BIG NEWS

The Cozy Chicks have relocated!

Starting Sunday, April 29th, you can now find us over at www.cozychicksblog.com. The new format is fun and user-friendly. Stop on by and be sure to bookmark the new page!

IN THE DARK

DELAYED.
No! Not my flight! I stared at the arrival board, blinking to make sure I’d seen it correctly. Yep. It was my flight, all right. I glanced through the window in disbelief. The weather was clear and sunny. In fact, according to the news report I’d heard that morning, most of the nation was reporting decent weather. So what was causing the delay? I can never find anyone who knows.

I couldn’t help but wish someone would develop a little asterisk system that would show up beside each Delayed warning, with the key at the bottom: *The crew overslept. **The plane fell apart. ***We’re toying with your mind.

A check at the airline desk didn’t turn up any useful information. In fact, the attendants got testy when I asked for an explanation. So I sat for an hour reading the magazine I’d brought for the plane, waiting for some word on when I’d be able to board, feeling helpless and frustrated at being kept in the dark.

Then there’s the delay that happens on the tarmac, when the pilot come on to say, "Air traffic control says it’ll be about an hour until we can taxi out. Sorry, folks."

Well, sorry just doesn’t cut it. Tell me why I’m being held hostage in a user-unfriendly environment. I can handle the truth. Honestly. Because the worst part of being stuck is not knowing why – being kept in the dark.

The same holds true in our daily life. People need feedback. They don’t want to work all year only to be told in their annual review that they’re doing it all wrong. But at least employees have some form of feedback in their weekly, or bi-weekly paycheck. If you’re really lousy, you won’t be getting them for long.

And then there are book authors, who get feedback when: a) their manuscript comes back from the editor for revisions; b) their book is released; and, c) they make public appearances to promote their books. But in between those occasions, for months and months and months on end, authors work in the dark, not knowing if what they’re laboring over will be enjoyed or criticized.

I’m not whining – well, okay, I am whining – but I know it’s nobody’s fault. This is the career I chose, and the job I love, and the system I must work within. But if you read a book and love it, don’t be afraid to send the author a quick note. It’s truly what makes those long, lonely months rewarding.

In a few days I’ll be back at the airport, praying for no delays, as I set out for Malice Domestic, a mystery readers/authors conference in Arlington, VA, where, for a few days, I’ll get lots of feedback from devoted mystery fans. For that weekend, I’ll be basking in the light and loving it.

Gimme A Break!

Have you ever seen those Kit-Kat bar commercials in which everyone is singing, Gimme a Break, Gimme a Break and then happily biting off the end of a chocolate-covered cookie bar?

I’m at that stage right now. I need a break. Just a tiny one. Sugar-filled is fine. Coffee will help. I’d even trade the food breaks for a short walk. A trip to the garden center. Thirty minutes to plant five yellow coreopsis and five purple salvia plants.

In short, I just want some time to step away from the book I’m one chapter away from finishing, because whenever I reach the end, I write the most pivotal scene too quickly and it always reads that way. Yes, I always plump up this scene later on, but when the words are tumbling out, the killer’s being confronted, and the protagonist is putting everything on the line in order to see that justice is served, I can’t even answer the phone. I am right there, heart pounding, as I subject my beloved characters to fear, anguish and possibly even injury.

Have you felt this way about a project before? If so, what was the project and what kind of mini break do you take?

I’m off to the pantry. I know I’ve got a Tootsie Roll pop down there. That way, I can get the sugar rush and still write…

Hitting the Road

By Heather

I’ve been traveling a lot lately, and the end isn’t in sight quite yet.

Last weekend I traveled with the Deadly Divas (Marcia Talley, Denise Swanson, Sharon Short and moi) on a mini road trip.

On Friday we met up for drive-bys of Nashville bookstores for quick stock signings. Lots of books, lots of Frappuccinos, and lots of great people.

From there we headed north to Bowling Green, Kentucky, for the Southern Kentucky Book Fest, a wonderful book fair featuring authors of all genres. The turnout was great, the sweet tea fabulous, and we had a great time presenting our panel. Our moderator, Connie, did a wonderful job, fully embracing her inner diva while wearing a lovely purple feather boa.

Saturday afternoon we headed to Princeton, Kentucky, where Marcia has local ties. We stayed in a private home, an old Victorian gorgeous from the inside out. Detailed moldings, twelve foot ceilings, brasses on the steps, stunning hardwood throughout. Heaven, I tell you.

If you’ve never been to Princeton, I highly recommend you go. It’s one of those throwback towns, rich with history. It’s a county seat, and the art deco-style courthouse takes top billing in the town square, which has been lovingly restored. It’s the epitome of a small town, and was wonderful through and through.

I have to admit I was slightly terrified to eat at the Willow Pond, a local catfish restaurant, but much to my relief, they had items other than seafood (not a fan.) I even, get this, tried hush puppies and fried dill pickles—both quite good. As an added bonus the four of us were recognized from a front page article in the local paper. It was nice to feel famous for a little bit!

On Sunday, we had a panel at the local library, which opened that day just for us. Southern hospitality was in full force, and we had quite a nice crowd, thanks to word of mouth. I’m hoping it’s the first of many trip there.

Next week I head to Malice, one of my favorite conferences, and then up to Oakmont, Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh, next Monday.

I confess, traveling can be exhausting, and I get terribly homesick, but I have to admit I love meeting new readers, catching up with old friends, and hearing from people who love my books.

Throw in a hush puppy or two, and I couldn’t ask for much more!

~heather

"E" is for rEvolution - Part II

Last week, Laura posed the question of whether the readership for ebooks is the same audience for print books. And this, of course, is the key question for all writers looking to boost their sales in an increasingly tight market.

