Formerly Blogless

Bubbles!

2006-11-11T19:55:00.000-08:00

The food of thy soul is light and space; feed it then on light and space. But the food of thy body is champagne and oysters; feed it then on champagne and oysters; and so shall it merit a joyful resurrection, if there is any to be.
--Herman Melville

The Champagne region of France is beyond lovely. The countryside, at least. It has rolling hills and picturesque vineyards and just generally everything you see in the brochure. The cities, however...well. I wouldn't recommend Epernay or Rheims for an extended visit.

Okay, Epernay first. We stayed at a lovely hotel in the country, 15 minutes or so from the center of town. We had a balcony off the back of the room, with a fabulous view, and we had our wonderful breakfast out there every morning, in spite of the chill. The hotel was great--Epernay, less so. There's really nothing there, and it's not a charming, Olde World kind of nothing, either. It's more of a dusty-roadwork-traffic circle-one-day-this-might-be-a-real-city-but-until-then-it's-not-even-a-cute-town kind of nothing. There's one particular stretch of road, though, that is the address of quite a few famous Champagne houses. Perrier-Jouet, Mercier, Moet et Chandon, etc. The Champagne houses themselves are stunning--very impressive and imposing, and all as individual as the different wines they make. Of course, once you get past the exteriors and the public rooms, one cellar tour is much like another. There are only so many times you can hear about la methode champegnoise and degorgement. It's a fascinating process, but they all do it the same way. They all use the same grapes, grown in the same place. Sort of the point. What's interesting about it is the different results each house obtains from that process.

I happen to adore champagne. It was the first wine I truly loved to drink, and I've devoted more time than is strictly healthy or rational to developing my taste for it. So obviously, the tasting portion of the tour is the best bit, for me. We took the Moet et Chandon tour, all very traditional, and although we didn't get to have any Dom Perignon (MeC's highest level stuff), we thoroughly enjoyed (read: swilled back) the regular vintages they had on offer. Our tour guide was a seriously delightful woman of a certain age, with short, silvery hair and enormous dark blue eyes. Her makeup was flawless and understated, and she wore a bright red wool wrap against the chill of the caves. Meg and I decided her name was Clothilde. It might have been. Anyway, we loved her, and we loved the wine. But we didn't love Epernay, on the whole.

Sidenote

2006-11-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

Little bit of trivia: Strasbourg is where the French national anthem was composed. It's called the Marseillaise because it was taken up and popularized by a group of foot soldiers from Marseille. It's a great anthem, very stirring--anyone who's seen Casablanca can attest to that. I cry every time, when Paul Henreid gets everyone at Rick's to start singing it, including that sad, pretty girl who's spent the first half of the movie flirting desperately with the Nazi officers to save her own neck, and she sings it with tears in her eyes, and Paul Henreid raises a fist in the air and looks just generally like he's burning with fierce resolve, and before I know it, I'm sobbing. So on this trip, I learned all the words to the Marseillaise. It's very bloody! I like it a lot. French is fun. I also speak Spanish (I was a Romance Language major in college) and supposedly Italian, although that's pretty much a fantasy these days. My Italian is beyon rusty--it's corroded into unusability. I wish I spoke Greek, and maybe Russian. Does that betray my liberal commie pinko upbringing too much?

So what languages do you speak? And if you were going to learn a new one, what would it be?

Strasblog

2006-11-06T16:31:00.000-08:00

Strasbourg! The Gateway to Europe! Capital of the New European Union! And all around, the most memorable, gorgeous, livable, sophisticated city we visited.

I'm not kidding--Strasbourg is wonderful. It's a tiny city, with a famous university, numerous bridges over a gorgeous canal system, fabulously high end shopping (even the middle-brow, Gap-esque boutiques are timelessly stylish), and its very own Notre Dame Cathedral. It's like a miniature Paris, with all the character and charm that Paris has for everyone who isn't me.

Strasbourg is also the capital of Alsace, and it was the first time I'd ever been to that region of France. I didn't have much experience with the food prior to this trip, either, and let me tell you, I'm never going back. Alsatian food rocks. It's a mix of French and German food, and you wouldn't believe what those crafty French manage to do with a little sauerkraut and sausage! Choucroute garni, occasionally garnished with a sausage called 'mannershultz'--fifty points to anyone who can translate that little gem. I'd post a picture, but it would probably render this blog unsuitable for viewing in the workplace. They're famous for flammekeuche, or tarte flambe, which is essentially pizza with bacon and onions on a crust like a cracker. It's amazing. We had the best meal of our entire trip on a quaint little back street in Strasbourg, at a place called Chez Yvonne--the Alsations are also famous for foie gras, and Chez Yvonne served what was basically the Platonic ideal of foie gras. Simple and incredible.

I honestly can't recommend Strasbourg highly enough. Meg loved it so much, she was talking seriously about moving there--although the highly skilled and thoroughly charming Frenchman who hit on her at a bar our first night there may have had something to do with it. The nightlife was friendly and vibrant, without feeling overly hip or intimidating in any way, and the city is very walkable. There's tons to see and do--including the wonderful old carousel in Place Gutenberg. It's my favorite kind of carousel, with animals other than horses, all beautifully painted and crafted, including a giraffe, an elephant, a mule, and my personal favorite, a pig. Look at that tongue! Hmm, I seem to be a little preoccupied with tongues, lately. There's a book fair in that square twice a week, where I found several translated editions of familiar favorites.

It's a city of contrasts, the stolid German and the flamboyant French, the ancient Roman roots and the developing new European Union, the quaint small-town charm with all the appeal and opportunity of a big city. The people who live there are warm and open, and perfectly happy to speak French with non-natives--in fact, they seemed pleased when we made the effort. As for us, we were perfectly happy every second of our stay in Strasbourg. Part of me is praying my friend, Meg, will actually live the dream, and move to Strasbourg, even though it would mean she'd live hundreds of miles further from me than she does now, because damn. I would so love to visit her there.

Terezin

2006-10-30T16:05:00.000-08:00

I just want to say a couple of things about this. Terezin, which I had only vaguely heard of before planning this trip, is a concentration camp outside of Prague. It was mostly used as a transport hub, a temporary stop before the inevitable trip to one of the death camps in the west. Terezin was a fortress town built in the 18th century, and it's oddly beautiful. Hitler used the town as part of his propaganda campaign; it was touted as the city he gave to the Jews, where they could govern themselves and live according to their traditions. Political prisoners were kept there, as well as prominent Jews--artists and writers and scientists. The Nazis encouraged them to produce art while they were there; plays and operas were written and performed. There are hundreds of drawings. It was all part of the propaganda. See how happy the Jews are? That Hitler, what a stand up guy. The Red Cross visited twice during the war, and gave favorable reports both times. Neither report mentions the overcrowded conditions, the starvation, the sickness. They only saw what Hitler wanted them to see. They only saw what they wanted to see.

