This Time of Year

Life chugs along the tracks a lot faster, it seems, when the air clears itself of all that humidity, the clouds seem whiter, and night falls faster. I don't know why - maybe we're not heading to the beach or lake and our hours need to be filled with something more productive. I know I'm tackling projects I've ignored all summer. My To-Do list grows daily, I fear.

Yesterday's race in Atlanta ended up on TiVo because we were too busy to watch. Yikes. Must prioritize better. The fall plantings had to get in the ground, however, while the weather is good. I want peonies next year, and had to clear room for new azaleas. Digging in the dirt is good for creativity, I've found. New ideas turn up with the loam.

I'm into gratitude in a big way, as well. I'm grateful for safer cars (won't go into details, but now I NEED a new car), a loving family, and all that's right in the world. It's easy to get swept into negativity, but so much more productive to see the positive side of things.

Sunburn, Rain, Freezing Cold, and the Boos

What a wild weekend. Ended up with a sunburn after the Craftsman Truck races on Saturday (yeah, Jack Sprague!), and froze my fanny off on Sunday morning as it rained and generally proved to be a miserable day for the sixth race for the Cup. Around 2 p.m., as the sun peeked out, the day improved for everyone but the cars caught up in the 18 cautions at the paperclip track called Martinsville. Interesting race. I think what surprised me the most was the loud and widespread booing that greeted Jimmie Johnson's victory lap. His crowd reception after winning the Daytona 500 wasn't so negative. All his whining has caught up to him. As my neighbor said, a Chevy won, just not the right one. Denny Hamlin, you're the man. David Regan, go back to go karts. You deserved a black flag after initiating your third wreck and taking out Ken Shrader.

What the TV cameras didn't show was Jack Sprague's little girl, racing onto the track and into his arms after he exited his truck. Watching him swinging her around in a big bear hug, I thought to myself, "this is the real prize, and he knows it." Good man.

Maggie Sefton, of the Knit One, Kill Two mystery series, is coming to visit on Thursday. It'll be fun to see her again.

Paperbacks and Martinsville

Just received my author copies of the paperback version of Yes, the River Knows today. It's fun to hold it in a different format, and pleasing to see its reviews printed in the book itself. I'm glad it's finally out.

We're racing this weekend - my fav short-short track, Martinsville, where we'll have our college kids and their buddies in tow. Even my intellectual, quiet, very refined child is going. We talked her into the Daytona Busch race this past summer, and much to our surprise, she loved it. On her feet, fist pumping the air, she screamed for Todd Kluever in the 06 car like a Nascar veteran. Now, she even owns a Greg Biffle hat and has an 06 sticker on her car window. Our racin' child is, of course, going - I don't think we'd be allowed to survive if we didn't pick her up on the way to the track, LOL. Looking forward to it.

The book revisions languish as I assemble all the racing gear, tailgating food and supplies, make sure batteries are operational for all the headphone radios, etc. No complaints - it helps to get away from the computer for a few days. My new motto is: don't sweat the small stuff. It's the big picture that counts, both in fiction writing, where you have to have a story and without one, even the most brilliant prose is just that, prose, and in life. Take care of the details, but don't obsess. Remember, it's the big picture that counts.

No Apology Needed

Brian Vickers, quit apologizing. You said you didn't mean to dump Johnson, now it's his turn to grow up and accept what happened at Talladega. Junior has, much to his credit! Man, you won the race - have fun with it.

Growing up means taking what you don't like or want along with the good stuff. It'll turn around if you hang in there long enough, and if it doesn't, well, it's time to take another tack, find another path, etc. When a book doesn't want to come around, no matter how many chances I give it, how much I spill my heart and craft into it, it's time to shove it under the bed and let it gather dust bunnies.

You may have gathered I'm in the throes of manuscript revisions. One is coming along nicely, thank you very much. The other....well, it's half-way under my bed at this moment. I'll give it another go tomorrow, but I refuse to suffer over it anymore if it's not going to be nice.

Jimmie Johnson, be nice. Earnhardt has been. And if you can't be nice, at least have the decency to mope out of sight. Under a bed, maybe, with the dust bunnies to keep you company?

That Little Fraction of an Inch

Anyone watching the race at Talladega today knows where of I speak. I was on my feet, screaming with everyone else in Nascar-land, as Jimmie Johnson made his move around Junior, with Brian Vickers, his faithful teammate, ready to push him to the win. Only that's not what happened - Vickers got a fraction of an inch too close to Jimmie's bumper at about 198 mph, and Johnson and Junior twirled like whirligigs into the infield as Victers took the checkered flag. That's what happens in racin', and congrats to Vickers on his first Cup win.

