September is the new New Year

Perhaps it's because the neighborhood kids are trudging down the street outside my window, dragging backpacks as if they're filled with time bombs, that I've decided my new year is really September. I remember, every Tuesday after Labor Day, checking out my stacks of new textbooks, wondering how on earth I was going to learn everything, panicking, until I was old enough to realize that someone was going to actually teach me. Every September was a new beginning, a new adventure in knowledge, with books at its core.

So here I go, starting a new book. I've been playing around with several plots that I've thrown onto the screen, practicing getting into different heads, under chimerical skins. One is calling me more insistently than the others, so I'll give it a go and see if it still amuses me after the first forty pages. Although I've tried, in vain, to change my process, those first forty pages are necessary. They'll end up in the trash, but until I work through them, I won't know for sure if I like these people enough to live with them in my head for the next months.

The Big Race is the weekend after Labor Day - I need to gather all the tailgating supplies and shop for two days of food that'll work on a grill. Can't wait. While I'm not a big fan of the COT, I'll be happy to see a night race again. The spring race on Sunday afternoon was a bummer. No mystery, no glamour, no sparks flying in the darkness.

If you want to read a good western romance, check out Donna Dalton's THE CAVALRY WIFE at Wild Rose Press. It's available as a download now, paperback due in December. It's set during my favorite time in U.S. military history, when the black troops of the 9th and 10th Cavalry did yeoman's duty on the Plains.

Editing Yourself

I'm a terrible self-editor. No matter how often I've worked on a project, when it comes time to bite the bullet and read the work for accuracy, I'm hopeless. Falling into the story wipes out all attempts to be brutal with my grammar, word choices, and sentence fragments. I'm terribly fond of the whole thing by that stage. Probably, there's a part of me that worries that fooling around with the last draft will shift the stars and disrupt the magic that made it in the first place. Hence, my self-editing is really just another chance to fall into the story again.

Recently, I picked up EDIT YOURSELF by Bruce Ross-Larson, which is charmingly dedicated to "Goddard Winterbottom." Anyone with a friend of that delightful name must know what he's doing, I decided. And Ross-Larson does. He lists "overweight prepositions," ( the bailiwick of most lawyers, without a doubt), weak modifiers, and wonderful tips like "you should examine a noun ending in 'ion' to see whether it can be replaced by a concrete word." (p.9) For example, instead of "motivation," try to use the word "drive." For "origination," use "source." Ross-Larson seems dedicated to clearing up muddy writing and making sure subjects and verbs agree. I particularly like his advice to avoid the "ugly" words like "electricitywise and prioritize." I smell Christmas gifts in the offing....

Last week and this have been swallowed up in the flurry of shopping and packing it seems to take to get two girls back to their respective schools. One starts a week before the other, so at least the sweaty, time-sucking work is spread out. Wait, is that a good thing? Oh well - it's August. What more is there to say?

Writing with "Voice"

I've been thinking about what constitutes "voice," and while I know it when I read it (think J.K. Rowling, T.S. Eliot, Dick Francis), I've never considered the issue of whether you can learn to write with it, or if it's embedded in your DNA. While browsing the bookstore the other day, I picked up a book that had an intriguing title, opened the first page, read it, and immediately, the author's voice came through loud and clear. Ah ha, I thought, and bought the book. Sharyn McCrumb's voice - sassy, sad, or outright funny - comes through as uniquely hers. All the authors on my "keeper shelf" have that certain way of telling a story that makes it uniquely hers or his. I may not like the story, but I sure liked the way it was told!

So, the question is, can you learn "voice," or are you born with it? It's probably half-and-half. The more you write, the more your own voice will evolve, if you're beyond the stage of trying to write like someone else. When you find the right fit of story and voice, the book will take off so fast, it's hard to stop writing it. Those days when twenty pages or more spring to life and your wrists are about to break off, you're writing so fast, are the days all writers crave. When I read a book with voice, it's almost as if there's this disembodied entity, whispering the story in my brain, and I'm there, in the moment, along for the ride as it happens. Those are the page-turners we tell our friends to buy, and we never lend them out because we're afraid they'll get lost. (SEP's Ain't She Sweet - keep your hands off my copy!)

