew literally sideways from the west--something else we don't often see. I heard the next day that winds got up to 60 miles an hour.

I abandoned Boo Radley to his fate and wrestled the door shut--and not a second too soon as the rain turned to hail. It sounded as if each individual pellet was the size of a golf ball, but I didn't reopen the door to check. Popular opinion to the contrary, I am not as dumb as I look.

As it turned out, Boo must have gone up to bed with the soul mate that evening, because by the time I got back to the kitchen, leaving little puddles of water everywhere I stepped, there he was, perfectly dry and looking sleep-rumpled. The hail probably woke him up.

I snuggled back on the couch and found it incredibly cozy being inside while the elements raged all around us. It reminded me of how lucky I am to have a nice dry house when so many people have no home at all. And that got me counting my blessings.

Ordinarily, I'd save this post for the day before Thanksgiving, but I've got a guest author in that time slot. And I'm thankful for the same things today that I will be in two weeks, anyhow, since they're pretty much what I try hard every day not to take for granted: a home and the people who fill it, steady work, good friends, brothers and a sister- in-law who help in the ongoing effort to take care of my mother and keep her in her home for as long as it's safe to do so. I'm so fortunate in the people around me, truly blessed.

How about you? What are you thankful for in your day to day life? You know me. Nosy--er, that is inquiring-- minds always want to know.

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posted online at Running With Quills October 26, 2009

Susan's Hero

The Soul Mate and I have been married for 40 years. It's a really good marriage, but ya know, you live with a person that long and you become familiar with every bad habit they have (as they become familiar with yours). For instance, I know that when I tell him things, he sometimes doesn't listen--I feel like the parents on a Charlie Brown cartoon. You know the ones--they're just a pair of legs and a one note horn, which the kids hear as "Waa, waa, WAA, waa, waa."

But he's super competent and I'm telling you, that trips my buzzer every time. I find few things more attractive--or flat out sexier--than competence. And this past Friday night he was, hands down, my hero.

We were on our way to our cabin on the eastern slopes of the Cascades with our best friends Doug and Mimi and our cats Boo and Mojo. The cats are good travelers, but just before we reached North Bend where we were going to stop at a taco joint for a quick meal, Mojo started his dentist drill meow, the one that usually means he has to pee.

Facing the same situation once before, we'd stopped at a shopping center in Gig Harbor, whose parking lot was divided by meridians hosting shrubs, ground cover and evergreens. We parked away from the stores where it was quiet and I let Mojo crawl under the bushes where he did his biz, and we were all the happier for it when we continued our trip. The lot in North Bend Friday night was bordered with trees and bushes, so I thought I'd do the same thing, then we could go grab a bite to eat and hit the road again.

It didn't exactly turn out that way. It was not, in truth, one of my brighter moves. This parking lot was smaller and worlds noisier and the growth was dense and deep, with a fairly fast-running creek at its bottom.

Poor Mojo was completely freaked out. He disappeared into the thick brush, meowing up a storm. Then he went quiet, but that was worse, because we didn't have a clue where he was and he didn't respond to our calls. I was starting to quietly panic because he can be a stubborn little sonofagun and I was not only worried about him but had visions of our lovely getaway being spent in a fast food parking lot until the sun came up. We shined the glovebox flashlight into the woods, but his coat has always rendered him a stealth kitty. He's a smoky gray, which you'd think would make him pop against lighter or darker backgrounds, wouldn'tcha? And, of course, in some situations he does. Mostly, however, he's a chameleon.

We were getting nowhere fast and without discussion the Soul Mate suddenly headed into the brambles. He fought his way through them step by step until his flashlight finally picked up SmokyJoe where he'd hunkered down in a pile of leaves under a tangle of blackberry vines. Then Steve very patiently worked his way over to him, greeted him with a soft, "Hey, Moj," scooped him up from where he'd gone to ground and fought his way out again, cat cuddled to his chest.

Mojo didn't have a scratch on him. Steve, on the other hand, had a nick on his face that bled and his right wrist and forearm were criss-crossed with five or six nasty scratches, which he didn't even show me until Sunday night. But in his usual low key way he accomplished what he set out to do .

He was totally my hero. I don't care that he sometimes tunes me out when I'm talking. Or that he has a habit or two that gives me a temporary case of tight teeth. Because he'll rescue my cats without complaint or a show of temper and he won't say "What the hell were you thinking?" over my less than well-thought out decision that made the rescue necessary in the first place. He'll also rub my feet by the hour and clean my skis and put them away after we hit the trails or wash my paint brushes for me when I'm done painting.

And I gotta tell you, that so works for me.

What about you? What quiet everyday thing does your husband or wife do that gives you that warm sense of satisfaction?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 13, 2009

Have you always been a romance reader?

Don't ask me why, but I suddenly started wondering how many of our blog-ees are lifelong romance readers and how many came to the game later. I think of myself as a lifer, but the romance genre as we know it today bears little resemblance to what was available when I was a kid and young adult--which I considered at the time to be zilch.

That wasn't entirely true, of course. There were the early Harlequin books, and I loved them for a while, but then they began to bug me because the hero was always this older than dirt guy (to my 12, 13, 14 year-old mind) of 30, who treated the 18-year-old English flower like crap through most of the book then pledged his undying love on the last page. Huh? I could never see where that was coming from, because he sure as heck didn't show it. ("I love you darling, truly I do. And by the way, you look lovely in your frock. We must spend a fortnight in my flat.") Gak.

But then came the Gothics, with their covers of women looking over their shoulders at a castle/manse/decrepit old house with its one lighted window as they fled in their nighties into the night. Hey, at least those heroines got a little lovin' with the non-communicative broody guy, which, I gotta tell you, I think is great fun in fiction, but would probably be a nightmare in real life. And Mary Stewart, bless her Queen of Woman in Jeopardy books heart, always did me right. Charlotte Armstrong did, as well. So, while I read mucho non-romance in my younger years (and, okay, still do), I still believe myself to be firmly in the lifelong romance reader camp.

I've met plenty who were late bloomers romance-wise, however--readers and writers. I remember Tami Hoag coming to a Greater Seattle RWA meeting and telling us she'd disdained romance until one afternoon when she and her husband got stuck waiting for a tow-truck after their car broke down. The only thing to pass the time was a romance book her sister-in-law had left behind. (I think it was a Woodiwiss, but I'm not positive about that) Like other late blooming romance readers I've spoken to, she became a believer--even if she ultimately found her true love to be suspense.

What's your story? Were you born with a romance in your hand? Or did someone hand you one after years of reading brand X genres, whereupon you declared with heartfelt fervor, "How the heck have I missed out on this for so long?" And does anyone remember the very first romance they ever read?

Tell Motha Susan, my pets. She's nosy and wants to know.
Just because.

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posted online at Running With Quills September 29, 2009

Susan Talks Reviews

Hey, all. I'm starting the race to meet deadline so am posting a couple of non-romance reviews I did for WritersAreReaders.com when it was still in biz. (I miss them!) Hope you enjoy.

Sharp Teeth
by Toby Barlow

SHARP TEETH
An ancient race of lycanthropes has survived to the present day and its numbers are growing as the initiated convince L.A.’s down-and-out to join their pack.

So begins the back copy on another book
that sucked me in first
by its cool cover.

I didn’t cull this one out of the pack
on my own.
My son brought it to me on Mother’s Day
and that striking cover aside
I was hesitant
unsure,
because of the free verse in which it was composed,
if it was my cuppa tea.

Maybe I’ll read it, I thought.
But maybe not.

That arresting cover art, however,
just wouldn’t let me leave it,
there on the coffee table,
without at least giving it a try.
So one night when I couldn’t sleep
I came downstairs,
picked it up,
started reading,
and,
Oh
my
gawd.

Big mistake from a getting-any-sleep standpoint.
Hugely smart move for a woman
who loves
a sharply written, fascinating read.

Because rival packs of dogs
are gearing up for a showdown in L.A.

A dogcatcher quietly removes three mutts
from the Pound death list
and feeds them carne asada tacos.

Two dogs
in human guise
are placed in a bridge tournament.
They are there for a purpose
which is not
falling in love with the game.

Mexican drug lords play a cop into
finding the blonde
who woke up naked
in a pack of dogs,
then killed the drug lord’s brother
freed the dogs
and waltzed off
with a blueprint to a fortune

This is a book that sucks you in
makes you laugh
makes you cringe
makes you keep turning the pages
as fast as you can.

And that is why we read,
yes?

 

Bad Monkeys
by Matt Ruff

Jane Charlotte has been arrested for murder.

She tells police that she is a member of a secret organization devoted to fighting evil and her division is called “The Department for the Final Disposition of Irredeemable Persons”— “Bad Monkeys” for short.

This confession earns Jane a trip to the jail’s psychiatric wing, where a doctor attempts to determine whether she is lying, crazy—or playing a different game altogether.

I turned this book’s pages so fast they were smokin’. Ruff has constructed a plot so unique, I’m still talking it up to everyone I know.

It has so many twists and turns it makes a slinky toy look linear. Is Jane crazy? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility—she has some definite drug abuse issues. But maybe the doctor she tells her story to merely thinks she’s crazy. Hard to blame him, since she speaks of an organization that puts its operatives through a dream school where they learn in their sleep things like the use of the Daily Jumble as a covert communication channel and the proper handling of the NC gun, a weapon that kills by way of seemingly natural causes.

And if the Department for the Final Disposition of Irredeemable Persons does exist, is Jane too much of a loose cannon even for an organization that uses an intel gathering program called Eyes Only, which plants miniature sensor devices in representatives of eyes, so that every time you see an eyeball in a painting, a photograph, a sculpture or a dollar bill there’s a chance it's monitoring you?

Only one way to find out, my friends. Grab yourself a copy of Bad Monkeys and while away an evening with a story that will keep you guessing to the very last page. It’s a fun, fast, furious ride.

How about you guys? Anyone have a recommendation for me? Romance or non-romance, I'd like to hear it.

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posted online at Running With Quills August 31, 2009

My brother, the cover boy

They say everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame. Mine came when I was fourteen years old, one summer day when a news crew from a local television station asked my friend Joey and me if they could take a shot of us on our beach blanket for the five o'clock weather segment.

We were pretty pumped--until we remembered we'd been smoking cigarettes we'd gotten from God knows where and the butts were lined up in the sand in front of our blanket. Then we were mostly worried our parents would see them and ground us for life.

As it turned out, you could barely see us--let alone our contraband cigarettes--through all the weather statistics and forecasts that were written over our video. But it took the shine off my fifteen minutes, lemme tell you.

This is us, obviously not in our bathing suits, but it's the only pic I could find from that era. It was a taken at Joey's house for a Halloween party we were getting ready to go to at the roller rink. We were supposed to be Hippies. (Our hair is the same color in this pic that mine is now, thanks to silver hair spray. Don't ask. It seemed like a good idea at the time).

A while back my oldest brother told me a photographer from the Seattle Times had been out to take some pictures of his garage for an upcoming feature. He didn't know if any would actually be in the final article, but this past Sunday morning I opened the paper and on the cover of the Pacific Northwest magazine I saw a cool car beneath the title In The Garage. My first thought was, Hey, this is probably Ken's article. A split second later I'm thinking, Whoa. That looks like his '58 Jaguar. He bought the thing like a decade and a half ago with the intention of restoring it, but never got around to it. Another split second and all the pieces-parts of the cover came together and I'm yelling, "Hey! That's KEN!!!" The old wood kayak on top of the car should have been another giveaway, but what can I say? I'm slow. Not only did his garage make the cut, but my brother is a freaking cover boy!

Is it just me, or does seeing yourself or your friends or family on television, in the newspaper (as long as they're not being arrested and dragged away in cuffs) just tickle the heck out of you? Have you or a loved one had your fifteen minutes? If so, spill. I bet I'm not the only one who wants to hear all about it.

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posted online at Running With Quills August 17, 2009

How Susan spent her '09 summer vacation

Every summer the soul mate and I spend a week at my family's cabin on Hood Canal, a long, narrow saltwater fiord, the western boundary of which is formed by the spectacular Olympic mountains. It's an area of wonderous scenery and abundant wildlife.

Washington has experienced a long, hot, dry summer this year. But during our week at the cabin? It was cold and damp, with a bunch of downpours. Not exactly optimal weather, but in truth I didn't care. I was so ready for a vacay and besides, the sun came out occasionally and it was usually nice enough to get outside for a while every day.

Plus, I brought 5 books and for once had time to read them. And I slept. Oh, my, my, did I sleep. Naps during the day and sometimes in the evening, as well as a solid eight hours a night, the latter of which is soooo rare for me. It was lovely.

The Olympics are my favorite aspect of this place, but they hid behind mounds of cloud cover most of the time. Still they showed themselves long enough to do what they do best—refill my well.

Saturday night my sweet baby boy and his girl came over and spent Sunday with us. We hiked up to the state park and ate and laughed and ate and talked and ate and juggled.

Monday, I had my annual Girls Night Out beach day and my friends Mimi, Martha and Jackie came over to spend a long day on the deck (in our sweatshirts, but every now and then the sun would peek out long enough for us to peel out of them) We ate and laughed, and ate and talked and ate and looked at wedding pics (Jackie's) and graduation pics (one of Martha's twins, from a nursing school in Boston) and the video I took of the kids juggling. My vid turned out a bit blurry on this blogger, but whataya gonna do.

The rest of the week it was just the soul mate and me and that was the best kind of mellow. On Wednesday we went into town to pick up a few things and Steve is still grumbling about the mistake he made of stopping by the sporting goods store. I had no interest in poking among fly ties and oar locks so I decided to check out the furniture store next door, as they had some nice looking accessories in their window. What I wasn't looking for was a loveseat , yet I found the perfect one to replace my old played out velvet piece and it matches my couch so closely I look like I actually knew what I was doing when I bought the first piece. Whoo-hoo. I won't bore you with the trials and tribulations of getting it home, but it truly was a fortuitous find!

Did I mention we ate last week? Oh, mama. Eating has always been one of my all time favorite activities and the cool thing about a place on the beach is that you can eat off it. We picked mussels and oysters and caught two crabs in the pot (pictured above). My brother Ron had dropped off a homemade blackberry pie before we left home and, oh, yeah. We ate the whole thing, although I did manage to give away a couple of pieces.

All in all, I came home rested, refreshed and ready to rock and roll on the work in progress. So hallejulah for vacations. What do you all like to do to refill your wells?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 4, 2009

Welcome to Susan's Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love Day

Here it is, my turn to blog, and my mind is just a great big blank. So I’m giving myself a rest and you a treat. I hereby declare today Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love Day.

From me. To You.

The third photo (white T, black sweater) is of my nephew Garet, taken probably ten years ago. Isn't he a cutie? You can't tell in a black and white photo but he has the bluest eyes! He got those from my dad. The guy next to him is young, but I love that dimple in his cheekbone.

I love firemen. I'm writing one in a story as we speak.

And now, for something completely different, Bullwinkle. Men of the Mortuaries.

The following two are for you, Louis, and any other men who may be lurking. Never let it be said I'm not an equal opportunity supplier of pretty people pics. :)

Never let it be said I'm not an equal opportunity supplier of pretty people pics. :) So, what's your viewing pleasure when it comes to men? I seem to be drawn primarily to dark haired guys, although the Soul Mate had more sandy blond/brown before it went gray. Go figure.

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posted online at Running With Quills July 21, 2009

Do you ever peek?

As long as I can remember, I've peeked at the ending of books to make sure everything will turn out all right. Well, not novels where it'll totally wreck the suspense element. But when it comes to relationships, I want to make sure the hero/heroine I'm rooting for are going to get their Happily Ever After.

And, yes, I know that's the reader expectation in a romance. At least in my head, I know it. But in my always messy emotional center—well, let's just say I'm not convinced. It doesn't matter that I write the things myself—what if the always mysterious "They" went and changed the rules and forgot to send me the memo? What then, huh? I'd feel robbed, I'm telling ya, robbed.

So I peek. And peekers pay five, my Auntie Jean always said when we played her favorite game: Seven Card No Peek. If that's true in book reading as well as poker, then I've racked up a sizable debt.

But I guess I'll just have to live with it. Not only live with it but probably add to it. Because I don't see myself failing to read that last page any time soon.

How 'bout you? Do you cheat and grab a peek? Or do you sail from start to finish without ever giving in to that temptation?

Inquiring minds wanna know, my pretties.

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posted online at Running With Quills July 7, 2009

This is dedicated! To the one I...

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-LUV!

One of the things I like reading in books of an author whose work I admire is the dedication page. It doesn't matter that I don't know the people it's dedicated to—I simply enjoy that peek into a slice of her life. And one of my favorite parts of my own books, right up there tromping on the heels of writing The End, is dedicating them to the ones that I—sing it with me!—la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-LOVE. So many friends and family have supported me and my career, so many industry folks helped me make my books better—and this is the smallest way I can repay them.

(a few of those to whom I dedicate)

What do you guys think of dedications? Do you find them interesting or simply skim them since you don't really know the dedicees anyway?

As always, Mother Susan is itching to know.

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posted online at Running With Quills June 29, 2009

Susan's doing the Book is Out dance!

I've been making my ears bleed over a chapter in my work in progress. Then today, I finally figured out what the heck I was doing (or maybe I should say where I went wrong). Man, I love it when that happens—especially in a case like this one where I've just wasted 3 days thinking this is just wrong without knowing how to fix it. But that's part of my process: I struggle and struggle and struggle- then suddenly the dam breaks (I know, I'm a writer—I should have a better simile) and the words finally flow.

It's another reason that I love Book Release Day--the book that's hitting the shelf is done and I'm proud of the final result, instead of ripping my hair out trying to make it come together. (You thought I had short hair by choice?)

All of which is a long way of saying: IT'S HERE. Bending The Rules is officially in a grocery or bookstore near you. Wa-hoo! Much dancing and champagne swilling on my part. Okay, maybe I'm not really swilling champagne, but I'm definitely a movin' and a groovin'.

I'm off to hit the local bookstores today to do drive-by signings, so will be in and out sporadically—but I just wanted to toot my own horn a bit and tell you I hope you'll enjoy the final results of all my angst and worry. My mother says this is my best one yet. And you can trust her—she's not the least bit biased.

Really. Would I lie about a thing like that?

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posted online at Running With Quills June 23, 2009

Whatcha readin'?

Do you ever get on a genre-within-the-genre reading streak? Recently, I reread Lord of Scoundrels for the umpteenth time and for a while thereafter it was all historicals, all the time. I blasted through several titles each of Sherry Thomas, Amanda Quick, Eloisa James and Elizabeth Hoyt.

Then I took a shorter sprint through Urban Fantasy, with the first book in Kathryn Smith's The Nightmare Chronicles, Lori's most recent (to me--I'm always racing to catch up with my TBR pile) Servant book and the second to last in Rachel Caine's Weather Wardens series (see caveat above).

A few days after hosting Christie Ridgway, I finished her Dirty, Sexy Knitting and am now on a Contemporary streak. Dogs And Goddesses, The Paper Marriage and True Love and Other Disasters were my most recent reads. Soon I'll be off on another tangent.

How 'bout you all? What are you currently reading? What's in your To Be Read pile that you haven't yet gotten to? And do you ever go on an author specific or genre-within-the-genre reading bender like I've been known to do?

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posted online at Running With Quills June 16, 2009

Susan has a brand new video!

Check it out! I'm getting excited for this one to hit the shelves. You'll have to ignore the blurb at the end that say's Available Now. Well, actually, it may be in some stores. Mostly, though, it will be in just nine days. Whoo-hoo!

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posted online at Running With Quills June 8, 2009

Susan Welcomes back Guest Blogger Christie Ridgway

I'm a huge fan of Christie's books. So much so that when I saw her new book on the shelf at my local Fred Meyers the other night, I snatched it up, danced my way up to the cash register, then snickered all the way home with my prize. I would have rubbed my hands together in glee if I hadn't needed them on the wheel.

I walked into my house (still chortling) ripped open my bag...and saw that I'd bought Unravel Me--the second in her Malibu & Ewe trilogy. "Noooooo," I moaned, but unfortunately, yes, indeed, the whole time I was busy giving the two remaining copies a better placement on the shelves and carrying my treasure to the front of the store, I'd seen what I'd expected to see rather than what was right in front of my eyes. So it's back to the store for me--and my schedule prohibits that trip until Thursday.

So, yeah. I'm cranky. BUT! I am happy to tell those of you who don't have my unfortunate attention deficit that Gabe and Cassandra's story, Dirty, Sexy Knitting (love that title!) is finally here. So lets blow through the intros and just say....Welcome, welcome, Christie, and take it away!

******************************************************************

To Epilogue or Not to Epilogue?

Writers are told nearly as long a list of rules during their career as a teenager heading out on a first date. No one repeats these rules to stifle creativity, I think it’s just a normal part of the human condition to want to pass along tips/techniques/conventional wisdom in the hopes that someone’s writing process will go more smoothly or their book will be better.

Sometime during my writing life that encompasses over thirty romances for Silhouette, Harlequin, Avon, and Berkley Books, a person (or two) told me not to write epilogues. Though I have not always heeded that advice—and don’t make me go back to look how many times—I am increasingly wary of including them. I keep hearing that voice in my head telling me that if the story is over, it’s over, and no wedding scenes or bedroom scenes or birthing scenes should be necessary to cement the happy-ever-after. Not if I’ve done my job well, anyway.

So, I turned the third book of my Malibu & Ewe trilogy in without an epilogue. Didn’t even consider writing one at the time. Then the edited book came back to me and as I read through the last written page, I just knew. I knew I had to show the characters a number of years down the road because I wanted to see what happened to them. I didn’t do it for “the readers,” I did it for myself. (Here’s my advice to aspiring authors: Write the book you want to read.)