Missing the game plan by that itty-bitty bit happens all the time in the land of fiction writing. Now, no one hits the wall, no one flips like a quarter settling a bet, and no one gets hurt. (I hope not.) But let's be honest - sometimes we just can't get that chapter "right," or a character doesn't quite come to life. It's almost there, but it's still a miss, and you end up in the infield wondering what happened to your story. Been there, done that - a lot. What do you do? As Junior says, there's always a race next week, and there's always another chance to fix the bad stuff. And if it's not fixable, well, you shake your head and walk away. Sometimes the frame is too bent.

Just finished Shana Abe's The Smoke Thief, a fantasy romance set in Georgian England that's lushly written and filled with exquisite details. I've never read Abe' before, but I'm glad I found her.

Cutting it Off

Well, I lasted as long as I could. A vain attempt to let my hair grow to one length just bit the dust. Couldn't stand the bangs, the hair on the back of my neck, having to mouse and spray and generally torture my hair, ao yesterday, my hairdresser took it all off. Yep, back to my short, hang-the-head-out-the-car-window-to-dry hair. Freedom. I have no patience for fooling with hair, and I admit, lots of other bits of small stuff. The older I get, the more I want to concentrate on what matters. Hair isn't one of those things, LOL.

When I'm working on a book, however, I'll fool with it 'til the cows come home. I'll spray it with ideas and stick it with words, then pull them out and throw them back in, until it feels right for the story. Getting the story into shape requires patience and persistence, both efforts I'm willing to give the work.

Not hair, however. It's on its own. I wonder about that word, hairdresser. Did it originate in the days when men and women wore elaboratelyl powdered wigs that needed 'dressing?' I'll have to check that out. I might need the information one day for a story. You never know...

Oh, just read Jennifer Archer's Off Her Rocker. I liked it, but I still think her The Me I Used to Be should have won the Rita Award. I'm also re-reading Elaine Pagel's Adam, Eve, and the Serpent. It's been a while since the last reading, and I'm still pulled into it as I read. Lots to think about.

Why Settle?

My husband and I were test driving a car I've been lusting after (well, wanting...) and while it was nice (what a killer of a word), it didn't have everything I wanted on it. In fact, its interior was a color I don't enjoy. Trying to convince myself, I told my husband "Well, I can learn to live with it." He turned to me and said, "Why settle for something less than what you really want?"

Good point and well said. Why do we settle for "almost" there? Service that's barely service. Repair work done in a sloppy manner. Books that have a great opener, then slide downhill from there. We shouldn't settle. I'm a quick writer, which means that once I have the story and characters in my head, I spill them on the page. Going back, I clean up the language, polish, cut, add where I need to, and hopefully pat and shape the story into a firmer mold than that first draft. I can't imagine doing otherwise. When it leaves my hard drive, it's as good as I can make it. Not perfect, and often not what I originally envisioned, but I'm usually exhausted with doing my best to make its final form as good as I can.

As my father always said, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right.

And as my husband says, why settle?

And to Jeff Burton, congrats on the Dover win. He didn't settle for second this time. What a great race with Matt Kenseth.

Distractions

Well, I'm working on a hard scene in Whatever Lola Wants, and my daughter writes me that she wants the next chapters of Saving the Sun God. Yikes. Little does she know she's thrown me for a loop. I get into a book, and it's all I can see. I've been letting Sun God sit so I can read it with distance between it and its creation, and not thinking about it has given me permission to sink into Lola's magic. Now, I'm back to thinking about Sun God. I'm not so sure I do well with two or more projects at once, and heaven knows how I get myself into this mess, but I always do. It's as if the stories refuse to wait quietly in the queue, clawing and climbing over each other instead to take the top spot. I need to tell Sun God to sit quietly in the corner for a bit longer, while I work out the kinks in this crucial scene in Lola, but I'm having a hard time doing it.

Diversions abound, I fear. The ten cup races that remain in the chase. Weekends traveling to the races. Some good movies. Loved "Hollywoodland." "The Illusionist" was perfect. A new Rexanne Bechnal book I just picked up. (Old Boyfriends - what a winner.) Dust bunnies and dog fur all over the office. Parents Weekend at my daughters' schools. Friends. Dates (! Yes!) with my dearest. Empty nesting is like being newly married. I highly recommend it. But the diversions are going to have to go away if I'm actually going to get anything done, LOL.