How do we find our own voice? Write. Write some more. Drag your voice out from wherever it's been hiding, and tell it to get a life of its own. It will, if you care passionately about the work.

On Indy, &(%#, and Tony Stewart

Now I can say "been there, done that, bought the T-shirt." The ending to that phrase is "I won't do that again." The Indy race, while highly touted, is really a bit of a bore. While our seats were wonderful (on the start/finish line), it wasn't much fun for the minute and a half that we couldn't see the back side of the track during every lap. Sure, the Jumbotron was right in front of us, but still - - even the engine noise disappeared! What's the fun of a race with no rumble?

Still, we had a great time (every NASCAR race has its up side) seeing Ward Burton pull in 14th. What a triumph for Morgan-McClure Motorsports. Bless Tony Stewart for being emotional about his win. To heck with corporate correctness. So let he slip a common enough curse word - it had been a long, hot, grueling afternoon, and he didn't cross any line that offended me.

I've never been to a NASCAR race farther North than Richmond, and the difference in the crowd surprised me. Below the Mason-Dixon, everyone, and I mean everyone, sports a T-shirt emblazoned with a favorite driver or track. That wasn't the case at Indy. There wasn't the same camaraderie either - people didn't seem to want to talk to strangers. At a Southern race, there's no such thing as a stranger, and tailgaters invite anyone who strolls past a tailgating party to stop for a drink or a hot dog. Chatting about drivers, stats, and the day's prognostications is standard fare for the Southern fan. Not so at Indy. Half the people we tried to talk with didn't have the vaguest idea what a NASCAR race was about, much less who was driving what car, and why did Bobby Ginn give up and merge with DEI? Don't know why they were there, unless it was just the prestige of being at an Indy race.

On the writing side, The Golden Oars, about a women-only crew club, is rowing along. The characters, with all their quirkiness, live in my head at the moment, urging me to get them down faster. I'm trying, ladies! My good friend Kat Jorgensen and I are collaborating on the book, planning a series, and keeping ourselves immensely amused as we plot what happens next to our foursome of wild women over the age of fifty.

It'll be a huge relief when the Richmond race rolls around again, and we can rub elbows (and butts, LOL, in the too-small seats) with fellow NASCAR fanatics. Come on, September!

Off to Indy

Yes! Packing now for this weekend at Indianapolis Motor Speedway and the Allstate 400. We'll catch the truck and Busch races at the O'Reilly track beforehand, but I'm really looking forward to our first forway to Indy.

I'm starting a new project with a friend, centered on a group of four women who all crew together - as in, go rowing in their shells - in Virginia Beach. Aged from 50 to 85, they have messy lives, crazy relatives, and a mystery to solve when the 85 year old's boy toy, aged 75, shows up as a floater. We're having such fun with it - I write the angst and murder, and my partner, Kat Jorgensen, writes the humor. We feel we know these women so well, they'll be good for a long series of books. We hope!

Dog Days and other Delights

I wonder why these hot hot days are called the Dog Days of summer? Will have to research that one!

The rewrites of LOLA are going well, and I'm discovering how much I like that book all over again. It's a fun story, filled with quirky people who all try to do the right thing. Good folk. Small town with hearts in the right place. Mouths may run too much and spew out the wrong thing, but it's never meant to be cruel. In other words, it's very Southern, LOL.

I have just discovered the joys of yellow tomatoes. My goodness, what wonderful goodies! Try some if you haven't.

Read REVEALED by Tamera Alexander, which I liked very much except for one tiny bit. I thought the hero's motive for being "on the run" was too weak, but otherwise, she writes one heck on an inspirational western romance. I see it just won the RITA (c) in its category at RWA's National conference last weekend. Well-deserved.

