If I’d kept a diary for a few days like this, it would’ve looked much like this:

 

It’s about mid-afternoon and I’m so excited I can hardly breathe! Thank goodness I didn’t have to write a blog last night because I can’t focus on one thing at a time. My suitcase still has to be packed. I still have to buy groceries. I need to clean the house. I need to get at least three loads of laundry finished. I mentally ticked everything off my list throughout the day. Not to mention that Thursday, I was about to embark on my first journey as a writer. Physical journey, I suppose.

I was going to a conference!

Every time I thought about it, I was filled with excitement just bubbling over the edge and spilling out around me. I couldn’t wait until Thursday! It was going to be SO much fun!

Thursday, April 24:

Mildly in a panic when I realize I’m actually going to a conference. For writers. Going to a conference for writers. Okay. Breathe in through the nose. Breathe out through the mouth. Breathe in through the nose… Hell, it’s not working.

I’m halfway home. It’s not even noon

“Ringadingding. Ringadingding. B###* Muth*$^&&$## F*## &$@#  @$$*(@&!.” 

WTH is that?

Crap. The cell phone.

I speed through a light, reach for the phone. Please. Please. Please let this be Hellion saying that the conference is cancelled and I’m getting my money back for being an idiot and saying I was going.

Nope. Dad.

You still coming home on Sunday?
*hard swallow* Yup.
Good.
Click.

Lovely conversationalist.

I arrive home, still trying to remember how to breathe. It won’t be that bad, I tell myself. Hellion will be there. She will be your bumper. She will talk to everyone and no one will notice you don’t know how to.

Except we’re taking separate workshops. Crapola.

I look at the clock. Look out the door. Hellion is tearing around the corner like the hounds of hell are after her.

Here goes nothing.

Friday, April 25 @ 10:00am

I feel much calmer now. We arrived at the hotel without me accidentally making a jump for it. Hellion and I parted ways at the airport last night, me off with a girlfriend to the conference hotel (eek!) and Hellion off with our crit partner, Dee. I’m all alone right now, trying to remember to breathe. My fingers are numb. Probably from the two Venti Starbucks I just had. I have a baby shower to decorate for first before I make my decent into my very own personal hell complete with perfect strangers talking to me. 

This gives me the cold sweats. 

I’m off to inhale some helium. This might help calm me down.

Friday, April 25 @ 12:20pm

Oh hell. Oh hell. Oh hell.

There are people downstairs registering!

Surely it can’t be too late for me to tuck my tail and run the other direction is it?

I contemplate this as I ride the elevator back up to the room. Not only do I have cold feet. I’m rather cold all over. Maybe I’m coming down with something that will allow me to stay in the room all weekend and hide.

All is quiet in the hall as I sneak back into the room, undetected. 

Wait. It that my cell phone flashing? I gingerly walk towards it, and pick it up like it might burn my hand with acid.

One missed call.

Hellion.

I step away from the phone and it rings. Okay, I went pretty far away from it. I take a deep breath, feeling rather sick to my stomach. I call her back.

We’re here. Are you coming down?

*deep breath* Would this be the moment to say no? That would mean I didn’t bring my big girl panties and everyone knows ninja’s always wear their big girl panties in case they are stuck in an elevator during a fire alarm.

 

Friday, April 25 @ 2:30pm

Crossover Fiction.

You can do this. This is your genre. This is the reason you came here you nincompoop. Just walk into the room.

Except I have to sit in the front because I’m blinder than a bat at noon

Crap.

I put my head down and sit in the front. My awkward long legs almost reach out into the middle of the aisle. I quickly fold them back, wrap around style like yoga. The workshop instructor smiles and I flash my best smile except my inner Chandler rears his ugly head and it’s more like a smirk with a bit of torture lips thrown in, probably some crazy eyes. She shrank back.

Yup, me at my finest.

I sit there quietly, head down, notebook ready. Just let me get through this. Just let me get through this.

She’s introduced and I notice all the books on her table. Examples, she calls them. Heaven, I silently refer to them. All of them authors I love and adore and instantly I feel much better. I feel at home with my inner reader. And as long as I stayed one with the reader, I was going to be okay.

