Joanne---Dave Barry and Valentine's Day

Hi Everyone,
Please share a chuckle with me.
For this month, I'm sharing Dave Barry's brief opinion on Valentine's Day. Enjoy!


WHAT WOMEN WANT: To be loved, to be listened to, to be desired, to be respected, to be needed, to be trusted, and sometimes, just to be held.

WHAT MEN WANT: Tickets for the World Series

Me again: OK, is he right? :)

Countdown to Valentine's Day

It's in full swing. It being the proliferation of advertising for the lover's holiday.

Stores are full of hearts and chocolates and sexy red lingerie. The internet is popping up ads for gift ideas. Notably, most of the ads are gifts for women. I even saw an ad for Love Heels. Cute twist on love heals. 

Of course, Valentine's Day is a holiday for the ladies. Right? 

When I was younger and working in an office, I dreaded Valentine's Day. Oh the pressure! Didn't boyfriends know they should send flowers to the office so you wouldn't appear to be among the have-nots? 

And when I wasn't dating anyone, I hated restaurants were so crowded with lovebirds; the wait for a table was overlong. Once seated, couples surrounded you, reminding you of what you lacked. 

Don't get me wrong. During February, my house is decorated with hearts. A heart-shaped candle sits on the shelf over my desk. Heart clings cover the window. Tiny glass hearts fill a clear vase. And I enjoy using heart-shaped baking pans and a serving dish. 

I'm older now. Settled in a loving marriage. Now the holiday is about spending private time with my personal hero. 

What is your take on the Valentine's Day holiday?

~ Dawn Marie Hamilton

My Confession ( and it's a doozy)

Ladies, I have a confession to make. One I thought I’d never make. It’s hard to admit too because I once was one of those. You know the type, one of the people who looked down upon someone with my affliction. In fact, going back to my very first blog, I bragged I’d never be like that, but you see I am.

Yes, I’m an addict. I used to be only guilty of now and then partaking, a few times a month, maybe once a week, but not that much, not really. Maybe it was a bit of a hobby, not an addiction, besides it didn’t cost me too much either. But now, I can hardly get out of bed without indulging…and sometimes I don’t even bother getting out of bed.

You guessed it. I am now sleeping with the laptop by my bed. Who knows when I might get the urge to change a plot twist, or develop a clever secondary character? Maybe I need to check my email to see if a certain publisher has emailed me back or I need to vote on a friend’s book cover. I carry my addiction with me everywhere. Only a few days ago I managed to edit three chapters while having my roots done.

Sometimes I try to get around things like cleaning, cooking, even exercising to find more time to write. Unfortunately, I have a day job that demands I show up five days out of seven. I have managed to write at work on break, during lunch, even after work because it is so quiet there after everyone goes home. Okay, I will admit when I’ve had a pressing deadline I’ve written on work hours glad that all my fellow workers need reading glasses to read what I am typing in 8 count font and glad that they’re vain enough not to wear them.

Writing has taken over my life. My thoughts dwell on how to promote CUB IN BLUE, my newest book, who to submit pitches to, and agents. Day trips and vacations center around writing workshops and conferences. Don’t get me started on the money I’ve spent.

As for my love life, I am very lucky to have a fiancé who entertains himself while I type. He smiles indulgently at me above his book. He doesn’t call me an addict, or a fool, or tell me I am wasting my time. Instead he tells me I am the best writer he knows. (Everyone should “ahh” about now.)

So yes ladies, I have only one more thing to say. My name is Morgan…and I am a writer.

How about you? Tell me your stories of obsession and addiction.

Confusion can be a Good Thing

As we age, some of us become more confused. Medical experts say this is a natural part of the aging process and NOT early signs of Alzheimer's. Mercy, I hope they're right.

I've long held that confusion is the sign of a busy mind. Our neurons and synapses are working overtime on problems, ideas, tasks and dreams. I know mine is. Since I've started writing full time, it's as if the story lines and characters won't let me alone. I read a small article in the paper and I think wouldn't that make a great story. I hear a snippet of a newscast and my mind is twisting the news into a "what-if" situation. I'm nearing the point where I wish there was an off switch.

In the past 19 months, I've written 3 books and 2 novellas. One book, Storm's Interlude, is out. Another, Mona Lisa's Room, is under contract and in the galley stage. The third, Rain is a Love Song, is being emailed by my agent this week to an editor who's been asking for it (No, I'm not that great of a writer editors are clamoring for my work, Rain is merely book two of a series). As for the novellas, I'm waiting on a release date for Those Violet Eyes. The second, Tumbleweed Letters, is with an editor. Let the nail-biting begin.

So is it any wonder when I wrote the synopsis for Tumbleweed Letters that I used the wrong heroine's name? That's normal, right? RIGHT??? Imagine my embarrassment when my agent emailed asking why I sent her a synopsis about Evie when the character in the manuscript was Sophie. Ah......

At that point I decided I needed a few weeks away from writing. My brain needs to rest and recycle.

Ben woke me in the middle of the night, which might be all well and good, but my husband's name is Calvin. Ben is a World War II soldier. "Doll," he whispered in my ear, his breath fluttering those dastardly white hairs growing at my temple. "When are you going to write about my Pearl? You see, Pearl and me have something special going on." I glared at him, replying that I had some serious sleep going on before he woke me. He extended his hands in that universal helpless gesture, shrugged and smiled, his deep dimples drawing my attention. Darn, he just had to have dimples. I told him he'd have to wait a couple weeks. And he laughed, deep, rich, sexy--and I sighed. I think he knows I'm a sucker for dimples and deep laughter. Darn him, anyhow.

Can't a confused mind catch a break?

Storm's Interlude available at The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.

