An interview in a recent equestrian magazine had a interesting interview format: First it asked” Who, What, and Where” about the interviewee (name, home state, occupation). Then it asked her to describe 10 things she loved. That seems like a great way to get to know somebody. Plus it focuses on the positive instead of the negative.

This particular young lady’s answers were: “My Blackberry, video chatting, my friends, my school, food, food, helping others, riding, my horse, poker, and family.” You can probably tell from her answers that she’s in highschool and has a fixation with being in with her peer group.

For me, the who/what/where basics are:
NicoleJ, Utah, and Romance Writer

My interview list of things I love would probably run like this, in no particular order:
= watching sunsets from my house
= jumping over fences on horseback
= the camaraderie here at The Goddess Blogs
= hugging dh
= green grass (there isn’t much in Utah)
= hiking in the mountains
= getting together with good friends
= Chinese food, specifically Shrimp with Vegetables and Moo Shu Pork
= my writing buddies who are like sisters to me
= the Internet – staying connected with people and the world

But even though you can tell a lot about a person from the things she loves, you can’t get a complete picture unless you also can ask about things she doesn’t love. Probably the top on my list of things I hate is = Being Cold!

So in the interest of getting to know all you goddesses better, give us the scoop on you!

= Who, Where, What
= 1 or more things you love
= No more than 1 thing you hate (although cheating is okay of you don’t overdo it. Hey, it’s my rules here!)

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When I was nineteen, the thought of turning twenty freaked me out. It meant I was no longer a teenager. All of my life up to that point, I thought twenty sounded so old. Then when I did turn twenty, I couldn’t wait to turn twenty-one so that I could drink legally and gamble in Vegas.

When I turned thirty, I was ready. I had three kids and was settling into the whole soccer mom thing. I really enjoyed soccer games, dance recitals, and Optimist Football. I also sold my first book when I was thirty-five. I’d have to say that my thirties were pretty good years.

So, today is my birthday. I’m turning 40–again. I freaked out the first time I turned forty, but I have to say, that every time I turn forty, it gets easier. And I think I get smarter the older I get. I know who I am and what I’ll tolerate in my life. I like the stability I have found in my forties, but I could do without the wrinkle I found on my elbow.

Do you tell people your real age? What do you like about your age? What don’t you like? And doesn’t happy birthday sound so much nicer in French?

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My first foreign rights sale, the first year I was published, was to Norway. I was fascinated. Norway? It was also my first magazine sale. The largest woman’s magazine there runs condensed versions of novels, and they chose By Arrangement.

I remember receiving my author copies of that magazine. They had taken my novel, of over 100,000 words, and condensed it to about 15,000! Who knew I had so much fluff in the book.  Since it was in Norwegian, I could not read it either, to see just what they had done. Probably for the best. I did figure out, from the names and how they showed up, that they probably took one thread of the story, sliced it out, and used that. So the result was a lot different from the book.

Since then I have sold whole books to Norway, and 12 other countries. Sometimes I receive author copies, and sometimes I don’t. In every case I have seen, they used different covers from my American books. I thought I would share some with you, just for fun.

Some of these publishers do use American covers, just not mine. I think that sometimes the rights to old covers are licensed in batches to some foreign publishers. Then they mix them around. I figured this out when one of my books was published in another country with a cover that looked familiar to me. Sure enough, it had been used on another author’s book here in the U.S. about five years earlier.

Some foreign publishers are big on the clinches. This is true of my books published in Norway, the Netherlands, and Germany. Others used to be, but have moved to other types. My French books used to use clinches, but my recent edition of Lessons of Desire (seen at the top left) is not of that type at all.

I recently received a Portuguese edition of Secrets of Surrender (center left here  <—) that I love. Not only the cover, but the whole book. It is trade sized, maybe bigger, and beautifully produced.  The Turkish edition of The Sins of Lord Easterbrook (the one with the fan down there), also trade size, is another gorgeous, very high quality book.

The Japanese version of Lord of Sin is another favorite of mine. The whole format is different from any of the others. Different size, sort of small and squarish and compact. I think it is a lovely design. The Polish cover down below (the red dress)  is also interesting and different. No head, but no body either. The dress is on a dress form, which gives it an almost surreal look.

You can probably figure out that they often change the titles. My Italian publisher always asks for permission. Not all of them do.

One of the interesting covers is down on the bottom right. It is for the Czech translation of The Sinner, from my Seducer series. It is very similar in layout and components to the covers my publisher designed for that series.It even has the same swirly flourishes. Except—they changed the guy’s face in the upper right. Their guys look more . . . . “manly.” Tougher. It is an interesting window into marketers’ ideas of male beauty, and how that differs by culture.