The sick part is, I don't know if I can even blame them. What the Nazis were doing was so unthinkable, on a scale so extreme as to be incomprehensible. There's something so unbelievably cold and psychotic about the industrialization of murder, the mass extermination that was going on, I can't even wrap my mind around it. Terezin was about all I could honestly stand. I don't think I could manage Auschwitz or Dachau--I don't want to wrap my mind around it.

The experience of Terezin is indescribable, so I'm not even going to try. I'm just going to say that I think there should be a universal law, compelling every human being to visit a place like that, at least once. To remind us of what we're capable of doing to one another, and what we're capable of enduring.

The Prague Blog (Part II)

2006-10-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

Let's see, what else about Prague. Oh! Did you know it's where Don Giovanni was debuted, conducted by Mozart himself? Well, perhaps if you were playing close attention during the movie Amadeus, you did, but I confess, I wasn't, so I was surprised. Everything in Prague is Mozart this and Don Giovanni that. There are no fewer than three opera houses in Prague. This is a picture of the one that hosted the famous debut. Meg and I saw Turandot at the State Opera (somewhat clunky staging, but very competent sopranos; the tenor gave us some tense moments, but our box seats were lovely and unbelievably cheap for two girls used to the Met), but the National Theater is unquestionably the most impressive. It's right by the river, and has enormous statues of mythical figures crowded around the roof. I wish I had a picture, but I don't.

Prague specializes in wrapping gorgeous, intricate trappings around the goriest history imaginable. My personal favorite example is found in St. James Basilica, a small church with a huge, ornate pipe organ, a lovely frescoed ceiling, and a 400-year-old decomposing human forearm hanging from the wall. Yes. The story goes that a thief tried to steal the jewels from the statue of the Madonna, and the statue came to life and grabbed the thief by the arm, refusing to relinquish him. They had to cut his arm off to free him, and now that arm is on display, for the quiet contemplation of the worshippers at St. James. It looks exactly as you'd imagine something like that would look. Another good story revolves around the abortive attempt to make Jan Somebody Or Other the patron saint of Prague. This Jan was basically a nobody, but the Church tried to sell him as a saint on the basis of having found his body, dead, but with the tongue still alive and licking. I swear I'm not making this up. In spite of the fact that the Pope eventually admitted that Jan was a false martyr, he's still got a statue on the Charles Bridge, and his coffin is in St. Vitus's Cathedral, supported by six sterling silver winged cherubs. And guess what's on display with the coffin! That's right! The TONGUE! I hope this picture isn't so dark that you can't make it out. It's the pink bit in the center of the shield. Although modern sources say the pink bit is, most likely, a sliver of brain, not a tongue. Like that's any less grotesque.

Some less colorful (well, slightly) but still vital history took place in Prague. And I bet you know what I'm talking about! That's right. Defenestration! (Conscience dictates that I interject here that every time I hear that word, my brain does a sharp left turn and conjures up images of trees being felled. Defenestration, Louisa, not deforestation.) Prague was the site of more than one deliberate tossing of an important personage from an upper story window, and pictured here is the window in Old Prague Castle that started the Thirty Years War.
It's on the second floor, and apparently, the two Protestants who were pitched out didn't actually fall to their deaths. They landed in some ivy, and were basically okay, but righteously pissed off. Enough to start a war, in fact! Oh, those wacky Protestants.

I felt safe in Prague, in spite of warnings about pickpockets. We were never accosted or bothered, even by the roving packs of British lads in Prague Drinking Team t-shirts. The city is very walkable, and has an easy-to-use public transportation system. There is a ton to see and do, and all of it was different enough from anything I'd seen before in North America and western Europe to feel like a big adventure.

Plus, you know, grody decomposing body parts everywhere...

The Prague Blog (Part I)

2006-10-23T16:59:00.000-07:00

Prague is beautiful, in a tired way. Something about how old the buildings are makes them even more impressive--there's definitely nothing plastic or Disney about the Old Prague Castle, or St. Vitus Cathedral. The medieval is squashed in with the baroque, and more recently, the vestiges of communism. The Czech Republic is essentially a post-Communist Kleptocracy (in the words of someone far funnier than me), and it was in Prague that I really had my first conversation with someone who grew up under communism. Her name was Pavla, and she was a tour guide we hired to take us out to Terezin, which will be the subject of its own, probably fairly depressing blog, so more on her later.

The weather was gorgeous, if slightly rainy, but even rain couldn't keep the hoards of German tourists in check. They were EVERYwhere, in enormous gaggles--the Charles Bridge was at a virtual standstill every time we walked down to it, except for once. That particular morning we got up early, and there was a cold misting rain in the air. The city wasn't quite awake yet, and none of the buskers or craftspeople were out on the bridge with their tables. It was just us, and the bridge, and the river. I touched the five-pointed brass cross embedded in the stone wall, to ensure my return to Prague. And I found my favorite statue, situated just beyond the edge of the bridge, so that you have to look over the wall to see him. Roland, the warrior, holding his magic sword, all shiny and gold, with a crouching wolf at his feet. The sword itself, the original, is said to be embedded in the stonework of the bridge, awaiting the city's most dire need. Hmmm...I wonder how I could possibly use that in a book?

Czech food is denigrated in guidebooks as being heavy and bland, but I didn't find that to be universally the case. Obviously, some dishes were better than others, and I think I had a pretty good idea of what I like to begin with. I'm not a dumpling person, for instance. Spaetzle either. Ew. But I do like roast duck, and sauerkraut, and potato pancakes. And I absolutely adore Czech hot chocolate. Everywhere we went, it was phenomenal. Like drinking melted brownie batter, all thick and rich and very dark. And as if that weren't enough, it was often served with whipped cream, and I'm not talking here about anything that got squirted out of a can. Other than that, we had apple strudel and honey cake (a sort of layered cake with honey, cream, and walnuts--some of my favorite things) at Cafe Carolina, which is in the house Jan Neruda lived in. Neruda is a Czech writer, who is, unfairly perhaps, probably most famous for inspiring the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda to take his name. The best Czech meal we had was sort of nouveau Czech (if that makes any sense) at the restaurant halfway up Petrin hill, the tallest hill in Prague (so tall and steep that there's a funicular to get up it!), so there's a fantastic view. We walked everywhere, until we figured out the tram system, and then we took that.

Ok, that's enough for now. I think this will have to be continued tomorrow...

Home is Where You Have To Beat Blogger Into Submission

2006-10-21T08:40:00.000-07:00

Finally! After a week of frustrated clicking and moaning, I have thrashed Blogger into the ground and forced it to allow me to record my precious thoughts about my trip to Europe, before they all leak out of my head. You wouldn't believe how annoyed I've been. I still don't know what was wrong--something about cookies? How could anything to do with cookies be bad? It's diabolical.