For those of you unfamiliar with my latest romances, they’re centered around a beachside knitting shop where “strangers become friends and friends become family over good yarn and better gossip.” In the series, three strangers and sort-of sisters come together and knit (hah!) a family. How to Knit a Wild Bikini, Unravel Me, and the latest, Dirty Sexy Knitting (out last week!), are sexy contemporaries that require no expertise with needles or yarn to enjoy.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself with these books, and as I came to the end of them, I couldn’t bear to walk away without telling myself a little about the future of Nikki and Jay, Juliet and Noah, Cassandra and Gabe. I’m so glad I did, because my email makes clear the epilogue struck a chord with readers as well.

What about you? Do you feel strongly for or against epilogues? Do you sometimes want to know just a little more about the characters’ future, even though the promise of happy-ever-after is right there on the page? Please share!

For more information about my books or to read excerpts, be sure to visit www.christieridgway.com.

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posted online at Running With Quills May 26, 2009

Susan is all Hot & Bothered seeing her reissue gain new life

Hello, me pretties.

I’m sooo pumped—the reissue of Hot & Bothered is landing on shelves of grocery and book stores even as I hunt and peck this to you! I’ve had a bunch of emails from readers recently who’ve been unable to locate a copy, so I’m very pleased to tell you that H&B is finally back in circulation.

What is it about, say you readers unfamiliar with this book? Thanks for asking, stranger. Pull up a chair and let me bend your ear.

Take one woman determined to see that her child gets all the love and attention she didn't, one man who never intended to be a daddy learning he is one, and a teenaged boy running scared in the belief he killed his own father. Add a murder victim whose heart was so black, the list of people with reason to kill him reads like a New York city phone book. Stir things up, and what do you get?

Hot & Bothered, my friend.

Says the back cover copy:
When Victoria Hamilton's vacation fling resulted in a baby, she began a new life far from her overbearing family. Now Tori's father has been murdered and her half-brother Jared needs her help to prove his innocence. But confronting her past when she comes face-to-face with Private Investigator John "Rocket" Miglionni sure isn't what she had in mind.

Thrilled to find the woman who once rocked his world, John takes one look at her little girl and gets the shock of his life. Now the rugged former Marine has two females holding a big piece of his heart, a troubled teenager who expects the worst in life...and a second chance to make it right for all of them.

For those who discovered my books with Coming Undone, this is your chance to see P.J. and Jared as teens living on the streets of Denver. Or if your Aunt Mary keeps “borrowing” your books and somehow never returns them, get the old broad—er, sweet lady—her own copy so she’ll keep her mitts off yours.

And since I'm on a full-blown promo rampage, here's a little teaser of John and Tory’s story.

He kissed her with an expertise that sent her resistance down the drain. His mouth was talented and his kisses were sultry. Forceful.

Familiar. God, so familiar. She knew these lips. She’d kissed them before, studied them as they’d shaped words, slipped bites of food between them with her fingers. It had been six years, but some things a woman never forgot.

Every last defense disappeared and she felt herself start to melt at the knees. For one wild, reckless minute, suffused with a blistering pleasure she’d only known once before, she kissed him back fiercely. She reveled in his hot, rich taste, in the slick inner lining of his mouth, in the tensile strength that supported her weight as she plastered herself against him in a futile bid to climb right inside his body.

Then before it even occurred to her to muster the will to pull away, John jerked up his head, released her, and took a giant step back.

“Damn.” He brushed the back of his hand against his bottom lip. Then, dropping his hand to his side, he dabbed his tongue against the lip he’d just touched and eyed her sourly. “It’s still there, isn’t it? I’d hoped it was gone, or at least one of those memories I’d blown all out of proportion over the years. But you’re still every bit as addictive as you used to be.” His hot-eyed regard slid over her from the top of her head to her crimson-polished toes. “Christ. You’re like cocaine in a red bra.”

Want more? Catch an excerpt of Chapter One.

But enough about me. What do YOU think about me?

Whoops. Way too needy. And just to prove I can play nice with others and don't really think it's all about me, I've got a question for ya. Is there a book you've been having a hard time finding that you'd love to see reissued? I've been thinking of one lately called Yonder that I read a couple times years and years ago and really liked. I might be able to track it down in my mother's library, but I doubt I'd ever find it anywhere else.

Hmmm. She's also got ice cream in her freezer.

Whoa. I feel a jaunt to Mom's coming on.

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posted online at Running With Quills May 11, 2009

So Mother's Day Got Me to Thinking...

That's always dangerous, I can hear you thinking. True. Because then I begin to wonder. And what I wonder this time is: What constitutes a mother (or father)? Is it the blood relationship they share with their children? Or the history they fashion over time raising them? I remember debating nurture vs nature in a long ago journalism class. At the time I didn't have a strong conviction either way.

But given the direction my own family has taken, I'm pretty firmly on the "nurture" side these days. Several members of my family are adopted. So I believe it's the day-to-day nurturing and the history you share that forges the tightest connections. Because except for the way in which various nieces, nephews, cousins, etc, came to us, there's no difference from those born of our bodies. They aren't thought of as the adopted niece, nephew, etc, etc. They're simply Jenny, Scott, Sam, Adam, Elliott, Grace and Noah. Each has contributed to the memories that make up our holidays and other important events: the births, the deaths, the weddings, the family reunions and birthday parties and other celebrations that weave the fabric of our family history.

I've been lucky to have a close relationship with my own mother. When I was growing up, she was a definite role model and her example gave me the base to build my own parenting skills. These days her dementia is worsening and our roles have been reversed. But the one thing the disease hasn't robbed her of is her sense of humor, so I have no doubt she'd tell me that if I really want to honor her I should quit killing off the mothers in my books.

Sorry, Mom, that's not gonna happen. Hey, I don't really kill them kill them. And it's actually a compliment to you that I rarely give my hero and heroine functional parents. Yeah, yeah, it's a backhanded one. Still, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. The stability you and dad provided grounded me. So doesn't it just reason, then, that screwed up parents provide all sorts of motivation for fictional conflict?

Or maybe it's just that I prefer stories where a dysfunctional mother or father has screwed up our protagonist's way of looking at relationships. Take Sebastian, Lord Dain in Loretta Chase's Lord of Scoundrels. His father was a puritanical prude who told eight year old Sebastian his mother was an evil, godless creature, whose name was Jezebel, when she ran away from their bloodless marriage, then assured the boy she was going to Hell where she would be eaten by dogs. Then, disregarding that this was a little kid who'd just lost his mother, he shipped Sebastian off to Eton, where he promptly had every iota of sensitivity beaten out of him.

So begins a fabulous, well motivated book. So give me a stable family in real life. But I gotta love the dysfunctional in fiction.

How 'bout you? What's your poison when it comes to your hero and heroine's backgrounds? Do you have a fave dysfunctional bad boy/girl who is tamed in the end?

Inquiring minds wanna know.

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posted online at Running With Quills April 28, 2009

A Love Affair with Books

I've been trying to remember a time when I wasn't enamored of reading, but I can't recall one. So many of my memories revolve around books. We always had shelves of them in the house where I grew up and I've had a library card card for so long I can't remember when I first got it. I do remember waiting with dwindling patience for the newest Beverly Cleary book to hit either the school or neighborhood library, though. And seriously envying Sue Miller who got to work in the library and therefore got her hands on them before I did.

Around the fifth grade I came across The Witch of Blackbird Pond and discovered my first non-fairytale historical. It knocked my socks off.

My oldest brother read the Edgar Rice Burroughs and Ian Fleming series, so I tried some of those as well. I liked them well enough, but I loved Lord of the Flies, which I read in the 6th grade. Unfortunately it was ruined for me in junior high school when we had to dissect the story to its most obscure bit of symbolism, which I bet Golding did not have in mind as he was writing the book. Does any thirteen year old actually care about that crap? All I cared about were the words woven in such a way as to impress themselves in my mind forever. ("Sucks to your Asmar, Piggy.")

For years my favorite book was Jubilee Trail by Gwen Bristol. I must have reread that book, all 700 pages of it, a dozen times.

Then I found Victoria Holt's Mistress of Mellyn, and developed a thirst for all the Gothics I could lay my hands on. If it had a cover with a woman in a nightie fleeing a dark castle with one light burning in its tower window, I was your girl.

Somewhere in that period, I was rummaging through my folks books and came across Mary Stewart's Madam, Will You Talk? And I dropped gothics like a hot spud and it was all Women in Jeopardy all the time. Mary was queen as far as I was concerned, but Charlotte Armstrong, Celia Fremlin and T.E. Huff ran close seconds. I loved those books to death, but did wish they had a leetle more hands-on romance and--dare I say it?--sex in them. I mean, please. Describe that kiss! And c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, would it kill ya to leave that bedroom door open a crack?

I read loads of Harlequin/Mills and Boon, but ultimately gave them up because I hated that the millionaire old guy treated the virginal 20 year old like crap right up until the final page, practically, when he suddenly declared his undying love. Huh? And I was supposed to believe this how when I was never in his point of view and there was certainly no showing his feelings that I could find.

Then in 1972 I picked up a little book called The Flame and The Flower.
And.
Oh.
My.
Gawd.
It had romance to burn. And the sexual tension? Lordy, Lordy, lemme tell you my sistahs (and brotha) it was thigh-clenching. Finally, FINALLY, here was a book that didn't slam the bedroom door in my face, yet it wasn't just about folks in heat, folks--but a man and a woman in love.

And it opened up a whole new world of reading to me, with authors like Jennifer Wilde (who was T.E. Huff, I believe) and Johanna Lindsey and Rosemary Rogers (who I had some issues with), then broadened my horizons even further by introducing me to the contemporaries of Stephanie James and Robin James and Elizabeth Lowell and oh, so many others.

I tend to read everything I can get my hands on, but romance remains my all time favorite genre to this day. Yet my very favorite book in the world? To Kill A Mockingbird. I remember when my Sweet Baby Boy was in high school and he came dragging home kvetching because he had to read it. He was into Stephen King and Nobody but Stephen King at the time. (sound like anyone else I've described???) I slapped my hand to my heart and said, "Oh! I looooove that book. It's got everything, kid: beautiful writing, wonderful characters and a story that will make you laugh and break your heart all at the same time."

I'm thrilled to report that he fell in love with it every bit as much as I did. But how 'bout you? What books rocked your world and stand out in your mind to this day?

Lemme know. Cuz I just might need to check them out to see what I've been missing.

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posted online at Running With Quills April 13, 2009

Will this winter never end?

According to the calendar, it's spring. Man, you wouldn't know it by the weather around here. Okay, we did have a partial week where the temps actually rose to 70 degrees, but it was a short-lived little tease and now it's blustery, cold and wet again.

My plum trees and crocus are in bloom, though. And my tulips are up, if not yet open. I heard on the news last night that the tulips fields up in the Skagit , which are a huge tourist draw, are way behind schedule and not yet in bloom like they usually are this time of year. The merchants up there depending on the busloads of people who come to see the flowers must be grinding their teeth to nubs.

One bright spot in my endless winter is my new cover for Bending The Rules. I may have shown this to you all already, and if so, I apologize. But it bears repeating--at least to me. Now, generally I prefer faceless covers because the models never look like the hero or heroine I envisioned when I wrote the book.

But then I got this one. The guy on Rules actually looks like Jase de Sanges. He did even more so in the first version they sent me because my Jase has a prominent nose and so does the model. That 's harder to tell in this version as Art made the cover couple a little larger which hides a greater portion of his face behind my name strip. But he's still the closest I have ever been to art that represents the vision in my head.

Which, okay, has nada to do with the weather. Still, it's my little ray of sunshine. What's the weather like in your neighborhood? Anyone have sun? Heat? Palm trees, maybe?

Inquiring minds wanna know.

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posted online at Running With Quills March 31, 2009

Eating my way across Chicago

A lot of people travel for the culture. They love to see every museum and church in the places they visit. I enjoy those things, too. But my true passion when I visit other cities, other countries? The marvelous built-in-the-age-of-craftsmanship architecture.

Well, that and sampling the foods the areas are known for.

The soul mate and I celebrated our 40th anniversary last weekend. Originally, I planned to throw a big party, but the more I thought about it the more I realized I didn’t want to spend my commemoration making sure everyone else was being taken care of. So we discussed it and decided to go somewhere for a long weekend instead.

We considered New York or San Francisco, because those are always fun towns. But then we decided to go to Chicago and see if my cousin Colleen and her husband Dave could join us for part of the trip. They’re two of our favorite people in the world and when they come to Seattle where Colleen’s dad and brother still live (as well as sundry other relatives and friends) there are usually so many people wanting a piece of their time that we’re lucky if we get two or three hours for just the four of us.

The weekend turned out to be all I could have hoped for. It was mellow, fun and rich with laughter. Steve and I always travel well together and it was such a bonus to have an entire day and a half with Colleen and Dave. We walked the town, shopped a little, and spent happy blocks of time in bookstores and coffee shops.

And, my, oh, my, the food!

Chicago is known for its deep dish pizza and we went to Giordano’s Friday to sample its famous stuffed pizza. We had to wait about an hour, but, man, was it worthwhile! The place is a madhouse of too many people waiting in too small a space (it was cold outside) but it was organized chaos. You place your order ten minutes after they put your name on the list, so that when you finally do get a table, you only have to wait about five minutes before your meal is delivered piping hot. We ordered a large pie and had them split the toppings—half veggie for me and Colleen, half meat and mushrooms for the guys. And I’m here to tell you, that baby was so tasty it could make a grown woman cry.

Colleen and Dave headed home late Saturday afternoon and the soul mate and I planned to go somewhere elegant for our anniversary dinner. Except, neither of us was really in the mood to do elegant. You know how sometimes you feel like dressing up and doing the town and other times you don't? Well, we really didn't. We'd been on the go all day and skipped lunch and we were hungry and didn't feel like stuffing our shirts. Steve had read about this tavern-restaurant called Twin Anchors that's been in business in Old Town since 1932 and is reputed to have the best barbecue on the north side. We decided to give it a try and hiked the couple of miles from our Gold Coast hotel.

It was...perfect. This was another joint that gets lines out the door, but we beat the rush and were immediately seated in a corner booth. The decor was far from fancy but the food was spectacular. Steve ordered their signature rack of ribs and the meat literally fell off the bones and wasn't overpowered by the sauce. I had giant prawns in the shells and they were messy but sublime. We shared main courses and side dishes alike and our delightful waitress Surass brought us a complimentary piece of caramel-drizzled, candle-topped cheesecake when we'd finished.

Many towns have restaurants like the these--places where the locals go and the tourists, if they're lucky, stumble upon. If you ever come to Seattle and like seafood, I'd recommend Ama Ama's. It's spendy but worth it. Or if you want fabulous Mexican food and don't mind the fact it comes with zero ambiance, you can't beat Taquaria Guaymas in West Seattle.

So, tell me. If I were to come to your town, where would you recommend I eat?

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posted online at Running With Quills March 17, 2009

Susan Presents: Sheila Roberts

Hey, everyone. My friend Sheila Roberts has a brand new book out. Please join me in giving her a warm Quillsville welcome.

Take it away, Sheila!

************************************************************************************

WHAT WAS I THINKING?
I’ve always had a black thumb. Wait. Make that two black thumbs. I never understood the lure of gardening. All that bending over, getting dirty, getting sunburned and sweaty – yuck! So, how did a girl like me wind up writing a book about women who become friends at a community garden? It’s a mystery. It’s also a mystery how I suddenly caught the gardening bug. I think it had something to do with finding myself with a new house to landscape. (I know, I should have hired a landscaper, but, hey, I’m cheap.) Suddenly, I was hurking wheelbarrows of topsoil and beauty bark around my lot, and digging and weeding and planting. Let me tell you, manual labor is not only good for the soul; it’s good for the waistline. And talk about new flower mommy pride. Every time something new popped up or bloomed I was out with the camera, snapping pictures.

When I started Love in Bloom I was mostly interested in writing a story of growing friendship and romance, but as my garden adventures continued I couldn’t help but see how symbolic of life a garden is, and I knew I’d wind up adding gardening tips to the book. (Uh, not mine. I got the tips from expert gardeners.) Here are a couple of the life lessons I learned as I took Gardening 101 at Sheila’s Place. The time and effort you spend now planting good things nets you something pretty down the road. Nurturing the good things in your life takes a lot of work, but the payoff is huge. I definitely saw a payoff in my garden. In spite of the heat, the sweat, and the sore muscles, I found a great deal of satisfaction watching everything grow – you know, one with nature, and all that.

Well, mostly one with nature. We won’t talk about the morning I turned the air blue when I found the deer had eaten all the blossoms off my Chokeberry bush or the day I accidentally got downwind of my spray bottle when I was spraying deer repellent. Eeew. Or the flowers I pulled, thinking they were weeds. (Let me tell you the difference between a weed and a flower. Flowers are delicate and come up easily. Weeds have roots that go all the way from here to China.)

Love in Bloom is now going out into the world and, of course, I’ll take some time to admire the new baby. But then it will be time to get back to growing both the next book and this year’s garden. Soon I’ll be out there again, trying to become one with nature and accidentally spraying myself with deer repellent.

Are you a gardener, too? If not what hobby floats your boat?

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posted online at Running With Quills March 2, 2009

Susan Presents: Molly Harper

Don'tcha just love it when you discover a new author? It's like getting in on the ground floor of a really cool business. Mental wizard that I am, however, I came this close to blowing my chance of doing that with Molly Harper.

When a Pocket editor I've been friends with since '96 asked if I'd read another editor's brand new author and possibly give a quote for a book called Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs, I gotta admit my first thought was: not another vampire book. It's not that I don't like em, y'ken. It just seems as if, lately, they've been done to death.

Well, it just goes to show that it's all in the voice and the writing. Because, oh, mama, I enjoyed this book! Wanna little peek at what it's all about? You know I'm a girl who just can't say no. Well, that and I want you to say Molly Harper's books? Oh, yeah, I've been reading those since the very first one.

Susan Andersen turned me on to them.

Unemployment Sucks

When children’s librarian and self-professed nice girl Jane Jameson is fired by her beastly boss and handed a $25 gift certificate for potato skins instead of a severance check, she goes on a bender that’s sure to become Half-Moon Hollow legend. On her way home, she’s mistaken for a deer, shot and left for dead. And thanks to the mysterious stranger she met while chugging neon-colored cocktails, she wakes up with a decidedly unladylike thirst for blood.

Jane is now the latest recipient of a gift basket from the Newly Undead Welcoming Committee, and her life-after-lifestyle is taking some getting used to. Her recently deceased favorite aunt is now her ghostly roommate. She has to fake breathing and daytime hours to avoid coming out of the coffin to her family. She’s forced to forego her favorite down-home Southern cooking for bags of O negative. Her relationship with her sexy, mercurial vampire sire keeps running hot and cold. And if all that wasn’t enough, it looks like someone in Half Moon Hollow is trying to frame her for a series of vampire murders. What’s a nice undead girl to do?

Please join me in giving Molly a great big Quillsville welcome! And if you're in the Chesterfield, Mo., area, be sure to stop by her very first signing at 1 p.m. April 11 at the Barnes and Noble.

*************************************************************************************

When I tell people in my hometown that I have a book coming out this month, most of them seem to think I've written a children's book.

This is bizarre as I don't really give off a Mother Goose vibe. Frankly, I'm lucky that my own children like me.

Then comes the part of the conversation where I have to explain to my conservative friends and neighbors that, no, I didn't write an ode to teddy bear picnics. I wrote a vampire romantic comedy, titled, Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs. And out comes a vaguely shocked expression on their faces that says, "Nice girls don't write vampire books!"

One acquaintance, after finding out that yes, this book would involve "steamy parts," looked disappointed and asked, "Why didn't you write a cookbook? I would have read a cookbook!"

Because, well, I don't cook.

I don't know what makes them more uncomfortable, knowing that I've written love scenes or knowing that I've written love scenes involving people with fangs. Not much about me screams "girl with bite-y fantasies." In high school, when other girls were going through their angst phase and writing poems about bleeding roses, I was writing essays about having absurd political arguments with my dad at the dinner table.

I majored in print journalism at Western Kentucky University and used my shiny new degree to get a job at my hometown newspaper. For six years, I wrote about school board meetings, quilt shows, and a guy who faked his death by shark attack in Florida and ended up tossing pies at a local pizzeria. Through my monthly humor columns, local residents came to know me as this goofy "nice girl" with little control over her mouth or gross motor function. I left the paper in 2006 and wrote most of the Nice Girls series while I was working as a secretary at a Baptist church.

But the minute people hear the word "vampire," it's like they start mentally x-raying me for hidden exotic piercings.

I'm not embarrassed by my work or my genre. I am proud of both. And I've worked hard to keep myself from explaining, "But I don't keep a coffin in my basement or anything," when I'm given the "piercings X-ray" once-over. My husband on the other hand, has been thrilled from day one and loves it when his co-workers ask if he served as the inspiration for my hot, broody vampire lead. I don't see the harm in letting him think he did.

So now that they've adjusted to the idea of my writing vampire books, the next question my friends ask is, "Well, is your next book going to be a children's book, or is it going to about vampires, too?"

I just smile and say, "No, it's about werewolves."

So my question, dear readers, is this: What about your reading or writing habits would shock your friends and neighbors?

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posted online at Running With Quills February 16, 2009

Higgins stole my RITA, but I'm digging her writing anyhow.

That's the quote I sent when asked to give one for Kristan Higgin's Too Good To Be True. Don't know why they declined to use it.

