I saw this game on Facebook and thought it would be fun to play here since we love authors and books. The Rules: list fifteen authors (poets included) who’ve influenced you and made an impression. Don’t take too long to think about it. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.

Here’s my COOL FIFTEEN list:

VICTOR HUGO – For LES MISÉRABLES alone Hugo will always be on my best-loved list.

EMILE ZOLA – Nineteenth century France is one of my passions. So many things about that period speak to me – the Impressionist painters, post-Haussmann Paris, the literature… One of my favorite writers is Emile Zola. Like Hugo, Zola provides a vivid window into this world.

JANE AUSTEN – What’s not to love about the original romance writer and her body of work?

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD – Nick Carraway had me at chapter one. When I reached the end of GATSBY, I was hungry for more Fitzgerald.

ALICE HOFFMAN – She’s brilliant with magical realism.

SYLVIA PLATH – The way she weaves words and turns phrases brings me to my knees. In my book, she’s a literary goddess.

JK ROWLING – Harry, Ron and Hermione are like personal friends.

DOROTHEA BENTON FRANK – She speaks to the southern girl in me. I want to be her when I grow up.

TRACY CHEVALIER – The beauty of her smart books takes my breath away.

NORA ROBERTS – Nora is the one who made me want to write romance. Her well-crafted storied still sweep me away.
As an author, one of the perks of the job is meeting other writers and getting to know them beyond the pages of their books. It’s only natural that some of my favorite authors have become my friends. I dedicate this portion of “15 Cool Authors” to them:

KATHERINE GARBERA – Kathy was the very first published author I met…way back when. We became acquainted through our local RWA chapter. Since then, she’s became one of my very best friends. I’ll never forget the day I met Kathy. It was my first RWA chapter meeting. I was nervous and unsure of why I was even there. It just happened that on that same day, Kathy walked in with the cover of her very first book (THE BACHELOR NEXTDOOR wasn’t even out yet and she’d just received the cover flat). I was awe struck. Standing right in front of me was a living, breathing author, who was so talented, yet so personable and approachable. She made me feel as if I’d always been part of the chapter. Her smart, sassy prose hooked me from the get go and her sweet personality has made her friend for life.

CINDY KIRK – Cindy and I met at my first RWA conference. Synchronicity had a hand in our friendship when by chance we found ourselves at the same luncheon table two days in a row (amid 2,000 women and no assigned seats). We were both unpublished, but dogged determined to change that. We became fast friends and corresponded over the years – mind you, this was pre-email, back in the prehistoric days of the telephone and letter.  Now, Cindy is not only a good friend, she’s my plotting and brainstorming partner. Her books are fun and heartfelt and I always look forward to reading her next release.

CATHERINE KEAN – Catherine writes rich, beautiful historical romances. I’ve always described Catherine’s books as “jewel boxes” full of exquisite treasures. Her beautiful touch has influenced my work, too, since she’s been my critique partner for fourteen years.

KATHLEEN O’BRIEN – Kathleen is the wise woman in my life. She has such a poetic soul that radiates from the pages of her books. She was an established author when I met her. Now, I am so very fortunate to call her a friend and brainstorming partner.

KRISTAN HIGGINS – Kristan is fabulously funny and talented, and she has one of the most generous spirits of any writer I’ve met. Her Rita-winning novel “Catch of the Day” was the one that hooked me. Now, I count the days until next Kristan Higgins release.

So, there you have it…my Cool 15. I’m dying to hear who’s on your list. Since I’m celebrating being part of a group of six more very cool authors who have each crafted books in the latest FORTUNES OF TEXAS series (I’m book five out of the six-book series – book one launched this month. My title FORTUNE’S UNEXPECTED GROOM will be released in May 2012), I will give away the first two titles in the FORTUNES OF TEXAS series: Karen Templeton’s FORTUNE’S CINDERELLA and Marie Ferrarella’s FORTUNE’S VALENTINE BRIDE to one lucky person who posts their own 15 Cool Authors list.

