About four years ago, I got an invitation to come and speak to a book club about my books. I was a little nervous about it, to be honest. There was a co-ed book club in my neighborhood that met regularly but had a rule that they would only read Important Works of Fiction. Romance novels did not rate and, moreover, they were reading stuff that I needed more than a weekend to get through. You know—Big Meaty Important Works of Ficton.

When the book club extended the invitation, I thought, oh geez….they don’t know the kind of book I write. They’d been together for twenty years, since several of them were cub reporters for the Austin paper. They asked me because they knew someone who knew me. But I went. I was prepared to defend my genre. But I was surprised–not only did these 12-14 women know what I wrote, they liked it! They plied me with wine and chocolate and paella, asked me all sorts of questions about writing and publishing, and laughed a lot. They admitted they had not read a romance, but they’ve read several since.

I had so much fun I asked if I could be in their bookclub. It was one of the best things I ever did. I love my book club. We usually spend two hours drinking wine and eating well, talking about our lives and kids and jobs and husbands. Oh, yeah, we discuss books, too, but usually the last hour. They are my biggest fans, the first in line to buy my books. I can’t bear to miss it—it is my one big treat to myself each month.

But most important, if it wasn’t for that book club, I think I would have missed some great books. Just this year we have read The Boleyn Inheritance by Phillipa Gregory, the Glass House by Jeanette Walls, The Known World by Edward P. Jones, Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett, The Plot Against America by Phillip Roth, and Confederacy of Dunces by John Kenneth Toole. These are books I know I would not have picked up and read on my own, and I loved them all.

I have been surprised by my attachment to this club—I have never been a big joiner, and the day after I asked I could join them I was having second thoughts. Did I really want to commit to a particular book and one night a month? Yes! I can’t do without my book club.

Are you a member of a book club? A book club? If you could be in a book club, would you, or is reading a private affair? Are you a joiner? Do you like to be a member of a group?

44 Comments »

I’ve been blest in my life with a handful of really true friends, one of which is my husband.  Last week Mr. R. and I  celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary!   We met through the machinations of one of my other lifelong friends, who’ll I’ll call “K” (because that’s her name).  K deviously introduced us against our will by orchestrating a surprise blind date.  If you’re wondering what that means, never fear, I’m about to tell you. 

It was 25 years ago, we were high school seniors, and K was a common friend to us both.  All through high school, K had thought Martin (that’s Mr. R.) and I would be just perfect for each other. The problem was two-fold.  No.1: I was shy (people never believe this, but it’s TRUE) and No.2: K had not yet  perfected her matchmaking art.  Her attempts went something like this: “You’ve got to meet Martin. He’s a wild and crazy guy!” But I was shy (really) and I didn’t want a wild and crazy guy. I wanted a nice, sedate young man who would enjoy doing math homework with me. (BTW, for those of you chronologically-challenged, aka young, that pic is Steve Martin circa 1978 doing his “wild and crazy guy” act.) 

At the same time, K was telling Martin, “You’ve got to meet Karen. She’s so smart her head pulsates.” Oooh, now that’s a sexy mental image. Needless to say, he declined. (BTW, this is not me. This is a Star Trek alien whose head pulsates.  Not me.  Got it?  Besides, I’m not so tall.)

Well, this went on all through high school, until K’s  birthday. She was throwing a big SWEET SIXTEEN bash. So I said “Will he be there?” and she said, “Yes, but so will lots of other people you know.” Likewise, she assured Martin of the same thing.  He actually saw her invite lots of people.

The night arrived and I expected the party to be loud, but there was silence in her house. Crickets chirping, even.  K had uninvited everyone except me and Martin.  Well. I was totally ticked off to have been so sorely manipulated and, I’m ashamed to admit, I took it out on poor Martin.  But as fate would have it, he had this gorgeous head of golden hair. I was suckered in by the hair, then  found out he was smarter and nicer than I thought. It wasn’t love at first sight - maybe second or third sight.  But 25 years later, he still makes my heart go pitterpat. 

And now, 25 years later, I realize what a sacrifice K made for me.  She gave up her sweet sixteen party to orchestrate that wild scheme to get me and Martin to meet. I’ve thanked her, but don’t think I can ever thank her enough. So … thank you, K.  Your unselfish act has brought me more happiness than any person could ever expect and far more than I probably deserve. You’re the true definition of a friend.

Now dry your eyes, people, and tell me true:  has a friend ever made a big sacrifice for you?  Have you ever sacrificed for a friend?  What nice thing has a friend done for you lately?  I want the scoop!

