I'm also part of the group blog, Sisterhood of the
Jaunty
Quills...drop in at
http://jauntyquills.com
My favorite article of
clothing.
November 17, 2008
I have a thing for new socks. I love new socks.
I mean, we all love new clothes, of course, but there’s something deeply
personal about socks. I have a lot of pairs. One with dogs and hearts on it.
Rainbow striped socks. Those fluffy, soft socks that feel like little puffs
of cloud. Cashmere purple socks with a cable weave. But my favorites are the
ones I’m wearing right now — dark green with giraffes on them. I just think
they’re fun.
The thing about socks is that they’re hidden most of
the time, so no one is aware of your utter coolness when you wear that
perfect pair. I guess that’s what I like…that sense of secret fun, that even
though I may be wearing yoga pants and an old sweater, chances are my socks
are really kickin'. Or if I’m all dressed up for an event, tweed pants, suit
jacket, I might be wearing the socks with the paw prints all over them.
My dad was a suit-wearing executive who worked and
traveled a lot. Each year for Christmas, we kids would give him socks,
because dang it, the man had everything. These were the boring variety —
navy blue or black or dark brown, no giraffes anywhere. But Dad he was
always so grateful and cute… “Oh, new socks! How nice! These are some very
handsome socks!” I liked to picture him in Washington or San Francisco,
pulling on some new socks and thinking of us back home.
So whenever I’m gearing up for an event or, the
opposite, having a day when I won’t see a soul outside my house, I always
pick my socks carefully. Even if no one sees me, I’ll know just how
perfect those socks are.
The call of the open
road
November 10, 2008
I went up to New Hampshire this past weekend to chat
with the romance writers in the Granite State. I have to say, New Hampshire
has the best state logo in the Union: Live free or die. I like to shout it
as I cross the state line… “Live free or DIE!” Such a primally American
slogan, so passionate! Then, a couple miles later, there’s the cute little
reminder — Please drive with courtesy. That's the New Hampshire way.
I have to say, I didn’t notice all that courtesy, too busy trying to get a
certain truck off my bumper (I think my Yankees sticker was drawing
hostility).
I was solo on this trip, and as ever, I relished being
in the car alone. Listened to the same song fourteen times in a row with
nary a complaint. Sang along (again, no complaints). Talked out loud,
pretending to be my hero and heroine in a heated argument. Got weepy
listening to a sweet story on the news. Stopped at McDonalds and didn’t have
to share my milkshake. Enjoyed the many vanity plates that New Hampshire car
owners seem to adore.
There’s something wonderful about being in the car
alone, on a beautiful highway, the rivers and granite of New Hampshire
gracing the roadside views, a favorite song on the radio. Friends waiting on
one end of the trip, family on the other, and the long, solitary drive
between.
The joy of the familiar
November 2, 2008
There are a few movies I could watch again and again.
I’m sure everyone has the same experience. My movies are fairly disparate in
genre…I love thrillers, a few sci-fi adventures, romantic comedies (of
course) and epics. I guess it’s the “why” more than the “what.”
So, in no particular order, some of my favorite movies
are…
The Man From Snowy River. Horses. Australians.
Horses. Australians. Sigh!
While You Were Sleeping. Sure, Lucy’s lying
about being engaged to Peter. But she has a great reason. She’s lonely! She
has no family! And that Bill Pullman is just so dang appealing.
The Bourne Identity. Ah, amnesia. How cool to
find that even if you couldn’t remember your name, you could still take down
the bad guys and had a ton of money in a Swiss bank!
Emma. I love Gwyneth Paltrow. I love English
countryside. I love Jeremy Northam. This movie is like the best dessert
ever.
The Matrix. Simply put, wicked cool.
Those special effects are just amazing. The second and third installments
failed to delight me, but that first one is a winner.
Bridget Jones’s Diary. Even the DH loves to
watch this one over and over. That scene where she has to introduce her
boss, FitzPervert? Painful to behold, and wonderful. And then there’s Colin
Firth.
