It’s summertime, and you know what that means – garage sales!

Maybe this is a redneck, lowbrow thing, and those with bigger paychecks sniff and turn their head, but I love cruising garage sales, yard sales, estate sales, whatever sales. Give me a handwritten cardboard sign tacked to a telephone pole on a street corner and I’m there. Trying to follow the signs reminds me of scavenger hunts. (But it really irks me when the signs are left up long after the sale, or they’re too faint/small print for me to read at 30 mph, or there’s one sign on the corner of the main street but none visible after that to lead me to the actual sale. I hate a tease.)

Maybe it’s my frugal nature, maybe it’s the treasure hunt aspect. You never know what you’ll find — it’s true about one man’s junk being another man’s treasure. And it certainly makes sense to buy shorts and tees for twenty-five cents each than to pay full retail price when they’re only going to fit my growing son for a few months. It’s a win/win — the mom I bought them from cleared out closets and got a little money back on her investment, and I was able to buy a few more toys with the money we saved. (Yes, it turns out I have a weakness for buying toys. Who knew?)

Maybe buying used isn’t so low-brow. I heard Terri Hatcher (of Desperate Housewives fame) describe her favorite way to spend time with her daughter on Saturday mornings was to get juice and muffins and then go garage sale-ing. Think the garage sales are a little different in Malibu?

Try to picture a yard sale being held in Grosevenor Square, London, during the Regency.

Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? When Lord and Lady Deep-Pockets no longer had need of household items, the knick-knacks and such were usually stored in the attic or cellar, or handed off to servants and poor relations. They could teach us a thing or two about reduce, reuse and recycle.

For example, when Lady Deep-Pockets ordered a new ball gown, the modiste’s assistants might be given the scraps of leftover fabric and trim for their own wardrobe creations. After Lady D-P deemed her fabulous new gown to have been worn too many times (sometimes it was only one wearing, depending on the depth of Lord D-P’s pockets) she might pass it on to her lady’s maid.

The maid would modify the gown as needed so that it wasn’t too fancy for someone in her place. Any lace or other trim she had to remove was used to spruce up other items in her wardrobe.

When the dress became too worn or stained for my lady’s maid or she simply tired of it, it was handed down to someone lower in the household — perhaps to the scullery maid to wear to church or at home on her half-day off.

When the garment could no longer be taken in or let out or patched or re-trimmed to hide stains, it would finally be sold to the rag and bone man — if it wasn’t used for making quilts, rag rugs, or otherwise dismantled. He would in turn sell it to a mill so it could be used for making paper, which might be purchased by Lord D-P’s secretary. Lady D-P could then take a sheet of that paper to write a letter to her younger sister who did not marry as well. If Lady D-P’s sister did not treasure every word of advice and gloating from big sis, she might use the paper for — um, let’s just say the chamber pot is involved — and then the paper would be burned for fuel or added to the composting pile in the garden.

Which all goes to explain why there are so few items of clothing from certain eras in museums and other collections for us to study – they were literally worn to pieces. So when my husband teases me about a favorite shirt I refuse to part with that has stains and tiny holes and is stretched out and literally coming apart at the seams to the point I’d be embarrassed to answer the door while wearing it … I’m saving it for posterity.

My friend Robyn—hey, you know her—has a saying. New level, new devil. It’s her way of describing the fact that no matter where you are, there are problems. Long ago, when we ere unpublished newbies together, we thought if only we could get the attention of an editor and get one of those coveted contracts, all our professional problems would be solved.

Turns out, we were being overly optimistic. Or stupid, if you want to look at it that way.

Because, of course, a great career is made up of more than just a single contract. It’s publisher support, print runs, and distribution. And if all those things line up, it’s sell throughs, earn outs, and best seller lists. And if you’re lucky enough to make those lists, can you do again? Only higher this time, please.

You see what I mean? There’s always something new to worry about. And chances are, it’s bigger and badder than whatever you were worrying about before. Probably more stressful, too.

I’m beginning to realize that the same is true of motherhood. My girl is now three. We went through a rough spot at about eighteen months. She was willful, stubborn and still unable to communicate her desires. She was agile, fearless and energetic, so every time I turned around she was scaling some piece of furniture or cabinetry. Frankly, she was driving me crazy.   

Then she grew out of it, learned to talk and things settled down. I didn’t have to follow through with my threats to sell her on eBay. (Cute toddler. Slightly used, accessories included. Serious bids only.)

But now she’s three. I’d heard if you coast through the twos, you’re probably in for rough waters with the threes. It’s the same thing as writing. New level, new devil.