I even managed to jot a few notes about my para series.

Thank goodness for small favors.

***

The Chicago Spring Fling 2008 was my first conference. This was the first opportunity I had to actually go out and feel like I was a writer. I’ve got to tell you that I felt anything but a writer when I first arrived. It’s easy to pretend in your mind that you can accomplish nearly anything, including 100k before September 01, but when you step into the world of actual published writers, your sense of accomplishment dwindles, at least for me. I was a nervous wreck.

If any of you have met me in real life, I either tend to babble a lot when I’m nervous or I’m extremely withdrawn. I babbled all the way from the airport to the hotel and all night, almost until 2am. Babbling, for some reason, is my natural defense against an extreme case of nerves. I didn’t know anyone but Hellion and Dee

Oh boy. I had no idea what I was in for.

Several months ago, Hellion and I were emailing an author by the name of Leslie Langtry who innocently admitted that she was going to be at the Spring Fling. Here is where I’m going to admit that I might have made my decision to go a little easier at the time. I got to see people I had been missing for a while and I get to meet an author who’s book made me snort aloud with laughter? Sign me up. 

Wrong! *mental head smack* Someone needs to take my decision making abilities away from me!

I make it back downstairs from the baby shower and I see Hellion in her flaming red hair wearing all black (She knows how to represent for the babes, because I was wearing all black too) and I see another redhead. Instantly, all conversation flows to a halt.

Leslie Langtry in the house!

We hug and make plans for drinks and our workshops are starting, so Hellion and I steer away from each other. Crossover fiction for me. I’m feeling rather sick at this point. Being on my own. Pretending to be a writer. Nothing more dangerous than that combination (Other than me, a bottle of Tequila and a dry bar).

 

I learned a lot in that first workshop. Went to a Q&A with three of the headlining authors, Christie Ridgway, Debbie Macomber and Eloisa James. I’ve always loved to listen to other people talk about their lives. Even writing. This was a good thing for me. I loosened up a bit. Headed upstairs to chill and then headed back down for another course on how to write romance (which I needed in a bad way- and learned a lot about pitching – the six minute synopsis of your book that will sell you to an agent- and how to submit.) In the process, unfortunately, the subject of what is wrong in romance. What is written versus what is factual. And one of the things that came up was “Does anyone really end up with the guy who just pissed them off to no end at first sight?”  And I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. I put my head down, but I didn’t do it quick enough. Singled out. And it was all I could do to choke out. “NO! I don’t want to share!”

 

Thank god I wasn’t pitching this past weekend.

 

After that, it was the chocolate reception. And then it was night time. The first day was done and over. I survived.

 

I think the best thing for me this past weekend was the speeches. All the keynote speeches I sat in on inspired me to be a better writer. That’s it. I said it. A writer. When you read a book, these authors suck you into their world. They know how to draw you in and for them to share that with you is one of the most awe-inspiring moments I’ve ever had as I’ve walked this path. They inspire me to go out there and write something more visual, filled with imagery that as you read it, you feel like you’re there. You can smell the clover in June and the fallen leaves in October. That’s who I want to be when I grow up.

 

An author.

 

Alright, I have a lot more where that came from, but I’ll save it for next week. I just wanted to give you a little of the conference. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done in my life. If you ever have a chance to go to the Chicago Spring Fling, do it. You won’t be disappointed.

 

When do you feel most inspired? Ever attended a speech or a workshop or a conference? What kind of impact did it have on you? And as readers, what draws you into a book?

Hi, this blog is being sent to you via hologram because I am currently in Chicago and won’t even be here to comment. What’s doubly cool about this blog is that it’s working in tandem with Lindsey’s blog over at the Romance Vagabonds.

 

My part of the project is: Getting Famous Before You’re Dead. Or otherwise called, “The Publishers Haven’t Realized What a Supercool Writer Pirate I Am So How Can I Still See My Name In The Big Lights”?

 

Back when I started writing, like fifteen years ago or so, I thought it’d be a lot easier to get published. I mean, I knew I was talented and stuff; and people liked my writing—so really, I was going to go to college, write my Great American Novel while getting all that experience, then voila! I’d be published by the time I was 22. 25 at the latest.

