Penelope Marzec

FREE for One Week Only

2012-03-03T19:39:00.004-05:00

For one week only, you can download Prince of the Mist for FREE! (Just in time for St. Patrick's Day!) You must download the book from Smashwords and use the coupon code. You can find the book here. Smashwords offers books in all sorts of formats--so there's one for your ebook reader.

Smashwords is offering all sorts of books at discounted prices because it is officially Read an EBook week. Now is the time to load up your ebook reader. Don't miss out!

Finished!

2012-03-02T09:50:00.000-05:00

I finished The Pirate's Wraith, my time travel/pirate romance! This week I've been tightening, editing, and checking for continuity. I love the book. :^) Whether or not an editor will enjoy it is debatable. It all depends on the editor.

Writing is a really crazy occupation. I've spent a great deal of time on this book and finding the time has not always been easy. Writing a book is a gamble, but I do it because I have fun with it.

If the book were ever made into a movie, Josh Holloway should play the part of my pirate captain and Marie Avgeropoulos should play the heroine. At least, in my opinion. :^)

Of course, since the book is a romance it will probably never be made into a movie--though you never know. This one does have quite a bit of action.

At any rate, wish me luck. I'm going to the Liberty States Fiction Writers Conference and I have an appointment with an editor. So if my nerves don't get the best of me and I am able to put together a few coherent sentences in explaining the plot, maybe I'll get a contract.

For Those Who Still Don't Understand Twitter

2012-02-23T09:58:00.004-05:00

Twitter is useful. It can be a very powerful tool, but it can also be fun.

We do not have cable television in our house. It is pointless since we only watch the news. When television went digital, we simply got a better antenna. (You can read about that story here.) So for the Republican debate last night, I simply went to Twitter, clicked on the trending topic and watched the tweets roll by. It was exactly like being right there in the audience--or like passing notes in the back of the classroom. I think it was better than watching the debate.

Whenever there is a breaking news story, I have seen it on Twitter first. When hubby and I experienced the earthquake while on vacation in Virginia last summer, I checked Twitter. Then I emailed everyone back home to let them know we were fine. When Whitney Houston died, I saw the news on Twitter.

As a writer, I signed up with Twitter to promote my books, but posting nothing but my own book information can get tedious and boring for both me and my followers. I have discovered it is better to post a on variety of topics. With Twitter, that's easy because most of the time, I simply have to retweet another writer's post. In that way, I am supporting my writing friends and making new writing friends. (Everyone loves retweets.)

Passing on information about writing and the publishing business is welcomed by those in the writing community. If I see a great news article on the NY Times, I pass it along. If I see a great video, I pass it along.

Twitter is great for chatting, too. I have had conversations with writers far more famous than I.

Witty people post amusing tidbits on Twitter all the time. It's great for laughs.

Yes, I still post reviews about my books and quotes from my books. I let the world know I am holding a contest and I let them know where I will be autographing my books. Everyone who has a book to promote should be on Twitter.

But Twitter is so much more. Join in on the fun.

Dead Pictures

2012-02-17T09:30:00.004-05:00

This is a photo of Babci and Dziadzi taken last July. Dziadzi looks good for a 94 year old. At Dziadzi's wake, Babci wanted photos taken of her husband in the coffin. I handed my camera to hubby and he took the pictures his mother wanted.

Evidently, taking post mortem photos is an old tradition in hubby's family. The photos are always sent to the remaining relatives in Poland. Personally, I like to remember the way people look when they are alive. However, taking photos of the dead was quite popular during the Victorian Era. Check out this link on Wikipedia.

We have plenty of photos of Dziadzi when he was hale and hearty, as a handsome young man, as a playful grandfather, and in a thoughtful mood. He was a good man.

Dziadzi's Passing

2012-02-02T13:06:00.007-05:00

Death comes to us all. To some it comes sooner and to some, later. Dziadzi, hubby's father, was lucky enough to live a long, long time. He died four days short of his 95th birthday. He did not "go gentle into that good night." He suffered for the last few years. Though his death was expected, it was still sad, especially for Babci, his wife of 71 years--hubby's mom.

Dziadzi means grandfather in Polish. Dziadzi came to this country when he was twenty. Three years later, he met his true love at a small party and married her four months later. They had two children. One of them being my hubby. Hubby's brother passed away several years ago so his parents have relied solely on hubby's help in their difficulties.

Since Babci and Dziadzi lived in Florida and everyone else in the family lives up north, Dziadzi's passing created a logistical nightmare. As soon as we received the news, hubby booked a flight, a hotel, and a rental car. He sent all the information to the rest of the family via email and called as many as he could.

We headed to Florida the next day, arriving late in the evening. The following day was spent scrambling around to make funeral arrangements. The rest of the family arrived in time for the wake. In addition to the family, many of the friends hubby's parents made while living in Florida came to talk about the good times. It's rather sad that it takes a death in the family for us to hold a reunion, but it was nice to see everyone nevertheless. We were so glad that everyone was able to be there for Babci. It truly lightened the sadness in her heart.

Babci held up well during the whole ordeal, probably because she had seen Dziadzi suffer so much for the past few years that his passing was a relief. She is smaller though, a shrunken version of the energetic woman who could dance every Polka at the Polish club where nobody could keep up with her.

The funeral was lovely, dignified, and comforting. The priest's homily was truly inspired. The hymns were old favorites and included a Polish Christmas carol.

The repast may have been a little crazy--we settled for the Golden Corral--but everyone had their choice of food. It just so happens that the Golden Corral was one of Dziadzi's favorite places as well as Babci's favorite, too. I can remember Dziadzi's joy at having the wide variety of desserts. He did not eat much of the meat and vegetables but he satisfied his sweet tooth.

Of course, Dziadzi with his heavy accent never called it the Golden Corral--he called it the Golden Coral. :^)

Most of the grandchildren left the day after the funeral, although Daughter #3 and her hunny spent an extra day during which we occupied Babci by taking her on a cruise on the Miss Daisy to check out the stilt houses in the Gulf and watch the dolphins cavort around the boat. The weather was glorious and the dolphins' antics brought Babci a smile.

Monday came and the real work began. Hubby and I took Babci to the Social Security office and the bank. We wrote out thank you cards. By Tuesday, we waded in papers searching for insurance policies and bank statements. While Babci never throws anything out, it wasn't in any discernible order.

We aren't finished with the paper tasks. It will take some time to settle everything properly. In the meantime, we will be searching for an assisted living facility close to our home. We intend to move Babci up north with the rest of the family. Florida is a great place to be if you hate winter, but it is too far when you are old and feeble.

Hubby and I left sunny Florida and flew home to snowy New Jersey, but the snow was light and fluffy, covering the branches and lending the landscape the look of an enchanting winter wonderland.

I'm glad to be home.

Toys from the Past

2012-01-27T11:53:00.003-05:00

This is a very ancient photograph. It is actually a black and white image that my mother colored with special, transparent oil paints.

Yes, there was a time when there was less color in the world. No color television and no color photographs, but we did without.

That's me on the right. I don't look very happy, but I do remember loving that toy. I remember the name of it--Golden Arrow. I do not remember my brother's little firetruck--probably because he never allowed me to sit in it. :^)

Toys were a lot simpler back in those days. I had dolls, a doll house, and a tea set. My brother had trains and guns, but I played with those, too. He was a cowboy, I was a cowgirl. I made boiled potatoes on my little play stove. He was Davy Crockett with his coonskin cap. He was Superman and broke his arm when he jumped off the porch. I was not as daring.

Do you remember what your favorite toys were when you were young?

For What It's Worth

2012-01-20T09:37:00.006-05:00

I became serious about publishing over twenty-five years ago. I started writing at the age of nine, but it took a long time before I really got the itch to get my books published. First, I had to get an education, then I had to get a job, then I married the love of my life and popped out three daughters. Then the publishing bug hit me--and it hit full-force.

After my first rejection, I joined a professional writers' organization where I was inundated by tons of advice. I now belong to three professional writers' organizations. I've read innumerable books about writing and publishing and I have no doubt I could write my own non-fiction book about publishing--but I won't.

Writing is a solitary act. A fiction writer makes up stories and then commits her waking dream to paper. There is no right way to do it. Every writer has a different method. Some are very organized and plot everything in advance of the actual writing. Some are very unorganized--being quite free and loose about the process. There are many writers who use some of each system. It doesn't matter how the writer gets the job done, but she must have a good story and there should be no grammatical errors.

However, while a writer may believe she has written a good story, a publisher--or agent--will not necessarily agree with her. I could wallpaper a room with my rejections and so could most published writers. It can be very discouraging to get rejection after rejection. I have seen plenty of writers give up.

I did not give up. On the other hand, I did not wait to be published by one of the big publishers. I took what I could get. When e-publishing came into being, I jumped on the bandwagon. It made sense to me even if it didn't make sense to most people at the time.

So I was published, though in the opinion of those who were published by the big publishers, I was not published. I didn't care. Nevertheless, I continued to go to writing workshops and conferences. I took notes and carefully decided what was good and useful advice for me. My family and my real job came first. Of necessity, writing had to take a back seat. Nobody can do it all at the same time. There should be balance in one's life. It should not be a juggling act. I had my priorities and I stuck with them. I still do. I do not regret it at all.

Naturally, I did not make much money, but I had fun writing stories when I could squeeze in the time. Writing is a blast.

Despite the fact that smaller publishers thought my books worthy of publication, I still could not get a big publisher to give me a contract. Yes, I continued to get rejected. But I won two EPPIE Awards and was nominated for a Reviewers Choice Award.

Then e-publishing exploded. Now anyone can be published. I republished Prince of the Mist on my own. It had been originally published by New Concepts Publishing. I gave it a new cover and uploaded it. I am not getting rich, but the book is selling.

I may publish another book on my own if I believe in it and several publishers do not. Publishers have proven to be rather shortsighted when it comes to choosing books. Still, there are many advantages to having a publisher. Publishers edit books and give them covers. Of course, sometimes publishers give books really horrible, rotten covers. :^(

For what it's worth, my advice to new writers is to join a professional organization. Attend workshops and conferences. Shift through all the information and decide what is right for you. Do not abandon your husband, children, or your regular job to become famous. The odds are against you. However, if you don't give up, if you write well, and you keep your ear to the ground for breaking news in the publishing world--you can be like me.

Satisfied.

Superstitions

2012-01-13T09:16:00.002-05:00

Since it's Friday the Thirteenth, I thought this video would be appropriate. :^)

Be a Fan, Win a Tote Bag and Books

2012-01-06T09:31:00.004-05:00

I need to get rid of stuff and declutter my house, but I also need new fans. The solution is another contest.

This contest is open to anyone in the United States because the shipping costs are going to be incredible.

If you want to be a winner, you must LIKE my Facebook fan page at:

http://www.facebook.com/penelopemarzecbooks

You must also comment below this post.

There will be six winners. Each winner will receive a tote bag and each bag will come with two books by variety of authors and one copy of my own Sea Of Hope.

The results of the contest will be posted here and at my Facebook fan page. The contest will end next Friday, January 13, 2012.

Hildie is the one and only winner of this contest. Thank you, Hildie!

How Many Did You Read?

2011-12-29T19:07:00.005-05:00

Shelfari has informed me that I read 20 books this year while last year I read 22. Clearly, I am a slacker. I do have valid excuses. The first half of the year was a real trial. Plus I also write books, which includes revising, all that grammatical editing stuff, and tons of promotion. Nevertheless, I wish I had made a bigger dent in the stack of books I fully intend to read. I have ebooks waiting for me to read as well, but fortunately, they don't take up much room. :^)

The sad fact is there are so many books and so little time.

How many books did you read this year?

In Perfect Harmony

2011-12-21T09:46:00.004-05:00

Dear Santa,

I haven't written lately because I thought I had all I need. However, this year taught me a few lessons because it was particularly difficult. I have discovered that there is one thing I would dearly love but it is beyond my capabilities to obtain.

I would like PEACE. I know that's a tall order, which is why I am writing to you. I know people have been fighting each other since the dawn of time. Unfortunately, I've found raging hatred isn't only a problem between different countries, there's a disturbing amount of hostility and bitterness in our own United States.

There are people in my community who have beautiful homes, plenty of food on their tables, and who drive much nicer cars than the one I drive and yet they hate their fellow Americans. What's worse is their total lack of compassion for those less fortunate.

They are scary. The land of the free and the home of the brave is beginning to resemble the land of the mean and the arrogant.

Can you soften their hard hearts? Can you somehow make them realize how blessed they are? Can you heal their souls and take away the hatred that is not only eating them up inside but poisoning our own beautiful land?

I know this won't be easy, but since you're magical maybe all it would take would be a sprinkling of enchanted glitter. Or maybe a song would do it. You know, the kind that gets stuck in your mind.

I sure hope you can help me out. I'll leave some oat shortbread by the fireplace. Give my best to Mrs. Claus.

Thanks.

Love,
Penelope

A Matter of Trust

2011-12-15T20:34:00.004-05:00

The girls in the photo are my daughters when they were very young. The guy in the Santa suit is my brother-in-law. He dressed in costume one Christmas and stopped at our house to surprise the kids. Daughter #1 and Daughter #3 enjoyed the special visit. However, Daughter #2 was more than a bit wary about the situation. She did not like the strange man in the red suit with the white beard.

Santa can be a scary guy. While some kids are perfectly content to sit on Santa's lap with a fistful of candy canes, there are youngsters who think the guy is not to be trusted. There really isn't much anyone can do to change the situation. I am glad I am not a photographer who takes pictures of children with Santa Claus. Hubby and I were at the mall this week and watched a photographer try to elicit a smile from one very unhappy youngster. She did not have any success despite her use of a number of strategies designed to distract the child.

I found some good advice online about the situation. You should check it out if you intend to take a photo of a young child with Santa. Just click here.

I don't blame Daughter #2 for being suspicious of Santa. I think clowns are terrifying.

My Favorite Books

2011-12-08T21:08:00.003-05:00

I read a lot and I read in a wide variety of genres. However, there are some specific books that I truly cherish. I know not everyone will agree with me on my selection, but these are books held my interest so thoroughly that I could not put them down. If you have a favorite book or two or three, add a comment to this post.

These are rather old books, which means some are now available for free. Some readers don't like antiquated language, but I am a patient reader and there are very few books that I have not finished, but I loved these books--despite the fossilized English. The characters are terrific!

These are not listed in order of preference. They were all great books for me.

Gone With the Wind, by Margaret Mitchell

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

Ravenscroft, by Dorothy Eden

Ammie Come Home, by Barbara Michaels

The Crystal Cat, by Velda Johnston

Uncle Tom's Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe

In addition, almost any book by Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, Grace Livingston Hill, and Charles Dickens.

There are newer, more modern books that I have enjoyed as well and I'll have to put those into another post. However, the books above are what I read when I was young and they had a great influence on me as a writer.

Send a Real Card

2011-12-02T09:21:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, hubby and I worked for a few hours signing our Christmas cards, stuffing the cards in the envelopes, and putting on the stamps. I’ve made the process very easy by printing out address labels. I also put together The Marzec Times, our annual newsletter, which briefly covers the highlights of our year. We put the newsletter inside the card.

Sending out Christmas cards is one of the traditions of the season I love. I haven’t seen Marie since college, but I send her a card every year. Our neighbors moved away twenty-five years ago, but we still keep in touch at Christmas time. It gives me a warm feeling to think about them and to know how they are doing. We probably won’t get together and visit each other, but it doesn’t matter. We remember each other and wish each other well and hope that next year another card will come.

Fewer and fewer people send out cards these days. Yes, the price of stamps keeps going up, but spending 44 cents once a year on an old friend is a far cheaper than buying them a drink.

Posting “Merry Christmas” or "Happy Holidays" on Facebook is nice, but it will soon be forgotten in a cascade of hastily posted greetings. A card in the mailbox is a special surprise, one that can be held and remembered for a long, long time after its delivery.

Over the years, I have removed people from my card list. I usually give them a few years, and then I reluctantly cross them off. However, I will often email the pdf file of our Christmas newsletter to them. I figure it is something they can print if they like—or send it to their ereader. It is my attempt to reach out and keep in touch. I find it very sad that in our modern society with all our amazing communication devices, all I ever get from many people are a bunch of forwarded messages that contain nothing about their personal lives.

Touch somebody in a special way this holiday season. Send them a real paper card in the mail. Give them a memory.

Vignettes from the Past

2011-11-25T09:33:00.008-05:00

All went well at our house for the Thanksgiving feast. Uncle Gene and Aunt Georgette joined us and brought ambrosia and spinach/pepperoni bread. Cousin Jeannette drove six hours to eat with us and brought a pumpkin/pecan pie. Daughter #3's true love brought homemade cranberry sauce and a broccoli casserole. Daughter #2 arrived with her laptop and work to do, but she was very attentive at dinner in listening to the conversation. Daughter #1, as usual, was my extra pair of hands. She washed pots, provided beverages, and picked up Granddad while hubby was picking up Daughter #2 at the train station.

Hubby carved the turkey.

It's hectic putting a big feast together, but the part I enjoy comes when everyone has had their fill and sits around the table to talk. We seldom see my father's side of the family. So it was especially nice to catch up with what has been happening in their life.

Eventually, the conversation came round to family genealogy. I do not know much about my father's family, but I told some brief stories about some of family members I had known. My uncle thought I should write everything down. However, all I really have are some short vignettes from the past--brief incidents and interactions that became embedded in my mind because they were either funny, tragic, or pointed out someone's unique character.

For instance, my Great Aunt Marion--my grandfather's sister--was truly devout. Once, when I was staying with my grandfather, Aunt Marion came to visit. However, at a certain time, all conversation ended. She was involved in saying a Novena. Every hour for nine hours on the hour, she pulled out a prayer card and recited the prayer. My grandfather and I had to be patient and quiet. As soon as she had finished the prayer, the conversation went on where it had left off.

Yes, I write fiction, but I find inspiration in people and their real-life experiences. I love characters--and we have been blessed with a wealth of relatives who have been fascinating individuals. Hosting the Thanksgiving feast is work, but for someone who has spent a lifetime studying human nature, the effort of all that cooking and baking is well worth it.

Are You Still Writing?

2011-11-13T13:27:00.005-05:00

Since I grew up in the county, taught in local schools, and have been an active member in several organizations, I often chance to meet people I may not have seen in several years. I bump into them at the deli counter or in the mall and very often the conversation starts out, "Are you still writing?"

Oh well. They are not great fans and haven't looked me up on Amazon or Barnes & Noble lately. That's okay. From what I've heard, there are a lot of people too busy to read. :^(

I find it a disconcerting question. My sister thought as a conversation starter it was a step above, "Are you still breathing?"

