I never thought I’d say this in reference to a Christmas tree, but I did yesterday: “I’m scared.”
Yesterday was our annual trip to the Christmas tree farm near our house to cut down a tree. The place is called Stokoe’s, and it does a bang-up job, with food, activities, decorations, wreaths, petting zoo, tractor rides out to the fields…you name it. We’ve gone there for our tree every year for the past decade. We go there to get pumpkins, too. I love it so much I modeled Bowen Farms, hero Casey’s pumpkin patch/inn/conference center/etc., in my Marsden books, on it. I got to interview a member of the Stokoe family and everything!
This one might have been a little ambitious…
Anyway, back to the tree. Clan Denker has a size problem. Namely, Casa de Denker has 11 ft. ceilings and a bay window in the living room, and the space must. be. filled. We tend to get monster trees—not just tall, but also fat. Every year, we seek out the biggest, gnarliest tree we can find and nearly kill ourselves cutting it down and getting it into the house.
But this is the first year the tree fought back. Read the rest of this entry
I like pumpkin stuff.
Yeah, I said it. I’m so far from a basic bitch I don’t even own one pair of yoga pants, but I never turn down a good pumpkin spice latte if I can help it. What’s more, I’ll have a slice of pumpkin loaf or a pumpkin muffin with cream cheese frosting right along with that latte and not even bat an eyelash.
It goes deeper than that, however. I love sweater weather. I own, and frequently wear, many garments made of fleece. I fire up the woodstove way too soon. I put up “black” strings of lights for Halloween. I regularly devote hours upon hours to making my son’s costume fabulous (while he’s thinking it’ll be good enough to cut something out of cardboard). Read the rest of this entry
You know how it is with us authors, always having to keep up with the latest in our chosen genre (in my case, it’s romance/romcoms/chick lit). Like that’s a chore or anything, right? I’m regularly up to my eyeballs in love stories with strong heroines and guaranteed HEAs, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. But there are other times when even this romcom author has to go just a little farther afield. It starts as a little niggling thought in the back of my head, and whether it’s triggered by a random thought or the time of year or something in my subconscious that completely escapes my notice, the result is the same: “Time for a reread.” Read the rest of this entry
So the Happy Ever After blog at USAToday has this nifty little series going called “Authors and Their Pets.” I would have named it “Authors and Their Masters,” but hey, whatever we need to believe that lets us sleep at night, you know?
Anyway, I was honored to have the opportunity to talk about my feline overlord, Jasmine, this week. She’s one heck of a taskmaster, even though she’s an old lady (19). Plus I talk a little bit about Jordan, the main character of my latest romcom, Lucky for You (Marsden 3), who adopts stray cats…a little too zealously. Head on over to my little piece at USAToday‘s HEA to find out more!
My son is 11 years old, just a couple of months shy of 12 as I write this. In those 11-plus years, I have of course loved him with all my heart, as well as done my parental due diligence: fed him, clothed him, hugged and kissed him, dried his tears, caught his barf, wiped his butt. Took him to preschool where parent volunteering was required, and thus spent an inordinate amount of time wiping complete strangers’ kids’ butts. (If that isn’t dedication, I don’t know what is.) Read to him, then helped him learn to read. Took him to see Santa and the Easter Bunny. Assisted a couple of days a week in his elementary classes. Schlepped him to innumerable birthday parties and even hosted one, his seventh, at our house. (Once was quite enough, thank you. After that, Chuck E. Cheese was my homie.)
Of course, now that my son is closing in on the teen years, my job has changed somewhat. Once the driving force behind the Cub Scouts pack, moms like me are not quite as welcome in the Boy Scout troop. I now merely wave goodbye and remind him to take his phone as he leaves the house instead of driving him to his friends’ houses. I’m supposed to honor his request that I don’t embarrass him in front of other kids. (Yeah, like that’s going to happen while I have breath in my body.)
But there is one element of his preteen life that I must direct in order for my child to develop into any sort of well-rounded adult—Okay, wait. Let’s bring this in; we don’t want it getting out to just anybody. This is top-level, double-secret-probation type parenting here. Not the kind of thing you read about in parenting books. You ready? Read the rest of this entry
Or, to paraphrase Ralphie’s Old Man in A Christmas Story, “Tomorrow, tomorrow! Hot damn, tomorrow!” (Hey, better that than the infernal Annie earworm, no?)
Anyway. I had a point—that my fifth book baby, and the third in my small-town rom-com Marsden trilogy, Lucky for You, will be available tomorrow, August 18! It’s in all digital formats—Kindle, Nook, Kobo, iBooks, Google Books—so fire up you favorite e-reader and grab a copy!
Here’s a little bit of way-too-feisty main character Jordan keeping poor Will off balance. See you tomorrow!
One week and it’s back to Marsden with Lucky for You, the third installment in my small-town rom-com series! Let the squee-ing commence!
And if you’re a blogger/reviewer and would like to be an event host for release day, head on over to Bliss Book Promotions to sign up!
See you next Tuesday—and I mean that in the nicest way possible!
So there I was, right? Nose to the grindstone, writing away. New and shiny WIP (work in progress), 30,000 words in, deadline shining like a beacon on the horizon—not too close, not too far away, which is just the way I like it. The only hiccup was that my 11-year-old son was joyously commencing his do-nothing, intentionally-rot-the-brain summer vacation. That meant there would be constant running commentary on his video games (he loves to share) and frequent requests for food, but he’s gotten to the age where he can amuse himself most of the time, so I wasn’t too concerned. Hey, he’s my kid—I’d be happy to spend time with him during the day. Without that pesky getting-to-school alarm clock going off in the morning, I could compensate by staying up into the wee hours every night, writing when the house was quiet. Good plan.
See? Crushing. It.
Hahahaa…yeah, no. Read the rest of this entry
I’m in a void, and it ain’t pretty. No, not the Star Trek kind of black hole, but one that induces the same kind of trepidation—almost, dare I say, panic? There is nothingness. There is blackness. There is the fear of the unknown or, rather, the fear that the hollow nothingness is endless, permanent.
In other words, I’m a writer without a WIP (work in progress).
Read the rest of this entry
So there’s this faboo author called Glynis Astie. If you haven’t heard of her, get with the program! She’s great! And I’m not just biased because we’re buds or anything.
She’s written fictionalized versions of her oh-so-original and crazy life, called French Twist, French Toast, and now her newest, French Fry, out today! Way better than “French fries, French dressing, and French bread (and to drink—Peru!)” (Name that movie and you win…well, props, anyway.) Read the rest of this entry