With my girl, it’s actually that willful stubbornness showing itself in new and inventive ways. She’s in that testing stage. Yesterday was particularly tough. For example, she got a plum, ate half of it, and massaged the other half into her naked torso. When I chastised her, she apologized, served her time in time out and stood patiently while I cleaned off her chest. An hour, she got a second plum, ate half of it, and used the other half to polish furniture. You see the logic, don’t you? Plums aren’t for rubbing into skin, but surely they must good for rubbing into something. Mommy’s head didn’t explode last time, but maybe I get make it explode if I do this.

You ever notice how eager parents are to give out advice to other, newer parents. I have a theory about this. Advice is just nostalgia for a time when we were dealing with a devil we knew. We can hand out tips for dealing with colicky babies or teething toddlers because we’ve already done that. We made it through. Dare I say, we even feel smart and clever in retrospect. It’s this new devil we’re dealing with that’s making us crazy. Whoever we’re talking to may need We need that reminder of our own brilliance and resiliency as much as the person we’re talking to needs those helpful suggestions.

Is the same true of the writing world? Probably. I love giving workshops. I always assumed it was because I was a teacher in a former life and just liked being in front of the “classroom” again. But maybe I just like the reminder that in the roughly fifteen years I’ve been writing, I have learned something. Maybe even something useful. There is much about this industry that’s confusing and mysterious. But I’m not nearly as green as I once was. And not nearly as smart as I wish I was.

So anybody got any helpful tips for surviving the threes? 

Do you ever choose actors or actresses to play your favorite characters in books? It’s funny – I don’t really have a clear “photo” of my heroes and heroines as I write them, not until I’m about halfway through the book.

But when I read other books – especially series books, I definitely picture the main characters and who would play them if the books were made into movies. Take the Stephanie Plum books (by Janet Evanovich). I always see Stephanie as Jennifer Aniston.

Stephanie is a comedic character, but she also has to be fairly hot to keep Morelli and Ranger interested, and Jennifer Aniston is that, for sure. As for Morelli, I always see him as Josh Lucas. Morelli is a former bad boy turned cop, and in one of the early books, after Stephanie takes great pains to get herself all dressed up and ready to go out with him, I can almost see Morelli (Josh) looking her over and delivering the priceless line, “Nice dress. Take it off.”

And then there’s Ranger, also a bad boy who functions outside the law when he feels it’s necessary, because he operates under his own code of right and wrong. He’s big and powerful and after listening to the latest Plum book on CD, I’ve been picturing Dwayne (the Rock) Johnson in the role.

There’s another series of books that I’m hooked on, too. They’re the Jack Reacher novels, written by Lee Child. Jack is the main character of all of them, a former army MP who is about 6 foot 5 and somewhere between 225 and 250 pounds. He is larger than life, has no ties to anyone or anything, and is a complete wise guy with great one-liners … For example, In One Shot, he tells a punk store clerk that he needs some information and the punk replies that he wants to see some ID first. Jack doesn’t take any flack … he gives the guy his demand once more, cooly, as his patience starts to wear thin. The kid says he wants to see something. Jack’s response: “The next thing you’re going to see is the inside of an ambulance, Gary …” And he means it. He states it as fact, no bragging, no bravado. Nobody messes with Jack Reacher.

So I’m thinking about an actor from way back, a man who played the strong and silent type, mostly in westerns, I think. He’s Clint Walker, although his hair needs to be lightened up a bit, since Reacher is described as having “dirty blonde hair.”

Or maybe Aaron Eckhart would do. He’s got Jack Reacher-kind of looks, but I don’t think he’s anywhere near big enough. Reacher is big and tough. He’s a guy you wouldn’t want to cross.

Sometimes, the wrong actors are cast in much-anticipated films. Viggo Mortenson, for example. I know I’m in the minority here, but I didn’t think he was the best Aragorn Peter Jackson could have come up with. (Hey, what was Hugh Jackman doing back then??) I thought Viggo looked downright silly wearing the crown at the end of The Return of the King. Sean Bean would have been better, too, but he played another part and got killed off much too soon!

Oh well, we don’t always get our druthers. But if you had to choose, who would you cast in your favorite books, or re-cast in movies you’ve seen?

Okay, I admit it. I am addicted to the Olympics.

All week, even though I had to get up and go to work in the morning, I’ve been staying up late watching the Olympics. What events are my favorites? Swimming, hands down. And I LOVE watching Michael Phelps. Why? Because he’s a great swimmer and so far (with only one event to go) he’s kept his focus under intense pressure. I’ve also enjoyed the gymnastics…although I felt kinda sad when I heard the father of the all-around champion, Nastia, (a former Olympic gold medal winner himself) be quoted as telling her beforehand that there’s only one color of medal acceptable in their household. Hmmm…what happened to do your best and we’ll be proud of you?

