While I may look like a strong, capable, can-do adult with my own vibrant career, two almost-grown kids, a sexy cop boyfriend, and an incredible life, the second I cross the threshold of my parents’ house, a transformation takes place. Though I feel the same as ever, apparently I turn back into a bumbling, incapable twelve-year-old.

Let me give you some examples of events that make me believe that this transformation occurs:

1. Despite the fact that my accountant assures me that I’m fiscally solvent, Dad will still ask, “Do you need some money?” He often says this while holding out a crisp twenty dollar bill much in the manner one might hold out a cracker to a dancing bear.

2. Though I’ve been cooking for myself and my two kids for over twenty-five years, PLUS the fact that I’m not exactly skinny, my mother will still tell me she can see that I’m not eating right. I’m not sure what ‘eating right’ consists of, but I think it has to do with her pot roast.

3. Every time I go out of a room, my dad will still call out, “Turn out the light!” even though he’s so conditioned me to do this that I’ve left my poor kids sitting in the dark on more than one occasion.

4. My mother will still admonish me to ‘Wash your hands.’ before a meal, even when I’m standing at the sink doing that very thing.

5. And there are more. MANY more. But I think you get the picture, so I’ll stop here.

I love my parents. They are spectacular in so many ways. But there are times when I leave their house wondering … “Did I grow up? Or was it all just a dream?”

When you visit your parents, do you feel as if you’ve stepped into a time warp? Do your parents forget you’ve grown up? Moved out? Had your own kids? Or do they treat you like a (wow!) adult?

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I really can’t, most of the time. God help me if I ever witness a crime, because the police will get nothing usable from me. I’m not that observant. I can remember conversations as if they were played on tape, but images and smells and the feel of cool air on my skin? Not so much. Apparently, I’m what is called an “aural” person. I experience the world through what I hear. If you asked me right now what color all my friends’ eyes are, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t notice things like that.

If I walk into a room, I notice the music playing or that annoying buzz coming from the VCR or the conversations going on. I don’t notice the smell of almonds or the temperature or the blood-stained rug unless they’re really obvious (okay, I’d probably notice the blood. Probably.). Much as I love crime shows, I have a sneaking suspicion I’d make a lousy detective.

Unfortunately, my lack of observational skills is also a liability for me as a writer. Which is why I have to refer to pictures when I write–of furniture, rugs, costumes . . . hot guys. I can’t write about something I can’t see, so I study the pictures and then describe from there. For example, the hot guy to the right is John Abraham, the model I pictured while writing my Anglo-Indian hero, Colin Hunt, in my story for School for Heiresses—isn’t he yummy? There’s lots more pictures where that came from, but I looked through a slew of images of Anglo-Indian and Indian actors/models before I found the one guy that worked for me (ah, the sacrifices I make for my art). And I never did find a picture of an auburn-haired male sexy enough to stand in for Jordan and Gavin Byrne, my two favorite auburn-haired heroes.

What about you? Do you tend to be more aural, visual, or tactile? When you read, do you see pictures in your head or do you just hear the voices the way I do? Do you need lots of description to feel like you’re in the scene? Or do you skim over long descriptions as I do? And could somebody PLEASE give me a picture of a hot, auburn-haired guy, so I can prove to my publisher that they do exist?

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I’m writing now … This means I’ve dug in and am in this kind of “writing explosion.”  (Which usually means I have a looming deadline!  Which, uh, I do.) 

Some people I know write with candles or incense or in a coffee shop.  I write holed up in my office, playing music.  Most of the time, I tend to listen to the music that best fits my hero. One hero liked country, nice because I’ve always been a country music fan. One hero liked Aerosmith, and now so do I.  Writing opens up whole new worlds! 

Thus my entre into opera.  Yes, opera.  The hero in my 9/07 book DIE FOR ME  has an opera-quality voice. (I learned book-pimping from Goddess Julia, the pimp-master here on Mount Olympus.  Plus, I recently got my new cover art and wanted to show it off!)  My hero’s name is Detective Vito Ciccotelli and he is totally HOT, let me tell you. 