Star Wars, Episode IV. Forgive me for living the
cliché, but I was a kid when this movie came out. It changed me. I
love this movie…not so much for itself, but how it felt to a geeky
little kid who felt, for the first time ever, that maybe being a geeky
little kid wasn’t the worst thing in the world. After all, wasn’t Luke
Skywalker kind of a geek, too? And look what happened to him!
Never say die
October 27, 2008
I’ve said before on this website that I run, and it’s
usually cause for a few laughs in the neighborhood. Yesterday, I went
running for the first time in a while. Today, the only thing that doesn’t
hurt is blinking.
My daughter, bless her sweet heart, went with me as my
husband and son stayed home to dig graves for our Halloween party. The last
time my dear little 12-year-old and I ran together was August, when I
was trying to convince her that she’d love cross country at her school and
should really try out. She did try out. She does love it. I knew this
because I saw her ponytail and pink t-shirt getting further and further away
from me as she loped gracefully away, the space between us becoming feet,
then yards, then a quarter mile. At half mile marks, the dear child would
stop to wait for me. Which was good, because at that point, I needed a
couple of paddles, some oxygen and a gurney.
When we finally reached the bottom of our driveway, I
was wheezing, drenched in sweat and dizzy. My daughter was flushed a lovely
shade of tulip pink. She wasn’t out of breath at all…of course, she’d had
about ten minutes to wait for me to catch up.
It was humbling…the child who couldn’t keep up with me
in August had beaten me handily in October, and with very little effort. But
the great thing about being a mom is, I was pretty dang proud, too. Whipped,
but proud. Oh, and just for the record...I'm going running again tomorrow.
Alone.
The horror, the horror
I guess I’m old enough to cringe when I see something
“retro” come back into style. Pegged jeans is the latest horrifying trend
being revisited these days. Shoulder pads, too, have come back. I know this
because I watch Project Runway with religious devotion. Those
plaid-patchwork pants? Remember those? They’re back, too. Cowl neck
sweaters...why?
It got me to thinking about some of the worst clothes
I’ve worn…sadly, while thinking I looked absolutely smashing. There was the
orange suit…yes, orange. Bright orange, sort of a mango-tangerine-nuclear
accident combo with big brass buttons. I thought I looked fantastic. I was
working on Madison Avenue at the time…I bought the suit at Saks…maybe I did
look fantastic. Or not.
Then there were the dropped waist dresses that
resembled something my great-grandmother wore getting off the boat at Ellis
Island. Add to these winners a couple of leg-o-mutton sleeves, and there I
was, all ready to meet my boyfriend’s parents…or have a walk-on for an
episode of Little House on the Prairie.
The ripped jeans are the ones my 12-year-old daughter
can’t get over, no matter how often I tell her how utterly cool I was in
college, those shredded knees, maybe a pair of striped tights underneath for
that adorable hobo look.
Funny to think that if I’d just hung onto those
clothes, they’d be making a comeback about now…
The Pay-Off
October 14, 2008
For about six weeks, there's no more beautiful place to
visit than New England. We live in a rural area...these shots are all from
around my house, and it's so dang gorgeous here that sometimes I get what I
call "leaf drunk"...goofy in love type feelings that nature saw fit to do
what she does. My house overlooks a little valley with a rock wall and a
tiny stream, and in October, I find myself staring out the window a lot,
trying to burn the image into my brain as defense for the gray months that
lie ahead. Sure, the snow is beautiful. It's the mud, the brown leaves, the
gray skies that get us New Englanders down. But for now, the pay-off.
Makes me feel awfully grateful.
When good songs go bad
October 7, 2008
The DH and I were driving home from Maine this past
weekend, listening to the radio, and we started talking about songs we used
to love until overexposure turned them toxic. Below is our list.
Jumpin’ Jack Flash, the Rolling Stones
Paint It Black, Memory Motel, Wild Horses,
Sympathy for the Devil…anything, anything but JJF. Please. I’m begging here.
Borderline,
Madonna
Okay, I’ll admit it. I never really liked this
song. But if I had, I'd hate it now. It's just been played way too
much.
