Emily McKay will be speaking at BEA on June 5th from 6:00 to 7:30 on the panel  The Not-So-Secret Life of the American Teenager: Bridging the Gap between YA and Adult Fiction with fellow authors Mari Mancusi, Veronica Wolff, Laura Harrington and James King. If you’re interested in attending, please register here.

As part of my most recent bout of procrastination, I’ve been watching trailers, clips from and interviews with the cast of The Hunger Games. (Yes, I’m way late to the party. I just finished reading the first book and then saw the movie last week.)  If you’ve read the books or seen the movie, you know that Katniss Everdeen is one of the strongest female heroines in recent years. She’d tough, competent and unflinchingly unemotional. When a tough job needs doing, she gets it done. She makes male heroines like Jason Bourne and James Bond look like pansies.

The young woman who plays Katniss is a twenty-one year-old, Oscar-nominated actress named Jennifer Lawrence. Today while I was procrastinating, I watched a David Letterman interview with Jennifer Lawrence. I–unfairly–expected the actress to have the same self-possessed confidence that she portrayed in the movie. She … um … didn’t. In fact, Jennifer Lawrence acted like a big ol’ dork. I’m using the term dork with affection and kindness here. She was just goofy. Yeah, charming and funny, but definitely goofy. At one point in the interview, she admitted that in situations like this, she gets all nervous and jittery, like a Chihuahua, and she’s always afraid she’ll pee all over the red carpet. “Yes!” I thought as I watched her. “That’s exactly who she reminds me of! My aunt’s long-haired Chihuahua.” I mean, seriously, her hair was even the right color. In short, Jennifer Lawrence does not come across as the kick-ass heroine she plays in the movies.

I apologize if I sound over-critical. I don’t mean to. I was just so surprised. Though, arguably, it’s the mark of a really talented actress that she can disappear so completely inside a character. Josh Hutcherson–who play’s Katniss’s love interest Peeta in the movie–appeared in his interview exactly as he is in the movie (though, perhaps, just a tad more cocky).

The whole thing made me think of Kristen Bell and how different she always seems from the character of Veronica Mars. Veronica (from the fantastic, but short-lived show by that name–if you haven’t seen it, start now and thank me later!) was such a sassy, kick-ass, smart heroine. She and Katniss totally would have hung out, if their fictional worlds ever over-lapped. But in real interviews Kristen seems like something of a flibbetergibbet. (Click here to watch her melt down over a sloth … seriously!) Again, no insult intended — just surprise.

All of my interview-watching procrastination got me thinking about how others might perceive me and my public persona (ie. my work). On one hand, I’ve written over ten books for Harlequin Desire. My books are known for their babies and their billionaires. But my December 2012 release, The Farm, is a post-apocolyptic YA about vampires farming teenagers for food. I worked on The Farm for three years before it sold. In many ways, it’s the book of my heart. But when I describe it to people familiar with my Desires, they are always shocked. “Where are all the babies and billionaires?” they ask. I answer honestly. “They were eaten by the deadly swarm of monsters.”

Also, I think when people first meet me, I come off as very serious and a little intense. More than one person has described me as “no-nonsense.” Yet, once you get to know me, I’m actually pretty silly. On the inside, I’m all nonsense.

How can I be both? And how can Jennifer Lawrence be both a warrior and dork? How can Kristen Bell be both a sassy, girl-detective and a flibbetergibbet?  Are we all just crazy, or is this just human nature? I like to think it’s human nature.

Do you think other people perceive you exactly as you are? Or are you a chameleon too?

My parents are having their kitchen remodeled and so the Geek, the kids and I have spent four of the past six weeks out at their house emptying cabinets, painting and (now that the new cabinets and countertops are in) installing the tile backsplash and putting things back. It’s been long days and lots of work, but ultimately it’s very satisfying.

Let me tell you how different my husband’s personality is from my father’s. You know how some people marry their fathers? Well, I didn’t. My father–God love him–is an Eeyore. If you’re going to do a project, you should first carefully consider it from every angle. You should discuss it. Have a cup of coffee while discussing is. Reminisce about that guy you used to know who was an expert at it. Research it on-line (while having more coffee). And then ultimately decide that it’s too costly or too dangerous to do.

My husband–God love him–is a Tigger. If you decide to do a project you should start immediately. You should make quick decisions and you should probably stick to them (after all, your gut instincts are usually right anyway). You should work quickly and decisively. Getting it done is more important than having it be perfect. Besides, once it’s done, then it’s done!

You might wonder how two such disparate personalities work together. Well, the truth is, they don’t. Whenever we arrive at my parents house, the Geek zips in and starts working. He’s usually finished before my dad can drink his first cup of coffee and make the list of potential pitfalls. It must drive my dad crazy. It also drives my husband crazy. They are both too polite (or too wise) to complain much to me about the other one.