 

Clearly this didn’t happen, and it’s still not, so I’ve had to find new and creative ways to put my name in the big lights. I’ve managed this with some small success. How? I wrote articles for my local chapter. I recommend submitting to your local RWA chapters, and here’s why: there’s not really a rejection process. Your local RWA chapter is probably pretty desperate for quality (or even semi-quality) articles about writing, the writer’s life, getting published, getting rejected…whatever.

 

How do I know? Because my local RWA chapter was. I remember attending the Chapter meetings and the newsletter editor would beg for articles, and I even sent one or two articles. They were rejected. (Yeah, I know I said there was no rejection process, but I lied.) After the second rejection, I gave up article writing. Clearly it was not my forte.

 

Then some stuff happened.

 

I stopped going to the local chapter meetings (they were 2 hours away). I wrote more. I had a new way-awesome critique group and a new blog group. I was busy; and I was having a blast with the blogs. Instant gratification. I had fans who’d purposely read my blogs. I felt I had to come up with things actually worth reading on a regular basis; things I knew something about. It was work, but fun work. Then last May, I wrote the Holy Grail of all Blogs: Everything I Ever Learned About Writing I Learned From Captain Jack Sparrow.

 

This is what would be termed: a turning point.

 

I blogged it; and I got lots of positive feedback on it. I did a little dance. I thought nothing more of it—because hey, I was already successful in my own mind here, though admittedly I begged all my friends and acquaintances to read it because I was so proud of it. However, when my Critique Partner read it, she said, “This sounds like a writing article! Have you submitted this to the newsletter?” To which I reminded Dee, I wasn’t part of the chapter anymore. Dee said, “I’ll talk to her.” And she emailed the newsletter editor who, sure enough, for digging for articles. Dee helped me polish the blog into more of an article-like format. I sent it off, and rest they say, is history.

 

So…here’s what I learned about writing a successful article:

 

1.)  Be original in your unoriginality. Technically, you’re not going to be sharing anything the rest of us don’t already know in some form or another, so you need to present it in an original way. Your voice and your take on original material are what’s going to make it stand out.

2.)  Be pithy. Articles should only be 1-2 pages long, so don’t pick a topic so broad that you can’t be brief and clever about it.

3.)  Be memorable. Chapter newsletters have about 4-6 articles per newsletter; and the editors churn one out each month. It’s rather hard to be memorable, technically, but try. I can assure you that a Plain Jane article about grammar is going to have less effect on your audience if it sounds like something you turned in for a school assignment than if you wrote a grammar article that was channeling Yoda and The Force.

4.)  Be brief. Again, try to keep these things to a 1000-words or under. We’re busy; we have short attention spans unless you’re inserting pictures of Johnny Depp in between the paragraphs.

5.)  Have something to say. This is where I went wrong the first few times. I remember asking the editor, “What kind of articles are you looking for?” and she said, “I don’t know. Conflict would be good” and I went off to write something about conflict. Only I don’t know how to write something informative about conflict—let alone be pithy about it. Worse, I just read something about conflict and tried to regurgitate it—and it read like it’d been regurgitated all right. It was not pretty. This is called trying to write to market only, and this is why people fail when they do it. When you write to market, pick a topic you know—like I did with Jack Sparrow. If there is a topic I know forwards and backwards, Jack Sparrow is it.

 

Clearly the first four suggestions are variants of the same; and the fifth suggestion is the most important one of all. Not everyone can do pithy; and I’ve read plenty of articles where the writer had something to say—and said it memorably and brilliantly—but wasn’t necessarily amusing. And keep in mind, with all rules about anything, it’s more like guidelines anyway.

 

So what about you? The best articles you’ve read about writing—what was so great about them? What is there a dearth of articles in? And what articles are you sick of reading about? And be sure to go to the Romance Vagabonds and read Lindsey’s article about writing articles and resources for creating them.

 

Well, it’s nearly midnight on Sunday night, I just finished about seven hours of homework and now I have to come up with a blog.  What to do, what to do?  *looks around living room for inspiration*  I got nothing.  Except that my living room is a total mess.  Now I’m tired and depressed.