What a Race!

If I overdo the exclamation points, I'm sure you'll understand why if you watched the Cup race at RIR on Saturday night. When Kevin Harvick pulled past Kyle Busch on the last lap, I rose to my feet in awe. Busch led most of the last half of the race, but Harvick had the patience of a stalking cat after a vole. Kasey held on for third, getting the job done to get in the Chase, but Harvick was Magic Man that night. The 22 car piloted by Dave Blaney and the 21 with Ken Schrader aboard were both spectacular. Wily veterans both, running for small stables, having mediocre years at the best, they finished in the top seven. I love it when underdogs pull out all the stops and it works!

I'm reading Susan Elizabeth Phillips' AIN'T SHE SWEET? I don't know how I missed it, since DREAM A LITTLE DREAM one of my favorites. The heroine did something (actually, many things) that were unforgivable when she was a teenager, but now she's back in town, fifteen years later, downtrodden but not willing to give up until she does what she needs to do. Her goal is altruistic, but how to show a character who, before the book began, did something so awful the reader cringes while reading about it - that's where the magical Phillips touch is at its peak. If Harvick was the Magic Man on Saturday, SEP is the Magic Woman of women's fiction.

Tomorrow is the day when everyone will be thinking of the Twin Towers in NYC. It sounds very sixties and trite, but what we need is Love to overcome hate. Hatred has no power and can only crumple like a wet paper bag when exposed for the fraud it is by the power of such love.

The Chase is ON!

Wow, did anyone else have a breathless moment when it looked as if Reed Sorenson, the 20 year old Chip Gnassi driver of the #40 car, was going to snatch a win from Kasey Kahne last night at Sonoma? His gas gamble petered out a mile from the finish line, but hey, he threw everything he had into the strategy, and good for him. Still, Kasey had the car to beat, and he deserved the win. But Reed earned my respect.

I like the idea of trying something different. Forget tires, forget pit times, forget riding the low or the high line - get down to basics. Betting it all on a splash of gas was gutsy, and even though Reed looked totally dejected by his 21st place finish, he deserves kudos. He tried the ultimate strategy - did he have enough gas to cross the finish line without a pit stop? Not this time. But I liked his thinking. Go flat out, put it all on the table, don't hold anything back.

That's how I hope to write. Throw it all on the track, don't hold back. If it doesn't work, well, it doesn't work. But I'll have tried.

By the way, the Richmond race this coming weekend promises to be a lulu. Kasey's Big Mo better stick with him if he wants to make the top ten for the Chase. Think of me tailgating and screaming my fool head off at the track. Can't wait!

Road Trips and the Writer

Well, I know I said I was buckling down when the last child went to university, but what can I say? When my husband offered a long weekend in Chicago, dinner at the Signature Club on the 95th floor of the John Hancock Building, and shopping on Michigan Avenue, was I going to say "No, dear, I need to stay home and work?" You may now quit laughing. We had a lovely time, I did work on seven pages on my laptop, and yes, having dinner next to plate glass window 1200 feet (is that right?) in the air is an experience I won't ask for again. I carefully looked out at the horizon, not down, LOL. It was fun, being a couple again, no children in tow, not worrying about their schedules, who had to be where when, etc.

Did I mention reading Rexanne Bechnal's OLD BOYFRIENDS? It's wonderful, and I highly recommend it. I wish I'd written it.

So, I'm working on WHATEVER LOLA WANTS, shaping up the first three chapters and synopsis, while I let SAVING THE SUN GOD sit. Time away from something new is what works for me - I can see it with "fresh eyes" when I pick it up again to give it a thorough reading. LOLA is rolling onto the hard drive at a mile a minute. I'm really liking the heroine, Genevieve Caradon, who has just adopted a multi-racial child in Macedonia, Georgia. Lola, the child, wants a daddy to dance with her at the father-daughter dance at her school, and Gen is determined to give Lola whatever she wants. Only Gen is middle-aged, never had a serious beau, and is a librarian who was raised by her two gay uncles. Lola, however, is determined. How she goes about getting men interested in her new mommy is a riot to write.

It's nice to be home. The dog and I are still listening for a car door to slam about 3:30, 4:00, and a crowd of kids to pile into the house, but we're loving the quiet.

