It was nice to get out yesterday and spend some fun time away from everything. The kids and I needed that. We were able to play and play without being among sand, sharks or seaweed. No jellyfish either. There was a crowd, but that’s ok. Even in the wave pool where you were bound to get bumped into by another inner tube, we made our way and rode some waves. Or my children did. I held onto their inner tubes while the waves raised then lowered them. I am thinking of it as my unofficial exercise for the day. I have to because my pectorals, biceps and deltoids and some in my back hurt. To add insult to injury, my porcelain skin is pink. Despite the liberal use of sunscreen. Three times. The sting didn’t really get to me until today. Thank goodness for aloe. I wanted to add, this photo is actually from last year, in an indoor pool. But I wore the same ‘mommy’ one piece yesterday.

And as for the sleepy, my brain won’t turn off so I can rest. And I have to get up early in the morning. *sigh*

To top that off, these same two kids hear that I’m up and keep getting up too. We must ALL go to bed. Night night.

Muita obrigada, Brasil.

I love Brasil. I would love to visit one day. I want to be the girl from Ipanema and play capoeira. 

I still have my abadas and cordao. I could tune up my berimbau. E que es berimbau? A cabaza, arame, e Pedaço de Pão.

I loved this art and this country so much that I will eventually write a story about a capoeirista and her Mestre. It is tentatively called The Heart of Balance.

So, where are you from, really, random visitors? Let me know, and I’ll write a post about your location.

If any of my author friends have set their goals by this year’s end, you better speed it up. Getting published now is hard enough, but the demand for HEA when the disciples are off of this planet surely will plummet. Or maybe not. For those Left Behind, looking for an escape and at least a “Happily for Now” might be quite desired. That is, of course, unless there will be massive book burnings.

Not unlike the film The Book of Eli, post-apocalyptic Earth will be scouring the barren regions for sustenance. For the physical, it will be water and food, lest ye becometh a heathen cannibal. But for the soul, it will be fonts of words. Knowledge in black and white. Fiction and fantasy or truth and guidance.

Will our ever loved regencies and historicals, contemporary and YA sagas make it into this aftermath? Is your fallout shelter bookshelf stocked with soul and mind nourishing data? Will the fantasy of today find no appeal in the survivalists’ reality.

Yeah, we should live today as if it were our last, but dadgoneit! That’s a lot of pressure to put on me to write; as if I weren’t hard enough on myself already, now I not only have to finish in less than half a month, but edit and submit and edit again. How do you market a book in such a short time?

I think the aftermath will revert to oral traditions and mythology. It seemed to have worked for the Greeks.
Ooh! If I can come up with a strange and ingenious display of cartographs, I can leave a lasting extraterrestrial inspired code on the walls of my home. The next inhabitants of this green planet can wonder at the Royals tribe and what did it all mean?

Any thoughts? I’ll be in my backyard, digging.

And for a visual interpretation of the above post, here is my wordle for it. Enjoy.

The inimitable Annie Nicholas:

Someone is about to get some Spice in his life.

Spice has nothing but the clothes on her back when she returns to Chicago. She’s looking for a better life, and that means reuniting with her estranged twin sister, Sugar. She isn’t thrilled to find out Sugar’s boyfriend is a vampire. But then she meets Eric, once the bottle-cap-glasses wearing nerd next door – now grown into the kind of man she’d love to snuggle with on this cold winter night…and he’s offered her his room in Sugar’s house.

Eric can’t believe Spice has returned. He’d given up hope of ever seeing her again, let alone having her stare at him as if he’s sex on a stick. But now that all of his fantasies for them are coming true, reality rears her ugly head and Eric must tell Spice his intimate secret; he’s actually an Alpha werewolf looking for his mate and he thinks he’s found her.

Buy

“Daedalus let you cut your hair?” A short man built like a bodybuilder approached her.

The awe in his voice snapped Spice out of her self-pity and the protector inside reared its head. This was the second reference to someone allowing her little sister to do something. “What do you mean ‘let me’?”