At any rate, I figure I'm lucky they recognize me.

But yes, I'm still writing. I started writing a long time ago and I enjoy the process. Telling stories is what I do. I retired from teaching, but I am not going to retire from writing--unless I become too feeble to type.

Other writers understand the joy of it. I had a blast the other day typing out my heroine's dream sequence. I suppose some people thinks that's really crazy, but I can't help myself. I've got plenty of stories to tell.

Nevertheless, I feel I need a witty comeback for those people who ask if I'm still writing. Any ideas?

Like My Fan Page, Win a Book

2011-11-09T11:01:00.006-05:00

I will give away FOUR paper editions of The Fiend of White Buck Hall tomorrow night (November 10, 2011). Due to a dark cover, it has not received much attention, which is sad because it is a great story! (Warning: It is a rather spicy paranormal.)

To enter the contest go to http://www.facebook.com/penelopemarzecbooks. That is my fan page. Click the LIKE button at the top of the page and become a fan, in addition leave a comment on this post. The four winners will be posted both here and at my fan page tomorrow night.

Hurry up and sign in to win. Good luck!

The lucky winners in the contest are Jenn, Deanna, Leann, and MarkD! Thanks for playing!

Love and Marriage

2011-11-04T11:27:00.006-04:00

This is a photograph of the top from our wedding cake. At thirty-five years of age, what was once sparkling white is now turning yellow, but it is a precious and tangible sign of the commitment hubby and I made to each other on our wedding day.
I believe in love, which is rather obvious since I write romance novels. I believe in relationships that last forever. I’ve seen plenty of other couples who are devoted to each other and who have celebrated many anniversaries. However, the brief marriage of Kim Kardashian, last week’s big news story, wasn’t what I would call a marriage.

I have no idea what the truth is in that situation. Though the wedding boosted the television ratings and made lots of money, it did not resemble any kind of committed relationship. The big party was lavish. Kim had a beautiful dress and she looked stunning but she could not have paid much attention to the words she recited.

While I cannot claim to be a marriage expert, hubby and I ran a Pre-Cana program in our church for seven years. The Catholic Church has an excellent marriage preparation program. Anyone who wants to get married in the Church must attend either an Engaged Encounter or a Pre-Cana. Yes, there are Catholic couples who divorce despite the instructional course, but hubby and I believe it can be helpful. We went through both a Pre-Cana and an Engaged Encounter before we were married. We were serious about our marriage. Do we still argue? You bet we do.

My parents were married for sixty-two years until my mother died. Did they argue? Sure they did. Hubby parents have been married for an incredible seventy-one years. They have had disagreements, too.

Love is a decision. Marriage involves work, communication, compromise, and a whole bunch of forgiveness from both partners to build a sound, permanent relationship.

It isn’t easy. Unfortunately, Kim Kardashian’s stunt cheapens the idea of marriage, which is a shame. It would be wonderful to see entertainers setting a good example, but I guess that isn’t going to happen anytime soon. :^(

Nevertheless, I will continue to write about two people who find love and make a permanent commitment to each other. It can work.

A Strange Tale

2011-10-27T21:15:00.010-04:00

When I taught first grade in the public school, the teachers always had a few days off in November, which allowed them to attend the teachers' convention in Atlantic City. It was a two hour drive from where I lived at the time. I had stayed in a hotel with other teachers several times over the years, but one year I decided just to drive down for the day and come home in the evening.

I got into my trusty six-cylinder 1971 Chevy Nova (no air-conditioning, plastic upholstery, and a stick shift) and headed south. However, it began to rain--a lot. It turned out to be a horrible day for driving. The rain came down in sheets and I had to drive slower. New Jersey was a lot less developed in those days. Once I passed the Asbury Park tolls there wasn't much to see.

I didn't see many other cars either. The dismal weather kept most people at home.

As I rounded a curve, I saw a man on the side of the road. He was rather tall and wore a trench coat. He did not have an umbrella or even a hat on his head--despite the deluge pouring from the sky. He also did not have a car. He was waving his arms in a strange manner, but he wasn't looking at me. He seemed to be looking at the opposite side of the road--where there wasn't anything to see.

It was very, very odd. I had mixed feelings about stopping--so I didn't. But my conscience bothered me, so I slowed down a bit and glanced in the rear-view mirror.

He wasn't there anymore. That was very, very creepy.

It wasn't until years later I figured out I must have seen the Parkway Phantom. Yipes!

Notes from the New Jersey Romance Writers Conference

2011-10-25T09:28:00.006-04:00

There I am, waiting for someone to buy my books at the New Jersey Romance Writers Conference Book Fair. Shelley Freydont took the photo for me. Thanks, Shelley. :^)

At the New Jersey Romance Writers Conference last weekend, the theme was “Empowering You Muse.” NJRW runs a terrific conference every year which offers inspiration, support, and plenty of nuts and bolts writing advice whether a writer is a novice or multi-published.

I took notes at most of the workshops I attended. However, in the interest of brevity, I am posting only the best of the best. Reading my notes will not make anyone a better writer. Writing makes better writers. Nevertheless, some may find a few useful nuggets of information here. One thing I cannot convey in this blog is the wonderful sense of camaraderie that is an integral part of the conference. Writing is a solitary endeavor—and just a little bit crazy, but rubbing elbows with other writers...well, it’s really nice to share your dreams.

On Friday, the conference provided a special retreat for published authors. Wine and chocolate-covered pretzels were served.

Eloisa James kicked off the retreat by giving an overall view of the publishing industry, which—as most people know—is going through major upheavals. Authors are expected to do far more in terms of promotion—particularly on Facebook. They are expected to engage their fans, but they must also post direct links to their books on Amazon. Getting Facebook fans to use the share button is important.

Comments on Amazon are imperative. Authors need at least fifty comments—good or bad—to make a difference.

After Eloisa’s talk, I sat in on a roundtable discussion titled BLOGS, TWITTER, AND FACEBOOK. The moderator was Suzanne Brockmann, who is a perennially enthusiastic author with plenty of great ideas of her own. She started her writing career before the internet became a factor in promotion. Her first book was the last book published by Kismet. She gave away many copies of her book to help establish her reputation as an author.

Much of the discussion concerned Facebook fan pages along with automatic connections an author can make to blogs, Twitter, and so forth.

There is now a conversion app that can change a Facebook friend page to a fan page. However, though the contacts are transferred, all other status messages and photos are lost. The “friend” page will also vanish. Therefore, all information should be backed up before starting the conversion process.

One author suggested offering a contest to get fans to switch from an author’s “friend” page to a “fan” page.

To get a blog to automatically show up on a Facebook page, the author needs her RSS feed (usually nameofblog/feed). Feedburner will do this for the author, as will Feedmyinbox. They dump the information for you.

Some authors consider Tweetdeck extremely useful. All of an author’s accounts can be set up at Tweetdeck. Hootsuite will time tweets automatically.

When it comes to giving away books in a contest, one author noted that it is far easier to give away her books on Kindle, rather than to mail paper editions.

Several authors suggested gathering their fans into a promotion team. Fans get a free book, bookmarks and other promotional items to hand out. The author puts these special fans’ pictures on her Facebook page.

Another author suggested including book club questions at the end of the book. Book clubs are a great promotional tool! Barnes & Nobles offers book clubs for their customers. Getting in touch with the store’s community relations person is the place to start.

A Facebook chat is a convenient way to get in touch with fans. Get other authors to join in but take other time zones into consideration so fans in Australia can chat, too.

On Saturday, I listened to WHEN ONE BOOK JUST ISN’T ENOUGH given by Lauren Willig. Ms. Willig said readers love a series. To them, it’s like going to a reunion. Editors also love a series because it’s much easier for them to sell.

There are several types of series:
Family Series
Friend Series
A Series Based on Geography, such as a small town.
A Thematic Series (with a fairytale line, or a spy link)
A Series With a Recurring Protagonist (this is tough to pull off in a romance)

A series can be open-ended or finite. In a finite series there’s usually an overall story arc. A finite series is easy to pitch to an editor. Even if an author settles upon a finite series, a spinoff series can be written at a later date. However, editors and readers are afraid of a longer series. (Too much to read!)

World building is at the heart of a series. An author can personalize it and create recurring events along with recurring themes. However, the world should remain small with common places in each book. Keep the framework specific. Consistency is important.

For a series, an author needs a detailed record of everything. For instance, what time does the store in the small town open and close?

Readers must love an author’s people. Still, every book must be able to be read as a stand-alone book. All the characters do need not to be in every book. There should be no random reunions. In each book, each character must be there for a reason.

Secondary characters can turn into protagonists in the next book. The character’s basic personality should not change—that would disillusion the reader.

An author needs to decide whether to write linked stand-alones or to make an arc over the series.

There can be a slight switch within subgenres as long as the world is already firm. For instance, a character who has ESP might fit into a small town story that is not a paranormal.

There must always be a resolution at the end of each book. However, if there is an overall arc, that must continue.

With a series, an author can get lots of reader email. Readers sometimes insist upon a book for their favorite character, but an author should not feel forced to write it. Sometimes a novella or short story will satisfy readers—or a bonus chapter.

CREATING RESONANCE: THE SUBTLE ELEMENTS OF FICTION given by Winnie Griggs and Laura Marie Altom was a long workshop, but it didn’t feel long. These two authors covered a lot of ground.

They reminded everyone that an author’s use of descriptive language is much the same as an artist’s box of crayons.

There are many types of descriptive language. In using an analogy a writer is teaching or convincing the reader. Analogies are stronger than similes.

Comparative language is ZEUGMA (new word for me).

Symbolism is a kind of shorthand. There are two types of symbolism in literature: universally understood (road signs, shooting stars, falling leaves) and author-created symbols. These must be used subtly.

An author should avoid clichés and strive for fresh imagery. Setting and mood can add to that imagery. For instance, songbirds and sunshine portray a light-hearted image.

Imagery should be focused, but one image will do—avoid several at one time which would create an overload. Figurative language is powerful. An author can repeat the image but in a different way.

Foreshadowing involves either a broad stoke, providing a big picture, or a pinpoint and specific clue. Which one is used often depends on the genre. The best type of foreshadowing is a surprise.

The subtext of a story is inferred. It is what the character is really saying between the lines. When they try to hide something, the story gets interesting.

There are types of subtext:
When words are at odds with tone.
Body language.
The author’s word choice.
Snippets that have little weight alone, but can have a cumulative effect.

Subtext can deliver your agenda. It elevates an author’s work to art.

Sensory description involves the five senses. To make a richer scene, layer in the details and tailor those details to the story.

Backstory involves secrets. Hold back on those secrets. Wait until they can answer a story question. This builds reader involvement because they feel some satisfaction in guessing some of the revelations, but be subtle.

Hold back the big surprise until the last possible moment.

The epiphany is when the character reaches a revelation on his own. Set the moment up knowing who he is at the beginning and who he is at the end. His outlook will change.

An author needs to train herself to choose the right word. Choose concrete words over vague.

Transitions must condense time in a book. They bridge the gap and aid in the seamless unfolding of the story. The trick is to know what details to enclose. Mundane life events are uninteresting.

Changes in time, changes in place, POV changes, and changes in scene focus need to be handled with transitions.

There are two kinds, either simple or complex. The simple one uses individual words that cue the reader. These are short and direct. For instance, later that day or once they arrived at the beach.

A complex transition can be conveyed by mood. Sensory passages can signal the POV. A memory trigger for the character can be a transition. The memory can be that of another character, an object, or the environment (weather or seasons).

Transitions can layer in emotions but leave out the trivial things that are not important to the plot.

Atmosphere should be matched to the story. Weather can heighten a conflict. Let Mother Nature ruin your characters’ lives.

Music adds a three dimensional aspect. Just a touch is effective.

Interior design reflects the character. Give the character surroundings to match their personality.

Winnie and Laura gave a great presentation and handed out several of their books. In fact, I received so many free books at the conference that my To-Be-Read pile is now higher than ever!

If you write romance, plan on attending the New Jersey Romance Writers Conference next year.

I Have a Lot of Words

2011-10-20T20:15:00.003-04:00

I have an assortment of magnetic words on my refrigerator. Romantic words, corporate words, spiritual words, rock and roll words, and country words are all jumbled together in a big jar. I put the words together to create silly little poems out of them or clever phrases. Most people who visit our kitchen play with them. My daughters and hubby switch them around and laugh at the results--so I'm never entirely sure who wrote what.

Now and then, I take all the words down and put up a different batch. However, before I remove the poems and phrases, I write them in a notebook for posterity ascribing the name of the author, if I suspect the guilty party.

For instance, here's a good, short one for Halloween. I think hubby put the words together--that's why it's such a brief piece.

his song was full of moist blood

The next one sounds very artistic.

come dance on
your sensuous wet canvas
imagine a color
of love

Daughter #1 wrote the following:

liquid dew
surrounds the rose
secret petals blush
in a red bouquet

Here's one of suspicious origin:

champagne cloud note
I always sing sweetly
into the drunk microphone
breathing an alcohol miasma
like slow lyrics in metal blues

Here's another with a musical theme:

righteous raucous roadie rap
by punk artists
crank it loud
group scream between songs

Words are fun. More words are more fun. Get a few sets of magnetic words and watch the silliness begin. :^)

Romantic Encounters of the Wrong Kind

2011-10-14T08:59:00.005-04:00

I have three daughters. Sometimes the discussions in our house are rather illuminating. Recently, I listened to my daughters detail situations where they were with a young man who had the wrong idea about their relationship.

This discussion was a bit scary for a mother to hear, though I was not surprised about the problem. When I started dating, my mother warned me, "Men want only one thing." She was speaking about sex, of course. In my mother's day, making a pass--or getting "fresh" was liable to be rewarded with a slap in the face. Nowadays, young women accuse men of "hitting" on them. Whatever term is used, it refers to an unwanted advance and it has been going on since the dawn of time.

There is a crazy statistic making the rounds about men thinking about sex every seven seconds. Snopes has debunked this and you can read about it here. Still, men do have all that testosterone flowing through their veins and it can ruin their judgment at times.

On several occasions, my daughters assumed they had a platonic and casual friendship with a young man. However, the young man had other ideas--and my daughters claimed that very often it was the setting that seemed to turn the young man's thoughts to sex. Granted there are times when a woman would welcome an advance, but that would be with Mr. Right--not Mr. Wrong.

Here is the list they made of situations which could turn too romantic:

Sitting on a roof together.
Sitting on a couch together.
Playing the guitar, listening to music, or simply hearing music in the background.
Riding in a cab or a car together.
Riding on the ferry together. (In fact, any vehicle other than a bus seemed to be conducive to turning a young man's thoughts to sex.)
Eating together.
Sitting in a park together.
Sitting next to each other at all.
Being near the woods and/or near a body of water together.
Sitting next to a fire together.
Crossing paths on the way to separate destinations.
If either party is staying in a hotel. (i.e. for work)
Drinking coffee together.
Holding onto the same subway pole.
That five minutes when you are at your parents' house but your parents aren't there.

As a romance writer, I looked at this list and thought that I could use some of these ideas for my characters, but as a mother it disturbed me. I worry about my daughters.

Confessions of a Romance Writer

2011-10-07T09:06:00.001-04:00

Too Many Distractions?

2011-09-29T21:24:00.005-04:00

I am the kid in the middle, holding the baby--my sister--and pointing to the picture in the book. My brother is holding the book. I am wearing a lovely dress and my brother is missing a few teeth. :^) My sister is looking at the books on the shelf. We always had plenty of books and since Dad was a journalist, we had lots of newspapers, too.

There were fewer diversions in those days. Maybe that's why more people read books and wrote letters. Yes, we had television, but we did not have 200 channels. Every summer some tubes in the television would burn out and my mother would refuse to get it repaired until September. So we caught lightning bugs and roasted marshmallows on the beach and we read books, and wrote stuff.

When I was several years older than I am in the photo above, my brother and I built a treehouse one summer. There was a tree by the southeast corner of our house with a triple trunk. From scraps of lumber we put together a rather rudimentary structure. My brother did most of the actual construction. He was better at wielding a hammer than I was. My job was to straighten out the bent nails we had gathered to use for our building.

Eventually, the treehouse was finished. There wasn’t much to it—a floor, a simple railing, and a roof. We didn’t have any paint. The wood quickly turned to a weathered gray color.

Once it was done, my brother busied himself with another project. He was more of a doer. I was the dreamer. So the treehouse became my private domain where I would sit, gaze out at the lake, and make up stories without being bothered by distractions--like my younger sisters. :^)

Life was simpler and there seemed to be more time--for everything.

Today, everyone is so busy! There are people who don't read a single book in an entire year. There are people who never write a letter and have given up sending cards. There are so many forms of entertainment vying for their attention that books and writing are altogether forgotten.

I find that very sad.

I Told You So

2011-09-23T09:14:00.004-04:00

My first book, Sea Of Hope, was published in 2001 by Awe-Struck EBooks. It was originally published only in digital format. However, for those who wanted a physical "book" it could be purchased as a file on a 3 1/2 inch diskette. (Remember those?)

It was very difficult being an e-published author at first. While I believed in the viability of ebooks from the first time I held a Rocket eReader in my hands, most of the world had no idea what I was talking about. Worst of all, many traditionally published authors denigrated those of us who had decided to try our luck with ebooks. That stung a bit, but I knew I was right and that ebooks would catch on.

Nevertheless, I spent several years attempting to educate people on the wonders of ebooks. For the most part, it was a wasted endeavor.

Then came the Kindle. It was the right gadget at the right time with the right price. Suddenly, reading on an electronic device was the height of fashion. Ebooks took off. This past year, ebook sales moved beyond the sales of paper books.

Now all those traditionally published authors, who were unwilling to give any credence to ebooks at first, are mining their backlists, republishing their books on their own, and making tidy profits in digital sales.

I hold no grudges. I was aware from the first that the traditionally published were fearful of the new media and waiting to see what would happen. In truth, ebooks turned the publishing world upside down. To those traditionally published authors who are now enjoying success in digital publishing, I offer my congratulations. I am glad that ebooks have become accepted as I knew they would.

I am happy writing my stories and being a published author. That's all I wanted in the first place.

Unity

2011-09-15T10:05:00.004-04:00

You can see it if you look closely. Printed on our United States currency you can find the Latin words, "E pluribus unum." Translated it means, "Out of many, one." In other words, despite our country's many states, races, ideologies, and regional differences, we are united.

Most of the time, it doesn't seem that way. We proclaim ourselves as Republicans or Democrats, liberals or conservatives, Northerners or Southerners, white collar workers or blue collar workers, Christians, Jews, or Atheists. We divide ourselves with labels.