So when I realized my macho detective hero Vito was also an opera-style singer, I panicked.  I knew nothing about opera.  Enter my opera-singing sister-in-law, Linda, her recommendations, my Rhapsody subscription, and a few “if you like Artist X, try Artist Y’s” later… 

I discovered HIM.  Sigh.  JOSH GROBAN.  Sigh.  I played Josh Groban’s music while I was writing DIE FOR ME and this newest book, too.  Truly his voice is to die for.  The man has an awesome set of pipes.  Now technically he’s not a “classic opera” singer, but he does perform many opera selections and crosses over to pop and the man makes me swoon, okay?

Groban’s nice to look at too, but it’s his music that touches my heart.  It makes me stop what I’m doing and lift my face and … soar.  I know that sounds hokey, but it’s true.  Listening to his music brings out my creativity and makes me feel.  His To Where You Are brings tears to my eyes.

Other artists who have caught my heart with a song are Collin Raye’s Love Me, Jo Dee Messina’s Bring on the Rain, Louis Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World.  And Garth Brooks’s The Dance - “Yes, my life is better left to chance.  I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.” 

Who needs Philosophy?  I have my tunes…

So who plays your song?  What kind of music touches you?  How does it make you feel?

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Tee hee! I know what Julia London’s doing! I know what Julia London’s doing! I know what she’s doing RIGHT THIS SECOND.

She’s ANGSTING.

Her book, THE PERILS OF PURSUING A PRINCE was released this last Tuesday and, as many of you know, the week an author’s book is released is a week of anxiety.

I’ve talked to a lot of my author friends and they all go through one or all of these stages:

First, relief. “FINALLY my book is out there and I can stop thinking about what MIGHT happen and start really worrying about what IS happening.”

Second, concern. “Weren’t my Amazon numbers higher for my last book?”

Third, disassociation. “You know, this writing gig isn’t the perfect job, anyway. If my book tanks, I could always go for my dream job … WalMart Greeter. All the glam, none of the responsibility. All that AND a discount!”

Fourth (as actual sale figures pour in and you realize your baby is selling like wildfire), satisfaction. “I knew this was a good book. I knew it when I was writing it! I was never worried.”

Yup, that’s what Julia London is doing right now. And it’s a good thing it’s her, too, and not me, because I get a little … well, ‘waspish’ about this time. A little nervous. A little sleepless. A little hard to get along with, if you know what I mean. But then I worry all of the time and not just on release weeks.

What do I worry about? War. Famine. Poverty. Whether or not my next door neighbor, whom I’ve never gotten up the nerve to go meet, hates me or not. If I look fat in these jeans. What if I owe more taxes? Does my daughter need braces? LOCUSTS!

I’d be a professional worrier, but I’m worried it won’t pay enough.

Julia, though, handles stress much better than I do. She cracks lots of jokes, laughs a lot, buys lots of shoes and hangs out in Target. Funny how different people handle stress differently ….

What about you? Have you had a ‘worrying’ moment lately? How do you handle stress when it hits you? Do you wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night? Or do you pop bon bons like pills and tell off-color jokes? Are you the Queen of Cool or a Servant of Snappiness? How do you handle stress?

What about you?

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One of my favorite all times authors is LaVyrle Spencer. I used to consume her books like creme brulee. And just so you understand, creme brulee makes my stomach fluttery with anticipation. I have to force myself to eat it very slow and precise so that I don’t fall face first into the ramekin and gobble it like a pig.

Whether LaVyrle’s books were contemporary or historical, they were always character driven romance novels. No kidnaping or skulduggery, and after years of reading about heroine’s with rosebud lips and snapping emerald eyes, she was such a breath of fresh air to me. She made it okay for me to write very straight forward, character driven books about normal people living normal lives. People I could relate to.

At my first Romance Writer’s Of America conference (six years before I sold my first book) I got a chance to meet LaVyrle. She was so nice and gracious and she let me, an unpublished nobody, hold her RITA. It was almost as good as if I’d ever got to meet Steven Tyler and got to hold his . . . Grammy

LaVylre inspired me to write honest fiction straight from the heart, and then . . .she just up and announced that she was retiring. What the heck? At first, I didn’t believe her. I thought she’d just take a break and then she’d be back. I mean really, how can a writer retire? Forever? What would she do with all the voices living in her head? You just can’t turn them off. They don’t shut up.