Despite that, I understand how they both feel, because I have a little bit of Eeyore and a little bit of Tigger inside me. The Eeyore–well, that’s just woven into my genes. It’s my heritage. But the Tigger … well, I chose that. I married the Geek knowing he was a Tigger. I knew that he’d bounce right in with such verve and spunk that sometimes it would be all I could do to hold on tight and go along for the ride. I picked that for myself. Partly I think because I was fascinated by this approach to life that’s so different from my own and partly because I was instinctively drawn to someone who could balance out my tedious perfectionism.

I don’t think I’m a true Eeyore. I lack that pessimistic outlook on life. But I definitely over-analyze and have the tendency to obsess about every detail, even the ones that really truly don’t mater. As a writer, I’m constantly balancing the Eeyore and the Tigger in me. And trying to accept them as well. Tigger is so lovable, and Eeyore such a downer, it’s sometimes to remember that both personality types bring a lot to the table. We all need Tigger’s boundless enthusiasm. We all need Eeyore’s practicality. And, yes, there are many times as I’m writing a book that I resent both side of my personality. But I could finish a book without them.

So who are you? Are you a Tigger or a Eeyore? Or some other character all together?

One of the posts here on the Jaunty Quills a few weeks ago started me thinking about the wonderful Amelia Peabody mysteries by Elizabeth Peters. Since I needed a fun vacation read earlier this week, I bought the first book, Crocodile on the Sandbank for my Kindle and reread it. The Amelia Peabody books are some of my absolute favorites. Timeless, dramatic, laugh out loud fun, full of rich details and sweeping romances. It’s hard to say too many good things about a series this good.

As I reread the books, I remembered the friend who, more than a decade ago, first recommended the books to me. Nancy Hudson is the wife of one of the Geek’s co-workers. Before we had kids, we hung out with them a lot. She’s a voracious reader with an extensive library. And though I enjoyed the first book (which she loaned me, thus my need to purchase it for my kindle), it wasn’t until I started listening to the recordings by Barbara Rosenblatt that I fell in love with the series. As I was rereading the book, I started ruminating on how many great series I’ve started because someone recommended them to me.

I started The Dresden Files books, by Jim Butcher, at Robyn’s suggestion and her brother recommended the books to her before that. Those books have become favorites of the whole family. I also started reading Suzanne Brockmann because Robyn recommended her. I started with her Silhouette Intimate Moments Tall, Dark, and Dangerous books and then moved on to her single titles, starting with Unsung Hero. And now that I think about it, Robyn also suggested I read Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Fantasy Lover. And Harry Potter! Geez, I owe her a lot.

Another friend, Kit Frazier turned me on to Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I think I’d actually read one SEP book, but I wasn’t wholly hooked until Kit read This Heart of Mine and kept calling me up to read bits of the book out loud. I’ve read nearly all of SEP’s books now and just really love them.

I could go on and on, listing of dozens of people and books they pushed into my hands, stories I’ve gone on to love passionately. A reconmendation on a really great series is a like a priceless gift. All those books that I love and I read over and over, well …. I just can’t be thankful enough. And this is me passing on the gift to you.

If you haven’t tried one of series or authors I mentioned, please give them a try. I promise you won’t be disappointed. Do you have a favorite series you love to recommend?

Today we welcome a fellow member from my RWA chapter, Jane Myers Perrine. Welcome, Jane!

“Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.”  ~ Anna Quindlen, How Reading Changed My Life

When I was a child, my favorite Christmas presents were books.   My favorite activity during cold winter days was to curl up in front of the fire and read. My parents were readers.  Mom had a bookcase built into one wall of the living room and filled it with novels.  Several others covered tables or were tossed in chairs where they were being read.

I love the feel of books, the pages, the covers, everything.   One of my favorite activities both as a child and as an adult has been to go into a bookstore and browse, enjoying all those books in one place and hoping to find one by a favorite author, a book I hadn’t read before.

I know a lot about history and geography and have a large vocabulary.  I take no credit for that.  I owe it all to reading.  I love historicals.  Where else can you enjoy a novel and learn neat stuff?  In college I had a double major of English and Spanish because I thought, “How cool is it to be able to read and get college credit for it?”   So I did that, in two languages.

My husband bought an e-reader several years ago.  I fought even holding it.  I kept repeating, “I love real books.  I love the feel of paper.  I love turning pages.  I love holding books.”

Then I tried George’s Kindle and discovered a book is a book, in whatever form.  It’s not the turning the pages that makes a difference.  It’s the words on the pages that are important.  Reading is reading and books are books.  And I still love browsing for new titles and new authors in on-line bookstores.

Reading has truly been both a center of and a constant in my life.  I imagine it has been for you as well.   What wonderful memories do you have about reading?  What is your favorite book?  What books do you read over and over?

* * * *

A quote from William Faulkner  “Read everything — trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it.  Then write.”