Wow, I absolutely loved Storm's Interlude! If I ever thought to write a romance book, I'd only hope that this would be my style of writing. Storm's Interlude has sweet romance, heartfelt feelings, a whole lot of sexual tension, and its own share of on-edge suspense. -- Night Owl Reviews

Release date to be announced by The Wild Rose Press --

Evie Caldwell hates her life. Five years ago, she gave up college and her dream of teaching to care for her ailing mother. Now, she’s trapped taking care of her worthless brother and the family ranch. Waiting tables to earn her way out of Texas, the last thing she wants is a muscleman with a macho Marine attitude complicating her life. But, oh, how that man makes her insides melt.

Wounded vet Win Fairchild returns to Texas to heal, find a piece of his soul, and open a ranch for amputee children. Finding someone to love is not on his agenda. But when he starts work at the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk, a spitfire with violet eyes and a major attitude instantly captures his heart.

Evie just wants to escape, but now that Win knows what he wants, can he convince Evie to stay in Texas—and his bed?

Leap Year

There is a saying to help school children remember how many days are in the different months.

Thirty days hath September, April, June and November; February has twenty eight alone All the rest have thirty-one Except in Leap Year, that's the time When February's Days are twenty-nine.

2012 is a Leap Year, which means this month has 29 days. It also means on February 29th ladies can ask men to marry them, instead of the other way around. I'm supposing that meant something back in the days before equal rights. Although, I've noticed that some traditional things stay traditional. Weddings, fashion, and etiquette seem to be the last bastions of old-fashioned tradition. Even romance novels no longer have damsels in distress. Now they are kickbutt heroines able to not only save themselves, but the hero too.

Back to Leap Year and that women asking thing. According to www.urbanlegends.about.com In keeping with the theme of nature gone awry, a whimsical tradition dating back at least four centuries (and still trotted out at four-year intervals by newspaper feature writers) holds that leap years confer upon women the "privilege" of proposing marriage to men instead of the other way around. The convention was (in literature, if not in reality) that any man who refused such a proposal owed his spurned suitor a silk gown and a kiss — provided she was wearing a red petticoat at the moment she popped the question.

So we'll add an extra day to 2012, babies born on the 29th will have a birthday only every four years, and ladies will need to get out that red petticoat to ask the man of their hearts that eternal question. Will you marry me?

Jill James

Plotting with Ripples and Waves

I'm not a psychotherapist in any way. I'm more of an observer and thinker. A recent post from Alicia Rasley at Edittorrent got me thinking about a theory I cooked up for myself to explain  the impact of change in my life.

I call it The Ripple Effect.

The Little Version

Visualize a pebble dropped in still water. Plip. Ripples radiate out from the strike zone. Eventually the ripples dissipate and the water smooths out.

Small change, small impact.

The Big Version

Visualize a big granite boulder dropped in still water. SPLOOSH! A coronet rises around the strike zone. Big waves roll over the water's surface. A long time goes by before the water settles.

Big change, big impact.

The Messy Version

Visualize both the pebble and the boulder dropped into the water at the same time. Plip. SPLOOSH! Ripples and waves spread in all directions. Crests and troughs are amplified and diminished.

That's real life. Sigh.

The Story Version

How useful is my Ripple Effect theory?

For me, the natural extension of observing and thinking is writing. So I use my theory to plot stories. Here's how.

The initial conflict in a book is the first pebble thrown in the still waters of a character's ordinary life. It's not necessarily a huge conflict, but it doesn't go unnoticed.

Before the story waters have stilled, toss in a stone. What is the interplay of this slightly larger conflict with the first conflict? How does it cross and alter the first conflict?

Before the story waters have stilled, toss in more pebbles and larger stones.

Watch for unexpected collisions in the intersection of waves and ripples, dips and troughs. Watch how the crest of a wave is increased by a ripple. Watch how the dip of a ripple diminishes the crest of wave.

Surprise your characters and your reader, and maybe yourself, with unusual results of  the intersecting conflicts--the Ripple Effect.

Let the story waters still. Just a bit. Let your reader catch her breath.

In goes the boulder.

SPLOOSH!!!

Chaos. Conflict. Bwahahaha!

Then comes a rainstorm. Hundreds of thousands of drops fall. All the waves and ripples are beaten down. Conflicts are resolved. Order and peace return. The story waters return to a smooth glassy surface.

So what do you think? Does The Ripple Effect appeal to you?

© Joan Leacott 2012, x-posted at Joan's blog

What is fear?

I recently wrote a blog post titled "Conquering your fears", in that post, I focused on a fear that I've had for years.  Progressively, over the last few years, it seems to have worsened.  Almost to a paralyzing degree.  And only when there was no other option, did I face my fear, and as I explained in the post, I may not have conquered it, but I am definitely not afraid to charge it...head on!

After that post, I began discussing fears with some of my friends, and it made me remember the initial fears I had with my writing:
-feared others to reading it (critique it)
-feared publishers/agents rejecting it

I remember when I first read the rules for PRO membership.  I had to send in a manuscript or rejection letter.  That felt so humiliating to send in a rejection letter.  But, it seemed even more humiliating to send in the manuscript that was rejected.

To this day, I still have the slightest amount of anxiety every time I receive a critique or send a query letter.

But, it isn't the fear of not receiving a contract or seeing strikeouts from critique partners.  No, it's this indescribable sense of maybe the story isn't done.  Could I tell more?  Should I tell more?  Would that just be over-telling the story?

I'm not a plotter.  I'm a pantser.  I write until my characters stop talking, but is that it?  Should I keep writing?  Should I keep writing until I hit that 100,000 word count?

Ughh!!! What is it about fear?  Does it just continue to reshape or does it ever go away?

What do you fear?