Counting down the hours until the last Harry Potter book drops. Mine is pre-paid and I'm picking it up at 12:01 July 21.

Sorry about giving Sharyn McCrumb's latest a new title - hey, I may use it myself. Hers is titled ONCE AROUND THE TRACK and is published in hardback by Kensington. I loved it! Filled with insider NASCAR stories, like the one about Tim Richmond, um, exposing himself for a fan poster with all the other drivers. I'm not so sure an all-woman pit crew would pull a time under 13 seconds, but I'm willing to believe it in Sharyn's book. Ward Burton must be pleased with the dedication.

It's hot, hot, hot, but I'm not complaining. As long as I keep water on them, my day lilies are doing great, and the geraniums love the weather. My pikake from Hawaii is thriving, as are the hibiscus plants. Heat, humidity, and flowers - what joy!

I decided over a week ago to dump a book I've wrestled with for over a year. It had morphed into "literary," and I hated it. The writing is some of the best I've done, but it felt as if it had grown up to be a serial killer and I needed to be the one to put it down. So I did. Now that the agony is over, I'm back on LOLA, doing its rewrites, and having a lot more fun. Thank heavens. I've never pulled the trigger on a book I've put that much effort into - so I guess I shouldn't complain. And I'm not.

Oh, and there's no title for this posting because Blogspot wouldn't let me. I was going to call it "Book is DOA but Jamie McMurray Isn't" or something like that. Or maybe, Jamie McMurray, you're the MAN for your smooth move Saturday at Daytona.

Happy Fourth and Happy Reading

I'm so looking forward to tomorrow. My husband and I have made a pact - no household stuff, just relax. Of course, my idea of heaven is a good book, a tall glass, and an umbrella shielding me from the hot sun. I've been saving books for my mini-vacation, but some of them called to me a tad loudly, and I succumbed to their siren song. Read John Lamb's THE FALSE- HEARTED TEDDY last night - I had to laugh out loud at John's thorough and very precise definition of how to violate the Fourth and Fifth Amendments with an illegal search. The lawyer in me cheered at this mini-legal lesson. It's a good read, and you'll have fun with it.

My youngest recommended BREAKFAST WITH THE ONES YOU LOVE, and I have to admit, the voice is original and intriguing. I'm still trying to figure out what's really going on, which keeps me reading. I'm going to get into Sharyn McCrumb's newest from Kensington, EVERY TWIST IN THE ROAD, tomorrow, and an old Southern novel called PENHALLY. Later, we're going to watch fireworks from a friend's house and eat ice cream. The perfect day, in my estimation.

In the meanwhile, I'm wondering what the Founding Fathers would think of Scooter Libby's commuted sentence. Gee, if you work for George Bush, you're above the law, huh? I don't think Tom Jefferson or Jame Madison would approve.

Been a While!

I've been busy, which is no excuse, but I'm baacckk. Looking forward to a Sharyn McCrumb signing tomorrow. Bought her new NASCAR novel, ONCE AROUND THE TRACK, and can't wait to get into it. Thank goodness writers like Sharyn don't back away from NASCAR because the PTB (Powers that Be) in NYC say NASCAR doesn't sell.

Can't believe it's officially summer. Looks as if the heat and humidity are coming with a vengeance, and it's about darned time. I'm READY for all-out, full-bore summer. The more of it there is, the better. My daylilies are almost bloomed out, but the hibiscus plants are going great guns. And the calla lilies - oh my. All that garden work has paid off this year, yeah!

Still working away on the umpteenth draft of DARKROOM. We've pinned each other to the mat a couple of times, but I think I'm ahead at this moment. We'll see who wins, it or me.

June 8

Heading out to a Mary Buckham workshop tomorrow. A full day of playing with The Hero's Journey - one of the best tools for writers, bar none. Even though I had a semester of Campbell's Myths in college, I never equated the lessons with plotting my own work until I heard The Writer's Journey explained at a workshop in Houston. Some of us take longer than others to connect the dots... Now, I wonder how I wrote all those years without it.