A few weeks ago, a blogger asked the Jaunty Quills to participate in an event where authors shared a favorite book they were reading. I wanted to participate in the worst way, but I’d just finished a deadline for a Special Edition continuity, which went quickly into edits and by the time I contacted the blogger, the calendar for that event was full.  I was so disappointed because I happened to be reading UNTIL THERE WAS YOU, by our very own Kristan Higgins, and I was looking forward to dishing about this book because it’s so darn wonderful!

Kristan first hooked me with her Rita winner CATCH OF THE DAY. That was shortly before we became Jaunty Quill sisters. Since then, I’ve devoured every single one of her books. Needless to say, I was counting the days until I could get my hands on UNTIL THERE WAS YOU.

What a treat! In vintage Kristan style, she had me laughing out loud, rooting for quirky, loveable Cordelia “Posey” Osterhagen and drooling over misunderstood bad boy Liam Murphy. I’m a sucker for a reunion story – especially when it goes to the tune of girl falls for boy, boy barely realizes girl exists; boy and girl grow into man and woman and finally get it right.   However, even after widowed father Liam brings his teenage daughter home to the town where he grew up, he and Posey still have a lot of baggage to unload and roadblocks to break through…baggage in the form of a terrible misunderstanding at the prom that left Posey brokenhearted and roadblocks in the form of Posey’s buxom, quasi-celebrity cousin who always seems to be in the way.

It makes me smile even thinking about  the book.  It also has me thinking… We all have at least one “Liam” lurking in our past (even if it didn’t lead to a happily ever after).  Tell me about your “Liam.” Did you ever see him again? Did it end up working out or did it remain a case of unrequited love/lust?  I will choose one lucky winner from those who post to receive a copy of Kristan’s UNTIL THERE WAS YOU so you, too, can get lost in this fabulous book.

I’d say that eyes are the feature that matter most to us in terms of looks. You don’t often hear someone saying, for example, “Oh, he had the most beautiful chin! I couldn’t look away!”

In the romance novels of my formative years, all the heroes had coal-black eyes (impossible, of course…dark, dark brown, sure. Black…no.). Heroines, on the other hand, had only jewel-tones: sapphire, emerald, topaz, the occasional turquoise. This matched their ruby lips quite nicely, as well as their pearl-like teeth.

When I was a youth, I dated a guy who had really pretty eyes…blue. Or green. Or bluish-green? Anyway, what I remember more than his actual eye color was the number of times women exclaimed, “Oh, my gosh, you have the most amazing eyes!” I found this quite irritating. My own eyes are brown. I consider them to be my best feature. I have pretty good lashes (thanks, Dad!). My family is Hungarian—to me, a quintessential Hungarian feature is big, expressive eyes. When I’m sad, as I was recently due to the death of my beloved dog, I can’t stand to look in the mirror, because I look so dang tragic. My son and one of my nieces, on the other hand, have what I call “smiley eyes.” They always look mischievous, these kids. If they’re up to something, we can always tell. Heath Ledger had smiley eyes. Usher does, too. So does my own sainted husband.

When I think back on my hero and heroine’s eye color, I come up with this: Sam & Millie: hazel/brown. Malone & Maggie: blue/gray. Trevor & Chastity: brown/blue. Callahan & Grace: blue/I forget. Ethan and Lucy: brown/brown. Ian & Callie: blue/brown. Nick & Harper: brown/green. Malone and Ian both had very pretty blue eyes, and their womenfolk fixated on the color appropriately.

More important to me, though, is the mood of the eyes—I’m doing line edits for My One & Only, and I keep coming across the phrase “gypsy eyes” for Nick. That’s because when I was first writing this book, I dreamed about the characters, and Nick looked an awful lot like Robert Downey Jr. (sigh!). And come one…RDJ has beautiful gypsy eyes, don’t you think?

Sad eyes get to me, too…Callahan and Sam both had those downturning, lovely eyes. I’m a sucker for this type. Russell Crowe, Kyle Chandler…purr! I find myself stifling urges to make them smile, because the transformation is so deeply satisfying. (Does anyone have their phone numbers, by the way?)