37 Comments »

Like Karen Hawkins, I am a fan of Hugh Jackman. He plays a great hero. And a great villain. And he seems like a nice guy in the real world. This is a picture of him as Van Helsing, but I see SO many more possibilities. Your task, if you should choose to accept it, is to give him another name: the name of a hero. I’ll go first — Luke Blackheart. Oh, wait. Kane DeLancey. No…

21 Comments »

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. I don’t exactly read backwards. But I DO read the ends of books long before I get to them. Feel free to scream at me now.

What? No screaming? Is that because some of you ALSO read the ends of books first? Plenty of people do, you know. They just lie about it. Mainly because the never-read-the-end people have a tendency to gaze at us in horror and then try to convert us into not reading the end, which is never going to happen. Trust me.

That’s because we read the end for a reason. I don’t know what other people’s reasons are, but here’s mine: I can’t stand the tension. No matter how much I tell myself that the book will end satisfactorily (I KNOW that any of the goddesses’ books will have a wonderful ending), I can’t believe it until I actually see how it will be done. And because of that fear of what might lie at the journey’s end, I rush through the book without savoring the wonderful moments the author has put in just to give me pleasure. So reading the end first defuses the tension. It literally enables me to enjoy the book more.

In fact, the better the book, the more likely I am to read the end shortly after I begin. Sometimes I (gasp, horror) even skim ahead. I’ll admit it’s a delicate process, but I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I’ve even mastered the art of reading the HEA of romances that contain a mystery … without actually learning the answer to the mystery. Once in a great while I do screw up–I ruined Mary Jo Putney’s Lady of Fortune for myself by skimming ahead so often that I ended up knowing too much. I went from unbearable tension to no tension at all. But luckily for me, I’m getting old, and I’m starting to forget what I read. So even when I screw up, I get a second chance. I figure in a couple more years, I’ll be able to try Lady of Fortune again.

By the way, I also occasionally watch movies backwards. I saw the last twenty minutes of The Family Stone not long ago and liked it, so the next time I was surfing channels and found it at an earlier point, I watched from there. I finally saw the beginning a week later. Would I have liked it better if I’d watched it straight through? I don’t know. I liked it just fine in pieces. Yes, I’m weird (but you knew that).

What about you? Do you read the ends of books? (Tell the truth now.) If you do, then why? Do you do it with every book or just certain ones? And have you ever enjoyed a movie in backwards pieces?

56 Comments »

Summer means fun for a lot of people: school kids, teachers, families, boaters, swimmers, mountain-climbers, tennis players…

 Summer is fun for me partly because I’m cold-natured and I can stay warm.

That isn’t the case for my hubby and friends who are avid skiers. Even though they enjoy hiking and biking and rafting during the warm season, they’re already counting the days until the first snowfall. In fact, they’re holding a Summer Solstice party next week to celebrate the days getting shorter, which means ski season is getting closer.

But since summer is almost upon us, this seems a good time to ask about everyone’s plans for vacations or just plain fun.

I’ve taken several trips recently, so sadly I won’t be indulging in more anytime soon. Instead I’ll mostly be keeping my cute little tush (okay, maybe it’s not so little) in my computer desk chair writing my next book. But I can live vicariously, can’t I?

So please tell me, do you have any special plans for summer fun? Is it something you really want to do, or are you accommodating someone else’s wishes? Will you be with family or friends, or all by yourself? And if you go on vacation, would you let me come along in your suitcase if I promise to supply the margaritas (or beverage of your choice)?

48 Comments »

I don’t know about you, but in my house there are certain jobs that only I do. It’s not that I’m the only one capable of doing them. It’s that I seem to be the only one who SEES that the job needs doing.

You know what I mean.

In my house, I’m the only one who wipes off the kitchen counter. I wipe off the kitchen counter the first thing in the morning because it’s covered in crumbs, which is a real mystery since I wipe off the kitchen counter just before I go to bed. Hmmm. All day long, the same routine. I wipe, I leave the room, I come back…crumbs, jam, a dirty spoon, a puddle of water, a blob of mayonnaise. I wipe again.

The only reason I’m not calling GhostBusters is that I don’t live alone. I know there are actual people doing the deed, or not doing the deed as defined by wiping off the counters.

But that’s not all. I also am the only one to water the potted plants. Without me, they’d be dead in a week. I don’t think they appreciate how special I am; if they did, they’d bloom more.

I am the only one who throws away the junk mail. I am the only one who opens the mail and throws away the empty, torn envelope. Without me, this house would be knee-deep in ripped envelopes, not that anyone would notice.

My mother faced the same issues, which is frightening. Is this progress? My father would meticiously wipe off the kitchen table with one hand and catch the crumbs in the other…and then he’d dust his hands off right over the clean kitchen floor. He did this every day of my life in that house. Every day my mother would grumble and complain while she wiped up the crumbs from the floor. My dad was oblivious. He was truly oblivious. He couldn’t SEE the crumbs on the floor, only the ones on the table entered his reality.