If you saw covers similar to the non clinch ones here, would you know they were romances? 

What do you think of these different approaches?  Which do you like best?

Where do you stand on the clinch cover question? Are they fun, or embarrassing? Do they help you identify books as romances when you browse?

If you had the job of designing romance covers, what would your covers look like?

(By the way, that upper right cover is Polish, and on a trade paperback. All of my Polish editions have those vignettes, or still lifes. No people.)

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Today is the first day of school here in my corner of Florida.  A few years ago, I was a high school teacher and looked to the first day of school with anticipation.  Today I’ll kiss my baby goodbye as she goes off to the 11th grade.  Of course I won’t kiss her goodbye in public and I probably won’t even really kiss her.  It’ll be more like a blown kiss as she walks out the door, LOL.  Because she’s in the 11th grade.

School is a common experience that binds us together, no matter from where on the planet we hail.  We had first days and last days.  Great teachers and not-so-great teachers.  Many of us remember the smell of paste, the feel of Elmer’s glue drying as a second skin to be peeled off, the smell of freshly mimeographed sheets, the feeling of having a pencil case filled with newly sharpened No. 2’s.

Aaah.

I look back on school with a lot of fond memories.  I was one of those kids who pined for the end of summer so I could get back to routine, the library, and even the homework.  I had so many really great teachers, but today I pay homage those who are always with me:

1) The chorus teacher in the 5th grade whose name I can’t recall.  She allowed me to stay in her room during recess and clap erasers so that I could escape the trio of girl bullies who’d made my life a living hell for months.  She also told me I could sing.  I can still see her smile.

2) Mrs. Marconi, my 7th grade language arts teacher, who was the first person who told me I could tell a story.  Of course, they were all filled with angst and torment, even then.

3) Mr. Glover, my 8th grade history teacher who made a point of marveling at my knowledge of American History and gave the shy kid on the front row a reason to hold her head high.  All that summer reading had finally paid off!

4) Ms. Keene, my 10th grade World History teacher at Eleanor Roosevelt Senior High School in Greenbelt, MD, who made of point of telling me that I sucked at history, LOL.  I’d written my first essay and she gave me a D+!  A D+!  Never in my life had I received anything less than an occasional B!

I protested, vociferously.

“I don’t deserve this grade,” I declared.  I’ll never forget the way she looked at me.  Like what she was about to say really mattered.  “No, you don’t,” she said.  “But you’re too nice a kid to to give a D-.”  It was like a punch in the gut.  I stared at her until she said, “Would you like to know how to make it better?”  I stammered in the affirmative and she told me what she was looking for.  She taught me how to write.

My next essay earned a B, then after that, it was A’s all the way.  I look back with amazing fondness at the old bat, who wore all black on test day, still colored her hair jet black at aged 65, lived on canned tuna so that she could go on trips to Greece and Rome during the summers, loved cats, and often wore T-shirts with slogans like “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”  If she’s still alive, she’s quite aged by now as she was nearing retirement in 1979.  Thank you, Ms. Keene.  You made a difference.

5) Dr. Hearle, my 11th grade organic chemistry teacher, who did more for my self-confidence than all of the teachers put together.  I’d loved his class in the 11th grade and became one of his student aides in my senior year.  One day I was labeling the “mystery chemicals” for the identification lab (students had to use all the skills he’d taught them to ID their assigned mystery chemical).  I sniffed it and said, that’s — whatever it was.  Some iso-propyl-ketone or other.  He smiled and said, “You know, you’re really good at this.”  I beamed for weeks.  I wanted to be a chemist and a teacher because of him.  He was my last memory of high school.  We called him “Doc” and he was standing at the entrance to the big stadium as we filed in for graduation.  He smiled at all of us, and it was bittersweet – saying goodbye to him along with our childhood.  I hope he’s well and happy.  Dr. Hearle, you changed my life, so thank you, wherever you are.

What are your best school memories?  Who was your favorite teacher?  Which teacher made a difference in your life?

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For Refreshment Only Sunday (FROS) is bringing you double the love today!

I love bromance movies. You know the ones — those movies that focus on the friendship between two guys over any other relationship. I love bromance movies because you often get a twofer — two sexy heroes to watch instead of one.

Let’s take a bromance classic like, say, Robert Redford and Paul Newman in The Sting or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Both guys are just hot. Sexy. And fun to watch.

Here, see if you agree:

Just one is fun. But both of them together and wowza!