Out of the tragedy of September 11, 2001, there was one big miracle. We were all united. The feeling did not last long, but it was there for a time. The churches were full, the flags were flying, we were all listening to patriotic music--we were all Americans. It is sad that we have since returned to putting ourselves back into our respective corners, keeping ourselves separated from each other.

Yes, I have labeled myself into my little corner, too. However, I do mingle (as every writer should) and I do my best to be open-minded. As my father always says, "Live and let live."

May we always strive for unity, for that is where our strength lies.

Simply Amazing

2011-09-08T14:25:00.007-04:00

Dad bought a Mac Mini this week. This amazing computer is very, very small--but very, very powerful. Dad had been frustrated by his old WebTV. Microsoft stopped supporting it and the browser cannot display such sites as Facebook or YouTube. Nevertheless, it had been easy for Dad to receive and send email with the WebTV, so he was reluctant to change.

I thought the Mac Mini could nearly duplicate the experience of Dad's WebTV because he could use his television as the monitor. With a wireless keyboard and trackpad, I had hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. It was a breeze to set up.

However, there's a huge learning curve involved. Dad now has a very powerful machine. I bought him a book on the Lion operating system, which is the latest Apple system. I went through the steps of how to turn the machine off and on, find his email, and log on to Facebook.

It's going to take a while before he is proficient, but it is wonderful that he is willing to take this on at his age. Many elderly people refuse to use computers and they miss a lot.

Dad signed up for Facebook when I told him he had to do it to keep in touch with his grandchildren. He enjoys the gossip. He also enjoys reading the New York Times online. He gets a big thrill out of sending pertinent articles to everyone, a task that had become impossible with his old WebTV.

Watch out world. Dad will soon be cluttering up your inbox with news he believes you should read. :^)

Too Much Water

2011-09-01T21:19:00.005-04:00

Hurricane Irene is gone, but she left a lot of misery in her wake. For the first time in the thirty-two years we've live here, the reservoir near our house overflowed at the same time the tide rose. This created a huge flood.

There have been several storms where the level of the river was high. I have a blog post with photos from several years ago here. However, Hurricane Irene dumped more water on us than any other storm.

There is a bridge somewhere underneath all that water. Fortunately, the dam did not break--though we were worried that it would. Other dams in our state did not hold.

Our house was safe up on the hill. Our neighbor's house, to the left of the road in the photo, was flooded and knocked off its foundation by a chunk of the bridge that broke away. That house has now been condemned. Another neighbor had a tree fall on their house. Many of our neighbors have lived for a week without electricity.

Other communities in our state had far more devastation from this one storm and my heart goes out to all of those who have lost so much.

A WRITER’S INFLUENCE

2011-08-25T21:00:00.004-04:00

Many authors have promoted worthy causes and influenced readers’ opinions. Philip Freneau, the poet of the Revolution, rallied patriots to the cause of freedom. Rachel Carson sounded a warning about the grave danger of synthetic insecticides when she wrote Silent Spring..

Harriet Beecher Stowe helped to abolish slavery in this country when she wrote Uncle Tom’s Cabin. She did it with fiction. (If you haven’t read her book, you should.)

Not all authors set out to change the world, but all have the potential to do so. Some—like me—intend to entertain and offer their readers hope in the beauty of everlasting love.

Other writers do not expect to change the world—only a small part of it.

Marguerite Henry was given such an opportunity. As a children’s author, her publisher sent her to Chincoteague, Virginia, to write a story on the town’s wild ponies. Ms. Henry stayed at Miss Molly’s Bed and Breakfast, visited the Beebe Farm and forever immortalized Misty, the little filly who is still loved by millions of children. It wasn’t quite the same as fomenting a revolution, but the book’s popularity has endured and among other things provided a booming tourist trade for Chincoteague.

We visited Chincoteague through a Road Scholar program. Last summer, hubby and I joined the Road Scholars and journeyed to White River Junction in Vermont to learn about the railroads of that area. You can read about that adventure here.

Road Scholars’ motto is “Adventures in Lifelong Learning.” An elderhostel, their programs are all-inclusive. In addition to all meals and lodging, they provide participants with lectures, excursions, and other experiences so that they can understand more fully the culture of the area.

We were treated to the seafood at various restaurants on the small island. We learned about the wild birds of the area, watched an artist demonstrate her skill in painting a duck, and saw a decoy carver fashion a sandpiper from a block of white cedar. We listened to the music of the Three Sheets. We heard the tale of a waterman and how he spends his days catching crabs or gathering oysters.

We also went on a safari of the interior of the wildlife refuge.

We heard about the history of Chincoteague and how the ponies came to the island.

Nearly every shop has copies of Misty of Chincoteague by Marguerite Henry. You can see Misty and her foal, Stormy, at the museum in town. They have been preserved by a taxidermist.

Every year in July, the ponies are rounded up to swim from Assateague to Chincoteague. Thirty thousand—or so—people come to witness the event immortalized my Ms. Henry in her book.

How’s that for influence?

Whatever you write, write well.

The Circus Came to Town

2011-08-19T09:51:00.003-04:00

Hubby and I went to the Cole Bros. Circus yesterday. We haven't seen a traveling circus show for a very long time. The last time we went our daughters were very young.

The Cole Bros. put on a good show. There were tigers, elephants, ponies, poodles, trapeze artists, clowns, and the guy who gets shot out of a cannon. The motorcycle act was something new to me. There were three motorcycles inside a huge metal cage--they drove around inside the ball--at a very fast speed--and did not crash. They made me very nervous.

Hubby and I were entertained. We truly enjoyed the show. It was far superior to a movie. It was all live. Simply watching the speed at which the stage was set for the next act was intriguing.

My brother was a circus roustabout one summer. He needed a summer job after high school and when the circus came to town, he decided to join it. In a few weeks, he was muscular and tanned. He had lots of exciting stories to tell about the way the circus works, how the whole circus moves from town to town, and the life of a roustabout.

I never forgot my brother's tales of the circus life. When my hero in The Fiend of White Buck Hall needed an intriguing past, I decided the circus had been a part of his life. It fit.

If the circus comes to your town, go and see it. It is well worth the price of admission. Maybe it will inspire you. :^)

Grounds for Sculpture

2011-08-11T13:11:00.005-04:00

Manet painted The Boating Party. Seward Johnson made it into a life-sized reproduction. And I put myself in the picture, just for fun.

If you haven't visited Grounds for Sculpture, you should. Seward Johnson founded it and many of his works are there. However, many other artists are featured there as well.

We were there last week because Daughter #3 had some of her pastels displayed in a special exhibit.

Grounds for Sculpture is incredible. I would love to go again--soon. I highly recommend it.

Just Write

2011-08-05T10:51:00.004-04:00

Last week, a friend asked me what software I use to write my books. I was a bit surprised by the question. I just type my novels into Word. The publishers want the books in Word, or Word's rtf--depending on the publisher's preference. I don't know of any other authors who use a special software to create their stories--and I belong to several writing groups. None of those groups has ever had a workshop on writing software. Of course, I only belong to fiction writing groups. We all make up stuff in our heads and I don't know how that could ever be programmed. :^)

I went online and discovered a wealth of software programs for those who want to write a book. Some are very expensive. You can see a bunch of them here.

In looking at the features of the various programs, I must admit that having a program to help organize an index for a non-fiction book would probably be a good idea. However, for a fiction book, there is no index.

I have attended many, many writing workshops. I have read many books on writing. I have had my work critiqued. I own several dictionaries and I am a frequent visitor at dictionary.com. I have a favorite thesaurus. I write my own outlines and if I need to brainstorm, I call up a friend.

Word count and spellcheck are built into Word, but it's always good to have a real editor because Word can screw things up.

I think the best aid to help any writer in getting the job done is to put glue on the chair and sit down. Then just write and keep writing. Don't stop until you've reached the end.

You can save a lot of money on software programs that way.

Carrot Crunchies Cookie Recipe

2011-08-01T16:50:00.003-04:00

This cookie recipe is an old favorite. There's some real good nutritious stuff in these cookies so I think it is perfectly acceptable to eat them for breakfast. Everyone in my family agrees. :^)

2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
1/3 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
1 cup finely shredded carrots (about 2 small carrots)
1 cup raisins
1 cup chopped walnuts
2 cups toasted rice cereal

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Prepare 2 large cookie sheets with parchment paper. (Or you can grease them, but the parchment paper makes cookie baking easy.)

In a bowl, combine first 5 ingredients; set aside. In large mixer bowl with electric mixer at medium speed, cream butter, sugar, milk and vanilla. Beat in eggs until light and fluffy. Add flour mixture. Stir in remaining ingredients. Drop batter by tablespoonfuls onto cookie sheets. Bake about 15 minutes. Remove from sheets, cool completely on wire rack.

The original recipe called for pecans, but I like walnuts. I also substitute a small amount of shredded coconut for some of the carrots--if I happen to have the coconut. The original recipe called for dropping teaspoonfuls of batter onto the cookie sheets and baking the dough for 10 minutes. However, the cookies came out puny. I like big cookies so I use a tablespoon.

Enjoy!

Inventions and Fiction Writers

2011-07-29T20:58:00.003-04:00

I have an iPad. One of my sisters has an iPhone. Lately, instead of talking on the phone we video chat with FaceTime. It is almost as good as having my sister here for a visit. Way back when we were kids, the idea of video chatting was science fiction. Now it's a reality.

The amazing thing is that so many inventions were dreamed up in fiction. Most readers are familiar with the gadgets Jules Verne and H.G. Wells wrote about that were able to be produced much later when technology caught up. However, I found an incredible site on the web that details many more technological wonders that were dreamed up by novelists who were way ahead of their time.

Go to http://www.technovelgy.com/

This compilation will show that ebooks were thought up in 1961 by Stanislaw Lem. Frederik Pohl wrote about cellphone voicemail in 1965. Poul Anderson wrote of laser rifles in 1966.

So though truth may be stranger than fiction, fiction writers are rather clever when it comes to devising useful tools that people need.

Thanks to fiction writers, my sister and I can talk to each other in real time. I love those fiction writers!

Two Years Ago

2011-07-24T13:57:00.003-04:00

Two years ago today my mother died. In the photo above, my mother is the toddler on the right. She was the daughter of a coal miner and grew up in a family with six other children. She went to art school and then joined the Marines in World War II. She met my father after the war.

Mom was truly gifted as an artist, but she also had an indomitable spirit and a heart filled with compassion.

I miss her, but I can't help but believe that she's still busy painting, giving out good advice, or delivering food to some poor soul somewhere.

Invasion

2011-07-17T21:55:00.001-04:00

Large, black carpenter ants live in New Jersey. In fact, carpenter ants are hearty and find many locations just to their liking. Though they are not termites, they are still destructive to wooden structures like houses. You can find information online about these prolific insects here.

Over the years, carpenter ants have wandered into our house--typically during the springtime. We stepped on them and bought ant baits which we placed in corners about the house. That seemed to alleviate the problem.

However, on Thursday the ants chose our home for their annual convention but they really should have made reservations first. We were totally unprepared for the invasion. There were hundreds of them crawling around in the living room. It resembled a scene in a horror film. I got out the vacuum to remove them and while that did not kill them, I placed the scurrying contents of the vacuum into a plastic bag and tied it tightly in the hope that they would suffocate.

An exterminator came later in the day to assess the situation. He was impressed with the size of the ants. Maybe what we had in our house was a convention for bodybuilding ants. The exterminator set up an appointment to have the house treated on Saturday. Meanwhile, I had to deal with the ants. I spent much of the day vacuuming the aliens life forms crawling across the rug. Some of them came in carrying food on their mandibles. Maybe there was a potluck supper going on.

By that evening the influx of bugs had diminished but Daughter #1 read online that carpenter ants are most active from 10 pm to 2am. She placed another fresh ant bait near the spot beside the chimney which the ants appeared to be using as their special entrance to the big convention.

We did not sleep well, but in the morning while we did find a few ants it was nothing like the inundation of the previous day.

The exterminator sprayed outside and inside on Saturday. On Sunday, not a single ant was to be seen. I'm hoping it stays that way.

Review Snippets for Prince of the Mist

2011-07-13T09:19:00.003-04:00

I think we all have a tendency to hoard something. Me--I save pieces of paper and books. Fortunately, I saved a bunch of reviews Prince of the Mist received when it was released the first time. For the second edition, it is the same great book. The only difference is the cover. :^)

Now is the time for you to download Prince of the Mist. It is on sale for 50% off at Smashwords until the end of this month. This inexpensive but fun read will brighten your day. You don't have to take my word for it. Read what a whole bunch of reviewers said about the first edition.

Candy, reviewing for Coffee Time Romance, gave PRINCE OF THE MIST 5 Coffee Cups and said, “The conflicts between Tia and Wildon are full of humor and pathos. Their lovemaking is explosive. There is action and suspense as Tia fights her mother’s enemies. I enjoyed this book and I hope this is the beginning of a new series by Penelope Marzec. I look forward to reading more of her books.”

Julie Bonello at ECataRomance Reviews gave PRINCE OF THE MIST 4 Stars and said, “Penelope Marzec’s novella Prince of the Mist is an enchanting paranormal romance which will keep you enthralled from the first page to the last sentence!.....Prince of the Mist is a page-turning story which you will find very hard to put down. Penelope Marzec is a very talented author who keeps her readers hooked with this fabulous story which is full of fun, passion and intrigue.”

For PRINCE OF THE MIST, Valerie at Love Romances said, “Penelope Marzec has written a good book with a good plot. This reviewer was drawn in with the first page. There is lots of action and the opening is quite exciting. When Tia is running away from the car jacker, the reader feels her panic and fear. Tia is a heroine who the reader can relate to.”

Four Angels from Brandy at Fallen Angel Reviews who said, “Ms. Marzec has created a sweet story that covers the full range of emotions. The plot is simple, but effective; the characters are likable and easy to relate to….. All in all, this is an excellent story and well worth reading.”

Brenda Thatcher, Reviewer at Mystique Books gave it Four & one half Moons. She said, “PRINCE OF THE MIST is a wonderful book, a tender tale of love set against a politically hot topic….PRINCE OF THE MIST is highly recommended. It is a beautiful story of love that shows how two people from vastly different cultures can find unity.”

Wendi at Road to Romance said, “PRINCE OF THE MIST is so well written and spellbinding, my attention was grabbed from the beginning. I read the story all at once.”

Romance Junkies Reviewer Billie Jo awarded PRINCE OF THE MIST a Blue Ribbon Rating of 4.5 and said, “PRINCE OF THE MIST is a charming, sexy, and fun read. Penelope Marzec outdoes herself again with another magical love story that kept me enthralled from the beginning to the end. …I chuckled throughout this delightful tale. I look forward to reading more of Ms. Marzec’s books. “

Susan from Enchanted In Romance gave PRINCE OF THE MIST 4 Unicorns and said, “Prince of The Mist is a 64-page story that will transport the reader to a magical realm. The author has written a fast paced and highly sensual story that will capture the readers’ imagination. The lead couple’s story and their struggles will draw you in and not let go until the very end.”

So there you have it. Lots of happy reviewers enjoyed Prince of the Mist. Give it a try. You don't have much to lose. It's less than the price of a cup of coffee. :^)

My Experience in Sales

2011-07-07T08:45:00.009-04:00

One summer, between my junior and senior year of college, I landed a job as an aide in a summer school program. It was a great experience since I intended to become a teacher. However, it paid next to nothing and I needed more money for college. To supplement my puny salary, I decided to sell cosmetics. My success in selling cosmetics depended almost entirely on the vanity of women. Fortunately, many women long to be beautiful and anything that will help them toward that goal is something they desire to own. (Especially if it is not too expensive.)

In fact there were only two real problems selling a line of beauty aids for me. One was my fear of getting bit by a dog. I went door-to-door initially to gather a customer base, but I skirted around any house with a snarling dog.

My other downfall was that I tended to use up my profits by buying many of the cosmetics for myself. Yes, I longed to be gorgeous and alluring just like everyone else. I believed all the hype--and, of course, I looked in the mirror and found myself lacking--even though I was twenty, thin, and did not have a single wrinkle in my face. Still, my lips seemed too thin. I had freckles. I wanted glowing cheeks and come-hither eyes. I put on way too much makeup.

Nevertheless, I had fun. I got to chat with people, something I've always enjoyed because in the process I collect gossip and characters--an extremely useful habit to develop for a writer.

My customers never complained about the products I sold. I'd douse myself with the newest fragrance, they would get a good whiff when I walked in the door and then they would order some for themselves.

It was a great business.

Selling books is far more difficult than selling cosmetics. Some people don't read and those who do read, don't read romances. Most people refer to my habit of touting my wares as shameless self-promotion. In addition to that, there's always criticism in the form of reviews.

Despite that, some of the techniques I learned in selling cosmetics actually do work in selling books.

Here are the salient points:

1. Stay away from snarling dogs.

2. Dress up and smell good.

3. Smile.

4. Enjoy the conversation, wherever it goes. (You might get an inspiration for another character.)

5. Always believe in your product. (I have had to explain over and over what a romance novel is. Some people really do not understand the genre at all.)

6. Help the customer find what they want. If they don't want to read any of your books, point them to another author who writes in the genre they claim to enjoy.

7. Keep writing!

For Sale--Again!

2011-06-30T21:44:00.004-04:00

Prince of the Mist was originally published in 2005 by New Concepts Publishing. At that time, the book received wonderful reviews and sold surprisingly well in those pre-Kindle days when few readers knew what an e-book was.

NCP decided to cull their collection at one point. Like all publishers, they wanted room for new books. Still, they quickly gave me back my rights and subsequently published two other books of mine--and one of those has been my own personal bestseller, so far.

Three of the four books returned to me were picked up by another publisher, but Prince of the Mist languished in slush piles here and there. I found it disheartening because I loved Wildon and Tia. I knew there were readers who would love them, too.

Fortunately, despite all the negative things said about e-publishing, it has created a wonderful opportunity for authors with a backlist. Any author can take their previously published books and publish those books on their own. Many have done it.

I decided it was time for me to dip my toe gently into self-publishing. I started by whipping up a new bookcover--something eye-catching. Then I uploaded the cover and the manuscript to Amazon's Kindle. It was not a difficult process at all.

Feeling confident, I decided to try Smashwords as well so my book could appear at other e-book distributors. Smashwords was a bit trickier. I had to carefully go through their style list, but I got the hang of it after a few tries.

Once the book was up for sale, I made another book video for it. I don't do anything fancy for the book videos, but I love the process. To me it makes the book comes alive.