Most of us being traditionally published are also being published in ebooks, but we don't sell many. I think this is due to a couple of things: our ebooks are being released in limited formats (mostly PDF files), and our ebooks are not being promoted where ebook readers can find them.

As I cautiously explore the electronic jungle (Bombay Bowler tilted at a fetching angle), I've come to the conclusion that the readership is probably not the same. I think a number of ebook readers are a bit more electronically savvy than yours truly. I think they may be the folks who download music and download movies and use palm pilots and blueberries. (Er--blackberries?) A number of them seem to have migrated from fan fiction (a topic for another day). They are used to a more interactive reading experience. They write online, they read online. We work online, they play online.

Is this a younger audience? The audience of the future?

The other thing about these readers is that they are niche readers whose needs are not being met by traditional publishing. While paranormal and erotic romances are certainly being published, they are not being published in the quantity that these readers demand. Gay romance, which in epublishing is called M/M or F/F romance, is barely published at all by the big NY houses, but this stuff is a major seller in epublishing. Epublishing is filling a gap, it's meeting a need not otherwise met by traditional publishing.

But what does that mean for the rest of us? Unless you're writing erotic paranormals or BDSM thrillers or interracial or gay romance, maybe not a lot. Even if you are writing erotic paranormals for the big houses, there doesn't seem to be a lot of crossover. Why? Why are these pockets of readers apparently isolated from each other? And is there a way to reach those readers?

As we look at that whole global marketplace thing, one of the obvious benefits of ebooks is that they eliminate the time and expense of mailing overseas. Books are expensive to ship and paper is increasingly costly.

And let's not forget about the joys of immediate gratification -- even if you're not overseas.

Convenience--and privacy. If you are into elves and erotica, you may prefer to buy books online rather than suffer the bemused glances of a twenty-something opposite sex bookstore clerk.

But how do we find these readers? If they read online, they're obviously found lurking on Internet, but the World Wide Web is a big place.

Do we need these readers? Even if they are out there in enough numbers to qualify their publishers for RWA membership--with romance continuing to outsell the other genres--would adding their numbers to our existing readership be significant? Maybe yes, maybe no. Given the fact that royalties on ebooks are generally double - triple what they are on print books, small numbers of ebook readers could still prove to be significant.

Unfortunately, I only have questions, not answers. But I'm interested in your ideas.

Even if ebooks don't replace print books, do you think these readers are the readers of the future? Do we need to actively court them now--and, if so, how do we do that?

Gearing Up

It's starting again. The next book in my knitting mystery series, A KILLER STITCH, is due in bookstores May 1st. Even, so I've already had a signing at a knitting shop in mid-April. Not just any knitting shop, mind you, but THE knitting shop where I base the series---Lambspun of Colorado. I had to get special permission for the early ship, but it was worth it. What fun to meet all the readers again. And that was simply the first signing. This Saturday, when book is officially available, I'm signing in another knitting shop, in Denver this time---LambShoppe Yarn & Coffee Bar. I just love the names creative shop owners give their "creations."

Knitting shops, bookstores, craft shops----you name it----are all creations of the heart, just like our novels. They spring from the passion and desire to create something that doesn't exist or put a special stamp on something that does. I truly believe that we all have this creative desire deep down inside us. That's why we will go without sleep or stay inside on glorious days in order to get our stories down on paper. Those creative and dedicated shop owners are inside too. Taking care of customers that have been attracted to their particular "creation." I love watching that.

Next week, most of the Cozy Chicks will be in Crystal City, Va, right outside Washington, DC, at a wonderful mystery conference---Malice Domestic. If anyone will be there, please say "hi." We'd love to meet our blogger friends.

After Malice Domestic, lots of us (including Kate Collins and I) will travel up to Pittsburgh area (Oakmont) for the Festival of Mystery which is sponsored by Mystery Lovers Bookstore. Over 50 authors and hundreds of fans at a massive booksigning/chat.

After that, I'm taking off for the Los Angeles area for four days to do some signings at mystery bookstores and knitting shops. If any of you bloggers are interested, please check out my website for Booksignings/Appearances. www.maggiesefton.com Drop by and say "hi."

GRAB THE BAR AND HANG ON FOR THE RIDE

What I love about roller coasters is that rush of exhilaration that comes after a long climb up a hill and a breathtaking few seconds of hovering at the top of a towering peak. Then whoosh! It sweeps sharply downward, taking its passengers with it, completely at the mercy of forces beyond their control. As many before me have said, life is like that, except that the ride downhill is no fun at all. This hit home two years ago, when a nasty virus attacked the nerves in my neck and back, causing headaches, nausea, muscle spasms, numbness, lost of taste and tears, hypersensitive sense of smell, and even an inflamed scalp. Worst of all was that my deadline was coming up fast.
Having hit the bottom of that roller coaster ride, I had to come to terms with a sudden inability to do the simplest things -- smell the aroma of coffee first thing in the morning, read a book, or even sit at the computer to work on the next chapter in my mystery. Instead, all my energy went into not moving so I didn’t bring on more pain. My world narrowed to my house, then to my bedroom, then to what was immediately in front of my face, as the pain intensified.
At first I wept a lot. When that got old, I started focusing on the things I could see in my limited area. Most often it was my husband’s face, as he gazed into my eyes and assured me that he would be there no matter what happened. To counteract the depression that set in, I began to look for even the tiniest signs of improvement. One day, three weeks after the virus took hold, I sneezed. It was a major victory. The next day my eyes watered. I wanted to pop open a bottle of Champagne, except that it would have made my stomach hurt. The day my sense of taste returned was a real cause for joy.
That was when I realized that on that long upward climb of my daily life I had lost sight of the things that really mattered. They weren’t the new jacket in my closet, the cruise I wanted to take, or even my lovely, comfortable home. First and foremost was my health. Because when I lost it, when pain had a choke hold on me, every moment became an ordeal, for me as well as for those who care about me. Living with that virus also gave me a new appreciation for my loved ones. When was the last time I’d told them I loved them? And then there were the small joys – the aroma of soup simmering on the stove, the taste of chocolate, the thrill of opening a new book and becoming lost in it -- all thing I’d stopped noticing.
My very wise grandmother told me long ago, "Thank the Lord for boring days," and now I finally understand what she meant. There’s nothing exciting about them, but there’s nothing bad, either. Today, nearly all of my symptoms have disappeared and I’m once again on the climb toward that next hill. My hope is that wherever I am, I won’t lose sight of those important things or worry so much about the inevitable lows and forget to enjoy the moment.
It’s like the glass being half empty or half full. There’s always a valley after the peak; then again, there’s always a peak after the valley. It’s the rhythm of life. In the meantime, thank the Lord for the boring days.

