Two Left Shoes

Lost Girl at Heroes and Heartbreakers

2012-02-07T10:07:00.001-05:00

Remember how I said that I was totally obsessing on the new (to the U.S.) series Lost Girl? No? Come on! It was just last week!

Well, someone noticed (ahem) and now I'm the official recapper for Lost Girl over at Heroes and Heartbreakers. I've been dialed in to the H&H web site since its debut as it celebrates romance (yay!) in all genres, sub and otherwise, but doesn't limit itself to novels alone, looping in great TV shows (Downton Abbey!) and movies too. It's a fantastic forum community and I'm thrilled to join its staff of bloggers.

My first recap post went live today and you can find it here. Please head on over and take a read even if you're not into Fae and succubi and hot werewolves (what's wrong with you?! ). Lost Girl is ably filling the gaping hole in my television life left by the lack of Whedon, and I'm having a fantastic time with the recaps.

I hope you will too.

Coping My Way Through January

2012-02-01T07:00:00.000-05:00

The month of January is tough. It's long. It's dark. It's pissy. For me, it's full of doctor's visits and medication renewals and wondering exactly how long I can get away with not taking down the Christmas tree. Here are a few coping methods I developed this year to get to that glorious day of 31.

WHAT'S SMOKIN' ON THE BOOB TUBE?

Justified (Tuesdays at 10 PM on FX): Justified is back. All hail Elmore Leonard, Graham Yost, and Timothy Olyphant.When the cold open of the season opener is a Boyd and Raylan fistfight in the Marshals' office, I know it's gonna be a banging season. But then, when is it not? The dialogue feels particularly sharp this season and I can't tell if that's the writers hot on their game or if those are the pieces lifted from Leonard's new Raylan novel. As long as it this fast and furious, I don't think I really care either way.

Lost Girl: (Mondays at 10 PM on SyFy):
An urban fantasy show, newly imported from Canadian, about a orphaned succubus named Bo who was raised by humans and has suddenly discovered the world of Fae to which she belongs. Divided into Light and Dark fae factions, Bo remains Switzerland while filling the gulf between sides (and her wallet) by acting as a PI. I am totally hooked on this show. The writing is sharp and funny and Bo kicks-ass with the best of them. This is the closest I've seen a show get to a Whedonesque oeuvre without blatantly copying it. Yeah, it's got some dodgy CGI and Bo and her wiseass sidekick Kenzi wake up with perfect hair (so shiny!and such lovely braid combinations!), and polished make up, including what may be the heaviest eyeliner application I've ever seen, and I grew up in the 80s... in New Jersey. But I'm loving it all the same.

Definitely Not Chris Martin

The pub that serves as neutral ground between the fae factions is called The Dal Riata. I wrote one of my first Celtic history papers in Oxford on the Dal Riata migration. Super major points. Plus there's a hot werewolf and I am totally into his voice. Yes, his voice, all low and rambly. No, I'm not lying. (OK, the tat on his back is totally hawt too). And the man to wolf transition in the second episode was sizzling. Since I'd missed the character's name in the first episode, I took to calling him Not Chris Martin (NCM) because he reminds me of Coldplay's lead singer, and now it's stuck.

I love me a good back story. The murky mystery of Bo's intrigues me and I also really like that, for once, the will-they-or-won't-they manufactured sexual tension between Bo and NCM is out the window in the very first episode. Hey, she's a succubus. The woman needs to feed...

STAY BACK 100 FEET. HERE BE BOOGIE DRIVIN'

Train: Drive By.

I love Train's songs. Either they're full of pep and jaunty lyrics or they're beautiful love songs whose words break your heart into tiny, erudite pieces. Drive By is their latest single; I downloaded the day it was available. It's a song about a one-night stand that quickly turns into something more. The minute I heard the chorus I was sunk:

Oh I swear to you, I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by-i-i-i-i
Just a shy guy, looking for a two-ply
Hefty bag to hold my-i-i-i-i-i-i-love
When you move me, everything is groovy
They don't like it sue me,
Mmm, the way you do me
Oh I swear to you, I'll be there for you
This is not a drive by-i-i-i-i

Seriously, I'm bopping in my bed as I write this. They had me at "groovy."