What kind of relationship did Sugar have? She needed permission to cut her hair? Maybe destiny brought her back to Chicago to save her little sister from some monster. Again. All those bad things happening to drive her here couldn’t be coincidental.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where is my sister, and what are you doing in her house?”

They glanced at each other, confusion apparent on their faces. “What?”

The man in the kitchen stuck his head out of the door, chocolate brown eyes wide as he stared at her. “Spice?” The smile he’d given to her when he thought she was Sugar returned but wider.

Her heart skipped a beat. In the light his face seemed familiar as well. “I know you.”

“You should, we were only neighbors forever as kids.”

“Eric!” He had grown. Stupid, of course he’s changed. But she never expected that the skinny, lanky bottle-cap-glasses-wearing nerd would develop into a charming, handsome I-wanna-snuggle-you-on-a-cold-night kind of man. “Hi.” The jobs as a hostess, a bartender, and the most recent, a stripper taught her how to talk to men the way they liked. But with him grinning at her like a happy puppy, her mind went blank.

He swept her into his arms in a bone-cracking hug.

“Wow, I’d forgotten Sugar had a twin.” The redhead scratched his chin. “You look exactly alike, except your hair is short.”

Eric set her back on her feet. “Let me take your coat.” He tugged on the belt and untied it. To her surprise, the small action sparked warmth between her thighs. Not like he took off her clothes but she began to wonder what it would feel like if he did.

Their eyes met. His pupils dilated, the chocolate brown faded to amber, and something feral peeked at her.

She gasped and stepped back.

The pretty oriental girl took her arm and dragged her into the living room. She chattered about making tea, but Spice’s attention riveted on Eric as he stood with the men surrounding him.

What the heck? She’d seen need in men’s eyes before but this was darker, deeper, and so much more alluring.

The redhead tried to take Eric’s arm, but he shook it off and stomped out of sight.

Spice sat on the overstuffed couch. “What did you say your name was?”

“Katrina.”

A dainty, petite girl with long black hair to her knees, yet she gave Spice the impression of great strength. Life in Vegas taught her to be an excellent judge of character. Too bad it had taken her so long to learn.

“I’ll be back in a minute. You stay while I make tea.” Katrina slipped away to the kitchen.

Every flat surface in the living room held a book. Soft cover, hard cover, tattered, or new, Sugar loved her books. The walls were lined with shelves filled with them. Spice picked up the closest one and smelled it. The scent of paper always reminded her of her twin.

The large, square coffee table in front of her held the game Risk. Different colored pieces lay scattered on the thick blue carpet.

Game night at Sugar’s house. She glanced at the hallway. With Eric. Many questions formulated in her head. What happened to her reclusive sister over the past two years? When did she get friends? Probably when her only one, me, left town. Did she hook up with Eric?

Hope sprung in Spice’s heart. Her attraction to him was out of character. She usually loved them tough and bad. Maybe he could be the new beginning she’d come home for.

Annie Nicholas

http://www.annienicholas.com/

http://www.annienicholas.blogspot.com/

Since there were no Ute’s-r-us, and I was finished with it, the decision to have it removed was made much easier. It had to come out. I want to iterate that elective hysterectomy shouldn’t be taken lightly. To have it removed only because having your cycle is annoying is not reason enough to undergo a serious procedure.

Signs you should have a hysterectomy: (facetious)

Your cervix is now an outtie, not an innie.

Your cramps are severe enough to make your toes ache

Your thought regarding intercourse is not do I have time, but do I have time to recover from it?

Your cycle is more unpredictable than the weather channel.

The drugstore cashier no longer raises her eyebrows as you stock up on the weekly supplies of tampons, liners, ibuprofen and chocolate. (BTW, I have tons of supplies I no longer need woohoo!)

I’m sure there are more great lines out there. Give me yours!