Contrary to many romance novels, eyes can’t change color. No one’s turquoise eyes, for example, can actually darken to sapphire. But irises do expand with attraction, so it might look that way. And it’s amazing, I think, how much emotion can be conveyed in a gaze—I mean, can’t we all tell when our significant others are bored or amorous or stifling laughter, even when their poker faces are on?

Do you have a preference for eye color or shape? Are eyes the first thing you notice? Post a comment, and I’ll give away a copy of Just One of the Guys, which I hear is in short supply (but which Harlequin is kindly reprinting at this very moment!). Trevor had hot fudge eyes in that one…perfect for Chastity, who loves dessert.

Those last fifteen minutes must’ve been the longest. Compressed in a chute, you are leaving the place that had been your refuge but was almost your grave. For the first time in more than two months, you are completely alone, away from the men who possibly saved your life, who kept you going, the only people on earth who can understand what you’ve endured. For sixty-nine days, you’ve been in an uncertain stand-off with death, and now…now, you only have fifteen minutes to go. Fifteen minutes until the rest of your life.

From the second the disaster occurred and for sixteen days thereafter, the families of the Chilean miners had nothing but hope. That’s a long time. Imagine the prayers, the bargaining, the rationalizations of just how it really was possible that your husband, your father, your brother, your son had survived. It could happen, sure. But the hours passed. The days crept by. The third day…the fifth…the tenth…the fifteenth…the sixteenth. The families must have been told to prepare for the worst. Imagine picturing your husband, your son, dead and alone, a half mile beneath your feet.

And then, on the seventeenth day, the miracle. The note said, “We are well and in the shelter…The 33.” Chile—heck, the entire world—was joyfully stunned. A mountain fell on those miners, they were trapped a half mile underground, and they were still alive. All of them.

The immediate question was how to get them out? Even one rescue would be miraculous…but thirty-three? The messages from the miners were heart-wrenching: “We ask that you rescue us as quickly as possible, and that you don’t abandon us,” the shift foreman said. “Don’t leave us alone.” The answer from Chile’s President Pinera: “You will not be left alone. You have not been alone. The entire country is with you all.”

Indeed, the entire world was with them. And in this day of war and suspicion, of bickering political parties and Internet bullying, how often does the world come together? Chilean flags were flown around the world, candles were put in windows, prayer vigils were held. The families of the miners moved to the work site, Camp Esperanza—Hope—to wait together. The oldest miner, married for 30 years, learned that his wife was camping half a mile above him. Concerned, he urged her to go home. Her response: “I’ll leave here when you do.”

For weeks and then months, the world waited. A tiny tunnel was drilled, supplies were lowered…food, water, air. A camera allowed us to see those ghostly images of the unexpectedly cheerful miners, singing Elvis Presley songs, asking the score on soccer matches, sending messages to their families. One watched, via fiberoptic cable, his wife giving birth to their daughter.

But how would they get out? The initial estimates for their rescue was Christmas Eve, but thanks to a Pennsylvania-based company, the drilling went better than expected. Still agonizingly slow, still difficult, drilling through virgin rock. Would the tunnel hold? What if the capsule twisted while en route? Would the winch operate, would the cables snap? It would be the deepest rescue ever attempted…and it would be attempted thirty-three times.

On October 13^th, the world held its breath. And then, one by one, they were strapped into the capsule called Phoenix—the bird that rises from the ashes. The President of Chile was there, the First Lady, the rescue workers, doctors, EMTs, and of course, the families—wives, parents, children, grandchildren. As the first miner came into the sunlight, church bells rang throughout Chile. Children were sent home from school. The world wept with unadulterated joy. Each man was given a Chilean flag inscribed with their names, and they wore shirts that on the front said, “Thank you, God” and underneath, “Because nothing is impossible with God.” On the back, the shirts read “In whose hands are the depths of earth, the peaks of the mountains are His also.”