Daughtry: Renegade.
Daughtry fills a certain slot in the rock oeuvre, namely the one Creed left behind with Scott Stapp and is still scrambling to reclaim now that he's back in the fold. Whenever I hear a Daughtry song, I think of the expression on his face the moment he was cut from American Idol several years ago (I saw the news clip; never ever watch the show). He was so shocked, so completely dumbfounded that he was being cut. Yet, that was likely the best thing that could've happened to his career. He's had a cavalcade of hits and even tho they sound, to me, like variations on a theme, I enjoy the fact that at least there's not an auto tuner involved.

Renegade is the first Daughtry single I've bought. From the hard-driving rock beat, to the stinging lyrics, to the barely restrained, vibrating compulsion to get the hell outta town and get on with it, I am in.

Don't you wanna feel like a rebel?
A renegade on the run?
Real live wire in the cross fire ridin' shotgun

Not talkin' 'bout a deal with the devil
I said nothin' about sellin' your soul
But call it what you will
If you start to feel out of control

Here we go

Can you hear the sound of the turnin' wheels?
Burnin' the road like it's never been donec
I'm breakin' out of this town like a renegade
So baby, get ready to run

Don't have any time here left to kill
Don't wanna go down like the settin' sun
So let's break out of this town like a renegade
Can't wait another minute, I'm right here ready to run

MMMMM. SO TASTY

Multi-Grain Peanut Butter Cheerios
No, you read that right. Peanut Butter Cheerios.

When I was a kid, I used to drag the Cheerios box around with me (honey nut, natch). A few years ago in the Weehawken apartment, The Mother laughed to see me doing it again. Hey, comfort is as comfort does. To this day, one of my Dad-dad's running gags is to ask if I'm having Coke with my peanut butter and Cheerios for breakfast. Finally, I can say "yes" and not be a smart ass about it (although I fail to see the fun in that.). Plus, they're GOOD FOR YOU!

I've been noshing on this wonder of modern culinary science at the day job office and if you threw in a small carton of milk and an afternoon nap, it'd feel like Kindergarten all over again. Yum-my

IT'S BLOODY BRIGADOON
After last year's endless snowfall, to have a blizzard on Halloween and 60 degrees on the first of February in New Jersey is nothing short of - well, screwy. It's really screwy. But we're loving it, and I'm breaking out my lightweight shirts and soaking up the Vitamin D while it lasts. In related news, I anticipate having another head/chest cold, say, within a week.

Got any not-so-secret ways of coping with the January blues? Lay 'em on me. One randomly chosen commentator will win a book to wile away the ever-fleeting winter hours and a candle to light the way in case the power goes out.

Disclaimer: January did not pay for this endorsement. Neither did Train, Daughtry, Justified, Lost Girl, or Peanut Butter Cheerios. Though I'm willing to talk terms with Raylan and/or Not Chris Martin. Call me.

Disclaimer part deux: All images courtesy of Google Images.

Man Candy Monday - The Ginger Edition

2012-01-30T11:55:00.000-05:00

I'm on the Man Candy Monday blog today, talking about men of a certain flare. There's a certain panache ingrained in men of the ginger variety, and these guys have it in spades. Come by and have a look! Then join us tonight on Twitter at 9PM using the hashtag #ManCandyMonday as we celebrate these seasoned men.


Damian Lewis

Daniel Craig

Ewan McGregor

Fassbender (Click on shot for more)

Tony Curran

Max Martini

[All images courtesy of Google images]

A Rose By Any Other Name Is Just As Thorny

2012-01-26T16:03:00.002-05:00

Most people do not say my name correctly on the first try. Many don't get it right on the second or third attempt either.