Anyway, Europe. So much fun. I figure, though, that you are all less interested in a play by play of every dusty cathedral and charming cafe I saw, than you are in my impressions of each place. This is not a travelblog--I will not be rating hotels or restaurants, although I reserve the right to give opinions on anything and everything that comes to mind. I'll go place by place, I think, which means first up is:

PRAGUE

Tune in tomorrow...

Eurotrip

2006-09-28T05:23:00.000-07:00

Preparations are proceeding apace.

On Friday, I'm flying from Cleveland to New York (sans any sort of toothpaste, hairspray, or other dangerous liquid flammables) and from there to Prague! And then I'm taking the train across Germany (which is exactly how interested I am in that beer-swilling, brat-infested nation) to France. A few days in Alsace, a few more in Reims, and then on to Paris.

I love my life.

Seriously, how cool is this? Trip to Europe, with one of my best friends in the world, just two twenty-something girls on the loose. We'll try not to get up to anything too naughty, but either way, I'm going to try to visit internet cafes and give regular updates, hopefully with pictures. So at least if we get in trouble, you'll know all about it.

If anyone has any suggestions of places to visit/food to try/things to do, I'd love to hear them!

What's a Hangover?

2006-09-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

You can all stop worrying. My head absolutely did not fall off my shoulders and roll under the bed to get away from the light when I opened my eyes Saturday morning. In fact, I must be younger and more resilient than I thought, because I managed to get away with an entire weekend of fairly heavy drinking, basically scot free. Well, at least hangover free, which was what I cared about.

Booze cruise was great--weak, watery gin and tonics notwithstanding. We barhopped all over Kelly's Island, and ended up at a place with dancing. I may have re-sprained my ankle, but it was worth it. And it's not really sprained. Just a little sore. Shut up. So I'm not as young as resilient as all that. Shut up.

My other little update has to do with my marriage. The worst is over! If, you know, it's true what they say, that the first year is the hardest. We have officially made it past that first year marker! Not to mention several of the most stressful events possible in the course of the average human existence: moving house, changing jobs, etc. To celebrate, we went to dinner at Johnny's Downtown in Cleveland on Saturday night and split a bottle of Champagne. It's a lovely restaurant, sort of bistro-ish, dimly lit and romantic. Nick filled my glass, then his, and as we raised the crystal for a toast, he said, "So. Want to give it one more year?"

Swoon. I mean, honestly. Must pause to fan myself back to full consciousness...

And then we spent the night at the Ritz Carlton, and came home on Sunday (the actual anniversary) and ate entirely too much thawed wedding cake. It was shockingly good still, honey ginger cake with hazelnut buttercream and a layer of caramel. Above is a picture of how it looked, intact. That whole top layer, with the wacky flowers spiraling out of it, is what we've been carting all over the damn country since the wedding. And now my freezer is finally free again!

It was a memorable weekend...

Booze Cruise

2006-09-22T13:23:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I am having an adventure. I'm going on the Booze Cruise. Which is exactly what it sounds like: a boat that takes off from Sandusky and sails around Lake Erie, to the various, cute little islands full of bars, and then back again. I believe the boat has a bar, as well. Yes. An Adventure.

Last night, sort of in preparation, we had a bartending class. A group of friends, many of whom will also be Adventuring with me tonight, and we learned how to make things like Tahitian Iced Tea and Lynchburg Lemonade in plastic cups. Have you ever noticed that all "mixed drinks" served in plastic cups taste the same? They are indistinguishable to me, except occasionally by color. They all taste like citrus punch, and I can't say that I like them very much. I disrupted the bartending class by coercing my favorite local lush, Matt, into taking a shot with me. I don't think the teacher was appreciative (not much artistry involved in a straight shot of vodka, after all) but it made me happy. I only wished there'd been tequila (not Cuervo, despite the pretty picture. Cuervo isn't even really tequila--it's tequila flavored rum, with a great marketing campaign.) Her mixing vodka was nasty.

Anyway, now it's raining. Do booze cruises still happen when it's raining? It's less appealing somehow. Hmm. We'll have to see.

Let you know how (if) the Adventure goes...

Back in the Saddle

2006-09-21T10:50:00.000-07:00

My internet has been so spotty the last few days! Every time I try to log on and post, it's all wonky. So hopefully this will work.

I have nothing earth-shattering to say here, I just wanted to get back in the groove. Haven't got any new rejection letters, so I won't be Decoding Disappointment this week. Maybe next week--please email any confusing rejection or revision letters to mledwards@mac.com, and put Decoding Disappointment in the subject line. I'll analyze and translate, and of course, all names will be changed to protect the innocent.

In other news, I've been cataloguing my current obsessions. I have a slight tendency toward addictions--little mini addictions, brief and intense, to all sorts of things. A particular song, which I'll suddenly need to hear about once an hour; a certain kind of soft drink; a pair of shoes I bought two years ago, but never wore, and now suddenly seem like the only good thing in my closet. I have to be very careful of the channel changer when I sit down to the TV--if I watch more than five minutes of a show, I'm liable to be hooked for life. And after the insane frenzy that took over my life when I read the first Harry Potter book for the first time, I can only imagine how I would react to heroin. Best not to contemplate.

Current Obsessions:
Fresca (Original Citrus Flavor)
Let Me Know by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs--really, almost any song by this group. I love screamy girl punk.
Slash romance, aka gay boy porn written by women for women (I KNOW! It's sickly addictive. And it's research. Seriously. I'm taking notes, and everything. For my next book. And I have it on good authority that this is the next big thing. And I'm not justifying myself any further, because you know what? It's HOT.)
Annie's Organic Mac & Cheese

Anyone else have obsessions you'd like to share? And it's only fair, I think, to really spill the deep dark ones, y'all, since I humiliated myself first...

Bad and Sad

2006-09-14T14:07:00.000-07:00

I've been a bad blogger. Haven't updated in a week! There are extenuating circumstances, though. Our crazy, psychotic, weirdo cat, Mayhem, had to be put to sleep last Friday. After a long struggle with feline diabetes, he is survived by two parents, and a puppy who really misses jumping all over him first thing in the morning. It was a sad day, even though I knew it was coming for a long time. And I guess I've allowed myself to mope for a few days, which is lame, because, you know, I loved him and everything, but he was just a CAT. And a totally nutso one, at that. But he was OUR nutso.

Anyway, I'm moving forward. I've read about a thousand books in the last week (okay, that's an exaggeration, but at least 450) and I've tinkered around with my revisions, and messed with a project I'm working on for the local Jaycees, and I've had it! I'm ready to get back to work for real.

So on that note, please send me new rejections to be decoded! I'll put one up as soon as I get a new letter. Just send it to me at mledwards@mac.com. Please put "Decoding Disappointment" in the headline, so I don't sort you into the trash when I don't recognize your email address.

