Another white car story

I did it again.  I couldn’t find my white car.

Even worse, I didn’t realize I’d found the wrong vehicle until I got inside the car.

Either the owner hadn’t locked the door or it worked on the same frequency of my remote, but I got to the car in the parking garag, pushed the “unlock” button, opened the door and got inside.  Only then did I notice the seat didn’t feel the same.  And the interior was a different color.  And it wasn’t a Mazda. 

You’d think I might have noticed that it didn’t have a Kansas State Power Cat magnet on the side or the KSU football helmet on the antenna.  I tell myself this happens because my creative mind is filled with new stories and hears the voices of my characters.   I don’t believe it.  I believe I’m really flaky and absent minded.

I’m very glad I got out of the car before the owner came along.  On the second try, I found the right car.

Why?  Why? I shout, Why are there so many white cars in the world? 

A BIG welcome to Kris Fletcher!

 I’m delighted to welcome Kris Fletcher to my blog.   Yesterday, I posted her bio so check back to learn more about her.    So, Kris, take it away!

Jane, thanks so much for inviting me here today. I love having the chance to take over – um, I mean, visit my friends on their blogs.

I’m writing this on the last day of my children’s spring break. What this means in everyday terms is that for tenth day in a row, it’s been Mommy and the Kids, all day, every day. Okay, there were a couple of breaks. (Let’s have a rousing cheer for critique nights and chapter meetings, shall we?) But by and large, it’s been, “Mommy, can we …” and “Mom, I want to …” and “Mom, I need …” pretty much non-stop. Because even though my kids are really very excellent and as considerate as kids can be, they’re KIDS. They know that the only reason for my existence is to make their world right. Anything that might be on my list is simply proof that my priorities are totally out of whack.

Usually, I can deal with this tug-of-war between their needs and mine, but this week was a challenge. It was spring break AND we were rounding out a double-holy week (Passover and Easter) AND we had to go away for the weekend AND my editor sent me revisions much earlier than I anticipated AND – most pressing of all – I had two books releasing. (A BETTER FATHER and CALL OF THE WILDER, thank you for asking J)Two books to publicize. Two books worth of blogs to post and monitor. Two sets of sales figures to obsess over. And two books worth of moments to savor and celebrate, because these were my first –ever releases after eighteen years of writing, and dagnabbit it, that was worthy of celebration.

So what did my week look like? Write a blog. Run to Target. Check Amazon. Play a round of Quelf Jr. Hide Easter eggs. Post to the Harlequin forums. Scramble some eggs. Post to Facebook. Remind people to put away their toys. Cut five hundred words from a scene. Order one child to set the table, one to unload the dishwasher, and one to clean up the front hall. Stop for a moment, pause, and send up a fast prayer of thanks for the fullness of my life and the realization of so very many dream.

 It was a full week. A challenging week. An exciting, never-to-be-repeated week crammed full of all the bits and pieces of my life.

But I’m still going to be awfully happy when Monday morning rolls around.

 

My friend Kris

  1. Many, many years ago, Kris Fletcher and I met as aspiring writers on an AOL  group.   She was a contest queen.   Now–GREAT NEWS!–her books are available to all not only contest judges.    She presently has two books published:   The Call of the Wilder and A Better Father.  A third will be published in–KRIS, help me on this–November.   I’ve  read and loved A Better Father,  have The Call of the Wilder downloaded and look forward to many, many more wonderful stories from her.

She’ll be blogging here tomorrow so please come back!

Here’s Kris in her own words:   
Kris Fletcher grew up in southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine, and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband, an ever-changing number of their kids, and the occasional grand-hamster. Her greatest hope is that dust bunnies never develop intelligence.

News from Alexa Bourne and her new cover!

Thank you, Jane, for giving my new cover and me some time on your blog! Today marks the official, public beginning for an exciting time in Decadent Publishing’s history. We are unveiling the new Tease series, a smart, sassy and short line that includes historical, paranormal and contemporary romances.

This is the cover to my first Tease, Carry Me Home. This story is a heart-warming story about a married couple, Jamie and Mary MacDougall, in the Highlands of Scotland. Tragedy drove them apart but Jamie knows they’re meant to be together and he won’t give up on them without a fight. This cover fits Mary and Jamie perfectly and I absolutely love it. Isn’t it gorgeous?

My book will be released June 5th, but you have plenty of Tease stories before then. To find out more, visit http://www.decadenttease.com/tease-affairs/ today! AND you can be in the running for some GREAT prizes. So come join the party!