Now all I have to do is promote the book, which is a job I have to do even if a publisher gives me a contract. I do not have plans for a paper edition of Prince of the Mist. For now, it can easily be read on personal computers, Kindles, Nooks, Kobos, iPhones. and iPads.

And that's awesome enough for me.

The Process--or Me and Matisse

2011-06-23T08:49:00.007-04:00

When I was in college I took an oil painting course. Oils were nothing new to me. In her younger years, my mother worked in oils. I grew up messing around with Ma's paints when she wasn't looking. I loved squishing the oils around and mixing colors. I love the smell of the stuff, which is probably not a good thing but the truth is it smelled like home. I could draw quite well--freehand. I was quite sure I would get an A in the oil painting class, but that was until I met the professor.

My oil painting professor had a fondness for Matisse. Yes, Matisse created some wonderful paintings, but I am a realist at heart. I want scenes on my canvas to have a close approximation to what things look like to my eyes. To do that, I need small brushes and I work very tight--section by section. I love details--grass, hair, and rocks. That makes me happy.

My professor insisted all his students own large brushes. I knew I had no need for a large brush and it was terribly expensive, but I had to buy it anyhow. The professor wanted all his students to work on all areas of the canvas during the process. He did not want me to work in one corner at a time.

He wanted my painting to look like a Matisse. I wanted my painting to look like a Penelope Marzec. We had some basic ideological differences. I did not get an A. :^(

What has this got to do with writing? Everything. I've read plenty of books about writing. I've sat through innumerable writing workshops. I've listened to scores of writers explain their process and I've learned that everyone has a different process. Beyond the great divide of plotters and pantsters, there are various ways to get to The End.

There isn't a right way or a wrong way. There's only what works--for you. It probably won't work for someone else, but that's okay.

Despite that one professor, I never gave up painting. I've gotten some fabulous reviews for my books and some awards, but there have been some reviewers who reminded me of that oil painting professor. Obviously, I cannot make everyone happy. Still, I have not given up writing.

The fun is in the creating. The fun is in the process.

The only real rule is to do it. Put your butt in the chair and write. Now.

Lowering My Blood Pressure

2011-06-19T20:40:00.003-04:00

I was diagnosed with high blood pressure about seven years ago. Since my mother suffered from high blood pressure for over thirty years, learning that I had the same problem was scary. My mother took several prescription drugs specifically for high blood pressure, but her doctors believed her anxiety exacerbated her condition and so she had tranquilizers as well.

Nevertheless, her blood pressure would often spike. Her greatest fear was that she would have a stroke. She decided to take a proactive stance and though she never stopped taking her prescription medicine, she tried every alternative known at the time to keep her blood pressure in check. She went on the Pritikin diet--reducing her fat intake to the lowest level possible. She ate raw garlic. She tried juicing her vegetables and tossed into the mix every vitamin that experts claimed would help reduce blood pressure levels. She kept a careful record of her blood pressure readings. None of her tireless efforts cured her. Her blood pressure was never truly under control.

She had a stroke at the age of eighty-six. She died a year a half later. Maybe all her healthy eating did help--there are a lot of folks with high blood pressure who never get that far.

Last week, my heart rate plummeted but my blood pressure went up. I went to my doctor who ordered another medication for me. (This is the fifth one.) However, he also became very serious and told me I will have to start walking--a lot--everyday. I was relieved that he did not suggest tranquilizers. I do not want to live in a Xanax-induced haze for the rest of my life--especially since it never did help my mother.

My father was quite surprised by my doctor's advice since none of my mother's doctors had ever mentioned anything about walking.

Obviously, times have changed and medicine is continuing to evolve. Maybe someday the doctors and the pharmaceutical companies will figure everything out. For now, I'm happy to put on my athletic shoes and take a walk. It's great medicine!

The Blogs I Miss

2011-06-15T21:24:00.000-04:00

I have been going through my long list of bookmarked blogs and deleting some of them. There are bloggers who haven't posted anything for a year or two--or more. The blog is still there, but nothing is happening. I feel bad about deleting them from my bookmarks, but there is nothing fresh to read.

There are plenty of people who give up blogging after a while. I don't know why. Perhaps they are too busy. Perhaps they said what they have to say or they moved on to another hobby. I miss them. To me, for a while, they felt like friends. I especially loved the blogs written by other mothers about their families. It was easy to relate to them because I had gone through many of the same experiences. Sometimes I would offer advice. :^)

Inexplicably, they stopped writing. With most there was no explanation. One claimed she lost interest, but most simply no longer posted.

I worried about them.

There are those of us who continue to blog. I don't think I'll ever run out of things to say--but, of course, I also have an ulterior motive for blogging. I have books to promote and blogging regularly helps in garnering followers who might be interested in reading my books.

That's the theory. Blog and they shall read. If they like what they read on my blog, maybe they'll pick up one of my books. Marketing--not very subtle, but that's what it is. Besides, I don't always write about my books or writerly topics. I tell true tales about my family, our travels, and troubles.

The blogs I enjoyed most were the ones where nobody was selling anything. The ones where the busy mother was herding her kids here and there, feeding them, taking care of them--and the house, the garden, etc. It's not an easy job and eventually the kids grow up. Maybe that's why they stopped posting. Maybe their offspring were starting to go through that phase where they aren't cute anymore. :^(

Or maybe, they found that they enjoyed writing. Maybe they are writing their own book--right now. Maybe they'll come back to the blogosphere and start hawking their wares--like me.

I don't know, but I pray they are all safe and well.

Peanut Chicken

2011-06-13T17:28:00.002-04:00

This is delicious, quick and easy. The perfect dish for a busy writer to prepare.

1 onion, chopped
1 clover garlic, chopped
1/4 cup peanut butter
1/2 cup chicken stock
1/4 cup honey
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon curry powder
a pinch of cardamom
a dash of Tabasco sauce
4 chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces

Combine the onion and garlic, cook on high in the microwave for 2 minutes.

Stir in the peanut butter, chicken stock, honey, mustard, curry powder, cardamom, and Tasbasco. Add chicken. Cook, uncovered, on high for 6 minutes. Stir. Cook on high for 6 more minutes.

Serve over rice. (You should have a rice cooker for that!)

Pantster or Plotter?

2011-06-09T08:47:00.010-04:00

There's that white page. What am I going to write on it? The blinking cursor waits and time moves on. I close my eyes and start typing. I can see my hero and my heroine--shipwrecked...on an island with a white sandy beach...

This is going to be fun!

That white page can be daunting, but authors are brave souls. However, they use different methods to get their books written. Some are methodical. They are the plotters. Then there are those who just sit down and write. Those are the pantsters, so called because they wing it--flying by the seat of their pants, or in their case, writing by the seat of their pants.

There are some writers who employ both methods.

Much has been written on this topic and you can find plenty of other blogs covering this subject just by typing pantster vs. plotter into Google.

As for myself, I have used outlines for several of my books, but I have often wandered away from my original plans. I have written some books completely by the seat of my pants--winging it through the manuscript. When I use that method, I have a lot more fun but I tend to go off on tangents. That results in more editing when all is said and done.

Nevertheless, I always have the story in my mind even if I do not have a detailed outline. I know the main characters, the main conflict, and the setting. It is quite an adventure to set sail without a script.

A brief survey of my Twitter friends indicates the pantster method is alive and well.

Mia_Marlowe @penelopemarzec Definitely a pantster. Once I figure out who my characters are and what they want, keeping them from getting it is my plot.

suzannelazear @penelopemarzec I'm actually a puzzler with pantster tendancies.

LdyDisney @penelopemarzec Pantster! :)

freyasbower @penelopemarzec pantster all the way. (g)

Some of my Facebook friends chimed in, too.

Nancy Sue Petersen Brandt I'm a pantster trying to reform!

Catherine Guerrero I'm a pantser and proud of it. Got my rough draft for a new novel started that way back during NaNoWriMo.

I believe using the pantster method is rather like recording a dream while being awake. To do it, I must turn off my internal editor. Then I just let it rip.

Are you a pantster or a plotter or a little of both?

Who Won?

2011-06-04T11:33:00.002-04:00

There were plenty of winners in the Crescent Moon Press blog tour last week. You can find the name of the Grand Prize winner at the Crescent Moon Press Blog. All the other participating authors gave away prizes, too. The winner of the flashlight at my blog was Anne Muller.

If you want to try your luck at another contest, you can sign up at my website for a chance to win a copy of the original edition of Irons in the Fire. Simply go to my website at http://www.penelopemarzec.com. Click on About the Author in the navigation bar. On the next page you will find a contact form. Sign in. That's all you have to do.

The winner will be chosen later this month.

Condolences on the Beach

2011-05-30T10:08:00.005-04:00

My father's brother was a Marine in World War II. He was killed by a sniper during the battle for the coral atoll of Palau.

Days later, my father, a sergeant in the Air Force, had just waded onto a Philippine beach 800 miles west of Palau when the officer commanding his advance party came up to him with an envelope. He opened it and handed my father an American Red Cross message reporting the death of his brother. Then, while troops and equipment kept coming ashore, the officer handed Dad a paper cup, opened a whiskey bottle and filled the cup.

After a few words of condolence, the officer moved away and Dad went on with his work but he never forgot that brief moment of empathy shown by the major which lingers in his mind, 67 years later.

Crescent Moon Press Blog Tour Stop

2011-05-24T17:52:00.002-04:00

Welcome!

You've come to the right place. If you have stopped at every other blog along the way, you have nearly completed the entire Crescent Moon Press Blog Tour. After this stop, you surf over to Louann Carroll's blog. But first complete four simple steps here before leaving.

Step 1: Read the book blurb for Kiss of Blarney:

When Ula's druidess is kidnapped by the evil Balor, the Irish princess must leave her secret cottage to seek help. And who better to help her locate the druidess than the Irish Wolfhound who just happens to be owned by the handsome man who saves her virtue at a pub?

Shay Devlin wants nothing to do with the beautiful Ula--especially not once he realizes she's out to steal his unruly dog, Bran--but there's no way he and his geise will allow him to turn her out into the snow, alone and unprotected. Too bad everything about the mysterious dog snatcher tempts him to break every rule of his sacred code.

Though their love is forbidden--for prophecy says Ula will marry a man with black eyes and Shay's are blue--they battle the druid who wants not only Ula, but the kingdom she is destined to rule.

Step 2: The prize at this blog is a FLASHLIGHT. (Yes, a practical useful item.) Ula, the heroine in Kiss of Blarney has a flashlight. At first, she wants it because she never owned one. However, it becomes an important tool at the climax of the book.

Naturally, I don't want to give away the ending, but please read the excerpt below and email a comment to me concerning the flashlight. (Use the contact form at my website.) Why do you think Ula will need it?

The winner of the flashlight will be chosen from all those who send their comment to me using the contact form at my website. It does not matter whether or not the guess is correct.

Excerpt from Kiss of Blarney:

When she didn't think she could take it any longer,
she found herself dumped in a snow bank. The dog
owner collapsed down beside her. Meara’s tapestry bag
landed in her lap. She gave a cry of joy and hugged it to
her chest. Closing her eyes, she pictured Meara’s kindly
face wreathed in a smile. Oh, how she wanted to see her
dear druidess again!

She opened her eyes and glanced up to see one of the
dog owner’s friends holding a small light in his hands.
Ula recognized the object as a flashlight. She had seen a
photograph of such a wonder in one of her catalogs.
Surely, it was a miraculous invention, glowing as it did
in the dark night. Ula could not help wanting it for her
own. The faint echo of Meara’s words whispered in the
back of her mind. A princess is never greedy. But the
effect of the strong drinks made Meara’s words fade until
Ula could barely hear them.

Though her head felt far heavier than usual, she
stared up at the man’s face and managed to focus on
him. “I’m wishing I had that flashlight on this gloomy
night.”

In less than a heartbeat, the man handed the amazing
device to her. It comforted her to know that her lone
power continued to work--at least on most people--when
she could wrest their attention away from their violent
urges. She caressed the flashlight with her nearly frozen
fingers, and discovered to her sorrow that it gave off no
heat. Still she swung it about and noticed how the beam
illuminated everything in its path. With it, she could
continue searching for Meara long into the night.

Step 3: Go to my website at http://www.penelopemarzec.com
Click on the link for About the Author.
Use the contact form on that page to fill in your email address and your comment.

One winner will be chosen. The winner will be contacted by email.

Step 4: Now go to Louann Carroll's blog.

Good luck! I hope you win the Grand Prize!

Teenage Angst

2011-05-21T19:29:00.004-04:00

Once upon a time, I was young--a teenager growing up on the "wrong" side of town--the side where the "hoods" lived. I was a shy and I wore all the wrong clothes. While I was bright and destined for college I never fit in with the "in" crowd.

Oh yes, I had plenty of angst. But I was blessed with loving parents and siblings so I eventually got over my social awkwardness--sort of. I went to college, got a job, met a nice man, had a family and started writing. Actually, I started writing when I was nine, but I became serious about my writing. There's a difference.

I have toyed with the idea of writing a young adult book for years. So today, the New Jersey Romance Writers had Cyn Balog speaking and I decided I needed to hear what she had to say. I took lots of notes and now have a lot more books on my TBR list.

She also recommended an excellent blog written by Mandy Hubbard, an agent and author of YA books.

Tonight when we went out for supper with Dad, I told him about today's lecture. He could not understand why I--as a mature woman--would want to write a book where teenagers were the main characters. I told him I was a teenager once and I remember a lot about it, maybe too much. My high school experience seems permanently embedded in my brain.

Not that I would want to write about my high school experience. Most of it was rather humdrum and while I did suffer through a few crushes, there was no great romance. But YA novels include romance and the books have happy or hopeful endings. How delightful!

So I will continue mulling over the idea.

But first I've got to finish my WIP!

Crescent Moon Press Contest

2011-05-21T15:09:00.001-04:00

Three Day Blog Tour
May 24th, 25th & 26th

Prizes at every stop!

Grand Prize
Nook or Kindle, Your Choice

Every stop along the way will have a posted quest.

Email your quest answer to each author to enter for great prizes.

Complete all blog tour stops to enter into the grand prize drawing.

A Nook or Kindle,
Your Choice
Plus a BONUS of a dozen digital books!

The full itinerary will be posted on the CMP blog.
All stops must be completed to qualify for the Grand Prize.
You can join the games late.
All quests must be completed by May 26th end of day.

All Winners Posted on CMP blog by June 4th.

Keep checking this blog. I will be giving away a flashlight--just like the one used in an important scene in Kiss of Blarney.

I hope you will play the game!

The Importance of a Smile

2011-05-18T15:31:00.005-04:00

Good dental health is a blessing. It is also costly and not an option for many people. When I was young, I rarely went to the dentist. When I did go, it was always and only for an emergency. I went to get teeth pulled--like the time I cracked a tooth on a lollipop.

My parents could not afford dental visits either. They both had full sets of dentures by the time they were fifty years old.

Fortunately, I was lucky enough to fall in love with a man who had a dental plan as part of his benefits package at work. I still have most of my own teeth--except for a bridge in the place of that empty spot due to that hard lollipop.

Our daughters regularly visited the dentist throughout their childhood. Their teeth are in much better condition than mine.

I just got another crown on one of my teeth this week. A tooth had cracked when I chomped down on a hard pizza crust. Our dental plan does not cover the entire cost, but at least it does pay for a portion of the bill.

When I see people with terrible teeth, I remember the pain I had as a youngster.

We need affordable dental care in this country and we need it for everyone.

A Spiffy Newsletter

2011-05-13T21:03:00.004-04:00

Until now, sending out my newsletters to friends and fans has been a chore. My newsletters were rather plain. However, today I decided to try MailChimp. What fun! There are a wide variety of templates offered, lots of colors and fonts. I used the header from my website, plenty of photos of my book covers, and a nice photo of me. My newsletter is now not only informative but gorgeous, exciting, and full of links.

I was able to easily import the email addresses from my computer's address list.

Finally, after a few simple steps I sent the newsletter off. MailChimp keeps track of any emails that bounce, the ones that are opened, and the ones that click through.

The same newsletter email went to Twitter and Facebook with another little click.

Best of all, MailChimp was free.

If you're interested in seeing the newsletter check it out here.

No Time for Books?

2011-05-05T21:58:00.002-04:00

I know a lot of people who don't read books. Some are friends, some are relatives, and some are coworkers. Many of them have college degrees. I could list their names here but that would be mean and it still wouldn't make them pick up a book and read it. They all have a reason for not reading. They tell me they are too busy. They often read magazines, or the newspaper. But they never sit down with a book in their hands and read it from the beginning to the end. Never.

I think this is very sad. Those who don't read are missing out on some amazing adventures. But more importantly, they are wrong about the time needed to read a book. Reading does not have to take much time at all. There are millions of audio books--and you can borrow them at the library for nothing. You don't even have to visit the library, you can download them from the library's website and then add them to your iPod. You can listen to them while driving to work, exercising, or folding the laundry. Seriously, what else are you going to do while folding laundry? Listen to Lady Gaga?

For those who own a Kindle, there are books that are speech enabled. The Kindle can read the books to you. You can dust the living room or crochet an afghan while listening to the latest Janet Evanovich novel. Better yet, you can listen one of my novels.

Books are special. Every book allows the reader to enter into someone else's mind. Please get into a book soon. It really doesn't take any time at all.

Creativity: A Gift? Or an Aberration?

2011-04-29T09:35:00.000-04:00

I love writing stories. It's fun. Watching my characters in action and listening to them talk--in my mind--is usually better than watching movies.

On the other hand, I hate writing query letters and synopses. (That's work.) Writing blurbs is sheer torture.

I love writing letters (longhand) to friends and family.

I have been putting words on paper since I was nine years old. I have not run out of words or stories. I always have something to say. Some people call it a gift. Some think it's egocentric.

Some just think I'm crazy.

There have been many studies done concerning mental illness and creativity. There are some psychologists who are persistent in trying to prove that there is a link between creativity and madness. It is true that there have been an abundance of famous writers who apparently showed signs of mental illness. I found a list here, but there are others. I do not think it's fair or ethical to diagnose someone after they have passed on.

I know a lot of romance writers. I hang out with them. They are very nice, normal people. They simply have vivid imaginations. Children have vivid imaginations, too. Do you remember what it was like to be a child? A child can view a box as a house, or an army tank, or a boat.

Writers are people who have not lost that power. They can create stories out of almost nothing--out of little bits of information that most people ignore.

Writers are special, but not crazy.

What novel were you forced to read in high school?