 

I’ll have to revert to time travel.  Stay with me here.  This weekend I hopped in my little white, two-seater time machine (equipped with a newly rebuilt transmission *sigh*) and went back in time to the American Revolution.  Translated, I visited Colonial Williamsburg.  I love this place.  It’s gorgeous, beautifully preserved and awe inspiring when you understand the world changing events that happened in those homes, taverns and streets.

 

My first trip back in time happened last summer, during a heat wave, with the Captain and Vixen Tiff.  We had a blast, admired the scenery (ahem) and sweated a lot.  This time was the same in that I sweated (sweat?) my arse off and admired the scenery (he was on a horse!) but the difference was experiencing it with my daughter.  We watched a series of scenes meant to show the struggle of the people to choose sides, the inevitability of the war, the suffering that resulted from choices in some cases forced upon people, and the triumph of winning independence.  That last was accompanied by cannon fire and my ears are still ringing.

 

What made this all more powerful was explaining it to Isabelle.  And in doing so, realizing how hard it must have been when you didn’t know the outcome.  It was easy for us to join in with the crowd cheering for revolution, but we know how it ended.  Sort of like watching poker on tv and yelling for the guy to go all in.  It’s easy to say do it when you can see everyone else’s cards.

 

So, since I should probably tie this into writing, for those writing history, do you research more than facts, societal norms, and cravats?  Do you do your best to understand how your characters would have felt and thought at that time?  Is it hard to forget all that you know and put yourself in that place? 

 

And on a personal note, do you think I should use this picture of Isabelle, sitting next to Mrs. Arianna Randolph, as my Christmas card this year? That mopcap was so cute!

Bo’sun merrily basked in the historical ambiance of Colonial Williamsburg yesterday, walked a thousand miles, and collapsed. (I got an excited text message that Jack–our beautiful Tavern host–was riding a horse; though I had my ringer and stuff off, so I was very confused when i was waiting for my agent pitch and my bag started ringing like a terrorist bomb. Amish.)

Anyway, clearly, the Bo’sun had a great time; and we here in Chicago had a marvelous, marvelous, marvelous time. I got to meet Irish and Vagi and Kim, as well as the ever-so-courtly Eloisa James and my twin-at-birth Leslie Langtry, whom I stalked the entire conference. (We’ll rave more and more about all this later.)

Now it’s time to fly back home, and clearly we were unprepared about how much stuff you actually GOT at a conference for free. We actually got a FREE Hardback of Debbie Macomber’s new book, as well as Eloisa’s newest book. In pure Scarlet O’Hara fashion, I had like four bags: a suitcase, the “matching bag”, my computer case, and my “purse bag”. In my defense it was the SMALL suitcase, but…never mind.

Sin brought ONE small suitcase and all her worldly belongings, as well as her computer case. That’s it. Ninjas are so efficient. However, she’s finding it difficult to pack all her books. Never mind what we’ll need in the way of lugging it around once we get traveling again. So this week, I’m posting our luggage boys.

We’ll be sure to tip them in a big, big, BIG way. Here’s HELLION’S Luggage Boy…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And Sin’s Luggage Boy (she’s traveling at a different time) is:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Terri is now hijacking this post…

I’ve been sitting chest down on my living room floor writing a Hottie blog for today and imagine my surprise when I see the Captain is much quicker.  Yes, I trudged around Colonial Williamsburg all day yesterday and I gave out before 10pm last night, the though of Hotties not entering my mind.  Incredible but true.  But since I’ve spent some time putting it together, I wanted to add in a preview of what’s in store for May.

May is coming up quick and we’re happy to say we have more great guest authors coming your way.  Mark your calendar for May 6^th when we bring Colette Gale on board.  Ms. Gale is an Erotica Novelist.  Her book Unmasqued told the story of the Phantom of the Opera in a way never seen before.  Her May release, Master, is a retelling of the story of The Count of Monte Cristo and promises to be just as compelling and sensual as Unmasqued.