Thanks, and I promise to be back in top form soon(ish)...

Love and kisses,
Louisa

Decoding Disappointment: Narrative Drive

2006-09-07T11:53:00.000-07:00

Below is a rejection letter from an editor at a big publishing house.

Dear XXXXX,

Thanks very much for the look at your proposal for DESPERATE JOURNEY,
which I've now had a chance to consider. It's apparent, even in these
early pages, that you know your period well - the details of domestic life
are well-rendered.

That said, alas, I don't think this is going to be for me. Although the
characters are sympathetic, I found the narrative drive a bit less
compelling than I'd hoped to. Ultimately, I didn't fall in love with the
material enough to think it would work on my list here.

So, I'm returning the proposal herewith. Thanks again for considering
XXX, and much good luck with this elsewhere.

All best,

XXXXXXX

This is a good, solid rejection. It begins with a compliment, which isn't strictly necessary--the fact that the editor took the time to work that in speaks well of him/her. It's good for the author to hear that something works, even if the overall decision on the acquisition is negative. It can take away some of the sting, and can encourage her to build on her strengths.

The line that confused the author is in the second paragraph: I found the narrative drive a bit less compelling than I'd hoped to. Our author confessed that she'd never heard that phrase before, and it gave her quite a bit of trouble. Eventually she decided that it referred to some combination of a problematic plot with slow pacing. To me, narrative drive refers to the way the elements of the story combine to pull the reader along from beginning to end. It's structural--put another way, on a very basic level, a story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And it's up to the author to make sure that there's a compelling reason for the reader to keep turning those pages. The editor is giving the author a decent clue about what's not working with the manuscript, but it's up to the author to figure out how to act, based on this information.

The first thing I'd look at is where the book starts. About half of the manuscripts I turned down had a simple problem--they began in the wrong place, either way after the inciting action of the plot, so the reader was constantly scrambling to get caught up, or way before, forcing the reader to wade through oceans of semi-relevant backstory. In romance, the story often starts when the hero and heroine meet--but certainly not always. Don't be afraid to experiment, but don't do something wacky just for the sake of uniqueness.

Once you have the beginning squared away, turn your attention to the middle. Something changes, forcing action from the hero/heroine. It should build on itself, do that good old rising action thing, and it should all lead inevitably to the climax.

And now the end is in sight. Either the status quo must be restored, now that the conflict is resolved, or a new status quo is established based on the fallout from the conflict. Either way, the hero and heroine have been on a journey from the beginning of the book, and it should feel as if, in some way, they were always headed right here.

This is all very simplistic, I know, and it would probably be easy to come up with hundreds of examples of great books that don't follow this structure. And without having read our author's proposal myself, I can't swear that this is what the editor is even talking about. But I can swear that your novel will benefit from a serious deliberation over where the story you want to tell actually begins; it's a simple jumping off point, and any changes you make to the beginning will naturally cascade down through the entire story, strengthening and tightening as it goes.

P for Powerful

2006-09-06T08:06:00.001-07:00

Nick and I watched V for Vendetta over the weekend, and if I had to describe the experience in one word, that word would be powerful. From the performances (Natalie Portman really can act! I KNEW IT! Even if I forgot it for a while during that whole insane, awful Star Wars prequel period. Ugh. Let's never speak of that again) to the art direction to the writing to the message of the movie--POW. ER. FUL.

Hugo Weaving is, as always, fantastic. He acts with that mask on through the whole thing, in a very Kabuki, ancient Greek kind of way--and exactly as in those acting forms, the mask begins to seem alive. Or at least, you forget it's a mask, and see it as the person he is. Hard to explain, and I'm sure even harder to accomplish. Weaving's voice gets most of the attention (since it's the kind of voice I'd be happy to listen to explaining the ins and outs of carburetors, much less chewing over that great "Remember, remember the fifth of November" poem) but it's really his physicality that makes the character. It would be so easy for every gesture to seem clownish, but Weaving's precision and grace instead impart a strange sexiness. Somehow, the fact that the mask's expression never changes makes you hyper aware of his body. It's a neat effect, and one that not many actors could've pulled off.

The supporting cast is marvelous: Stephen Rea as a burnt out cop who secrety longs to believe in something; John Hurt as the resident evil dictator; Stephen Fry as the gay TV personality. The show belongs to Natalie, though--it's her transformation that carries us through the film, and she takes the burden on her skinny shoulders with a good deal more grit and maturity than she's ever been called on to show before. Flying colors, all around.

Plus, it doesn't hurt that she looks fabulous bald as a cue ball. And how many girls can say that?

The Week in Books

2006-09-04T17:42:00.000-07:00

I thought you might be interested in how my week of slothful, self-indulgent, voracious novel-reading is going. The answer is, very well, thank you. And why can't this be my life all the time? Isn't there any job where I could get paid for reading romance novels? Oh wait, there is, and I already left it. Crap. Well, at least this way I get to read whatever I like. Which, so far this week, has mainly been Suzanne Brockmann.

INTO THE STORM, the new hardcover, is wonderful. Naturally. It's also a pretty welcome mood change from the highly angsty (although very satisfying) BREAKING POINT, which preceded it. There were multiple dialogue exchanges and descriptions in ItS that made me laugh out loud. And even though there's a very disturbing serial killer thread woven throughout the book, driving the plot toward its inevitable jaw-clenching, hair-raising conclusion, the overall tone of the book is lighter. And the bonus Sam/Alyssa short story at the end was a nice suprise! Especially since it featured Jules, my all-time favorite Suze Brockmann character. Although Izzy Zanella is fast approaching 2nd place. My only real issue with ItS is that is lacked one of my favorite SB elements, which is the WWII subplot. Been missing those.

Anyway, if you haven't read these books, I'm jealous. You have a major treat in store for you. Set aside a good chunk of time, and plow through them, from beginning to end. The series order is important (I always think it's important, because I'm anal like that, but I think almost anyone would agree with me in this case).

Enjoy! More book recs to come...

Margaritas!

2006-08-31T18:02:00.000-07:00

I love margaritas! I do. I love every ingredient. I love limes, and tequila, and especially salt. Salt is essential. I even tried to read that book about salt, you know the one--but it was less engrossing than I expected. So margaritas are wonderful, a big favorite of mine. But for some reason, I only order them in Mexican restaurants. Why is that? You can totally order them at a bar, but I never do. At bars, I order gin and tonic with lime. (Lime, again! It's a theme.) Well, at skeevy bars, anyway. Because G&T's are foolproof. Especially with Tanqueray. At nice bars, I order champagne. That's my absolute favorite. Sometimes I think I could live on champagne. Specifically Schramsberg.

So I'm sitting here, listening to The Killers, and wondering what all your favorite cocktails are. Feel free to share recipes--I'm always up for something new!

