And ooh, sometimes I envy those writers! But you have to know yourself, and since I know me all too well, there will be no shutting down of the computer for me. Oh, I’ll take a day or two, it is Christmas, after all! But then I’ll open up a new document and start work on the next book.
See, I learned a long time ago that if I take a couple of weeks off, I get so far out of writing mode that it takes me several more weeks to get back in. It’s painful to sit in front of your computer and feel as though you don’t know how to write anymore.
It’s much easier to simply stay in writing mode. For me, at this time of year, that means writing one or two pages a day. It’s enough to keep my head in the book and easy enough that I’ll still feel as though I’m getting some time off.
So, during this great time of year, be kind to yourself. Play a little. Hug your kids, drop some money in the Salvation Army kettles. Give a gift to someone who’s not expecting it. Eat some cookies, sing some carols and do just enough writing to keep you ready for all of those January pages.
Maureen Child is the author of more than 100 romance novels and novellas. At the moment, she’s baking cookies and wishing you all—no matter what holiday you’re celebrating—a Merry Christmas and the very best of the season!
Words on 2007…
by Jenny Hansen
I planned an article on Track Changes for this month…really I did. Yet every time I’ve sat down to work on the blog, I’ve found myself writing other things — stories…emails…miscellaneous thoughts.
Christmastime is a very nostalgic season for me filled with family, traditions and memories of loved ones who are no longer here to celebrate. December marks the birthday of my first “baby girl†– 90 pound Akita, Hoshi – who just turned 12 today. That might not sound like a lot in dog years but in human years, she just turned 84. Impressive.
I made a celebration out of what could very well be her last birthday – bought pink party hats and a snazzy birthday bandana, gave her extra treats. We took her Golden Retriever friend, Tatum, to Dog Nirvana in Huntington Beach for a snack and a two mile walk…not bad for an old girl like Hosh.
Note:
Dog Nirvana is better known to locals as the Park Bench Café in Huntington’s Central Park where doggies get to eat breakfast (Hoshi had the Wrangler Roundup) with their humans and then walk along numerous trails, sniffing doggie smells and chasing ducks. If you’re an Orange County dog owner and you haven’t visited the Park Bench, you’re missing out! http://www.parkbenchcafe.com/
As we walked the trails, I looked down at my girl and lived in my memories of her. I thought of the changes we have weathered together these last twelve years: my entire 30’s, the tragedy of September 11th, the tearing grief of my mother’s death, the shining joy of my marriage. I’m hoping she will see the birth of my children and the advent of my 40’s next November.
Now that the party is over, she’s lying in a patch of sunlight in my office while I finish this article, snoring away as holiday music soars through the air.
After I post this, I will finish the baking I do every year at this time, bringing to life the treasures I’ve made each year for all my memory, as did my mother and her mother and grandmother before her. I make recipes like divinity, Almond Roca and Russian tea cakes that have been handed down through our generations.
Each November, I look forward to pulling out the package of papers and special notes, this one written in my grandmother’s elegant penmanship and that one in my mother’s bold scrawl. Each year, the ritual brings the shimmering presence of these strong women into my kitchen where I’m able to visit with them for a short time.
In a few hours, my house will smell like the home of my childhood and Hoshi will come lay her head against my leg and look up to give me “cute eyesâ€, begging for treats. In these final days of 2007, I wish each of you such a perfect day.
Next month is soon enough for the article on Track Changes…today is for family.
Happy Holidays!
By day, Jen manages the sales and marketing for a national training firm (after 12 years as a corporate software trainer, it’s nice to be able to sit down while she works). By night, she writes women’s fiction, chick lit and short stories as Jenny Hansen. She has been a member of OCC since 2001 and has served as the Orange Rose Contest Coordinator, as well as on OCC’s Board of Directors in a variety of capacities.
by Rebecca Forster
I guess you’ve figured it out. The months of the year are my inspiration for this blog. You tune in and I give you my take on – well, something about the month. Sometimes it’s a stretch, sometimes not. But now it’s time for the big one.
December. Xmas. The holiday season.
So much to write about and so little time. Gifts. Holiday music. Horrid materialism which, if truth be told, would be relabeled miraculous generosity if I was the one opening a little blue box from Tiffany’s on Christmas morning. Be that as it may, I’m a writer and this time I’m not going to take the easy way out. I want to give you something to think about. I want my words to paint a picture that is eloquent in its simplicity, deep in meaning. In short, a blog that is unforgettable.