 

Coming up May 14^th, we have Harlequin Mills & Boon author Annie West.  Hailing from down under, Ms. West writes for the Presents, Modern and Sexy lines bringing to life those sexy Sheiks, gorgeous Greeks, and bossy Billionaires.  We’ll get the scoop on Ms. West’s May release, The Greek Tycoon’s Unexpected Wife.

 

And on May 23^rd, we’re bringing back one of our favorite Pirate friends, Santa O’Byrne!  I’m pretty sure Santa told me what she’ll be blogging about but I’ll be damned if I can remember.  But no worries, it will be great!

 

Now, I need some damn coffee…

 

 

And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.-Abraham Lincoln

 

On Sunday morning, one of my coworkers passed away from a sudden illness. Grant Johnson was 45 years old, and is survived by his wife Sharla, and his five-year-old son Carson. Grant and Sharla adopted Carson four years ago. I vividly remember the day they brought Carson to meet all of us. I’ve never witnessed any parents more proud of a baby.

Through Grant’s death I discovered he has a blog. I quickly found a nearby computer, logged on to his blog, and found a wealth of treasured memories. At his wake, I spoke with his wife, and learned of his aspiration to write a novel. I passed him in the hallway everyday at work, and all we ever shared was a superficial greeting. I missed an opportunity to share our interest in writing. I am aquainted with so many individuals on a superficial level, I found it so distressing that it took Grant’s death to truly appreciate him as a person. I’ve learned a valuable lesson this week- take time to know the person behind the face. 

If you visit Grant’s blog you’ll find he had so much potential as a writer. He leaves behind an epitaph of what an inspirational life he led as a father, Christian, and husband.

I’m dedicating this blog to Grant’s memory. I want to thank him for the wonderful example he leaves for all of us who are parents and writers. The title of his blog is Give Me Boldness, which tells me that he dreamed of so much more.

When you sit down to write today take a moment to appreciate life, and the gift of your talent and creativeness. I’ve learned through Grant’s death that times like these are not the only reason to hug your loved ones, do it everyday, for life is much too short.

 

Grant Johnson 1962-2008

 

 

It’s probably a good thing sound doesn’t travel over blogs because I’m certain some of the English majors aboard probably just groaned. Or worse.

Pirates are known for their colorful language, after all.

I swear; I’ll keep this as painless as possible.

Those who have no idea what I’m talking about, I’ll give a small history. The Heart of Darkness is a novella by Joseph Conrad and I believe that just about every English literature major is required to read it at some point. My teachers used it to introduce literary criticism and theory.

Blah blah.

Ok, ok. I like it, I admit it.

If you’ve ever seen Apocalypse Now, that movie was based on the story. Basically, according to Wikipedia, “The story details an incident when Marlow, an Englishman, took a foreign assignment as a ferry-boat captain … on what readers may assume is the Congo River…. Marlow is employed… to return Kurtz to civilization in a cover up.” Basically, Kurtz is making friendly with the native folks and getting in touch with his “savage” side.

One of my favorite themes in this story is the constant struggle present within every character between acting as civilization expects and giving in to the dark, barbaric impulses of human nature.

*Pause while you readers recover from English class flashbacks*

In my most recent research into current trends in paranormal romance novels, I’ve started noticing and appreciating how this theme seems to parallel a lot of recent paranormal themes.

If the hero or heroine is a vampire, werewolf, or any other paranormal creature, they tend to struggle with controlling their inner beast. It also seems that their love interest has a calming effect on the beast within; that the darkness within them recedes further behind the civility of love. While a lot of romance novel heroes are “tamed” at the end by the love of the heroine, the paranormal romance’s taming is not just a figurative taming but a literal one.

Though I admire the darkness of so many paranormals, I doubt my voice would hold up under the weight of it. Brooding and ominous aren’t my forte. My story has a paranormal thread in it but I don’t use my heroine’s witchiness as a dark force for her to conquer, instead I use it as a plot device to allow her to do things she wouldn’t technically be able to do as a Regency miss.

I admire the darkness, I’m just glad I don’t have to write about it.

Do you read paranormals? What do you like/dislike about them? Ever thought of writing one (why/why not)? Have you noticed any other trends in paranormals or any other subgenre lately?