2011-04-22T10:00:00.001-04:00

One of my daughters read Ethan Frome in high school because it was a class assignment. She hated the book. Ethan Frome was written by Edith Wharton and published way back in 1911. Wharton was the first woman to win a Pulitzer Prize in 1920 for a later novel, The Age of Innocence. I have not read The Age of Innocence, but a few months ago, I read Ethan Frome. It is a depressing story. However, it is well written--and short, which is probably one of the reasons it was assigned to the students in high school. Nevertheless, I am glad I was not forced to read it at a young age. Well-written novels are often foisted upon tender minds before they are ready to understand them. Worse, the books are then picked apart--piece by piece--until the students are completely sick of them.

I was forced to read The Scarlet Letter, The Call of the Wild, and The Old Man and the Sea when I was in high school. I appreciated The Scarlet Letter most. I later read--on my own--The House of the Seven Gables, which was also written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I could not appreciate The Call of the Wild. I am sure that a dog has a point of view, but I am also sure it is not quite that literate. Nevertheless, I read The Sea Wolf recently, which was also written by Jack London. I liked it. It has romance. It is also about people--not dogs.

The Old Man and the Sea was one of those books my high school teacher made into a torturous experience. Every bit of symbolism was pointed out. Yes, it is well-written--but tragic. Why do teachers insist on tragic, unhappy stories?

Maybe part of the reason some young people do not read today is due to the fact that they've been forced to read depressing books about sad, miserable people.

Why can't English teachers in high school assign happy, upbeat romances? Not all romances are jam-packed with sex. The main ingredient for a romance is a happy ending. Romances are uplifting and not depressing.

And stop picking the books apart piece by piece. Let the young people enjoy them. Maybe they'll pick up another romance and get hooked on reading for life.

At the Monmouth Festival of the Arts Gala

2011-04-14T10:32:00.004-04:00

Last Saturday, I was a VIP at the Monmouth Festival of the Arts Gala. As one of the exhibiting artists, I was treated to wine and tempting hors d'oeurves. Hubby was there, too, and took the photos (below) of me and the oil paintings I did which were part of the exhibit.

We both had a great time and enjoyed looking at the work of all the other exhibiting artists. It was an honor to be included in such a renowned display of artwork.

Florida in April

2011-04-10T20:42:00.008-04:00

Florida in April is quite agreeable. The temperature is in the eighties.

Hubby and I flew to Florida to see his parents for a few days. I do not enjoy air travel. I hate being pressed into the seat as the plane takes off, and I really can't stand the dropping feeling as the plane comes in for a landing.

I especially do not appreciate any weird mechanical noises in an airplane and bumpy flights are no fun either. Sleeping is impossible on a plane. However, flying to Florida takes less time than driving--despite the hours spent in airport waiting rooms.

Still, it is quite amazing to leave New Jersey wearing a coat and arrive in Florida where everyone is wearing shorts. We went from early April to what felt like June in a few hours, which is really quite a pleasant experience.

I felt like a time traveler. :^)

On the way home, I got a smoother flight and a window seat. I took photos.

When we landed in New Jersey, the temperature was in the forties and it was raining, but I'm glad to be back.

Giveaway on Goodreads!

2011-03-31T21:45:00.000-04:00

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Kiss of Blarney

by Penelope Marzec

Giveaway ends April 29, 2011.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Downsizing

2011-03-24T20:46:00.008-04:00

We had to resort to renting a dumpster to clean out the house where I grew up. Yes, there's the loveseat on the left and right on the top is the port-a-potty Mom and Dad used while camping. There's a small bookcase (we never had enough of those), some plywood panels of various sizes, a worn comforter, a rug, and a frame.

Before my mother died, we had an auctioneer take some of the stuff. After Mom died, we had the Salvation Army take some of the furniture. We made countless trips to donate stuff to Goodwill. Up until Dad broke his hip, he constantly filled up the trash cans with extraneous items he knew he would not need in his small apartment. But he moved into that house fifty-six years ago and in the interim, filled it up with lots of happy memories--and plenty of things. Mom was a prolific artist, so we all have the paintings she left behind. However, there was were also Dad's many tools. (Dad wanted to take his circular power saw to the apartment. I nixed that idea.) He a collection of old portable radios, assorted wires, and a host of ancient audio tapes. Too much stuff!

Fortunately, we had help in cleaning out the house. It is just too difficult to toss memories into a dumpster. I did retrieve one thing from the dumpster--but only one. And though the job is done, it is still sad to look at this photo.

I loved growing up at the edge of Treasure Lake by Raritan Bay.

Liberty States Fiction Writers Conference

2011-03-19T20:29:00.003-04:00

I had a great time at the Liberty States Fiction Writers Conference today. This was only the second conference run by LSFW, but it was awesome! The workshops were great and there were top-notch editors and agents, too.

I particularly enjoyed the cocktail hour. :^) I had a nice time chatting with other authors.

KISS OF BLARNEY Available for the Kindle Today!

2011-03-14T17:24:00.004-04:00

Moving Dad

2011-03-10T20:04:00.003-05:00

Dad is now living in a small apartment. We made the big move on Monday, but there are still things in the house that we must either donate, recycle, or throw out. It's going to take quite a while to go through everything.

However, the apartment--furnished with the bare essentials--is comfortable and with the addition of my mother's paintings, it does look homey. Dad will be getting physical therapy for a while and he'll have a home health aide, too. After two and a half months in the hospital, he still has a long way to go in regaining his strength. Nevertheless, his appetite has definitely improved. Daughter #1 made rice pudding on Sunday and Dad had three helpings of it on Monday after dinner.

Tonight we took Dad out for pizza. He only had one slice, but he downed a bottle of stout, too, and he intended to have dessert once he returned to the apartment. Dad has always had room for dessert. :^)

Handouts

2011-03-04T08:40:00.005-05:00

There's another writers' conference coming up--the Liberty States Fiction Writers will be gathering to listen to MaryJanice Davidson and a host of other well-known fiction writers who are more than willing to give away their secrets of success.

I plan to be there and I intend to bring along my books in case anyone wants to buy some. I will also bring along my promotional handouts. Lots of writers buy pens to hand out, some buy little sticky notes, or bookmarks.

My handouts are rather simple. I used trifold brochure paper and set Word for three columns. One one side, I put the cover, the blurb, and some other information. Inside I squeeze in an excerpt from the book.

That's the easy part. The trick is to get the other writers at the conference to pick these things up. At the last conference, I attached a Twizzler to each brochure. Every single brochure disappeared from the table.

But my latest book has an Irish theme. What sort of candy should I attach for this one? Peppermint Patties?

Authors' Houses

2011-02-25T21:12:00.001-05:00

I like to visit old houses. It's a real treat for me to tour the homes of famous authors. Several years ago, I visited Harriet Beecher Stowe's house in Hartford, Connecticut. It was modest and comfortable. Mark Twain's grand home is next door and it is where he was most productive. Yet, I've seen pictures of the birthplace of Samuel Clemens and that was a two-room cabin.

Here's Louisa May Alcott's family home. I'd love to go there. It is not at all what I envisioned when I first read Little Women.

Here's Edith Wharton's home. She designed it. This is not the type of home I thought the writer of Ethan Frome would have.

Here's Stephen Crane's house. I went there one evening to see an Poe impersonator. It was a Halloween event. Go figure.

Here's Edgar Allen Poe's house in Baltimore. Hubby and I visited it a few years ago. It's really small.

I've visited the House of the Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts. I have not visited any southern writers' homes, but I might.

Any ideas for me?

Soon To Be Released!

2011-02-17T21:09:00.005-05:00

Available in March from Crescent Moon Press.

When Ula's druidess is kidnapped by the evil Balor, the Irish princess must leave her secret cottage to seek help. And who better to help her locate the druidess than the Irish Wolfhound who just happens to be owned by the handsome man who saves her virtue at a pub?

Shay Devlin wants nothing to do with the beautiful Ula--especially not once he realizes she's out to steal his unruly dog, Bran--but there's no way he and his geise will allow him to turn her out into the snow, alone and unprotected. Too bad everything about the mysterious dog snatcher tempts him to break every rule of his sacred code.

Though their love is forbidden--for prophecy says Ula will marry a man with black eyes and Shay's are blue--they battle the druid who wants not only Ula, but the kingdom she is destined to rule.

Celebrate St. Patrick's Day by downloading Kiss of Blarney.

Novels of Commitment

2011-02-12T09:03:00.005-05:00

Despite the perrennial popularity of romance novels (check out the statistics at the Romance Writers of America) there are still many people who denigrate the genre by labeling the books as "trashy," or even worse "formulaic."

While it is true that in some romances there are very explicit sexual scenes--there are also romance novels that contain nothing more than a kiss.

The only formula in a romance novel is the happy ending.

What makes a book a romance is not the level of sensuality, it is the level of commitment.

True love is all about commitment and romance novels are all about true love--the real thing. Sex is usually part of that commitment, but it should not be the only thing in the relationship. Genuine love should involve obedience to the marriage vows--for better or worse, in sickness and in health. That is commitment. That is what everyone longs for in their heart. We all want to be loved by someone--even on our bad days--even when we are no longer beautiful--even when we are old and infirm.

That is why the genre is so popular because in each story, the protagonists realize their love for each other is the forever kind.

I write novels of commitment. Don't label them as trashy, or formulaic. My books are about true love.

Read one. It'll give you a warm feeling in your heart.

The Deleted Prologue of IRONS IN THE FIRE

2011-01-30T21:37:00.000-05:00

Initially, I wrote Irons in the Fire with a prologue. I like prologues, but some people don't. Evidently, most agents and editors hate prologues and consider them the mark of a rank amateur. However, my agent took me on as a client on the basis of that book with the prologue.

When I received a contract for Irons in the Fire from New Concepts Publishing, the editor told me to cut the prologue. Deleting my precious beginning hurt, but I did it and dropped the information throughout the rest of the story. Nevertheless, the Advanced Reading Copy contained the prologue and with it the book received a Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Award nomination.

Go figure.

The Advanced Reading Copy I sent to Romantic Times for review was later up for sale on Amazon. I made it with my own two hands and decorated the cover with a sprig of yarrow from my garden. You can still see the image of it here.

When the book was reissued by Crescent Moon Press it went through more editing, but I did not make a request for the prologue to be reinstated. Nevertheless, I still like the prologue and I thought some readers might enjoy it.

So for those who still think prologues can be a nice addition to a book, I give you the original beginning of Irons in the Fire.

Prologue
Catherine Mullaney knew she couldn't expect a party on her sixteenth birthday. Still, she walked home from school in a bleak drizzle dreaming of a frothy, white-iced cake with pink roses and blazing candles. And butter pecan ice cream, too.

Before she reached home, the drizzle changed to rain and soaked her jacket. Shivering in the hall outside the apartment, she stood with her hand on the knob and took in a ragged breath. Why couldn't somebody else's father have Alzheimer's disease? Why did it have to be her father who acted like a stranger? She never knew what to expect when she walked in the door.

Fighting back a wave of despair, she squared her shoulders, deciding that if Dad could simply remember who she was, that alone would make the day special. However, what she saw as she stepped into the room made her gasp. Their once neat and orderly home looked as if a burglar had ransacked it. Her backpack slid out of her grasp as her gaze swept over the destruction. A pain squeezed at her heart. Where was Dad?

Magazines, cushions and newspapers lay scattered in every direction. Even lamps and chairs had been overturned. Heart thundering, she picked her way through the chaos. When she heard a furious muttering coming from the corner behind the upended sofa, fear knotted in her stomach.

Barely breathing and moving with feline stealth, she inched closer to the sofa. When she peered around the edge and saw her father on the floor methodically ripping apart a wicker basket, a sense of relief flowed through her, though the little comfort she found in his presence was tinged with sorrow. Once he had been Ed Mullaney, the famous syndicated columnist, loved by the American people, a sensible voice in every crisis whether political or mundane. Now, weakened and sick, there seemed little left of him except the shell.

"Daddy?" She patted his shoulder, but he didn't look at her. He continued to tear the basket to shreds. Her throat tightened, and tears pricked at the back of her eyes.

"Witches," he muttered. "Witches and hands. Terrible bloody hands."

A shiver went up Catherine's spine. "Daddy, what happened?"

His hands stilled above the shredded ruin of the basket. He frowned and turned his gaze on her, his eyes wide and staring. "Fiona!" he roared.

"I'm not Mama!" Catherine backed away, tears spilling from her eyes.

Her father struggled to his feet and snatched at her hands, squeezing them until they hurt.

"Fiona!" He howled like a wounded animal.

"Stop it!" Catherine fought to get her hands free of his strong grip. "Let me go! I'm going to call Uncle Mike." She broke away and dashed for the telephone. Her father came after her. When she picked up the receiver, he lunged at her.

Dodging him, she ran out of the apartment. Despite the driving rain, she kept on running, not caring anymore, trying only to rid herself of the anger and hurt.

By nightfall, soaked to the skin and numb, she huddled in the shadows of an old pier. Across the Hudson River, the lights blinked and went out on the Jersey side. The rain stopped. She glanced up at the clouds racing along toward the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. With the moon behind them, the clouds looked like blue ghosts.

She stared into the black gloom around her. Nobody. Even New York's homeless people had vanished with the rain. She felt tired, cold, and hungry; but she couldn't go back--ever. It hurt too much to know that Daddy would never be the same again. A fresh torrent of tears rolled down her cheeks. Uncle Mike would have to find someone to look after her father.

She rubbed her arms and decided to search for a better shelter. A few blocks away, she discovered a dumpy restaurant that still had all the lights burning. She reached into her pocket and drew out four dollars, enough for a bagel and a hot cup of tea.

As the only customer, she sat on a stool by the counter.

"You run away?" the owner asked in heavily accented English. The gaze from his almond-shaped eyes fastened on her.

"No." She smiled, hoping he couldn't heart her heart pounding. "I'm in a Broadway show."

"Broadway...hmmm." He wiped the counter top and grinned.

Her stomach tightened. The man didn't believe her. She moved over to the next stool, closer to the window that looked out onto the street. In the dim light she watched as another man slid a steel cover over the front of the pharmacy next door, closing up for the night.

With the hot tea warming her, she recalled her last visit to the clinic with her father. She had questioned the doctor about a new experimental drug for Alzheimer's patients. She'd read about the treatment in the New York Times. The doctor had informed her that her father had progressed too far in the disease and had refused to prescribe it.

To Catherine, even a little improvement in her father's condition would be a miracle. She couldn't understand why the doctor didn't agree with her. A risky plan of action began to form in her mind. It seemed her only hope.

When the restaurant owner lugged out his garbage for tomorrow's pickup, Catherine pocketed a knife from the counter and hopped off the stool. She dashed to the back of the restaurant. Pushing open the heavy steel exit, she stepped out into a small yard littered with debris. Sharp slivers of glass sparkled in the light streaming through the restaurant's back window.

She heard an ominous click as the door behind her automatically locked shut. Her knees went weak as a wave of doubt swept over her, and she leaned back against the door for support. She intended to commit a crime to get the new medication that the doctor would not prescribe. If she wanted her father to be well, she had to go against the law to help him get better.

She looked up into the midnight sky and fought back tears. "I'm doing this for you, Dad."

A chain link fence separated the restaurant's backyard from that of the pharmacy. Drawing in a deep breath and thankful that she'd worn her jeans, she climbed over the fence. She tugged at the back door to the drug store. Naturally, it didn't budge an inch. She stepped back to study the situation. There had to be a way in, and she had all night to find it.

The squeaky hinges on the restaurant door sent her pulse thundering. She scurried for cover behind a wall of cardboard boxes.

"Hey! Little lady!" The restaurant's proprietor called out. "Is not allowed to go back here!" The man muttered to himself in his native tongue. She heard the crunch of the broken glass and the rattle of the chain link fence. Curling up as small as she could behind the boxes, she held onto the Celtic cross around her neck and said a prayer.

When the restaurant door slammed shut again, Catherine peeked over the edge of her hideout. He was gone. Weak with relief, she heaved a sigh.

She began a thorough inspection of the pharmacy. The fire escape loomed way too high. She tapped the steel doors that covered the entrance to the cellar and smiled when they shook slightly. Kneeling down, she used the knife to try and wedge the lock open. However, the knife kept slipping in her cold hands.

Icy water from a small hollow in the doors trickled onto her fingers. Unexpectedly, the metal of the lock gleamed with an eerie brightness as the last of the clouds fled from the face of the moon.

Catherine turned to look at the glowing orb and felt a strange dizziness take hold of her. She turned back to the puddle, touched it with her hand, and saw the moon's reflection ripple in the water. An odd shiver ran through her with lightning speed, numbing first her hands, then her arms, until finally, her entire body froze in a rigid grip of terror. The world about her was replaced by a dark, empty void. A roaring filled her ears as she felt herself sucked backward through space.

Then the spinning stopped. Although Catherine couldn't see anything, she sniffed the aura of musty wool around her. Her pulse beat frantically. Where was she? She put her hand out and felt a stucco wall and the shapes of hanging clothes. She was in a closet. The closet in the cottage--in Ireland--and she was two years old.

She hated the closet. She hated the dark. And she hated Mama's screams. Frightened, Catherine wanted to cry, but Mama had told her to be quiet. A small stream of light came from a crack in the door and she knelt down to look out into the room.

There was a man in the room with Mama, but it wasn't Daddy. The man hit Mama and made her cry. He hit her again and again. Mama screamed and Catherine wanted to scream, too, but when she opened her mouth no sound came out. Then Mama's screams stopped.

The air in the closet grew stale. Catherine pushed her hand against the closet door. It opened a little and she saw the man with blood on his hands. He cursed and put his hand up against the side of his head. Part of his ear had been cut off.

The man cursed again, louder. Catherine sank deep into the closet. Through the crack, she could still see the man. He picked up Mama and carried her out of the house.

Everything became very quiet. Catherine wanted Mama. She cried but Mama didn't come. She crawled out of the closet. The floor was covered with red. And in a basket by the door, she found Mama's hands.

Wailing, like the high-pitched keening of the banshees surrounded her. Fear spiraled in her. She wanted to escape, to leave the horrible nightmare.

Then the vision faded. Blackness swallowed her up and hurled her back through the terrible void. She collapsed, weak and trembling on the cold, steel doors behind the pharmacy.

Confused about what had happened, Catherine thought she must be going crazy, too, just like Dad. Her stomach churned as a sob lodged in her throat. She bit down on her lower lip to stifle any sound. She had to get that medicine. If the drug couldn't help her father, maybe it could prevent her from coming down with the same horrible illness.

