Sprinkles Are For Winners

As always, I sit down to type a blog about the relationship between my thoughts and wonder what the distillation will be by the time I reach the end.

The idea for this particular blog started forming last Friday, while my husband and I were watching American Idol (we are huge fans of all singing and dancing shows). A commercial for Progressive Insurance was aired. Everything about the ad is a nod to the 1970’s – hairstyles, clothes, vocabulary! What captured my attention occurred at the very end:

            Flo (Insurance Salesperson Expert): Now, let’s go get you some ice cream!

            Guy (Newbie salesman who she has comforted after he’s botched

            a sale): With sprinkles?

            Flo: No! Sprinkles are for winners.

The 1970's were harsh!

I rolled on the floor laughing. I have a harsh sense of humor, and I often tell those who spend a fair amount of time around me, “You’re gonna have to toughen up.”

My sense of humor isn’t cruel, I just dare to say things that many wouldn’t, assuming that the person on the receiving end knows I'm a kind person. Really! I also endeavor to deliver humorously - alas I fail all too often. One could ask why they have to toughen up and I don’t have to be more sensitive. The answer is… I can’t. I’ve tried, but I always backslide. It is an inherent part of me, as inherent as my predisposition to like bold color instead of muted tones.

A fictitious example… My husband walks in from a tough day at work, he’s been there for hours, and has missed dinner. He comes to me for comfort, arms outstretched, exhaustion in his eyes, and as he reaches for me, I say, “Deal with those eyebrows, we could French braid them!” So… not cruel. Funny, right?

(Remember to keep all these stories in your head so you can put the final thought altogether.)

Over the weekend my daughter was playing in a volleyball tournament. Sixteen teams were playing at once, the ‘bounce, bounce, bounce, thwump, groan, more groans, and more thwumps’ soundtrack reverberated around the gym. On Saturday, as I was contemplating taking Ibuprofen, a couple sat down beside me to watch their daughter’s game. Long story short, I immediately recognized them; they were co-workers of mine back in the late 1980’s at Microsoft. I hadn’t seen them in twenty five years. It turns out our daughters are on the same team. There was something very surreal seeing our two girls standing next to each other.

I must quickly insert here that back in the 1980’s I was disguising myself as a software tester. When my long-ago co-workers asked what I currently did, I told them I write Chick Lit and Contemporary Women’s Literature. “Chick Lit?” he muddled, then looked at his wife. She shrugged her shoulders. Now to be fair, there was a whole bunch of shrieking and thwumping going on… but it’s possible I should have stood up, all gansta-like and asked, “Whadda bout’ it?”

(Holding on to the French braid thought? Add volleyball story…)

Finally, it is Sunday. Now if you know where I live, you know why Sunday was an important day. Volleyball of course! Not really… I live just outside of Seattle, so…. Yes, the Seahawks and the Packers were playing for the NFC title game.

As I was sitting in a massive gym listening to, ‘bounce, bounce, bounce, thwump, groan, more groans, and more thwumps,’ pockets of people were huddled over phones, tablets, and laptops, cheering on their daughters and the Seahawks – the 12th Man, alive and well. It was interesting to observe and feel the rise and fall of the energy in the room.  Someone over my left shoulder was keeping up a running commentary on the state of the game.

Imagine a rectangle and I am the bottom right hand corner point. Imagine happy, wild, and jubilant cheering occurring in the corner opposite me, making its way around the perimeter of the rectangle. As a conductor leads their symphony, the crescendo rose and fell, finally arriving at my feet. It was super exciting.

As a friend’s husband said (not me, so don’t shoot the messenger), “If people left with five minutes to go in the game and missed out on that, they’re idiots! They paid good money for those seats.”

So, where are we? Oh, bringing all the threads together.

Usually by now I know how all the threads tie together, let me think. There’s a 70’s, 80’s, 90’s thing going on… There’s the evolution of life, me as a young girl, me in my early twenties working at a software company, me in my late forties writing Chick Lit novels… where does the harsh sense of humor come in? While I've always believed it is one of my most endearing qualities, and some will tell you it isn't, the truth is, it suits writing and the life of a writer well.

For as long as I can remember I’ve had this deep, deep, deep rooted belief (for lack of a better word) that my timeline restarts when I’m finished with one path. For example, when my kids are grown-up I will be thirty-four again (how old I was when I had my first child) and my life will take off from that point, leaving me countless years to be a writer, a Landscape Architect, a songwriter, a painter, a textile designer. I was literally in my late twenties when I realized I had this belief.

As I watch my children grow up, as I see friends grow older, as I watch my celeb crush age (not well), as the bounce in my step isn't quite as springy, I have come to the full realization that this belief is… ridiculous. While that may be abundantly clear to any and all of you who read this, I find it quite shocking.