It’s been ten years, and she’s still MIA. So I guess she really did retire for good, but I’m still holding out hope for a LaVyrle come back. I miss her honest writing and the vivid pictures her words painted for my consumption.

How many of your favorite writers have retired or are simply MIA?

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At long last, the second book in the Desperate Debutante series is on the shelves. THE PERILS OF PURSUING A PRINCE is out there everywhere now, and there is nothing more I can do to affect sales. All my guest-bloggings and online interviews and contests and mailings are over. I don’t have to mention that I have a book release five thousand times at the Goddess Blogs any more (is that applause I hear?). There is nothing I can do but sit back, chew my fingernails, and try and put my mind on something else.

My mind instantly turns to my TBR pile, because I haven’t had much opportunity to read in the last few weeks, and I am dying to soak up something other than Julia London’s thoughts and musings on a blog somewhere (hey! Is that more applause I hear?).

But when I turn to my TBR pile, I almost faint. When did it get so big? Who bought all those books and with whose credit card? If I guessed an average of $10 a book, does that mean I actually spent $$$$$$$$$$ much on books in the last few months?!?! Are there really enough years left in my life to read them all? And for heaven’s sake, how will I ever choose which book to read?

It makes me wonder about other TBR piles out there. Actually, it makes me wonder about your TBR piles. You guys have enlightened me about so many things. So let me ask:

1. How big is your TBR pile (two feet, four feet, eight feet, the entire garage)?
2. Is your investment in books lesser or greater than your mortgage?
3. How many books do you typically read in a week?
4. Do you read a mix of romance, or do you stick to one sub-genre? What’s your favorite – historical, contemporary, paranormal, inspirational?
5. Do you have a favorite comfort read?
6. May I use this opportunity to pimp my book one last time?

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This is what just happened. This is a true story. I am not making this up.

One of my sons made the claim that he could rip a phone book in half. He made this claim to his older brother and his father. Men being men, they called him on it, handing him the brand new phone book to test his manly strength against.

Men being men, they did not offer encouraging words while he strained against the phone book. They did not let him off the hook. They did not worry that he’d pull a muscle or pass out. I did those things because I am not a man.

I watched my youngest child strain against the pure mass of the phone book, his skin turning red, every muscle outlined and pumped, and all I felt was nervousness. My husband and my older son laughed and mocked him; gently, but they mocked him.

Men being men, my younger son took this in stride. He grinned, he made jokes, and he kept at it. He ripped the phone book in half. While I shouted praise and amazement, my husband and other son simply grinned and nodded, and said, “Do it again.”

He did do it again. Twice more.

Then my husband did it.

Men. Why do they do it? Why do they perform random feats of manliness and why do women watch them do it?

And where do I get another phone book?

What manly feats float your boat? Nascar? Wrestling? Football? Construction work?

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There are some places I love to eat. One of them is Chipotle. I love the food, the industrial chic cleanliness of it, the tasty organic food . . . or at least I did until last week.

Last week I discovered a website that counts fast food calories. I discovered that my favorite burrito from Chipotle has over 1,100 calories with 33 grams of fat (11 grams saturated), 126 mgs of cholesterol, and 2959 mg of sodium!

I felt betrayed. I mean . . . they wrap their burritos in recycled paper! The words “fresh” and “organic” are printed on every available surface! The restaurant looks so healthy! HOW CAN THEIR FOOD BE FATTENING?

It’s one thing for a slice of chocolate cake to be fattening. Chocolate cake is SUPPOSED to be fattening. But . . . a burrito?

The most shocking thing is that JUST THE BURRITO WRAP ALONE, completely EMPTY, has OVER 300 calories. And don’t even ask about the trans fats!

Now, I’m no longer infatuated with Chipotle and whenever I see someone wandering toward the door, I mutter under my breath, “Oh yes, walk in, my unsuspecting friend. But soon, your blood will be filled with fat and cholesterol and you’ll have to waddle out like a stuffed duck.”

