So I’ve just written the scene in my latest book in which my characters …. um, ahem … well, for the sake of keeping this post PG, let’s just say they were “playing canasta.” Now I for one have never been a fan of having characters “play canasta” in exotic or strange locals. I’ve always thought beds were nice and comfortable. Kitchen tables, not bad. In the office break room, yeah, it could work. Anything more than that starts to strain my willing suspension of disbelief.
If characters are “playing canasta” up against a tree in the Amazonian rainforest, for example, I start thinking things like, “Wow, isn’t that bark sharp?” or “Wouldn’t you be too busy watching for pumas to really enjoy what you’re doing?”
As a teenager, I remember reading a western in which the hero and heroine “played canasta” while on horse back. I’ve never been much of a rider myself, but this seemed believable to me. After all, horses are smart. They’re not going to jump off a cliff if the riders are distracted. I’m saying I’d want to do that myself, but believed it was physically possible. A few years later, I read a similar scene in a contemporary. But this time, it was on the back of a motorcycle. Seriously. And no, the guy didn’t have super powers or anything like that.
Needless to say, I put down that book. Which brings me to my point. In the scene I just wrote, my characters “play canasta” on the beach. And I’m a little worried the reader is going spend the whole scene thinking, “Yeah, but what about all that sand?”

So what do you think? Is that kind of thing distracting or romantic?

I wanted to be an opera singer. In middle school and high school I took voice lessons, trained, and I majored in Voice my first semester of college.

About half way through the semester I realized I was never going to be Cecilia Bartoli, and I changed my major.

Cecilia Bartoli

I had a huge crush on my Psychology professor, and coincidentally enough, I changed my major to Psychology.

I didn’t really look back. I enjoyed singing but limited my vocal stylings to times when I was driving with the radio on. Then I decided I needed something new in my life. I need something besides work and writing. I needed…outside interests.

My church has a great contemporary service featuring a band and singers. And I told USF that I would love to be a part of that group. I couldn’t imagine anything more fun that singing with that group (well, except for making the New York Times bestseller list). But for a long time I didn’t do anything about my interest.

Then last week, I called the group’s leader, set up an audition, and without even practicing, tried out.

I made it!

Little did I know what I was getting myself into. Since the audition on Thursday, I’ve already had 2 rehearsals. But I can tell you that the time flies by. Two hours seems like 10 minutes when I’m singing. I really love it.

So what about you? Have you rediscovered any old passions or found any new?

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

Okay, I admit I was late to hop onto the “Twilight” bandwagon.

Yes, I’d heard a lot of buzz about the book. Knew it had hit number #1 on the NY Times list. But I’m not a big fan of vampire books. Other than one book, I’ve never even gotten through an entire vampire novel.

But I did love the short-lived Moonlight series (vampire) on television last year. Sooo, while I was in Atlanta at the Moonlight and Magnolias conference in October, I picked up a copy of Twilight. I was hooked! I’ve now read all four and can’t wait to see the movie when it comes out next week.

Has this ever happened to you? You try something different and aren’t really expecting to like it…then you fall in love with it? It may be a food that you were sure you would hate. A movie you just knew you wouldn’t like. Or a book…that captures your heart.

Tell me when you were pleasantly surprised. And, if you’re a fellow Twilight fan, I’d like to know that, too!

Last night while I was soundly asleep a noise woke me up. At first I thought it was The Professor – sometimes he talks in his sleep (not in English though, which has always confused me as he doesn’t speak in foreign languages while awake) – but after I woke him up, I could still hear the noise.

Then I realized it was Baxter, he was above my head on my pillow and making that noise that only cat owners will recognize as the close-mouthed moan/growl, usually made when another cat is near. So I put my hand on him and he hissed, then woke up.

Ah-ha! I’d always heard that animals dream, and I’d seen some hints of it here or there while my two felines nap away on a variety or our furniture, but never before had I been able to interpret said dream. This time though I was right there – there was another cat (surely not his sister, because though he doesn’t seem to actually love her, he does tolerate her most of the time), no I suspect it was one of the myriad outdoor cats we have our in our neighborhood. And Baxter was talking to this unwelcome cat and then as we know that dream and reality merge sometimes, when I touched him, so did the dream cat, thus the hissing.

I believe I have a gift. So what say you, do you have any cat dreams you’d like for me to interpret?

There’s an old axiom that goes something like – the sweet victories in life are made sweeter by the agony of defeat. It’s the contrast of the lows that allows us to truly appreciate the highs.

Easier said than experienced, right?

Recently, we suffered a dose of that bittersweet reality in our household when something our daughter had worked for very hard didn’t turn out the way she’d hoped.  It was one of those situations where she’d devoted great hours preparing for a challenge – did everything she possibly could – but the results were far from what she’d dreamed.