Advertisements that mock an era I can remember shocks me – clearly the statement is that we all looked and sounded silly. As my children reach an age I remember feeling like I owned the world, I see the privilege of youth. Winning a football game in the last two minutes reminds me how quickly the tide changes and that being on top is fleeting.

Is this all negative? No! I love that society hopes it can laugh at itself. I am thrilled to watch my children evolve into who they want to be. As for myself… about seven years ago I quit dyeing my hair. When I went in for my last haircut I told my hair dresser, “Maybe I don’t want to grow old quite so gracefully.”

In that statement isn’t a defiant cry against growing old, it is a defiance against being out of place, out of style, out of time, and out of ideas!

 

Jonas See's in Color: Loose Threads

 

As always, thanks for reading!



If it's good enough for the Queen of England...

 

I am hellaciously late in getting a blog written. I reread the previous year’s Christmas blogs and thought, “Oh, so much has changed, I ought to write about…” Obviously I did not, as the last blog posted was in November. It isn’t that I don’t love to blog, it is that the other writing and authorly stuff that I do is occupying a lot of my brain space, and I don’t want my blog to be about writing. It is supposed to be about me reinventing myself. One could easily argue that the writing stuff is about my reinvention, but let’s face it, you only want to hear so much about that!

So, let me tell you an amusing story about a young woman who loves to write, sometimes feels a little isolated, and thought it would be fun to get a job that pays actual money. This girl was in the grocery store with her family and saw a sign with employment opportunities on it. “Hmm,” she thinks, “This could be fun, easy work, get me out of the house, and pay for a few things.” She returned home and filled out the on-line application. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, she went about her life, forgetting all about working at a grocery store, until she received an email first thing Monday morning with a request for a job interview. She was excited. Nervous, but excited. “Do I go, don’t I go?” She spent the morning talking herself in and out of the job interview.

Two hours before the interview, she showered, donned some professional looking clothes and made her way to the nearby grocery store. Up a long flights of stairs to the Employee Lounge she went, to enter the holding pen of many a nervous beefy young man! The nervous young woman found a seat and surveyed the motley group, struggling to remember the other positions available. One by one, the young men disappeared into the manager’s office, and one by one, they reappeared looking confident. At last it was the young woman’s turn.

The manager politely shook her hand, gave her “the good chair,” and sat down on a metal folding chair. Scanning her resume, he asked his first question, “Do you know which job you applied for?”

Caught by surprise, she held her breath for a brief moment before replying, “Courtesy Clerk.”

Smiling at her, the middle-aged balding man nodded his head. The young woman felt relieved. She hadn’t marked the wrong box! “Do you know what a Courtesy Clerk is?” The manager asked her, looking doubtful.

“Isn’t that the person who helps out at the Customer Service desk? Helps customers find things, sell cigarettes and lottery tickets?” She ventured the guess, based upon her observations at her local grocery store.

“No! You’d be good at that. A Courtesy Clerk bags groceries, collects carts, and cleans the bathrooms!”

The young woman smiled broadly and decided to be candid, “Er’, not what I am looking for.” All those beefy young men were starting to make more sense. “If I wanted to clean bathrooms, I’d be at home.”

The manager, who had introduced himself, but whose name she’d long forgotten, laughed heartily with her. After they settled down, he scanned her resume for a moment before admitting aloud that he had wondered why a young woman with more than enough academic qualifications would be looking for a job at a grocery store bagging groceries and cleaning bathrooms. She answered cheekily. “Do you have anything else?”

At this point the manager tapped away at his keyboard and flipped through a couple different windows on his computer screen. Turning the monitor towards the young woman, he showed her the list of job opportunities. “Fish Clerk?” he asked in a hopeful, perky voice.

 

“What do they do?” She asked, wanting precise information. Wrinkling her nose after he explained the knife wielding, pungent details, she said, “No thank you.” To which he quickly countered, “Cake decorating?” While it sounded like fun, she admitted she’d never done any. “Deli?” Was his response to her admission. Apparently experience was necessary. “What are the hours?” She asked, starting to feel hopeful. “Noon to 9:00pm.” The manager at this point appeared genuinely eager. Ruminating for a split second, the young woman said, “I thought the job was for the day shift. 8-5 or some such.” Shaking his head, looking at her somewhat bewildered again, he replied patiently, “No, grocery stores don’t have that kind of scheduling.” She looked at him, at the computer screen to see if any other jobs were listed, but was unable to make out the small font. “Alright then, no. I have to be home by 5:00.”

Still utterly patient, the manager dashed a glance at the computer monitor. “What kind of position do you see yourself holding?”

“Customer Service Clerk or cashier! 8:00-5:00. Are those ever available?”

After the manager and I shared a long laughter filled moment, I shook his hand, apologized for taking his time, and then boldly asked, “How long do you keep resumes on file?”

Hence I sit here quite happily and type this blog. All in all, everything worked out for the best.