What about you? Have you ever felt betrayed by a food you THOUGHT was healthy, only to find that it’s just a jump-pad to death? What food was that? Do you eat it anyway? Have you, or a loved one, ever been betrayed by a burrito?

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Okay, so I’ve clearly read way too much Dr. Seuss in my lifetime, but aside from that, I have a confession to make. I like writing less-than-typical love scenes: characters doing it in semi-public places (the British museum, anyone?), characters attempting to do it while one of them is on a swing, characters doing it in chairs, on tables, against walls.

Why? I DON’T KNOW. I suspect it is a compulsion born of some twisted romance-writer sickness—the same one that causes me to lust after alpha males and fantasize about dark-haired men more than blonds. But for every one of my scenes written in a bedroom, I am compelled to write two where the characters risk discovery any minute or are getting it on acrobatically in the snow (actually, haven’t done one in the snow—note to self, write love scene set in snow).

Seriously though, I like to mix things up. Apparently, I am not alone, judging from Jon Stewart’s interview of Richard Preston on The Daily Show about his nonfiction book The Wild Trees: A Story of Passion and Daring. It seems people have even made love in the tops of giant redwoods, far above the ground. Gives new meaning to the term, “mile-high club.” I’ll have to get that book.

But mostly I like reading (or writing) about it in fiction. One of my fave love scenes of all times is in Johanna Lindsey’s Savage Thunder—it takes place on a horse. Equestrians persist in telling me that it is virtually impossible, but that doesn’t ruin my enjoyment. Nor does it keep me from believing that somewhere, somehow, some couple has made love on horseback. They’re just not talking.

So how about you? Do you like exotic love scenes in your fiction? Or do you prefer the more mundane? What is the most outrageous setting for a love scene that you’ve ever read, seen, or been involved in? (Yes, I live vicariously through my fellow goddesses.) And for Zeus’s sake, PLEASE tell me if you’ve ever done it on a horse!

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It’s usually a big relief for us novelists when we get to type THE END on the last page of a manuscript first draft. Those two little words signify the culmination of months and months of hard work. And even though the first draft of a novel is actually just one step in the long publication process – and there’s a lot more work to be done before the real book gets stocked on store shelves (revisions, copy-edits, page proofs, cover art, back copy, promotion) – typing THE END is still a significant milestone.

The story is real by then, and the characters fully developed. And while the manuscript may have flaws, at least it’s in a readable form that can be poked and prodded and polished by ourselves, our critiquers, and our editors.

I just finished the main draft of Book 2 of my new Regency trilogy, The Courtship Wars (Hurray!!! I celebrated with wine and chocolate, of course!) But as soon as I typed THE END, I had to move on to Book 3.

Which made me groan.

Because even though I adore these next characters and have a fun, sexy story all figured out… and even though I try to organize the work into manageable bite-sized chunks (outline, synopsis, opening page, first scene, chapter 1, chapter 2, all the way to the epilogue)… I find myself procrastinating (like Karen Rose does *G*) because I know how much effort it will take to write the whole first draft.

Just thinking about all that work makes me cringe. How lovely it would be to skip over the hard labor and just type THE END!

Often, long projects are no fun. Take, for example, one my dh and I finished last fall – having the house we bought two years ago re-stuccoed. For seven interminable weeks we had to deal with pounding and scraping and grinding, not to mention construction workers peering through our bathroom windows – yikes!) This spring we need to replace the roof, and even though it’s only supposed to take two days, I’m dreading the whole thing. I sure wish I could wave a magic wand and have it be done!

My mom recently had to plan a huge luncheon for a dear friend who’s moving away, so she wanted it to be special. My dh just finished a consulting job for a client that took five months and started another one that will last a year or more. And they feel the same way about starting and finishing big stuff… very glad to have it over and gulping at the thought of the enormous work yet to be done for new projects.

Do you have projects at work, play, or home that were a relief for you to put to rest? Or upcoming projects you can’t wait to finish and be done with? What would you give to have a magic wand (or as a goddess, immortal powers!) to do all the work for you?

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