I had a very schizophrenic reaction to being asked to blog with the pirates today.  Terri responded to one of my comments hinting that she may ask me to guest blog someday and then Hellion chimed in saying “Yeah, Irish should guest blog”.  I read their posts and thought… Yea, this is cool.  The cool kids want me to come out and play with them.  This is so awesome.  Sure I can blog.  This’ll be fun!  So I posted that sure I’d love to come be a guest blogger. 

 

The day wound down, I scrolled back over the posts for the day and thought… Holy #$%&, what the hell did I agree to?!  I don’t blog.  That’s not who I am.   I have nothing interesting to say.  I read.  I comment.  Every once in a while I say something semi-noteworthy.  I’m not a blogger.  I’m a poster.  Actually, I’m a weenie lurker most of the time.  When I get my courage up I post (and let’s face it - how much courage do you really need to anonymously state your opinion while sitting comfortably at your desk in your home, who knows where, wearing bunny slippers and drinking tea?).

 

Then a thought hit me…  I can be a blogger.  Why not?!  There was a time I didn’t think I could ever leave home, but I did.  I moved 2,000 miles away and lived in a different city, living with people I’d never met before, doing a job I knew nothing about and survived a riot and an earthquake.  There was a time I didn’t think I could be in a healthy relationship and I’m a happily married woman now.  There was a time I didn’t think I had what it took to be a mother and I’m a mother of two happy, fairly healthy, semi-intelligent children seemingly headed for college and not the State Penn. 

 

There was a time I didn’t think I could write anything beyond a grocery list and … you guessed it… I’m writing.  Nothing monumental, but the snippets I have are coherent and make sense.   My 43 year old self is capable of so much more than my 18 year old self because I’ve changed.  I’m not the same person I was then, but every now and then, the insecurities and doubts surface.  So much of who we are and what we think we can accomplish is formed in our childhood and stays with us in some form for most of our life.

 

I grew up the sixth child of seven in an Irish Catholic middle class family.  My therapist could tell you with very impressive words and lots of examples why I am the way I am, or to be more accurate, why I was the way I was.  But basically the upshot is that I have baggage.  Most of us have baggage and most of it we accumulated between birth and 18 years of age.  Good or bad, the people and experiences in our lives form us.  We all grow up with a perception of who we are. 

 

We’re all familiar with the typical stereotypes – jock, cheerleader, druggie, geek, the quiet one, the outgoing one, the nerd, the brain (and just so you all know I’m not completely out of the loop, we now have the goth girl and the skateboarders).  In families it can be the caretaker, the screw-up, the controller, the baby, the negotiator, the black sheep, and my personal favorite – the enabler.  That last one actually sounds like a super hero, doesn’t it?  Anyway, you get the idea.  Whether it’s an image given to us or one earned, it defines us until we decide to be more than the labels put upon us. 

 

I know I could pull a couple of the descriptions from above and slap them right on my forehead.  The funny thing is that some of them applied to me once and no longer do and vice versa.  I could have stayed the way I was and let my baggage define me, but chose instead to travel a different path.  Even with that being said, so many times when asked if I’m capable of a certain task I don’t look at my confident 43-year-old-woman self, I look at my insecure 18-year-old-girl self, and respond accordingly.  A more accurate description would be I’m a little bit of both and depending on the day one is stronger than the other.  Today I’m the happy, well adjusted wife, mother, writing, BLOGGING woman.  There was a time none of that description seemed possible.

 

My husband once told me a story about a classmate of his that has always stuck with me.  This guy was from a pretty messed up family and acted out a lot.  He ditched school, vandalized things, but his favorite thing to do was set things on fire.  When he was 17 his family moved out west.  He came back to his 10 year high school reunion a changed man.  He, basically, grew up.  He’d identified the problems in his life and fixed them.  Wore a suit, had a steady lucrative job and couldn’t wait to come back and catch up with all his old friends. 