Over and over, the capsule descended into darkness and rose into light. “Welcome back to life,” was the greeting they received. One miner hugged his wife, then fell to his knees to offer thanks. Another kissed his wife and asked, “How’s the dog?” Some ran to the rescue workers and greeted them in elation; others held their children and cried. All were greeted by the President. All were taken to the hospital, where they watched and cheered as their fellow survivors ascended.

Every one of them was rescued flawlessly. Everyone was healthy. Every single one.

Before Oprah and Larry King, before the book deals and movie rights, before October 13^th becomes a Chilean national holiday, those miners were alone in the dark. The families were told that this would likely be a recovery mission, not a rescue. After all, even if the miners had reached the shelter, there was only enough food for two days. And half a mile beneath the surface of the earth, the miners had to at least consider the thought that the world up there figured them for a lost cause. One day after the disaster without a sign from above. Three days. Seven. Ten. Fifteen.

But somehow, instead of despair, those above and those below chose hope, and theirs is a lesson in unity, in perseverance, in courage and faith. But it’s also a lesson in love.

There was a second note found on that seventeenth day, something more personal. It was from the oldest member of the group, the one whose wife waited with such steadfast and unswerving hope. This note said: “I haven’t stopped thinking about all of you for a single moment. I love you, and I will see you soon, and we will be happy ever after.”

Dios los bendiga a todos, Los 33! Viva Chile!

As I have freely admitted on this blog before…okay, just those words alone have my sister Quills wincing. Last time I made an honest confession, one of them politely suggested that our readers don’t need to know everything about my process. I believe this was  in reference to the blog in which I admitted to making out with my hand in order to get the first kiss scene just right. Well, too bad, girls! Here we go again!

I recently moved my office. Up until a few weeks ago, my office was a ten-foot square room in our basement…no heat, no windows, more than its fair share of mold, despite my best efforts. I had a space heater, a bookcase and a bowl of Hershey Nuggets with almonds. But no more! I said a fond(ish) farewell to the Pit of Despair, as I called it, and moved above ground.

Now I get to work in daylight, gang! I have windows—plural! And not just that…it’s an entire, if very tiny, apartment. Little bitty kitchen, bathroom, and a nice sunny room with two skylights. Right now, it’s furnished with a chair, a table and a lamp…oh, and yes, a bowl of Hershey Nuggets with almonds. I have no phone and no wifi, which cuts down on the distractibility factor, not to mention no laundry beckoning, no weeds taunting me. And it’s just down the street a little bit, so the commute is on a woodsy path through the lovely back yard of my neighbor’s house.

But the best feature is the absolute privacy. Previously, if I was (just for an example) making out with my hand, I had to worry that McIrish might wander in and give that puzzled, disappointed stare he’s mastered over the years. Now, though, I have a whole apartment in which to walk, talk, laugh, cry, etc. I can stand in a doorway. Sit on a counter. Roll on the carpet if I want to.

This makes it much easier to get into the spirit of my latest book. In fact, I sort of feel like I’m single again.  And not just single…sort of like I’m dating someone who very much resembles this guy. Froooww! My character’s name is Liam. I know! Do you love it? The first thing I do when arriving at the apartment is gaze upon a few photos of Mr. Hottie here. Okay, okay. More than a few. More like…fourteen. At any rate, Liam and I talk, bicker, exchange insults. We may even kiss pretty soon (well…you know what I mean). Am I forty-five years old, married for nearly 20 years? Yep. So?

Recently, McIrish came over to check in. He heard voices (well, a voice, anyway). “Hey, hon,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“I’m terribly busy and very important,” I answered.

“Who are you talking to?” he asked.

“My boyfriend,” I replied. “Leave us. We’re in love.”

“Do you want lunch?” my sainted husband asked, clearly unfazed.

“Okay,” I said. Because, as wonderful as Liam may be, he has yet to make me a sandwich.