Decoding Disappointment: Ha ha!

2006-08-30T13:09:00.000-07:00

Sorry this is so late in the afternoon. It's been a crazy one, though! My husband's boss is in town unexpectedly, and is coming by the house tonight--all of which I was casually informed of around noon today. I've been running around like an insane person tidying up (actual cleaning being beyond the scope of available time) and I haven't had a chance to translate the letter I intended to post today. But I can't leave you with nothing to think about for a whole week! So instead I'm posting the following rejection notice sent in by an alert reader, who generously shares with us so that we can all have a much-needed giggle. It should be noted, this rejection was sent not by a publishing house or literary agent, but by a reputable poetry magazine--however, I think the inherent humor in this piece speaks to all of us, no translation required.

Enjoy.

Done!

2006-08-28T06:31:00.000-07:00

I'm finished with the revisions! Well, this round at least. I'm sure there will be more. But I'm not thinking about that now! All I'm thinking about is how good it feels to have a second draft done, and in the hands of my lovely, talented critique partners. Let THEM worry about it for a while. Ha!

In the meantime, I plan to indulge in a loooong reading session. See, until I was done with my revisions, I couldn't allow myself to read any novels, because they're just so distracting. And now with all the books that have piled up beside my bed, begging to be opened and enjoyed, I figure it'll take me at least three days of straight reading to get through them all. Maybe more. I can't wait! The slideshow up there (isn't Photobucket neat?) shows what's up first. (Don't worry, I know it's ambitious, but honestly, I read really fast.)

So is there anything I should add? Any book, old or new, that you think should be on everybody's reading list? I'm taking suggestions, so please chime in...

Never Say Never

2006-08-25T06:19:00.000-07:00

I have never been interested in fanfic. I made a lot of assumptions about it (poorly done imitations of the real thing, weirdly sexual versions of the real thing, etc.). But recently, when more than one person came up to me independently and said I should check it out, I decided to give it a shot. After all, I thought I'd never write a blog, and look at me now!

So I started with Harry Potter fanfic, because (and I kind of blush to admit this) I thought it was the most likely to confirm what I already believed. I'd heard about the nutso pairings of Hermione/Snape, Harry/Snape, Harry/Draco, and so on, and that most of the stories were basically pornographic. Perfect! This won't change my mind or open my eyes at all! Right?

Wrong.

I got recommendations from an online friend who happens to be a Draco/Hermione shipper. So that's where I started. And let me say up front, my assumptions were totally correct--some of the time. As with any other genre of writing, fanfic isn't universally good, and it's not universally bad. There are, in fact, some very talented writers out there who simply enjoy playing with someone else's characters and inhabiting someone else's world. I read some fantastic stories, hard to put down, full of tension and characterization and yes, lots of sex. Geez. And I thought I wrote dirty books! See, most fanfic authors are not delusional--they don't actually believe there's a chance that J.K. Rowling is going to wake up one day and realize that Draco Malfoy is actually the hero of the Harry Potter books. But it's a tribute to the scope of her imagination, and her ability to draw her readers into what she creates, that so many people have been inspired to add their thoughts to hers.

And now I'm hooked. I have favorite online authors! I check their websites periodically to see if they've updated their stories with new chapters! And I haven't even made it out of the Draco/Hermione archives yet.

Can't wait to see how I get when I move on to Buffy/Spike stories. You may never hear from me again.

[D/Hr Fanart by FranCE]

Decoding Disappointment: Accepting Rejection

2006-08-22T18:10:00.000-07:00

Rejection sucks. Everyone knows this. It's hard to hear a 'no'. And when that 'no' is in response to a creative effort we've slaved over for months and months, at the expense of time with our families, exercising, Boston Legal, etc., it's particularly hard to hear. We tend to take it personally. Which is why I was so impressed with the selfless courage of the author who sent in this rejection letter from a literary agent. It actually needs no decoding--if every agent and editor were this transparent, there'd be no need for this little weekly series of mine. However, as you will see, there's a difference between being direct and to the point, and being rude.

The below letter is an example to all you junior agents/editors out there of what NOT to do. I'm going to let Unknown Agent (U.A.) here speak for him/herself. Well, sort of. I'm going to interject. And p.s., I double checked--the letter has been reproduced exactly as it was sent out by U.A.

Dear XXXXXX,

Thank you so much for sending the me initial materials of your manuscript, XXXXXX. [This is not a strong opening. Life is full of mistakes, but letters don't have to be. All it takes is a quick onceover before you hit print.] Although I thought that the premise was great and from the synopsis and your query, the characters sounded intriguing, I just felt that the voice of the story didn't fit. Needless to say, I am going to pass on this manuscript. [Needless to say? Really?]

When you described this story with a "chick-lit" tone to it, I was expecting something full of light and energetic dialogue and narration. Although the characters seem to be going through experiences that would normally be found in this style of writing, I felt that the voice was just too dry and sterile. In fact, as I read the story, the best analogy I could come up with was DRAGNET. [I'm not sure why U.A. feels the need to share the clever DRAGNET analogy with the author, in that I don't see what the author is supposed to take away from that. It's confusing because U.A. seems to be saying that the author's voice is "dry and sterile" rather than fun--but wasn't DRAGNET a comedy? In my opinion, comparisons are always tricky, and should be avoided by authors when pitching ("I'm the next Nora Roberts!") and by agents and editors when rejecting ("This reads like Robert Ludlum crossed with porn.")]

Lilly seemed to talk about everything like she was writing a catalogue or instructional manual. All of her descriptions of everything that went on around her just did not seem natural. [This is redundant. In place of this sentence, I might have tried to give the author a hint on how she could improve. By going to a restaurant and writing down the conversations of people at other tables, to get a feel for realistic dialogue, for example.] She describes her gun with the full description, her card down to the year and make? Just too much. [At last, a couple of specific examples of what U.A. is talking about. But this is also problematic, at least for me. Not being much of a gun person, I could be mistaken, but does U.A. perhaps mean that the author describes her car's make and model, rather than her card? Two typos in a letter this short speak of carelessness.]

I wish I had better news but the voice just got you!

Best of luck with your writing though!

Sincerely,
XXXXXXX ["The voice just got you." Got her what? A snide, condescending rejection from an agent she's now regretting querying at all?]

The author realized immediately upon reading this letter that she was better off without U.A.'s representation. A good agent or editor understands that all of this creative stuff is subjective. It's in the eye of the reader. There are no absolutes, and no agent is such a big deal that his/her opinion is unassailable. The agent is, of course, perfectly within his/her rights to dislike a submission. It happens all the time. But the author has a right to expect to a modicum of professional courtesy. I suppose one could argue that at least U.A. sent a personalized rejection. However, I believe U.A. may have misunderstood, because this letter feels more personal than personalized. The generalizations in the third paragraph are almost gleeful, as U.A. expounds on the problems with the manuscript. Generalizations are ineviteble in anything but a ten page revision letter; again, it's the tone that gives U.A. away. Our intrepid author knew she'd had a lucky escape. The letter is so poorly written, so unprofessional in tone, she can feel free to ignore it. Why on earth would she care about U.A.'s opinion? In a way, U.A.'s writing style did her a favor, because it spared her any disappointment she might otherwise have felt.