 

Except no one saw the grown up man, all they saw was the kid who liked to set things on fire.  By the end of the evening he was pretty weary of everyone’s attempt to put that old label back on him.  He hasn’t been back since and I’m guessing he won’t be.   I went to my grammar school reunion about ten years ago and I had the strangest reaction to the greeting “Wow, you haven’t changed a bit!”  I felt like giving a PowerPoint presentation on how much and in which ways I’ve changed since they saw me last.

 

It’s corny and simplistic in a sense, but I truly and with all my heart believe one of life’s greatest gifts is our ability to change.  Our past does not have to define who we are or where we’re going.  And nothing touches or moves me more than a novel that drives that point home.  One of the things I love most about the romances I read (apart from the obligatory HEA) is that the redemption or growth of the hero or heroine plays such a huge part in so many of my favorites.   It does something wonderful to the human spirit to read about someone just like yourself, who isn’t perfect, or is as far from perfect as you can get, that learns and grows and ends up with their own HEA.

 

So, tell me how you’ve morphed into the person you are today.  Are you the same person you were in your teens, twenties, thirties?  Do you like where you are in life more than where you’ve been?  Do we have any head cheerleader/valedictorians who dated the football quarterback out there?  What book contains your favorite redemption/metamorphosis storyline or character?  What type of character do you think is harder to write - a flawed character or a perfect, larger than life character?

1. There was no topping my last week’s blog and I couldn’t bear to try and fail

2. I’m going a conference this week: Chicago Spring Fling. I’m pitching to an agent (wish me luck); and my pitch still isn’t perfect. I haven’t even practiced. I haven’t even packed. Heck, I don’t even have a pair of black casual business pants that fit. Okay, I might by the time you read this because I was supposed to have bought them last night. So I ran out of TIME.

3. I miss my ridiculous parodies, don’t you?

4. I’ve been listening to Stairway to Heaven and was totally inspired by the guitar riff. I always find it entertaining when people learn the guitar, STH is always one of the first songs learned. Or the REASON they’re learning.

5. I’m very sacrilegious.

Therefore, without further excuses: Stairway to Heaven, by Hellion.

There’s a writer who’s sure all her writing is gold
And she’s trying her best to be published
And when she gets there she dreams of tours with alpha themes
With a query she’ll get what she’s hoping

Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she’s trying her best to be published

There’s a letter in the mail but her dreams feel so frail
And you know sometimes letters don’t bear good news
In a class by a Kook, there’s a saying that’s said:
The only thing you can’t fix is a blank page

Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she’s trying her best to be published

There’s a feeling I get when I look at my WIP
And my book is crying for completion
In my thoughts I’m verklempt of the dreams I have dreamt
And the voices who beg for their stories

Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she’s trying her best to be published

And it’s whispered that quick, if we make our words stick
Then the agent will lead us to publication
And a new reign will rise for those with the guts to fly
And the TIMES will echo with ratings

And it makes me wonder

If there’s an error in your plot now
Don’t be alarmed—it’s allowed
It’s just a practice for the Big Time

Yes there are two ways you can write by
but in the long run
You’ll likely change the plot you’re on

Your head is buzzing and it won’t stop, the caffeine’s tops
Your CPs are calling you to join them
Dear writer can’t you hear the words flow, and did you know
Your publication lies from deep within

And as we write on down our WIPs
Our stories falling from our lips
There stands a writer we all know
Who shines Big Time and’s rollin’ in the dough
And doesn’t even shovel her own snow
And if you listen very hard
The truth will come to you at last:
Writing’s hard so just deal;
It’s work to put down all you feel.
Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she’s trying her best to be published

There’s a writer who’s sure all her writing is gold
And she’s trying her best to be published
And when she gets there she dreams of tours with alpha themes
With a query she’ll get what she’s hoping

And she’s trying her best to be published, uh uh uh.

Forgive me if I’m not around today. I’m trying to be a rock and not to roll. Wish me luck in accomplishing all the tasks I’ve been putting off. What songs inspire you in your writing? Anyone like me and adore Adam Sandler when he’d do parodies on Saturday Night Live?

I have to preface this blog by saying it’s well after midnight, I’ve had a day from Hell, and I’m exhausted.  Therefore, rambling and nonsensical statements are to be expected and forgiven.