I had the painful task of delivering the bad news. There was no sidestepping it, unless I wanted her to first hear the bad news in a very public forum. No way.  She needed time to digest the setback before putting on a brave face. Once I realized no mom-to-the-rescue fixes or mother-tiger roars could change the outcome of the setback, I decided I had to be the one to tell her. And guide her through one of those life lessons that would initially break her heart, but ultimately make her stronger . 

Breaking her heart with this news was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

But it reminded me of something I’d read in a book called The Living Organization: Spirituality in the Workplace by William Guillory, president and CEO of Innovation International:

“A crisis is an opportunity to discover a dimension of yourself that you wouldn’t discover when things are going well–a toughness, a skill, a fortitude that lies latent when everything is fine. Those characteristics then become critical to your view of yourself.

“Responsibility for self is the fundamental power of all life.  Therefore, the first key to turning your failure into success is accepting responsibility for it, no matter how unfair or unreasonable it may seem. This can be tough to do, especially in instances where we believe things happened to us that were completely beyond our control. ”

Sage advice, but how do you tell that to a devastated teenager?

Well, I learned the news several hours before I picked her up from school. So I had plenty of time to ponder the best way to help her cope with the disappointment. If finally dawned on me that her setback was similar to publishing rejections (Alas, rejection never stops – even after you’re published). I thought about the various coping mechanisms and strategies I employ (a must for survival in the business of writing books).

One of the most important things, I realized, was, yes, while I ultimately take responsibility for the setback and take steps to improve, before I get to that point, I allow myself to be sad for a short, set period of time.  I always give myself twenty-four hours to wallow and whine about how unfair life is and basically feel sorry for myself (and eat copious amounts of chocolate).  Then I pick myself up and get right back on the mountain.

That’s exactly what I encouraged her to do.

After the initial tears gave way to outrage: “This is *so* unfair! I worked *so* hard! All for nothing!” I hugged her and reminded her it wasn’t for nothing. That anything we put our heart and soul into has value whether others recognize it or not. A true winner doesn’t let go of her dream – no matter what. She takes responsibility and figures out how she can better conquer that mountain next time.

I sounded like such a mom.

Ultimately, my sweet girl handled the bump in the road with grace. I was so proud of the way she rebounded (after throwing herself a 24-hour pity party, of course).   

How do you recover from setbacks? Do you have any rituals or ways to be good to yourself while you’re getting your feet back underneath you? Or have you ever had to help someone else cope?

On another note, I wanted to share some good news — HarperCollins/Avon, has been doing a great job promoting my historical women’s fiction, WITH VIOLETS.  They’ve arranged several radio interviews – including one for a program called “Word Smitten,” which was broadcast in New York City this past Sunday. I had no idea how host Kate Sullivan and I would fill the minutes in the hour-long interview. But soon we were talking like old friends and having a blast. She’d obviously done her homework. I was particularly pleased when, among other things, she asked about The Sisterhood of the Jaunty Quills and had lots of nice things to say about our community on the web! If you have time check out the interview, which is being rebroadcast online on Blogtalk Radio –  www.blogtalkradio.com/wordsmitten  My nom de plume for WITH VIOLETS is Elizabeth Robards (scroll down on the Blogtalk Radio page to find the interview).

Hey all – Thanks for commenting on those sequels on Monday. You brought back a lot of good memories of some great books! Lori Ann is the winner of my drawing. All she’s got to do is send me her snail mail addy and I’ll get those books out!

In recent years, there’ve been a lot of movies and TV shows about dancing. Dancin’ With the Stars…High School Musical…The Full Monty…Shall We Dance. And, like many Americans, I figured what the heck? It’s time I should learn more than the one dance I have mastered — the Eighth Grade Shuffle.

You remember the one…you simply loop your arms around your partner’s neck or waist, hug loosely and occasionally remember to move your feet. Sadly, my dancing skills hadn’t progressed since those days. In my upcoming book, Too Good To Be True, my heroine knows how to dance, since her best friend owns a dance hall. In the name of research and hoping to advance from Eighth Grade Shuffle, McIrish and I signed up for a beginner’s salsa class. I spoke with the nice instructor and was told to come a half hour early so the DH and I could learn the basic salsa step, then take the beginner’s class.

McIrish is…well, Irish. His parents used to promise to sign him up for traditional step dancing lessons if he didn’t behave, and it was the one threat that really struck fear into his young heart. I’m a Euro-trash mutt myself…Hungarian, Irish, English, German. Sadly, there is no Latin blood dancing in my veins. And even more sadly, this was about to become horribly evident.

Our instructor was a college professor by day, a wicked awesome dancer by night. He was small and sleek, unlike either McIrish or yours truly, and he started by counting out the steps. One two three snap, five six seven pause. The italicized beats were supposed to take just a second longer than the others. Forward forward back pause, forward forward back back…or something. I was already lost. How did the others pick it up so fast? Why was I two and a half beats behind. Oh, they’re snapping now? Quick, Higgins, snap! No, pause! Wait…oh, heck, just start over.