Okay, okay, if you wanna be picky, I sent two quotes and Tracy Farrel, the senior editor at HQN did say she was determined to use the RITA one somewhere.

RITA smuggled me a picture shortly after Higgins absconded with her. It was accompanied by a note that read: Help. Am in the hands of Yanks. They just don't get West Coast chicks like us. Come get me.

Then....nothing. So, I suppose the little gold traitor acclimated. Sucks for me. But, hey! I got the next best thing --Kristan's agreed to join us today.

Cuz the truth is, I do dig Higgin's writing. So join me in welcoming her to Quillsville, everyone.

*************************************************************************************

Hello! Thanks to the lovely Susan Andersen for inviting me to be here today…interesting and little known fact about Susan: Give her a cosmo, and suddenly she’s belting out a saucy rendition of “Baby Got Back.” (And by the way, Susan…I forgive you.)

Dearest Susan invited me here to chat about my fourth romantic comedy, Too Good To Be True, which hit the shelves this month. The story centers around Grace Emerson, whose ex-fiancé has recently started dating her younger sister (I just hate when that happens, don’t you?). To keep everyone from obsessing about her love life, Grace whips out a fake boyfriend. A completely imaginary man…the best kind, some would say.

I am a big fan of imaginary friends. Mr. Goober and Sally were my first imaginary friends, and they’d keep me company as I sucked my thumb and held my special soft blankie (this was back in my turbulent 20s, you understand). As a child, McIrish, my dear husband, had Fifi and Tuckery who lived in the drain of his bathtub. My daughter had Violet, a thumb-sized moose; my son had Di-Di-Dah. We’re still not sure who Di-Di-Dah was, but he kept our boy happy on long car rides.

Like my heroine, I often imagined having a perfect boyfriend back in the day (and even now, when I’m feeling crotchety). How pleasant to imagine a wonderful man — some magical combination of Tim Gunn, Rhett Butler and Clive Owen — bringing me a glass of wine!

And yes, like my heroine, I’ve faked a boyfriend. In my case, it was to avoid hurting the feelings of a would-be suitor, back when I sported big hair and a sweeter disposition. “Oh, you’re so nice to ask, but no, sorry…I’m seeing someone. Otherwise…” My voice would trail off, and I’d bat my big brown eyes in feigned regret. Now, of course, on those rare and happy occasions when a guy hits on me, I bask in the moment for a sec, soaking up the details so I can torment my husband later on. Then I flash my wedding ring and simply say, “Save it, bub. Married.”

But in Too Good To Be True, Grace makes up a boyfriend for different reasons. See, she really adores her younger sister, who, through no fault of her own, fell in love with Grace’s fiancé. No one set out to hurt anyone or steal anybody…it was just an unfortunate twist of fate. Grace wants Natalie to find happiness, and to alleviate her sister’s guilt, she pretends that she’s seeing Wyatt Dunn, M.D. And it does the trick. For a while, anyway.

In Too Good To Be True, it’s pretty obvious that Grace’s family means everything to her. She’ll do anything for them…to a ridiculous degree. It got me to thinking — we’ve all done dopey things for those we love. There was the time I robbed the…oh, wait, my parole officer said I shouldn’t discuss that. Well, there was also the time my sister made me pretend to have car trouble so she could chat up a certain gorgeous mechanic. I had to sit in the driver’s seat, revving the engine while Sissy ogled the poor guy as he bent and probed under her hood (her car hood of course, get your minds out of the gutter).

So here’s my question for you. Have you ever done something vaguely questionable to help out someone you loved? How’d that work out?

Leave a comment, and I’ll pick someone at random and send them an autographed copy of the book.

All the best,

Kristan
www.kristanhiggins.com

 

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posted online at Running With Quills February 3, 2009

Artsy-far--ahem.

I've had art on my mind today. I know, I know: it's a topic every bit as subjective as our reading or music tastes. Me, I really dig women in art. I love Pre-Raphaelite art in particular, with its lushness of fabric, skin, hair, scenery and jewelry. I have a poster of Vanity from the Art in the Age of Queen Victoria Exhibit that was at Seattle's Frye Museum years ago. My pics don't do it justice since I needed either a light or the flash on and both wash out the colors and set up glares, but here 'tis. She pales in comparison to the original, anyway, which was around six feet tall with a luxuriant purple background that doesn't even show up in the poster. But still I think she's gorgeous with her pearls and rich fabrics.

It doesn't have to be pre-Raphaelite, though. I like a lot of African American art, for its vibrant colors and textures. The same applies to Tarkay's cafe women.

You might be going, "What the hey?" You call that art???? What can I say? We're attracted to the ones that speak to us, and for me, that usually includes the feminine form drawn with lots of color and texture.

What floats your boat?

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posted online at Running With Quills January 20, 2009

Organized? Only in my dreams.

I'm a reasonably neat woman. Not as neat as my late sister-in-law Linda, maybe, but pfffffft, few people are. Linda was on dialysis for 16 years and one of my last memories of her was near the end when she was so played-out she could barely stand upright, yet still she insisted on sweeping the deck of the family beach cabin. So, I consider myself merely reasonably tidy. Still, neat's neat. What I am not is organized.

I used to be. Once upon a time, I was uber organized--and quite smug about it, too. My writer friends would talk about what their offices looked like by the end of a book and I'd secretly think, "Hey, how hard can it be to put things away as they crop up?"

I'm here to tell you, my sistahs, it just doesn't pay to brag or think you're better at something than someone else. Because sure as shootin' that Famous Last Words fairy or the Smug Police or whoever will come along and kick your teeth down your throat for it. I don't know what the heck happened to me or why things suddenly changed. But in the wake of completing a book nowadays it takes me three days and a shovel just to find the top of my desk. The bookshelves in my office, which used to be artfully arranged (well, kinda), now have stacks of to-be shelved books--and it's not as if I alphabetize the things or anything, so I have no idea why it's so difficult to get off the dime and shove em into a slot instead of tossing them on the nearest stack. My kitchen counter gets piled up with stuff the soul mate and I intend to take care of but never quite get around to. Oh, every couple of weeks or so we clear things off. But I swear the minute we do, it's immediately replaced with new crap.

How do you deal with the constant bombardment of stuff? Do you immediately file it, shelve it or dispense with it? Do you tidily arranged your cupboards and shelves? Please don't tell me you alphabetize your spices. That would be too depressing. But if you have tips on taking care of things as they land on your desk/doorstop/whatever, I'm all ears!

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posted online at Running With Quills January 6, 2009

This has gotta be done NOW!

Ordinarily, I'm a reasonably laid-back woman. But every now and then I get a bug up my... er, that is to say, have a fire lit under me. Usually it's decorating related. I'll get something new that just gives me a severe case of the gotta-make-changes-now. Once, years and years ago, I was given my grandmother's dresser. I promptly redid my entire bedroom around it.

This time, it was the shawl my cousin Colleen sent me for Christmas and the boring white paint on the walls that line my stairs and the landing.

I'm not a white paint kinda woman and the landing has been bugging me for several years now. But not enough to actually do something about it, because, one: the walls are rough textured and a giant pain in the patootie to paint and, two: there is beaucoup woodwork, both natural and painted, to work around and, three: it is sooooo hard to reach the top of the walls from the bottom of the stairs.

But mostly I just hadn't come across that one item that made it imperative.

Until now.

My cousin Colleen is the closest thing I've got to a sister. We bickered a lot as girls. As adults, we pick up conversations as if we've been apart five minutes instead of the huge chunk of time it's actually been. And Colleen gives the greatest presents ever--she just has this knack for finding unique, beautiful things she knows I'll love. This year it was the most gorgeous shawl I've ever seen. None of my pictures do it justice because the thing just sparkles.

Now, I know she intended for me to wear it to conferences and such, and I fully intend to do so. But I couldn't bear the thought of putting it away in a drawer the other 355 days of the year. So I draped it over my old hope chest. (Yes, I'm that old). But those white walls did not do it justice.

So I tore the entire upstairs apart. And I painted the walls what I call clay and the manufacturer calls tawny gray. I painted an ancient bookcase that used to be pink and the equally pink woodwork surrounding the attic door and the windows black, then sanded off the edges so a bit of the pink shows through.

And I know I'm pleased with the results way beyond what it merits, because, for heaven's sake, it's only paint. But is there anything that can update a look as fast and as cheaply as a couple of cans of latex? Unfortunately, my flash makes the walls look almost as white as they were before I spent three days changing the situation--and the ceiling is still ugly as sin acoustical tiles. I think there's bead board under them, but there is no insulation under that, so we can't do anything about maybe shooting some in until spring or summer.

But I'm still a happy girl just to have affected some change.

So what tends to light a fire under you?

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posted online at Running With Quills December 11, 2008

The Christmas Branch

I love the holiday season. We have beaucoup traditions in our family. None of them big or fancy, but, still, customs that have meaning to us. The tree is mostly my baby. I do all the trimming. The Soul Mate puts it in its stand and strings the lights for me, then he's done. I enjoy decorating it while he'd rather stick needles in his eyes, so that works for us. :)

When my Sweet Baby Boy was little, however, he and I used to trim it together. Don't tell him, but some years I'd wait until he went to bed, then rearrange the ornaments. But probably my favorite tree of all time? That would be the year of the Christopher Branch.

He must have been three or four that year. He was racing back and forth between the tree and the box where I was getting out the ornaments. I was busy dusting them off, since I'd been too lazy to clean em up the previous year before I put them away, so I wasn't paying attention. Until I turned around. . .and found all of the ornaments hanging from one low branch.

That was a tree I left alone for the sheer fun value. And I'm sorry that I don't have a picture to show you. I know I have one somewhere, but I have about 25 photo albums and I didn't start putting my loose photos into them until Chris was around eight or nine, so before then they aren't in chronological order--and I simply ran out of time this evening. (Who knew it was Thursday night already--when did that happen?) But here's a couple of pics from around that era.

What are some of your traditions or fun memories of things that your kids or other family members have done?

And since this is my last blog until after the holidays, I wish you and yours a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah, Kwanzaa. And a healthy, happy New Year!!

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posted online at Running With Quills November 27, 2008

Odds and Ends

Hey, all. I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. Mine was a lot of fun. We went to my oldest brother's house, where we visited with family, played Uno and put together a puzzle with the Trips, and as usual ate waaaaaay too much. I felt kind of sick by the time we came home, but boy was it yummy! As you can see by this pic of Hailey with her new baby sister, that tryptophan thing in turkey is true--it really does make you sleepy! Okay, Evie actually had breast milk, but work with me here.

Here's another pic of the triplets goofin' with their daddy.

The soulmate's been traveling for work a lot this fall and it looks as though it's going to continue well into the winter. He got home Tuesday afternoon and is leaving again Monday morning, so he and I are taking off for our place in the mountains this morning to have a little catch-up alone time. All of which is a long way of telling you that I'm not ignoring your posts this weekend--I'm gone, gone, ga-wan. :) Poor guy--the traveling gets old, but given the economic climate, we probably shouldn't whine.

Which brings me to: (drumroll please)

DadadadadadaDa!

I, too, am employed for three more books with HQN. YAY!
My agent and I just agreed to a contract on Tuesday. This is a happy event, because I would have hated leaving Ava's story in the Sisterhood Trilogy hanging.

And on a completely different track, Bullwinkle, Heidi Betts' blog: WIPs and Chains received an I Love Your Blog award and was asked to pass it along to other blogs she loved and dadadadadadadaDA! (I know, I know, somebody's gonna take my drum away and probably bonk me over the head with it) she awarded one to us!!

It's official. You gotta love us. Well, okay, you actually don't. But Heidi does! And she sent us the award to prove it. Pretty cool, huh?

And with that, my pretties, I bid you a groovy weekend. I'll see you all in RunningWithQuillsville next week, when I return bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 12, 2008

Sexiest Man Alive

Happy Friday! And. Oh. My. Gawd. It's about to get even happier. (Like you couldn't tell by the blog's title) Guest bloggers Diana Holquist and Julie James come to us bearing men, my pretties. Sexy men. Please give em a big Quills welcome.

Take it away, ladies!

Ah, fall. Time to turn our thoughts to turkey dinners. Radiant foliage. And, most importantly, People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive 2008. Yes, the issue comes out November 21st and no one has given more thought to what makes the Sexiest Man Alive the Sexiest Man Alive than Julie and I. Why? Well, we both wrote books about it.

So we thought we'd put in our early predictions. Ready? Remember, you heard it here first: Sexiest Man Alive 2008…

Our husbands.

(Hi, honey! Hi, sweetie!)

Okay, are they gone yet? Good. Let’s get serious.

Frontrunner this year is a lovely young man named Patrick Dempsey.

Perennial favorite (and leader in our poll as of this writing) Mr. Depp.

There is always a strong pull amongromance fans for Gerard Butler. Why is that, do you think? I mean, besides the obvious. He never seems to catch on in that huge way outside the romance community.

Romance fans don’t seem to like the next contender, Mr. Craig. Is he too cold? But this could be his year…

Or is it Will Smith’s turn?

Or perhaps another African American will steal the honors. Don’t laugh, the only other non-movie-star Sexiest Man Alive is John F. Kennedy. Not even an athlete has won.

What do you think? Who should be the sexiest man alive for 2008? Vote in the poll:

And if you want to win a signed copy of either Sexiest Man Alive or Just the Sexiest Man Alive, visit our website blogs and find out how to enter to win (DianaHolquist.com and JulieJamesBooks.com).

So, tell us in the comments as well what you think: what is it that makes the Sexiest Man Alive so sexy? And who should be this year’s pick?

—Diana Holquist and Julie James

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posted online at Running With Quills October 29, 2008

All the pretty leaves

I love this time of year. The leaves are gorgeous, the sunsets spectacular and there's a clarity in the air you simply don't see during any other season.

But the soul mate and I have a running argument. We can't agree which tree is the prettiest. He loves the tall Ginko a few blocks away. And I must admit, it turns a spectacular yellow. He's up in Alaska and the tree will be past its prime by the time he gets home, so I've taken this pic to show him. Unfortunately, I think I may have delayed a few days in capturing it in its prime myself, but what are you gonna do?

Me, I'm a Maple girl and the redder, the better. I'm also drawn to rounder or umbrella shaped trees rather than the tall skinny numbers that you-know-who likes.

Isn't that pretty? Of course, there's also the maples that are all colors: green and orange and gold and red. It's kind of hard to beat those, too. And then there are the...

Well, you get my drift. They're all decked out it their own special foliage and it truly is difficult to pick just one as the prettiest.

Still. . .Which ones are you most drawn to?

Ooh! Ooh! Happy Halloween! I've been so busy this fall I've all but forgotten it, but I'd like to leave you with a pic of the Tripz from year before last. I love the little monkeys. :) Their mom makes all their costumes and this was one of my faves.

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posted online at Running With Quills October 16, 2008

I love my husband, but oh you cats!

This is an ode to My Boys. The soul mate's been out of town a lot lately on business and will continue to be in and out for most of the fall. But that's okay, cuz I've got work to keep me busy and my cats to keep me entertained. Those of you with pets don't need me to tell you how much company they provide.

What keeps me endlessly fascinated about Boo Radley and Mojo is how much contrast is packed into each cat's personality. The Boys are litter mates and the couple who fostered them from infancy really, really wanted to keep Mojo, but they found Boo too wild. That they elected to have the kittens stay together above their own desire to keep one of them is a testament to their love of animals. I will forever bless and admire them for it.

And Boo can be wild--especially if he thinks he's in trouble. As a kitten he would literally bounce sideways off the furniture, but if you could snag him and throw him over your shoulder, then stroke and talk softly to him, he usually settled down. He never seemed quite sure of his welcome and to this day the boy's got nursing issues. He kneads and sucks on blankets, pillows and the odd fleece jacket. He's also way more methodical and cautious about acquainting himself with new surroundings than his brother. When we first introduced the Boys to the outdoors, Mojo would tear across the back yard and up the lilac tree without a thought. Boo had to sniff out every square inch around him before he could move on to the next patch.

He's a huge cat and you'd think he'd be out kicking butt and taking names. Instead, he regularly gets the crap kicked out of him by the neighborhood Toms. So, guy-like, he comes home and takes it out on his brother, because he can pounce on Mojo and know blood (his own) won't flow. But he's sweet and affectionate and has a purr like a big rig in idle. And see that tail? About the only time it isn't up in the air like that is when I take him to the vet.

Mojo has never doubted his welcome for a minute. He just assumes everyone is delirious to see him and if you're not quick enough to pet him, he'll poke his nose under your hand and toss his head back, making it slide in the motion he's going for. But, boy, if he's not in the mood to be stroked, no one can slink out from beneath your touch faster than that cat. It's like his bones dissolve and he just disappears like smoke on the wind.

He's more delicately built and a good five pounds lighter than his brother, but he's got a cocky, emphatic walk you can hear all over the house. He never gets his butt kicked--he's honed his flight reflex to a razor sharpness and is faster than a Japanese bullet train.

Smoky Joe (a nickname) loves sleeping on laps or pillows and at first wasn't as interested as Boo in spending long hours outside. He looks and often behaves like a prince, but the boy is not afraid of wet work. Once he discovered hunting, he never looked back. As a direct result of the trophies he started dragging home we had to call a moratorium on installing the cat door we bought. Those carcasses are not a pretty sight and I don't intend to find them on my rug or bed.

So these a just a few of the contradictions within each of my cats. What are some in your own pets, or what are some of the things they do that tickles you?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 2, 2008

Pretty boys, floatin' my boat

Long, long ago, in another century, I stood in line for hours with thousands of other barely teen-aged girls to see the sneak preview of Bye, Bye Birdie at the Paramount theater. Why, you ask? Because I was in love, my pretties. With Bobby Rydell.

You thought I was kidding about that other century thing, didn't you?

Aw, me. It makes me sigh just thinking about the feelings that boy inspired in my very young, woefully underdeveloped breast. Bobby was the dreamiest guy I had ever seen and I was sure we were destined to be together.

Until I actually thought about it. Let's see. Me in Seattle in the 7th grade. Him a famous singer and sometime actor, probably in LA. (I was a little sketchy on that detail, but knew wherever he was, it was a long way from where I lived) So I transferred my crush to Mike Ziegler, a boy in my junior high I considered a Bobby double. Okay, I didn't have any better luck attracting Mike's attention, but still. The possibilities kept me warm and fuzzy for a long time.

A Very Long Time.

Since then I've never been drawn to an actor/singer/hunk-of-the-moment quite like I was to Bobby. Well, okay, there was Steve McQueen. He actually French kissed on screen in an era when smooches were very dry. And George Chakiris. I mean, c'mon. Those lips, that chin, that nose, that hair!

But, ahem, I digress. Diggin' movie stars etc has a long, exalted tradition. Can you say Rudolph Valentino? And I remember my mother going to the neighborhood theater with the lady next door specifically to ogle Chuck Connor (of TV's The Rifleman fame) --hopefully sans shirt. My mother. In the evening. Without my father.

So I leave you with a question. Who spins your wheels? Here's a little inspiration in case you're coming up blank.

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posted online at Running With Quills September 18, 2008

Susan experiences her very first triathlon

As a spectator, that is. I am SO not a competition grade athlete--especially when it comes to swimming, running or biking. Well, I actually like to ride bikes--as long as it's on fairly flat surfaces and I can take all the time my little heart desires. But to do all three sports one after the other on the same day? In really hot weather? That's just freakin' nuts.

My sweet baby boy obviously takes after his daddy's side of the family, because he competed in the Grand Columbian Olympic Triathlon last Saturday. It was held at Grand Coulee Dam in eastern Washington (or east of the mountains as we Washingtonians call it). That's a very pretty area in a stark, minimalist kinda way. Nowhere as green as the west side of the Cascades, it's nevertheless majestic with its miles and miles of coulees dug out by glaciers several millennium ago.

My son's class of the event started with a-hair-under-a-mile swim in Banks Lake. Coming out of the water, the competitors shed their wetsuits, changed into their biking clothes, shoes and helmets and were off on a 25 mile bike ride. They had special permission to ride across the Grand Coulee Dam, which fed them to the last long hill, which they flew down to the end of that portion of the race, changed into their running shoes, and either drank or poured the water they were handed over their heads as they took off for the final leg of the race, a 10 K run. (six point something miles)

The soulmate's and my favorite son (okay, only son) did all this in 3 hours and 35 minutes. Now this is nowhere in the top contenders' time, but I frankly can't even imagine. I tried to think if I have ever challenged myself to that extent and had to say. . .no. Not physically, at least. I walked a half marathon once in hot weather and that took me four hours. I strolled it. Much more my speed.

What sort of things do the people you know do that you simultaneously admire and find incomprehensible? Or if you're the adventurous type yourself, what challenges do you impose on yourself?

 

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posted online at Running With Quills September 4, 2008

Mother Susan says: Tell All!

I've got a little survey for you. Just because...well, I R a righter U no, and that pretty much equates with being nosy.

So what do you like best?

Milk chocolate or dark? (me, I'm a milk chocolate girl)

Beer or cosmos? (I confess I don't like beer or wine, but I do enjoy an occasional cocktail--especially if it comes in a pretty glass :)

Coffee, tea or hot chocolate? (I'm mostly a tea drinker, with the occasional cup of cocoa or a coffee/cocoa combo)

Meat and potatoes or seafood and veggies? (I'm a foodie, so I love it all. But I tend to eat more seafood and fruit. I love fresh fruit!)