Piano Man, Billy Joel
Given that Bill lives in a 10,000 square foot
mansion on Long Island, I have a hard time still relating to his woes in a
seedy bar.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday, U2
U2's my favorite group. My husband is Irish.
Most of his family lives there. I think Bono is one of the world's finest
citizens. I still don't ever want to hear this song again.
Angel, Celine Dion
I was listening to this song in the radio once,
and the left lens in my sunglasses broke. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Born in the USA, Bruce Springsteen
I could listen to “Thunder Road” until I’m
dead. This one…no.
Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin
Painful memories of middle school dances…I
mean, what do you do when the fast part comes on?
Crocodile Rock, Elton John
I love EJ. So much. Except when he breaks into
falsetto.
Hotel California, the Eagles
The psychedelic 70s were completely lost on
pragmatic me. I found I just didn't care that there were dead people in the
hotel.
Every Thing You Do Is Magic, the Police
This one was a great song the first 13,892
times I heard it. It really was. But even when I go years without hearing
it, it’s so burned into my brain that it’s like the secret word you say to
the Manchurian candidate to get him to kill people.
See, it's nice having a blog! I can get these
things off my chest. There. I feel much better now. Thank you!
(And just for the record...I heard four of the
above songs on the radio yesterday. Four.)
Revisiting a happy
memory
October 1, 2008
This weekend, the DH and I are headed to Maine, and
along the way, we plan to stop and visit and old acquaintance.
If you’ve ever clicked on the photo gallery part of
this website, you’ll see a picture of me aboard a lobster boat when I was
seven. When it came time to write a lobsterman hero in Catch of the Day,
it was inevitable that I chose to call his boat the Ugly Anne, based on
my first (and only) experience on such a vessel. I Googled “Ugly Anne” and
“lobster boat” but came up empty, and I figured the Ugly Anne had gone the
way of the dinosaur.
Much to my happy surprise, a reader emailed me after
Catch of the Day came out and told me the Ugly Anne was alive and well.
No longer a lobster boat, it’s now a charter fishing boat, still running out
of Perkins Cove, Maine. I emailed Jeanne Young, the owner — she is the same
lady who took my dad and me out to check traps way back when! I’m so excited
about going back to the little town I visited so long ago. Of course, I sent
Jeanne a copy of Catch of the Day, as well as a book cover, which she
said she’d tape in the rear window of her truck.
Nice, when a happy memory grows into something more,
isn’t it? Check the website next week for a couple more pictures from the
coast of Maine. And if you’re interested in a gorgeous day on the water,
check out the Ugly Anne website at
www.uglyanne.com. Tell Jeanne I sent you.
My first book tour
September 22, 2008
The nicest thing happened to me this weekend — I went
on my first book tour. Levy Books sponsored a tour throughout the great
state of Michigan. Twenty-seven authors, three days, nine book signings at
Meijer stores (Meijer is a department store, for those who don’t live in the
area). I was a bit nervous (petrified might be a better word) about
going…some of the authors were so famous, you see. I’m still rather
new to the business, so being in the company of Allison Brennan and Brenda
Novak, Cherry Adair and Gena Showalter (and so many others!)…it was a little
intimidating.
What I found was that authors are, well…shockingly
normal. Just like me. Just like everyone. We swapped notes on our kids,
talked about how we met our husbands or wives (yes, there were men on the
tour, too). Some authors have had experiences that would defy belief if they weren’t
true…others have had happily normal lives. But at the end of the day, people
are reassuringly still people, no matter what their lives or careers are
like. And so we complimented each others’ work, talked about how we got
started writing, bought each other’s books and made new friends. We laughed,
we ate, we drank lots of coffee. It was just lovely.
But the best part was meeting the readers. I can’t tell
you how it makes me (and all of us) feel when someone comes up and says, “I
just love your books.” Or when someone who’s never read your work picks it
up and decides to give it a try. Sometimes, a reader will ask to have a
picture taken with us, which is absolutely thrilling. One lady brought
cookies for all of us. At one store, there was a lovely young woman named
Melinda who must’ve bought twenty books from our gang. Not only that, she
hugged us. How nice is that?