Kate

Hanging In...

Sorry to have skipped out on the blog last week, but I went down to North Carolina to visit my mom and my grandmother, who has recently entered a hospice. It has been a tough year for my grandmother, as she has gone from using a walker, to barely being able to stand to the recent loss of the use of her legs. She has always been a fiercely independent woman and this physical weakness has really taken a toll of her emotionally.

I’m not sure if there are bleaker places than rest homes and hospices, but her sparse room became even colder when she asked me to go over to her house and pick out the things I wanted “once she was gone.” I didn’t want to, but it was important to her that I fulfill this request, so I forced myself to do so. My mom and I walked around her quiet, clean house using subdued voices. At first, we werereluctant to touch anything, but then the memories that certain objects held broke the spell and allowed us to touch her things.

I’m sure everyone has had to face some kind of loss and one of the hardest things is going through the minutia of someone’s life. I picked out some antique toys for my children and a scrapbook full of letters my mother had written about her own three children to her mother, my grandmother, for myself. I held it together until my mother picked up a cheap and chipped hand mirror that had been in my grandmother’s bathroom as long as I could remember. Twenty-five years fell away and I could see Gram gazing into it while brushing her long, silver hair. She only has a few white tufts now and I’ve got plenty of gray hairs myself, but it seemed just yesterday that I was a stringy haired blond tomboy watching my lovely grandmother wind her hair into a tight bun.

When I got back to Virginia from NC, I was stunned by the violence that occurred at Virginia Tech. The city of Richmond has been subdued this week and, like most folks around here, I’ve been feeling rather down. It’s been a challenge to write light-hearted murder mysteries when cold-blooded, life-changing murders have ruined lives forever down the road.

There has been a silver lining to all this bleakness, however. Elaine Viets, author of the Dead-End Job and Josie Marcus, Mystery Shopper mysteries, is recovering from her stroke. Everyone in the writing community was shocked that someone so young and healthy had been suddenly hospitalized with a dire prognosis. Elaine is doing much better, but clearly cannot tour or promote her new book. The MWA, Sisters in Crime, PJ Nunn at Breakthrough Promotions, and her fellow authors have rallied around her to promote her latest Dead End Job Mystery, Murder With Reservations.

The call to help Elaine has been answered by many: readers, authors, librarians, bookstore owners, etc. It has made me feel grateful to be a part of such a generous and caring group of people and also reinforced the notion that this is a small world after all. We all feel pain, loss, and fear, but once we reach out to one another, we become aware of the power of goodness.

Please support Elaine by pre-ordering her book. It will be released May 1^st and on that date, it would be great to see it soar to the top of the Bestseller List! Clock here for the Amazon link and learn more about Elaine and her works on http://www.elaineviets.com/

Slacking

I'm totally slacking on my blog this week. I had plenty of time to write one all week--and didn't. And I find myself sitting here at 9:30 Thursday night without a blog for tomorrow morning.

Usually I'd go to sleep, hopefully dream of some delightful, witty blog (ha!), and wake up ready to race to my keyboard to post it.

But tomorrow I leave bright and early for the Southern Kentucky Book Fest and know that first thing in the morning I'll be worried if I packed everything I needed. Plus I'll need to paint my nails. Priorities! I know you all understand.

I'm hoping to also remember to post this blog, rather than leaving it in draft form. Which leads me to some good news...

The Cozy Chicks are going private. That's right. We're leaving Blogger and hanging our Cozy Chicks shingle out in cyberspace. The site isn't done quite yet, but we'll let you know as soon as it is. So far, it's looking fabulous.

I'm off to pack the Skittles for my trip, my favorite new road trip snack. I'll be back on Monday!

~heather

"E" is for rEvolution - Part I

It's okay, I'm not going to launch into a debate about whether the Theory of Evolution should be taught in school. No, I'm thinking (as usual) of books and publishing. In particular, I'm thinking about the evolution of publishing.

I'm thinking about ebooks.

Way back when--and this is quite a trip in the Way Back Machine--ebooks were touted as the Publishing Revolution. They were the Wave of the Future. We were all going to be walking around with our noses stuck to little palmtops, dropping electronics into the bath, and chipping our teeth when we dozed off in bed and our readers fell out of our hands onto our snoozing faces.

Needless to say, it didn't quite happen like that. For one thing, the few of us left who love to read turned out to be equally traditional about the way we read--we like the feel of books, the smell of books, the taste of books--okay, maybe not the taste. I, for one, rarely chew on the covers, no matter how strictly I'm dieting. But you know what I mean, we love the whole reading experience. There's a comfort to the weight of a book in your hand; and many books are beautiful--leatherbound covers and lush illustrations and expensive paper. They fit into purses nicely and they don't injure you when you roll over on them in bed--or electrocute you when you drop them in the bath (hey, there's a nice little update on a time-honored murder method).