Cooking or take-out? (Our dinner hour is the soulmate's and my one sure social hour if he's not out of town--or the country--on a job. So one of my favorite parts of the day is when he gets home from work and the two us put together our dinner in the kitchen and catch up on each others day. Which is not to say I don't love being taken out for a meal or grabbing some take-out. But we do a lot more home cooking)

Do you drink milk? (I love it, but it has to be really cold and then I pour it in beer mugs that I keep in the freezer)

And on the book front:

Do you tend to be drawn more to dark haired heroes or blonds? (I love em all if they're written well, of course--but have a sneaking fondness for dark haired guys)

Hairy chests or smooth? (Yummmm....both)

Alpha or beta? Working man or tycoon? (I like em alpha...but with a nurturing side. And am partial to working men, soldiers and cops)

How about the heroines? Pretty or plain? Outspoken or quiet?

What's your favorite love, break-up or make-up scene? Or any fave scene that's stuck with you? (One of mine is the prologue to Loretta Chase's Lord of Scoundrels)

Do you ever cast actors in the roles of the books you read? And if so, what are some of the books and the actors you've chosen to play the leads? (This is something I don't do--I once did a satellite radio tour to promote a book and that was a question that stopped me dead the first time I was asked it. I know that lots of other people do, however, and would be interested to know who you come up with)

Well, I could go on and on, but I've probably already asked too many questions. But inquirying minds wanna know, baby!!

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posted online at Running With Quills August 21, 2008

How Susan spent her summer vacation

I spent last week on Hood Canal in a two bedroom cabin built by my father in 1959. There's nothing fancy about it, but, oh, mama, its physical location just flat-out does it for me. Spending an entire week there (which I only have the opportunity to do once a year) always refills my well. Hey, just look at that view. It never fails to lower my blood pressure and mellow me out.

We who share the cabin, plus a boatload of relatives from my mom's side of the family, all arrived the first Saturday of my vacation for the annual family reunion. That's an always noisy, confusing and very satisfying event. I got my hands on my 17 day old great niece, the Triplets' brand new sister--and managed to hang onto her for quite awhile before one of my cousin's snatched her away from me. My cousin Jan arranged a send-off for her dad, my Uncle Jack, who died this summer. We talked often and loudly. Laughed a lot. Ate too much. Business as usual, in other words.

 

 

 

Some of the kids patiently listening to Uncle Jack's favorite Josh Groban song before setting their message-laden balloons free.

 

My cats hid in the woods until everyone went home (with their dogs) late Sunday morning. Around the same time that Mojo deigned to show himself, my son, who's a chef so therefore works different hours than most people, arrived to spend his weekend (Sunday and Monday) with us. The soulmate found Boo under the shed a couple of hours later. Over the course of the next 8 days, Mojo--generous soul that he is--presented us with a minimum of 7 mice. We learned to shut our bedroom door after a 2 am wake up where The Boys were chasing each other around the room. When I got up to shoo them outside I saw that Moj was packing another present for us in his mouth.

We saw innumerable seals. A couple of eagles and a heron. Kingfishers and Osprey and a bat. A mess of flying ants, which come out of this one log every night just after sundown. And a doe and her two fawns that we spotted once in the back yard and once on the beach.

My sweet baby boy caught a steelhead. Even better, he fried it up in cornmeal and ladled a wine-butter sauce over it. YUM. We also ate oysters and crab courtesy of Hood Canal.

Our last Saturday night, Steve removed the sails from his boat and pulled the rudder and we rowed down to the state park. (I rowed there, he rowed back) It was almost fully dark when we got back and we were greeted by a black lab with a four foot stick, which he promptly dropped at my feet. I'm a chump for water dogs, so I threw it for him.

He flung himself into the water with great enthusiasm, swam out to get it and, of course, immediately brought it back it to me. What amazed me, though, was how mannerly he was. Steve still bears a scar below his eyebrow where Jude, our long-gone Irish Setter, laid it open with the bony point of her head when he reached for her stick one time as she was jumping up in preparation for the mad dash to fetch it. The lab was soooo much better behaved. He'd come out of the canal, walk up the beach away from us to shake out the water, then bring over his stick (or maybe hers--it wasn't like I could tell in the dark, but I called him buddy anyhow) and drop it couple feet from where I stood. He'd wait for me to toss it then launch himself back into the water to retrieve it and start the process over again.

I threw until I could no longer see to pick it up, then went and sat on the edge of the deck to see if I could catch a meteor streaking across the sky (only saw one all week, but it was an orange beauty). The dog followed me, dropped his stick at my feet, then backed off about ten feet to wait. I was pooped by then, ignored him and eventually went into the cabin. When I looked out, it was to see him retrieving his stick, which he trotted off in search of, I'm sure, a more indefatigable thrower. He had his routine down pat, but he was so sweet and non pushy about it that I'm pretty sure he gets more retrieving time in than your average water-lovin' dog. And he was, for me, the cherry on the cupcake of my vacation.

It's been a busy and often stressful year, and those 9 days were just what the doctor ordered. I came home refreshed and ready to tackle the last of my book. But how about the rest of you-- what have you been doing this summer? I know Lori's been RVing. Have you taken a vacation to refill your well, caught the sunset show to ease your soul, or enjoyed a moment observing the various wonders of nature, be it flora or fauna? Has your dog or cat or kid given you a good laugh?

What busts your stress?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 7, 2008

Susan Presents The Chic Entrepreneur

Well, rats. My fun post-conference stay with friends in San Francisco got cut short when I contracted a nasty case of asthmatic bronchitis. I'm slowly feeling better, but still not tracking all that well. Luckily for us all, I have a guest blogger today!

As a nonfiction writer, Elizabeth Gordon is a bit of a departure for us here at Quills. But if any of you are budding entrepreneurs or already own a business that you'd like to kick up to the next level, she's got a book for you! Please welcome Elizabeth.

****************************************************************

Thank you so much for inviting me to blog on Running with Quills during my Chic Book Tour. F. Scott Fitzgerald put it best when he said, "Writers aren't exactly people...they're a whole lot of people trying to be one person.” Ain’t that the truth? And I can say with certainty that each of the six of you are a whole lot of interesting people.

As a businesswoman with a particular passion for helping women entrepreneurs create businesses that succeed with sass and style, I’ve wanted to write a guide book that spoke to women since opening my own consulting firm in 2005. I read a lot of business books while I worked for Fortune 500 companies and I read a lot more when I struck off on my own. And truthfully, most of those books nearly put me to sleep, others just re-canned the same old information. I wanted to write a book that I would want to read – one that would keep me intrigued and turning the page…a lot like a good novel does. That’s why my book, The Chic Entrepreneur: Put Your Business in Higher Heels uses contrasting fictional stories at the end of each chapter to reinforce the lessons taught.

Check out a short excerpt from my upcoming business novel Here Comes the Business: How to Survive the Startup in Style:

Background note: Twenty-four year old Charlotte Young is struggling to create an event planning business in Atlanta, Georgia. While she is a resourceful hard worker, she cannot seem to make her business lucrative. Charlotte moonlights as an alcohol promotions girl in order to make ends meet and finance her fledgling business. She is desperate to uncover the secrets to turning her company into a flourishing business. In this bit, she decided to splurge on the haircut and go to Cherry, an established salon in the upscale section of Atlanta called Buckhead. She was going to see a less-experienced and thus less expensive stylist, so the cut wouldn’t break the bank. Still, it was costly considering her meager budget. Cherry created a huge buzz around Atlanta since it’s opening two years before. Charlotte is eager to find out what made it so special…

For the past two years, Charlotte had been getting her hair cut at Scissors, which was next to the dollar store in a strip mall a few miles from where she lived. It was convenient and inexpensive, but every time she got home, she found that she had to pull out her own scissors to snip some chunk of hair that had been overlooked. After each visit, she felt wholly unsatisfied with the thirteen-dollar bargain haircut.

When Charlotte entered Cherry, she was greeted warmly by the receptionist, Ami, who showed her to a changing room. There, Charlotte traded her own shirt for one of the twenty pressed black T-shirts with big red cherries on them hanging on the rack, and put on a clean black robe. When she walked out, Ami offered her a choice of sparkling water, herbal tea or a mimosa to drink.

As Charlotte sipped her tea and reclined on a leather couch in the sleek reception area, she flipped through the latest style book. She noticed that, unlike the books that sat on the front table at Scissors, the models’ hairstyles were not perms from the 1980s. She took a deep breath of the delicious, cinnamon-scented air and looked around. Everything at Cherry was modern and stylish. From the business card holders on the front desk to the art on the walls, not a detail had been overlooked. Charlotte felt like she had arrived. A posh-looking woman walked in and Ami introduced her as Lola, Charlotte’s stylist for the day.

Lola was tall and lean and had a short bob of black hair that angled down around her ovular face. She wore a black pencil skirt and a black, scoop neck top just like the other Cherry employees, but what set Lola apart were her large, bright red lips and her sparkling, blue eyes.

Charlotte was used to getting her haircut by Marge at Scissors. Marge was average in height with a pear shaped body that was unfortunately accentuated by a different floral-patterned spandex outfit at each visit. Charlotte was a firm believer that spandex was strictly to be worn for workout attire. Marge was very nice, though. She and Charlotte got along well, but something about the way Lola presented herself made Charlotte feel good and gave her an automatic confidence about the coming haircut.

Charlotte found it interesting how presentation had such a strong influence on the perception of service and quality. Lola hadn’t even done anything yet and already Charlotte was giving her rave mental reviews.

Charlotte followed Lola into the salon and sat in the soft, black, leather chair and wondered if this same principle applied to the perception of her business offering as well.
As Lola moved the chair up several inches and began running her hands through Charlotte’s long blonde hair, giving her scalp the occasional soothing scratch with her long fingernails, Charlotte looked into the mirror in front of her and thought about how the quality professional cut she wanted was just part of what she was buying at Cherry. She was paying for the whole experience and that’s what made it worth the higher price.

“Okay Char, what were you thinking today?” Lola asked with a bit of a northern accent that Charlotte couldn’t quite place.

“Well, I need a big change. I think I want to go short, but not too short. Professional but also fashionable and stylish, ya know?” she asked in a hesitant voice, hoping that Lola would understand.

“What kind of work do you do?” Lola asked quickly.

“I’m an event planner,” Charlotte said.

“Oh really? With who?” Lola asked.

“Um, with myself… I mean, I have my own business,” Charlotte stammered as she watched her face blush in the mirror.

“Wow, good for you,” Lola said, surprising Charlotte with admiration in her tone. “I’ve always wanted to have my own salon, but I’ve never had the guts to do it. You are so brave.”

Shaking off her embarrassment, Charlotte sat up straight and said, “Thanks, but I haven’t quite made it to the big time yet.”

“Well when you do, it will be pretty sweet,” Lola told her. “Jimmy, the owner here, he stops in to check on things once a week. Walks around, talks to everyone, gives managers an update, looks at some reports. Spends the rest of his time hanging out with his wife and kids. He basically only has to work when he wants to. Nice life, huh? So back to your look…”

“Yes, well, in order me to build a successful business like Jimmy’s, I need people to start taking me and my business more seriously. I’m good at what I do, and I really think I need to look more like a successful business owner, not like some kid fresh out of college.”

“I know exactly what you need. If you’ll trust me, I’ll give you a look that says, ‘I’m on top of it.’ We’ll do short with some layers to keep the body under control.”

Just hearing Lola say these words with complete confidence and understanding, Charlotte knew that she could trust her. This would be a big change, but she was ready. It was time to create a new self-image for this sophisticated and successful, “on top of it,” planner.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Charlotte said.

Lola gently massaged Charlotte’s head, neck and shoulders before washing her hair and getting to work on the cut. As chunks of blonde hair sailed to the floor, Charlotte fell into a lull and started thinking about the differences in the two places that she could get her hair cut, Scissors or Cherry.

Scissors was a small space in a high-traffic part of town. It ran on low prices and high volume. The shop was nondescript, with slightly dated décor revealing their intent to keep their costs down. Despite seeming busy, it was always minimally staffed. The goal seemed to be to get customers in and out as quickly as possible. Marge had never asked Charlotte what she did for a living. Even though she was a regular, there was no real relationship. Often, there would be only one or two people working in Scissors at a time and the same person who was cutting hair would also have to answer the telephone every time it rang and greet the customers. Many times things fell through the cracks at Scissors. Customers weren’t taken care of on time, appointments weren’t in the book, the precision of the cut was off, the dye bottles didn’t get refilled. It was a mediocre salon.

Charlotte was sure this lack of professionalism was responsible for the missed pieces of hair she ended up trimming herself later on. Undoubtedly, Scissors would stay open for years to come, limping along, but the chances that people would remain satisfied and faithful to it and make it a highly prosperous salon were slim. People like Charlotte would end up getting sick of the low price/low quality tradeoff and go elsewhere every now and then to treat themselves. These same people would eventually start to make more money and leave Scissors for a better place and never return.

Similarly, the best stylists at Scissors would also realize that the loyal, big tippers were going elsewhere. They would seek out another salon that did more to build a strong brand and a reputation with a good clientele that allowed them to reach their professional goals. Scissors would remain a perpetual training ground for those fresh out of beauty school and a dumping ground for those with minimal ambition and desire.

Then there was Cherry, a place that ran on high quality, high prices and loyal customers. Charlotte looked around and saw rows of chairs full of upscale clients and trendy, skilled workers cutting hair with the concentration and passion of someone crafting a sculpture. Cherry radiated wealth and success.

When her cut was complete, Charlotte’s hair looked so healthy and sharp she could hardly believe the difference it made in her appearance. Now she looked like a real businesswoman. Charlotte wondered what other changes she needed to make in her life that were this simple and yet would have such a dramatic impact.
--
Stories are the best ways to learn – that’s why personal history is always passed through stories and not charts and graphs. Sometimes it is not enough just tell people what to do. It is more powerful when you can immerse them in a story that shows them how and why and leaves them with a lasting artistic impression as well as practical advice. If you could learn business lessons through dialogue and an entertaining plotline that you could relate to, would you be more tempted to buy and read a business book?

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posted online at Running With Quills July 23, 2008

Stella and Susan are CUTTING LOOSE!

Stella: So, Susan, it’s almost time for Cutting Loose to hit the shelves.

Susan: I know! See this cheesy grin? I can’t stop smiling—I LOVE this time of year. Spotting my book on supermarket or bookstore shelves is a thrill that hasn’t changed for me since Shadow Dance first landed on one in September of ‘89. But, hey, I don’t need to tell you. I’m sure the Oh-my-gawd-that’s-MY-book-up-there! factor is the same for all the Quills.

Stella: Yes, it’s a lovely feeling.

Susan: And you all get to see your books on the shelves two or three times a year. Not to be a whiner or anything, but I’m a one-book-a-year woman.

Okay, so maybe I am whining a little. Still, I’m making the most of my day, or week, or month (she said hopefully) in the sun. Wait, let me demonstrate. Watch! This is my happy dance.

Stella: ::wincing::: Don’t do that.

Susan: You’re probably right. :::realigns elbows and knees so they no longer stick out in so many awkward angles::: I’ll save the happy dance for the privacy of my own home. It’s not real pretty, but what the heck, it makes me feel good. And it’s not like I’m cutting the heads off chickens or anything.

Stella: Saving that for the getting-on-the-lists ritual?

Susan: Well, yeah. Can’t find a virgin these days.

Stella: O-kay--not going there. So, about the book. Aren’t you jumping the gun a little? Cutting Loose isn’t even out yet, is it?

Susan: Its actual street date is July 29th-- next Tuesday--but I’m getting ready to leave town and racing to finish up my next book, so we’re talkin’ it up early. And face it, the lay-down isn’t that strict anyway, so it probably is in some of the stores. But chances of scoring a copy go up after Monday.

Stella: This is the first of a brand new trilogy, right?

Susan: Yep--one I’m calling the Sisterhood Diaries, featuring three women, Jane Kaplinski, Poppy Calloway and Ava Spencer, who have been best friends since the fourth grade. They’ve inherited an infamously ugly Seattle mansion. I’m kicking the series off with Jane’s story.

Stella: And our hero is on the scene to renovate the ugly mansion.

Susan: Yes. Devlin Kavanagh is from a huge Irish-American clan. He has a problem with the inherent lack of privacy that goes hand-in-hand with large families and has been crewing yachts around Europe for the last umpteen years. But he’s home now to lend a hand in the family construction business while his brother Bren goes through chemotherapy.

Stella: And he and Jane hit it off right away?

Susan: Shyeah, right (as Jayne’s dust bunny Elvis says with such impeccable sarcasm). They are, of course, exact opposites. Jane grew up with second rate actor parents who lived for drama on and off the stage. She craves stability. Dev’s footloose.

Stella: Yet, their attraction is burning-down-the-house hot!

Susan: You gotta love chemistry, right? But Loose is about friends and family as well. Add to all that a bad guy with serious envy issues and a loan shark on his ass, setting his sights on the mansion full of priceless collections--

Stella: --And things are about to cut loose.

Susan: ::doing the happy dance again::: Yes, ma’am! Things are about to cut loose big time.

Stella: And I've had way too much fun Cutting Loose with this story! Now it's everyone else's turn.

 

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posted online at Running With Quills July 10, 2008

PDAs—for or against?

Once upon a time a friend and I went to visit another friend in the hospital. While we were there a young couple came to visit our sick friend as well. As we were occupying the only available chairs in the room, they stood to converse. After a bit, the husband moved behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her waist. Occasionally he would snuggle her close as he visited with our sick friend.

I like seeing people display affection so I didn't think anything of it. They just looked like kids in love to me and I'm always happy to bear witness to folks in love. But my friend made a comment later that made it clear she thought it was inappropriate, that a hospital room was no place for cuddling. I didn't quite get what she was objecting to. Since then, however, I've discovered public displays of affection are a hot button for a lot of people.

Now I've been known to indulge in the occasional PDA myself. I've been married nearly forty years and my husband and I still hold hands when we walk. We've kissed each other in, yep, public. I'm not talking hot and heavy tongue action, but still, a kiss. There's just so much crap in the world, so much violence and hate, that I'm not sure I understand why anyone would find that objectionable. If people aren't actually having sex in public or a too-close-for-comfort simulation, what's a kiss, a hug, a cuddle between those who bear another obvious affection?

But that's probably the point, isn't it? What's comfortable for one person can be very much not so for another. Clearly, my comfort level is high in this arena. But what about your own? C'mon, you can tell me. We don't have to agree. I'd just be interested in hearing your opinion.

 

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posted online at Running With Quills June 26, 2008

We have a play date with Carly Phillips!!

I have a special guest today! Carly Phillips has been rockin' the bestseller lists (Can you say NYT, USAToday, Waldenbooks and. . . well, pretty much everything) for several years now. She writes funny, sexy contemporary romance and you all know that works for me! Her latest is Hot Property.

But rather than have me talk about Carly, let's do something more interesting and let her speak for herself. Oh, but first--not only do we have a cool guest, but she comes bearing gifts! Carly's going to autograph a copy of Hot Property for one lucky poster, so check back tomorrow night to see whose name was drawn.

Welcome, Carly!!

****************************************************************

Giving Birth to and Raising Children
(the human kind and the kind made of paper)

Just last week, My husband and I had a very tough time with my oldest teenager. Without going into details, thank goodness she is OK. We are very grateful and hope lessons were learned. This experience led me to think about how children don’t come with instruction manuals and as parents, all we can do is our very best. The same can be said of my other children – my books.

Unlike my real children, who I hopefully can continue to teach and grow and mold into healthy safe and happy adults, there reaches a point in the birth of a book, when we must send them out into the world with no further say in who they are and what they become. We put them out to there and expose them to the world, virtues, vices and all. Just like our kids, only they never change.

Hot Property is my current book out now. It’s the last book in the Hot Zone Series of books (Hot Stuff, Hot Number, Hot Item and now Hot Property) and it forces me to say goodbye to this set of children and begin the process of raising/creating new ones.

Unlike some authors, I am able to move on to a new book fairly easily because I get a rush of excitement each time I start something new. That is, until the hard part of actually developing the characters begins!

And as a reader, when my favorite author finishes a series or a book, I’m sad – but I’m already excited for the next one – regardless of what they’re writing. (Unless it’s a complete genre switch but that’s for another blog, since I tend to only read romance!)

So I’m wondering … Authors out there – do you move from ending one book or series easily and jump into the next? Or do you angst?

And Readers (the people we, as authors, count on) – as much as you know you will miss the end of a series of books, do you get excited by the start of a new one by your favorite author? Or do you need to read it and see if it will strike you before the excitement kicks in?

 

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posted online at Running With Quills June 24, 2008

Trash Talking

The RITA is Romance Writers of America's highest award, so when I received my very first nomination this year for Coming Undone it was a pretty big thrill for me. Since then, however, I've had an even bigger thrill--getting to know several of my sister nominees.

Diana Holquist contacted the eight nominees (well seven, plus her if you wanna be literal) and proposed we do a trash talk video to spoof ourselves. She put us all together, enlisted Lindsay Farber to produce the final result and wrote the story board.

The latter went through some changes. Hey, you didn't really think you could involve this many writers and not have all of us put our two cents in, did you? But without Diana it never would have gotten off the ground.

Not everyone was comfortable with the idea. I wasn't at first, since I tend to get uber selfconscious when video cameras are pointed my way and I'm expected to say something brilliant, or, okay even comprehensible. But the whole trash talking concept sounded like way too much fun not to stretch my comfort level.

And I'm so glad I did. Because those of us who ended up doing this video had a blast. And as Toni Blake pointed out, we got the extra added bonus of bonding over it. I was blown away at how natural and funny my sister finalists were--they just cracked me up. And win or lose, I'm truly privileged to be included in such marvelous company.

So, here it is. I hope you get as big a kick out of watching it as I did participating in it.