I think my reality is too big. I see it all. I see that the dog hair is piling up in the corners. I see that the dish towel is grimy. I see that the counters are covered in jam and peanut butter.

What I don’t see is that my gas tank is empty or that the car needs an oil change or that the vacuum cleaner bag is overflowing into the machinery and killing the machine. (Was that what that noise was?)

But I don’t bother to feel guilty about those little things. I’m too busy wiping the kitchen counters.

What do you do that no one else does? What do you not do that (according to some people) you’re supposed to do?  

49 Comments »

This morning I realized that the national Romance Writers conference (RWA) is about a month away. While my height hasn’t changed, I seem to be a bit…rounder than I was at this same time last year. And that means – yes, you’ve guessed it – clothes shopping.

Now, I still remember how I looked when I was thin, and for some reason whenever I go clothes shopping I start out hunting for the same styles I used to be able to wear. A BIG mistake. So then I go for option two: the tea-length dresses with long shirts, jackets, or diaphanous drapey things disguising my waist. That usually goes pretty well, except that after two or three dresses of that style it a) takes up WAY too much room in a suitcase, and b) makes me look like a refugee from one of the TV shows where the lead actress is pregnant and they don’t want anybody to know.

The worst part is that the stupid manikins look better in the clothes than I do. Why do they put a size one dummy into a dress made for a…more substantial gal? Sure, we’ll be fooled for a minute and go try them on, but there’s no way anybody outside the dressing room EVER gets to see me wearing svelte-girl clothes. I mean look at this photo. It’s from a site offering clothes between sizes 14-32. What size do you think she is?

Given that my daily work clothes consist of T-Shirts that say things like “Sold Out to the Dark Side” or “The Person Wearing this T-Shirt Is an Author”, plus a pair of shorts, getting decked out is a big deal. And I see those clothes on the hangar and think “I’m gonna look good”, but alas, I never seem to live up to my own expectations.

Does your preferred style of clothing look good on you? Or do you have to compromise due to limitations of space and gravity? Has anybody found a line of clothes that actually look good on more substantial persons of the feminine persuasion?

46 Comments »

Dear friends,

It’s a thrill to scale the heights of Mt. Olympus and join the Goddesses for a nice hot cup of nectar and ambrosia this morning! Karen Rose and I have shared a cruise ship. Karen Hawkins and I have shared our appreciation for the charms of Hugh Jackman. Julia and I have shared a signing table. Sabrina and I have shared a publisher and several fine meals. Suzy Ewok (oops, I mean Enoch) and I have shared our unabashed geekiness in our love of all things STAR WARS and STAR TREK, and Rachel and I have shared our deep and abiding love for…Rachel Gibson books! Claudia, Nicole and I have shared…good heavens! How many Goddesses are there anyway?

Since the Goddesses have been so welcoming to this former Squawk Radio chicken, I thought today would be the perfect place to announce that…I spent the weekend preparing the nursery for a new arrival! Yes, I’m sure some of you remember the breathless anticipation you felt as you shopped for baby shampoo, tiny little flea combs, a litter box with lower sides. That’s right—we’re getting a new kitten!

We rescued our current cat, the three-year-old Buffy the Mouse Slayer, from a fly-by-night pet shop called UNUSUAL PETS. (Which explains a lot. I’m pretty sure it’s the same place that Billy Peltzer kid in GREMLINS got Gizmo. Whenever I get a fax, Buffy rushes into the office, jumps on the desk and waits for the paper to come out. I’m convinced that she’s waiting for some sort of communication from the Mother Ship.) When we got her, she was a tiny gray fluff ball with a cotton puff paws and a Ted Bundy serial killer stare. When I sent a pic to fellow Avon author Mary Reed McCall, Mary wrote back, “She’s SO adorable…but what’s wrong with her eyes?”

I’m determined that our new kitten will love ME because for three years I’ve suffered unrequited love for Buffy. Oh, she follows me everywhere, believing that I’m her litter mate, suitable for many fine hours of biting, playing, tussling. But she believes my husband is her mommy. They bonded for life when at their very first meeting Mike lifted her by the scruff of the neck, gazed deep into her gorgeous blue eyes and said those immortal words, “I think this cat just got poo on my hand.” (I’ve never been very good at lifting cats by their scruff because I’m always afraid their skin will come off and I’ll be left holding a big clump of fur while a completely naked cat scampers around on the floor.)