With a wildness born of desperation, she grabbed the steel bars that covered the window and shook them. They didn't budge. She yanked at the bars, and slammed her body up against them. Finally, she took the knife and hacked at the wooden sill.

The tinkling of glass warned her. She whirled around and froze. Her heart stopped as she stared down the muzzle of a gun in the hands of a very big cop.

"Put your hands up. Slowly," he said.

Check out the latest edition of Irons in the Fire at Amazon!

Wine and Wi-Fi

2011-01-21T17:57:00.002-05:00

My father is still in rehab, but today we learned how to get him in and out of the car. This is a useful skill since he needs to go to two specialists next week. (Of course, it would make life a lot easier for patients if the doctors came to them.)

Time passes slowly in rehab.

Daughter #3 gave her grandfather a white board and each day I list the date on it along with the number of days that have passed since Dad broke his hip. Today Dad added another note. He listed the tentative date of his release as D-Day.

There are programs in rehab to entertain and amuse the patients, but there is only one computer in the lounge. I wheel Dad to the lounge so he can use the computer to check his email and his Facebook page. It would be really nice if everyone had wi-fi in their rooms, but they don't.

Dad thinks there should be wine in rehab, too. I agree--as long as it doesn't interfere with medication. Dad does enjoy the food he is served. However, he complained about the lack of pie. He said there's plenty of ice cream, but no pie. So I brought him a cherry pie one day. He was thrilled.

Subsequently, the rehab kitchen served apple pie a few days later. Dad was delighted. It doesn't take too much to make him happy. :^)

Of course, I bring him the New York Times everyday. That's another perk he loves. I can tell he's feeling better because he has resumed clipping out articles he believes I should read. (Today I also brought him a small pair of scissors.)

But Dad can't wait to get out of rehab. He wants to wear a special outfit on that day so he can put up a new photo on his Facebook page.

Under Siege

2011-01-13T21:26:00.007-05:00

2010 was a difficult year for my family. Each of my daughters spent time in the hospital for various, serious ailments. Thankfully, they all took turns. Still, things became complicated when my in-laws went into an assisted living facility and my mother-in-law did not want to sell her house. Then my father-in-law, who had broken his hip the previous year, fractured his pelvis at the beginning of December. Finally, right before Christmas, my father fell and broke his hip.

There have been times during all this chaos when writing became impossible—and it’s not that I didn’t have ideas but there were days when I didn’t have the heart or the time, and many more days when I didn’t have the energy. (I still have a "real" job.) I often felt as if I was under siege—being bombarded by doctors’ acronyms.

So what did I do while the enemy was scaling the walls of the castle? I tried a few ways to keep my mind on writing--even if I wasn't writing. Here are some of my ideas. If you have any to add, please add a comment. I would love to know what works for other writers, too.

1. Remember this won’t last forever or as my father always says, “This, too, shall pass.” In the meantime, I asked for help when I could. I am not Superwoman.

2. I kept a pen and paper handy. I wrote blog ideas. I took notes about what the doctor said. I scribbled down a few in-depth character studies. (There are lots of characters in a hospital.) These might be useful later on.

3. I read The Sea Wolf, by Jack London. That's a far cry from the usual romances I enjoy. However, when Dad wasn’t ready to read or even listen to me read to him, my paraphrased version of the plot held his attention.

4. I re-read my last draft from the beginning and I edited it. It's only 29 pages, but that doesn't matter.

5. I made plans to go to a writers’ conference when the siege is over.

Bestselling Product

2011-01-06T16:25:00.009-05:00

According to Amazon, the Kindle is its worldwide bestselling product of all time. You can read about it here. But I know for a fact that it has to be true because my sister got a Kindle for Christmas.

When it comes to books, I've been digesting far more than either of my sisters for a long, long time. Not that they don't read, but I am far more obsessed with words--and in particular with fiction, probably because I believe there is a lot of truth in fiction despite all the disclaimers at the beginning of every book. :^)

I also rarely watch TV. However, both of my sisters have large, flat screen televisions with cable hookups.

I own a Nook, an eBookwise and I read books on my cellphone. But I own plenty of paper books as well and I have a very hard time parting with any of them.

My sister with the Kindle has always been up on the latest fad. She was the first one in our family to buy a microwave oven back when microwave ovens were massive machines. My sister always informs me about the fashion color of the year, the pet of the year, the accessory of the year, or the hairstyle of the year. If my sister owns a Kindle that officially makes it the gadget of the year.

Those of you who don't own a Kindle (or some other ebook reader) are behind the times.

The Blizzard of December 2010

2010-12-30T19:52:00.005-05:00

Yes, that is our backyard in the aftermath of the Blizzard of December 2010. Our picnic table is buried in a rather deep drift.

When we walked out of church last Sunday, it was snowing. Everybody in town went immediately to the grocery store, which they do every time the flakes fly. However, this time it turned out to be a good idea. The subsequent blizzard left us stuck at home until Tuesday morning when the plow finally came through. Of course, we spent most of Monday clearing the snow off our cars and digging out the driveway.

Later in the evening we played several rounds of Bananagrams--a great game for word lovers!

Many of the roads are still dangerous. It was a bad storm, but I do believe it should have been treated more aggressively. Nevertheless, it is supposed to be warmer today. Hopefully, a lot of this white stuff will melt.

Happy New Year!

Christmas Magic

2010-12-27T17:45:00.006-05:00

"Christmas Magic" was a winner in the 1992 holiday story contest sponsored by the Asbury Park Press. There are no cellphones in this story because at the time I wrote it few people owned cellphones. The story is actually based on an a real incident--but that happened during the summertime, not at Christmas. Still, if the little white-haired woman wasn't Mrs. Claus, she was certainly an angel in disguise. :^)

Beverly kneaded the satiny dough. With its pungent bits of candied citrus, this bread was destined to grace some elderly person's table for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.

Lucy, Beverly's 7-year-old, patted her own little mound of dough. "Why couldn't we go to a party like Daddy and Mark?"

"Daddy's office always has a party every Christmas Eve and Mark wanted to get together with his friends. They'll be home all day tomorrow." Beverly nestled each loaf tenderly inside the bread pans. "And I promised to make this bread."

A pout formed on Lucy's lips as she pummeled her dough. "I want to go someplace! This is boring!"

Beverly frowned as the phone rang. But Lucy scrambled off into the family room. She came back several minutes later smiling proudly.

"Mrs. Roper is sick. I told her it would be easy for us to carry a hundred loaves of bread with our minivan."

Beverly groaned. It would take 45 minutes to drive to the distribution center. One way. She glanced around. The tree, centered in the front window, twinkled merrily. All the presents had been wrapped and placed under the tree.

"Next time, ask me first." Beverly sighed.

Lucy's mood did not improve despite the heavenly aroma of 100 loaves of fresh baked bread in the car. She didn't even want to listen to her favorite tape of Christmas carols.

"Robert told everyone in the class yesterday that there is no Santa Claus."

A pang squeezed Beverly's heart as she drove. The nerve of that rotten Robert.

"Miss Jensen took Robert out of the room and talked to him. She was very angry."

"Did he apologize after that?"

"Oh sure. But then when we went outside on the playground he told us we were all a bunch of babies."

Beverly thought of the cookies and milk beside the fireplace. Did they have to lose the magic?

"What did you say to that?" Beverly's throat felt tight.

"I told him to stop." Lucy tilted up her chin. "I told him he should be ashamed of himself. He made Sara and Jessica cry. And anyway, he believes in Dracula."

But Beverly was afraid to ask Lucy if she still believed in Santa. So she didn't.

The car seemed to have a black cloud in it on the way home. Even the comforting smell of bread hadn't lingered on when all those loaves left. The country road had few streetlights, too. When the car's engine suddenly stopped, Beverly had a moment of panic before she saw a liquor store just ahead.

The minivan had just enough power to coast into the parking lot.

Beverly tried starting it again but it refused to kick over.

"Hey, lady. Sounds like you forgot to put gas in it." One of the liquor store's customers commented as Beverly got out of the car. Another fellow snickered in agreement.

"I have a half a tank of gas." Beverly informed them through her clenched teeth. She would let her husband know that male chauvinism was alive and well.

Beverly called home and left a message on the machine. She left a message on her husband's answering machine at work. She left another message on her neighbor's answering machine.

She decided to try starting up the car again. Maybe she had flooded it.

"I'm cold," Lucy whined.

"At least it isn't snowing--yet." Beverly glanced up at the black sky.

A battered Toyota pulled up beside them and a white-haired woman got out.

"Having trouble?" she inquired as she tapped on the glass.

Beverly rolled down her window. The woman had to be less than 5 feet tall.

"It just died in the middle of the road and it won't start up again. And I have plenty of gas in the tank."

"Try starting it up again." The woman ducked under the hood as Beverly ground on the starter again.

"Keep going!" The woman called out.

Maybe Beverly would ruin the starter or the battery or some other vital organ, but right now she wanted to get home. So she turned the key and held her breath.

The engine caught.

Beverly's thanks seemed so inadequate.

The white-haired woman wiped her hands on an old cloth hanky. "Carburetor. Better get it checked."

For a long time as Beverly and Lucy continued homeward, they both listened attentively to the sound of the engine.

Finally Lucy said, "That was Mrs. Santa Claus."

Beverly smiled. The magic was still there. "I think you're right."

Wishing you the best for the New Year!

My Latest Ebook Reader

2010-12-17T08:54:00.004-05:00

I've been reading ebooks on my trusty old eBookwise ereader and on my Nook. However, I recently purchased a new cellphone because my old cellphone had developed a strange quirk. I could only hear calls on it if I used the speakerphone, which meant everyone else could hear my calls, too.

To replace my old cellphone, I bought Virgin Mobile's Loft. For $25 a month I have unlimited texting and unlimited internet access. I have only 300 hours of talk time, but who needs to talk?

The one thing about this phone that left me a bit unsatisfied was that I could not download an ebook app for it. But with the web at my fingertips, I searched around until I found what I wanted.

At Bookworm I can upload an epub formatted book to the site and then read it on my cellphone. This is awesome!

Being economically minded, for my first book on Bookworm I downloaded a classic because it was free. I read Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton. I had never read it and while it isn't a happy book, Edith Wharton's prose is stunning. I just downloaded The Sea Wolf by Jack London today. I intend to catch up on many of the classics I haven't read.

So if you have a cellphone without an ebook app, try Bookworm and then start reading a few classics. :^)

Winter Reads

2010-12-10T08:53:00.008-05:00

Every summer there's a lot of attention given to Beach Reads--books deemed perfect for reading while baking under the sun in a beach chair. What about Winter Reads--books that are enjoyed while sipping hot chocolate, bundled up in an afghan in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace?

I've written two books where the action occurs during the cold of winter. The Company You Keep begins in January with plenty of snow.

The snow had crusted two days ago when sleet had
covered everything with an icy glaze. With slippers on her
feet, she broke through the hard coating and sank into the
soft snow beneath.

The sharp sting of the frozen crystals on her skin did not
stop her from scrambling after the disappearing spirit. She
caught a glimpse of the lantern’s glow waiting by the
gnarled maple at the edge of the woods. Fear prickled
along her neck, but an odd compulsion propelled her
forward.

The light dipped, swayed, and moved on into the woods
until the gleam became feeble and indistinct. By the time
Jennifer leaned against the twisted trunk of the old maple,
the light had disappeared altogether, and she did not have
the strength to go further. Her own battery lantern
flickered and went dark.

Her lungs hurt as she panted in the cutting air. The
wind had swept the snow away from the base of the tree
and she sat on one of the tree’s bulging roots while a wave
of desolation washed over her. Surprisingly, as suddenly
as it began, the bitter chill in her soul ended. The opening
to the portal must have closed.

She shivered violently. In the stillness, clouds of vapor
from her breath trailed high in the air. She found she
couldn’t stop shaking. She knew she should keep moving,
but wracked by the dreadful trembling, she remained
huddled at the foot of the ancient tree.

Are you cold yet? You probably will be if you read the book. The snow hangs around through most of the book.

However, if you'd like to be even colder, here's a scene from Sea Of Hope, which starts off with a nor'easter.

She glared out over the crashing waves with her lips pressed tightly together and realized how numb and heavy her heart felt, as though it had been weighted down with lead sinkers. Alone with her grief for the first time since her father's death, she relished the blast of the gale. It pumped some of its power into her thin frame and woke her from a weeklong nightmare.

"How could you do this to me, Dad?" she cried out over the howl of the storm. "You made a promise to me." But the tempest tore her words away and the only answer to her question was the shrill scream of the wind and a shower of salty spray that stung her eyes.

Sheets of rain pelted her and the pier shuddered as the waves slammed into it, but Doria stood her ground. With a Nor'easter battering the New Jersey coastline, conditions on the pier were hazardous, however what she intended to do would only take a moment.

It's rather cold outside this morning, and according to the reports we are due for a storm on Sunday. I'd suggest you bundle up to stay warm, sip hot drinks, and download a good book.

Workshop!

2010-12-03T16:27:00.003-05:00

I will be giving a workshop on December 14, 2010, at 9:30 a.m. at The Fine Grind, 101 Newark Pompton Turnpike (Route 23), Little Falls, NJ 07424 (Phone: 973-837-0199)

The workshop will be a live, in-person version of Creating Atmosphere: The Tone of Your Novel. I presented the talk at the Muse Online Conference in October. So if you didn't make it to the Muse Online Conference, come to Little Falls, have a cup of coffee and listen to my writing wisdom.

I believe every novel should have an overall feel--a tone--that clues the reader into the type of story he or she has chosen. The tone can be funny, or gloomy, or suspenseful. I will use examples from my paranormal romances to show how setting, dialogue, and other story elements create the desired atmosphere for a novel.

You won't want to miss this! Besides, there will be a drawing and someone will win a book. Maybe that someone could be you!

Some Sort of Miracle

2010-11-26T15:53:00.002-05:00

I woke up yesterday to find a single daisy flowering in our yard. I decided it had to be a sign of from my mother. Daisies were her favorite flower and are not usually seen blooming at the end of November in New Jersey.

I cooked Thanksgiving dinner--again. The first time I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, I was 19 and my mother was in the hospital with soaring high blood pressure. Up until that point, I had always been my mother’s apprentice. Mom was an exacting cook. Everything had to be done her way. The celery was chopped just so. Mom made stuffing from scratch. The pie crust had to be handled gently so it would be flaky and light. My siblings and I were relegated to certain specific tasks for the annual Thanksgiving feast, but that year, I did it all. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest meal but I enjoyed the sense of accomplishment I found in my own ability to rise to the occasion.

As Mom aged, I took over the role of hosting Thanksgiving every year for the burgeoning clan. Mom always brought yams and pumpkin pies to the feast. With her gone, I made the pumpkin pies and one of my sisters made the yams. My other sister made apples pies and cranberry relish. My daughters are my assistants—though I am by no means as exacting as my mother was. Some things are not worth all the fuss because the fact is that Thanksgiving isn’t about the food. It’s about reconnecting and catching up--long conversations with the people I love. It’s about laughter and the treasured memories that we share—and passing those memories along to the next generation.

Mom isn’t with us anymore—except in spirit, and hers was an indomitable one. As I was whipping the potatoes a wave of sadness washed over me because Mom wasn’t there, but then I thought of the daisy outside. It is difficult to be down when you’ve got your own little miracle occurring right outside the back door.

I gave the daisy to my father at the end of the evening. I’m sure the daisy was meant as much for him as it was for me.

Not Like the Real World

2010-11-19T09:02:00.006-05:00

As a fiction writer, I deal in complete lies all wrapped up in one nice, neat package called a book. I make up stories about imaginary people trying to solve imaginary problems in imaginary settings. The trick is that in all my stories, the lies have to "ring true." I can do this because most people who pick up a book voluntarily suspend their disbelief while reading the story. Readers are quite willing to give an author the benefit of the doubt--most of the time, but writers are always warned against using contrived plots, boring dialogue, and flat characters.

Still, there are plenty of very odd coincidences that happen in real life. Remember that kid in school who seemed to be headed for a detention center, but who is now a lawyer with a Mercedes and a trophy wife? If it happens in a book, the author has a lot of explaining to do--and it all has to sound "real."

Though dialogue in a story must seem real, the everyday dialogue we use is hardly as succinct or witty as that in a novel.

The characters in a novel must appear to be flesh and blood. They cannot be flat or cardboard characters--one dimensional. But how many genuinely boring people do you know? The world is populated with millions of them!

In short, a novel is nothing like the ordinary world we live in. It is far, far better. It makes a lot more sense even though it is one big lie.

The real world is often much stranger than fiction.

A Memorable Event in Brooklyn

2010-11-14T20:34:00.008-05:00

Hubby and I went to Brooklyn yesterday for hubby's high school reunion. He graduated from St. Augustine's high school, but around 1970 St. Augustine's closed. Afterwards, students went to Bishop Loughlin high school. However, there is a wing of that school with memorabilia from St. Augustine's--statues, stained glass, athletic awards and even a glass case with clothing and the old-fashioned book covers.

Bishop Loughlin high school hosted the reunion and did a great job. Despite a flea market in progress on the school grounds, we were given a parking spot! (Big miracle in that section of Brooklyn.)

Hubby brought an old photo of the high school class trip to Washington, D.C. which he passed around.

There was a Mass--of course. Afterwards, awards were given out to several St. Augustine students who have made remarkable achievements. The reunion itself helps to fund a scholarship program and one young man from Bishop Loughlin high school is going to Annapolis next year.

I enjoyed meeting hubby's former classmates and their spouses. The Christian Brothers taught them well.

Envelopes

2010-11-05T09:47:00.004-04:00

Way back in the dark ages of my youth, long-distance telephone calls were very expensive. My mother rarely called her relatives in Ohio and Pennsylvania. To keep in touch, they often sent letters to each other. Not all the relatives reciprocated, but my Aunt Grace—Mom’s sister—was the most faithful correspondent. Her handwriting was atrocious and I found deciphering her words a difficult task. However, every one of her letters was treasured—read and reread.

Aunt Grace wrote to everyone who wrote to her. As I grew up, she wrote letters specifically to me. When my oldest daughter was able to grasp the intricacies of cursive writing, Aunt Grace directed letters to her.

A letter from Aunt Grace usually consisted of advice—but she dished it out in clever and amusing ways. For instance, when my sister was seeking Mr. Right, Aunt Grace suggested a new wardrobe which included a dashing chapeau and a cute little dog. My sister was supposed to take the dog to the boardwalk and stroll about. She was bound to attract attention in that manner.