Website: www.alexabourne.com

Blog: http://alexabourne.blogspot.com

Twitter: @AlexaBourne

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorAlexaBourne

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5818611.Alexa_Bourne

 

Friday

Took the car in today and found out the fact that I cannot read the speedometer because it is hidden in a deep well is a design problem which cannot be fixed because it IS in a deep well with no additional lighting.   In September, George bought me a 2003 Mazda which is a really great car but I fear a myriad of speeding tickets lurk in my future.  Also, it’s–sigh–white.  I’ve decorated with with a Kansas State Power Cat magnet on one side and a University of Louisville Cardinal on the other but I still can’t find it in the parking lot the way I could my yellow car.   In fact, I’ve stood next to white cars clicking my remote to unlock the doors and cursing (only in the nicest way) that the battery in the remote must be low.  Fortunately it only takes a few minutes before I realize it is not my car and move on to the next white car.

Little by little, I’m checking off tasks.  I got the extension of income tax paperwork in to the IRS Wednesday, the health insurance straightened out and in my name, information to Social Security, and many thank you notes written to our dear and generous friends.  I’ve worked on my novels a little but am still having trouble getting a read on the love interest in the fourth Butternut Creek novel  for which I’m attempting to put together a proposal with a brain low on creativity.

But I’m doing better.   For example, George loved olives.  The sight of the olive bar at H-E-B only makes me sad not burst out in tears.  Those breakdown have been  frightening for the ladies at the nearby sushi counter.  

I’m also reading the other books that have been nominated for the RITA in my category.  They are wonderful.  I’m honored to be in that group. 

Next Monday, I have two events on this blog.  On Monday, I’ll start the day highlighting the cover of Alexa Bourne’s newest novel.   Later in the afternoon, I’ll tell you about Kris Fletcher whose first published novel–A Better Father–was available a week ago.  Great book!  To my delight, Kris will blog here on Tuesday.  She’ll be telling us about the changes in her life as a published author with edits and promos at the same time she deals with her twenty or thirty–or maybe five–children.  Hope you’ll stop by.

Rudy Galindo, for example

Last week, I asked the question, “How is writing a novel like figure skating?”   In that blog, I stated there was one more similarity—and difference—to come.  For those of you who’ve been anxiously and breathlessly awaiting that, here it is!

Anyone remember Rudy Galindo?   In 1996, he seemed to leap from nowhere in an astounding singles figure skating  performance at the US Championships in San Jose.  I watched the program on television and could feel the energy of the performance and the energy from the crowd.  We were all enthralled at the beauty and perfection and energy of that performance.   And we all thought, “Where did this guy come from?”

There are writers like that.  Suddenly, with a first book, they become best sellers, shooting onto best seller lists while readers wait for the next book.   I know writers like that and I hate  envy admire them greatly, but most of us don’t appear like that.

My second point is this:   Rudy Galindo wasn’t suddenly hatched.  He didn’t show up at the competition and launch himself into spins and twirls.   He’d been working at this for a long time.  He was pairs partner with Kristi Yamaguchi until she decided to concentrate on her career in singles.   They’d won the US championship in 1989 and 1990.   He dropped out for a while but decided to return.  After a year of hard work, he burst–again–to the top of the figure skating world.

Even writers who appear suddenly have worked on their craft.  Jane Austen wrote her first books for the enjoyment of her family.   I have a friend who had the first book she wrote published and twenty more since.  She also has a PhD in creative writing.  Others have been journalists or have a number of completed and unfinished manuscripts under the bed that will never be published or took creative writing classes and submitted and entered contests and worked with critique partners.   Oh, I’m sure there must be someone who just wrote a great book with no background but, like figure skaters, most writers have spent years practising their leaps and foot work and tracing words onto paper until it finally comes out right.

Obnoxious and anxious

Knowing how much I love University of Louisville basketball and that George and I used to watch every game together, two lovely couples from church each  invited me to watch the Louisville/Wichita State  game with them on Saturday.    I do have wonderful friends and want to express my deep appreciation to Rhonda and Drew, Karen and Bob.  However, I turned both couples down.

I’m a terrible person to watch basketball with.   Much of this comes from my father who was a huge University of Kansas fan.  He took me to nearly every KU basketball and football game from the time I was three or four until I left for college and Kansas State.    He was the most pessimistic fan I’ve ever known.   When the Jayhawks were thirty points ahead and the opponents hit a basket, he’d say,”Oh, we’re going to lose this one.  We’ve blown it.”       Heredity or nurture,  I don’t know but I’m the same way.    I don’t know why I want my Cards to do well because the better they do, the farther they go in a tournament, the more miserable I am during the game.  Close games are nerve wracking.  There are no leads big enough to calm me.  I go outside.  I move to another room.  I play computer games or do crossword puzzles.   I change channels and watch House Hunters International for ten minutes before going back to check the score.   And, when Payton steals a ball or Russ drives, I will rewind and replay that, even four or five times so I can see how the play happened.