So this weekend I drove up to Pittsburgh.  I wanted to attend the Romantic Times Booksigning and my parents wanted to see Kiddo, so it seemed like the perfect plan.  Throw in traffic issues and mechanical issues and the plan starts to lose it’s shine.  But, this is not going to be a whiney blog.  I’ll save that for my personal one later this week.

I did attend the booksigning and it was great.  There were SO MANY authors there.  Some I already knew, some I’d only talked to online, and some I was introduced to for the first time.  Sophia Nash, Kathryn Caskie, and Cathy Maxwell were all their wonderful selves.  Somehow I forgot to take a picture of Sophia but she’s like a total hottie model and would have shown us all up so that’s alright.  And yes, Kathryn is uber-tall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also met a couple of Banditas from the Romance Bandits Lair.  Christie Kelly was so sweet and Donna MacMeans even let me wear her hat.  Isn’t she the bestest?  I didn’t want to make Christie squeeze out from behind the table and lets face it, the less pictures I’m in, the better.

 

 

 

 

 

I also talked to Madeline Hunter to whom I said the worst thing.  Yes, I said, “I’m a HUGE FAN!”  Ok, I didn’t yell it or anything but I still can’t believe THAT was my opening line.  *sigh* 

I searched for Kim Harrison but I couldn’t find her.  I swear Sin, I tried.  But I did get you this picture.  I didn’t talk to J.R. Ward because I don’t read her books and her line was really long, but I did get a picture of her signing someone’s book.  This was my third try as she kept moving.  That woman is fast.

 

 

 And last but not least, if you know anything about the Romantic Times Convention, you know there are always cover models in attendance.  The room was crawling with them.  Intelligent woman I am, I used my child to get a picture with one.  This is Jimmy Thomas.  I asked if we could have a picture because my daughter was too embarrassed to ask him.  He probably didn’t fall for it but I got my picture so who cares.  Oh, and when I went to find his website I couldn’t believe it was the same guy.  And I’d looked at that site before though I have no idea why.  Well, I mean I know but I can’t remember specifically…oh, nevermind.

 

 

And for fun, here’s my dad, Kiddo and my sis.  (Mom is in that bathroom behind them so she missed her blog debut)  This was their first event of this kind so I’m hoping this is breaking them in for someday coming to see me at one of these things.  I should be so lucky.  And yes, my child was the ONLY one there and we kept having to hide bookmarks with Erotica stuff on them.  Though she left with lots of goodies anyway.  She received a fanny pack, a tiara (which she has been wearing ever since - even into Cracker Barrel today), a ring that lights up and a giant white and purple candy cane.  The candy cane was also from an Erotica author and I don’t want to know what other people do with theirs.

 

How about you?  Have you ever been to one of these giant signings?  Have you ended up spending a year’s salary on books? (I only beat my NJ total by five bucks so I did good.) And are you like me and feel terrible walking past all those authors who look at you longingly, waiting for you to come talk to them and buy their book? And check out the blond dude in the background of that pic with Jimmy.  That dude was really scary looking in person.  His hair was Fabio-esque but his chest hair (of which there was ALOT) was dark black.  Uhm…either wax or color it all doofus.

Bo’sun Terri called me to say she was unable to post the Hottie of the Week, due to her truck decided to misbehave when it got to the RT Convention. (Typical.) It was a transmission problem. (Typical.) The mechanic was really nice and only charged her for the parts. (Not so typical, but total score for the Bo’sun.)

Therefore, I got to thinking about the kind of man you’d want to have when you need to be saved. Bo’sun suggested a mechanic, but I think she’s not aiming high enough. I want a guy around who can really save my tush if the world’s going to end. I want a hero. *cueing Holding Out For a Hero*

I give you: Bruce.

 I’m a complete sucker for this fellow Pisces and his sad green eyes. But stick a gun in his hand, and he’ll go the distance to make sure you have a happy ending. Thank you, Bruce, for saving me…and I’m going to watch Armageddon for the billionth time so I can cry inconsoably when you bite it at the end.

Who’s your favorite action hero? If the world was going to end, who do you want beside you to take your mind off it?