I want to tell you a cautionary Christmas tale. It is true. I saw it with my own eyes.
We lived in Los Angeles then. Our families were still in the South Bay. With parents getting on, brothers and sisters spread out all over the country, we felt obligated to spend the Christmas holidays driving: Long Beach, Redondo and back home to Los Angeles more times that I could count.
Back and forth; forth and back. Nothing spectacular – until two days after Christmas. The children were asleep in the back of the car. My husband was silent, tired of the freeways and cheer that had run its course. I sat beside him, my head resting on my upturned palm, thinking about nothing in particular. It was late afternoon and I would have nodded off too – but then I saw her.
I sat up straight and touched my husband’s arm. I raised my chin. He looked. His eyes narrowed. We didn’t wake the children. We didn’t want them to see the woman standing on the off-ramp but we couldn’t take our eyes off her. We passed her slowly. For a fleeting moment I wondered if we should stop. She looked so pitiful. I started to speak but my husband shook his head. He drove by. I swiveled in my seat hoping she saw that I, at least, sympathized. Perhaps she felt my interest. She turned to watch us. I saw the terror in her eyes. We could have helped. We didn’t. She held up her sign. The words were burned into my memory.
Spent too much at Xmas. Please help.
I turned my back just as the late afternoon California sun caught the diamond on her hand and shot a Christmas star of light into my eyes. She pulled her fur coat tight around her, shook back her streaked hair and turned to the next car. There, I thought, but for the grace of a credit limit, go I.
Merry Christmas to all those who give and those who receive.
Rebecca Forster
http://www.rebeccaforster.com/
HOSTILE WITNESS
SILENT WITNESS
PRIVILEGED WITNESS
Interview with best-selling romance writer Hailey North
[Note: The original article about OCC member Nancy Wagner, writing as Hailey North, appears at http://shaunaroberts.blogspot.com/]
Welcome, Hailey, to my blog. Thank you for taking the time to answer questions about your new contemporary romance from HarperCollins, Not the Marrying Kind.
In Not the Marrying Kind, two urbanites reluctantly return to the small town where they both went to high school and bump into each other for the first time since then. You moved from the city to a small town shortly before writing this book. Did any of your experiences or emotions about this move make their way into the novel?
I appreciate this question . . . yes, I suppose my move from New Orleans to Covington did influence my characters’ experiences. Though as someone who lived in many small towns around the South and Midwest, I think I envisioned Harriet from that greater experience of having left (er, fled) the southern Midwest to college in California. The visits back to the Midwest were not without their challenges.
This book was different from your previous books. Less humor than usual and more . . . je ne sais quoi. Depth? Sorrow? Strength?
What was different was me pressing into places inside myself that really, really hurt. It’s more authentic. Most of my ha-ha funny stuff is a means of protecting my vulnerability.
For the post-Hurricane Katrina reader, romances were perfect for taking one’s mind off the difficulties of everyday life and vicariously experiencing good events. But for you as a writer, was it difficult to write a story with a happy ending when you were displaced and your house destroyed?
It was difficult to write, period. It would have been harder to write a bleak story. I’ve spent years and years of my life scribbling in notebooks, filling the pages with dreams and characters. After Katrina when my husband and I hauled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow to the street, I cried as I said goodbye to the molded, warped piles of all those notebooks. But even as I cried, I was cheered by the reality that those notebooks had become published novels and if I’d done it before, I could do it again.
As you’ve noted, this book is not my typical “light romance.” I was in no mood after losing our home in Hurricane Katrina to tred too lightly into a happily ever after story. However, as I spent more and more time with Harriet and Jake and their family and friends, I came to realize that despite tragedy and trauma, we can all come out okay on the other end. They helped me to realize the redemption.
Did Hurricane Katrina change anything about the way you write, either your method or your characters or plot?
The most important thing that Hurricane Katrina changed about my writing is that I now possess a laptop. We packed, at the last minute, I must confess, to evacuate and I didn’t tow my desktop or any backup disks. We were leaving, after all, for only a few days. Hahahaha. When we made our way back to our flooded house and I found my desk and computer and boxes of files and all our wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of books tossed around like dinghies in a particularly violent storm, I could do nothing but cry. And then begin to shovel the resulting mess into the wheelbarrow my husband transported to the street to be picked up by the Bobcat and dump truck crews. Words can barely express the loss.