Buffy refuses to sit on my lap but she stretches out on Mike’s chest every night, reaching up with one paw and touching his face while purring and gazing adoringly up at him. I find myself stealing glances at the two of them through narrowed eyes, jealousy churning like acid in my stomach, and thinking unthinkable things like, “If HE wasn’t here, I wonder if she would love me better?”

So I already have a battle plan. As soon as we bring the new kitty home, I’m going to pick her up by the scruff of the neck just like her mama would, gaze deep into her eyes and say, “DON’T get poo on my hand.”

So do any of you get nervous when you’re about to bring a new animal into your household and introduce it to your other pets? Do you have any advice or great stories to share?

Teresa will be giving away an autographed copy of THE VAMPIRE WHO LOVED ME to one lucky Commenter today! You can visit her website at www.teresamedeiros.com

70 Comments »

Recently, I had a chemical peel to remove some pigmentation from my face. I had noticed, after a youth spent in a vat of Crisco chasing that deep, deep tan (we were SUCH idiots), that as I got older, some new “freckles” were popping out on my face.

The procedure I had done is purely cosmetic, and I think no one notices but me, but I am very happy that the spots are gone. I went to a chi-chi dermatologist office to have it done. You know the type of place—mood lighting, soft music, cushy furniture, and a wall full of facial products to drool over.

While I was waiting, I perused the menu of options for cosmetic enhancements and started to get little heart palpitations. This place does everything, from little stuff like chemical peels to full metal butt lifts. And if I was confused about a procedure, there was a handy rack of brochures for me to read in the comfort of my thick, soft chair that would recline into a table.

I did not know this—but there is a LOT of stuff in between now that does not involve a scalpel. It got me to thinking…if money was no object, and I could really turn back time, how far would I go? Would I erase all those lines and wrinkles and saggy eyes and droopy jowls and chin and revert to my 30 year-old self? What about that butt lift? Sure, squats will do it, but if money was no object, wouldn’t it be a whole lot easier to just have someone whittle it down?

Okay, I am kidding about that. I actually like to exercise. But I’ve told you guys I’m vain, and if I had beaucoup money, I’d probably have some of the stuff done. Not all of it—I can’t see getting a face lift with knives and stitches and black eyes and all that, but I can see having a little laser pick-me-up to the eyelids, or a little fill around the lips. But then again, if I had the money and time, there are worse places on me to fix than my face (she says, confident that none of the goddesses will snicker). And would I stop there? What about teeth? Or hair? I want more of it on my head, less of it in other places. I’m glad I am not filthy rich. I’m not sure I would trust myself.

What about you? Is there something about you that you would have fixed if money was no object? What do you think of cosmetically turning back the clock? If you could cheat on diet and exercise and get there, would you?

33 Comments »

It’s Mr. R’s birthday today, so in honor of this auspicious event, I will blog about his hobby, nay, his passion.  MOVIES.  Mr. R. is a movie buff from way back and prides himself on his … shall we say … rather ecclectic taste. 

So I staggered out of my cave yesterday after finally finishing edits on my latest book SCREAM FOR ME (everybody cheer, go ahead, I’ll wait).  Surprise, surprise, Mr. R. is watching a movie.  It’s an oldie with rather odd casting - Robert Mitchum and Olivia de Havilland.  Both are favorites of mine.  Mitchum was incredible in Cape Fear and deHavilland was simply a goddess in Captain Blood with Errol Flynn (see pic to the left) - and of course who can forget her as Miss Melanie in GWTW?

So why the title of my blog?  Because they had Olivia deHavilland play a dowdy, Swedish blonde from MinneSOta with a VERY bad accent.  Oh, and Harry Morgan from MASH fame also played a Swede with an even worse accent.  Give me Swedish Chef any day! Bork, bork, bork.

What were the directors THINKING?  I’m thinking they had them both on contract and didn’t know what else to do with them, but STILL.

Sometimes you watch a film and think “Who else could have played that role?” and come up with nobody better.  That’s a great film - when the actor embodies the role so completely you can’t envision anyone else.  Like Gable in GWTW - who else could have played Rhett?  No, really, who? Nobody, that’s who.

This Mitchum/deHavilland flick was not one of those films.  Not only could anyone have played the roles, the casting had no chemistry.  Movie couples MUST have chemistry.  Scarlett and Rhett - perfect.  Rick and Ilsa - perfect.  Sean Thorton and MaryKate Dannaher - perfect.  Mitchum and deHavilland - um, no.  Not only do the individual roles have to be well-casted, the leads have to light up the screen together.  An easy task, you think?  Maybe, maybe not.

Which movie castings have made you ask “What were they smokin’?”  Which have been perfectly casted, so that you could envision no other in the role?  Which movie couples make the screen sizzle?  And which are duds?

29 Comments »