The other problem, way back when, was that many of those initial ebooks were not...very good. In fact, they were very bad. The people publishing through epubs were almost totally people who just couldn't get published any other way. And there was a reason for that. These brave pioneers were regarded much the way self-published authors were, although in theory epubs were editing their work and--more importantly--paying their authors.

But the times they are a-changing, and now several epubs have achieved RWA status (meaning they've actually sold enough copies--we're talking thousands--of books to qualify). Almost everyone who is published traditionally is now also published in ebook format--not that most of us sell a lot of ebooks, but obviously the potential is there. The problem seems to be one of distribution (especially since Amazon stopped carrying any ebooks but they're own).

More interesting are the epublishers who are publishing first and solely new works in electronic format. The real success stories are in niches like erotica and paranormal. The Three Es as I call them: Elves, Erotica and Ebooks. That's where the epublishing money is.

Anyway, more on distribution and niche publishing next week. Today I have a couple of questions for you:

1) Have you ever bought or read an ebook? If yes, do you read ebooks on a regular basis? If no, would you consider buying an ebook from a favorite author if that was the only way you could read her work?

2) Have you ever thought of publishing through an epublisher? And if you have published through an epublisher, what was that experience like?

Deadly Bugs

Sorry, folks. A virulent stomach flu hit me yesterday, and I'm still recuperating. Will blog next week. ---Maggie

The Family Bed

I am one of those mothers who has a family bed. I've been lectured by my mother, my pediatrician and at times my husband. It all started when my first one was born almost 16 years ago. I can't believe that he is almost sixteen (and he has his first real love--that's a separate topic, maybe for next week). Anyway, when my first son was born he was six weeks preemie and had some health issues, so when I brought him home, I was not about to let him out of my sight. He is completely healthy now, but the first three years were tough and I kept him in bed with me at night. Then along came his brother two and a half years later, and dammit the little booger was so cuute and HUNGRY! That kid wanted to nurse every hour. Instead of having to wake up and fix a bottle constantly, I'd just, um, well for lack of better terms--latch him on to the human bottle until he filled up. Guess where he slept--yep--with me and his brother. It was easier! I was tired!

Then, I met John and after we got married, he didn't really like the idea of having little boys in the bed--go figure. The oldest had moved himself out when he was about four and he did it on his own. He knew when he was ready and that was that. But my middle one was another story. We did convince him that if he wanted to sleep in the room with us that was okay but he would have to set up camp on the floor. That lasted a week and he figured out it was way more comfy to go and get in his own bed. He was about five. There are times even now though when we will find him curled up with a sleeping bag in our room and he's 13. Sometimes it's simply about comfort.

Well, when the youngest came along, I thought--nope--no more family bed, this kid is going to sleep in her own bed from the get-go. Sure. My daughter did not agree with that idea and guess what--she's now six. And, even I am done having little kids in the family bed (we won't even talk about the dog and the cats who wind up there). So, I had to come up with a way to convince her that her bed is so much better than mine. She's really into horses and about three months ago I spotted a comforter at Target with horses on it. I thought, well maybe we could go and get it and that would work. Anything to do with a horse these days is even better than mommy. She liked the idea. But Target didn't have the darn comforter any longer. They did, however, have cowgirl and Indian sheets with horses on them and thankfully she fell in love with them. We made up her bed and she slept in it almost all night long. She came down into our room at about 4:15, but I have to say that from 11:00 to 4:15 was probably the best sleep I've had in a long time. There is somethng to be said for the comfort and security that a family bed brings. But, today, I will admit, there is a lot more to be said about getting a good night's sleep!