It usually goes something like this:

"Hi, I'm Kiersten."
"Oh. Nice to meet you, Kerrsten."
"Kiersten."
"Kristen?"
"Kiersten."
"Oh," person says, clearly giving up and beginning to think I'm an uptight snot for insisting. "OK."

Usually, I'm a duck and this is where I let it roll off my back. Every so often though, like a cicada hitting its 17th year, I become uber sensitive to it. I had a choir director named Gordon who would use ever-changing versions of my name except the correct one, and I (fondly) called him on it until he eventually pleaded for a dispensation to which I magnanimously said, "no problem, Grover".

It's a respect issue and honestly, how hard is it to get right? First of all, I just pronounced it for you. Parrots could, well, parrot it back to me correctly given half the chance (except for the Norwegian Blue, but he has his own set of problems). It's even spelled phonetically! I'm mean, nobody calls Kierkegaard, Kerrkegaard, right? Of course not, because that would be silly.

I grew up in the 80s in a land of Jennifers and Stephanies and Christines where I was almost always the odd one out. The over-sized bifocal glasses, a Dorothy Hamill haircut, and a tendency to wear striped tops with plaid pants didn't help. This was also a time when it was quite popular to have stickers and notebooks and jewelry that featured your name. No revolving kiosk of name stickers at The Hallmark Store ever had KIERSTEN - believe me, I looked. Society conditions us to conform from the a very early age, and above anything else, I wanted to be normal, with a normal name that everyone got right the first time and not the strange girl with the weird name.

Thus in my early adolescence, I went through a phase of wanting to be called Kris; short and sweet with no need to buy that extra vowel. Two fundamental issues stood in my way: 1. I went to school with the same kids I'd been with since kindergarten who would never, ever call me Kris, and 2. The few times people did use it, I forgot they were speaking to me. Kinda important to answer to the name by which you wish to be known.

Ironically, I have a myriad of nicknames, from K to K-squared to Kik and KiKi to Squirt the Flirt (thanks sis) to, well, you don't need to know that one. Suffice to say for someone in a love/hate relationship with her name, I failed to grasp the fact that the people who loved me most rarely used it themselves. My ever-evolving personality had carved out names of its own.

Are we defined by our names? Or do we do the defining? Do we display name-associated characteristics from birth or do we grow into their prophecy? Dickens famously named his characters to reflect their personalities. Scrooge, Cratchit, Havisham, The Artful Dodger, Fagin, Drood, Fezziwig. In my own writing,I've both set out with one name for a character only to end up with someone different, and stayed with the same name all the way through to the happily ever after.

By the time I hit college, I'd come to own my full name, to enjoy the cadence of its five syllables, to be proud of the uniqueness of its spelling. Perhaps I finally realized I'd left normal behind a looonnnngggg time ago (seriously overrated). Or maybe it was because the naming of children had gone full circle until the stranger the name, the trendier the child.

And I do so like to set a trend.

Last week, my landlord's husband called me Kris (spelling mine). He always calls me Kris and after the first six months at the (no longer) new address, I stopped taking note of it. This is a man set in his ways, which more often than not are blurred by too many Pabst Blue Ribbons. He's not gonna get it. But last week, it struck a chord. That's not my name. And I remembered that lonely girl who just wanted to be normal with a normal name.

That's not who I am anymore.

January 11, 1913

2012-01-11T07:00:00.000-05:00

Ninety-nine years ago today,

January 11, 1913,

my grandmother,

Frances Litzenberger Krum,

was born.

My nana taught me to watch Wheel of Fortune (though my heart belongs to Jeopardy) and how to cheat at pinochle. She loves to read; my first Harlequin romances were thanks to the collection on her bookshelf in the middle room of the Philadelphia row house where she raised her family. To this day, I can't think of her old phone number without the Ivy Ridge code in place of the first two numbers. She wrote short stories for many years until her hands and eyes began to fail. Some of my earliest memories are singing K-K-K-Katie with Nana.