What has surprised me about this Olympic games is how many people I know who are also watching them. How about you? Are you glued to the tube? Or are the Olympics something you can take or leave?

Since no one won a copy of my book When She Was Bad last week (cuz no one matched all the answers of the Harlequin Romance Experts)….I’m going to try to give it away again this week.

All you have to do is comment and you’ll be entered into a drawing. I’ll announce the winner Sunday night!!!

I know that we writers go on and on about the RWA conference. And I know that it’s been over for 2 weeks, but I haven’t shared my pictures with you. For those of you who haven’t ever been or who’ve wondered what it’s like. Here’s a peek.

USF and I took a day out of the conference to see San Francisco.

Here we are on Twin Peaks. See how foggy SF is?

We also went to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was cold. Burr!

I’m not winking. The sun was in my eyes.

We did some other stuff too. Went to Alcatraz, ate lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf, took pictures of the sea lions. But you don’t really want to see pictures of sea gulls on Alcatraz, do you? You want to see what the Rita Awards are all about.

USF and I are all dressed up and hopeful. The stage is behind us.

Then the awards began with a funny video starring the Rita statuette, Suzanne Brockmann and classic San Fran movies. It was a lot of fun. The Golden Heart awards for unpublished authors are first, and all the winners were so eloquent and composed. Then the Ritas began. Before long, my category was up.

Then the slide for Blackthorne’s Bride.

Finally, the winner!

No, that’s not me. It’s Julia Quinn. She gave a lovely acceptance speech. That’s her editor behind her.

So those are the highlights. If you couldn’t be at the awards, maybe you got a taste of what we all get so excited about.

On Friday night of the national RWA conference is the night of the Harlequin party. Well, actually some of the other houses have parties too on Friday night, but Harlequin is the big party. They’ve got hundreds authors, so it’s a bit of the crush. And it’s a fancy-schmancy party. Everybody gets dressed up. Open bar, tons of food, chocolate fountain, dancin’ the night away. The whole shebang.

I love the Harlequin party. I mean, I absolutely adore it. It’s like prom, only I don’t have to go with the geeky guy from my Latin class. And I don’t have to worry that I’ll be snubbed by some snooty cheerleader.

This year, I heard rumors that the appetizers (perhaps dim sum?) were amazing. I was full from dinner, and therefore not inclined to hunt them down. I did go out the way to stroll by the chocolate fountain several times. But as great as the food was, my favorite part—other than the fabulous company—was the dancing. It’s really the only time of year I dance much, so I like to make the most of it. I brought Robyn as my “date” to the party and boogied the night away.

So you’re probably wondering: did I really do the Conga with Nora Roberts? Well, she was on the dance floor for a while. So was Jo Beverly. Okay, I wasn’t really dancing with either of them. They don’t have any idea who I am. But I got to dance near them. And how stinkin’ cool is that?

The only down to the party was that I couldn’t get the DJ to play any of the song I was requesting. I wanted to Blister in the Sun by the Violent Femmes. He swore no one else would want to dance to that. He also wouldn’t play anything by The Cure. I almost asked him to play that great Kinks song where the guy is asking the girl to come dancing. But I couldn’t remember the name. I looked it up, it’s Come Dancing. Seriously. I couldn’t remember that?

So, I decided, next year, I’m thinking of my song requests ahead of time. I’m putting Jesse’s Girl on the list. And Come Dancing, ‘cause that’s just a great song. What else should I include?

Here’s Robyn and I with Pamela Morsi dancing the night away.

You never know where your inspiration will come from. I once heard a quote that really struck home; alas I can’t remember to whom it was attributed: “A writer is someone on whom nothing is lost.”

Three years ago the guest speaker at our RWA chapter meeting was a former Navy Seal. Since I write historical fiction, you might think there was nothing in his presentation that would be of use in my writing. You’d be wrong. When he was discussing Seal training techniques, he gave me a fabulous idea for how to almost kill my Regency hero and then save his life.

When I found out the guest speakers at this month’s chapter meeting were two firemen and a police officer, I arrived early so I wouldn’t miss a thing.

Corny but true: we laughed and we cried. It gave me chills listening to their stories, how they very matter-of-factly put their lives on the line for complete strangers. Roger is former Army, now with the state troopers. Marc is a volunteer firefighter. John, a firefighter originally from Manhattan, moved to the Portland area because of his wife’s job in late summer 2001. He lost a lot of friends on September 11th. As experienced firefighters, they recognized they were going into a bad situation. Before leading his men up the stairs, one captain hugged John’s former captain, kissed him on the cheek, and said “I probably won’t see you again.” John’s friend survived to tell the tale; the other captain was working on the 80th floor when the building collapsed.