Hot here and getting hotter. The day lilies are looking lovely (I'm a sucker for alliteration), and after a morning spent planting new ones and some calla lilies, I'm feeling like a full day of writing. Nothing like hours in the garden to get the cobwebs out of the brain.

Oh, we have tickets to the race in Indianapolis at the end of July! Yeah! We've never been to that track, so it's going to be a fun time.

Am re-reading Larry McReynold's autobiography. It's been a while, so it reads "new." The stories told by Davey Allison's, Ernie Irvan's, and Dale Earnhardt's former crew chief reads like a novel. Love it. If you like racin', this one should be on your "must read" list.

Water and the Washer

Oh my - my dear husband has said that, no matter how much he loves me, he's never renting a power washer again. All I wanted was a clean patio and redwood swing. It's no big deal, I said. Unfortunately, he believed me. The power washer, like anything with an engine and adjustable power, lead from one thing to another, and he went to town with his magic wand. Chimney, brick, siding, gutters - it's all been subjected to a Man with a Power Washer in his hands. After two days of pulsing water, we're both exhausted and tired of being soaking wet. So much for a long holiday weekend...

Heading for my college reunion next weekend - I'm too young for this number! It's always fun to see everyone, but I still expect everyone to look eighteen. Someday, I'll realize we aren't. But until then - I'll stick with my story, LOL, that I'm not getting older, I'm getting better.

Oh, and wasn't Casey Mears's win wonderful? He was truly deserving - he drove the better race, and if the "names" all pitted for gas and he didn't, well, they were racing for points and not to win. To heck with that. Go for it, Casey! We spent the Friday leading up o the Charlotte race at Evernham Motorsports Fan Day so our youngest could get a Kasey Kahne autograph on the life-sized poster of him she keeps in her room, and ended up having a ball. Lots of nice people. Charity auction with cool stuff.

Paper and the Writer

I've finally done it - pulled every single bloomin' piece of paper off my desk, out the filing cabinets, and off the floor, and am now doing the impossible - weeding them out. Why, when computers were supposed to cut down the paper flow, do I seem to have more paper than ever? Don't get me wrong - I love paper. Books come on paper. Love notes on paper are wonderful. Valentines, oh yeah. But somehow, the paper that surrounds me has been breeding in the dark like overly fertile bunnies. It has to go!

When I get going deep into the throes of a book, I block out the mess around me and focus on the screen, on the words. But eventually, there comes a moment, as stuff starts sliding to the floor, when the chaos must be terminated. Yes, this is too much for recycling. Only the shredder will do, since once it's gone, I can never pick it out of the recycling pile. How awful to have this love-hate thing going with paper. Bond stock. Linen count. Color. Weight. It's so tactile...so....lovely.

And so distracting. I need space in the cabinets, space on my desk for print-outs of my daily chapters. The chaos must go! Yes, she cried, seizing another file and wondering why its contents are twelve years old and no longer relevant, and it's STILL in the drawer.

Writing Contests

I've been reading tons of posts on a professional writers' loop about changes to judging guidelines for a major writing award. The suggested (new) guidelines go beyond publication date and word count, and into how much of this element or that one, belong in each category. In trying to be specific and narrow the guidelines, the promulgators of this mess are making it seem as if these books are written by "the rules." You know the ones I mean - the "rules" that say you must have so much of this element, less than 30% of that element, etc., to be published in that genre.

Phooey. A good romance, a good mystery, a good thriller, a super paranormal, have one thing in common. They're good reads. When a contest for that respective genre starts to narrow its rules, it eliminates books that may blur the lines, but still fit in their respective genres.

What good are contests? Validation, I suppose, that you're writing a book someone else really, really likes. Do they help with sales? With the Newbery for children, I'll bet they do. Newbery Award winners never go out of print. (Hope I'm spelling Newbery correctly!) Libraries will buy more copies of award winners, I'd hazard to guess. But do they make a difference to the public browsing the rows in Barnes and Noble. I don't think so. Readers want to like the cover, get caught up in the first page, and be intrigued by the back cover copy. I know I, and others with whom I've discussed this, avoid Oprah Book Club books like the plague. They're all depressing and "good for you," which equates to the same thing - I won't buy one.