Scary Moments

As a writer, I'll use violence when necessary in my mysteries. My westerns pull no punches. The American West was a violent time. When writing about murder and mayhem, I'm not too squeamish, which probably relates back to my days practicing criminal law. People do bad things. The redemption story - and appropriate punishment - are at the heart of most memorable mysteries.

But when my daughter's first day of classes at her university were cancelled because an escaped killer (two law enforcement officers slain) was on campus, I experienced one of those horrible mother moments when your stomach literally knots and you can't breathe. If I hadn't been with my writing friends, having our monthly plotting session, I'd have been flying down the road, pedal to the metal, to her school to protect my baby. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, and we continued to work on plot problems, all the while praying for calm and the police. The bad guy was apprehended, the campus went back to normal, and I can breathe again.

Real life is much scarier than fiction, trust me. It takes a lot of prayer to see through the darkness.

One Down,One to Go

Well, the racin' child is now in hog heaven. Her first hour in her new dorm at her new university, and she met a guy who's been six times to the races at Bristol. I must say, we were impressed. Bristol is a hard ticket to come by! Of course, wouldn't you know that Kasey Kahne (her fav driver) came to town the morning we were to leave for school, four hours down the road? Sure enough, a Kasey Kahne appearance trumped getting checked into her dorm, and she and her best bud, Kate, rose at the crack of dawn to get in line to see KK. Only there was no line. Two teen-aged girls rising at six a.m. is not a pretty picture, especially when there was no need, LOL. Still, they got to see their Nascar hero, get his autograph, and stay awake at the same time. Going to university wasn't even a close second.

I'm living with to-do lists permanently attached to my hand these days. I'm hoping, once my oldest is back at her university in another week and a half, I'll be down to one thing to do - WRITE. It's been hit and miss this past week, and I'm feeling antsy about my hero and heroine. I'm anxious for them to get into more trouble, work their way out of it, and discover they love each other at the same time.

An interesting tid-bit from RWA Nationals - did you know that of the mass market paperbacks sold, 55% of them are romance? And of that 55%, 20-25% are classified as paranormals. Wow. Interesting statistic.

Before I forget, run out and buy John J. Lamb's THE MOURNFUL TEDDY. Good mystery, great read, even if you're not a teddy bear collector. Enjoy!

Long Time No Blog

It's been a blue moon since I've posted - no excuses. RWA was its usual wonderful experience. Great seminars, wonderful writers, good time had by all. I'm always energized by the collective creative energy that blossoms when imaginative people gather in one place. Then it was off to Lake Gaston for a short family break before school starts. We've never been there before, but we'll go again. Came home feeling fat and sassy, and having shot the hero (not in real life, this is a rough draft, LOL) in Saving the Sun God. Had to figure out who shot him and why - I'm always digging myself into plot holes I never expect to dig, but it's fun to climb out of it. Even maniacial plotters like moi turn into pantsers now and then.

The horrible heat has broken for a few days, and I took time to plant an ornamental given to us by a friend, as well as tackle the hairy bushes. Ripped out my fried tomato plants, sigh. It's a lot like writing through the hairy parts of a work -in- progress. Taking a few hours to trim back the wild branches in the story gives me a clearer view of where I'm going with the next chapters. Tearing out the dead parts makes the plot cleaner as well. Hate doing it, but it's better now rather than later. If I'm terribly fond of the discarded prose, I saved it to another file and delude myself that I'll be able to use it later. Never happens.

Oh, read James Lee Burke's Crusader's Cross while at the lake. I'm worried about Dave.
This has been one of those months. Been away from home too much. My writing suffers, even if I take my laptop and work sporadically. I love seeing other places, eating someone else's cooking, and being with friends and family. But enough is enough. I need my desk, my own bed, and my routine. Life is pretty much a-kilter at the moment because my youngest is shopping and packing to enter Architecture School at a top ten A-school in a few weeks. She's signed up for her courses, gotten her student ID card, bought extra-long sheets for the dorm beds, and is generally pretty together. I'm not sure I am. When both children (they're really adults now, but not to me!) fly the coop, leave the nest, hit the long road to self-sufficiency, etc., I'm going to wonder what hit me. How did the past twenty years get by me so quickly? I know every parent thinks this, but it's true. They're still our babies, no matter when they strike out to forge their new lives, and I'm going to miss them. And as far as I'm concerned, they were in diapers just yesterday. The cliches really do fit!