When I moved back to New Jersey in the late 90s, I would go down to Philadelphia to have lunch with my grandparents and dinner with Nana, (combined visits ended with my parents' divorce) sometimes only hours apart. We would order cheese steaks from Fiesta Steaks (it was always Fiesta) and sit around the kitchen table and talk. For all her concern about my weight, Nana was always trying to feed me; if nothing else, peanut butter crackers could always be found in her old breadbox. In the fall, I would try to take her on a long drive back up through Slatington where she was born to Walnutport where she grew up in a house alongside the Erie Canal, a stone's throw from the Lehigh River. Those trips became more difficult when she moved into assisted living, but her will to move and do and live continues to outlive her body's ability to do the same.

Our last big trip was during one of my sister's rare fall visits when drove down from Jersey, picked up Nana and drove out to Jim Thorpe, PA. As we wound our way up the turnpike and through the mountains, Nana started singing "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain." Always game for a song, I threw in the echo and joined her in the tag. There was a pause as she settled into contented silence. After another quiet beat, I sang "She'll be riding six white horses when she comes" and from the front passenger seat came the laughing echo "when she comes". We sang our way up into the mountains, shifting to hymns and arguing about word choice and laughing, always laughing.

In 2008, when my own mother was so very ill, I took a solo trip down to Philadelphia, a beautiful spring day. Nana and I drove down East River Drive, the sun sparkling off the swollen Schuylkill River. For once, Nana was eager to park and walk along the river, or at least as far as we could before the flooded walkway stopped us. We sat on a stone wall and soaked up the sun, a rare moment alone when we could talk uninhibited (this was the time she told me about the dream she had where she was abducted by aliens, another post entirely) and simply enjoy each others' company.

Halloween 2010. I had picked up some holiday headbands at Target for my mother and I; a witch's hat for her (Freudian much?) and cat's ears for myself (natch). We went to Philadelphia that Halloween weekend and as per our system, took my Nana to her local Target where she likes to sit in the cafe and watch the people as we talk. Mom put her witchy headband on Nana and I wore my cat ears and Nana and I wandered through the store together so decorated, earning smiles and laughter from strangers along the way.

Last year, Nana suffered the latest in a series of strokes, the residual effects enough to require her move into the full on nursing home in her facility. It's been hard to see her since then, to watch the women she is struggle to come to the surface in the prison of her failing form.

Since she turned 80, Nana has claimed she didn't want to live to 100 - her own mother, my Granny Litz, was 104 when she passed away - but, fortunately for us, God has so far had other plans. But she's not done yet. In the six months since her stroke, she has improved greatly. I saw her over Christmas, and naturally her first words to me were "you've gained weight" to which I replied, "yes, thank you for pointing it out. Really, you're too kind." She chuckled, "yeah, yeah" and there she was again, my Nana. She may not lead with trump again or sing a full chorus, but she's not done yet.

Not by a long shot.

Happy Birthday Nana.

You've had one hell of a ride.

The Grimm Criminal Element

2011-12-07T15:25:00.001-05:00

My first post for the mystery/thriller Web site Criminal Element is live today! I'm talking about the new TV show Grimm and what makes its twist on the overly familiar procedural formula so refreshing and, quite frankly, majorly creeptastic.

Come for a chat and tune in to Grimm for a special all new episode tomorrow night at 10 PM followed by another new episode in its regular time slot of Fridays at 9 PM.

Finally a Finalist!!

2011-12-07T07:00:00.000-05:00

I'm delighted to announce that my novel CATCH ME has been selected as a finalist in the romantic suspense category of the prestigious and competitive award, The Emily, run by the West Houston Chapter of the RWA. I was encouraged to enter the contest by historical romance author, Vicky Dreiling, and, as usual, blitzkreiged my way through the submission process last minute, once again using the greatness of my lateness (and Vicki's unswerving support) to spur me onwards.