Bottom line: when you query an agent, you're not begging for scraps. You are essentially interviewing someone who will one day be working for you. You, the author, deserve respect. Anyone who writes a letter this dismissive and mean isn't worth your time.

Tune In Tomorrow...

2006-08-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

...for the next installment of Decoding Disappointment: Learning to Read Between the Lines of Rejection. I've got my first ever actual rejection letter, sent in by a brave aspiring author, and tomorrow I'll be ripping it apart at the seams, exposing hidden meaning and commenting on the rejector's writing style.

Trust me, this one is going to be fun. And informative!

Experimenting

2006-08-22T10:29:00.000-07:00

I am participating in a blogging experiment hosted at dearauthor.com. To enter the contest, put up this blurb, image, and trackback and you are entered to win the following prize package.

$200 Amazon gift certificate

Signed copy of Slave to Sensation

New Zealand goodies chosen by Singh

ARC of Christine Feehan's October 31 release: Conspiracy Game

You can read about the experiment here and you can download the code that you need to participate here.

SLAVE TO SENSATION

Nalini Singh

Berkley / September 2006

Welcome to a future where emotion is a crime and powers of the mind clash brutally against those of the heart.

Sascha Duncan is one of the Psy, a psychic race that has cut off its emotions in an effort to prevent murderous insanity. Those who feel are punished by having their brains wiped clean, their personalities and memories destroyed.

Lucas Hunter is a Changeling, a shapeshifter who craves sensation, lives for touch. When their separate worlds collide in the serial murders of Changeling women, Lucas and Sascha must remain bound to their identitiesor sacrifice everything for a taste of darkest temptation.

Excerpt

Geek Chic

2006-08-21T18:25:00.000-07:00

Justin Long is the hottest geek ever. Seriously, I heart this kid. He's the Mac in those cute commercials, and he's currently starring in the hilarious college movie, Accepted. Go see it, it hits all those great Animal House/Van Wilder/PCU buttons.

But my crush on him started way before that. I loved him as the geeky kid in Galaxy Quest, the geeky kid in Dodgeball, and the kooky coworker in The Breakup. He is always good. And he's always got a faint whiff of total loser dorkdom that just gets me right between the eyes.

Dork on, Justin. It works for you.

Desperate Times

2006-08-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

I'm taking suggestions of names for Miss Plot Point (see below if this sounds like lunatic raving to you) over on my group blog,

Mean Bitches

Please feel free to sign on and put in your two cents. Isn't it great how I want you all to do my work for me?

Love and kisses,
Louisa

And Right Back Out Again

2006-08-19T14:08:00.000-07:00

Fickle bitch. Fate, I mean, not you. Yesterday she was my girl, and today, she's smacking me in the face with sour custard pies.

Ok, maybe that's a little dramatic. But I need another character name, and I guess what it comes down to is that I'm just not creative enough to come up with two great names in one week. Yet another ongoing character, although this one doesn't even appear in the first book--she's just mentioned. But she's kind of a plot point, or at least, she will be later on. And she needs a name!

A kickass name that I won't be annoyed with myself for next month. I've been haunting www.behindthename.com all morning (thanks Jo Beverly!) and I have some possibilities, but none of them are giving me that *click*, if you know what I mean.

But does it always have to click? Can I be satisfied with a name or a plot twist or a setting that I just decide on, instead of always wanting celestial guidance and approval? Dunno. But I'm not out of faith yet. Little Miss Plot Point is getting a place holder name for now--I'll give fate a short break, but then I expect her back on the job! No slacking!

Fate Steps In

2006-08-18T12:17:00.000-07:00

Ok. I know I'm supposed to be revising my first manuscript, and I am, but in between times, the second book keeps popping into my head. First of all, I cut off my own supply of novels for the duration of the revisions process (my big reward for finishing will be Suzanne Brockmann's latest, Into the Storm--super incentive!) because it's too tempting to read someone else's fascinating, entertaining, and totally polished work rather than toiling away over mine. But from longstanding habit, I really can't get to sleep at night without reading something, so I'm working through a bunch of nonfiction (mostly combat training manuals--yay, research) and that laugh-riot of an ancient Greek historian, Herodotus. Both much less boring than they sound (although I can't tell you how much more I'd rather be reading about FBI Agent Jules Cassidy). In fact, as fate would have it, Herodotus kindly provided the name of my next hero. Very timely, too, because the character appears in book one as a secondary, non-POV player, and it'll save confusion if his name is the same in both books, don't you think? Me too.

The name? Cyrus Brandon.

I had him down in the first draft as Marcus Brandon. Now, Marcus is a name I happen to love, but I always knew it was just a placeholder for this character. It's a little too all-American stand-up guy, when the character has a definite, slightly brutal edge. Cyrus, to me, has an almost sinister quality that I find wickedly appealing. Plus, the name comes from a Persian king who ruled about 550 BC. He was a great leader, and conquered half the known world with his armies. Reputed to be both wise and just, he was nevertheless described as "insatiably bloodthirsty" by the warrior queen, Tomyris--who eventually defeated him in battle. She was pissed, because Cyrus had captured her son, and the son (who clearly didn't inherit Mom's force of will) actually killed himself rather than remain a prisoner. Tomyris got her revenge, though. When Cyrus was dead, she took his head, and stored it in a jar of blood--so he could finally get his fill. Gross, right? But kind of poetic.

So how could I resist? My vampire hero is named for a bloodthirsty fighter who met his match in a woman. Much as I love Suzanne Brockmann, I don't think I would have gotten such a great start on this character out of her! (I don't think it's giving too much away to assure you now that Cyrus won't be beheaded, or pickled in blood, or anything like that in my book.)

Freaky fate thing #2: Nick is out of town at a classic car show in Monterey this weekend, so I took the opportunity to rent a bunch of very girlie movies. I'm entirely too embarrassed to run down each of the titles--bad enough to share just the one. But here goes. Chasing Liberty. Do you even remember this movie? It was out for about five minutes, and it's one of that weird rash of President's daughter teen movies. This is the one with Mandy Moore (for whom I have a perhaps unreasonable affection) and centers around a trip to Europe where she falls for a hot guy, not realizing he's actually a secret service agent assigned to protect her. Not to give it away, or anything, if you were planning to see the film. Ha ha. Anyway, I want to set book 2 someplace in Europe, and I originally thought London, because I was there recently on my honeymoon, and it was cool. But I'm also going to Europe this fall with a friend, and we're going to Paris and Prague. PRAGUE! Eureka. Ok, it's interesting, and different, and I'll get to see it firsthand while I'm actually writing, and get all my impressions down in the moment. So I pop in Chasing Liberty and start googling Prague pictures to get a sense of what I'm dealing with, and just as I'm thinking, "Maybe I should google Prague movies, and see if I can find any recent things that were shot there..." the movie gets to the Europe trip part, and...they're going to Prague!