These are tough guys — they can climb 80 flights of stairs wearing/carrying 60 pounds of gear and equipment, rescue passengers from a burning vehicle, face down career criminals who would rather die than go to jail — who are also unafraid to show emotion. Choked up with emotion, Marc had to pause several times telling one of his experiences; Roger laughed often but had to dab at his eyes more than once, too. They’re the kind of heroes we write about in romance novels — the tough guy you can trust to save your life, who’s a marshmallow inside.

I’m not sure yet what I’ll use in my writing but I did take away two facts that surprised me.

First: 77 percent of the firefighters in the US are volunteers. Having spent my teen years in a small rural town, I was familiar with the fire department’s siren calling volunteers to the station to respond to an emergency — I often prayed that we’d never need them, since there was a delay in actually getting the fire truck to a fire — but I had no idea that urban and suburban fire departments heavily rely on volunteers, too.

Second: for a firefighter, the most dangerous part of responding to a call is not when he’s up on the roof chopping a vent hole, nor is it conducting a room by room search of a burning building, nor is it fighting the blaze or climbing a ladder to rescue someone from an upper story. No, the most dangerous part of responding to a call is simply getting there.

Most motorists pull off to the side when they hear the siren and see the lights flashing. As soon as the fire truck goes by, they pull back into traffic. What most motorists don’t realize is that there are usually three or more emergency vehicles responding to each call. Far too often, drivers pull back into traffic too soon, smack into the path of another emergency vehicle. In Hillsboro, for example, there are a minimum of four vehicles that respond to each 911 fire call — a fire engine, rescue vehicle, an ambulance, and a police officer. They may come from different directions but at some point they will converge.

The meeting gave me a whole new perspective on those who protect and serve. We smile and wave at firefighters, and now after hearing Roger, I’ll try to remember to smile and wave at police officers, too … with all five fingers.

The annual Perseid meteor shower is once more upon us! The high point was this morning, but there are plenty to be found tonight if you find a nice dark spot to look up.

Did anyone look for shooting stars this weekend? Or are you planning to tonight or this coming weekend? And have you ever found one of these?

The winner of a signed copy of one of my books is Teresa W.! Teresa, email me at sophie@sophiejordan.net with the title you’d like and your address.

Thanks to all who entered,
Sophie

Hello everyone – glad to be back here with the Jaunties. As you may know, I have a new book out this month – SURRENDER TO ME. YAY! I’ve decided to share a little bit of my STM “experience” with you today … and I’ll start by saying what a different book this was to write (at least among my historicals-I write contemporary paranormals that are about as different as you get!). Usually, I walk away from every book having learned something new about myself and my writing process, but that especially seems to be the case with this book. For starters, STM differed from my other historical in that:

A) My heroine is the pseudo-villainess from TOO WICKED TO TAME. I had a great deal of fun taking a previously unsympathetic character and making her sympathetic. Fun, but sure, a challenge.

B) The book takes place in Scotland (no ballrooms in sight!). Very different for me, and yes, a bit more research came into play for me.

C) The hero is an American and not my usually titled lord.

D) My heroine is the “tough nut”. Usually my hero is the aloof I-ain’t-gonna-fall-in-love/trust-and-you-can’t-make-me type. But this time, Astrid is the one most resistant to love and change. Don’t get me wrong, my hero is still sexy and strong and borderline domineering with obstacles to overcome, but in this book, Astrid is my alpha girl.

It has become a goal of mine to write “different” books and not keep recycling the same plots and characters. This becomes a bigger challenge as I write more books (and still tend to like the same plotlines and character archetypes), but when I write something fresh, I’m always left with a sense of accomplishment in that I’ve brought something new to the table, or “shelf” so to speak.

Now, for a little teaser, I’ll say that I tried to go in a different direction in my next historical, too. Here’s a brief summary of SINS OF A WICKED DUKE:

She works to live …

Lord Dominic Hale, the Duke of Damon, better known as the Demon Duke for his life of debauchery and excess, cares only to forget the tragedies of his childhood. Like any nobleman, he never looks too closely at the servants in his employ, and yet the new footman is … peculiar. Once he discovers that his new footman is a woman – and a fetching bit of baggage at that! – Dominic vows to punish the chit for her deception, and what better way than making the prickly Fallon his next conquest? Only he never expects his heart could be the price.

No cover yet … but I can’t wait to see it. I’ve loved all my covers. I’ll post it as soon as I can. SINS OF A WICKED DUKE releases next April. And, of course, one of today’s commenters will receive a signed copy of SURRENDER TO ME (or any book from my backlist – you decide).

Thanks for having me here; I hope I brightened at least a little bit of your Monday.

Happy reading,
Sophie