That said, I bought every Newbery for my children when they were young, because I was raised by a mother who made sure I read them. Many of them are books I can read now and still fall into, just as I would any good book. So hurrah for the Newbery! The rest of the awards - - - I'm not so sure. Just write a great book and hope the reading world will buy it. If they do, then that's the best reward, the top prize, in my eyes.

Rain, rain, and more rain

Let me paint a picture for you: rain, drizzle, downpours, and a bit of lightning for flavor. Before the race, angel thoughts led me to Home Depot and a fire pit, complete with bags of hickory chunks, as its warmth kept us from running, screaming, from the RIR parking lot. A blanket, a pop-up tent, and a continual fire in the pit were all that stood between the four of us and the worst day possible. By the time they called the race off, we had had enough of a very unpleasant experience at RIR. Too bad. The Busch race on Friday night was great.

Sunday afternoon wasn't racin' under the lights, a Richmond tradition, but at least the rain was a memory. Unfortunately, the COT produced a boring race. I've seen Richmond racin' lead to nails bitten to the bone, but not last weekend. The only excitement involved the question of which Hendrick car was going to win. Anyone want a pair of tickets for the September race? I'm already bored to tears by the COT.

Reading Randy Wayne White's TAMPA BURN. Killer opener. Tomlinson steals the scenes he's in.

Racin'!!!

It's almost time to endure the traffic, the crowds, and the heat (well, maybe not heat) for the two day NASCAR event in Richmond. Can't wait! I should be working on my pre-mades for two days of menus, but a break from the kitchen won't hurt the potato salad. How I'd love to see Ward Burton win. I'll keep my fingers crossed for him and the No. 4 car.

Have I mentioned how exquisite the azaleas and dogwoods have been this spring? The long cool spells, interspersed with heat, created a spring so lovely I can't remember the like.

Just finished Mary Balogh's SIMPLY LOVE. The woman writes such a deep third person POV, I forget it's not in first POV. Her emotional depths are stunning. Loved the book. After MORE THAN A MISTRESS, I wasn't sure I liked the direction she was going, but with SIMPLY LOVE, she's baaccckkk...

A Week Later...

I don't want to re-live last week, not for anything. However, VaTech is pulling together, my daughter's back on campus and going to class, and the healing evidence of all the love shown that great school is abundantly clear. So it's time to try to return to "normal," which is surely altered from what it was on April 15.

A friend and I are plotting a funny, sexy, irreverent, honest look at women over fifty (and over eighty!) who form a friendship while crewing together on the Chesapeake Bay. They'll solve mysteries, help understand grandchildren, support each other in crises, and best of all, "tell it like it is." These women are not only active physically, their minds twirl a mile a minute. We're having fun discovering their foibles and strengths, and right now, how they'll ferret out who killed the 84-year-old's boytoy. Oh yeah, old broads rock!

On a Nascar note, the Richmond race is weekend after next. Can't wait. Already getting the tailgating gear down, cleaning the grill, and plotting a menu to feed three menfolk. Ward Burton's "VT" on the hood of his car in Phoenix meant a lot to me and other Tech fans.

Virginia Tech

I've just been through a nightmare, but nothing compared to the one my youngest survived today on the campus of Virginia Tech. She's fine - and with her sister at her university now, far from the lovely campus that has seen so much senseless bloodshed today. I'm grateful, very grateful, that my daughter, when her 8 o'clock class didn't have a professor show up, decided to go for coffee off campus. It's a parent's worse nightmare - being far away when your child is in the middle of a crisis, and you're helpless to rush to her aid. At least her sister was close enough to be there for her.