Happy New Years! May 2015 be full of dreams, successes and laughter.

Celebrating My Journey as a Writer!

As I approach the seventh anniversary of changing my professional title from Landscape Architect to Author, I cannot help but reflect upon everything that has had to go into the pot to make this happen.

With a whole lot of gumption I opened my laptop, after watching Clint Eastwood on Inside the Actor’s Studio, and decided to write a book based upon the thought that it would be a lot of fun to meet him… but how would one go about meeting a celebrity? Casually?

From that one idea, Charlotte’s Restrained, The Accidental Stalker was born. And from it, the whole Accidental Series. There is a tongue-in-cheek component to the title of the series, because while I had gumption enough to write one book, I didn’t know I would write a series. That was an accident.

What happens along the way? From deciding to write your first page, to deciding to make it your career? If you are smart, you read blogs, books, listen to webinars, go to workshops, develop a community of readers/reviewers, and begin to forge your way into the world of social media.

Early November 2013, I attended PubCamp, hosted by a local Seattle business called Writer.ly. Honest to Betsy, I don’t even know how I came to know of them, but it was the best thing that happened. At the time, Charlotte’s Restrained had NOT seen a proper Development Editor, a Copy Editor, or Illustrator! I sat in a room at the Center for Urban Horticulture (where I had taken classes to become a Landscape Architect), and listened to people who were fifteen to twenty years YOUNGER than me using acronyms and jargon that made my head spin.

So, I did what any late 40-something person does. I raised my hand, and admitted to the lovely young techno wizard that I didn’t have the slightest clue what she was talking about. She politely surveyed the group of wannabe authors attending her lecture and asked who else was clueless. I think about half the people raised their hands. Phew! We set the restart button and the ball got rolling on a much more basic level.

As I drove home that night, many things registered within me. First and foremost, I had the realization that I had not used my brain that intently in years!! I also had purchased the skills of a Development Editor, committed myself to understanding all the jargon thrown at me, and to finding a toe-hold in the local writing community.

About a third of that happened. I received the input from the editor and found out that I had a lot of work to do. So, off I went to write, rewrite, edit, synthesize, revamp. My budget is tiny… so tiny you can’t see it, so I used the services of Writer.ly once again and got a great bid from a Copy Editor to clean-up my book. Let’s see, by now this is January or February of 2014. Having used up my budget, I created new cover art and prayed that it would be decent enough… which turned out NOT to be the case and I hired a professional to redo them this past summer.

Keep in mind that while all this was happening, I had already written Venus Rising. For every part of me that is a comedian in Charlotte’s Restrained, my broken self is in Venus Rising. I felt trepidatious at sending this book out into the world, but once again went through the process of Development Editor and Copy Editor. I decided that if I could handle the blows of the editors, who can be brutal, I could withstand the pressure of the personal exposure I'd feel putting Venus Rising out there.

Was everything solved? No!! In February 2014 I went to a birthday party to celebrate with several friends. Over a glass of wine, or two, perhaps three, I whined incessantly about how nothing was happening with my supposed writing career. I will freely admit that a handful got fed up enough they wandered to the bright side (the kitchen where the food and wine was). A few hung out in the dreary, ‘What am I going to do?’ environs. I received an incredible pep talk from those that remained, and what followed changed my life.

The next day I signed up with two read/review groups on Facebook. I created a website, an author’s page on Facebook, and created a Twitter account. Twitter blew my mind. So, I took baby steps, and read every ‘How to Use Twitter’ blog I could lay my eyes on. No, I do not have millions of followers. I have about 2500 and I follow about the same. The great things is these aren’t people who spam me endlessly. They are writers, readers, bloggers, artists, social media experts, all people who have the same enthusiasm for reading and writing that I do. A part of my soul gets fed by these people on a daily basis. (There is the potential side benefit that my local friendships have improved since I whine less.)

So, where do things sit? I write about five hours a day, I spend two hours on social media, I read and review an average of four books per weeks. Occasionally I get really lucky and am invited to book clubs to speak about my books. Life as a writer keeps me very busy.

 I was recently asked what I would tell high school students who are considering writing as a career what they ought to do. My first answer: develop your business skills while you are building your communication skills, while you are creating your brand. There’s more to it, but if you can get this triumvirate happening, you just might stand a chance… if you can actually write.

Thrilled to bits, I can say that in the time it takes to birth a human I have taken my books images and content to the best level that I can. I have finished a third, have started two others, and have a novella in mind for my next project. Am I millionaire? No. Not even a hundredaire. Many things make this okay, one of them is reality. Very few authors are overnight sensations, even fewer make it big, even less will do so with only a handful of books under their name.

Days pass where I type and wonder if I am doing the right thing. Fortunately I have the luxury of following this path without distraction (meaning, no other job). While I am appreciative of the absolute freedom to write, some days it can take all my strength to pep myself up to sit down and write. I know that the day swiftly approaches that I will compromise and find a part-time job doing who knows what and write part-time, but that is okay. For at long last I believe that I am finally connecting with readers. Not in the, “make a lot of money,” way, but in a much better way.