By staring obsessively at the instructor’s feet, I eventually managed a sorry version of the salsa, though it looked more like I was stomping on ants than dancing. The instructor shot me a sympathetic glance and said, “Almost, honey.” I was amazed that he could talk while moving. Then he told the rest of the class — not so genetically predisposed to awkwardness as I was — to add a little hip sway, a little wriggle. Right, I thought. You betcha. As soon as I can drag my eyes off your feet and stop counting out loud. The others started swishing and swaying, started to look quite Latin and sexy. I was not.

Still, I was getting there. One two three snap, five six seven pause. Okay, I was getting it! Then I made the fatal mistake of looking over at McIrish. If I was, er, graceless, my dear husband was a fatally wounded moose, stumbling to its death. Our eyes met in the mirror. The laughter began.

It was time for the beginner’s class to start. Great, I thought. I can really nail these moves down in the next hour or so. “I’m sorry,” the lithe and lean instructor said, approaching McIrish and me. “You’ll have to go home and practice, because you can’t take the beginner’s class until you get the basic step down. So good luck!” Then, perhaps knowing he’d never see either of us again, he turned his back and went back to wriggling, snapping and pausing.

There was a pub down the street. And so, heeding the call of our ancestors, my dear husband and I walked down to do something we were actually good at. Eat. Drink. Be merry. To this day, the words, “One two three snap” still can make us laugh.

How about you? Anyone ever try something new, only to decide there’s nothing wrong with keeping those wings firmly folded after all?

Kristan

Don’t you just love books that revisit characters you’ve met in previous books? I do, but I’ve only written one book that has an actual sequel. That was A Warrior’s Taking, and its sequel was Temptation of the Warrior.

When I wrote the first of these books, I didn’t really have the actual story of the sequel formulated in my mind. Well, I knew who the hero was going to be, and the task he had to accomplish. Other than that, there was nothing really solid. But I had to be careful not to contradict anything that occurred in the first book. That was a challenge!

I often write novels with characters that spin off into new books. My January release from Avon – Wild – has one of those characters.

The hero of Wild is Anthony Maddox, Earl of Sutton, and he has two old friends who appear in the book. One of them is the happily married father of four (not a good character for a spin-off . The other is Hugh Christie, Earl of Newbury. When I wrote Wild, I gave Hugh a vague backstory  – he’s a widower - but that information was meant to illustrate something about Anthony. It wasn’t really supposed to bring up a lot of questions about Hugh.

But guess what? Hugh is the hero of my October 2009 book from Avon, Taken by the Laird. Now I have to explain what happened to his wife, and incorporate her into the conflicts of his story. Which is actually a lot of fun to do.

The point is – whether it’s an actual sequel or just a spin-off from a previous book, an author must deal with the realities of that earlier book. Since I made Hugh a widower in Wild, his character has to be consistent with that in Taken by the Laird. Which I am happy to say, is coming along very nicely - that is, if  you like dark and brooding lairds of ancient Scottish castles, and runaway brides who break into said castles to take shelter from winter storms. Sound delicious? I hope so! 

Tell me – what were your favorite sequels or spin-off characters? I’m going to do a drawing from everyone who responds, and send the winner copies of my two Warrior books!

On Tuesday you cast your vote for the candidates of your choice, making your opinions known. I want you now to make your feeling known on another important topic–what dog breed do you think should be First Dog?

“Sasha and Malia,” Obama said in his victory speech at Chicago’s Grant Park, “I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that’s coming with us to the White House.”

There has been a wide variety of dogs who have called 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue home over the years.

The Bush family had an English springer spaniel and two Scottish Terriers.

In addition to Socks, the cat, The Clintons had a chocolate lab “Buddy.”

Millie the springer spaniel’s canine view of life in the White House — as “told to” then-First Lady Barbara Bush — became a best-seller that outsold the memoirs of President George H.W. Bush.

This brings us to the new first family.

I have a blue heeler but I couldn’t recommend that breed for the White House.

(This isn’t a picture of mine….although my dog looks very similiar)

It has been my experience that Australian cattle dogs need a lot of room to run. And they like to herd. So if Barack Obama picked this breed for his daughters, little Sasha and Malia might just find their new pet nipping at their heels as they run across the White House lawn.

My suggestion would be to get a shih tzu.

Our Ernie is an extremely good dog. He loves children and people. Likes to play but is also content sitting next to you. You can keep the hair short or let it grow long and put it up in barrettes or ribbons.

So, if it were up to me, I would choose a shih tzu for Malia and Sasha.

What about you? What breed of dog would you like to nominate for First Dog??