Not to be too Celestine Prophecy about it or anything, but have you ever noticed that sometimes things just come together and feel totally right? I love that.

Decoding Disappointment

2006-08-16T09:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, I guess I should have expected this. When I offered to use whatever insight I gained as an editor to read between the lines of rejection letters, I should have known that it would be a little tough to get the ball rolling. No one wants to be the first! And no one sent me a letter to translate. So I'm starting with the most common rejection letter I sent out. I know, it's cheating. Cracking my own code! Easy for me, but maybe not as easy for you. I hope this is helpful.

So, why didn't I just say what I meant? As an editor, you are aware of the power you have. You know that every word in a rejection or revision letter is going to be analyzed and picked over for any scrap of information it can impart. And you don't want to be unnecessarily cruel or rude. So you end up with a stilted, polite set of phrases that convey a 'no', and very little else. The first rule of rejection writing is not to give any false hope. Not to give any hope at all, because that stack of slush is so high it's about to topple off your desk, and there's more coming in every day. You can't ever keep ahead of it, but if you see the same manuscript with slight changes over and over...well, that's more than most people can bear.

When the senior editors finally let me start reading slush, I was very excited. They didn't throw me into it right away--contrary to popular opinion, editors don't allow any old monkey who wanders into the office to read their submissions. Once I proved that I could be trusted to give an editorial opinion, however, I became fair game. And the manuscripts started pouring in, and the rejection letters started pouring out. My first draft ran something like this:

Dear Author,
Thank you for sending your historical romance, Title, to us. After careful consideration, we have come to the unfortunate conclusion that Title is not right for our list at this time. Best of luck with your writing, and thank you for submitting.
Best, Louisa Edwards

Do you see what I did wrong there? My boss spotted it immediately. I said that the manuscript wasn't right for us at this time. Big no-no. I was told to delete that bit, or I'd be seeing this same submission again in two months. Once that part was edited out, what remains of the letter above is a fairly standard example of a non-personalized rejection letter. This was what you got if you had no agent, and no cover letter stating you'd met the editor in question at a conference, but if you'd still managed to direct your submission to an actual editor. The scores of mansucripts that were directed to Submissions Editor, or Acquisitions Editor, or To Whom it May Concern--those received an even less personal rejection.

The first lesson is an obvious one--target your manuscript. You have a better chance of getting someone to read it who might actually like it (lots of those To Whom it May Concerns that I read in the slush were sci-fi, or thrillers, and I tried to give them a fair shot, but I'm just not the right audience at all). It seems like a no brainer, but I mention it, because I got about twenty submissions a week that weren't aimed at any particular editor.

The second lesson is that editors are trained in the art of crushing hope. They are aware of what their letter to you represents, and they aren't (or shouldn't be) careless of the feelings involved. When they send a letter that offers no hope, it's meant, yes, to keep them from having to see the same manuscript more than once, but it's also meant to keep you from the heartache of a second rejection. And in turn, what this lesson points out is that any letter you get from an editor that encourages you to make changes and resubmit is to be taken very seriously. I've heard a lot of people on romance boards wondering if they should follow up on a letter like that, if the editor was just being nice, or polite, and let me tell you--editors can't afford to be that nice. They do not have time. That invitation in a revision letter is calculated and heartfelt, and as an author, you should take it as strong praise. It means that although your manuscript isn't publishable in its current form, the editor saw something in your writing that made her want to see more. If an editor asks you to call her to talk about the manuscript, CALL! Don't be coy! We are not dating. She wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it.

So here ends the lesson for this week. Hopefully by next week I will have gotten a few actual rejection/revision letters from writers, so I can stop talking about myself...although this is my blog, so don't hold your breath.

I'm Back!

2006-08-14T12:22:00.000-07:00

Home again, at least two pounds heavier from all the delicious food and deliberate laziness. The Pocono's turned out to be the mountains in question. Gorgeous. We went to World's End State Park and took a dip in a swimming hole (Hunter had his first swim, ever!) and barbecued ribs in the backyard, in between bouts of fireworks and playing bridge. There was a lot of wine, and a firepit, and, of course...Frogmore Stew (pictured above). Essentially, it's an enormous pot wherein are boiled together corn, andouille sausage, shrimp, and clams. The broth is all drained away, so it comes to the table more as a big mess of shellfish and stuff than as a stew, and it's eaten with melted butter and cocktail sauce. Very yum. Our hostess is a transplant to Pennsylvania, and the recipe is famous where she grew up, in South Carolina.

We drove home last night, and immediately (and very virtuously) set out for a run. We all needed the exercise, believe me. Unfortunately, my left ankle, clearly vengeful over not being allowed to do anything more interesting than sit propped up on the back porch railing all weekend, turned on a patch of gravel and dumped me on my ass. I won't bore you with the subsequent medical odyssey of x-rays and aircasts (sighs of relief all around), except to say that I'm gimpy for a couple of weeks, and milking it for all it's worth. Nick is being a doll, offering to run to the store for fresh bags of frozen peas at all hours of the night. I'm getting lots of practice on my poor-me face.

To distract myself from the ugly swelling and the way the Ace bandage cuts off circulation to my toes, I plan to implement my first ever rejection letter translation session. If you've ever received a rejection or revision letter, and puzzled over the wording, email it to me, and I'll do my best to decode. This will be a regular feature on my blog, every Wednesday. I'm thinking of calling it Disappointment Decoded. Or Accepting Rejection. Reading Rejection! Well, whatever it's called, I need a rejection or revision letter to get started, so don't be shy. Email the letter to me at mledwards@mac.com, and be sure to let me know if you'd prefer to remain anonymous. Tune in Wednesday to hear what that editor was really trying to tell you!

Mini-Vacation!

2006-08-11T07:04:00.000-07:00

I'm off! To the Blahdy Blah Mountains in Pennsylvania! Ok, so I don't know exactly where we're going. Some tiny little PA town to visit friends of ours who are coming there from San Francisco. But it's fine! I don't need to know where we're going. I have GPS in my car. I swear, I couldn't find the grocery store without that damn thing.

Anyway, it's going to be a long, blissful weekend of friends, wine, and something called Frogmore Stew (?) which, I am assured, contains no frogs. Not that I'd really mind. I like frogs' legs. I eat all kinds of crazy stuff. Ask me about it sometime.