So, off to Atlanta next week for the Romance Writers of America conference. I love the energy that comes from assembled artists. It's almost as if we absorb creativity with every breath at a conference with the depth and scope of RWA's. The only down side is having to wear shoes - I really have a hard time in a hot summer slipping into anything but sandals on my feet. So if you see a lady in a suit wearing Dr. Scholl's, you'll know I gave up on the shoes. Say hi if we run into each other on an elevator!

Daytona!

We're back from the races in Daytona, and I have to say, they were wonderful. There's nothing like racing under the lights - the cars glitter and the excitement level ratchets up a ton. The evening cool helped also - it was hot as blue blazes in the sun. A weekend of racing, time at the beach, lots of games played with the children and their buddies (how humiliating to lose! EEK, I have to work on my Cranium skills!), all added up to a nice break. Now it's back to work!

I'm putzing with the current WIP. Made a huge dent in my TBR pile in Florida (beach, umbrella, book - what else is there?), and came out of them with an uneasy sense that I don't like a lot of the new stuff. Judgmental characters. Too much insight, answers that come too easily. Coincidences that solve the mystery. Flawed characters who are almost perfect in their flaws. So I found some old Georgette Heyers I'd packed for the girls (I have one Jane Austen fan who will read GH because she's as close as she can get to the Real McCoy, and honestly, how many times can you read Pride and Prejudice?), and fell in love with her all over again. Witty dialogue. Characters who struggle to understand and cope with situations beyond their control. Flaws that are both unique and very human. Charm mixed with pathos, frustration, and anger. What a writer she was. I'm green with envy.

Time to quit the putzing and get in gear. As Elliot Sadler (the #38 M&M car) says, put it in fourth and stay there. (Has anyone else noticed how cute he's gotten?)

Heat and the Writer

As I turn the air conditioner down another notch and feel guilty, I confess I'm not capable of doing my best work, or any work, for that matter, when my wrists stick to the wrist support and sweat dribbles off my nose onto the keyboard. I fight the hothouse flower syndrome, mostly because I can't stand the transition from hot, humid Southern summer into freezer-cold houses, but now and then I give up. Mostly now I've surrendered to the AC. The year's longest day was just forty-eight hours ago, and I'm ready for fall. For fall planting - there's a mock orange I never got into the ground, and more bulbs I've collected over the past few months - and for the promise of cooler nights and crisper days. The September race that sets the field for the Chase. October in Martinsville, the small track roaring. We'll collect our racin' child from her university and keep up the family tradition of weekends with Nascar. Right now, I'm packing for Daytona and the 400, adding extra sunscreen in the suitcases, loading the tailgating gear.

I thought it was hard to write in the summer when my children were little, but it's just as hard now. I can find a zillion other projects demanding my attention. Hours spent watering the Viette day lilies, the zinnias and geraniums, the pikake and impatiens, weeding the garden and mulching it, are well spent, but not conducive to finishing a book. Sigh. I'll get it done, but only if I can't find any more excuses to pull me away from the office. Now that I've given in to the AC, I can't complain that it's too hot to work at the computer.

But I can worry about the Mountain Laurel I put in the ground two weeks ago. Maybe I'd better check on it, see if it needs more water in this heat.

A Theme Runs Through It

After attending a wonderful workshop presented by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer, I started thinking about a book I've always liked, (and wrote several years ago), but wasn't quite sure what it was missing. Every time I re-read it, I knew it was some of my best writing, but there was an element I hadn't found when I reworked it over and over, and I still wasn't happy with the final result. The workshop gave me that 'AHA!' moment we writers live and breathe to receive. That one theme I'd missed came to me with such clarity, I ran home and started to write.

I love the company of other writers. The creative energy never fails to work its magic, and the gift of new ideas and ways to get the words down on paper is priceless. Even when the writing is trickling like mud through an hour glass, being with other writers lifts me up and inspires me to get back to work. The writing has been slow recently - family obligations, graduations, life - but I'm ready to plunge back into the melee and start shaping characters and plots again. I love this part the best - the stage where I'm learning who these people are and why they're doing what they're doing. Reworking a finished piece is never fun, and it's hell when I can't figure out what went wrong. Whenever I see the missing puzzle piece, however, I feel as if I've been given a gift from the writing gods.

Web site down temporarily

Just in case anyone is wondering, my web site is traveling through cyberspace to a new host site, so it's been down for a bit. Hopefully, it'll be back today or tomorrow, along with its email function.

The site's new look is fantastic. Plus, I have a few pictures from tracks we like. (Nascar, of course, LOL.)