Look what my barrista made me to drink while I write my next Immortal Brotherhood romance…
That’s a Bella Tazza (espresso, half&half, and ground chocolate).
I’m all aglow.
No, I’m not becoming one of those bloggers, but I found this wonderful post on The Best Times to Buy Anything, All Year Round at Lifehacker and figured everyone could use the info.
Each new year comes at us encumbered by advice on goal-setting and list after list of resolutions just aching to be broken. Instead of adding to the burden, I give you these hopes:
That you say yes more often; that you open your mind to something new every day; that at least once during the year you make time to sit in a swing and spin until you’re dizzy; that you learn to believe the compliments people give you; that someone who loves you knits you something by hand; that you have more color in your life; that you smile more; that a child hugs you with reckless abandon; that you love.
Welcome 2010.
I admit it: I’ve been a total flake about posting. I had a legitimate excuse, at least at first. I returned home from the Emerald City conference (back in the first part of October) to find my husband and Child2 both in the grip of H1N1. I shifted into nurse mode and ignored everything else. They started to get better, then both got pneumonia.
Then I got sick. Just for a variation, my H1N1 decided to turn into bronchitis, which took two, count ‘em two, rounds of antibiotics to knock down (the second one was a big gun—one of the drugs of choice for anthrax). Even after the drugs worked, I spent the next six weeks alternately sleeping and coughing like a coal miner. When I finally got back on my feet, I told myself I needed to ignore the blog and start writing.
Because, you see, while I was up north way back at the first of October, before all the sickness, Igot the call—Berkley picked up the next two Immortal Brotherhood books! Yep, Gunnar and Torvald are getting their turns. I was actually in a parking lot in Tacoma, getting ready to attend the biggest readers group meeting I’ve ever seen, when my agent called my cell. It was a blast getting to go in and tell the ladies the news.
IMMORTAL CHAMPION (Gunnar’s story) will be out in January 2011. IMMORTAL WHATSIT (no, that’s not the actual title, I just haven’t thought of the right one yet) in October 2011.
Yeah, 2011. Not 2010. My fault, entirely. (I warned you I’m not a fast writer). That’s a heck of a wait between books, but I already have plans to keep you happy by Read the rest of this entry »
I learned this morning that Kate Duffy, long-time Kensington editor and extraordinary friend to romance, has died. I met Kate the first time in 1993, and although I never had the opportunity to work with her, I learned a lot from her over the years. She will be missed.
For those who never had the chance to hear her quick laugh, or those who just want to hear it again, here’s a glimpse of the amazing Kate:
Ah, the joys of summer. Lazy days, hammocks under the maple tree, corn on the cob, poison ivy…
Wait. I live in southern Oregon. We have poison oak, not poison ivy. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone except the bird that apparently flew in with a gut full of poison ivy seeds and planted them in the pachysandra.
A while back, I noticed we had some new plant growing in the front side yard, between the mulberry and the cherry. It was pretty and green, and other than a vague idea that I needed to figure out what it was, I didn’t think much of it at the time. Then I got that debilitating crick in my neck I mentioned and wasn’t doing much of anything, particularly gardening, so the pretty green plant grew and spread, looking quite lovely in the shade and filling in a bare patch in the ground cover that needed something anyway.
Then my neck got better and I went out to take a closer look. Leaves of three. Oh, crap. The leaves weren’t shiny, like I remember from summers in Kansas, but I knew. I came in and fired up the laptop just to check.
We’ve got poison ivy, a patch about 10′ x 15′ that bleeds into the pachysandra and the lilies of the valley (also poisonous, btw, but not in quite the same way). I scooted off to buy Tecnu and Marie’s Poison Oak Soap, and then hubby and I geared up for the attack. But the woody root is well buried in the pachysandra and intertwined with those of the mulberry, and it quickly became obvious we were never going to succeed that way. So hubby headed off to the armory (garden store) while I scrubbed the tools with Technu. (Here’s a great site with info on poison ivy, how to recognize it, and what to do about it.)
Thank goodness Steinarr and Marian (IMMORTAL OUTLAW) didn’t have to worry about poison ivy (imagine that scene under the tree at the collier’s camp if they discovered they’d been sitting in the wrong plant!), It’s not native to England, but unfortunately, modern English practitioners of love al fresco have to look before they lie. The plant is so beautiful in the autumn that some fool brought some in to enhance his garden. Somebody, presumably, immune (about 1 in 4 is, although that can change with continued exposure).
The bird that made us a gift of the seeds was likely a downy woodpecker, who loves the creamy white berries. I’ve seen way more woodpeckers in the neighborhood than usual this year, including one I think was a downy. But it could have been anything, because the only beasts NOT immune to poison ivy are primates — like us. So there you go.
Anyway, chemical warfare has been launched. Leaves are beginning to wilt (not to include the mulberry or cherry, we hope). We’ll still have to grub up the roots this fall while wearing exposure suits, but at least we’ll know they’re dead when we do. And then we’ll have to replant. Something pretty and green…and non-toxic.