Rested for a change,
Michele

GLOBAL WARMING? NOT IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD

Here it is mid-April and my poor little tulip bulbs are shivering in the snow, my lilac buds are looking dismayed, and my rose bushes are, frankly, miffed. Luckily, I was told by an expert gardener that they will survive. (Won’t they be pleased to know it?) Personally, this extra-chilly Midwestern April, with its freakish snow storm and gray skies, makes no difference to me. I’m bundled in a turtleneck sweater, heavy sweat pants, and thick socks, staring at the computer screen and seeing a cozy flower shop named Bloomers that is filled with a rainbow of colorful blossoms, the air scented by jasmine, rose, hyacinth, eucalyptus and lily. Ahhh, bliss.
My poor husband is terribly affected by the weather, practically going into withdrawal in November, when the days are shorter than the nights. In fact, he gets downright snappish. But not me (and it drives him crazy.) See, my day takes place inside my head, so I don’t care what’s happening outside my window. And, honestly, sometimes I wish I could stay there, in the safe harbor of the little town of New Chapel, Indiana, tucked away in that flower shop, especially after watching the news on TV, or reading the morning paper over breakfast. Then I practically race into my den, shut the door, turn on some mood music, and dive into those flowers. I mean, hearing about the war in Iraq is tragic enough, but then we have to be bombarded with all those dire predictions about what’s going to become of us once the icecaps melt, the seas rise, and all species become extinct. Like we need more to worry about?
If you believe those reports, then in a few short decades, we Northerners should be running around in tank tops and sandals, sweating like nobody’s business, in December. Looking out my window right now, well, somehow I don’t see that happening. Truth be told, my neighborhood could use a little warming up.
Here in the Midwest, we’ve had cold springs for the past four years, and cool summers for the past three. Is that some kind of weird effect of global warming? Not according to my stepmother, a very wise woman in her mid-eighties whose memory has not dimmed with age, who remembers many cold springs and cool summers throughout her life. And also, not according to past weather records either. Snow in April has been happening since records have been kept. And those rising sea and lake levels? Not happening yet. Some are falling.
On the subject of global warming, you have to read Michael Crichton’s excellent novel, "State of Fear." If you haven’t read it, please put it on your list. It’s an eye-opener. Writers do extensive research before they begin a book, and Mr. Chrichton outdid himself on this one. What he found will shock you. It sure did me. His bibliography and notes in the back are also a must read.
Since attending college in the 70s, I’ve been totally dedicated to the idea of cleaning up our environment. I still am, and frankly, I’ve been worried about the effects of global warming. But here are a few of the fascinating tidbits I learned from Mr. Crichton’s book:
1) There are as many icebergs forming as there are melting! When was the last time you heard that tidbit on the news? Maybe, um, never? Why is that, do you suppose?
2) There are as many new species being discovered as there are becoming extinct. Seems this has been a regular occurrence since life began.
3) The earth is always changing. There are warming periods and cooling periods and we’re coming out of one of those cooling periods and heading into a warm-up. And get this: it’s NOT OUR FAULT. Well, okay maybe a little. After all, we are, as a nation, terribly wasteful. But I’m talking a little amount, like maybe five percent. (Don’t quote me on that. Read the book.) And if we throw all our resources into trying to stop global warming, well, we just can’t do it. His book explains why.
Remember Y2K? How many of us stocked our pantries after hearing about the disasters that were sure to happen – but didn’t? Remember the "killer bees?" Guess what? They’re here now and nothing drastic has happened. The bird flu is another example of creating a "state of fear." So the next time you hear another warning about anything, here’s what you need to ask yourselves: Who stands to profit from creating this "state of fear?" Who is using fear to benefit his career, business, bank account? The next time you see a headline that use words such as, "disaster", "catastrophe" or "pandemic", remember, fear sells. And when you hear a news report issued by some anonymous group of scientists, ask, who hired these scientists? What special interest group stands to gain from having their endorsement?
Of course, we need to clean up our act, to stop polluting our part of this lovely planet, to conserve our natural resources, and to stop putting pesticides and hormones in our food supply. If you want to see how to do it, visit one of our European neighbors. They get it. You won’t find Styrofoam containers mucking up their garbage dumps. Let’s get smart about our earth, and above all, let’s not let anyone manipulate us into a "state of fear."
Tomorrow, I hear, there’s another snowstorm heading my way. But that’s fine with me. I’ll be nestled into a cozy flower shop, arranging sweet-scented blossoms and solving a few murders along the way. Ahh, bliss.

Kate

Hamster Love

(My apologies to Captain and Tennille.)

By Heather

I did something the other week that I never thought I’d do.

I took our pet hamster, Remy, to the vet.

Yes, I took a hamster to a vet.

You see, he had an eye issue and seemed to be in pain, and what else could I do? At eight months old, he’s become part of the family.

Yes, a rodent is officially part of my family. Two rodents, actually, as there’s Dewy, our other hamster, too.

So I packed Remy into his pet carrier and brought him to the vet, who said they could treat him with antibiotics, which probably wouldn’t help, or bring him to surgery and remove the eye, sew his lids shut, but, oh, hamsters rarely survive the anesthesia.

Yes, I took the antibiotics.

The vet was right—the medicine isn’t working, but over time his little eye should shrink back into its socket. He’s blind in that eye now, but it’s not much of a change for him—hamsters have poor eyesight to begin with.

Yes, I know the average hamster only lives two years.

Yes, I realize I paid four times more at the vet for his visit than I did to purchase him.

But like I said, he’s part of the family.

And yes, I’d do it again.

~heather

Who Dares, Wins

Michele and Maggie have been talking about dreams and risk-taking this week. I think the two generally go hand-in-hand. Rarely do we achieve our dreams without taking some risks--anything from risking our retirement savings to taking the chance of appearing foolish. For some of us it's probably easier to gamble our nest egg than put ourselves in the position of looking silly.

Growing up, my slogan was the motto of the SAS: Who dares, wins.

And I still believe that. A dream is by definition something that is not easily attained.

But the older we get, the more we have to lose. For one thing, it's not so easy to start over at forty--let alone fifty. Even harder, is that by age forty or fifty we've come to define ourselves a certain way--and very often the things we dream of are things that will change who we are and how we define ourselves--at the least, they often change how others see and define us.

There are practical considerations too. Mortgages and children and health insurance--and the stories of our friends and family who have gambled and lost. Scary stuff.

But I think the scariest thing of all is to give up on a dream--not because you tried and failed, but because you were so afraid of failing, you never tried. It may not be wise, but I think human nature is such that we most bitterly regret the lost opportunity.

Yes? No? Maybe?

By the way, welcome to Kate, the new chick on the block!

Risk and Reward

Say "risk" to people and you get different responses. Some people say, "Risk? What? Where?" and they begin strategies to provide or hedge against that risk. Some people flinch at the mere mention of the word. They're risk averse. The first ones are more or less risk neutral. If there's risk out there, they want to know where it is, so they can "fix" it. Then, there are some people out there who jump at the chance to take risks. They leap off buildings w/bungee chords, they sky dive, they go charging up mountains in the dead of winter when snowstorms could blow in anytime and freeze them. They're the risk-takers.

But I would submit that risk appears throughout everyone's life. We cannot avoid it. We cannot completely provide for it. It's often a surprise and comes at us sideways. But, we all have to handle it. And---it can be a good thing. Willingness to take a risk can lead to wonderful things happening in our lives. And sometimes. . .it doesn't. There are no guarantees. That's why it's called risk. We don't know if our actions and our plans will succeed or not.