I was thinking today how everything, like a bad writing day, falls into its proper place of importance, which is slim and none, when you're trying to ascertain if your child is alive after a tragedy strikes. My prayers today were heartfelt and universal - for the students and their families, for everyone involved with the university, and the law enforcement officers who had so much to handle. Thank you to everyone who called and emailed, asking if (s)he could help in any way. It means a lot to me and my husband.

The Rule of Law

I've just spent an illuminating four hours at the Rule of Law Conference, where barristers, lawyers, justices, judges, and Lords High gathered to discuss and debate how and what the Rule of Law is, and how it applies to Religion, China, Native Americans, and ....you get the picture. We heard from the Chinese Nelson Mandela, Xu Wenli, the president of the Navajo Nation, Joe Shirley, Dean Kenneth Starr, Professor Kevin Gover, The Honorable James Spencer, Ambassador Seiple, and the Right Honorable Lord Justice Rix, to drop a few names. The list of legal luminaries is incredible, and I just wish that everyone could have been there. The Rule of Law is truly what separates us from the dreck, and discussing how it can, and does, go astray, and how to fix its flaws, gives me almost too much to contemplate. I'll be thinking about this one for a long time.

A charming gentleman, His Honour Eric Stockdale, signed a copy of his book MIDDLE TEMPLE LAWYERS AND THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, for me, and discussed his writing process. We writers love to talk shop - how much we write in a day, how we research, etc. I can't wait to dig into the tome.

I'm off tomorrow to see my eldest perform in INTO THE WOODS at her college. I can't wait - she's been rehearsing her socks off. That Sondheim is a tough composer!

If you get a chance, try to define the Rule of Law for yourself. Then pay attention to how it affects your life, personally. Study its power in the world around you. It's astounding. Trust me.

New York and Writers

I'm yawning as I write this - I don't think I slept more than twelve hours from Friday through Saturday in NYC. A wonderful group of writers gathered to talk, share, plot, and learn from each other, and I must type up my notes before I lose them in the black hole known as my desk. The industry pros spilled the beans, we talked promotion and its efficacy (and lack thereof), print runs, and publisher support from 7:15 in the morning (on Saturday, no less!) until into the wee hours. Aside from the work aspect, I managed to squeeze in two plays (Journey's End and Inherit the Wind - WOW), and one musical (The Pirate Queen). I'm just not into big, lavish productions, I fear. TPQ was too cold (blowing straight down my neck), too loud (and this is a woman who loves the roar of 800 HP engines), and boring for me, so I left early. I know, I'm an anomaly. Everyone else adored it. I realize my taste in drama reflects my taste in literature, SHOGUN being the exception. I like more intimate tales, character-driven, with a smaller cast. The big stage bores me, no matter how flashy and expensively it's dressed. Reel it in, focus on the inner workings of a man, and you've hooked me.

Now that the fun is over, it's back to work....

Of Good and Evil...

Yesterday didn't produce the writing results I wanted. Reading yesterday's chapter was a humiliating experience - I don't think I've produced such a totally off-the-wall scramble of the alphabet in a while. Cogitating on my literary mess, I came to the conclusion there was only one sane thing to do. Hit the copy and delete buttons. Gone.

So I started thinking about how it all went awry, and the answer was staring me in the face. I didn't know this bad guy, and this was his chapter. He has a role in the story that's rather important, and I've been blithely using him to further the character arc for everyone else. Now, however, it's critical mass time, and he's going to explode on me if I don't come up with his character arc and add some humanity to his denouement. I've been dancing around his evil because, in a way, I don't want him to be lost. But by toning him down, I've lost what made him delicious in the first place. So it's time to get some . . . .and do what I know has to be done.

Played hooky and spent an hour at the track yesterday afternoon as the Busch drivers tested for the May race. Busch drivers is quite a misnomer - I think they were all Cup drivers out there yesterday. The COT tests next week, so you know where I'll be - checking that ugly puppy out. Hey, even ugly puppies grow on you. So do wicked bad guys, sigh. I so want to like my evil character. Can't let it happen.