I started as a reader and am now both a reader and writer.  Here’s a short excerpt from the first novel in the Tales from Butternut Creek series, The Welcome committee of Butternut Creek.

On a blazing-hot June afternoon in the middle of a clogged US 183 in Austin, Texas, Adam Jordan clenched his hands on the steering wheel of the stalled car and considered the situation. As a newly ordained minister, he probably should pray, but he felt certain the drivers of the vehicles backed up behind him would prefer him to do something less spiritual.

The day before, he’d headed west from Lexington, Kentucky, toward Central Texas, a twenty-hour, thousand-mile trip, in a car held together by his little bit of mechanical skill and a lot of prayer. Sadly, on Tuesday, the Lord looked away for a moment as Adam attempted to navigate the crowded tangle of highways that is Austin. The radiator coughed steam as the old vehicle stopped in the center lane of more traffic than he’d ever seen gathered together in midafternoon. Did rush hour start at three o’clock here? He soon learned that rush hour on US 183 could last all day and much of the night, because the city grew faster than its highway system.

He got out of the car and began pushing what had once been a brilliantly blue Honda across two lanes of barely moving traffic and onto the shoulder amid the honks and the screeches of highway noise and curses of angry drivers. If his defective directional skills hadn’t led him on a fifty-mile detour into South Austin, the pitiful old vehicle might have made it to Butternut Creek—but they had and the car hadn’t.

As happens to everyone and everything over the years, the Honda had faded and frayed until no one could tell what it once had been. The identifying hood ornament had long since fallen off, and the paint was a crackled and blistered gray, but it usually ran.

Adam’s first thought was to abandon the heap right there, but he’d heard Texas had laws against that. Instead, he called Howard Crampton, the chair of the search committee that had called Adam.

“Hey, Howard,” he said when the elder picked up the phone. “I’m stuck in Austin on 183.”

For a moment, Howard said nothing. Finally he asked, “Who is this?”

So much for believing the church breathlessly awaited his arrival. “Adam Jordan.” When silence greeted that, Adam added, “The new minister.”

“Hey, Adam. Good to hear from you.  What can I do you for?”

“My car broke down on 183, north of something called the MoPac.”

“Know exactly where that is. I’ll send a tow truck to pick you up.”

“All the way from Butternut Creek?”

“Not too far. Sit tight.”

As if he could do anything else.

And that’s how Adam entered Butternut Creek: sitting in the cab of the tow truck, chatting with Rex, the driver, about fishing and hunting, neither of which he did back then, with his car rattling on the flatbed behind the two men.  Although his disreputable arrival didn’t signal a propitious beginning, he fell in love with the town immediately.

Last weekend, I forgot to post my winners from my post on the 23rd. So here they are now:

LilMissMolly
CrystalGB
Quiltlady

Please email me at
Emily at emily McKay dot com
(but, you know, written like an email address and we’ll chat about what book you want.

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you probably know that Robyn and I are friends. We’re like friendship-braclet-wearing, share-a-brain, can’t-remember-when-I-didn’t-know-her BFFs. I mean, we’ve been friends so long, when we met, the term BFF’s hadn’t been invented yet.

We’ve been crititquing each others books since 1998. That’s long before either of us sold. We’ve been through marriages, pregnancies,  miscarriages, and booksales. I cried as much when she sold her first book as I did when I sold my first. We’ve gone to conferences together and writing retreats. More than once I’ve laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants. And that’s with my pre-pregnancy bladder.

So today, I thought I’d take a trip down memory lane and share some pictures of our history together.

This is Robyn, her mother and I right after she won the RT reviewer's choice award. Go Robyn!

This is Robyn with my daughter right after she was born. Another picture I just love!

Here's Robyn right around the time she met her husband, Paul. I don't know if she likes this photo or not, but I've always loved it.

I have to admit it. I totally had spring fever yesterday. I had an open window of about three hours to work yesterday afternoon, and I did not get three hours worth of work done.

Part of the problem is it was a beautiful day (85 degrees, here in Central Texas) and I was trying to sit outside to work. It’s just hard to keep your fingers on the keyboard on a day so beautiful! Especially since it’s been cold and overcast for so many days in row.

Part of the problem is I’d been working really hard since mid-last week, and you can only push out so many words before you just want a break.

And part of the problem is I knew I was having dinner with a group of writer friends last night, so I was eager to just go play.

It doesn’t help that yesterday morning, I had a major eureka moment about my work in progress, so I told myself I needed “simmer” time. That last excuse is the most legitimate of the bunch. If I’ve just figured out something major about my characters or my story, I need time to let it filter through my brain, to let the new ideas marinate a bit with the story so the flavors can develop.