And about being a newlywed . . . thank God we went through it together. It made us even more bonded.
Even though Not the Marrying Kind takes place in Arkansas and never mentions Katrina, it feels like a Katrina book to me because the intertwined themes of loss and recovery are so strong. Yet it’s an optimistic book, not a sad one. It was cathartic for me to read; was it cathartic for you to write? Or was it hard to write about loss when the wounds were still so fresh?
I think my response above answers this question. And yes, when all was said and done, it was cathartic. We carry on. We grow through the loss. We are reborn.
I’ve always found the story of how your early critique group helped you get published inspiring. Could you retell the story for blog readers who don’t know you?
As to my early critique group . . . yes, and yes and yes. Gosh, have I written anything that contained a comma splice? If so, I owe a dollar! We were merciless. Met every Wednesday evening without fail for four or so years. We all published our first books, all five of us. Wow! And yes, I did have to “audition” to get accepted as a member. Thank you, Meryl Sawyer and Olga Bicos. And thanks for letting me pass muster!
Many romance writers, including you, started out as lawyers. Which is harder, being a lawyer or writing romance novels? Which is more fun?
Which is harder, being a lawyer or a romance writer? It depends. Seriously. My husband is a criminal defense lawyer specializing in capital cases. If he flubs up, his client gets the needle or the electric chair. If I slack off, I miss a bestseller list. Hmm . . . .
What is your favorite part of writing?
My favorite part of writing is hearing from readers who relate to my characters as people. Living, breathing, complicated, annoying, adorable people.
What is your writing regimen? Would you recommend it to aspiring authors?
My writing regimen?? Hahahahahahaha. When I’m on deadline I write like a maniac. A whirling dervish.
Do you write with or without your cats Mocha, Stanley and Daisy?
At this very moment, Daisy is asleep on my lap. Mocha is in her safe place, the laundry basket at the foot of our bed. And Stanley is snoring peacefully on the foot of said bed.
What books can we look forward to in the future from you?
Books in the future . . . ah, now, that’s a good question. I may do some more “Nancy Wagner” books . . . as in Two Sisters and All Our Lives, the first two books I published with Avon Books, before I transfigured into Nikki Holiday, author of paranormal romantic comedies. And then . . . and only then, came Hailey North. So it’s yet to be known who I shall be next.
Thank you again for visiting my blog to talk about writing and your new book Not the Marrying Kind.
Visit Hailey North’s Websites at http://www.haileynorth.com// and http://www.harpercollins.com/authors/17884/Hailey_North/index.aspx/. Her book Not the Marrying Kind is available at all major bookstores and can be ordered online from Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.
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Shauna Roberts is an award-winning medical writer and editor specializing in diabetes and related subjects, a penner of fantasy, science fiction, and romance stories and novels. Her medical writing website: http://nasw.org/users/ShaunaRoberts/ Her fiction writing website: www.shaunaroberts.com Her blog: http://www.blogger.com/www.shaunaroberts.blogspot.com
Our Holiday Turkey, Perry
by Bobbie Cimo
I come from a generation when the whole family got involved with the preparation of the holiday meal. My father usually did the manly stuff like lift the turkey out of the car when my mother when shopping. And transported it around the kitchen when it needed to be move from refrigerator to sink–from sink to oven. Yes, those commercials that now appear on the TV where the woman struggles with lifting the turkey, thou funny, aren’t too far from being accurate…except I never remember the bird sliding from my mothers hands, out the window, and knocking my father down.
While my mother was main chef and organizer (telling the rest of us what to do) my sister was her assistant, cutting up the ingredients for the dressing. As for me, I was what they called the little helper–mainly, cause I wasn’t good at much else. I was the one who cleared the table, washed bowls and threw out the garbage. It was hard growing up, unable to dice celery, onions and eggs just the right size–but now looking back, I realize how lucky I was.
Another memory of those early years was the gathering of the family to watch TV Holiday Variety Specials. Remember this is the time before VCR‘s, DVD‘s, You tube, or Ipod broadcast. In other words, if you missed it the first time around, you weren‘t going to get the chance to see it again.
Seeing our favorite entertainers decked out in winter gear, either standing in a winter wonderland, or huddled inside around cozy fire, singing Christmas songs, gave us a warm fuzzy feeling that brought out own holiday spirit more to life.