I recently received this email from a male reader, the husband of a dear friend, who turns out to be a great friend:

I don't generally read romance novels, and i don't think I'm your target demographic, but I read Charlotte's Restrained and it was funny. So, now it's Venus Rising, and I'll get to the middle one too.
As for why....that's complicated. The truth is, I almost certainly wouldn't read them if I didn't know you. But, I wouldn't read them just because I know you either, though I would probably buy them.
To me, writing is a very personal act, and to publish is to put a bit of yourself on public display. Even if your characters bear no resemblance to you, your portrayal of them reflects your views on them to some degree.
Writing a sex scene, for example, I imagine must be a bit of a negotiation with yourself about just what, exactly, you're willing to put your name to on the subject, even for a work of fiction.  Indeed, the choice to include sex scenes at all I expect was the subject of some thought. And areas where you might be less guarded perhaps reflect more of your real self (or not).
So, an author reveals herself through writing, including through the choices topics. And the question for me then becomes, is this person even remotely interesting enough for me to care, and can they write well enough to keep my attention.
Usually the answer is no. It’s hard enough to be interesting, let alone a good writer.
So, I cracked the first book strictly because I know you. I kept reading because I can hear you say "Des Bannerman" (and I imagine you mockingly frame his name in the air with your hands when you say it), and I keep reading because you can write.
I don't feel obligated to read it in the slightest, I'm not that nice. :)
And now you know your audience consists of at least one elitist snob.  :)

That is why I write! Thanks for reading!

Facebook Party

WELCOME TO THE AUTHORS CAVE HALLOWEEN BLOG TRAIN!

 

1. Include a picture or video of yourself in a Halloween costume!

That’s me, on the right! I went as a Lichtenstein painting, cause’ scary stuff scares me.

 

 

2. What is your favorite scary movie?

I both loved and was terrified by the movie, Aliens!

 

3. What scene from a book or movie scared you more than any other?

Just Killing Time by Derek Van Arman is the all-time scariest book!! Seriously. I read it in Hawaii, stayed in the condo, and locked all the doors and windows. Here is the synopsis from Goodreads, because I couldn’t open the book to find the part that scared the poop out of me.

"Serial killers have very little to do with the myths. They are your neighbors, the people you meet at the PTA. They ride the bus with you, your children play with their children, they break bread with you at family gatherings..."

That is Jack Scott speaking - the head of the federal agency that hunts the most dangerous criminal alive - the serial killer. Zak Dorani is one of them. For thirty years this brilliant, twisted murderer has been methodically seeking out his helpless victims and slaying them. Only once was he apprehended - by Jack himself - only to be set free in a mockery of justice that began a decades-long duel between a ruthless killer and the lawman who has learned to think like one. Now, as a bloody trail signals that the hunt is on again, Jack Scott needs every bit of his canny expertise and every member of his skilled team to catch a human monster with many different faces before a beautiful widow and her son with the key to the killer can become his latest prey.

 

4. If all of Stephen King's bad guys were after each other, who would win and why?

I think Annie Wilkes from Misery would win. She was a twisted, demented, determined and vengeful woman. Nothing could stop her and she stopped at nothing. I haven’t read every Stephen King novel, but I’d say, based upon stereotypes, most male villains wouldn’t have the patience to wait for an author to rewrite a manuscript.

5. Give a Treat! Provide a link to a Halloween treat or beverage recipe.

Bleeding Heart

 

Ingredients

2 ounces dry vermouth

8 ounces premium gin

Ice cubes

4 Pickled Baby Beets, each placed on a cocktail skewer

 

Directions

1. Chill 4 martini glasses in the freezer or fill with ice water and let sit until frosty, about 5 minutes (pour out water). Add the vermouth, dividing evenly; swirl to coat the glasses, then pour out. Add gin to a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake vigorously until chilled; divide among chilled glasses. Garnish each with a skewered pickled baby beet, and serve immediately.

 

6. Provide the cover, link and 2 or 3 sentence elevator pitch for the book or series (of your own) you would like to feature in your blog car.

What could go wrong celebrating New Years in the swanky, celebrity-packed, French Alps? The answer is nothing, unless your name happens to be Charlotte Young.

An entertaining series of events allow Charlotte to hunt Des down, helping her restore her reputation and uncover a misunderstanding. Fifteen minutes of fame just isn't all it’s cracked up to be!

 

 

WHOA! If you are just starting the story train, click HERE to go to read Ginger Gelsheimers introduction on Train Car #1 for the beginning.

 

"Buried Alive?"