Let’s look at a more modern bromance, shall we? How about this couple of yes-they-are-FROS-men?

And here, too:

Which bromances are your favorites? And don’t you think it’s time to get BROMANTIC?

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Please give our guest Goddess a warm Mt. Oly welcome! Louisa Edwards is the chef-obsessed author of the Recipe for Love novels, a series of contemporary culinary romances full of food, passion, food, laughter, and food.

Hello Goddess Blog readers! And thank you to the lovely resident goddesses for letting me hang out here with you all today. Talking to you will be a welcome respite from my currently crazy life!

Why so crazy, you ask? Because at this very moment, I’m in the process of picking up and moving from Ohio to Texas. Austin, to be exact, and we couldn’t be more excited—the food, the live music, the food, the natural beauty . . . and did I mention the food?

But as thrilled as I’ll be to live closer to my parents, who semi-retired back to Austin after 25 years in Virginia, and as giddy as it makes me to imagine shopping at the flagship Whole Foods and dining at restaurants like Uchi and Fonda San Miguel, the past few days of saying goodbye to our life in Ohio have been emotional.

The last time we made a life change this huge was when my husband and I married and moved from New York City to a small town in Ohio almost five years ago. I’d been an assistant editor at Berkley Publishing Group, which was a fantastic job—basically, I got paid to read romance novels all day! I adored it, and had even started acquiring my own list of books and working directly with authors on their manuscripts.

But my husband’s job yanked us out of Manhattan and plunked us down in a small town where we knew no one, and where I finally had no more excuses to put off one of my oldest dreams—to write a romance novel of my own.

I firmly believe that the Recipe for Love series wouldn’t exist if we hadn’t moved to Ohio. That move gave me the time to dedicate myself to my dream, and our life there helped me write the stories I was most passionate about: The Market trilogy, Can’t Stand the Heat, On the Steamy Side, and the upcoming Just One Taste (out August 31).

In Just One Taste, the hero, Wes, had a nomadic childhood with his con artist father, and it left him feeling rootless and disconnected. Having moved every few years since I graduated from college, I can relate. I can’t wait to finally put down roots in Austin!

What was the best or worst moving experience you’ve ever had? How have the places you’ve lived influenced your life? I have a signature Recipe for Love collection for the best comment!

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Most of the historical heroes I write about are lords or sons of lords. They’re men who are allowed to have hobbies, but for the most part aren’t supposed to be employed. Working is gauche, don’t you know.

There’s a bit more leeway with second sons or nephews of dukes, etc., but that’s where another problem comes in. A historical romance is a fantasy, but it’s also historical. So what’s an appropriate occupation for a working historical romance hero?

Judith Ivory, in The Proposition, makes her hero a Cornish rat catcher. I think Mick’s kind of an exception to the rule, however. In After the Kiss, my hero Sullivan Waring owns a breeding stable. He does work for a living, but he gets to ride horses and be the best at what he does.

My November book, Rules of an Engagement, features Captain Bradshaw Carroway, a second son who’s made his way as a British naval officer. Very nice uniforms, too. I’ve made several of my heroes soldiers – or officers, more specifically – in King George III’s army. Beyond serving the country as an officer or a spy, or of course just being rich and unemployed, finding that perfect heroic occupation becomes more difficult.

I own a book called The Worst Jobs in History. Among the worst Georgian period jobs, it lists the Riding Officer, the guy who had to ride up and down the coast watching for smugglers. The locals all hated him, he had to provide his own horse, and smugglers worked on the murkiest, wettest, coldest nights. Another one was the Bath Guide. He (or she) helped visitors into the waters of the Bath spas. They wore canvas smocks and stayed in the hot water for 12 hours a day. The high iron content of the waters turned their skin orange. And the pee and…yuck coming off all the ill people who took the waters floated around them the whole time, until the baths were closed for the day and the Bath Guide had to stay and clean them up for the next day.

A man could also find employment as a professional Hermit. He would be hired to live in a cave on some lord’s landscaped properties to provide ambience and to remind the wealthy owner that life could be so much worse than it was. The usual term of service was seven years, and a number of them killed themselves before the contract was up. (By the way, when I googled “Crazy Hermit”, a photo of Obi-Wan Kenobi came up.)

Of course there were also jobs in trade, like Saddle Maker, Button Maker, Carpet Weaver, Baker, Cooper, Potter, and Ship-Builder. Or Castrato – which wouldn’t make for much of a romance.

What’s the most unusual historical occupation you’ve seen for a hero? Do any of these “worst jobs” sound like they could be a hero’s employment? What’s the worst job you can think of in all of history?

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