Still, I know I’ll be back at work today, because I have a book due in less than a month and I can’t afford another day off. But, yesterday … yesterday was nice. I took just a few pages of notes about my eureka moment, then I took a walk and even went and got a pedicure. This is not like me. Yes, I am a procrastinator by nature. Despite that, I have a strong work ethic when it comes to writing. If I have pages to do, I get them done, even if I have to stay up late to do them.

I’m hoping that today, spring fever will be gone, banished like the plague it is. That when I sit down at the keyboard, the words will just flow and that my afternoon off will serve me well and that I’ll come to my book renewed and energized. Or at the very least, panicked and desperate.

What do you do to treat yourself on days off? Share your favorite way to pamper yourself and I’ll pick three people to win one of my books.

There’s a post that’s been making the rounds on Facebook. It’s charming and well-told, as these kinds of things always are. The gist of it is this: in the name of research, a famous and talented violinist put out his hat in a D.C. metro station and played for a couple of hours. Meanwhile a newspaper report sat nearby, noting and judging people’s responses. Most people walked on by. A few stopped to listen. Mom’s dragged their kids away. A few people dropped in money. No one pulled up a chair to listen to the amazing playing from this talented man. The message here (one that’s carefully crafted to bring tears to our eyes) is that we are all so busy rushing through life, we’re not stopping to enjoy it enough.

Shame on us.

Hey, I’m not going to lie, I’m a big fan of stopping to smell the roses. I’ve actually had strangers stop to ask if I needed car help because I was enjoying a sunset. You know what I’m not a fan of? Manipulative crap that makes us all feel guilty for not stopping to smell the roses often enough or deeply enough or something. That crap pisses me off. And trust me, I get it a lot. I’ve got young kids. I don’t go a day without having someone stop me to tell me to enjoy these years, because they’ll pass so quickly. Yes, I get that. And I make a point of taking a moment each day to really relish my kids and my loved ones. And there are plenty of moments I’m not going to get super excited about. Today, for example, when I was whipping poop off the bottom of my kids. Was that a moment I was supposed to cherish? Or when I was pumping gas in the ran and the pump was broken so it was going super slow, and my daughter was in the backseat kicking the door and the driver’s seat because even she was frustrated by how long the gas was taking. Should I have cherished that moment more?

I’ve been trying to nail down precisely why  the story of the violinist bugged me so much. Part of it is the guilt the reader is clearly supposed to feel in knowing they too would have walked past without noticing the guy. The guilt we’re supposed to feel for being busy. I don’t like being so blatantly manipulated. I don’t like having important life messages shoved down my throat via Facebook.

But the other thing that bugs me is the simple fact that I don’t agree with the message. If we cherish every moment, then isn’t that the same as cherishing none of them? Why should I have to enjoy the poop-wiping, gas-pumping moments? Why can’t I just enjoy the good moments? Because today, my daughter also hugged me really tight. And both my kids laid on the floor drawing together peaceful while I made dinner. Those moments were awesome. I choose to enjoy those moments.

I’m sure some of you are going to say I’m missing the point or being purposefully obtuse. Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just cutting myself some slack.

What advice do you get that bugs you?

I have mixed feelings about 3D. On one hand, I love going to the movies. That intense experience of focusing solely on the movie is just right up my alley. On the other hand, I don’t really like 3D. It gives me a headache and I get tired of having things fly across the screen at my face. Oh, and you might not have noticed, but it’s … um, frickin’ expensive! Nine dollars a pop to take the kids to an early matinee? Holy smokes!

Having said all that, Monday was a school holiday and the good folks at Disney have just released Beauty and the Beast in 3D. It’s one of my favorites. And my son loves the book! My daughter has only seen the movie once, years ago and my son has never seen it. It’s like the perfect storm of kid holiday fun.

And even though I don’t love 3 D movies, I love that some of my favorite movies are being released so that I can share them with my kids. Yeah, I know. I could just watch the movie on DVD. But to me, movies at home are always just … a little flat. No matter how big the TV. The phone is still on. There’s laundry to be folded. Email to check. Even when you try to shut all that out, it’s still there. In your head. And that’s not what I want for a movie experience. Or a book experiences.

With both movies and books, I find I enjoy them more when I immerse myself in them. The books I love the most are the ones I sink into and read fast, without stopping to make dinner or do the laundry. In 3D, if you will. Not that I need the visual impact, I mean the emotional impact.

Of course, movies are shorter than books. And even for $27, I can’t force my kids to sit still while I read. So sacrifices have to be made. Usually, it’s my sleep that goes under the knife. I stayed up until four in the morning on Christmas, ’cause I couldn’t put down my book. (My Name is Memory, in case you’re wondering.)

What was the last book you got so lost in that it was like reading in 3D?

P.S. In case you’re wondering how the movie was, it was great! My favorite moment? When Bell appeared at the top of the stairs in her yellow dress and little girls all over the audience literally gasped! Gasped! Cutest thing ever!