 

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posted online at Running With Quills June 19, 2008

Meet Virginia Kantra!

Have I got a treat for you! I was introduced to Virginia Kantra's books when I judged one in the Ritas a couple of years ago. It knocked my socks off, so I wrote to tell her so. And this is one generous woman, lemme tell you. She sent me the Trouble in Eden series that she'd written for Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Well. . . generous or wicked. Because can you say, "Wanna free book, little girl?""
Now I'm a stone VK junkie.

And I'm not the only one, clearly. Romantic Times gave Sea Witch four stars and called it “an emotional journey of discovery and an intriguing launch into a compelling new series.”

At WritersAreReaders.com, Suzanne Brockmann wrote:
“A paranormal world that moves with the rhythm of the waves and the tide… Kantra tells Margred and Caleb's story with a lyric, haunting, poetic voice.”

Fresh Fiction said:
“Sea Witch is a fantastic story full of excitement, humor, suspense and loads of hot, hot sex. (Susan, who scored an early copy, interrupts to say: Oh, yeah) This paranormal is so interesting, you want it to go on and on and never quit. I thoroughly enjoyed [Kantra’s] witty style of writing and her wonderful, fascinating characters. Anyone who enjoys a good paranormal should NOT miss this one!”

But enough from them--let's let Virginia talk for herself. And, ooh! Ooh! She's giving a copy of Sea Witch to one lucky poster and the anthology Shifter by her, Angela Knight, Lora Leigh and Alyssa Day to another. Then the two of you can join me in twitching as we await her next book.

Take it away, Virginia!

*************************************************

I’m so excited Susan invited me to guest blog today. This is more fun than sitting at the cool kids’ table in the school cafeteria. (At least, I imagine it is. I didn’t spend a lot of time at the cool kids’ table.) Anyway, the people here are nicer.

And we get to talk about books!

I remember summers by the books I read. All of Edward Eager at a cramped cottage on Cape Cod the summer I turned nine. Peter Beagle’s The Last Unicorn in a dusty London flat when I was fourteen. Mary Stewart’s This Rough Magic on the train in Germany. I read my first novel by Jayne Anne Krentz (it was Family Man) with my butt in the North Carolina sand and Susan’s Baby I’m Yours in Charleston a few years later.

The crash of the waves, the caress of the sun, the tang of salt, and the promise of a hot romance still mean “summer” to me. This year, I have a new paranormal romance series to share with you, stories filled with the mystery and magic, power and passion of the ocean: The Children of the Sea. Set off the coast of Maine, these books were inspired by the Celtic legends of the selkie, immortal creatures of the sea living apart from humankind but able to shape-shift into seductive human form.

For centuries, the children of the sea have co-existed in uneasy peace with their fellow elementals, the children of fire. Now that balance of power is tested as three siblings born of a human father and a selkie mother become embroiled in an ancient rivalry.

Caleb, the soldier, who returns from the desert to fall in love with a woman from the sea
(Sea Witch, Berkley, July 2008)

Dylan, the loner, who must choose between the freedom of his mother’s kind and the bonds of mortal love (Sea Fever, Berkley, August 2008)

Lucy, the dreamer, whose heart and fate are tangled with the sea king’s son
(Sea Lord, Berkley, February 2009).

In Sea Witch, Margred, a selkie, is driven to the island of World’s End by her desire for down-to-earth police chief Caleb Hunter. Strong, steady Caleb is bewitched by this sensual stranger. But when a murderer begins targeting women on World’s End, Caleb must face the terrible possibility that the killings are somehow connected to the mysterious Margred . . . and that the course of their love may threaten everything he believes in.

I hope you’ll check out the excerpts on my website, virginiakantra.com, and the “Countdown to Sea Witch” at my blog.

In the meantime, share: What are some of your all-time favorite summer reads? Do you remember where you were when you read them?

Happy Summer! And happy reading.

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posted online at Running With Quills June 5, 2008

Books, books, books, books, books

Lets talk books. I have no blogging chops for anything else today, but then we're all here because we're readers, right? So let me start the discussion by talking about some of the books I've read and enjoyed lately. Maybe I can turn you on to some new authors or titles. Perhaps you can do the same for me.

Because most of the stuff I've read recently has been recommended to me by other readers. I've blown through several books by my favorite authors, of course. But, man I love discovering new to me authors. And joy, joy, joy: my brainstorming partner, Caroline Cross, has turned me on to two separate series written by writers I'd never read before. She brought me Books One and Two in one of the series and Book One in the other, and I became a believer in both.

I first took note of J.R. Ward some time ago while I was checking the Bookscan sales list. This author I'd never heard of was simply shooting up the charts. I saw that she wrote a vampire series, however, and thought, "Like we need more of those." Then Caro brought me the first two and, folks, they knocked my socks off. Ward's built an interesting world of caste systems and warriors and vampires who get their sustanance from other vampires rather than humans. I'm only three books in, but what I've read so far is simply fascinating. It has romance and sex and danger and that wonderful "something" that keeps us turning those pages as fast as we can.

The other series she got me started on was Stephenie Meyers teen angst/vampire/werewolf saga. Book One, Twilight, was the author's first book, period, and it was darn near perfect. (Except that we in the Pacific NW do not call our highways/ freeways "The" whatever number. We simply say I-5 or 101. But that's a nitpick) The main vamps in this book are a cobbled together family trying to exist without drinking human blood. They can also go out in the daylight but have taken up residence in Forks, Washington because it has the most rainfall of anyplace in America. Which is helpful as they become very conspicuous in sunlight. (I won't give away why)

Then my sweet baby boy brought me the uniquest book--one he picked up in a section of Barnes and Noble that I probably never even would have checked out. This one's called Sharp Teeth by Toby Barlow. It's a book written in free verse about weredogs in L.A.

I know! It seems to be all paranormal all the time with me these days. What can I say; sometimes it just turns out that way. I knew I had to write an actual review for this one for WritersAreReaders.com before I even finished the thing, because I was simply stunned by the sheer level of enjoyment it gave me. Sharp Teeth is funny and hard-edged and wicked-sharp. It's sometimes grim yet often lyrical. And it just plain kept me rivited. To get a more indepth idea of its plot go here.

I'm reading yet another fabulous book, but I'm going to save this one for next Friday's post as I've invited its author to be our feature blogger. Meanwhile, what have you read lately that's blown you away? If there is one thing I am always up, it's hearing about wonderful, entertaining books.

 

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posted online at Running With Quills May 15, 2008

Susan. A study in poetry in motion

You ever have one of those days? Last Friday, I was walking with my friend Joey, minding my own business, laughing about something she said and enjoying what's been a very rare occurrence in Seattle lately--a sunny morning.

Then I caught my toe on a piece of raised sidewalk and my sistahs, my upper body lurched so far ahead of my lower there wasn't a hope in you-know-where of catching my balance. One minute I'm on my feet. The next I'm sprawled out on the sidewalk, whimpering Hurts, hurts. Hurtshurtshurts.

Not that my injuries were all that serious--I smacked one knee hard enough to eventually turn a dense purple, but not break anything, and mildly abraded the other. I had a minor scrape on my right palm and a bigger, nastier, but still inconsequential one on my left forearm. But there's a wicked shock factor to a spill, so I was shaken. And my left hand, which I'd thrown out unthinkingly to catch myself, was kind of a mess. My landing took a nickle-sized flap several layers deep out of the skin over my wrist bone. It bled like a sonofagun, but I'd dragged my butt out of bed early to meet Joey, we were barely a mile into our walk and I didn't have to be to the salon to get my hair cut until 11. So I slapped a leaf on it and we continued on. I had a vague plan in the back of my mind of getting a band-aid when we reached civilization (Tullys ).

The bums didn't have any.

Okay, no problem. They had plenty of napkins.

When we set off again, we climbed a steep hill until we spotted a long street that angled back down toward the beach where we'd left our cars. Since we were now several miles from where we'd parked and I did have that 11 o'clock appointment, we checked to be sure it wasn't a dead end (lots of those in Seattle) then headed down the road. It was kind of cool. I'd never been on this street before and it hosted some really pretty homes and a killer view.

But maybe a half mile down, it petered out. And a woman whose yard we considered cutting across said the street in front of her house didn't go through, either.

Okay, no problem. If we walked reasonably fast--and trust me, Joey can move!--I could still make my appointment. I had to take my fleece jacket off a couple times because hiking uphill in the sun is HOT work, but we visited as we cut through a neighborhood that was fun in its unfamiliarity. And, hey, it looked like I was going to get to the salon on time. (which, considering how badly I needed a cut, was a Very Good Thing)

But as we were steaming down the final hill and my car was in sight, I reached into my jacket pocket and. . .

Problem. No keys. Arrgh! Joey said wouldn't you know she didn't have her cell with her today or we could've at least called the salon to let them know what happened. Hey, I said. I've got mine. In my purse. . .

Which is under the seat in the car. Sigh.

She drove us back to the area where I'd taken my spill but we didn't find the keys. And given how many times I'd taken off and put back on my hoodie, which has kinda shallow pockets, they could have dropped out anywhere. So she drove me to the salon to see if it was too late to still get in. It was, which was just as well as I couldn't pay them until I got into my car, which wouldn't have been a problem as I've gone there for years. But I would have had to hoof it the two or so miles home afterward and I was pretty much hoofed out.

So J drove me home and later Mimi took me down to retrieve my car with my spare set of keys. Joey could have done it when she dropped me off but we were both so frazzled by then it didn't occur to either of us until she sent me an email later in the day to say, Duh!

When I was making lunch later, I knocked a jar of Pepita seeds off the counter and they went everywhere. When I went to get the broom, I brushed a cat food dish with the side of my foot. Oh, goodie. Another (smaller) mess to clean up. Sigh. I finally decided there was only one thing to do.

I grabbed one of my cats and took a nap on the couch .

So have you ever had one of those days?

 

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posted online at Running With Quills May 1, 2008

Mother's Day Blowout!

Have we got a contest for you!! Well, actually, it's not so much a contest as it is a drawing. But the Quill Sisters are in the mood to talk Mums — and I'm not talking flowers here. So from now until Mother's Day everyone who posts in response to our posts will be entered for a chance to win. And wouldja...lookit...

All
That
Loot!!!

Yes, my pretties, everything you see here can be yours. Why, you'll think it's Christmas, Momma's Day and your birthday all rolled into one when these babies start rolling in. (The mailman is gonna LUV you. Or maybe hate you--there's a lot of stuff, it could go either way) We've got books, books, a bag to carry them in, more books, a tee to wear while reading them, books and...did I mention books? All personally inscribed to you, natch.

So come on out of lurkdom and join the fun. You might be very glad you did.

Susan's sweet baby boy and strawberry waffles

Oddly enough, this isn't a story of my mother but about me. (And yes, I can hear those of you who know me well saying, yeah, yeah, isn't it always?) But becoming a mom was a very big deal for me. It took me several years to get pregnant. We went through a battery of tests, ingested fertility drugs, took temperatures on a Basal thermometer and had sex on a schedule. (sucks the joy right out of the act, lemme tell you) When my OB-GYN ran out of procedures and ideas, he sent me to the University of Washington's Fertility clinic.

The doctor who did the original workup was on an Endocrinology Fellowship from Ireland. So when he found a lump in my throat, everything fertility related came to a screeching halt. Turned out I had a cancerous growth on my thyroid. That was in December and I went home pissed off and discouraged. Which pretty much shows how young I was (25) because I wasn't as concerned with the fact that I probably had cancer as I was that they hadn't finished the tests. I decided then and there that I didn't need a baby, that we had each other, Steve was back in college, we had a mortgage and a dog and I was looking at weeks, if not months of tests, surgery and recovery — and that was more than enough.

You can see this one coming, right? Because having decided this, the next month I began waking up sicker 'n a dog and, yep, I was pregnant. So the Mother's day before our sweet baby boy was even born, the soulmate made me strawberry waffles for breakfast — a tradition that endures to this day.

(I love this pic. It was taken the day we brought our baby home from the hospital, then discovered 27 years later when we took the mantle off the fireplace. It's usually pinned to my bulletin board in my office)

We aren't talking Eggos — he makes his own waffles, combines fresh and frozen strawberries and whips up the highest fat cream in the universe. And, oh, mama, it is to die for. (Our son is a chef--I think he got his abilities more from his dad than from me) In the thirty-three years since that first Mother's Day breakfast, we've only missed our time-honored strawberry waffles once — and that was because the soulmate was on a three month start up on Ascension Island in the middle of the Atlantic and my son had to work.

So how about you? Have any Mother's Day traditions?

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posted online at Running With Quills April 20, 2008

What year was it?

The year I graduated from high school was a tumultuous year in history.

I was in the senior activity center kind of flirting with this black athlete from another school when we heard Robert Kennedy was assassinated. Martin Luther King had been assassinated earlier in the year and I thought the world was getting to be a very crazy place.

Laugh In and The Smothers Brothers Show cracked me up. The Graduate was different than any movie I'd ever seen and its Simon and Garfunkle songtrack just blew me away. Bonnie and Clyde showed every minute twitch and jerk of the bodies being riddled with bullets with all its accompanying blood splatter. (To this day, I'd rather see the hokey slap of a hand to the wound when a character gets shot and the victim staggering around unconvincingly than watch the impact of the bullets hitting bodies)

A boy named Steve Cameron read The Catcher In The Rye with the book barely open because he loved the cover and didn't want to crack the spine. We argued that one to a standstill as I did NOT understand how he could sacrifice the reading experience to preserve a stupid cover.

The Beatles dominated the charts but I played Otis Redding's Dock of the Bay until I wore out the record. Seattle's Jimi Hendrix was jailed in Stockholm for trashing his hotel room. (Lots of rockstars seems prone to that. Never got it)

Pantyhose had been invented but they were sort of one size fits all, so we still wore garters.

The Viet Cong launched the Tet Offensive and American soldiers massacred civilians at Mai Lai. Students protested the war in the streets, staged sit ins and took over college administration buildings. I was conflicted because I truly didn't believe in the war. But I was a middle class American girl who did believe in the soldiers. I knew people, had lost people to that war, and the soul mate who was my boyfriend at the time had been drafted into the Army (and would be shipped to Nam the following year).

Feminists protested the Miss America contest, protestors died in the Democratic Convention riot in Chicago, Baltimore burned.

And I struggled to grow up.

Man, this is way too easy, but what year was it? And what happened the year you graduated high school or college or perhaps another eventful time in your life?

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posted online at Running With Quills April 3, 2008

Here comes da sun!

Last Friday was my wedding anniversary. As the soulmate and I boarded a train for Portland for a mini getaway, it was snowing.

Snowing, for heaven's sake! So close to April 1st it makes no nevermind.

This has been the craziest year for weather. I've seen atypical temps and weather patterns all over the nation.

But Spring has come to Seattle!!
Finally.
At last.
'Bout time.

I love the seasons in this town. Love them all. I have a genuinely tough time deciding which I like best.

Still, it's hard to beat Spring with all its flowers.

Not to mention sunshine. Man, am I grateful to see that again! I thought for sure it had forsaken our part of the world for ever and ever, amen. But it's back (if only for a short while) and everything looks so clean and bright, instead of gray and dismal. The greens are such a clear, tender hue, and the air is filled with fresh scents. My Daphne Odora (or maybe its Adora) is budding and Lordy does it smell divine. Our ancient lilac tree will be in bloom in about a month. Already I look forward to stepping outside the lower back door and simply breathing deeply.

How about your part of the world ? Has winter finally (at last. 'bout time) lost its grip? And what's your favorite season?

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posted online at Running With Quills March 20, 2008

A new cover as stand-in for my brain

My cat Mojo is a big fan of bathtubs and sinks. When he's in my tub upstairs, he often spins in circles trying to catch a glimpse of his own shadow, which I imagine he sees out of the corners of his eyes.

That's what I've been doing this week--spinning in circles, chasing my own shadow. You ever have times like that? Mine was mostly due to work. The soulmate's out of town on a job, I've had my nose seriously to the grindstone and everything else has fallen by the wayside. I sat down early Monday morning and swear I didn't look up again until Wednesday afternoon when I realized I'd forgotten to check in here and so had missed out on Christina's blog. That bummed me out, let me tell you. But then I got sucked back into the story and just came up for air a minute ago.

Only to realize it's my turn to blog. (You don't want to know the word that came out of my mouth.)

Okay, the above timetables may be a wee bit exaggerated, but it definitely felt like days had lapsed while I wasn't paying attention. So because my brain is toast, I'm posting my new cover for Cutting Loose (Coming to a bookstore near you July 29th). This is Book One of my new Sisterhood Diaries Trilogy, which features three BFFs who inherit a notoriously ugly Seattle mansion. Tell me what you think.

And I hate to look like the absentminded professor all alone. So do a weary writer a favor, would you? Share some of your own less than brilliant moments.

I'll love ya forever for it.

~Susan

 

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posted online at Running With Quills March 11, 2008

We interrupt this regularly scheduled reading. . .

...To let you know that Susan is now on MySpace. Stop by and add yourself as her friend at myspace.com/susan_andersen

Hope to see you there! ~Susan

 

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posted online at Running With Quills March 7, 2008

Elliot thinks I'm fancy

My great-nephew Elliot loves Olivia the pig books. The one he's into right now is all about opposites. And apparently my fondness for makeup is evident even to a two year old, because everytime he comes to this page, he points at fancy Olivia and says, "Susie!"

Okay, I admit it. I'm one of those women who prefers not to leave the house without lipstick. Mascara's right up there on my list, too, along with Carmex to tame my eyebrows. But hey, I don't wear pearls like Olivia. Or big red bows around my ears. (Girl, that's just tacky. Love the shoes, though) And I haven't gone topless since I was three.

Still, I'm a fool for cosmetics. I love the look, the feel, the smell... the promise. Now, I consider myself an intelligent, reasonably grounded woman. I know my limitations in the beauty department. I have zero interest in Botox and no one's putting this girl under general anesthesia to take a scalpel to my face. But for a few bucks and no blood spilled you can do amazing things with a little mineral foundation and a stick of cream blush. If makeup doesn't precisely hide a multitude of sins it at least mutes them a little.

The soulmate and BBF Mimi like to make fun of my dresser in the bathroom. And I admit, the thing's loaded with way more crap than one woman needs since I'm not always great about thinning out the rejects. But I'm an experimenter by nature and I've discovered some great stuff along the way. Jane Iredale cosmetics, especially their Sugar and Butter lip treatment. Cargo blu_ray compact of four lip glosses (seeing a trend here?) With this little beauty you can customize your lip color. I usually have oily skin but this winter it got really dry and I discovered La Roche-Posay Nutritic, which was great. It healed the dryness without leaving a greasy sheen.

So, Elliot (at the Whaletail) will probably continue seeing me in lipstick and mascara on our Friday morning walks. But how about the rest of you? If makeup bores you silly, what does shake your tambourine? What do you have a lust-on for that friends and lovers just don't get?

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posted online at Running With Quills February 21, 2008

Fresh meat! Er, that is, a guest in our abode.

Hey, y'all. Today we have a guest blogger. I'm not as yet personally familiar with Kathryn Caskie's books, but I love Regency historicals, so I'm penciling her in at the top of my Gotta Check It Out list. Kathryn is the USA Today Bestselling author of seven Regency-set historical romances. Her upcoming release for Avon Books, How to Propose to a Prince, will be in stores next Tuesday (February 26th). She lives in Virginia in a 200 year old house with her family, including two neurotic Border Collies, a Chihuahua with a Napoleon complex and two cats inclined to ignore them all.

Please join me in welcoming her. Take it away, Kathy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for inviting me to come blog on Running with Quills. You are all queens of romance in my book and I feel like a fan girl to be in your cyber presence.

Is it just an author thing, or when anyone meets a couple for the first time, does he or she feel compelled to ask "So, how did you two meet?"

I love to hear stories of how someone came to be with the love of his or her life. You'd be surprised, too, at the number of time some element of someone's first meeting made its way into my books. Sure, I make it a little more dramatic and fun, but the essence of someone's story is usually at its core.

That is, until I wrote the first chapter of my February 26th release for Avon Books, How to Propose to a Prince. Made it all up. I was convinced that there was no way on God's green earth this would happen in real life. The chapter is posted on my site KathrynCaskie.com so you can read it for yourself.

In my story, Elizabeth Royle, has had prophetic dreams her entire life--but only about half come true. But when the man she knows she will marry steps straight out of her dreams and into her life, she knows for certain they are destined to marry. Never mind that he is Prince Leopold, and is in London to woo Prince Charlotte. She knows Fate is on her side.

But, you know, the chapter hadn't been posted for two days before I received an email from a woman who read the excerpt and was startled by the similarities. She said that for years before she met her now husband, she had had dreams about meeting him. She knew what the man she would marry looked like, she even saw the house where they would one day live. And here is the kicker--it turned out, when they finally did meet, that he had been dreaming of her too. They have been married for decades now.

Kind of makes you think, doesn't it?

Tell us the story of how you and your significant other met. Then, tell us what you think. Is there a special someone out there meant for of each us?

Prizes are to be had for the best stories or observations (signed books for readers, or a critique of the first ten pages of the winners manuscript for aspiring authors--add AA to start of your post if you are interested in the critique, please.)

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posted online at Running With Quills February 7, 2008

If the ski boot fits...

Sorry I haven't been around much lately. Last week was our annual ski trip and I ran around beforehand getting ready and have been chasing my tail ever since trying to catch up. I look forward to this trip every year--its four days of good friends (there are nine of us) good food (waaay too much junk food-- all that yummy stuff I ordinarily at least try to stay away from) and, of course, skiing.