His ugly nasally voice! Just the sound of his horrid voice caused memories to rush forward.  “Doctor Moore! The man who shot me, as you say, long ago, is somehow inside me as well. It won’t matter that what efforts the doctors went through to bring me here, to this day. Your Past Life Transplant is about to fail.”

 

Panicking, Dr. Moore grasped the fragile arm of her patient. “Who is it?”

 

“Carson Barlow, my sister Mary’s husband.” I gasped, struggling to get the words out, my insides roiled in agony. “He’s doing something. My innards burn fierce.” Sweat beaded on my brow and slid down my long drawn cheeks. Suddenly I began to shake hard enough my teeth rattled, yet I struggled on. “After she died, some folks from New Orleans, came to my door,” I drew deep breaths, gasping my words out, “said he practiced witch craft.”

 

The present world faded away as Carson Barlow’s voice bellowed, “Shut up! I’m going to kill you for this.”

 

The superior, calm voice of a Lord Hampshire interjected. “Don’t be a complete fool. If you kill her, you kill us as well and that I won’t allow to happen.”

 

“Thank you, thank you, Lord Hampshire!” I spoke aloud, having no idea how Lord Hampshire could control the repulsive Carson Barlow.
 

“Don’t thank me yet, madam.” There was a tone in Lord Hampshire’s voice that told me he was as much to be feared as the cold-blooded bastard who’d killed my sister.

 

Click HERE to continue the story with Author, Lisa Hall!

 

 

Jerry Seinfeld on Drinking Tea

 

As mentioned in previous blogs, my mother is from England. Over the many years that she has been my mother, life’s ups and downs have been met with, “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” or “I could sure use a cuppa!” You’d think that being her daughter and sharing her gene pool that I’d have some understanding of this, but I confess, I don’t.

As with such things, it must be cultural.

Today I was driving to a yoga class, and to distract myself from the impending pain, I listened to the radio. Country wasn’t doing it for me, so I turned to a local station where the DJ and crew is famous for segment called, “Second Date Update.” The way it basically works is that two people go on a date, but one or the other don’t want to go on a second date. So the reject suitor can call in, tell their story, then the DJ calls the reject-or and tries to suss out what the problem is. If all goes well, a second date occurs. If not, back to trolling bars, websites, and grocery stores in search of l’amour.

Over the years I’ve heard some doozeys. One couple made it back to the man’s apartment, and just before he disappeared into the bathroom, he told his new lady friend to pick out a movie they could watch. He had neglected to put his porn collection away. When he came out of the bathroom moments later, she was gone. The gist of it is that she wouldn’t go on a second date, even though he apologized for not considering his collection to not be something just left out in public.

Perhaps my all-time favorite has to do with a guy picked the fancy restaurant, left with girl, before paying the bill. The next day the girl goes to the same restaurant (since she’d enjoyed herself so much) only to be thrown out by the manager. When the story was repeated on air, the guy announced that his credit card was maxed out and he didn’t want to be embarrassed. What?! He  didn’t offer to pay the girl back when she paid the bill. This was possibly his only redemption! Dude! Again, no second date.

So on my way to downward dogs and warrior pose, I hear the woman recount her side of the story (I will fess up to the fact that I missed the guy calling in and offering his perspective on their date). From what I can gather, someone else approached her (perhaps at a bar), and the guy she was on a date with wanted to duke it out there! He became so enraged that HE TORE HIS SHIRT OFF! The DJ and crew were offering all kinds of feedback, “Dude, you ripped your shirt off?” or “Girl, I think you are better off without him.”

The guy interrupts, and says, “Look, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll take you out for tea.”

Everyone in the booth at the radio station starts laughing, you can barely hear the girl say, “Alright, I will go out with you for tea.”

For real? There was a moment of confused silence before everyone started bombarding the woman with questions. When it was finally quiet enough for her to be heard, she said, “I like a sense of humor, and if he is willing to go out for tea, I’ll go.”

Is this what I have not understood all this time? That a cup of tea is entertaining? The takeaway from this is, when in doubt, drink tea. Writers could use a cup of tea to resolve dialog issues, Earl Gray or PG Tips can solve political issues, while rose hips mends broken hearts. This seems very Jerry Seinfeld-ish to me.

Setting:

Jerry Seinfeld and George Constanza are in Jerry’s apartment talking about nothing. A buzzer rings. Jerry walks to the intercom and hits the talk button, Elaine announces herself, he pushes the button to allow her into the building. He resumes his conversation about nothing with George.

Elaine enters the apartment, throws her coat and purse down on the round wooden kitchen table. “The weirdest thing just happened,” she announces. Irritated confusion is painted on her face.

“What?” Jerry asks disinterestedly, while pulling a bottled water out of his fridge.

While pushing his glasses into place, George mutters under his breath, “Weird things happen to me every day, but does anyone care? No.”