So to all of you who’ve taken time to write to an
author or come to a signing…thank you so much! It means so much to us. Being
a writer has so many rewards, but the readers are definitely the crown
jewels.
All in the name of
research
September 15, 2008
Like most authors, I do a lot of research for my books.
In Fools Rush In, for example, I wrote a scene where a woman gives
birth on the beach, so I asked an EMT what kind of talk would go out over
the radio. In Catch of the Day, I learned about the lobster industry.
Just One of the Guys had me learning what it’s like to row single
scull; Too Good To Be True (which comes
out this winter) made me a Civil War buff, since my heroine teaches American
history.
But then there are
the other, not quite so obvious things I’ve had to research. How to spell
Jagermeister, for example. What names were popular in 1976. What Rhode
Islanders call the water fountain (it’s “bubbla,” by the way). What modern
songs you could foxtrot to. Why ice water helps pie crust stay nice and
flaky (everyone knows to use ice water…but why? Why?).
To get into my
characters’ heads, I’ve watched movies I think they’d watch, eaten foods
they might love. I’ve listened to new music groups, since my favorites
haven’t changed for 20 years (still U2 and the Boss, gang!). I’ve gone to
open house tours for homes I’ll never buy. I visit different areas in the
hope of finding my next setting, and I’ve talked to people in industries my
characters might work in. I’ve even tried on Spanx, just to see what it was
like (we’ll have to talk about that one later).
Sometimes these
things make it into the books, sometimes not, but it’s all part of the
process. And, I’ll admit, wicked fun, too.
What's for supper?
September 8, 2008
I am not a big fan of cooking dinner. Making breakfast,
that’s fun. Pancakes, muffins, the irresistible smell of bacon in the
morning…scrambled eggs with a dash of dill, a little cheddar…now you're
talking.
But dinner? All that chopping. All that thawing. I tend
to dry heave around uncooked chicken. Can't devein a shrimp to save my life.
By the time I’m done fixing dinner, I often find that I really don’t want to
eat it. Those ingredients and I have spent too much time together as it is.
Over the years, I’ve mastered the art of getting my
husband to cook. The first weapon in the arsenal is complimenting. This
isn’t hard, since he really is a great cook. But the compliments also have
to point out that I could never have pulled off this dinner
(even if it’s, say, grilled cheese). “Oh, honey, this is incredible! The way
you layered the cheese…wow!” And being the sweetheart that he is, he buys
it.
Another tried and true method is guilt. When it comes
to our two kids, I’m definitely the hands-on parent, while he's more of the
“provider” type of dad. So when he comes home and asks how my day was, I
usually answer something like… “Well, it was fine. I wrote, I cleaned, I…raised
your children.” His response is usually to pour me a glass of wine and
offer to whip us up something to eat.
When I was a newlywed, I worked in Manhattan, long
hours at a tough job. The DH was in night school. By the time I staggered
home from the subway at 7 or 8 at night, I’d go to a file of takeout menus
from neighborhood places…Thai, Italian, Greek, Chinese. Fifteen minutes
later, dinner would be on its way.
My idea of heaven.
The tug
September 2, 2008
I was recently watching Cold Mountain for the
umpteenth time. Actually, I don't love the movie, though there are moments
of brilliance, sure. Renee Zellweger is fantastic, and the battle scenes are
breathtaking. The scene with Natalie Portman... terrifying. But I'll be
honest here...I watch that movie for the kiss. The kiss on the porch. Inman
kisses Ada seconds before he leaves for war. They barely know each other,
but my God. That kiss.
It's almost embarrassing how much voyeuristic pleasure
I get from watching that kiss. I feel it in my stomach. Here I am, happily
married for quite a nice long time now, practically swooning over two
overpaid actors smooching.
But it works. Throughout my life, there have been those
tugs that, in all likelihood, have inspired me to be a romance writer.