We go to the Mazama Ranch House in the Methow Valley in northeastern Washington State, and at the best of times it's a six hour drive once you factor in stopping to eat, taking bathroom breaks and getting coffee. (And trust me, those last two are big factors. The standing joke is that the soulmate knows where every Starbucks is--and I know the location of every bathroom in the state). This year our area has been hit with record breaking snowfall and a pass that we usually take was closed due to a series of avalanches. So we took an alternate route and I won't bore you with what an ordeal that turned out to be. I will say, however, it took us ten hours to reach Mazama.

But like childbirth, I forgot the pain as soon as I got there. Because--I know, big surprise to those of you who know me--I'm a cross-country skiing fool.

(Here's my friend Martha and me in front of the ranch house. I'm betting she's lovin' this pic, because her shadow almost makes her look tall :)

This sport is my drug of choice. It's quiet and oh-so beautiful out on the trails. You use your own body rather than gravity to move, and that keeps you warm. But X-country also throws in some downhill action for the always fun cheap thrill.This year we mixed things up a little, too, which was fun. The ranch house is a ski-in/ski-out establishment. I love that, because you don't have to drive anywhere; you can simply throw on your skis and take off. But it also limits you to the 40 k of trails around you when there's 220 in the system. So instead of going shopping with the women after driving the guys up to Sun Mountain to do the ten mile series of trails down to Winthrop, I decided to ski with the men instead. The last mile and a half kicked my butt, but the rest was great, even my spectacular wipe-out on a U turn at the bottom of a longish hill, which resulted with me on my back with a gallon of snow up my shirt. Another day we took a long, partly riverside trail that I've only been on once. And we started from the opposite end. It was fun putting a different spin on the same old pattern and stepping out of my rut.

Give me a twenty degree sunny day with freshly groomed trails and a couple of friends to share it with and I'm a happy girl.

That's Martha's husband Gary. I loved the birch trees on this trail.

What makes you smile and feel at one with the world? Is it a person, a hobby or sport? Tell me. I love hearing about the things that give you all peace and happiness.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 30, 2008

Stella is... A Marked Man!

Susan: Okay, so she's a woman and her book title is A Marked Man. Sue me, I took literary license. But y'all didn't tune in to read me. You want to hear about this book! So without further ado, Heeeeeere's Stella.! Hey, girl. How was New Orleans last week?

Stella: Amazing–it’s always amazing. That city reminds me of a really good stew filled with the best and most unexpected ingredients.

Susan: What a luscious description. It’s obvious you love setting your stories there.

Stella: New Orleans has had more influence on me than any other city I’ve explored–including some I lived in for a long time. The moment I set foot in the French Quarter I feel I’ve arrived in the middle of a carnival, or in an old, French fairground. Not that I’m unaware of the seamy side of the city and the problems, but every city has those elements. It’s just that in New Orleans everything is more colorful, louder maybe, like looking through a kaleidoscope with sound. Nothing stays still for long yet I can sit back, watch, and soak up the whole thing. When I come away I see memories in my mind and they’re all really neon. New Orleans is drama, and drama is great story stuff.

Susan: Do you like the cover for A Marked Man? It sure looks marvelous on the stands.

Stella: I’m so pleased with this cover. There’s the seething atmosphere of the bayou country, but the human images are sensual. This is a steamy, sensual, suspenseful book. Yes, I think this is the right cover for the story.

Susan: But it’s what's between the covers that we’re really dying to hear about. So dish! Share a few sound bites about A Marked Man with us.

Stella: “Just the facts, Ma’am :)”

Susan: No, no, feel free to embellish.

Stella: Annie Duhon is a fighter who has made her own breaks. She has worked her way from high-school dropout and victim of abuse, to achieving her dream. She is the manager of Pappy’s, Toussaint’s most popular place to dance and eat.

Confidence has been hard won and it isn’t easy for her to accept the obvious interest of Max Savage, a successful plastic surgeon. Is this incredible man in her life too good to be true?

Behind the public Max is the secret Max who was twice accused of murdering women and twice acquitted for lack of evidence. Legally, he is an innocent man. And Annie might never have had reason to doubt–or fear–him if another woman wasn’t missing, feared dead, right here and now in the middle of Annie’s exciting new world.

Max is a marked man who has unwittingly attracted danger to anyone he’s cared about. Now he loves Annie, and knows with chilling certainty that he faces one last chance to unmask a killer before there’s nothing left to fight for.

Susan: This is such a fabulous book!!! I gobbled up every word and wanted more. I’ll be waiting for the next book in the Toussaint series.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 24, 2008

Susan's Addiction, As Seen on TV

I usually turn on the television when I’m eating. It doesn’t particularly matter what’s playing—it’s merely something to gaze at while I eat my breakfast, my snack, whatever. It’s a benign enough habit—until I run into an infomercial.

I’ve always considered myself a level-headed woman. But put me in front of a half hour program designed to sell me something I have absolutely no need of and I turn into a brainless idiot (a redundancy, I know—but fitting).

I’m the demographic for which infomercials are designed. I don’t know what it is about them, but I always think everything is essential, especially if makeup is involved. Whenever the soulmate catches me at it he says, in his best cop voice: “Step away from the phone and hand me that remote, nice and slow. Now, lady! Step. Away. From. The. Phone.” Then he switches the channel to golf.

It brings me down every time.

My rehabilitation is avoiding infomercials entirely. If I do come across one while channel surfing, I just keep on going. And if I can’t quite make my thumb hit those channel buttons, I force myself to analyze the product objectively. (And ooh, does that hurt, not being the analytical sort) You are not going to look like that 30 year old model with her perfect skin, I warn myself sternly. Your thighs will not look like Suzanne Sommers'. And if your high end blender gets bogged down making smoothies, what do you think the chances are that little bullet shaped thingie is going to whip up a perfect one without the usual glitches? So, I’m definitely getting better. I’ve identified my compulsion and am taking steps to avoid situations where I can indulge it.

But I’m telling ya. . . it’s one day at a time.

How about you? Any guilty pleasures that you know aren’t good for you, but you indulge anyhow? Come, on. Fess up. You can tell Mother Susan.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 10, 2008

Sure a rose is a rose. But what's the story with some of these names?

Do you ever wonder where people come up with their email addys? I do, every time I update my email list. I understand, of course, that a lot of people simply use their given name or a variation of it and leave it at that.

But others tell you something about themselves, email handles like justboycrazy, alwaysblushing, readingaddict, littleminx, blythspirit, imcheeky, gatorhater, dramamama or sixofnine.

Others give you a hint of the things people either enjoy or perhaps wish for, such as ottergal, shoecrazed (my kinda woman) nomosnow, sliverofmoon, shouldhavebeenacowboy, stargazer, stargal and starfishgal.

In regards to those last three, many of the contest entrants from both here and my webpage, which comprise much of my database, often run in themes. Since we’re romance writers around here, of course we get the entries from likeminded readers/writers such as: romancebooklover, romancechica, romancenewz, romancetreasures, romancewriter and romancereader with various numerals, initials and underscores attached (I’m not including entire addies for obvious reasons). Then there are the pixie people: pixieframe, pixiequeen, pixiedragon, pixiekitty and someone who’s just plain pixilated. On the snow front I’ve got: snostorm, snowangel, snowbear, snowbird, coupla snowflakes, a snowleopard, snowqueen, snowyowl, snowwhiteinfiniti and snowzapped.

Did I mention the ladies? Just a few out of a bunch on my list include ladybug, ladycat, ladychatalot, ladyclearskies, ladyluck, ladymacaw, ladyofmyst, ladyofthelake, ladyontherocks, ladyraidersmom and lady-fill in the name.

Some, like femchauvinist, luckybooboo, and Ladytramp, seem like oxymorons, and others I just like for my own reasons. Boobear, for instance, is one of my nicknames for my cat Boo, motherdriveninsane, because I’ve been there, bookbeyotch cuz it’s got attitude and figgy-fig and tiztazz, simply because they’re catchy and make me smile.

But the ones I really wonder about are those that are different for reasons that aren’t readily obvious to me, such as prettyinpoison, StupidNurse (don’t want that one assigned to my case if I’m ever in his/her hospital) sweetmassacre, aroseoffeathers and, oh so many more.

Have you seen an email addy that tickled your fancy or caught your attention? And, hey, since I took these largely from people who stop by this site, if you're lurking and see your e-addy on my list here, drop in and tell me what inspired your choice.

Because inquirying minds wanna know.

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posted online at Running With Quills December 13, 2007

The 3Fs--requisites for the Andersen's holiday

When I was little, I'd wake up Christmas mornings around 4 a.m, so excited I could barely breathe. I'd head straight for my parents' room, where I'd rouse them to ask, "Is it time?"

"Not yet," they'd mumble around big yawns, so I'd go back to my room and thumb through a book for awhile before heading back down the hall to give it another try.

They'd usually cave around 6 since they were only getting to sleep in five minute snatches anyhow and it was clear I wasn't going to give up. But even then I couldn't go into the living room where the tree and the presents were, because my brothers and I weren't allowed in there until Dad had built the fire. It was tradition.

One that I didn't pass on to my own kid, remembering the pure torture of that final five minutes after everyone was finally up. We did, however, build traditions of our own.

One of our favorites is the Annual Christmas Tree Slaughter. This isn't a From-the-beginning one; that's the cool thing about traditions--it's okay to be fluid. Some are around forever, some are discovered later, and all are those that simply work for you. This one came about because of a lot-bought Christmas tree that dried out so fast I truly feared it was going to spontaneously combust in its stand. From that point on, I wanted to know when our tree had been cut--and the only way to do that is to chop down your own.

So in early December we drive out to this wonderful tree farm in Orting, Washington, where we meet family and friends and whichever of their kids/grandkids are available. We all scatter to select our trees (I'm a diehard Frasier Fir girl, myself--love the shape and that blue underside) cut them down and meet up again outside the netting shed to head to a cafe for lunch. It's a day I look forward to with great anticipation.

Another is my mother's annual Ladies Party, where there are usually four generations of women sitting around eating, drinking and doing what women do best: connecting.

We have Christmas Eve for the soulmate's side of the family at our house, and his sister always makes lefsa, a Norweigian potato/whipping cream pancake-like dessert. Christmas morning it's just me and my guys. But after we open gifts the three of us go down to Doug and Mimi's and have brunch with them and their two boys (men, now). Then it's off to my mother's to celebrate with my side of the family.

Connie Brockway did a great blog once on a tablecloth that they've had guests autograph over the past twenty or so years. We don't have a tradition like that. But we have our own that revolve around the 3Fs-- family, friends and food. And as long as we have those, I'm a blessed woman.

Tell me about your traditions.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 29, 2007

Books, boobs and bones

A while ago I went to an imagining clinic to have a bone density test and my annual mammogram. I had my nose in a Susan Mallery book when the technician whose job it was to smash my breasts between two cold plates came to get me. She asked what I was reading and as I showed her the cover I half braced for that slight curl of the upper lip that is too often present when romance is mentioned.

Oh, me of little faith. It turns out she’d crossed over to the Light Side a long time ago. We talked books and although she's more a fan of historical than contemporary romance she insisted that I write down my name and backlist. She also didn't seem to feel it was necessary to completely flatten my boobs in order to get a good image. A coincidence between that relatively pain free procedure and romance, you ask?

I think not.

Next I went down the hall for my bone density test. The tech there was a Samoan guy somewhere between forty and forty-five. Married, the father of five. He was more into self-help books than fiction. Yet when he found out I was a writer he, too, insisted that I give him a list of my titles and said he was stopping by the bookstore on his way home. Oh, boy. If he actually tries one, I might have myself a convert. That’s even better than selling to a True Believer. Okay, maybe not,. But it feels like a coup all the same.

So this post is a two-fer. One part is to remind everyone (well, except for you, Louis, and you can remind your wife) to do your monthly breast exam and to think about getting a mammogram. Granted, the latter's not a lot of fun, but as someone with a shipload of breast cancer in her family I'm here to tell you: it's better to endure a few seconds of discomfort than to oh, say... die.

And of course this is about books. Reading makes the world go 'round as far as I'm concerned and in this case it took two appointments I wasn't exactly panting with anticipation to keep and turned them into opportunities for stimulating conversation.

So, I’m wondering, have the rest of you ever found yourselves in unexpected places, talking books with strangers?

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posted online at Running With Quills November 14, 2007

Sheila's got a take on Christmas that husbands don't wantcha to know

Hey, you all--I have a guest blogger this week. Please welcome Sheila Roberts--who many of you may know as Dr. Shiela from her fun articles in Romance Writers of America's RWR industry magazine. Sheila and I met oh, a hundred years or so ago at our local chapter and has she got a holiday book for you!

ON STRIKE FOR CHRISTMAS
Christmas is fast approaching and many of the women in the town of Holly are bracing for stress, overwork, and very little understanding or appreciation from the men in their lives. But then Joy Robertson, Laura Fredericks, and their knitting buddies decide to “go on strike” and give the men an opportunity to see firsthand what it takes to make the holidays merry and bright. Soon other women are joining in and husbands all over town are getting a crash course in decorating, shopping, and what to wear to see Santa, and are searching frantically for an interpreter to translate the mysteries of holiday recipes. The men may just come to appreciate the holidays after walking a mall in their wives’ high heels. But maybe the women will learn something, too.

And take it away, Sheila!!

AN OUNCE OF PROTECTION . . .
Is worth a pound of cure, so they say. That's why I thought I should go into this holiday season with A PLAN. And I'm happy to say you heard it here first. Thanks so much, Quills, for having me.

By the way, I want a hot promo pic like you ladies all have. Of course, it helps to be hot to begin with. I'm seriously considering photo-shopping my head onto Susan's body. No one would ever know until they met me in person. Then they would wonder when I put on all that weight.

Which brings me to my holiday eating plan. I thought I should eat right this year. Lots of greens. I could serve broccoli, snow peas, and green peppers to my party guests. Except that stuff is no good without dip, and I suppose an ounce of veggies to a pound of dip rather defeats the purpose of serving those veggies in the first place. And honestly, when I think of eating something green at the holidays the first thing that comes to mind is not broccoli. It's those cute little green tree-shaped spritz cookies. Or sugar cookies with green frosting. And then there's the green frosting on my holiday brownies - chocolate and mint, how can a girl resist that combination? Obviously, this is not the plan for me. I enjoy baking too much.

I could e-mail Santa and beg him to please Fe Ex me an Acme Holiday Mouth Protector ASAP. Oh, you haven't heard of this? It's basically a giant stapler. Apply to the corners and center of your lips and your eating problem is solved. No fattening holiday goody will be able to enter your mouth and make its way on down to your hips. This handy gadget has a double advantage for people like me who make a habit of putting their feet in their mouth. It's hard to do that when you can't open your beak. But I hate pain. I barely survived getting my ears pierced.

I could do some mall walking with my girlfriends. That way we could scope out the sales while burning calories and still be able to enjoy those holiday goodies. But when you're mall walking you don't want to walk too fast. You might spill your eggnog latte. You might not see that great bargain. And who wants to be all sweaty when she finds the perfect Christmas red dress? You can't try on clothes when you're sweaty. Obviously, that plan won't work.

So, realistically, here's the plan. You might like to try it, too. I'm going to have a merry Christmas and eat according to the charge card principle: enjoy it now, pay later. And yes, I will pay, but while I'm jogging my way through January I'll have my memories of holiday eating bliss to keep me warm. Now, that's a plan.
For those of you opting for Sheila's merry Christmas to my stomach plan, here's a fun recipe from my new book that you and your girlfriends are bound to enjoy.

DAVE'S PEPPERMINT FIZZ
2 generous scoops peppermint candy ice cream
1 shot peppermint schnapps
1/2 cup club soda
Combine all ingredients in blender and blend just until smooth. Serve in a champagne flute or margarita glass and garnish with a peppermint stick. Pour in just a dab more club soda to add decorative fizz. Makes one drink.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 1, 2007

Where a dancing fool intersects with Dancing With The Stars

A while back Elizabeth G wrote a post about not being a dancer. I didn't reply because 1) it was a crazy busy week for me so I was late in seeing it and 2) no one else seemed to get off on dancing either and Oh. Man. I love to dance.

I grew up in a family of dancing fools. We may not be all that adept at it, but my mom's side of the family in particular sure did like to get down. One of my earliest memories is of family picnics at Shadow Lake with my parents and Grandpa and brothers and a boatload of aunts, uncles and cousins. We'd swim and eat and play (kids) or visit (adults) all day long. Then when the sun began to go down, we'd move to the dance hall. Lots of western Washington lakes in those days hosted one. They were a bare-bones affair, just a one-story structure with a wooden floor and a juke-box. But we'd shake a little sand on the floor, shove quarters into that box and dance until we dropped.

My folks also belonged to a dance club called the Midnighters that met once a month in local community centers. I used to love it when it was their turn to be on the set-up committee, because I'd get to help hang streamers and decorate the tables. And my dad would lead me in a fox trot around the floor at least once before we left to go home so they could get ready for the evening's festivities.

When the soulmate and I were in our twenties we went out dancing every weekend and often midweek as well. It's probably one of the reasons I've got a hearing loss today, but that's another story. Still, we actually began scaling back, then stopped going entirely when the venues started playing their music so loud you had to yell just to be heard across a tiny table.

So these days I only get to dance occasionally. But I get my kicks vicariously watching Dancing With the Stars. I've never been a fan of reality TV and I don't watch the Tuesday night episodes in which a couple is eliminated. But I love watching the actual dancing. The improvement throughout the season can be amazing and it's just plain fun to tune in to view. And some of the talent is phenomenal from day one. In fact I was stunned to learn that (Cheeta Girl) Sabrina Bryan was eliminated Tuesday, which I just now discovered as I went searching for a picture. In all honesty, I'd never heard of her before this show, but her natural ability blew me away. I sure never saw her elimination coming.

Guess maybe I oughtta be voting instead of just watching, huh?

So what kind of activities do you remember fondly from childhood? Or do you have a passion that perhaps started young that lingers to this day?

And, hey? Anybody else out there watching Dancing?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 18, 2007

Susan's First Job

When I was ten years old new people moved into the Johnson house next door. Their names were Marilyn and Butch. I thought they were SO cool. For starters they were a good decade younger than the rest of the parents on our block. Plus they had this darling little three year old daughter named Elizabeth, which was WAY neater than a dog. Everyone had a dog in my neighborhood; there weren't that many toddlers. Butch was an artist and he made me a sign for my bedroom door that had Susie spelled out in animals. And I thought Marilyn was so glamorous. But even better, she was generous with her attention. She spent time sitting on her front porch talking to me, patiently answering my questions and never once treatinig me as if I were a pesky kid, which I no doubt was.

She also gave me my first job babysitting Elizabeth. Looking back, ten seems awfully young to babysit. But I grew up in a neighborhood where you didn’t have to worry about shouldering responsibility all on your own. Most of the women on our block in that era were housewives. And there was always one available to turn to if you ran into trouble.

Good thing, too. Cuz I definitely ran into trouble with that first babysitting gig.

Elizabeth was used to me; I was always hauling her all over the neighborhood to show her off to my friends. So at first we did well together. I played with her and fed her dinner and played with her some more. And she had a fine time.

But then came bedtime. Elizabeth was accustomed to her mother putting her down for the night and did NOT take kindly to me attempting to do so in Marilyn’s place. She cried. So I picked her up and carried her around, patting her back and doing the “Shh, shh, shh” thing.

She cried some more.

So I tried singing to her.

She cried even harder. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that it was my voice. More likely, though, it was just a toddler being looked after by someone who was basically a little kid herself, and both of us feeling in over our heads. All I know for sure is that she cried and cried as if her heart was broken. And pretty soon, so did I.

I don’t remember now where Marilyn and Butch went for the evening, but I remember that Mom wasn’t home, either, and that I didn’t even want to call in the big dogs in the form of my dad and grandpa. This was a girl issue.

So I called Mrs. Yoder, our neighbor on the other side. I sobbed the whole sorry story into the phone, and bless her heart, she came right over. I think it took her all of two minutes to calm down Elizabeth, who promptly fell into exhausted slumber. Then she mopped up my face, had me blow my nose and settled me on the couch, where I fell asleep as well minutes after she left to go home.

I babysat Elizabeth over the next several years and we never again had that kind of melt-down. When I was sixteen, I got my first job where I had to actually report tax earnings. It was with a neighborhood doctor and I’m happy to report I had no meltdowns there, either.

First jobs can be exciting, fun, harrowing, terrifying. Which was yours? And is there an adult from your childhood whom you remember with particular fondness?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 4, 2007

How Susan ended up with a bad case of tub trauma

I'm a bath person. The soul mate likes showers. For years we had one bathroom, which he, I and our son managed to work around just fine. Yet I dreamed of not having to get up in the middle of the night to traipse from the bedroom, across the landing, down the stairs, through the dining room, through the kitchen, through the front part of the living room, across the hallway and into the bathroom just to answer nature's call. So several years ago we added a dormer to the south side of our Arts and Crafts house to match the one on the north side, and I finally--finally!!--got my very own bathroom. With an old-fashioned claw foot tub that I bought in an antique store and a toilet seat that never goes up unless it's to clean the thing.

Heaven.

The project took nearly three months to construct and the last thing to go in was my tub. The minute our plumber left, I drew myself a bath, grabbed a book, and climbed in.

I'd been lounging there for maybe five minutes when I felt this sort of THUMP against my right shoulder blade. I shot upright, looked around and thought what was that--an earthquake tremor? But nothing else happened, so I relaxed back in my lovely, hot, chest-deep water again.

Then a minute later there was an ominous rumble. I was just thinking "Oh, this can't be good," when the entire bathtub started tipping over onto its side.