It's that "not-knowing" part that keeps some people from venturing into risky waters at all. They want to play it safe. Hide from risk. But---guess what? We can't. Risk finds us. There's another type of risk lurking out there. It's the risk of Lost Opportunities. A door opens and reveals a path. We have no idea where the path will lead. Into the Emerald City where we'll be dancing with Dorothy or into the bramble bushes, complete with thorns.

I'm a big believer in what I call Creative Risk. I've taken that risk and good things happened. But there are no guarantees. Each time we risk, it's a gamble. And the gamble is there for everyone, including the rich and famous. Last night, I was invited to attend a performance of Elton John's "Aida." Wow, I thought. Grand Opera. Go, Elton! But, you know, I'm sure Elton John had the same feelings we do as writers when we begin a new or different project. Elton John had never done Grand Opera. He knew he could do a great job with movie scores, like The Lion King, but "Aida?" Heck, that's one of the old warhorses--elephants, ancient Egypt, pyramids, yada, yada. So, I imagine Elton had some moments of self-doubt that he could pull it off. Just like we do when we're in the midst of writing something entirely different.

Well, Elton John pulled it off. His modern production of "Aida" was excellent. I was amazed how he could actually do the tragic love triangle story so convincingly in such a shortened and changed form----and with rock music, no less! But he did it. He took the risk and wound up creating something entirely new.

I'm reminded of the title of one of the songs from Act I, which sums it up nicely. "Fortune Follows the Brave." Well said, Elton. Well said.

The Dream

What is the Big Book? It's the Da Vinci Code, It's anything by Nora Roberts, John Grisham and of course J.K. Rowling. It's the books that hit "The List." And, I want to write one. I really do. Now this may not be every writer's dream, it is likely some others have this same dream. It is definitely my dream.

Why do I want to write the big book? Is it fame--no. Thank goodness if you do hit the list, I think as an author you are hardly Star Magazine material. Authors typically don't have Brittney Spears type moments. Is it because of the money--uh yeah that would be good. I'm not one to say that money answers everything. I've seen plenty of people with money who are truly miserable. I think to be happy if you have cash or don't, you've got to find that inner peace within yourself. That journey is different for each individual. But dammit--I've found my inner peace and now I want some cash. Well okay--I don't need a yacht or a jet, but the occasional vacation with the family and right now, I could use a new car as mine is kind of its last legs. So, yeah--the money that goes with the big book would be cook, but you know the coolest part of that would be--I could write without stress. I think there would still be the creative stress and the deadlines but there would be less of stress. I believe that. For me, it's about living this writer's dream and being able to full focus and develop the work and just write. I want to be able to afford to write my heart out. Sadly enough most of us writers don't have that luxury. We just don't. We do this because we absolutely love it. We love creating stories. Right now, I have an idea for what i think could be a big book, or maybe it's not. But it's that kind of book that keeps speaking to me, so I will write it, and you know what if there is a payout at the end--yipee! We'll all go for a ride on my yacht. LOL. Even if there is no payout, which is a chance we all take as writers as we begin a new book, sometimes you have to forget about the stuff that might or could come with the writing--like "the list" and a big advance. It's a huge might and the odds aren't terrific. Sometimes you've got to write what is in your heart because it's the right thing to do for your soul and your journey.

What is your big dream and why?

Cheers,
Michele

Can you hear me now?

A big WOO HOO to all my new friends here at the Cozy Chicks blogspot. I’m so excited to be a part of this wild and witty and, shall I say deadly? group of --

Wait. Hold on. My cell phone is ringing.

Okay, where was I? Oh, right. As a brief introduction, I’m Kate Collins, author of the Flower Shop Mysteries, starring that bad girl of the bouquet business, that fearsome, feisty florist, Abby Knight and her zany assistants. My latest book, ACTS OF VIOLETS–

Sorry. Hold just a moment. This phone has been ringing all morning. I mean, even standing in line to buy coffee I got two calls. . . (Wait. Why are you scowling? The clerk didn’t mind. She was on her cell phone, too.)

Anyway, I can’t remember where I was so I’ll skip to the part where I tell you what my hot topic of the day is, which you might have guessed–

Unbelievable. Another call. You don’t mind, do you?

You do? Seriously? Why didn’t you say so before?

Let me guess. If you’re like me, you were raised to always be polite, even if it meant gritting your teeth and pretending nothing was wrong while imagining yourself doing seriously bodily harm to the person being rude -- intentionally or not.

Maybe I’m hypersensitive, but when I’m in my doctor’s office, giving her what I think is important information about my current health, and she stops to answer her cell phone, and it’s ANOTHER patient describing her health situation, I get a tad bit annoyed. After all, I’m paying for that visit.
However, I forgive her because she is, after all, my doctor. But then a second patient calls, and I am once again cut off, and now I’m seriously considering telling her that I will come back when she can give me her undivided attention. But is that likely to happen or is this what I can expect in the future?

I don’t know about you, but when I see a woman driving a van load of kids, holding a cell phone to her ear, at a traffic light, while making a turn, I give her lots of room. Yesterday, at a four-way stop, it was me and three women on cell phones in kid-loaded vans making turns. I almost put my car into reverse and backed away.

Last time I was in Chicago, strolling down Michigan Blvd, I counted every other person having a conversation with an unseen person, either through a cell phone, a blue tooth device, or because he had an imaginary friend. But we’ll let him be. A couple, walking hand in hand, were each having phone conversations with someone else.

I’m not saying that being able to stay in contact via a mobile phone is a bad thing. I depend on it all time to make sure my kids can reach me, and I surely wouldn’t drive anywhere alone without one. (And what would my sleuth, Abby, do without her cell phone when she’s got a murder suspect cornered?)