I'm taking the revisions with me, in the form of my handy dandy iBook, but I'm not deluding myself that tons of work is getting done before Sunday. Still, every page counts, and I'm usually an earlier riser than most of my friends, so maybe it'll happen. Either way, I'm not worrying about it. I've written a whole new scene, and edited about 4 chapters, so I'm on my way, and feeling pretty up about it.

I'll let you know how the frogs are...

An Act of Will

2006-08-10T06:31:00.000-07:00

We all do things in our daily lives that we consider annoying chores. Washing dishes, ironing clohtes, going to the post office, feeding the crazy, diabetic cat who lives in our backyard--that kind of thing. We do them because we have to, because there's no one else to do it (because God knows my husband never touches the cat if he can help it, the coward) and because those chores keep our lives running smoothly.

But what if the thing we love more than anything else, our personal indulgence, our favorite activity suddenly takes on the dimensions of a chore? I love writing. I think about it all the time; I get caught up in the details of my books, and I can linger there for hours, working out backstory and building a world. But sometimes, it's a chore. Sometimes all I want to do is watch General Hospital and play with my puppy. It's hard to admit, because it sounds so immature and lame, but occasionally, I have to force myself to do the thing I love to do.

Worse than that, though, is when writing becomes the monster in the closet. There are days when I'm not burnt out, or busy, or any of that stuff--I'm just flat out afraid of my computer. Fear is way more paralyzing than laziness. Yesterday, I was all set to start my revisions. I had a place to dive in, a specifc goal to accomplish--and I totally froze. For about six hours. I went through the rest of my day feeling like a failure. What am I afraid of? That all along, I managed to convince myself to write forward by telling myself, "It doesn't have to be good now, you'll fix it later." Well, later is here. And part of me is terrified that I'm going to screw up the story, or the characters, by missing (or creating) some huge plot hole. Mostly, I'm scared for this book to be finished. Because then I have to start all over again with a new one.

Fear is a trap. I know that. So last night, at about 9:30, I finally got my butt into the chair, and I edited the first seven pages. I didn't get to anything major, just a few word changes here and there, but I broke the seal. And now my goal is just to do better today than I did yesterday.

We'll see how it goes.

Perfection is Attainable

2006-08-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

Right? Or not. As my current heroine, Anna (pictured left) very pragmatically points out, if perfection is unattainable, why do people keep striving for it? It must be possible to achieve, or else there's no use in trying for it.

So that's my working hypothesis (thanks, Anna!), as I begin revising my first ever completed manuscript. I read through the whole thing over the last two days, and let me just say, it's definitely NOT perfect yet. I have seven pages (single-spaced) of revision suggestions for myself. I'm approaching it like one of the manuscripts I used to edit, when I worked at Berkley. I printed out a hard copy, and read through it fast, making no marks on the pages, but writing down every idea that came into my head as I read, along with the page number the idea came from. For instance:

p.123--Anna has to think of Jack sooner. Kissing after danger is all well and good, but her brother is still in trouble.

p.129--Nix the Yoda talk.

And bigger things:

p.263--This setup isn't great. Everyone leaves the kitchen, just so Anna and Cal can go at it on the table. Think about inserting a new scene to round out Eli's character, and to discuss his background with Evangeline. It should be a bridge between the war council scene and the hot demon sex scene.

Now my plan is to go through the ms on the computer, and attend to all of these suggestions, along with the millions of small word changes and clarifications that jumped out at me while I was reading, but which I didn't write down because I assumed they'd bother me a second time through. And I will done with all of these revisions by August 24, so my lovely, generous readers can see draft #2 and make comments on it, in time for me to incorporate their brilliant ideas before sending the ms out to agents at the beginning of September.

That's my timeline, and I'm sticking to it. I have to, now that I've made it public. See? Another great reason for blogging. Why did I fight this for so long?

The Dog Blog

2006-08-04T05:45:00.000-07:00

So, I'm going to try not to gush about my puppy too much on this blog. This is not a dog blog, in general, and I'm not really that big an animal person. I don't throw kittens against the wall for fun, or anything, but I'm a pretty unabashed carnivore, and I don't think of animals as, like, little people who need their own wardrobes and stuff.

BUT. That said, my dog, Hunter, is the cutest dog in the whole world. And he definitely thinks he's people. Or maybe he thinks that Nick and I are just big dogs--I can't decide. Anyway, I love him to pieces, and I wanted to post a pic, because I think his furry face would brighten the day of anyone who saw it. Seriously, they should send him in talk to that Nasrallah guy. Hearts and flowers in seconds, guaranteed. Not to trivialize war, or anything.

[This blog is dedicated to the lovely and talented Jenna Mayson, who led by example, and encouraged me to spoon with my dog. Under the covers. It was fantastic.]

So excited

2006-08-02T18:03:00.000-07:00

I got home from RWA (that's Romance Writers of America, for the uninitiated) Sunday night, and I'm still feeling all revved up from it. The combined creativity and drive of that many women (about 2400 of us) in one hotel (a huge Marriott in Atlanta) was enough to fuel me for at least a week. Of course, that's not all I have going at the moment. See, I have the most fantastic critique partners in the world, and they have basically, in the last two days, done all my work for me on the next manuscript I'm about to write. It's awesome. Maria is our resident plotter, and Mel is our dialogue guru. I don't know what I contribute, exactly. You'd have to ask them.

So anyway, I'm pumped. Now all I have to do is sit down and write the thing. Easy, right? Well, it's not like I want to be playing outside or something. Mercy. Stepping out the door is like being transported to the Sahara, if the Sahara were really a lot like a swamp. Maybe Florida is the image I want. Anyway, not good. Cold house, much better. My husband, Nick, and I are on a health binge, and we dragged ourselves on a run (!!!) the last couple of days, and I thought I'd die. I mean, not to trivialize death or anything, but really. It was atrocious. So today I put my foot down, and we went and swam laps instead. I was (the slowest person) on the swim team in high school! I like to swim. I know all the tricks, the not-breathing-on-every-stroke thing, the turning-underwater thing. Well, ok, I know those two tricks, and they're enough to get by with. And now I'm adding a swimmer's high to my ongoing conference buzz and writer's thrill. Honestly, I don't know how I'm going to get to sleep tonight.

Oh right. The big glass of red wine in front of me as I write this. Mmmm. Merryvale, you sexy bitch...let's take this upstairs...

2006-07-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

This is my first ever blog. I know, I'm ridiculously late to leap onto this bandwagon, but I can't help it. I'm a little bit of a techno-weenie, and as fabulous as I really think I am in most other ways, it was hard for me to believe that anyone out there could be interested in my daily goings on. But I just returned from the week of festivities hosted by the Romance Writers of America in Atlanta, and everyone at that National Conference thing said I HAD to have a blog. The peer pressure was overwhelming, and some people actually presented good arguments for it. So fine. I give. Uncle.

Here it is.