Elaine stares at the ceiling for a minute, while twirling a long hank of brown curly hair. “The delivery guy comes into the office today and just as I’m signing for the package, he says, ‘You want to go out to tea with me?’ Just like that, no warning, no flirting, nothing!”

Kramer bursts into Jerry’s apartment, “Tea, what kind of tea?” His body quivers with exuberance.

“What different does it make?” Elaine throws a question back at him.

“Tea? Who asks a girl out for tea? This isn’t the 15^th century!” George asks argumentatively, throwing his hands in the air.

“Tea! That is odd.” Jerry finally adds calmly, ignoring the interruptions, seriously pondering the situation. “So, what did you say?”

Elaine took her turn throwing her arms into the air, “I told him I’d have to tell him tomorrow!” The words “of course” floated in the air.

Zeroed in on every word, Kramer stepped over the couch with his long legs, and settled himself in amongst the cushions. His face serious. “Chamomile or Earl Gray?” he asked.

All eyes turned on him. “Whadda ya mean? It tells us something about him. Earl Gray says he’s classy! Hey, what if he wants to take you to the Palm Court and the Plaza Hotel?”

“Alright, alright, don’t get carried away, he’s a delivery man for god’s sake.” Seeing Kramer has grabbed Elaine’s attention, Jerry adds a touch of sanity to the conversation.

“He could be secretly rich!” Kramer says, looking at Jerry cautiously. Seeing Jerry is returning to his conversation he bravely continues, “Well then, maybe Lady Mendl’s Tea Salon. Be careful if he orders Chamomile. Chamomile says, ‘I’m not fully committed.”

“What? How do you know about these places?” George demands, utterly baffled.

Kramer stands-up to his full six feet two inches, shoves his hands into his worn grey cotton pants. He assumes the air and tone of a sophisticated man, and rocks back on his heels. “I know things! Oh yeah, I get around!” He loses it in the end, and punches the air with his index finger, dramatically.

“Gotta go,” Elaine says, surprising three men. The three turn to face her, wearing confused expressions.

With a rising voice, Jerry demands, “Where are you going?”

“To get my hair done.”

“For what?” Jerry nasally New York twang kicks in at full tilt.

“I’m going out for tea.” A hint of a dimple betrays her cautious admission.

“Whadda ya mean, you’re going out for tea?” Jerry’s voice is full of confrontation, while George berates Kramer for putting ideas into Elaine’s head.

With that, Elaine picks her purse and coat up and flounces out the door without a backwards glance.

“Well how do you like that?” Jerry says to no one in particular.

 

Thanks for reading!

Call Me, Anytime!

(Girls Night Out - Wicked, love Elphaba)

A few days ago my daughter said, “You are to crochet, what I am to sewing, what Pigpen is to cleaning.” I laughed until I almost wet myself. She’s right!

We were sitting in the airport departure lounge, watching a woman crocheting an afghan, sweater, or some such. Her hands were a blur as she whipped her crochet hook through, around, and under the yarn! It seemed possible that before boarding was called this crochet-capable lady was going to have blankets for everyone on the plane.

To explain. I have miles of yarn. I bought junk yarn, convinced that eventually I would progress to silk and bamboo blends. I bypassed perfecting any skill and just bought beautiful yarn. Every once in a while I pull out a skein or two, crochet endlessly for a few days and then put the unfinished project in its hidey-hole.

Last summer, my fashion-capable daughter decided to learn to sew. I am a demon with the sewing machine. My seams are sown straight, folded, top stitched; after the fabric has been painstakingly matched my pleats are perfectly distributed. Naturally she asked me to teach her. I was ecstatic. I envisioned hours of sewing together, prom dresses constructed, dollars saved, original designs!

She bought all she’d need to sew a beautiful yet simple summer dress. After a few hours of lip biting, she completed a complicated bodice pleats, then looked at me, face flushed, sweat on her upper lip, and announced, “I hate this.”

“I know honey. I could tell you weren’t having any fun.”

“But I want to be good at it.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Want me to finish it?”

Her eyes sparkled, “Would you? Please, yes, that would be great!”

I promptly took the heap of materials, put it in a hidey-hole, then took her out for frozen yogurt. My plan was to finish it in secret, present it to her, she’d get to wear it without any negative feelings. So… a few days ago I found the bag of materials, fitted the dress on her, and well, she’s grown! Those bodice pleats! They are our undoing.

We laughed.

Time goes way too fast to worry about you what cannot do. Focus on what you can. My daughter makes great macaroons.

What do you do best? What do you enjoy? I love to write (obviously), read (also obvious), but more than anything, I love human interaction. So, I invite you to contact me via this blog, on Twitter or Facebook. Maybe together we can broaden our horizons! I know a lot about plants (I am a Landscape Architect), the aforementioned sewing, how to travel on a shoe-string budget, many things. I’ll warn you up front, I know nothing about Physics. That’s my husband’s department.

Curious where authors find their muse?