Known for his effortless singing, cardigan sweaters, Perry Como, fondly referred to as Mr. C. was on TV for over 45 years. I don’t know how many Christmas specials he did– but there were a lot. Nor do I remember who all of his guests were…what songs he sang…or even what countries some of these shows were shot in. But I do remember how they always ended.
After singing Eva Maria, he’d walked over to an exquisite long dining table, where already seated were his guest stars and family cast members. At the head of the table he would stand with carving knife in hand where he would proceed to carve the most beautiful turkey ever seen, and pass the plates around. Needless to say, I didn’t know about the spraying of food for TV (kind of like the way the pretty people of today, are air brushed for the covers of magazines). Which explains why the guest and cast never ate any of the food.
Such is how our turkey became known as Perry. Year after year, I would slap him on his chest and say “How ya doing Perry?‖the turkey, not Mr. C– as he laid waiting in our kitchen getting prepared for the big day.
Years later, when I grew up and began working for CBS, every day was an adventure, as you never knew who you were going to run into. Sometimes the word got out in advance, but most days it was by chance you’d ran into someone famous. I remember my first week at work, I just happened upon a set where Bob Hope and Danny Thomas were doing a skit. Another time James Caan helped my boss carry books into our office.
Before the second-floor was converted to small studios recently used by Tyra Banks (pre-move to NYC) and “The Late, Late Show†starring Craig Ferguson, there were large rehersal halls, similar to gymnasiums with hardwood floors. Outside of a large table and folding chairs, a phone on the wall and a big urn of coffee, there was no other furniture in the room. Occasionally, they’d roll a piano in, if they had to rehearse a musical number. The Stage Manager would mark the floor with tape, outlining where the real furniture would be on set and also giving the actor his “mark†where he would be standing once he was downstairs in the studio, taping before a live audience.
Now back to me and Perry (the man and not the turkey). Because Perry Como was such an icon in my family, when I found out he was in one of the rehearsal halls, I was more then a little thrilled to try to sneak a peek of him. But I didn’t know which one. In order to check out the room, you had to cup your face and press it against the small port window or else you’d only see you own reflection looking back at you. It never dawned that someone inside could see me. Actually, it was a blessing– I didn’t have to approach Perry, he waved me in. At first I wasn’t sure he meant me and not someone else, but then I realized I was the only “Peeping Tom,†around. But to play it safe, I pointed to my chest and mouthed, “Me?†Perry nodded and again waved me in.
He turned out to be very sweet and listened intently to whatever it was that I was jabbering on about…even when I told him how our names were so similar…different only by one letter. His name was Cimo and mine was Como. Yes, I actually renamed him and gave him my name. But he just laughed. And even when he was called away by his rehearsal partner, he refused to end our chat. Not until she insisted for the second time, only this time loudly–“Perry, I need you and I need you now!’’ — did he make his apologies to me and went back to the piano. Oh, the woman…it was Doris Day. She and Perry were working together to record a song.
Because Perry Como, really belonged to my parents’ generation, it only seemed fair that I have my mother come in to meet him. During those early days the Execs were very lenient of your comings and goings in the studios. Many lunch breaks I would take my brown paper bag to the bleachers, enjoying my lunch, while being entertained by some of the top performers of the day. If you wanted to bring a relative in to see someone, you could deposit them on the stage while you went back to your office to finish your work. Needless to say, things have changed a lot since then.
Stage 31 had been the home for shows as Sonny & Cher, Tony Orlando and Dawn, and the Jim Nabors Show. But on the day my mother visited, everything had been cleared away transformed into an entire Vermont village — including an actual ski lift! — for another one of those famous Perry Como Holiday Specials.
(See it on Youtube: Perry Como Winter Special 1972!)
My mother did end up having her picture taken with Mr. C. (It’s framed and here in my office.) As for me, I had my picture taken with Perry, too…No, not Mr. C., but the one that came out of the oven.
A few weeks ago, we had a turkey shoot at CBS (a turkey raffle) and I won. I guess it was only fitting that Perry and I would end up walking arm and arm—Correction, arm and wing out the doors of CBS, together.
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Bobbie Cimo is the OCC/RWA Programs Director who has brought us such notable speakers as Dean Koontz, Tami Hoag, Jackie Collins and Robert Crais.
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Everything he’d believed to be true was a lie.
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