Too Good To Be True, my fourth novel and winner of the 2010 Romance Writers of America RITA Award, is about a woman who pretends to be in a relationship. I can totally see where she gets it.

Have you ever made up a boyfriend? Imagined yourself in a scene from a book? Come on…be honest. Haven’t we all been Scarlett on the road to Tara, listening to Rhett ask for a kiss? Which scene in a book or movie really made you want to be that woman in that particular moment? Do tell!

Like most authors, I have a bunch of ideas that will go nowhere. Thought I might share some today so you can see what it’s like to filter through all the garbage…er, not garbage, exactly, but all the cast-offs…before we writers can find The One—that is, the idea that’s good enough to sustain an entire novel.

It’s sort of like American Idol. You have to make it through a few levels on the show, yes? First, there are the singers (most of them) who are simply and quietly rejected. They never see Randy, Simon and whoever…they’re screened by someone lower on the food chain and simply deemed what I think of as Yawn category. They may not be awful, but they’re not special…and they’re not colorfully bad enough to make good TV.

My Yawn idea was about a woman who owned a restaurant that was going under. He ex-husband finds out, buys the restaurant and inserts himself back into her life. He’s changed, you see. He will no longer take her for granted. He’s a better man now. Yawn. Now, another writer might take that exact same plot and make it pop. Wasn’t going to happen with me. Next!

American Idol also has what I think of as Disaster level. These people are HORRIBLE! They’re off-key, can’t sing their way out of a wet paper bag, they may well be rather unusual in their physical appearance…but they make good TV. Usually, this is because they have no idea that the rest of the world clenches in pain when they open their mouths to sing.

Same can be true with writing. I spent weeks—weeks, I tell you!—on a book I thought was really quite fun. It was, in fact, quite dumb, but I didn’t know that then. It was about a woman who’s kind of a loser (though with secret talents, of course) and is stuck in terms of her own life. She has a minor car accident and decides that faking amnesia would be the best way to improve her situation. The tentative title of the book was, in fact, Faking Amnesia. My agent very gently told me not to write this book. After a few moments talking about it, I could see that yes, it was a bleeping disaster. Sigh. Moving on…

The next level on American Idol is the Golden Ticket. You’re going to Hollywood! Congratulations! You made it past the judges! You can sing! Are you great? Um…let’s wait and see, shall we? Oh. Oh, dear. Well, turns out you fall apart with a little pressure. Golden Ticket is the highlight of your career, sweetie. Sorry. Go home and rejoin your church choir. They’ll be glad to have you back.

My Golden Ticket ideas are legion. In some ways, they’re the toughest, because with the right kick in the proverbial butt, they might make it. But for some reason…they don’t. Something’s a little been-there-done-that about them. Are they awful? Not at all. But they’re not The One. Ideas that have fallen into this category are: Woman dumped on the altar blames best man for influencing her groom and sets out to get revenge, only to fall in love with him. Okay, it could work. It hasn’t yet, but maybe someday (or not).  Here’s another. A woman falls in love with the Lands End operator who takes her order for new sheets. Again…sure, it’s a cute idea, falling in love with someone you’ve never met. But it just kinda stopped right there. Dead in the water. Time to go home.

Then comes the Top 12 category. These are the singers who go on tour. They’ll have their fifteen minutes of fame, there will be photo shoots and squealing teens. They might not win…but they could have.

For us writers, these are the books we outline. The characters who speak to us. They might not have won…but we’re keeping them close. Maybe not this time around, but quite possibly the next one.

And then, finally, comes the winner. It was down to just two…but only one wins.

This is the book we write…and sell. This one hits the shelves. This one is the real deal.  Out of all the hundreds of ideas we had, this was the one with the spark. It might have taken a lot of work, a new look and some serious coaching…but there was something special, and it held up for 400 pages.

So let’s hear it…do you have an idea for a book you think could really make it? Did you ever read a book where the idea was so farfetched you wondered how on earth it got published? What are some of the qualities that can turn a Hollywood idea into a Top Twelve? I’d love to hear what you think.