Scarlett and Rhett...not just on the road to Tara (though that is an amazing
kiss!), but when she visits him in jail and almost, almost has him
confessing his love. Or in the wonderful movie While You Were Sleeping,
when Lucy asks Jack if he can give her any reason not to marry his
brother...and he says no. Because he just can't break up his brother's
relationship, no matter how much he loves Lucy. Alaina and Cole in Kathleen
Woodiwiss's Ashes in the Wind. Sometimes it's just a look. Sometimes
it's a kiss. But we all know the tug when we feel it. It's what romance is
all about.
The real new year...
August 28, 2008
The new school year always felt more to me like the
real new year than January 1st. After all, New Year's Day is a little
anticlimactic. The gifts are given, the decorations are starting to droop,
and there's a lot of cleaning up to do. Winter weather promises to hassle us
for at least another three and a half months here in New England...closer to
four for most of us.
But September? The air is changing, the leaves hinting
at their autumnal glory, the kiddies are back in school. A new teacher, new
grade, new distinction as being older than last year. New backpacks, new
shoes, clean crisp notebooks and sharpened pencils. Everything smacks of
potential. This will be the year that I...don't miss a day of school.
Organize my closets. Finish writing that book.
While summer continues to be my favorite season, as my
kids are home and we tend to structure our days around whether we want to
swim first and go to the library later, I do love the new school year, too.
Everything seems possible in September, don't you think?
Dorothy had it right...
August 20, 2008
There really is no place like home.
After a lovely visit with our Midwestern cousins in
Illinois, it was back home again to Connecticut. The leaves have just begun
to turn here...hints of red at the tops of the maples, the black-eyed susans
in our field giving way to goldenrod, a chill in the air, the late summer
cicadas, which we always called "back to school bugs," singing away at
night. Digger was so happy to see his family again, he didn't know which one
of us to lick first and just circled madly for a minute or two, too happy to
sit still.
I introduced Rita here to her new boyfriend...the DH
was Firefighter of the Year a while back after rescuing a man from a burning
building. So the two statues will sit, for the moment, on my bureau.
Hopefully, they'll fall in love. (How can she resist? He's a firefighter!)
This morning, I sat on my front porch and read a book.
The thing about vacations is, they're not always relaxing. Thrilling,
informative, wonderful, but sometimes, your own front porch is the place to
be, a devoted dog at your feet, a good mug of coffee in your hand. The
simple, best things, the pleasure and comfort of being home once more.
Homesickness
August 15, 2008
It’s Day 17 away from home for me — the Romance Writers
National Convention and our family drive across country — and I’m really
missing my dog. Dear little Digger, our black lab mutt. Sure, he’s being
spoiled at my mom’s with her dog, Derry, for company. He gets to sleep on
Mom’s bed, eat table scraps and stay in air conditioning. (My mom is not a
person who says no if yes is an option. And to her, yes is usually an
option.)
Other things I miss…my front porch. My pillows.
Line-dried laundry. Home-cooked meals (preferably cooked by my DH). Trees.
We’ve been driving across the high plains and prairie for days now, and
while it’s beautiful, I do miss our forest of maple, beech, oak and birch.
My flower garden (don’t miss the weeding, though). My chair. The New York
Yankees. Shockingly, South Dakota doesn’t carry the YES Network.
But seeing this vast, beautiful country has been an
eye-opener for me. Driving through towns that have a population of 44…miles
and miles of sunflower farms…the desolate, spiritual splendor of the
Badlands…the vast pine forests of Oregon…the cold shock of a Wyoming
river…our country truly is America the Beautiful.
God’s Country
August 11, 2008
Driving across country with your husband and kids…lots
of food spillage, some bickering, the requisite annoying songs, the
occasional U-turn, a couple of crummy hotels, a couple of great ones. And
then, the reason we came. Yellowstone National Park.
On Friday, we awoke in a little cabin on the shore of
Lake Hebgen in Montana. A cloud hugged the nearest mountain, and I went out
on the porch and sipped my coffee (wrapped in a blanket, mind you…it was
cold!). Then we headed to Yellowstone, the country’s oldest national park.
Just driving in caused my heart to swell…The natural beauty of the Madison
River, the sharp, clean scent of pine, the steaming billows of the Lower
Geyser Basin…these are things we just don’t have back in Connecticut.