Heart thundering, I leaped out in a wave of water to find the front and back claw feet on the right had fallen off. Luckily they tumbled onto their sides and caught the tub at about a 45 degree angle before it could rip all my newly installed plumbing out of the newly tiled floor.

When my husband got home that night he got the three-hundred pound cast iron tub back upright with block and tackle. He ran steel straps from claw foot to claw foot to keep them from ever falling off again, but I insisted that he not only leave the blocks underneath for support, but stay in the room while I took my first post-cataclysmic bath, just to make sure it didn't toss me out on my naked butt again.

Little by little, over the years, he snuck the blocks out from under the tub, but it took about thirty months before I let him remove the last one. That was three or four years ago and. . .so far, so good.

How about you? Bath or shower person? And have you ever had what's supposed to be an inanimate object turn frisky on you?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 20, 2007

Susan Stumbles on the Epicurian Trail

My belief in myself as an adventuresome eater took a hit Sunday afternoon. I always thought I was pretty open to trying new epicurian delights, to at least tasting foods from other cultures that might not strike me as very appealing. After all, I'm a guest in the country in which that food is considered a delicacy.

But then I got to talking to my friend Ritha at a get together last weekend. And it turns out that I'm way more white bread than I ever believed. What a blow to my ego.

Ritha is from Ecuador. She's lived in Seattle for probably fifteen years, but she still has family she goes home to visit on a regular basis. One of her sisters there is a travel agent. Sister's boss requested she take part in a new adventure tour so she'd be able to describe it to their clients from the strength of experience. Sister agreed and invited Ritha and one of their brothers to accompany her.

They went down a jungle river in long canoe-type boats. There were piranhas in the stiller sections of the water and caimen, which are small alligator type reptiles. Okay, already this doesn't sound like my cup of tea because I'm no longer a rough-it kind of woman and that type of wildlife? I must confess, not so fond of it. But it was a couple of the things Ritha ate that really drove home just how adventurous I truly am NOT. White bread, white bread, white bread. Shaking my head here. My whole image of myself has been turned on its ear.

Ritha ate a larvae that had burrowed into a coconut. The good news is that it was coconut flavored. The bad news is. . . well, d0 I really need to spell it out? (My son the chef 's reaction was a little different from mine. He said, "No kidding? Fly or bee?" because apparently one is supposed to be tastier than the other) She also ate lemon ants. Now, those I could probably manage, if they were dipped in chocolate. But fresh from a leaf that was just plucked off a tree? Nope. Not gonna happen.

So, it's official. I'm a wuss. A dull, bland stick in the mud. I've eaten head-cheese and really questionable sausage in Germany. I've eaten blood pudding and haggis in Scotland. But I'm probably never going to eat live bugs.

How about you? What's the most off-the-wall thing you've eaten?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 06, 2007

Desperately Seeking Susan...'s Tunes

Boz Scaggs: Come On Home...Kris Delmhorst: Strange Conversations...John Mayer: I’m Gonna Find Another You...Janis Joplin: Piece of My Heart

I love music. I mean Really. Love. Music. But we’ve all been burned buying CDs on the strength of a song or two that we adored—only to have it turn out those were the only songs we liked on the album. Then there’s the additional problem for me of getting tired of hearing the same voice song after song, even on albums where I love most every tune.

Eva Cassidy: Dark End Of The Street...Otis Redding: These Arms of Mine...Vince Gill: The Reason Why...Bobby "Blue" Bland: St. James Infirmary

That is why, in my little piece of the world, I’m known for my medleys. I started putting them together back in the Dark Ages when the world still listened to cassette tapes. I transfered songs I liked from my cassettes to a blank tape. They have long since disintegrated and these days I use CDs and am the self-proclaimed Queen of iTunes. (Well, okay, I heard the soul mate tell his sister that's who I am, but close enough). I love the freedom of downloading just the songs I really want, particularly at 99 cents a pop instead of paying eighteen bucks for a bunch of tunes I don't want.

Paolo Nutini: Last Request...Kid Rock & Sheryl Crow: I Put Your Picture Away...Dire Straits: Brothers In Arms...Steely Dan: My Old School

I am currently up to my 22nd medley and working on number 23. My tastes are eclectic; I like everything from blues to rock and roll, country to classical, alternative to Fifties style R&B. Jazz is cool…as long as it's not the atonal type that sounds as if 6 musicians are jamming to 6 different songs. And I’m always, but always, on the lookout for a new artist or song. I collect them from all over, for while I use songs from my own collection (yes I do still buy some entire CDs) I've also discovered new talent listening to friends’ music or to what is being played in places of business. I’m not shy about asking, "Who IS that?" (Just ask the tattoo artist who was doing my permanent eyeliner to Andrea Bocelli’s Time To Say Goodbye CD). I can often run the title to ground from mere bits and pieces of a tune. Not always, of course. I still regret being so cocksure that a song playing on my car's satellite radio was Mark Knopfler singing something with the refrain Don’t Blame the Monkey that I didn’t bother to tape it on my digital recorder because I just assumed it'd be a piece of cake to track down. Now of course I can't find it. Does anybody know the song I’m talking about?

And that’s really what this blog is about. I’m appealing to everyone for more ideas to add to the Susan Andersen medley collection. Tell me some of your favorites. Music is as subjective as reading tastes, but I don’t mind taking the time to listen to a 30 second sample on iTunes. That’s one of the beauties of that place. It gives you a chance to determine if this song or that one is your cuppa Joe.

Billy Vera and the Beaters: At This Moment....America: Ride On...Stevie Ray Vaughan: Ain’t Gone ‘N’ Give Up On Love...Harry James: Harlem Nocturn

So I've listed just a few of the songs that I like. What are some of yours?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 9, 2007

Susan Asks: Is Harry Potter too heavy?

I've been a Harry Potter fan for years. But this newest one, J.K. Rowlings latest, greatest, and last? It's still sitting on my coffee table where it's been for two or three weeks now. The problem isn't that I don't want to read it. The problem is how to do so without giving myself a hernia.

I'm a big bath reader--I'll stay in my clawfoot tub, letting a little of the cooling water out and adding more hot, until I'm a prune. But I picked up the newest H P and immediately set it down again. The thing is a 759 page hardback. It must weigh six pounds. I have arthritis in my thumbs--holding up a book that size unsupported is just too achy-breaky these days.

I'm leaving tonight for a week at the beach, though, and young Harry is going with me. Somehow, I'll figure out a way to read him while on vacation. Maybe sitting at a table with a fruity drink sporting an umbrella in front of me. Maybe with a pillow that I can use to prop Harry up in my lap.

One way or the other I'm reading that book, cuz I'm just wild about Harry. I'd be a lot wilder about him, however, if he came in two slimmer editions.

Is this just me? Am I getting old? (Say it isn't so!) Or is Harry just too darn heavy for comfort?

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posted online at Running With Quills July 26, 2007

Girlfriends

As a writer, I spend a lot of time alone--and usually that's okay, because left to my own devices, I can be a bit of a loner. But like most women, I’ve got a secret weapon to pull me into the social stream--my girlfriends.

Girlfriends hold you up when you're down. They make you laugh and hug you, hold your hand, or just sit quietly by your side when you cry. And, hey, who else will talk you into buying those shoes/clothes/you-name-it that you really want but are rationalizing yourself out of?

I have a few separate circles of women friends with the occasional intermix or crossover. I have my long-time friends that I’ve known forever and with whom I can pick up a conversation like no time at all has passed even if it's been a while since we've seen each other. I have writer friends that in the beginning I had only a vocation in common but with whom I’ve forged lasting friendships. My closest writer-chick circle is comprised of several of us who started out at roughly the same time. We grew up in the industry together and although we’re spread out over several states and two continents (so only see each other periodically) we talk frequently either online or by phone. I also have two event-specific groups comprised of women I rarely see outside those events but who fill the time we spend together with so much laughter and comraderie that I always come away feeling refreshed and smiling.

But my dearest friend is Mimi. She and I met through my oldest brother, who worked with her husband Doug. We might have remained simply friendly acquaintances had she and Doug not bought a house on our block. Our husbands hit it off as well and we started getting together occasionally...then more often...then darn near every Saturday night until the kids got to that age where their events start taking up your every waking hour. And during those barbeques, shopping trips, card games, and endless conversations, she became my best friend. We share a history that spans thirty years and encompasses husbands, kids and pets, books and food, joys and sorrows. She was there for me when my dad and my sister-in-law died. I was there for her when she went into labor with her second son. In fact, I thought for sure I was going to deliver him because she was too stubborn to go to the hospital until Doug got there to take her. Yeah, yeah, this is the pot calling the kettle black. But honest-to-God, she was on the phone lying to the doctor, telling him her contractions were ten minutes apart, while I--who'd been timing them --was yelling in the background, “Five minutes! They’re FIVE MINUTES APART!”

Cough. But I wander away from the point. Sometimes you're lucky enough to find a friend who hits on all cylinders for you--who gets your humor and roots for your successes and commiserates with your failures. Who shares meals and comfort with equal generosity and who loves you simply for the person you are, warts and all. That's what I got with Mimi.

Who is special in your life? I'd love to hear.

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posted online at Running With Quills June 12, 2007

Susan wants to know: What would you save?

A friend of mine was looking at my Spain photo album a couple of weeks ago and said that she wants me to be her photographer on her next trip. She added that she and her family hardly ever take pictures.

"You're kidding me," I said incredulously. "My photo albums would be the first thing I'd grab in a fire."

Actually they'd probably tie for third. First would be the Soul Mate. (that's my favorite picture of him with the I've-said-something- outrageous smile he gets) The second would be Boo and Mojo. Then I'd haul patootie for my office to scoop up the flash drive containing my book-in- progress and scoop as many of my photo albums from the bookshelves as I could manage. (and believe me, there are a LOT of them)

I'd be sad to lose the locket my dad gave my mom for her eighteenth birthday, which she then gave to me the day I got married, as one day I hope to give it to my son's bride. I'd miss the old silk fan I have on my mantel. My father brought it back from China during WWII. And I've collected a lot of other vintage odds and ends over the years that have meaning for me. But that's just stuff.

My photo albums are a visual history of my life. They show me, my family, my friends, when we were young. They show my son, my nieces, my nephews, from birth to present, and are the only visuals I have of my father or my husband's parents, who are gone now. They chronicle the pets I've had, the changes my home, my garden has gone through, and remind me of special moments with people near and dear to me. There have been many evenings, particularly in the winter when the nights are long, when I've made a cup of tea and hauled out a random stack of albums to immerse myself in memories.

So my albums tie for first place when it comes to the material things that I would save were my house to catch fire. What would you save?

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posted online at Running With Quills June 28, 2007

Susan's turn at bat with the RWQ Reader Quiz

First of all, I'd like to thank Jayne for the format. Yes, I ripped it off. Never reinvent the wheel if you don't have to, I always say. :) Secondly, a big thanks to the blog participants for such wonderful questions.

PIA and LIZELLE both wanted to know which Quill title I would like to see made into a film and who I think should star in it.

ANSWER: I'm with Jayne: I can't come up with a good answer to this question. I did a satellite radio tour a couple of years ago and that was always the question that stopped me dead. I started making up a cast to avoid dead air time or the sound of me scrambling to pull more out of my blank mind than um, oh, ah, but it simply isn't part of my process to think this way. That may be because I'm not very visual. My characters are these amorphous beings scratching at the back of my mind. A funny thing, though. While they don't play through my mental screens with movie clarity, I know exactly what they look like. And usually it's not any actor someone suggests. :)

KATE wanted to know if most romance novelists marry their ideals.

ANSWER: I met my future husband when I was sixteen and married him several years later. We raised each other, so I think there was a combination of luck that we grew in the same direction, hard work making it work and just plain stubbornness. But, yes. He is my soul mate. And most days he's also my hero.

KARENDE wanted to know how to find an agent.

ANSWER: I'd second Jayne's suggestion is to join Romance Writers of America. But since that won't work for you, there used to be a book called Literary Agents of North America, which I referenced back in the day. It listed agents by the type of books they represent.

RANURGIS wanted to know if there were others in my family who were creative types.

ANSWER: I'm the only one in my family in a creative-based job, but I'm related to so many talented people.

DEE from AUSTRALIA wanted to know if I felt I had grown as an author.

ANSWER: I've definitely grown as a writer. I've always had a "voice" (at least since I've been published) but I think my readers no longer have to slog through so much detritus to get to the heart of what I'm trying to say. I tended to overwrite in my earlier books. I'd both show and tell, which is redundant. I credit Micki Nuding, my editor at Avon, with teaching me to cut out the 'tell' portion. That tightened up my pacing and made my narrative more concise.

MARCIE wanted to know if my non-writing friends understand my frustrations or joys when I talk about my stories.

ANSWER: I hadn't really thought about this, but I rarely talk about my writing with my closest non-writing friends. Occasionally I do. . .but not often.

MICHELLE wanted to know how I keep myself from doing too much research.

ANSWER: Each book is a different situation, but I do most of my research as I go. I know other writers who literally spend months in their research, but I'm not one of them.

DFENDER wanted to know the three people I'd most love to have to a dinner party.

ANSWER: That would be my cousin Colleen, my best friend Mimi, and another longtime friend Martha. Deb, I imagine you had famous figures in mind with this question, but I'm an introvert. I'm not particularly shy, but I'm most comfortable with my family and a small circle of friends. I can't imagine trying to come up with small talk with a legend.

DARLA wanted to know if there was one thing I could change in my writing career what would it be and why?

ANSWER: I would not have hired my first agent. Also, as I'm a slow writer, I would have listened to my editor when she told me to set aside the historical I was writing long enough to build my career in contemporary romance, which was what my first book had just been published in.

BRANDY wanted to know if there is a book I wish I hadn't written.

ANSWER: No. I have three books that will never be published for very good reason, not the least of which is the way I shamelessly stole from other authors' voices. And not merely one, mind you--I was a virtual psych ward full of voices before I developed my own. But as I didn't find RWA until my second book was about to be published, I was on my own. And each of those books was a tool that taught me my craft.

KAREN wanted to know what my dream job would have been if I hadn't become a writer.

ANSWER: Even though there are days when struggling to get my thoughts on paper makes my ears bleed, I wouldn't trade this job for any other. My commute alone is worth any momentary frustration I may feel. Bedroom to office--you can't beat that.

SUSAN B wanted to know if I reread my own books.

ANSWER: It looks as though I may be the only Quill who does, but, yes. I write first for myself--and I sometimes cringe when I pick up an older book. (see answer to Dee of Australia's question) But other times I amaze myself, and that is such a lovely feeling. It reminds me what I'm doing right. And picking apart my mistakes helps keep me from making those particular ones again. Unfortunately, there are always new ones to make.

MS. OWEN & MS. KINDER wanted to know if turning my art into my job in any way distracted from the joy that I take in the writing and have I ever felt that I had to do less than my best to meet a deadline.

ANSWER: Nope. I feel so lucky to actually be able to make a living at my art. And as I mentioned above, first and foremost I have to please myself, so it does not go in until I'm happy with it.

TAMMY wanted to know if there was anything I'd like to change in one of my older books.

ANSWER: Oh, yes. Not the voice, not the basic premise and never the characters. But I would desperately love to edit all my earlier work.

CBELL wanted to know the top ten romance novels I would take to the beach.

ANSWER: Here are a few of the romances I have read over and over again: LORD OF SCOUNDRELS by Loretta Chase; REFORMING A RAKE by Suzanne Enoch; THE WIDOW by Ann Stewart; THE SHADOW AND THE STAR by Laura Kinsale; anything by Theresa Weir--and oh, my gawd, so many more, including, natch, my Sistah Quillers. But I'm also always on the lookout for new authors to read. Nothing thrills me more than discovering a voice that speaks to me and sucks me into a new world.

EVERSCOI wanted to know what comes first, characters or plot?

ANSWER: The characters for me, definitely. They start scratching at the back of my mind (generally the hero, but not always). From there I start kicking around ideas with my brainstorming partner Caroline Cross until I find his or her perfect mate and begin to get a feel for their story. I used to be strictly a seat of the pants type writer. But then I got kicked loose from my publisher in the mid-eighties and no one loves you quite as much as the person who discovered you--at least not early in your career-- so I had to learn how to write a synopsis and to do enough upfront plotting to sell another book. But it all begins and ends with the characters.

KATHY H wanted to know how we find time to read other authors' books and if we each have a favorite.

ANSWER: Reading is the reason I got into this business and I can't imagine not making the time. I'm more critical as a reader now, however, and that's a shame, but I find it difficult to turn off the internal editor. I have my favorite authors who are automatic buys for me, of course. But nothing thrills me more than discovering a new (to me at least) author.

REBECCA wanted to know how to make a green ghost martini and also how I keep my rear in the chair so that I can write.

ANSWER: I could tell you the green ghost martini recipe --but then I'd have to kill you. (And yes, I did originate that riff. People are stealing my best work alllllll the time) I keep my butt planted because I might as well. I'm just going to worry about my lack of progress anyway and not enjoy my stolen time, so I may as well sit there and get something accomplished. But unless I'm really under the gun for a deadline, I give myself weekends off. And when I take a holiday I REALLY take a holiday--none of this dragging my laptop along with me.

MEC wanted to know which of my books I would recommend to someone who had never tried any of my titles.

ANSWER: I think Hot & Bothered and my upcoming Coming Undone. The character of PJ Morgan grabbed my attention like none other I've ever written. Don't get me wrong, I love all my characters, but that little girl (in H&B) got hold of me in a way I've never experienced with any other.

JULES BENNETT wanted to know if I work on more than one project at a time.

ANSWER: No. There are days I can barely figure out where to go on my one and only project. :) What I usually do then is work on something work related (update my email list; blog, etc) until a solution for whatever stalled me in the first place occurs to me.

SIAN wanted to know if there is a novel by another author that I wish I had written.

ANSWER: Not really. But I do find that reading really good writing inspires my own. There's just something about reading a book that moves me, makes me laugh, makes me say, "Damn, that girl (guy) can write," that kick starts my own creativity.

SHOSHANA asked about organizing research.

ANSWER: It depends a lot on the individual book, but I mostly find what I need as I need it. Of course if one of my characters has a job I know absolutely nothing about, I need to do more upfront research. I like to talk to people in the fields. Sometimes you do all you can and still get it wrong. One of my favorite emails was for Head Over Heels, which featured a former Marine hero who took a bartending job in order to get information about his half-brother who was on the run for murdering the mother of his daughter. The email was from this guy who said something along the lines of, "I'm a former Marine and a bartender. But I really liked your book anyway." Clearly I messed up along the way with some of my research. But he was my kind of reader. Because I could probably spend an eternity and dazzle you with my research. But if I haven't engaged you with my characters, what's the point?

ANONYMOUS asked how many people who read my books would recognize me on the street.

ANSWER: The timing of this question is so interesting as I joined a NIA dance class last Tuesday and after it, a woman came up to me and said, "You're Susan Andersen, right?" She was the ex-wife of a chiropractor I used to see and she read my books. That was kind of cool. Usually, though, no one knows who I am and in all honesty I can't imagine it any other way. I wouldn't last five minutes living the goldfish-bowl life celebrities do.

AGTIGRESS wanted to know if the so-called "business side" of writing -- dealing with agents, contracts, conferences, blogs, reviews, etc. -- provides balance and counterpart to the intense concentration of actually writing, or just a distracting pain in the neck.

ANSWER: I think it's a little of both. Sometimes it gets in the way and takes up time that would be better spent writing. But I love talking with my agent and contracts usually mean money will be coming in, which is always good. The only conferenceI usually attend is national for RWA and I love it, as it gives me an opportunity to dress up a little and see industry personnel and my writer friends from all over the country/world. I'm not going this year, unfortunately, but look forward to next summer in San Francisco. The blog I have a sort of love/hate relationship with. I love the sisterhood communication with readers and other writers but it's tough sometimes to come up with a subject. And reviews...? Well, I rarely read those any more as its so subjective and who wants to waste time dreaming of bitch slapping the idiot who failed to see my brilliance?

This blog was fun. I didn't have to come up with the subject and I always adore talking writing. Thanks to all who participated.

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posted online at Running With Quills June 14, 2007

If I hear Paris Hilton's name one more time... a rant, by Susan

Remember when news actually used to be about what was going on in the world or in your city? When Uncle Walter said, "And that's the way it is," and you felt that WAS the way it was? Then O.J. Simpson crept down a Los Angeles freeway and overnight, it seemed, everything changed. Top Story became Top Speculation.

And now we have Hollywood gossip dominating the news. What the heck is that all about? I find it hard to believe that I'm the only one who could give a flying fig what Paris Hilton and others of her ilk are doing. Yet you can't seem to pick up a magazine or turn on a television without encountering a story about them. When did vacant-eyed young women whose only claim to fame is drunken partying and/or narcissistic exhibitionism become the main story on the six o'clock news? How has it managed to overtake in-depth reporting on matters of actual importance?

Or maybe I should just take a deep breath. Okay, doing that here.
Still, I have to admit it feels good to get that little rant off my chest.

Anything you'd care to get off yours?

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posted online at Running With Quills June 1, 2007

Susan mourns the loss of the wing window

Last weekend we went over to our cabin on the eastern slope of the Cascade Mountains. It was a holiday weekend and I-90 was packed, so the drive took us longer  than usual. The soulmate and I took Boo and Mojo  with us, because they're good travelers and Moj in particular loves the mouse and lizard hunting to be found there.

But it's Spring. And they're medium-to-longhair cats. And they were shedding to beat the band.