Thank goodness that behavior isn’t as unusual anymore. With the advent of blue tooth (teeth?) People are conversing with entities unseen, but are perfectly sane. (relatively speaking.) Any eccentric can hold both ends of a conversation and just be admired. Well, maybe not admired, but at least looked at with awe. (That could be good or not.)

So it goes for the writers. I hear fake people. Only they’re not fake. They really do exist. Just in my head until I can put them on paper. For example, I was given a major breakthrough with sparkling clarity with the insight of a new character. My Hero has a sister I didn’t know about. Or had. And all that encompassed that relationship introduced a layer to this guy I didn’t see coming. Oh, it was about time, too. I couldn’t understand why he was acting the way he is.

I know I’m not alone in this writers’ world. To prove it, I want to get a shirt that tells everyone so. I’ve picked it from a wonderful selection from Romance Yardsale. This cute little store is of course for writers, by writers. Two of whom I adore.

Bria Quinlan and MG are some of the sweetest, smartest writers I know. They write young adult romance with witty insight and uncanny understanding.

Share your craziness with them. (psst, and help them get to nationals, k?)

But, I have only a glimmer of what that idea exactly meant. I do know that currently, I have several things in life going through transitions. Mostly, stressfully.

But I feel good about them. Boss throws me a curve ball, I hit it out of the park. It does make me wonder what she’s gonna throw at me next. Bring it on, baby.

The changes her dictate caused affected not only me, but my family and their routines. I’m still resentful of it, but I plan to make the most of it and use it to my advantage. It’s really more taxing and stressful on my mother in law now, and because of her sacrifice, we’ll be less sturdy financially, but I’m hoping I can supplement the difference in other ways… I digress.

Among the new things in my life is a much needed treatment. I am sort of anxious about it, but in a positive, hurry-up-and-wait kind of thing. A benefit of this, besides improved health, is I hope some quality catch up writing time.

As it is, I’m motivated to move quickly on this book because more books are popping up in my head. I’ve saved the ideas in other files to return to at a later date, but the fact that this is happening is golden! My creativity has been dulled and an alternative choice created the change necessary to rewaken the muse.

So, change is good. It has to be. Otherwise, I’m just lost.

Clients on NYTBS

Very well respected.

Writer and agent.

Has spoken at conferences. Quite knowledgable.

Con’s:    Doesn’t cover romance.

Agent #2: Pro’s:  Young and eager.

She “is” the market.

Represents a wide variety of romance, one of my favorite authors included.

Will advise clients against a deal if it suits them better.

Con’s: Says my genre is running out of fresh stories (did I read that right?)

Agent #3: Pro’s:  Has a sense of humor, wry cutting wit.

strong editor and copyrighter

Con’s: New to the agenting world

Agent #4:  Pro’s: AAR member

Con’s: doesn’t take unsolicited queries. (Per P&E)

So, the search continues….

Sometimes I wonder if I should even bother with an agent yet….

Also, one could talk about the joys of home ownership. There’s never a shortage of projects to be done. This on top of the daily chores and tasks. I’m talking about the gutters being cleaned, the garaged re-organized, the broken door in the hall to be fixed, the appliances repaired, the walls painted. You get the picture. It’s really never ending. But it’s MINE. My house, My money pit.

Or of pets. Grrrrrr. I love my dogs. I hate my dogs. It gets to be so tedious to do some things by rote. Especially when it takes away from motherhood and wifely time.

But as it relates to writing, the crux of the matter is still the same. You have to own it. Maintain it. Repair it. Love it and hate it. The time and dedication writing requires is no less than what anything else to which you’re devoted. And with that hopeless devotion (anyone else channeling Olivia Newton-John?) comes responsibility. You remember anniversaries. (housewife) You pay your mortgage and bills. You take care of your pets. (I surely hope so.) Do you take care of your writing?

Some one will. By that I mean, write your story. Only you can. Not let it molder in your mind. With a little luck and a lot of sweat something marvelous will come to fruition. But you have to own it.

New York may not be calling, yet, but It is definitely a step in the right direction.