One of the saddest things about our changing world is the demise of the art of writing letters. I will be the first to admit I love Facebook. It’s a great way for keeping in touch with far-flung relatives. I know where my daughters are. I know my niece is going to the cabin for the weekend. I enjoy seeing everyone’s photographs. However, correspondence on the internet is usually kept to a minimum amount of words.

Today’s youngsters will probably never receive a single handwritten letter in their entire lifetime. There are four- and five-year old children who do not know the word envelope.

I have a nephew currently serving in the Navy. I wrote a letter to him. I know it may take a very long time to reach him, but I thought it would be a lot nicer to receive a genuine handwritten letter—even if it’s only from his aunt.

For those of you who have no idea how to start writing a letter, I found an interesting site that might be helpful.

http://www.ivillage.com/art-correspondence-letter-writing-101-0/4-a-283271

Send someone special a letter. It’s the next best thing to being with them and it’s a treasure they can keep forever.

Writing It Down

2010-10-28T20:14:00.002-04:00

I have kept a journal for a long time, ever since I was a child. I do not write in it everyday, but for the most part I faithfully record all major events in my life. During the past year, my family and I went through constant stress or one kind or another. I made the mistake of looking back at some of my entries one night this week, which made me a bit depressed. It’s a wonder I haven’t lost my mind. Oh wait. I’m already slightly loony—I write romances. :^)

After talking with a friend today, it occurred to me that maybe the journaling actually has been helpful. My friend does not keep a journal, and she has suffered through some extremely stressful events this past year, too, but she tends to dwell on them. She doesn’t write them down but she does go over and over the incidents in her mind. Well, yes, that’s obsessive, but she doesn’t write romances so she’s probably considerably more sane than I am.

I realized that while I do write down my troubles, I do not dwell on them. True, the problems don’t go away, but I move on—or my pen does at the very least, usually to the next problem. Still, the actual writing seems to be cathartic. It’s not that I don’t remember the difficulties after I record them—it’s just that somehow I forget the sequence—even if the events pile up one on top of another as they usually do.

Journaling is a very good thing according to the article below:

http://psychcentral.com/lib/2006/the-health-benefits-of-journaling/

So if you’re feeling stressed, write it down--with a pen on paper--you know, the old-fashioned way. Even if you don’t become a romance author--which might be a good thing--you could be doing yourself a big favor.

Writing Sisters

2010-10-23T20:57:00.003-04:00

I have been a member of the New Jersey chapter of the Romance Writers of America since 1988 and I have been to every one of their conferences. There are plenty of workshops offered along with editor and agent appointments, but the best part of the conference is the camaraderie with other authors as well as future authors. They are my writing sisters--they understand what it takes to write a book.

What we all need are more people who will read our books. There's a lot of good stuff between the covers. :^)

Reading will improve your vocabulary, make you smarter AND more interesting.

When was the last time YOU picked up a book and read it? Turn off the television and the internet, sit down, open a book, and savor the words.

You don't have to read the whole thing tonight. Just a chapter. It won't take long. Tomorrow night you can read another chapter.

See what we writers do. We work with words. Using them we can make pictures in your head. It's magic. (Well--sort of.)

So please buy a book today, or borrow one from the library. Your brain will be glad you did.

My Heroines Are Not Me

2010-10-15T09:26:00.004-04:00

I have an imagination and I am capable of making up stories. The books I write are fiction--that means they are not true. There are disclaimers at the beginning of each book that attest to the fact that any resemblance of the characters in my books to actual people is coincidence.

My heroines do not lead boring lives. They are caught up in life-threatening dramas. They are young, beautiful, and can eat lots of salty food because they do not have high-blood pressure--yet.

My heroines are not me.

Yes, I write the stories. My attitudes and opinions are there on the pages if anyone is seriously looking for them.

The truth is that I was a wallflower when I was young. Eventually, I left some of my shy nature behind when I grew up, but I was not and have never been a professional chef, scientist, policewoman, park ranger, journalist, farmer, or secretary.

I simply have a vivid imagination. Maybe it's because I've read too many books. Maybe it's because my parents were creative. Maybe it's because I grew up in an era where we didn't have any electronic games and we had to amuse ourselves. Maybe it's because I don't watch television.

Anyhow, it's great fun. It would be wonderful to be young and blond with curly hair, but I can do without the life-threatening drama. I give my heroines such a tough time!

An Old Idea of Recycling Recycled

2010-10-08T13:20:00.003-04:00

Back in the old days, when I was young, nothing went to waste. Thread used to come wrapped on wooden spools, but when the thread was used up we would put nails in the wooden spool, wrap yarn around the nails and use an old crochet hook to lift the loops over the nails so we could make horse reins. Never mind that no kid in Cliffwood Beach owned a horse. The activity kept us amused for hours. From that exercise, I developed a fondness for crocheting, but never for knitting. You can find more information on knitting spools here.

Years later, when my own children were young, I found a wooden spool, tapped some nails into it and showed my daughters how to make long knitted reins. Daughter #1 actually saved the knitting spool I made for her which is the one you see above.

Recently, I was cruising around Jo-Ann Fabric with hubby who was looking for a particular glitter paint to match his latest green accordion. On a rack I saw what appeared to be a giant knitting spool made of plastic. According to the instructions on the package, this giant knitting spool could be used to make a hat.

Awesome.

Since it was almost Daughter #1's birthday, I bought the gadget. Daughter #1 opened it on her birthday and began making a hat immediately. Within days, it was finished. Perhaps Daughter #1 can make everyone a hat for Christmas. :^)

It never ceases to amaze me how some old ideas can be transformed into something new and improved. Of course, I want to make a hat, too.

What Have You Memorized?

2010-10-01T16:42:00.002-04:00

I finished reading Two Years Before the Mast. While I’m still not sure about which sail is which, I found the book to be a fascinating history. One of the passages that has stuck in my mind is the one where Richard Henry Dana, Jr. reveals how he kept himself awake and alert on the night watch by reciting from memory an incredible array of facts as well as pieces of literature.

Here is the quote from the book.

I commenced a deliberate system of time-killing, which united some profit with a cheering up of the heavy hours. As soon as I came on deck, and took my place and regular walk, I began with repeating over to myself a string of matters which I had in my memory, in regular order. First, the multiplication table and the tables of weights and measures; then the states of the union, with their capitals; the counties of England, with their shire towns; the kings of England in their order; and a large part of the peerage, which I committed from an almanac that we had on board; and then the Kanaka numerals. This carried me through my facts, and, being repeated deliberately, with long intervals, often eked out the two first bells. Then came the ten commandments; the thirty-ninth chapter of Job, and a few other passages from Scripture. The next in the order, that I never varied from, came Cowper’s Castaway, which was a great favorite with me; the solemn measure and gloomy character of which, as well as the incident that it was founded upon, made it well suited to a lonely watch at sea. Then his lines to Mary, his address to the jackdaw, and a short extract from Table Talk; (I abounded in Cowper, for I happened to have a volume of his poems in my chest;) “Ille et nefasto” from Horace, and Gœthe’s Erl King. After I had got through these, I allowed myself a more general range among everything that I could remember, both in prose and verse. In this way, with an occasional break by relieving the wheel, heaving the log, and going to the scuttle-butt for a drink of water, the longest watch was passed away; and I was so regular in my silent recitations, that if there was no interruption by ship’s duty, I could tell very nearly the number of bells by my progress.

I know I could not do that. I could rattle off the times tables, the Ten Commandments, and hopefully most of the states and their capitals. I had a knack for memorizing facts when I was young. I did very well in recalling word-for-word the Baltimore Catechism. The nuns figured that out quickly enough and seldom called on me when I raised my hand. While I cannot toss back the answers to all the catechism questions anymore, I have retained most of the basic knowledge of the Church—probably because I still belong to it.

When I got to high school I had no problem in memorizing the periodic table. However, I promptly forgot it once I no longer needed it.

Obviously, back in the old days, people relied on memorization far more than we do today. Socrates believed that people would stop memorizing once they started to write things down.

Today with the internet at our fingertips, we never have to memorize anything. Just type it into Google and you’ve got the information you need instantly.

Nevertheless, it is interesting to think about what I would do if I had to keep myself alert on a night watch, I would probably recite my Rosary—but that wouldn’t take up too much time. I could sing a lot of songs and hymns as well as recite a few short bits of Scripture. There are a few poems I have loved and remember. Having spent much of my career teaching little children, I have committed an inordinate amount of children's books to memory. I suppose I could go through the times tables, the Ten Commandments, and every state with its capital city.

But what else?

What do you have in your memory that would keep you awake and alert on a long night watch?

Sea Chanties--Getting the Work Done Cheerily

2010-09-24T21:21:00.002-04:00

I am reading Two Years Before the Mast, by Richard Henry Dana, Jr. (You can read the entire book online at http://www.bartleby.com/23/) I'm reading it as reference material for my pirate book. Today I read a section of the book concerning sea chanties. I've always loved sea chanties, but it was interesting to read Dana's comments about them.

The sailor’s songs for capstans and falls are of a peculiar kind, having a chorus at the end of each line. The burden is usually sung, by one alone, and, at the chorus, all hands join in,—and the louder the noise, the better. With us, the chorus seemed almost to raise the decks of the ship, and might be heard at a great distance, ashore. A song is as necessary to sailors as the drum and fife to a soldier. They can’t pull in time, or pull with a will, without it. Many a time, when a thing goes heavy, with one fellow yo-ho-ing, a lively song, like “Heave, to the girls!” “Nancy oh!” “Jack Crosstree,” etc., has put life and strength into every arm. We often found a great difference in the effect of the different songs in driving in the hides. Two or three songs would be tried, one after the other, with no effect;—not an inch could be got upon the tackles—when a new song, struck up, seemed to hit the humor of the moment, and drove the tackles “two blocks” at once. “Heave round hearty!” “Heave round hearty!” “Captain gone ashore!” and the like, might do for common pulls, but in an emergency, when we wanted a heavy, “raise-the-dead” pull, which should start the beams of the ship, there was nothing like “Time for us to go!” “Round the corner,” or “Hurrah! hurrah! my hearty bullies!"

We should all start singing when we really want to get some work done! Here's one song I've always enjoyed.

Our Changing Vocabulary

2010-09-17T17:38:00.003-04:00

I bought this book some time ago because I always wanted to write historicals. However, it took a while before I had the nerve to do it. English is constantly evolving with new words being added and old words falling out of use. I bought English Through the Ages to ensure that I did not have my characters speaking words that would not have been invented during the time period in which the story is taking place. dictionary.com also gives the dates that most words were in use and I often use it just to be sure because it's quick.

Nevertheless, I believe that reading the lists of words in English Through the Ages for the time period during which my novel is set gives me a better idea of what life was like then--what was new, fresh, and contemporary.

For instance, the word cerulean was born about 1670. I love that color. Ethereal was also in use at that time as well as jaded. Wonderful descriptive words!

Transmogrify was in use by 1660. That would be terrific for a paranormal.

Then there's homemade. Homemade was in use by 1660. That surprised me. I would have thought almost everything at that point was homemade. I guess Mom's homemade biscuits have always tasted better than the ones that anyone else makes.

So if you're going to write historical fiction, I strongly suggest you get a copy of English Through the Ages.

Music for Turbulent Times

2010-09-10T16:51:00.007-04:00

During every turbulent time period in our nation's history there have been songs that brought our citizens together, uplifting them, giving them a rallying cry, and bolstering their faith.

The awesome part is that everyone knew the words and could sing along.

Folk songs motivated my generation during the turbulent sixties. We had great music and terrific musicians who not only sang the songs but went out and marched in the protests.

World War II, the Great Depression, and World War I there were rousing ditties to raise the spirits of our citizens.

There were songs for the unions seeking a better life for oppressed workers--songs that my grandfathers and my father knew.

Our country is going through some tough times right now. I believe we need some new songs, but I write books--not music. I write romances with guaranteed happy endings. That's what romances are all about--the good feeling at the end when it all works out for the characters--even if there's been some tough times--even if there have been tears and frustration--even if the characters lose their jobs and their healthcare. There is hope.

We need positive, uplifting songs right now. Songs with easy melodies, clear simple words, and stimulating choruses. Songs that will give us all a good feeling. Songs that will promote brotherhood. Songs that will put an end to divisiveness.

We need songs to help us work together like one big, happy--if somewhat dysfunctional--family. Joyful songs.

Can somebody please get to work on that?

Suspending My Disbelief

2010-09-03T20:14:00.005-04:00

A writer cannot make every reader happy. Occasionally, an author will write something that rubs a reader the wrong way.
I was clipping the hedges the other day when I remembered a scene in a novel I read many years ago where the heroine was also clipping hedges. The book was written by a very well-known novelist who has sold a gazillion books. I had loved the first book of hers that I read--so I got another one. However, in the second one, the heroine's situation annoyed me a bit. To me, it seemed unrealistic. But I come from humble beginnings. What do I know about the lives of the rich and famous? Only what I read in the gossip papers or see on television. Nevertheless, the plot held together and I finished the book.

I bought a third book by the same author. I frowned when I reached the part of the story where the heroine goes outside to clip hedges. It wasn't a long drawn out episode. It was a simple reaction scene which allowed the character to reflect and share her thoughts with the reader.

Unfortunately, the reader happened to be me--a woman who regularly battles bushes and fears that someday the bushes might win. The scene completely shattered my concentration. I just could not believe for one moment that the author had ever held a pair of hedge shears in her hands. Of course, it was entirely possible for the character in the book to be involved with clipping those hedges. But I was not thinking of the character. I was thinking of the author.

It was an unfair reaction on my part, but that's what happened. For me, the experience of reading that particular book was ruined. My response does not mean the author was not a good writer--after all, she's sold a lot of books over the years! For me, she simply happened to hit on a raw nerve.

To read a book, every reader must suspend their disbelief and accept the world within the novel. What happens in the story does not have to be real--otherwise we would not have Harry Potter and Twilight. However, all events should seem plausible given the boundaries established by the author.

I've written stories that could never realistically occur--genuine fantasies with lots of paranormal magical stuff. Tadeusz in The Beast of Blackbirch Manor was cursed by a witch and is going to turn into a wolf on his thirty-third birthday unless he finds a woman who loves him. Evidently, readers are willing to suspend their disbelief in reading that book because it's been very popular.

But Tadeusz isn't clipping any hedges in that novel. He's got gardeners to do that job. :^)

More Cookbooks

2010-08-28T14:35:00.003-04:00

I went to another flea market today—a small one at a local park. I bought two cookbooks there despite the fact that I already have a large and varied assortment of cookbooks. However, I couldn’t resist. The first cookbook was the kind put together by a group of people to benefit their organization. Those types of cookbooks I’ve found to have some of the best recipes, ones that are simple but good. I’ve already decided to try one of the recipes this week—Smothered Chicken.

The other cookbook I can justify as a necessary reference book. Daughter #1 spotted it. It is The Victorian Seaside Cookbook, by Anne Bishop and Doris Simpson. It contains authentic recipes of the Victorian era served at hotels along the Jersey shore. It has lots of pictures and even a map of the railroad lines. History is a great deal of fun.

This amazing book contains menus, too. It is truly astounding to read of the quantity and variety of food served at each meal during the Victorian era.

Here I am, in 2010, counting every calorie I put into my mouth. By contrast, the Victorians seem like gluttons. Their breakfasts started with fruit, clam broth, and then a hot cereal. Next came three or four kinds of fish, grilled steaks, lamb chops, liver, and eggs. Following that, they heaped creamed codfish or beef, ham and bacon, several varieties of potatoes, hominy, and fried mush on their plates. In addition, there were griddle cakes with syrup plus hot chocolate, coffee, tea, milk or malted milk.

Reading all that made me groan. When I read about the Victorian dinner, which was far more sumptuous, my tummy started to ache.

Nevertheless, I found some of the recipes to be quite interesting. There’s stuffed tomatoes, a favorite of President Fillmore. There’s also rice pudding, said to be a favorite of President Grant.

Since we are what we eat, I do wonder about those Victorians. They spent a lot of time eating way back when along the Jersey shore.

Road Scholars

2010-08-21T10:23:00.004-04:00

In a writer’s life, every experience can lead to an idea for a story. Every new vista can become the setting for another plot. Every person I meet has the possibility of becoming a character or at least having some facet of their personality spark the basis for a character. Going on a different adventure is the best way for me to “fill the well” in my mind in preparation for future books.

This year, hubby and I decided to try an elderhostel vacation. We signed up with Road Scholar. One couple we know had gone on a few trips with the elderhostel and recommended the company to us.

After considerable thought, we chose a tour based in White River Junction, Vermont. Our host was David Briggs of the Hotel Coolidge. We learned about Vermont railroads and small gauge railroads. The tour included a field trip to the top of Mount Washington where we rode the cog railway to the top of the mountain. We also went for a ride on an Amtrak train as well as a ride on the Green Mountain Railroad. In addition, we learned more about the region’s history, humor, and economics.

Other attendees came from as far away as California and Kentucky—though most were from other northeastern states. One woman had been on fifty elderhostel trips. Another on twenty. Hubby and I were the newbies—and I was undoubtedly the youngest in the group.

The price of the tour included all meals. The food was excellent but one of my favorite activities was being able to dine with our fellow travelers and compare life stories. I like to talk, but I am just as happy soaking up conversations and tucking them in the back of my mind. (Some small nugget of information might come in handy when I’m slogging through my plot one night.)

We found the lecturers in the program to be not only knowledgeable but passionate in their love of the subject they taught. Also funny. :^)

We had one afternoon free. Since Dartmouth wasn’t far way, hubby and I checked out the Hood Museum of Art (very nice and FREE!). We also visited Quechee Gorge.

On Thursday night, we were treated to a movie A Man With A Plan produced by a local Vermonter, John O’Brien. I would classify the film as political satire—but it was also funny, cute, and poignant. No violence, no sex, no outrageous special effects—but well worth watching. I bought the DVD.

I took a lot of notes during the lectures and I have a list of recommended books to read.

Will I write a book set in Vermont involving the railroads and White River Junction?

Maybe. I wrote down a few ideas on my Alphasmart as we journeyed home. However, I have to let everything percolate for a while in my mind.

There was one question I forgot to ask while I was in Vermont. There’s also a few details about the town of White River Junction that I need to clarify. My research is not finished yet!

New Old Words

2010-08-07T10:05:00.007-04:00

I've been reading The Red Rover by James Fenimore Cooper. I downloaded it from Project Gutenberg last year after I had visited J.F. Cooper's birthplace in Burlington, New Jersey. I had not known until that visit that Cooper had been in the Navy. Years ago, I read The Water Witch, because it was set in the Highlands of New Jersey. However, I did not know about The Pilot and The Red Rover, Cooper's other books with very nautical settings. I've already read The Pilot, but I am now reading The Red Rover. It's a good story (a pirate story!!!) but it goes slowly. Cooper was, like most authors of his time, verbose. He uses a lot more words to get from one point to the other.