This is the first time I've been a finalist in a writing contest of this nature and to have it be for such a prestigious award as The Emily is icing on my well-frosted chocolate cake (did you really think it would be any other flavor?). Winners are announced in a big hoopla ceremony in Houston on February 11, 2012 and it looks like I'm going to have the opportunity to attend the awards ceremony in person.

Look, a list!

Emily Contest

From West Houston RWA

Congrats to the 2012 Finalists!

Contemporary Series

Dawn’s Light by Jo Anne Banker
Mistress By Blackmail by Caro LaFever
The Seduction by Mary Oldham

Contemporary Single Title

The Last MacKlenna by Katherine Logan
Hope’s Gentle Touch by Laura Hodges Poole
Teach Me by Ella Sheridan

Futuristic, Fantasy & Paranormal

When Angels Soared by Lana Dahlen
Seeker: Aiodhan by Sandy James
The Vessel by Mary SeRine

Historical Romance

The Enemy Spy by Jinhee Jun
Scandal in Spades by Wendy La Capra
Lady’s Knight by Kayla Westra

Novel With Romantic Elements

Princess of Bosque Bend by Jeanell Bolton
Princess Redlander by Jeanell Bolton
Missing You by Tracy Brogan
Trust Me by kimberle swaak

Romantic Suspense

Portrait of a Dead Guy by Larissa Hoffman
Catch Me by Kiersten Hallie Krum
Deception by Jennifer Beane

Young Adult

Forget Tomorrow by P.H. Dunn
Invisible by Abby Gaines
Dust to Dust by Virginia Munoz

In addition to The Emily, I've also entered CATCH ME in the romantic suspense category for the Golden Heart, the RWA national contest for unpublished writers. Finalists are announced mid-March with winners being crowned during a ceremony at the RWA National Conference in the end of July.

Looks like I'm off and running, finally seeing years, nay decades (or maybe it just feels that way), of work, emotion, setbacks, spurts, self-sabotage, blood, sweat, and tears come to tangible fruition. Seeing the title of my book on that finalist list for The Emily, the first time I've ever seen it listed anywhere I didn't put it myself, is a giddy experience. A week later, I'm still flying high.

Gonna be one hell of a start to 2012!!!

Thankful for Happy Winners!!

2011-11-23T09:57:00.001-05:00

I'm kicking off the Thanksgiving holiday weekend by announcing the winner of a digital copy of SEAL of My Dreams and the three winners from my Authors on a Pedestal post. Without further ado...

By total random happenstance (by which I mean I put your names in a bowl and had a dayjob coworker draw the winner) the winner of a digital copy of SEAL of My Dreams is - Landra! Congratulations! Please send your e-mail information to kierstenATkierstenkrumDOTcom and I will get you a copy of that fantastic anthology tout suite.

The three winners from Authors on a Pedestal post (again, names picked from a bowl. We're pretty bare bones here at Two Left Shoes) are Commenter #2 Joanna Shupe, Commenter #7 Robin Covington, and Commenter #3 Nicole Doran!!!

Congratulations to all winners! Please send me your snail mail details and I will get your prizes out to you. First one of you to reply gets a signed, hardcover copy of Sherilyn Kenyon's Born of Shadows !

The Thanksgiving holiday gives us the time and space to reflect on those things and people for whom we are most thankful and the opportunity to give them voice. I am thankful for each one of you who visits my quirky little blog. I am delighted by your comments and so very grateful that you take time out of you busy, busy lives to say hello and share your thoughts on whatever random thing has sprouted from my deliciously off-kilter mind. May you have a glorious Thanksgiving Day surrounded by those you love and filled with way too much fantastic food.

Blessings and endless joy to you all.

SEAL of My Dreams

2011-11-11T07:00:00.000-05:00

Image courtesy of www.sealofmydreams.com.

On Veteran's Day last year, I wrote about my Dad-Dad's story of when he arrived home from World War II, and a Peanuts cartoon, and Flanders Fields. Two months later, I revealed how the word "embellish" takes on new and amazing meaning in the hands of a master spinner like my Dad-Dad. The man's a piece of work, I'll tell you.