No one wants to spend a few hours with a person like me.  And, to tell you the truth, I don’t want to watch with anyone because then I’d have to behave.    When George and I watched together, I did behave.  Oh, I still moved around and did crossword puzzles, but he held on the the remote so I couldn’t watch a play over and over .  He did NOT allow me to change channels.

So, again, thank you, dear friends.  I hope you’ll watch and cheer for Louisville but you truly do not want me around.

How is writing a novel like figure skating?

Today I’m beginning a new once-in-a-while blog topic which will begin with “How is writing a novel different from . . . . . .whatever. . . .?   My last two series–Craft Tuesday and Twenty-five (more or less) Things I’ve Learned which have recently fallen by the wayside but may yet appear when I think of something to say.

But today, I’m going to concentrate on one oft asked question:   how IS writing a novel like figure skating?  

I love nearly all sports and watch figure skating competitions, the real ones, not the ones made so the professionals can earn extra money.  I’ve noticed several similarities as well as differences.   The one that got my attention came while I watch this years US championships.   When one skater fell, I realized that  when a figure skaters falls, everyone sees it and gasps.   But the great part about writing is that when we make mistakes, we are in isolation.  We can fix the error.  When we err, Dick Button doesn’t  say, “Oh, dear.  That’s a costly mistake.”  When a skater substitutes a single Salchow for  the planned triple, the error is bemoaned by judges and commentators in front of the entire world.   However, if I switch point of view in the middle of a paragraph, I  can edit and no one know with the exception of my editor or critique group who are usually really nice and don’t take off points.–or low–score.  People don’t leap to their feet and applaud or throw teddy bears to me.

No, while I sit at the computer, I don’t know if what I write works.  Is this funny? I ask myself.  It was when I wrote it–I’d thought.  But after reading it four or five times, it no longer is.    I’d really like a score and a few teddy bears before I go on

Second,  both may follow esoteric designs.  I remember back when the short and long programs were preceded by a competition during which the skater had to trace a number of figures on the ice.  they were then graded and ranked by how closely they followed the figures.   They looked like this.

In writing, we also may have charts in which experts tell us how to construct a novel.   Compare the charts on the left and right and you’ll understand that.  In writing, they are often confusing and no two are alike.   And, in my opinion, if we follow what someone tells us to do, probably we aren’t writing the best novel we can.  In writing, those charts are suggestions.  In figure skating, they must be exactly followed.   Same and different.

NEXT:  on Friday I’ll add one more way in which writing and figure skaiting are alike, featuring my favorite skater Rude Galindo.

 

Some day your prince will come–maybe

My friend Emily McKay has been telling me I’d enjoy The Lizzie Bennet Diaries on Youtube.    Yesterday, I watched the first chapter.    Yes, it was charming as Emily stated–often.   If you remember Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, you recall that Mrs. Bennet is constantly attempting to get her daughters married.   This is the theme of at least the first post.

It reminded me of my mother who actually wasn’t very pushy about her elderly (twenty-three years old) daughter being single with no prospects in sight.    Then, one afternoon, her concern and worry bubbled over.

First let me tell you that my mother loved to play the piano.  She had an upright in the living room and would sit down usually daily and play for an hour or more.  She preferred show tunes and songs popular in the fifties.   In a bookcase, she had a tall stack of sheet music. I loved to go through that music and sing the songs.

One afternoon during spring break from grad school, I picked up the Disney song  Someday My Prince Will Come and was having the best time belting it out when my mother knelt next to me, put her arm around me, and said, “There, there.  Someday he will come.”

I was stunned.   I didn’t answer because I truly couldn’t talk.  She stood and went into another room.   I put the music away and carried on.    She was right.  I did meet my prince.  I just hadn’t realized she’d been so concerned.

Do you have any stories about worried parents with single children over a marriageable age?  I’d love to hear them.

No blog today–too busy doing the happy dance

I sat down this morning to complete the blog post I’d started for today–and received a call that The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek is a RITA finalist.   For those of you who aren’t members of Romance Writers of America, the RITA is an award for the best books for 2012.   It’s a wonderful honor that I’ve dreamed about getting for years and years and years as has every romance writer.   That call completely blew my plans for the morning.  I’ll have something up Friday when I can regain my poise and settle down in a chair.