What I’m saying is that it seems many of us can’t go anywhere without having a phone conversation -- whether we’re buying groceries, enjoying a meal in a restaurant, trying on clothes, filling up the gas tank, taking an invigorating walk around the block, and even -- I’m not making this up -- while appearing for a court hearing.

My question is, when did we lose the ability to enjoy our own thoughts? To hear the sounds of silence? To daydream?

See, a writer has to daydream. We must have quiet time, with no conversations happening except the one between the characters in our heads, so we don’t really have a problem taking a walk without uttering a word (my husband hates when I do that), or buying groceries without telling someone all about our day. So this is really hard for me to understand.

Will you help me understand?

Are you a "constant conversationalist" or are you the one in the restaurant who can cook her own veggies because of the steam coming out of her ears from the loud guy on the phone in the next booth? Do you speak up at rudeness or merely grin and bear it?

Stories, people ! I want stories! Please? Just be warned, you never know when one might turn up in my next book.

Kate

Snow Falling on...Easter Eggs?!

In a wee bit, I am supposed to have 25 children (and their parents) over to the house for an egg hunt. I've been preparing for this event all week. I've ordered 13 pizza pies (interesting choice of number, I know), filled over 200 eggs with toys that are bound to be choking hazards and a variety of teeth-rotting treats, baked bunny cupcakes, and bought a platter's worth of Peeps. I also blatantly ignored the warning sign at my favorite nursery that read: Do not plant annuals until after April 15th, the average day for the final frost in Richmond.

Instead, I loaded up on impatiens in a lovely shade of Easter-egg purple, white begonias, and some spring perennials. The yard was mowed and mulched and simply waiting for hordes of urchins to race through it, effectively squashing all the new flowers and scattering all of the hardwood mulch. But I was okay with that. I had planned on that happening. What I hadn't planned on was waking up to snow!

Normally, someone with my personality would have been annoyed at the bizarre turn of the weather. After all, when I sent out my evite invitations for this egg hunt, we had had a week of sunny days in the 80s. Tulips were blooming, robins were pecking, and azalea buds were growing fat on the branch. I like things to be predictable, because I'm organized (in some areas) to the point of verging on OCD. Yet, I was too awed to be upset. The scene beyond my bedroom window was one of beauty.

How we wished for snow earlier this year here in Richmond. Receiving a White Christmas is about as likely as folks around here forgetting about the War Between the States, but we still long for a snowy day in December or January - just not in April.

I think this snow served to remind me - and perhaps a few others - that we are not in charge here. Sometimes it takes the unexpected to make one stop, take a breath, and admire the palette set before us. In snow, slush, or sunshine, we will gather today and count our blessings.

What are your Easter or egg hunting plans this weekend?

Where's the Heat??

Hi everyone!

I'm posting from Florida, where my family migrated for spring break. Only, it's not all that warm here. 60 degrees. Brr! How am I supposed to tan in 60 degrees, I ask?

But, on the bright side, it's only 28 degrees in Cincinnati. I'll count my blessings.

I'll be back next week!

~heather

Has This Ever Happened to You

I'm posting Karen MacInerney's blog today for her, as Blogger is giving her some complications. Enjoy!


I could talk about writing today. But I don't feel like talking about writing.


So I'm going to talk about something else. In fact, I'm going to talk about something that happened to me this morning.


The last few weeks, things have been rather hectic for me, the result being that there's been more than a bit of sleep deprivation in my life. So this morning, since I had an interview to do at noon (with Ashley, a very nice young lady from the Daily Texan) and I wanted to be able to form coherent sentences, after I dropped my kids off, I did NOT go and write. Which is highly unusual.


Instead, I went home, took a bath, read a book, and set the alarm clock for a reasonable time in case I fell asleep.


Well, the alarm went off, I got up, blew my hair dry, got dressed, couldn't find my keys, discovered the rabbit had fleas, and then accidentally left the front door open.


And then the alarm went off, and I woke up.


Now, maybe it's just me, but personally, I think life is busy enough that I deserve a little downtime when I close my eyes. I mean, you'd think my subconscious could throw in a dragon or two in there, or maybe a trip to the south of France. Or at least a hunky guy in a kilt.


But no, I get lost keys and fleas.


If only there was someone I could complain to...

Building Character

Last week, or possibly the week before (time flies when you're going nuts when your back is against the deadline wall), I posted on the Good Girls Kill For Money site that I’d recently discovered something called Fan Fiction. Actually, that's not true. I was already sort of familiar with the concept of fan fiction, but I hadn't looked at any for many, many years.

Now fan fiction, for those of you who have not previously come across this phenomenon, are stories written by fans of a (usually) TV show. The stories often fill in blanks between episodes or between ads or simply build on the characters and their relationships. One of the oldest fandoms is Star Trek (which will come as no surprise to anyone). Pretty much any popular show has its devoted fan fic writers and readers (X-Files, Highlander, CSI, you name it). In fact, by coicidence, there was an article today on Yahoo about how insanely popular fan fiction is, and it named the top three targets of fan fiction, one being...this is sooooo weird to me: THE BACKSTREET BOYS.

How the heck can you have fan fiction about real life people?

Anyway, I don't want to think about that too much because it sort of creeps me out.

In the olden days (the '70s, I guess) they used to publish fan fiction in little mimeographed pamphlets and hand them around–or even sell them, I guess–but the Internet has changed much of that, and while you can still buy ezines with quality stories, you can also find all kinds of stories for free on the web. Granted, a lot of them are pretty bad, but it’s refreshing how truly excellent a few are.

