There are so many times when you have to decide whether to “go for it” or stick with what’s safe and known. I made a switch from a nice, successful nursing career to become a full-time writer.  Did I know if it would work out when I quit my job? No, but at least I’d sold one book, so there was a pretty good chance I’d sell some more.

How about moving away from our childhood homes? Not the house itself, but the places where we grew up, where our families are? No doubt there are greener pastures out there, but is it worth sacrificing our roots to go after them?

Dating – should we keep on with that person or break it off and try for someone different, more suited to us? Are we being too picky? Or is he the closest we’re going to get to perfection?

Then there’s the question of kids. Should we have some? Yes? Is one enough, or should we go for a few? Or no, none at all . . . because there are some other pretty great things to do with life than raising a family.

Some things just seem to happen in the natural course of life. They seem right at the time, and so we “go for it.” I’d like to know what big risk you’ve taken lately – and how it’s working out for you so far. I’m going to draw one reponder’s name and send her (or him) a copy of my last book, Taken by the Laird and a few goodies from some of my author pals. So come on – inquiring minds want to know!

Tonya Kappes!
Drop me a line… margo@margomaguire.com and I’ll get your contact info. Congratulations!

I recently came across an article with the following list. When you finish reading, I would love to see what you would add to this list. I’ll pick one comment and send the winner a copy of my last book, Taken by the Laird. Here goes . . .

1. A black eye. Unless the rim hits your face mid-dunk, your peepers should remain unblemished. You’re smart enough to talk your way out of any fight you’re going to lose.

2. A witty e-mail signature. Quotes and song lyrics should be heard during toasts and karaoke performances, respectively. Don’t let your electronic correspondence become the digital version of a motivational poster.

3. An empty refrigerator. Your larder should be amply stocked, your pantry provisioned. Always aim to be ready to create an on-the-fly, three-course dinner for her…along with breakfast in bed.

4. PlayStation thumb. When they’re relaxing, grown men can behave like children. But if you devolve long enough to cause calluses or button-shaped bruises, you’re assuredly missing out on life.

5. A key chain with a bottle opener. This bauble is both a gauche reminder of your college days and proof that you don’t know how to apply leverage using available, impromptu bottle openers: a lighter, the back end of a fork.

6. A lucky shirt. Every shirt is lucky when worn by a man who knows that the harder he works the luckier he’ll be.

7. An unstamped passport.

8. Olympic dreams. Exceptions: curling and archery.

9. Less than $20 in his wallet. Fiduciary nudity is negligence. A real man should always carry a business card and enough dough to pick up coffee, bagels, and the Sunday paper without whipping out the plastic.

10. A name for his penis. Even if it’s a really clever name.

11. Any beer that costs less than $20 a case. And no exception for the grand-slam 30-pack that crosses that price threshold.

12. The need to quote The Big Lebowski/ Caddyshack/Superbad. Reciting someone else’s lines reminds people that you haven’t the wit to write your own.

13. A futon. Sure, beds are for sleeping. But such a meager, slouchy spread has never, in the history of sex, inspired a woman to say, “Take me on your futon.”

14. Code words for ugly women. Actually, code words for anything.

15. A Nerf hoop in his living room. Keep the adolescent accoutrements where they belong: in the rec room or above the wastebasket in someone else’s office.

16. A secret handshake.

17. Drinking glasses with logos. Especially those kitschy McDonald’s Hamburglar ones.

18. A recent story with the phrase “So I said to the cop…”

One of my sons is an avid golfer and loves to watch golf when it’s on TV. In fact, ever since we got high definition TV, I’ve started watching golf tournaments, too. And it was always more interesting when Tiger played. Not that the other golfers aren’t good. But Tiger has a presence, you know? Some people can walk on stage and everyone pays attention. Tiger has that. Apparently, I’m not the only one who believes this. I understand that the TV ratings are actually DOUBLE when Tiger plays.

My son says that Tiger’s personal life makes no difference to him – he just likes to watch him play golf. No doubt that’s true. And it’s nobody’s business that he cheated on his wife. Repeatedly. It’s a private issue that the two of them have to work out. Unfortunately, the public bought into his squeaky-clean image that was hugely promoted by a bunch of overpriced name-brand products (overpriced in part, because of the enormous sums of money they paid him to endorse their products). You’ve got to wonder if these people didn’t know what Tiger was actually up to, but that’s a whole different blog.

Some of my friends say Tiger’s obviously got some obsession with sex, since there are rumors that  his handlers would  get “dates” for him with women he didn’t know, but was attracted to. (Reminds you of a john and a hooker, doesn’t it? Only, I’m thinking it’s probably a lot cleaner). Anyway, he’s not the first – what about David Duchovny and Charlie Sheen? Or even Bill Clinton? Supposedly, these guys can’t get enough, either. My question is: Is this really a mental illness – an actual addiction? Or is it just plain old immaturity – having to get horizontal with anything on two legs. Isn’t there a point when we all grow up and understand there are limits on our behavior? Is the label “sex addict” a cop out? Are these guys just a bunch of hound dogs who need to develop some maturity? Or is this a real thing?

 I’m wondering what you all think.