Enormous bison passed within feet of us, grunting away (apparently, it’s
mating season…the kids got a little lesson in the facts of life). A grizzly
bear cub and its more cautious mother ran across the road, just a few feet
from our car. A female moose grazed at the edge of a path, and each river,
cascade and waterfall was simply miraculous.
After we left the park, we headed into a fierce
thunderstorm…pelting rain that echoed on the roof of our car and the tin
roof of our cabin, thunder that echoed over the lake and against the
mountains that surround it. The DH and I stood outside and watched the sun
clear the nearest peak, and then…a rainbow, the brightest and clearest I’ve
ever seen. And then another. Two rainbows, arcing over the mountain and
lake, bathing the far shore in a pool of golden sunlight. A brief hailstorm
followed — the first hail I’ve ever seen live and in person.
We ended the night at the Longhorn Saloon, having a
dinner that far exceeded the restaurant’s humble appearance. We chatted with
Chip, the owner, on the porch overlooking Lake Hegben. His Western charm was
not lost on this romance writer…there’s a reason we love cowboys, isn’t
there, ladies?
Back home to
our little cabin. A perfect day in God’s country with my family.
O,
happy day!
August 3, 2008
Last night, two thousand
romance writers gathered for the RITA Awards, which acknowledges the best in
romance writing categories. Catch of the Day was nominated, and as
you can see, it won! A very happy, very proud moment! With me is New York
Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard, my friend.
The last time I won anything,
it was an apron at our church raffle when I was ten. This was better. By a
long shot. I'm still quite dazed, and so grateful, and so, so happy.
Hello
from RWA National in San Francisco!
August 2, 2008
The City by the Bay
has been full of good cheer, beautiful weather and 2500 romance writers for
the Romance Writers of American National Convention. This is the second one
I've gone to, and I confess to being a little star-struck at seeing so many
of my favorite authors. I've been out in the city (Silver Man and I became
very close), saw the big Ghiradelli sign, took the modern equivalent to Mr.
Toad's Wild Ride, courtesy of Igor, the Mad Russian Cabbie, and have been
having an incredibly fun time. Most of my writing life is spent alone, in my
basement office, with Digger for company and a picture of Derek Jeter on the
wall...once a year, I get to come to RWA and be among fellow writers, from
the greats to the aspiring. For most of us, it's the reward for all those
hours spent at the keyboard.
Tomorrow, my DH and
lovely kiddies are coming here, and we're heading off across our beautiful
country to see the sights. I'll post pictures as we go.
Until then...
It's
All Good.
July 20, 2008
At
long last, I've overcome my blogophobia and started a blog (insert trumpet
music here). Hello! Thanks for being interested enough to tune in. For a
long time, I resisted blogging, since my day is packed chock full as it is,
and I'm usually running around with a cup of coffee in one hand, my laptop
in another and the phone in a third, but if you guys clicked the button and
think I have something interesting to say, well, heck, I'm not going to
contradict you.
So thanks!
For now, I'll tell
you a little bit of what's going on...the kids are out of school, I just
handed in my fourth manuscript and got started on another one, and I'm
starting to think about the RWA National Conference in San Francisco. Good
old CATCH OF THE DAY grabbed its little self a RITA nod, which came as a
wonderful shock...I think I was the only writer that day who thought the
president of RWA was calling about membership dues. CATCH is my second book,
and when I saw the list of other finalists, I was, to say the least,
humbled. I've been reading their books and learning a lot about craft and
characters and having a great time in general.
Some of us finalists
did a little trash-talking video. If you're interested, the link is
http://youtube.com/watch?v=y2UXH_LWkic
All I can say is
that we had a great time doing it.
After the
conference, the kids, hubby and I are driving home to Connecticut. Hopefully, no murders
will be committed en route, though I have reviewed "justifiable homicide" in
the law books and see that refusing to stop and ask for directions falls
under that umbrella. The Dear Husband has been warned! I'll be posting from
along the way, along with pictures from our trip, so keep an eye out.
Until next time,
Kristan