By the way, a writer friend was telling me that apparently the writers who contribute to ezines don't get paid. At least not in the way you or I would consider payment. They get a free copy of the zine and they get another story credit for their writing resume, but...but...since they aren't professional writers and they aren't taken seriously by the professional writing community, I fail to see how this avails them.

Now, when I say these writers aren't taken seriously, that's not a criticism of the writing itself, because, as I said, you would be astounded (I was, anyway) at how really well-written some of these stories are.


But what was interesting to me was characterization and how it's handled.

You wouldn't think a lot of characterization would be required when a writers is ripping off someone else's character--I mean, it's all basically there with dozens of already written (and acted out) episodes to guide the fan fic writer. How could anyone possibly get it wrong? And what would be impressive about getting it right?

Well, you'd be surprised. I found it a fascinating study of writing ability, in particular the ability to capture "voice." Because a fan fic writer isn't simply copying the character as written, she (it seems to be shes mostly writing this stuff) is also trying to nail down how the actor portrayed the character--and, of course, the physical descriptions are almost entirely based (though loosely) on the looks of the actor portraying the character.

Now a fan fic writer certainly has a lot of built-in short cuts. She's writing for an audience that already knows the characters as well as she does, and are looking for familiar clues -- most of them coming from classic epic episodes. Decisions about clothing, cars, medical problems, childhood trauma--a lot of this has already been determined.

Fan fic writers will embellish on what has been set in stone, and some of them do it very imaginatively indeed--confirming my long-held believe that you could give ten different writers the same bare bones plot and teh same bare bones cast of characters and you'd end up with ten wildly different books.

What's interesting to me from a writing standpoint is what makes our characters uniquely our own. Why is one writer's Duncan MacLeod so much better than anothers? Why does one feel like the real thing, and another read like a clumsy rip-off?

And even more interesting is what is it about some characters and storylines that fill others with the desire to recreate them, make them their own, expand and embellish their adventures? What is it in these particular archetypes that strikes a nerve?

Love to hear your thoughts on this and in writing characters generally

Springtime and Sleuths

Spring is in the air, and I can feel it. Sure, we had a cold front last week which brought light snow overnight, but it was melted the next day. Daffodils and crocuses are up, lilac buds are forming, all the trees are budding----yes! Winter can try, but it can't come back for real. So, there!

I can feel that new Spring energy, I swear I can. Or, maybe it's the Heading-into-the-Home-Stretch energy I'm feeling, that comes when I'm building to the climax of a mystery. I'm at that point right now in the writing of book #5 of my knitting mystery series. I'm heading into the home stretch.

I really love this part of writing mysteries---watching the sleuth gather one clue after another and another and another, putting them all together, figuring them out, and discovering who the killer is, at last. I always love the scenes where the amateur sleuth thinks through everything and puts it all together. The "Aha!" moment. Love it. Maybe that's why I like to write amateur sleuth mysteries. I never tire of "putting it all together."

How about you folks? Why do you enjoy reading amateur sleuth mysteries?

Working for the Weekend

Ah--the weekend. I was reading J.B.'s post and I like her weekends. I want to trade. I especially want those crepes. Not that my weekends are terrible and like J.B. I have that sense of almost relief on Friday night. For me it is about not having to get up at the crack of dawn and get it all going around the house. I always tell everyone that it's my sleep in day, which is so funny because it never works out that way. My husband who tends to still wake at the crack of dawn to check the surf, makes just enough noise that it stirs my youngest. And, it seems that just as dad is out the door, I have her staring at me at the side of the bed saying, "I'm hungry." This is about the time I want to kill dad and pull the pillow over my head. (Mind you--the two teenagers in the house are right there with me--sleeping in works real well for them, and they seem to have no problem ignoring their little sister). So, I've started a new deal with my husband and youngest--dad can go surf, but he must bring home a croissant or breakfast burrito for the little one (her favorites). She is capable at this stage of getting herself a piece of fruit and totally knows how to flip on the Disney Channel. We tried it out this weekend, and it sort of worked. My daughter did come to check on me a few times to see if I was awake yet, and finally I took the pillow off of my head and said that yes I was, but then I told her I needed thirty minutes to pray. I knew that would get her. She goes to Catholic school. A little guilt trip works well at times. Thirty minutes later, thankfully dad showed up with a breakfast burrito and a vente mocha for me! Beautiful. It made me soooo happy. It's those little things, you know.

Once I'm up, the day is in full speed. My husband is a personal trainer and health nut, so you can only imagine what his energy level is like. His idea of the weekend is do, do, do and go, go, go. His idea of doing is cleaning the house. UGH. But it's not the typical pick up your stuff cleaning. It's like project cleaning and what I find it leads to is a house that winds up looking like Sanford and Son, because by the time you start the project and it's all out in front of you, all you want to do is have a drink. And, even healthy guy loses some energy once he's drug the mess out. I like to leave the mess in the closet or the laundry room or under the house in the storage area where no one sees it. Who cares what the closet looks like? I sort of do when I can't find something, so he kinda has a point. The go, go, go part is all about let's go to a museum or the zoo or the beach or the park or the dog wash and clip the dog's nails. Some days, I really want to insist he get a prescription for Valium. Don't get me wrong--I love him to pieces, but I go, go, go all week long and I do, do, do all week long. when the weekend comes all I want is a flipping book to read, my lawn chair and my cat--all on the patio.

As far as Sunday goes--church and then go, go, go and do, do, do. On second thought maybe I need the Valium. Ah, it's all good--at least I get a breakfast burrito and a coffee, and you know what, I am not so silly to realilze that these days will be gone before I know it, and so will the kids who will have their own lives. I'm soaking it up for now. I just wish the weekends would last longer.

Have a great week.

Cheers,
Michele