I ran across this article a couple of weeks ago and thought I’d share. I love this stuff! Read through and then let me know which one tickled your fancy. From The Washington Post:

These are the results from Week 310 of The Washington Post’s Style Invitational, published March 14, 1999 in which readers were asked to come up with lame analogies. The line separating painfully bad analogies from weirdly good ones is as thin as a soup made from the shadow of a chicken that was starved to death by Abraham Lincoln. And so we had to create a separate category to honor those entries that came too close to actual literature to qualify as “bad.” Here they are:

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli, and he was room temperature Canadian beef.

5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another
city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30

12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.

16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

Rebekah – send me your snail mail address and I’ll get your book out to you this week! (margo@margomaguire.com).

Congratulations!

Remember the days when our parents or grandparents stayed in the same job or occupation for most of their lives? My grandfather worked for the same big metropolitan newspaper for 45 years! I read somewhere that the typical American will change jobs an average of seven times in his or her lifetime. That seems like a lot to me, especially since I’ve only done it once. Sort of – I started out as a staff nurse, became a nursing instructor for awhile, and spent most of my career in Intensive Care. (That is not me at the left, by the way). So I stayed within the field, but worked in several different specialties. My husband’s career has been that way, too. He’s a research scientist, but he has more than one specialty. He started doing medical research, then went to industrial chemistry, then into pharmaseuticals, and now he’s back to medical research. (That’s not him on the right, either, although we do tease him about being a mad scientist! )

For the past ten years, I’ve practiced a totally different career – writing books. Full-length novels. And my writing career was the first time I’d truly started over – started from scratch, as it were. As in any new profession, there was lots to learn, and I don’t think that will ever end. I’ve written 17 novels, and now I can brag about another new venture within the field. Short stories.

If you’ll look under the ‘new release’ banner at the right, you’ll see a book cover for The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance, which is being released today. The headliners in this volume are Linda Howard and Jude Devereaux and there are lots of other terrific authors who contributed. I was also asked to write a story to this volume, which was a first for me. I’d never written a short story before (well, not since about 6th grade), nor have I ever been given license to do whatever I wanted with it. My only guideline was to make it some kind of a time travel story.

The obvious thing would have been for me to write something historical – I could have had a character from the Regency period show up in the present time. Or the reverse. Instead, I decided to go with a man from the future and bring him back to the present to deal with an issue that will have an impact on his time.  So it’s quite a change for me – and it was a lot of fun. It was so much fun that I agreed to write a second one for The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance which comes out next month, and a third for The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance – out in June. If you’re looking for something with short, fun stories, give The Mammoth Book a try!

In the meantime, I’d be interested in hearing about your new starts. Tell us about a big change you’ve made, and I’ll pick one poster to receive a copy of Taken by the Laird, my October release from Avon.

Do you ever feel as though your pets own your house, your life, your livelihood? Don’t get me wrong – I like animals. I just never knew how much care and attention they would take. Or how dramatically they would take over my household. As you can see in the picture to the left, Ranger (my 95 lb Labrador)  is on the huge radiator in my living room, and Nick, another big old Lab is on his bed right nearby.

When I was a kid, my parents didn’t allow us to have any pets. That was quite understandable. There were five children in my family, we lived in the city, and both of my parents worked. They didn’t really need more mouths to feed, or any more bodies to take care of. Plus, my mom’s father was a veternarian during the Depression – he was often paid with “the pick of the litter.” Which meant they always had a surplus of dogs around their house. My mother had no interest in repeating her mother’s experience.

When I first met my husband, he had a cat. I’d never known any cats before, and Pookie was a sweetie, not to mention a novelty to me. She was cute and friendly, and so when a pretty gray stray kitten approached me on the street one day and asked me to take him in, I had no objection to adopting him. The rest is history. Now, I have four lugs – two cats and two dogs – who have me trained to do their bidding. We need a walk. OK! What time?? Can we have some treats? Yes, siree!! I’ve got them right here! Anything else…?

I’m pretty sure that if we had been allowed to have pets, they would never have dared to snooze on the furniture. (That’s Ranger on the couch with Bob right beside him).  And what do I have to say about it? I do my talking later, with the vacuum. I’m sure the Dog Whisperer would have plenty to say about my disciplinary technique.

When we have company (the human kind) I always have to move somebody. Take Kokomo, for example – my 13 year old cat who loves to be in the midst of things, even if he is halfway comatose. If it were summer, he would be on our front porch, keeping track of the birds and squirrels that cross his territory, and making sure that Bob doesn’t come near. Bob would then have to go and sit on our next-door neighbor’s porch. Because Kokomo is in charge, and he doesn’t really like Bob that much. He tolerates the dogs, but the other cat? Not so much.

Bob likes to sit on my lap when I’m trying to use my laptop (which doesn’t work out very well, as you can imagine), and Nick is a hustler, always playing some angle or other. A walk, a snack, a good scratch behind the ears … he’s usually after something, and he drags Ranger along, just so that he doesn’t appear to be the only mercenary one. Ranger is a little bit shy, and he has a few weird habits, himself. For example, the toaster is a problem for him. It once set off the smoke alarm, and ever since then, when I take the toaster out of the cupboard, Ranger heads for the basement where he can hide. He does the same with the vacuum, but he doesn’t mind the lawn mower or the snow blower. Go figure.

I may be completely wrong, but I have a feeling that we treat our pets much more like family than people did years ago. Is that true? What do you think? While you’re considering that question, I’m going to go and feed the fish, who have been yelling at me for the past 20 minutes to feed them!

Serenissima is the winner of my drawing – Just email me with your snail mail addy and I’ll get your prize out to you! margo@margomaguire.com