How Charlotte’s Restrained came to be…

Late in the summer of 2008 my husband and I were watching an episode of Inside the Actors Studio. Host James Lipton was interviewing Clint Eastwood. This multi-talented man fascinated us. After the interview was over, we chatted about how amazing it would be to invite him over for dinner and get to know him. The obvious problem: how to contact Clint Eastwood? Next obvious problem: if we could call him on the phone, what would compel him to want to have dinner with complete strangers? Sidestepping these crucial issues, it didn’t take long for the plan to evolve. It also didn’t take long to realize that it would be preferable to go to his house for dinner. After all, he lived in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California and likely had a better cook than me.

At the same time, I spent the first week my kids were back in school perfecting my domestic goddess-ness and realized I was as good at it as I wanted to get. There was something else I wanted to do more – write. I fired up my laptop and started writing. I didn’t have a strategy, hadn’t jotted down an outline or done any research. I also had zero contacts and resources. All I had was plain old-fashion gumption. Honest to Betsy, it never occurred to me that I couldn’t write a book.

It was also completely obvious to me to borrow from reality and write a book about encountering a long admired celebrity. Mirroring real life, there would have to be plenty of twists and turns. However, in the fantasy world, we can make incredible things happen. I needed people, loads of interesting and entertaining people who could make such a feat happen!

Let’s face it, we want it all. We want romance. We want to be a part of a group of friends who grew up and grow old together. We want to travel. We want to eat good food and drink great wine. We want to wear fabulous clothes! So, how to get it all in one book?

Charlotte, her BFF’s, a celebrity, and a handsome Irishman!

I like to think of myself as mostly normal, so I feel comfortable representing all women, when I say that we know we’ve found a real friend when we don’t worry about the state of our house when they stop by. We are really good friends if we’ll change our clothes in front of each other. We know we are Besties if when we really mess up, the other person may be really angry, but needs our own special brand of crazy in order to feel like life is do-able. Oh! And the most important factor: laughter. All of us want someone we can belly laugh with.

Charlotte, Hillary, Tiziana, Kathleen and Marian are such a village. These five women have history, have bled for each other, talked each other in and out of bad and good situations. Let each other be real. Fortunately for us these vivacious women are scattered around the globe, giving us the opportunity to travel to exciting places, where they meet up, drink up, and get into a little trouble.

We also have Des Bannerman, the King of Romantic Comedies in Charlotte’s Restrained. Des Bannerman is my vision of a mega star. A decade into his career he is riding the wave of major-motion picture success. He’s the go to man for chick flicks. Des Bannerman started out with a really big dream, but has become a little jaded by all the glitz and glory, and lives a life surrounded by people he trusts, but doesn’t really get to meet new people, because how does he meet them and who can he trust?

Pivotal to the story, is Liam Molloy, the Irishman who steals Charlotte’s heart. Liam has many things going for him; he’s gorgeous (of course), he’s the source of envy (providing many opportunities for the ladies to banter about men and “love”), and he has a great sense of humor. To be honest, I borrowed from reality again, the banter between Charlotte and Liam is much like mine and my husbands.

What makes a compelling story?

Beneath it all, I believe that we thrive when we know we are a part of a village. No one person can give us everything we need, BUT when we have a village we have everything! Friends, lovers, pets, children, frenemies, co-workers, all provide us with opportunities to grow and love. The most successful tales take place in the village concept.

To make the village happen in Charlotte’s Restrained, we are blessed with the opportunity to travel to London, Rome, New York, Dublin, and Saint Tropez. Amongst the many benefits of all this travel is that we get to see and feel the tempo of life in different parts of the world – we eat and drink foods that may be new and unique, we walk down streets ladened with history and float on oceans that are azure blue.

Me!

I love getting to know authors, most of those that I’ve reached out to have been amazingly accessible and supportive. You can learn as much about me as you can stomach at www.celiakennedy.weebly.com or on Twitter (@KennedyCelia), Facebook (Celia Kennedy, Author). On my website there are links to my blog WomanReinventsSelf. That’s where you read the good, the bad and the ugly!

If you look for me on Pinterest (http://www.pinterest.com/celiakennedy) you will find boards that I have created for Charlotte’s Restrained, Venus Rising, and my current work-in-progress, Kathleen’s Undressed (a sequel to Charlotte’s Restrained).

The View From Where I Sit

I have sat in this chair before. The one where the view from where I sit seems more compelling than the one I’ve stared at for so long. Today I sit at the worn wooden table in my rented apartment, where I can look down the hallway, through the corbelled arch of this 1920’s building, and out the transom window to the blue sky beyond. I have been in Montreal for eight weeks and I still haven’t figured out the metric system. It will be 29 degrees Celsius today. I’m not sure what that is in Fahrenheit, all I know is that it will be hot!

