Tuesday, November 24, 2009

A Whale is Not a Fish

I write. It's what I do. And sometimes I think that means I should be able to write anything I set my mind to. Granted, I'm not talking treatises on the mating habits of the East African Crested Crane or a do-it-yourself manual for building your own spaceship out of tin cans and homemade rocket fuel. But when it comes to creative writing, it should all be pretty much the same, shouldn't it?

Well of course it isn't. We find this out when we try to write in another genre and can't get the voice right, or when we realize that the structure and rules of drafting documents or essays for the business world don't follow the same guidelines as the ones we have learned to apply in our novels.

I recently had this reality pounded home to me (and not for the first time) when I tried to write some song lyrics. I needed to put together a short little lullabye--and even though it was to be used in my WIP, I couldn't for the life of me come up with anything that I was happy with.

Here are the circumstances: I need a song that would be appropriate coming from a brother to his baby sister; I need for it to be soft and a little melancholy but not dark; and since it is supposed to have been written by a teenage boy it definitely can't be too sappy.

What genres or other writing tasks have you taken on and realized you're just not cut out for? Or are you of the view that we CAN write anything, it's just a matter of putting on a different hat and being determined?

PS: Since I still haven't figured this song out, any suggestions are more than welcome.

Oh, and today is my little guy's 7th birthday! I can't believe he's getting so BIG :) (By the way, in honour of his birthday, the title of this blog comes from one of my son's favourite children's books.)

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Feel Me Up, Baby

(Picture from LOLCats)

In the U.S. news, there has been this recent development that mammograms aren't needed for women until you're 50. But right now the advisement is to still do what you're doing, because it's always been if you're 40, you go in and get a mammogram.

Huh?

Okay. Thanks for that clarification.

Now, I'm not a doctor. Please, I can't do Math and when I was in high school, my Biology teacher threw an earthworm at me when I screamed at cutting it. So do not take what I say as an endorsement. I'm just sharing my own personal experience.

When I was out of college and trying to figure out what one exactly did with a degree in English and Drama, I got a job at a non-profit agency for the Encore program. Basically, I cleared women, of low income, to get free mammograms. I even was trained and got my certificate to teach other women how to do self-breast exams.

That job ended because the funding ran out and they couldn't pay me. So I moved on, still wondering what to do with my degree. Did temp work, worked in a theatre, then at a health insurance before I went back to grad school and fell into teaching. The whole time I was wondering why do I not know what I want to do, and why were all my career choices seemingly all over the map. Because really, there seemed to be no purpose for me learning how to do self-breast exams, in knowing what felt abnormal, etc.

I was at my parents' house one night for dinner. And I went into the other room to work on schoolwork for the hell job. I was at a point in my career where I was realizing teaching wasn't for me, it was a really bad place to work at, and that I wanted to write (but, everyone knows writing isn't a career, right).

I'm at the computer, totally stressed out, wondering what would be the new catastrophe would be the following day at work. If I would have to face another lockdown, if one of my students would tell me to fuck off again, and if I would be confronted by one of my principals. And I was staring at the screen, and my left hand went to the top of my right breast, resting there. I pressed down for some reason. And I felt it.

A lump. Like a marble.

I pressed down on it again, rubbing a circle around it as I'd been taught, and checked the other breast. There was no lump in my left breast. Perhaps I was wrong? I called my mom in the room and had her feel my right breast. She felt it, too.

I swear, in that moment, everything freezes. You think of all the worst possibilities that can happen. What you've done, what you haven't done. And then I saw my mom's face---her mom/my grandma had died of breast cancer that spread to her bones---and I had to bear up and state that nothing was wrong.

I got into an appointment with my ob/gyn, trying not to stress out. The last time I had an appointment with my ob/gyn, she showed me my vagina because she thought all women should know what their vaginas looked like. I did not need to be acquainted with my vagina, thank you very much. And so I got an appointment with a male doctor, who was very nice and didn't show me my vagina, and he felt the lump, too.

Great, I thought, for once I'm not being dramatic.

The next appointment to be made was to have a mammogram, to see where the lump was, and how big it was. They told me I couldn't wear any deodrant or perfume. My first reaction was oh my god, I'm going to stink. And I made sure that my breasts looked good, because my breasts were going to be out there, getting squished. I had to go see the doctor next, where they would stick a needle in me, and test me---to see if it was cancer or not.

My dad and mom came with me for all appointments. My mom, I'm sure, had flashes of doing this with her mother. I had a book with me---it might have been an Eloisa James or a Lisa Kleypas with me, but I couldn't read it. The waiting room was full of women, of all ages and sizes. Finally my name was called. I had to put on one of those robe things that never do anything for you then lie down on the table.

I'm lying there, and the woman bares my breast. Another woman walks in, and I recognized her from my high school---she graduated a few years ahead of me. And I can't help but think: oh god, she's seeing my breast. I start making jokes. I say hey, usually when people see my breasts, they've at least paid for my dinner. They laugh, and the other woman rubs alcohol over my breast to numb the area where they're going to stick the needle. I say out loud I wished the alcohol was real; more laughter. The girl I went to high school and I start talking, and I make jokes about people. Our room is rolling with laughter, and you wouldn't think that a biopsy was going to be happening in a few minutes.

The doctor walks in, his grey eyebrows raise as he takes in the situation. He looks at our faces, and he checks the room. "Looks like I'm late to the party," he said.

"No worries. Maybe you brought the real alcohol this time," I retort.

More laughter, and he comes over. He looks at the mass on ultrasound. It's the size of a marble about, but it's moveable, which the other woman told me was a good thing. He takes out the needle and puts it in my breast. The mass immediately dissipates and poof, it's gone.