The surprising thing is sometimes Cooper's vocabulary--ancient words that are completely out of common usage. I am an avid reader and coming across these little nuggets has had me reaching for the dictionary. The old words are still there, but it makes me sad that they are getting moldy. However, if I use any unfamiliar words in my manuscripts, I could lose readers. Odd words stand out like little red flags and take the reader out of the flow of the story.

Of course, there are always new words popping up in our language. The English language is alive and well and constantly changing. It is so rich and full of nuances that working with it is a joy.

Below are a few words from Cooper's The Red Rover that I looked up at dictionary.com:

habiliment –noun
1.
Usually, habiliments.
a.
clothes or clothing.
b.
clothes as worn in a particular profession, way of life, etc.
2.
habiliments, accouterments or trappings.

Porteous-Porteous, John , d. 1736, British soldier. He was captain of the Edinburgh town guard at the execution (1736) of Andrew Wilson, a smuggler. When the crowd, which was sympathetic to Wilson, rioted, the guard fired into it, killing eight or nine persons. Porteous was tried and sentenced to death, but his execution was postponed. On Sept. 7, 1736, an indignant mob took him from prison and hanged him, a crime for which no one was brought to justice despite the efforts of the government. Incidents of the Porteous riot are used by Sir Walter Scott in The Heart of Midlothian.

picaroon–noun
1.
a rogue, vagabond, thief, or brigand.
2.
a pirate or corsair.
–verb (used without object)
3.
to act or operate as a pirate or brigand.

mantling–noun Heraldry .
a decorative piece of cloth represented as hanging from a torse so as to cover the sides and rear of a helmet and often so as to frame the escutcheon below.

I think everyone should read lots of classic books, which anyone can get for free at Project Gutenberg. It's a great way to learn some new old words. :^)

Free Love

2010-08-03T09:26:00.002-04:00

Did I grab your attention with the title of this post? It's entirely true.

You can enjoy a free short story full of love and romance if you go to my website at:

http://www.penelopemarzec.com

Click on the FREE READS tab in the navigation bar. On the next page you will find six short stories. The last one in the list I uploaded last night. It is from my first "book," a Cameo Romance. It was cute and small and very inexpensive, and I had my first real booksigning with it at an independent bookstore. Hubby brought me roses. :^)

But the publisher ceased publishing and I was left with an orphaned story, which is good for you. Go ahead and download it. Read it on your computer, or since it's a pdf file load it into your Nook!

Have fun with a little free love from me to you.

A Visual Trail of Delight

2010-07-24T10:19:00.006-04:00

It has been a year since my mother died. This week I finally decided to go through the large bin of my mother's photographs. I picked out the pictures Ma had taken of my husband, our daughters and me. My sisters have to go through the bin and pick out what they wish to keep, too.

There are a lot of photos of scenery. My mother's passion was painting. She started out in oils and later switched to watercolors. A prolific artist, she was always searching for a new scene to capture so that she could paint it later. There are photographs of old barns, covered bridges, flowers, seascapes, pastoral farm scenes, and the overflowing abundance of a harvest of fruit.

Few of the photos are labeled though I do recognize some of the locations. There are hundreds of these photographs. Each one is a project my mother did not get a chance to complete, which is a rather depressing way to think of the situation. The fact is that each picture also represents the hope she had to do more.

My mother loved to paint. It gave her joy. Each photograph holds a spark of excitement that I can almost feel as I hold the picture in my hand. It's like I'm looking through the lens and getting that little tickle inside telling me this is going to be fun.

My mother left a wonderful legacy behind her, a visual trail of the delight she experienced in God's beautiful world.

Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire

2010-07-16T09:33:00.004-04:00

New Jersey was enduring a record heat wave when we packed up for our annual road trip to Florida to see hubby’s parents. We did not know what to expect this year. Hubby had flown down a few times by himself this past year to help his parents. His father had broken his hip last September and needed constant nursing care. By February, hubby had arranged for his parents to move into an assisted living facility. His mother resisted the idea of leaving her house, but hubby insisted and she grudgingly went. Once his parents were both safely installed in their new apartment, we assumed life would be easier.

However, Mom was not happy. While she admitted that the food provided at the facility was good, that was the only thing she seemed to appreciate. With every phone call, she reminded us to get out our black suits. If hubby called the head nurse to ask about his parents, his mother became very angry with us for going behind her back.

Still, we knew the staff handled many tasks that had become difficult for Mom. They bathed Dad and gave him his medicine, they made doctor’s appointments and, of course, transportation to the doctor was provided.

The facility also provides many excursions along with entertainment programs, but Mom told us she did not participate in those. She and Dad ate in the dining room, but spent the rest of the day in their room watching television.

When we told Mom we would be staying for a week, she was angry. She thought we would be staying for three weeks. When we told her we would be staying at a nearby hotel, which had a pool and wi-fi, she was angry. “What do you think this is, a vacation?”

She expected us to stay in her old house. But there isn’t any wi-fi there—or television. Besides, the hotel was closer to the assisted care facility where Mom and Dad are now.

We were relieved when we arrived and saw Mom and Dad looking good, well-fed, clean and well-dressed. Though Dad can barely hear, his vision isn’t good, and he’s not really attentive most of the time—there are those moments when he is much like he’s always been—a big tease.:^)

Hubby talked with the head nurse. I drove Mom to the mall so she could buy new shoes.

Hubby discovered that his father is simply very aged. I found out that Mom still has plenty of energy but she frequently contradicts herself.

Our biggest mistake was to agree to take Mom to the house. She wanted us to look it over and see if it is in need of a new paint job before it is put on the market.

Also, we were supposed to be the cleaning crew.

Okay. No problem.

Ha.

I expected emotion. Mom cried. I got choked up, too. After all, we brought our daughters down every summer and we had some good times in that house.

But then Mom opened the door to air out the house. In Florida--in July--airing out the house means letting in all the humidity and heat. I vacuumed all the rugs as sweat ran down my face. Hubby helped Mom clean all the mirrors.

Hubby and I do not think the house needs to be repainted. However, when hubby turned the water on, I heard the toilet running. The valve needed to be replaced.

Meanwhile, Mom’s emotions went from tears to anger. She wants to move back into her house.

No amount of logic could do anything to change her mind. When we returned to the apartment, I offered to hang up some of the paintings that had been taken from the house. Hubby said he had left a small hammer and picture hooks in a drawer in the apartment. Mom claimed one of the staff had stolen the hammer and hooks.

Hubby and I searched the apartment. I found the hammer and hooks in a cardboard box in the closet.

Mom exploded. She did not want the pictures hung on the walls. She was not staying in the apartment. She was moving back home!

Hubby and I left the apartment. We went to a Mexican restaurant and had very large Margaritas.

We decided not to take Mom to the house again. We stopped at Home Depot and bought the toilet valve replacement. Hubby put it in while I cleaned up some disgusting moldy gunk on the floor in the old family room. Yuck.

The next day, we ate in the dining room with Mom and Dad. I tried to suggest that Mom should go on some of the excursions offered by the facility. She said she won’t because then the staff will find out how bad Dad is and they’ll put it in his report and soon he’ll be locked away in Memory Lane and she’ll never see him again.

Again, logic did not help the matter. She only got more worked up.

We decided to take Mom and Dad on an excursion to the beach. That turned out to be a good idea. For a few hours, all was calm, but when we said we were taking them back to the apartment, Mom got angry again. She wanted us to spend every minute of the day with her.

The next day, we took them to another beach. Again, all was pleasant for a while. Dad and Mom sang songs together and I captured those precious moments with my camera.

Then we took them back to the apartment in time for their dinner. Again, Mom was angry, but we promised to be back immediately after dinner.

Hubby had retrieved his old accordion from the house. He brought music along and so as everyone in the dining hall was finishing their supper, we provided an impromptu concert.

The residents loved it. I sang, hubby played. We kept it up for over and hour. Mom was all smiles as all the residents learned that the musician was her son.

The concert ended. We went upstairs to Mom and Dad’s apartment. We thought we could leave the accordion there so that it would be available for the next time we visit.

Mom complained. “What am I going to do with it when I move back to the house?”

Oy.

Again, hubby reiterated that it would be nice so that the next time he visits he could play for everyone.

“Do you think we’ll be here next time you visit?” Mom asked.

Hubby picked up the accordion. We gave Mom and Dad a hug, said goodbye and left quickly.

It was difficult to endure Mom’s anger directly solely at us.

Otherwise, from all we could see, she is very sweet to the staff and to the other residents. In fact, the women that sit at the table in the dining room with Mom and Dad for every meal told me how much they enjoy all the stories Mom tells.

And Mom does go on at least one excursion on a regular basis. Every two weeks, the facility provides a bus trip to the library less than half a block from Mom’s old home. She hops on the bus and visits her house every two weeks.

For years, we’ve asked Mom and Dad to move near us. They’ve always refused.

I don’t expect the gloom and doom phone calls to change, but we do know Mom and Dad are in good hands.

Hubby plans to fly down for Mom and Dad’s 70th Wedding Anniversary. They are so fortunate.

But don’t try telling that to Mom.

I Bought a Nook

2010-07-03T11:03:00.005-04:00

Most people know I'm a bookaholic--so this year I amassed $85 in Barnes and Nobles giftcards, which is really amazing and I thank all those who were so generous to me. The problem is I already have a zillion books in my To-Be-Read pile. I try to stay away from bookstores. However, the temptation is often too strong. Last week, the local AAUW had its yearly book sale when all the books were priced at $5 a bag. I filled the bag--to the brim--and felt guilty for adding more books to my collection.

Then the price of the Nook came down to $149. I already have an eBookwise reader, which I love. I love the backlight that allows me to read in the dark. I can read while hubby is driving, while hubby is sleeping, and while hubby is listening to jazz music in the park. (Hint: I am not a fan of jazz.)

But the Nook has Wi-Fi, I can check my email, my Facebook, and my Twitter--and download books from the air--or best of all--upload my current manuscript into the Nook as a PDF and then edit it. The font selection goes from very small to very big. :^) The display uses e-ink which is easy on the eyes. With $85 in giftcards, I only needed $64 of my own cash to complete the transaction.

So I bought the Nook. But then I needed a cover to protect it and Barnes and Noble had a neo-hippie purple and pink cover with an orange heart on one side and a peace symbol on the other for $29.95. How could I resist?

So for the past few days, I've been playing with my new Nook. I downloaded a free copy of Jane Eyre into it, but it came loaded with some all time hits like Pride and Prejudice and Dracula as well as some interesting samples.

Then I downloaded The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything, a book I've been wanting to get. It took moments for it to load into my Nook. This could be a very dangerous toy for a bookaholic.

Surfing the web isn't all that easy. The touch screen is small, but very sensitive. It is not as fast as a computer. Still, after a bit of practice, I can manage it. I think having small fingers helps.

The Nook came with two games, chess and Sudoku. I don't play games, except for Scrabble--and that I like to do with real, live people.

The Nook can also hold music files. I moved some of my classical Chopin files into the Nook. Now I can read AND listen to Chopin. No matter where I go, I can feel like I'm inside Barnes and Noble's store.

I'm happy with my Nook. I am so delighted that ebooks have finally been recognized as being as good as paper books. It took so much longer than I anticipated when I first became an e-published author, but to see the general public embracing the new technology is wonderful. I see people reading on their ebook devices in doctor's waiting rooms and on the subway.

The Nook is a very nice gadget.

Review of The Hunted of 2060

2010-06-28T21:43:00.004-04:00

In the summertime, I get a little extra time to read. Very often, I enjoy reading something quite different from my usual fare and since I seldom read sci-fi novels, I knew I had to broaden my horizons. I can count on one hand the sci-fi novels that I've read. My sister told me I had to read The Martian Chronicles and my children quoted The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy so much, I felt compelled to see what intrigued them. Of course, I loved the original Star Trek, but that was because I was young and infatuated with Captain Kirk at the time. Still, I have also read the delightful Star Sapphire by Han May (Joan Fong).

So for this summer's adventure into sci-fi, I read The Hunted of 2060, by Ami Rebecca Blackwelder. (ISBN: 1452805474 and ISBN: 9781452805474)
The novel concerns April who is nineteen and studying at the university when she begins to suffer from an odd illness. Her boyfriend, Robert, is always there to offer comfort, but April cannot understand the changes in her body--the incredible heightening of her senses, her strength and speed. Her lust for meat.

Then one day walking along the campus between classes, she is rendered unconscious. Waking in the forest, she sees a face exactly like her own. April’s twin sister tells her the truth. She is a hybrid. Her father was an alien shifter, her mother human. While April was given up at birth for adoption, Arquet, her sister, was raised with other hybrid clans in the forest. None of them trust humans.

The Rogue Militia is dedicated to wiping out the hybrids and April must fight for survival with the rest of her clan. Will she ever be able to go back to her life at the university and her sweet, loyal boyfriend, Robert?

Torn between her two natures, April longs for the serenity of her former life but she cannot stop the beast within her from emerging. She must learn to kill to save those she loves, but the enemy will not end the slaughtering of hybrids. The unarmed hybrids are pitted against warriors with modern weapons. It is April who must make the clans realize there are some humans who can be trusted—some who can help them in their battle for freedom.

Readers will love April. She is a worthy heroine caught in terrible circumstances who must stand up for the cause of justice. With one battle after another, the book is fast paced and full of action, but for me it was April’s tender love and devotion which made this book an enjoyable read.

Magic Wings

2010-06-27T13:37:00.004-04:00

Months ago, I started giving away free short stories at my website, http://www.penelopemarzec.com. One of the stories,"A Shade of Difference," has a Blue Morpho butterfly in it. So when I announced that particular story was available for a download at my website, I found an image of that butterfly and uploaded it to this blog.

My sister noticed the image of the butterfly on my blog and told me of a place in Deerfield, Massachusetts, where there are plenty of live Blue Morpho butterflies flitting about in a greenhouse along with many other varieties of butterflies.

Magic Wings is indeed a magical place. There were plenty of Blue Morpho butterflies gliding around the greenhouse. The creatures are rather large, but some of them fly low so visitors do have to step carefully as they walk through the garden. One butterfly took a liking to my brother-in-law's green shirt and stayed there for a while.

Visitors have to check for butterflies hitchhiking a ride before they leave the greenhouse. This is a great place for young and old to see. You never know, it might give you an idea for a story. :^)

Gardening Attempts

2010-06-19T13:53:00.002-04:00

I love flowers but it takes a lot of effort to create a beautiful garden. I've been trying for years. My sister, the horticulturist, has helped me by giving me hardy perennials that are difficult to kill. The Evening Primroses she gave me bloom faithfully for the entire month of June and a patch of Brown-Eyed Susans perform equally well as summer wears on.

Last year, I decided to try a weed--Queen Anne's Lace. I picked up the seeds the previous autumn. The plants didn't do much last summer but this year it looks like I'll get some flowers. I think they are pretty. My sister tells me they are difficult to eradicate once they get started, but in my case that's a good thing. I need plants that do well without much encouragement.

This year I planted daisy seeds in one corner of the yard. I bought the seeds in the K-Mart. They were very expensive--for seeds--but that was because the mixture contained mulch and fertilizer, too. So I'm expecting miracles from those seeds.

Last week, hubby bought me Russian Sage, another perennial. I'm hoping the Russian Sage does well with the limited care it will get from me, but I guess I'll find out next year.

Do you have any suggestions for a brown-thumb kind of gardener? Any flowers that never fail you?

Almost Lost

2010-06-13T13:36:00.006-04:00

I almost lost this small cross at the gym. The chain broke while I was on the treadmill at the gym. I grabbed the chain but I could not find the cross--and it is a special one because my brother gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.

Hubby searched with me but there was no sign of the little cross. I figured the only thing I could do was report the loss to the manager and hope someone would find it while cleaning. I was also hoping it wouldn't get stuck in some gear in the treadmill.

However, first I stopped in the ladies room and there I found the little cross nestled close to my heart inside my bra. :^)

Now I just need a new chain.

But the moral of the story is to remove any jewelry before going to the gym.

First Impressions, The Book Cover

2010-06-05T10:15:00.015-04:00

Congratulations to Kathy Otten. She won the set of notecards!

So far, my best selling book online has been the digital version of The Beast of Blackbirch Manor with the cover below.

The publisher changed the cover for the print version of the book.

Why? I don't know. Which cover do you find more attractive? Which one would you buy?

My latest release, The Fiend of White Buck Hall, has the cover you see below.

For some unknown reason, Amazon has not given the digital version of the book a cover. I did tell my publisher, and I did try to upload it myself to no avail. So on Amazon the book cover for digital version of The Fiend of White Buck Hall looks like this:

Despite the lack of a cover, there are readers who have purchased the digital version of that book. :^)

Book covers are an author's first impression for a reader. I have been disappointed in some of the covers I've received and ecstatic with others, but my opinion of the cover does not necessarily correlate with the sales of the books. Sales are influenced by other factors as well. However, a great book cover does help and I truly appreciate the skill of the artists who have worked on the covers for my books.

Look at the three books below. Which one would you choose to read--based on your first impression?

Anyone who comments from now until Friday, June 11, 2010, will be entered into a drawing. The winner will receive a set of notecards with the images of my bookcovers on the front of the notecards.

Download "A New Beginning"

2010-05-28T09:53:00.002-04:00

There was a time when I was unpublished. I was always writing something, but my efforts seemed futile as my rejection pile kept growing. I had some non-fiction articles published, but I longed to be published in fiction.

When the New Jersey Romance Writers had a writing competition, I entered it with my short story, "A New Beginning." That story was a winner and wound up in the anthology with the other winners of that competition. It was a big victory for me. Three years later, I received my first contract for a full-length novel, Sea Of Hope.

"A New Beginning" is a sweet romance. The idea came to me easily enough. In everything I write there is always some nugget of truth. When I was in high school there was a boy everyone nicknamed "Genghis." And he did ask me to dance at the first freshman dance. I turned him down--mostly because he seemed rather frightening and intense. I was very, very shy back then.

But that's where any similarity with real life ends. "A New Beginning" is a reunion story and while I've been to plenty of high school reunions, I've always had hubby at my side. :^)

However, if you would like to make your coffee break a little bit special today, download "A New Beginning" at my website, http://www.penelopemarzec.com.

Click on the FREE READS tab in the navigation bar. The downloads are at the bottom of the next page--"A New Beginning" is the fifth one.

I think you'll like Genghis!