Now, ordinarily I don't have an issue with their fur. Yes, I have to vacumn more frequently than I did with my last two cats, but big whoop. By the time we got to our cabin Friday night, however, my left eye was swollen and dry and itched like a sunovagun, and I was so stuffed up I could barely breathe. I felt as though I were covered head to toe in mohair--which wasn't too far from the truth as we discovered the next day when we saw the car in broad daylight. The interior was befurred from stem to stern.

That long, drawn out ride through the dark the night before, however, wouldn't have been nearly as uncomfortable if I'd had a wing window. Anyone else remember those triangular little openings one used without having to roll down the entire window?

I kept cracking the passenger window to shovel out fistfuls of fur. (Hey. It's biodegradable--it's not like I was littering the highway with Starbucks cups or cigarette butts)

But I digress. The windows in today's cars and trucks aren't real condusive to ridding yourself of things, particularly if they're lighter than air to begin with. Trust me on this: If you flick a wad of wispy fur out the front curve of a modern  window, chances are it's going to come right in again via the back curve.

Sigh.

I pine for the good old days when you could crack the wing window and efficiently dispose of the hair from your comb or the crumbs you'd picked out of the roll-and-tuck upholstery without having it end up in the back seat. I liked being able to get a breath of fresh air without having every ounce of style whipped out of my hair. And you never heard that awful whump, whump, whump that sometimes assaults your eardrums when one window is lowered in a modern car. Why would anyone think it was smart to lose such a cool design feature?

And don't even get me started on the air vents on the floor that you used to be able to open at will to cool down your scorching feet.

What do you miss because it's been new and improved to death?

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posted online at Running With Quills May 17, 2007

Susan's Addiction

My name is Susan and I am an ice cream junkie.

I blame it on my father--he started me on my habit, placing my first cone in my hand when I was just a little girl too helpless and young to defend myself. And the house my brothers and I grow up in was just down the hill from a Creamery. Dad bought it. Plus, he always had a five gallon tub of vanilla (he was strictly a vanilla man) in the basement deep freeze, with a box of cones in the cupboard over it. And a girl's supposed to ignore that HOW?

I can't even have half gallons in my house because I simply cannot stay away from them. Trust me, I have rationalizing down to a science. I can roll an entire serving onto a teaspoon and fool myself that I'm just eating a spoonful. So we only buy it when we're having company.

Which I had last weekend. My Sweet Baby Boy and his girl (Okay, so family isn't really company--close enough) were coming for dinner on Mother's Day, so Friday night my husband and I went to the grocery story. We had to go then, because I needed stuff for potato salad and I was spending Saturday with my mother and I refuse to lift a finger on Mother's Day itself. Hey, I am a mother--it's my day.

And oh, joyous evening, Safeway had a buy-one-get-one-free sale on half gallons of ice cream! When I showed up in the produce department where the soulmate had our basket, he took one look at the half gallon carton of coffee and the half gallon of peppermint I had clutched in my hot little hands and said, "You really want to get those two days ahead of time?"

"Hey, it's Mother's Day weekend," I snapped.

"O-kay."

I actually did quite well. Yeah, yeah, so I was gone most of Saturday, and I ate ice cream at my mother's. Still. By the time the kids got to our house late Sunday afternoon, I hadn't even opened the coffee. (cuz once it's open, baby, I'm toast) And I left an entire quarter inch skim of peppermint in the bottom of the carton, so I could honestly say I hadn't eaten the whole thing all by myself. And of course , since everyone insisted on having some of the coffee ice cream, when I killed it off later that night, I'd really only eaten maybe a third of the gallon.

Still, I probably won't be buying more any time soon.

What are YOUR addictions?

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posted online at Running With Quills May 04, 2007

I just got back from Spain. We chose it in part because the America's Cup is being hosted by Valencia and the Soulmate is a fool for sailing. Back in the day, he crewed for the occasional race. Not to mention that I’m working on a book with a hero who makes his living sailing in Europe (even if for most of the story he’s back home picking up the slack in the family business).

So what does this have to do with naked men, you ask? And why the big ethical dilemma about snapping their picture?

Well, it's like this. We stayed at a hotel on the Mediterranean about 15 kilometers from Valencia. And each afternoon when we got back from town, we’d go down to the beach to walk in the surf. The first day we’d barely cleared the dunes when this group of men we privately called The Lads shed all their clothing and stood in a circle sort of egging each other on. I had a camera in my hand and my first inclination was to photogragh them for the edification of my girlfriends. Or, wait! It would be strictly educational-- a visual aid to go along with the shots I took of churches and museums to demostrate how I spent my Spring Vacation)

But no. The Lads deserve their privacy, insisted my principled side. Of course the minute they were dressed again my baser side could have kicked itself. Because, c’mon—stripping on a public beach sort of defies the expectation of privacy, don’tcha think?

On the other hand, what if it’s a cultural thing and I stuck my camera lense where it was tacitly understood no camera lense would go? Still, I was beginning to doubt that was the case, as this beach connected to a national park that largely catered to families. And The Lads were the only ones I saw in the buff.

Then on our last day we walked quite a way down the beach. And when I turned around I realized it probably was a cultural reality in Spain. For there was a VERY naked-worthy man strolling behind us. Omigawd. Full frontal nudity staring me right in the--

Cough. Okay, I admit it. I can be a rube. And in the end, my baser side won out. I didn’t have the guts to do so when he was facing me, but the instant he turned back in the direction from which we’d all come, I took his picture.

And immediately felt guilty. I really am ambivalent about how ethical this is. Not so much that I erased the picture, mind you. But--and much as I'd love to share with you my very-stellar-if-I-do-say-so-myself camerawork-- I do know better than to post Mr. Buff's image on the internet, where it would no doubt remain long after the man himself turned to dust.

But knowing I can't tell you this only to leave you all hanging, I’m offering another buff guy I photographed. He won’t mind.

And for those of you who know me? Be sure to ask to see my wallet the next time you see me. It’s sporting a brand new snapshot.

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posted online at Running With Quills April 12, 2007

Susan wonders: Can a woman ever really have enough shoes?

My best friend Mimi gave me this card for my birthday and inside it reads: Do I know you, or what?

Uh...yeah. She does. I LOVE shoes. Love em, love em, love em. I was watching a morning program as I Nordic Tracked one day and one of the hosts said that in a survey, when asked what they would rather have--given the choice between shoes, handbags or clothing-- women overwhelmingly picked...

Handbags.

Say what? I gotta tell you, I don't get that at all. Now, I like a nice purse as much as the next woman, but frankly I don't have the time to be constantly transfering all my stuff from one bag to the next. Shoes on the other hand take no time at all to slip on and kick off.

Don't get me wrong, if it ever came down to a choice between shoes or books, books would win hands dow--

Well, there is always the library.

No, no, I don't mean that, really I don't. Just kidding. I have WAY more boots than-- BOOKS! Books, I meant to say. I have way more books than shoes.
Hey. It's not as if I HAVE to buy shoes. I can stop any time.

Man, would you look at those Manolo Blahniks?

Um, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. It's not as if I'm addicted, or anything. I don't have that many pairs. Ask the Soulmate, ask Mimi. Well, maybe not those two. They're still giving me a bad time about spending the only 40 minute break I had in a Nordie's shoe department during the Sizzling Summer Authors bus tour. But it wasn't as if I was the only one! Ask Jacquie D'Alessandro and Gemma Halliday. I was just following them. Everyone knows I have no sense of direction.

Anyhow it's not a problem. But I do know where my little shoe habit began. I distinctly remember a saleslady coming up to my mother when I was still an infant. "Booties for your baby?" she asked slyly. "First one's on us."

What's your downfall?

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posted online at Running With Quills March 22, 2007

Susan asks: Have you kissed your local librarian today?

I love librarians. They steered me through the Dewey Decimal System. They provided me with a venue where I could spend an entire day, if I wanted, surrounded by books of all types. They taught me the finer points of research. And except for the occasional cranky-pants, they did so with amazing cheer and graciousness.

But mostly I adore them for introducing me to new books and new authors. In the Fifties it was Beverly Cleary and and anything Nancy Drew. In the Sixties it was The Witch of Blackbird Pond, The Sea Sprite, and biographies of Clara Barton, Florence Nightengale, and Nellie Bly. (Anybody else seeing a slightly feminist bent here?)

Also during the Sixties they introduced me to Victoria Holt, T.E. Huff, Celia Fremlin and my favorite novel of the decade: Ann Fairbairn's Five Smooth Stones. I admit they weren't universally as much help during the Seventies when sexually-laced romances became popular and I was looking to read as many as I could lay my hands on. But in the early Eighties my local librarian introduced me to Alice Walker's The Color Purple months and months before that book became a national phenomenon.

They've made my life richer through the books they've recommended. And as we all know, there has been a radical turn-around in the library system regarding romance--and that is due in large part to the diligence of the librarians who first "got" us.

So if any of you happen to be lurking out there, I just want to say thank you!

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posted online at Running With Quills October 26, 2006

Susan wonders: are we BORN wanting to do it?

I have a pretty healthy ego when it comes to reviews. Love my books and I deem you the most brilliant reader in the world. Trash them and I question your intelligence, because obviously you didn’t get it. I've long since given up Googling myself, because frankly I'd just as soon not know if I've been given a crummy review at one of those slice-and-dice romance sites. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

But that made me think about the preponderance of mean-spirited reviews. Is it just me, or do there seem to be more and more of those these days? I'm not talking about not liking a book--I think a reader either clicks with an author's story telling style or she doesn't. (And while my ego may be healthy, it's not megalomaniacal) I know not everyone is going to love my work. In fact, one of my favorite reviews is on Amazon for I can't remember which book. A couple readers thought it was a big step backward from their favorite work of mine and someone else set them straight. No, no, she wrote. Book A isn't her worst book, Book C is!" Cracked me up. That's kind of the "When they said you weren't fit to sleep with the pigs I said Yes You Were!" defense.

Still, there seems to be more and more reviews out there that are just plain malicious. Is it the anonymity of the internet that brings out the nastiness in some people, do you think? Or the fact that controversy is simply more entertaining?

In the end a reviewer can be as vicious as she pleases and I doubt it has an adverse affect on sales. I haven’t seen where good reviews make a difference. Out of fourteen published books I’ve had two of them garner starred reviews in Publisher Weekly. Neither of those books were my top sellers and, in fact, one saw a dip in the sales from the book preceding it. Conversely, a friend who once had one of her books at the center of a truly nasty (and if you ask me, libelous) campaign said it was one of her best sellers yet. So I don’t know, girls and boys.

Maybe I oughtta manufacture myself a nice juicy controversy. (g)

So what do you guys think? IS it simply my imagination that there are more mean-spirited reviews? And how much does a review, whether positive or negative, affect your own book buying decisions?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 12, 2006

Susan Talks Reviews

I have a pretty healthy ego when it comes to reviews. Love my books and I deem you the most brilliant reader in the world. Trash them and I question your intelligence, because obviously you didn’t get it. I've long since given up Googling myself, because frankly I'd just as soon not know if I've been given a crummy review at one of those slice-and-dice romance sites. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss.

But that made me think about the preponderance of mean-spirited reviews. Is it just me, or do there seem to be more and more of those these days? I'm not talking about not liking a book--I think a reader either clicks with an author's story telling style or she doesn't. (And while my ego may be healthy, it's not megalomaniacal) I know not everyone is going to love my work. In fact, one of my favorite reviews is on Amazon for I can't remember which book. A couple readers thought it was a big step backward from their favorite work of mine and someone else set them straight. No, no, she wrote. Book A isn't her worst book, Book C is!" Cracked me up. That's kind of the "When they said you weren't fit to sleep with the pigs I said Yes You Were!" defense.

Still, there seems to be more and more reviews out there that are just plain malicious. Is it the anonymity of the internet that brings out the nastiness in some people, do you think? Or the fact that controversy is simply more entertaining?

In the end a reviewer can be as vicious as she pleases and I doubt it has an adverse affect on sales. I haven’t seen where good reviews make a difference. Out of fourteen published books I’ve had two of them garner starred reviews in Publisher Weekly. Neither of those books were my top sellers and, in fact, one saw a dip in the sales from the book preceding it. Conversely, a friend who once had one of her books at the center of a truly nasty (and if you ask me, libelous) campaign said it was one of her best sellers yet. So I don’t know, girls and boys.

Maybe I oughtta manufacture myself a nice juicy controversy. (g)

So what do you guys think? IS it simply my imagination that there are more mean-spirited reviews? And how much does a review, whether positive or negative, affect your own book buying decisions?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 28, 2006

Susan wants to know: what's reading done for you lately?

"I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.“ -- Slyvia Plath

Long before I wrote so much as my first chapter, let alone an entire book from start to finish, I created vignettes in my mind to help lull myself to sleep at night. Yeah, yeah, I hear you snickering. It wasn't the content, people--at least I hope not. It was the exercise. No, it wasn't even that. It was simply something I felt compelled to do.

Writing professionally didn't change that. It was still during that twilightish betwixt-and-between time when I wasn't quite asleep yet not truly awake either that I would suddenly solve the plot problem that had plagued me all day. It was like this miraculous gift... except for one not-so-little hitch. My brilliant solution was invariably gone in the morning.

Now clearly I'm a slow learner, because this happened to me quite a few times before I finally wised up and put a pad and pen in my nightstand drawer. That way when the answers I'd been wracking my brain for magically came to me in my semi-conscious state, I could scribble enough key words to remind me what I wanted to do once I was properly awake. It worked like a charm, too--until the morning I woke up, reached for my pad, and discovered that the pen had run out of ink and not one word of my elegant solution appeared on the tablet.

Noooooo!!!!

Luckily, there's an advantage to growing up having read everything I could get my hands on. I found a pencil and scrubbed the flat side of its lead back and forth until impressions made by my midnight scribbling began to form words. Whew. Thank you, Nancy Drew!

These days I work strictly with pencil.

How about you? Do you ever wake up with a fix to a problem you're sure is emblazoned in your brain, only to have it disappear when you're fully awake? Or, alternate question, has something you read ever saved your bacon in a tight situation?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 14, 2006

Because I Said So!

I'm a child of the Fifties and Sixties. Parents didn't aspire to be friends with their kids in those days, they were simply The Parents. And in my house that meant when my father said "Jump", all he wanted to hear in return was, "How high?"

I'm a questioner by nature, but whenever I'd question one of Daddy's edicts, he'd just level his vivid blue eyes on me and say, "Because I said so." It drove me nuts and I swore that when I had kids I'd never say that to them.

I didn't, either. . .until one day when my son was maybe eleven or twelve years old. He'd spent what felt like hours following me around the house, restless and bored and generally getting on my last good nerve. Finally, fed up with one "Why?" too many I snapped, "Because I said so!"

My inner teenager immediately started howling in horror for sounding Just Like Dad. But before I could so much as smack myself on the forehead my sweet baby boy blinked at me, said, "Oh. Okay," then wandered off to entertain himself.

And I realized that Dad had been onto something all those years.

How about you? Did you have a pet peeve with a parental edict that you swore you'd never do when you became a parent yourself? And how did that work out for you?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 31, 2006

Susan's Back and feelin' like a star!

Hey everyone, did you miss me? What’s that? You say you didn’t even know I was gone? That whizzing sound you hear is my ego flying around the room backward until there’s nothing left but its little eyes bugging out.

It got inflated in the first place on the Kmart Sizzling Summer Reads Author Tour. Believe me, around the Andersen household I don’t often hear the words, “Whatever you want. I’m here to take care of you.” But Levy, the wholesaler who gets the books we luv to read into the Walmarts, Kmarts and Targets, etc, hosted a 14 author bus tour and, boy, did they take care of us! Their team, powered by Pam Nelson, is one well-oiled machine. (That's Crystal, DeVar and Justine in the back row, Janet, Pam, Kathleen and Emily on the futon)

Okay, sure, we had to get up before 4 a.m. --before 4 A.M.!!-- two days in a row and pretty much lived out of a suitcase. It was so worth it. We talked at libraries and sold at Kmarts, and the media coverage garnered for this tour was phenomenal. The first early call was for an appearance on an ABC Chicago morning show. It lasted all of about 7 minutes, but it was cleverly done and not at all condescending, and that is A Very Good Thing. We also had a reporter and the Assistant Advertising Director from Publishers Weekly traveling with us for part of the trip, so we may see some future coverage from that. Then there was the two page spread in the Chicago Sun-Times and the Detroit Free Press, plus a TV crew at one (or was it two?) of the signings and that's not even mentioning the food and omigawd, I think my head is starting to swell up again.

Um, ‘scuse me a second, will you—I've gotta take this call, it's the Soul Mate. He probably wants to know if there's anything I need. “Hey there. Queen Susie speaking. . .What?”

Oh. (whizzzz) “No, I haven't seen your blue shirt. Queens don't concern themselves with. . . What? Dinner? You want me to cook? But no one expected me to do that last week—they simply took me out to great restaurants." Sigh.

Still, more important than the food (and believe me, there is little I find more imperative than my meals) was the opportunity to get to know my sister travlers on the Love Bus: Mary Balogh (the real queen), Allison Brennan, Pamela Britton, Jacquie D’Alessandro, Gemma Halliday, Susan Kearney, Marjorie Liu, Brenda Novak, Karen Rose, Gena Showalter and Wendy Corsi Staub, as well as reunite with two lovely ladies I already knew, Candice Hern and Sabrina Jeffries. It was a fun, cooperative, gracious group, and the sheer talent that permeated that bus was amazing. I was privileged to be in on a brainstorming session that resulted in a proposed anthology with three of the authors on the tour and another they invited via email during one of our stops. All these gifted ladies’ agents are very excited about the project unofficially known as Susan Andersen Presents.

Yes, Virginia. It really is all about me. (g)

So how ‘bout you? Have you got a story to share of an event or a special treatment that made you feel like a princess? I’d love to hear

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posted online at Running With Quills August 10, 2006

How Many Names Does One Woman Need?

My name was supposed to be Diana Lynn. It was the top contender in the girl column when my folks were selecting names for their first baby. The only trouble was, after having three boys they’d pretty much given up on the idea of a girl by the time they had me.

Which is how I came to be Susan Marie. It was the name M’ma’s hospital roommate had chosen for her daughter and, flabbergasted to have given birth to a kid with two X chromosomes, my mother thought it would work nicely for hers as well. (And if you don’t think I haven’t given her a rash about that over the years . . . !) My father preferred Suzanna and I have no idea if they flipped a coin or if Mom was simply the one to fill out the birth certificate, but he lost that argument. So what’s a guy to do?

Well, in Daddy’s case he occasionally called me Suzanna anyway. He also called me Susimocashiwacki. (Don’t ask) And just to confuse things Mom sometimes called me SuSuMaria. (and still does to this day)

The name I’ve mostly been known by, and the one that feels more mine than any other, is Susie, which of course, came with it’s own variations. (SusieQ, Susie Cream Cheese) But when I was twelve or so, I decided it was simply too, too babyish for almost-teenager me and insisted on being called Su. Yep, that’s the correct spelling. I dropped the E because it struck me as being so much more sophisticated without it. The only trouble is, I never truly felt like a Sue, E deleted or not. It didn’t help that my oldest brother married a woman of the same name when I was fifteen and we promptly became “big” Sue and “little” Sue.

When I was around nineteen/twenty years old I finally heeded the call of my comfort level and reverted to Susie. Except for a few people who first knew me during the Su Dynasty (and my mother and middle brother, who often still call me that because I made such a production of it back in the day that it became indelibly etched in their minds) Sue’s a name that’s pretty much gone the way of the buffalo hunter for me.

Professionally, of course, I’m Susan, and as I grow older that's how I tend to introduce myself as well, since--face it-- it's a more mature name for an, ahem, maturing woman. But you can always tell the people who know me best.

They’re the ones who call me Susie because, childish or not, that’s who I am.

So, how about you? How many names have you been called in your lifetime? And is there one that fits more comfortably than all the rest?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 3, 2006

Yummy cover, yummier back copy, and a totally delish story.

Just for Kicks is sure to be as wonderful as the rest of Susan's books.

So here I am, grabbing the skinny from Susan, finding out what it's about, what inspired her, and what's up next.

Read on happy people!

Lori: Congrats on your new book hitting the shelves! Please tell me it’s finally going to be Jared and P.J.’s story.

Susan: Um, no. Sorry.

Lori: Susan! Tell me it isn’t so! I’ve been waiting forever and ever and... well, you know. A long time!

Susan: I know, and so patiently, too. Just kidding. But you’re gonna like this one as well, I promise.

Lori: Like there's any doubt. :::Snort::: I love all your books!

Susan: Well, this one is Carly and Wolfgang’s story. Remember her? Treena’s pet-loving friend and upstairs neighbor from Skintight?

Lori: Yeah, yeah! Another dancer. Okay, cool. So where did the idea of showgirls come from, anyway? Did you want to be a dancer or something?

Susan: My very first published book (Shadow Dance) was about a showgirl/ dancer in Reno. Amanda Charles was in her mid-twenties, semi-virginal and the best dancer in the troupe—pretty much the usual de rigueur stuff for a heroine during the early-to-mid Eighties. I got to thinking it would be a kick to do her polar opposite and that was how Treena from Skintight came to be. That heroine was thirty-five and barely hanging onto her job.

As for harboring an urge for a little showgirl action myself? Oh, mama. The desire to be a dancer, which was very strong when I was a little girl, was pretty much knocked out of me by a cigarette smoking, fog-horn voiced, leopard-skin wearing, dyed hair virago who taught my first (and last) dance class when I was about seven. That woman scared the crap out of me and single-handedly destroyed my coulda-been-fabulous-career in dance before it ever began.

Lori: Yeah, but things work out for a reason. That experience probably led to you becoming a writer. And getting