We’ve avoided rashes so far, but I bet some of you haven’t. Care to share your itchy story? Got pix?
My husband hates it that I eavesdrop, but it’s a writer thing. You get the best snippets of dialogue by eavesdropping.
Or sometimes you get a great recipe. This one is so easy, and SO-O-O good, and I got it while standing in line at a small-town drugstore a couple of weeks ago. The cashier was telling a customer/friend why another customer/friend (it was a small town, remember) had just checked out with about two dozen of the large size Hershey Symphony bars—you know, the ones that are about 4″ x 9″—which were on sale, buy-one-get-one-free. They were, she said, for brownies, and went on to describe exactly what to do with them
Whip up your favorite brownie mix, then pour half the batter into a 9″ x 13″ pan.
Then work the magic: Unwrap three (3) of the large almond toffee Symphony bars and place them side-by-side across the pan.
Pour the remainder of the batter over the top, covering the Symphony bars. Bake as usual, and cool for as long as you can bear to let them sit.
Oh. My.
The theater department at my son’s high school raises a little extra change during play runs by selling mom-made goodies at intermission. It was my turn this time, and the timing couldn’t have been better, as the play was Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. And of course, my Immortal Brotherhood books are Beauty and the Beast, too (NOT the Disney version).
Now, I’m an okay baker, but I don’t do it often. But I rolled up my sleeves and set out to make my required three dozen cupcakes. And in the process, I learned a few things—minor things, perhaps, and probably old hat to those who bake more often than, say, once every two years, but new to me. They are presented below in the order in which I discovered them.
1) Wilton cupcake liners are better.
I’ve always used the cheap ones from the grocery store (Reynolds, typically) but since I had to pick up some specialty sprinkles at the craft store, I decided the convenience of grabbing the Wilton liners that were right there far outweighed the few cents I would save by ducking into the grocery next door.
Enlightenment. The Wilton cups were sized properly and pleated more tightly, so they actually FIT my pans and didn’t sproing up out of the cups. (See pic. Wilton is on the left, sitting there politely waiting for batter. Reynolds is clearly trying to escape.) Nor did the Wilton get those funky, annoying wrinkles when I filled them.
Result: Read the rest of this entry »
I had one of those mom assignments today—to go out and find white gloves for my son. Not for prom, but to complete his Cogsworth the Clock costume for his HS production of Beauty and the Beast. I had been told I could find men’s white gloves at the local tuxedo shops, so today I stopped by the most convenient one on the way to the post office.
They didn’t have white gloves. Neither would the other tux shop in town, they assured me, because “no one wears gloves anymore. ”
Humpf. I didn’t believe them, but they were clearly not going to help, so I walked out and went down the block and across the street to the local community college in search of a phone book. I spotted an Information sign in the lobby and headed over to ask for the yellow pages.
“What are you looking for?” the Information woman asked as I paged through the book. I told her, and within moments had every woman within earshot confirming that yes, men do still wear white gloves and offering ideas for where to find such gloves: a wedding shop, said one. A Quinceañera shop, said another. And then they started giving me directions to all the various wedding and Quinceañera shops in the area. (For those who don’t know, Quinceañera is the religious and social celebration of a young woman’s 15th birthday in Latin American cultures. Kind of like an Hispanic bat mitzvah.)
I didn’t need a phone book, I needed women! Women know this stuff and are willing to share what they know (the same principle, btw, that makes the Romance Writers of America so successfully inclusive.)
I ended up with a pair of simple gloves I picked up at the pharmacy–the kind you wear to bed with sloppy cream on your hands–for $3.09. I stopped there to ask for directions to one of the shops when I couldn’t spot it. And there hung white gloves.
It turned out the other tux shop does carry men’s gloves, for about $9—and they snorted at the idea that “no one wears gloves any more.” Guess which store my son went to to rent his prom tux?
Tomorrow, I have to go buy a handlebar mustache. Wish me luck.
As in Home Again, Home Again.
I went off on a journey with my son and his girlfriend this weekend. No, no markets involved — rather, it was colleges. They’re applying at (mostly) the same ones, so we went off to take a peek at campuses. All three are approximately 450 miles from home, so that meant 8+ hours of driving each way, with three teens in the car (I took my daughter, too, rather than leave her home to harass her father), a crowded hotel suite, and miles of hiking hilly campuses. The girlfriend also had an audition at a fourth school that specializes in performing and fine arts, so that added to the general stress level (though she was way calmer than I would have been).
Anyway, after four days of non-stop kids, plus a quick stop to drop off a box of books for the baskets which will be raffled off at the Rose City Romance Writers READERS LUNCHEON (April 18, featuring special guest speaker Lucy Monroe — you really should check it out back clicking on that link), I’m back home again, looking forward to a good night’s sleep and a fresh start on the book.
How did you spend your weekend?