"Well, I don't think it's cancer," he says. "It was probably only a benign tumor because it filled up like that."

I really don't hear a lot of his words because the sense of relief that goes through me is a rush of air. And all I can think is thank god, thank god, thank god.

He then says, "I'm going to insert this tiny pin in you, it's the shape of a Breast Cancer Ribbon, to mark the spot. And then you're going to have another mammogram so that we have a record of everything."

"Sure," I say, nodding my head as best as I can lying on a table. "And then how about that dinner?"

A few weeks later I got the test confirming it was only a benign tumor.

I'm lucky. Because it could have been cancer. I saw women in there that day, in various stages of the disease. I got good news. But so many times, there are women who don't. And so all I'll say is that be your own advocate. If you feel something, have it checked out. If you think you need to have a mammogram before you're 40 or 50, do it. Don't let what the "experts" say determine your own fate---you know your body better than anyone.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A New View


The Vixens know I've been a grumbling curmudgeon about the Internet lately. There's just so much out there---so many romance review sites, agent blogs, group blogs (ahem), author pages, Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, ad infinitem. If you had 24 free hours in a day, you could still never keep up. Distractions R Us.

So what does the romance community need? More stuff to visit! Tiff and I recently had Frauke Spanuth of Croco Designs design our sparkly new websites. There are no cakes or dinosaurs, but we cordially invite you to slip away from the Dark Walk and check out our pretty, shiny places. If you wanted to sign up for our newsletters, we wouldn't stop you. :) I'm having a Grand Unveiling Giveaway the rest of the week (details are posted on my blog on the menu bar) to celebrate the launch. Kris is also working on a redesign of her site, and Ely will be fooling around with hers shortly.

Without any more shameless self-promotion, go forth and visit

Tiffany Clare

Maggie Robinson

Margaret Rowe

And EPIC congratulations to J.K. Coi for her EPIC final for Dark Immortal!!!

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Free e-book short from Caroline Linden

Avon and Caroline Linden are offering up a free giveaway of her novella "Deeper Than Desire" to readers. Caroline Linden is a great writer---I've glommed her books ever since I read her debut with Avon, and I'm very much looking forward to her soon-to-be release. This novella is a great opportunity for anyone who hasn't yet read Caroline Linden and for any fans of hers.

Click on this to get to the free download of "Deeper Than Desire."

This is a companion to Caroline Linden's December release, For Your Arms Only.

Happy reading!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Twitterature


I was reading the Huffington Post on Saturday and came across their Twitterature contest. It was too fun not to share.
Now, I have a Twitter account, but I tweet very infrequently---I'm nearly a mute bird. But I do lurk, where I pick up interesting links and publishing industry news. As you probably know, tweets are limited to 140 characters (including spaces), so brevity becomes the soul of wit. Some genius decided to do the plot of books in 140 characters or less. Think it's easy? Check the link for inspiration: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/29/huffpost-twitterature-con_n_333974.html

and then come back with a book summary in 140 characters or less.
My favorite? She's prejudiced, he's proud, or maybe it's the other way around. Amusing insults fly! She likes him a lot better once she's seen his nice house.

My try? New job.Ed 'forgot' crazy wife in attic,proposed.I lost mind on moor but found $.Marry cousin?Ick.Luv is blind.So is Ed.Rder I married him

And yes, that's Plain Jane Eyre from the 2006 version above, which I watched thanks to Ely!

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Passing the Buck

I really have nothing to post today. I'm pulling out my hair trying to carve out time to work on my WIP with all the other stuff that's cutting into my days and nights.

In fact, it's weird because technically, I have no hard deadline for this book except for my self-imposed one, and yet I'm more anxious to finish this on time than I was for any of my others. Why is that, do you think? Am I just impatient to get it out into the world? (*snort*)

As crazy as that sounds, in a way I am. I really love this book and I can see the ending just around the corner. I have these flashes of surety when I know that it's brilliant and I'm going to find a home for it, followed quickly by painful doubts that tell me I'm deluding myself (let's not go there today).

The other impetus to get this done is that I can already feel the stirrings of the next book--yep, it's about that time. I'm interested to learn about these new characters, but I hate to do that before I'm finished with the ones who are running the show right now.

Wow, that's crap. Okay, let's just leave this disjointed post at that for now. Everyone feel free to chime in with a status update on their NaNo progress, or just let us know what's new.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Dear Richard


I don't know when I first heard about you or North and South . . . but I do remember when I first watched the movie on Youtube.

And then you came into view.

You fit the description of most romance heroes.

Tall. Dark. Handsome.

You carry off arrogance and in control so well, but we women know that you're hiding beneath those less attractive adjectives. Of course, you show glimpses of your true self. The secret looks and accidental touches, the botched proposal, and the kiss. The kiss!

How could we not love you?

Just when you captured my heart by playing John Thornton, Robin Hood on BBC starts airing.

You wear leather, you scowl, you're dangerous. Very dangerous. But how you love Marian makes my heart go aflutter. Why she doesn't end up with you and loves that wimpy Robin is beyond me. Courtney Milan has said that she'd love to write a Guy/Marian story one day---um, Courtney, not that you have to write other books, but get on that. Now.

There's no use in denying it. I have a huge crush on you. I don't really like kids, but I would want to have your babies.

Whether you wear a cravat, leather, a speedo, or just jeans . . . you're still sexy. And probably what makes you more attractive to most of us is that we can sense that you're a nice guy in real life.

But if you ever do come to the U.S., you might want to hire a security team. Of women. In fact, I'll be your bodyguard. I'll have to stick real close to you, and I'll have to handcuff myself to you to make sure that nothing bad happens. You'll get used to it and will like it. Promise.

So, do you like Richard Armitage as much as I do? And if not, who is your hero of choice?