As an exchange student in 1995, I sat on a bus, staring out the windows, absorbing the verdant green hills that rolled past and the honey colored stone buildings of small villages I could see in the distant landscape of rural England. I had travelled from Brighton to Edinburgh, from Liverpool to Lowestoft, and though I was about to head to Europe for several months, I already knew I didn’t want to go home to all that was familiar. Now, after eight weeks in Montreal, I feel that same sense confusion. A foot in both worlds. The one that is known, and the one that has yet to be explored.

Years ago I recognized myself for who I am. A vagabond, a wandering spirit, an adventurer, an explorer. I disguise myself regularly in the clothes of someone else. Mother, PTA President, gardener. I only expose this wandering spirit to my husband, because in this we are kindred spirits. We want to go everywhere, live in all kinds of spaces and places, eat strange foods, try new things. It never fails to amuse me that while I moved every two years of my life, my husband lived in the same house for the majority of his life. Yet, we have this mutual need. We also have the mutual desire to provide a stable environment for our children to grow up in.

Hence the disguise.

Is this a new revelation? No. I have parents, siblings, friends who demanded that we return before we left on this adventure. One child is filled with wanderlust, the other says, “No! I want to go home. I want to stay there, FOREVER!” Am I confused? Yes!

Recently, yesterday actually, a friend created a Facebook Page where a bunch of us who worked together back in the late 1980’s, started sharing details of our lives. Many were from Europe and going to work was akin to landing on foreign soil daily. In reading their updates it was interesting to see that a handful had children and had continued to move all over the world. It’s been on my mind quite a bit this trip that whether we move or stay, what we have to do differently is help our children understand us better. I think we have worn our disguise long enough.

I know that all of this is why I write what I write. It isn’t accidental that the books I have written, and those still waiting their turn to make it to digital format, take place all over the world. As natural as it is for others to want a homestead, a place where grandchildren will come to visit, I need to see the world, to have minimal restraints. This is witnessed so perfectly in a recent book review when the individual wrote, “the research is sound and there was enough of London in it to make me believe that the writer had been there.” I want to tell her, “I have! I have! Many times.”

One form of vicarious travelling that I do is in forming connections with authors around the globe. We are able to relate and support each other in ways never experienced before. While we do not sit in salons in Paris or London, we Skype, chat, tweet, and post. It is a gratifying community to belong to. For me it goes far beyond the writer’s relationship of promotion and research. It’s the knowledge that we dreamers can dream alongside someone else.

As there are armchair quarterbacks, there are keyboard tapping travelers.

 

Charlotte Restrained Travels the World via Fiction Addiction!

 

Years ago, when I was studying Landscape Architecture, and was just about to give a presentation to professors, students and invited professionals on a project that was months in the making, I would tell myself, “It’ll be over in two hours, just relax.” This was after countless hours of research, miles of concept doodles on bum wad (what we called trace paper), and then days and days spent crafting fluffy and technical design drawings.

Many of these same skills have come to bear as an author; during the writing process and now as I promote Charlotte’s Restrained and Venus Rising. I have been asked several times as we prepared for the book tour which three words I would use to describe myself, my answer: curious, perseverant, witty. From beginning to end, the world of authorship is a tough row to hoe (or tough road to hold). It twists, turns, and meanders, and there is no map to follow!

Back in February, with two completed books and three partially written ones under my belt, I was ready to throw in the towel. Ready to take a paying job where I could show up, complete a set list of requirements, pack up my bag, and go home. Then three remarkable things happened.

I went out with a bunch of friends, most of whom are embarking on new careers, and we brainstormed with wine in hand. The ladies convinced me to look for different in-roads.

I was already reading books and writing reviews, so I went in search of book review services where I could connect with fellow authors. Immediately after signing up, I began receiving ten or more requests for book reviews per day. When the list hit eighty seven books, I had to put the brakes on. I am happily plugging away at the list, thrilled to be supporting new authors such as myself.

The third event was creating an account on Twitter. Though I worked at Microsoft as a software tester years ago, I am not a technology junkie, so this was a big step. I was going to have to figure out Twitter, try to find people to follow, forge connections, and then… and only then, start to promote my work.

 

What I had told myself years before as a Landscape Architecture student has changed, the big reveal won't be over in a few hours. Writing and promoting my work and those authors I respect will occupy most of my days.

At this point in the game I have read many blogs on Twitter Etiquette, writing, publishing, social media, and self-promotion. There are so many people in the Twittersphere who’ve unknowingly helped me gain confidence through their generous sharing of knowledge. The path that was once full of twists and turns now seems a little less circuitous, and so I thank you sincerely.

To all of you who have supported me, in person and online, I am forever in your debt.

I invite you to participate in the fabulous book tour that Fiction Addiction has organized for me. We’ve made it super easy, all you need to do is click here or go to my website. You will find links to interviews, reviews by respected reviewers, and Giveaways!

As always, thank you for reading!