For Veteran's Day 2011, I'm shilling - and I couldn't be happier to be doing it

I am, on a regular basis, extremely proud to be a member of the romance writing community, no more so than today when I can tell you about SEAL of My Dreams, an amazing anthology put together by some of the leading romance writers of our day, as you can see by the names listed on the cover to the right.

Oh, that cover! When Bin Laden was killed, this photo (posted in full below) was featured with a New York Times article on Navy SEALs. If a picture is worth a thousand words, well, this one was worth a thousand sighs as women all over took one look and went "Wow". It's been featured regularly on ManCandyMondays ever since, basically whenever I can find the slightest excuse to work it into the theme of the week.

SEALs are the elite warriors of the Navy, men whose training and abilities are the stuff of legend - only this is real life. They are living, breathing, walking heroes though they'd be the very last ones to label themselves so.

They are men worthy of our admiration, our gratitude, and, in the case of SEAL of My Dreams, our imagination.

It doesn't take much for writers to be inspired and this photo was enough to spur a cadre of them to contribute stories to SEAL of My Dreams, (a title I regularly misrepresent as SEALed for Your Pleasure [Freudian much?]). Look at those names! Christie Ridgway, Cindy Gerard, Tara Janzen, HelenKay Dimon, Roxanne St Claire - only a few of the bestselling romance writers names who contributed original stories to this book.

But what elevates SEAL of My Dreams and its authors to amazo levels is the fact that proceeds from its sale will be donated towards veterans medical research. Our brave men and women who stand on the front lines and the back lines and all the lines in between in defense of our nation and its people are coming home with physical and psychological injuries that few of us will ever be able to completely understand. They need our help, now more than ever.

As a small contribution to the cause, I'll be giving away a Kindle or Nook digital copy of Seal of My Dreams to a commenter here at Two Left Shoes as well as buying one in print for myself.

Leave a comment and tell me about a veteran in your life, or perhaps a military themed book that you enjoy (I'm extremely partial to Suzanne Brockmann's Troubleshooter series), or what story you're most looking forward to reading in Seal of My Dreams. Contest is open until ~~5 PM Monday, November 14, 2011. I'll post the winner on Tuesday~~. UPDATED 11/15/11: Extended through to Friday, November 18th at 7PM.

Last year on Veteran's Day, I linked to this column by Aaron Sorkin, creator and showrunner of my beloved The West Wing and the great Sports Night. Read it now, or again as I did, to get a tiny glimpse of what our soldiers are going through, the pain and suffering our military men and women continue to endure long after they've come home.

Finally, a few links that will give you some first-person, behind-the-scenes accounts of how Seal of My Dreams came to be:

An interview with Christie Ridgway, who first tweeted the seminal photo that started it all and spearheaded the anthology.

An interview with Cindy Gerard.

An interview with Roxanne St. Claire where she talks about her nephew, an Army Ranger (Rangers lead the way!).

And the Navy SEALs themselves, or at least a post on their official blog that features SEAL of My Dreams.

Our safety, our freedom, continues to come at a high price, one that will never be paid in full.

Veterans, I salute you.

Hoo Rah.

Man Candy Monday - Beasts & Monsters

2011-10-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

Wanna do bad things, baby?

Appropriately on this Feast of Samhain or All Hallows Eve, today's Man Candy Monday theme is Beasts & Monsters. Less appropriately, I am host extraordinaire this week. The irony here is that I don't like monsters per se; I don't watch horror movies and have never read a Stephen King novel in my life (quelle horreur!). When Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series premiered, I spent most of the two-part pilot hiding behind my hands, I was that freaked out. People whose imaginations are as vivid as my own do not need help coming up with horror stories, I promise you.

Since then, I've graduated to Anita Blake (so not for the faint-hearted) and True Blood, so clearly my tolerance has advanced (though I still fast-forward through any "creeps alone through the dark house" scenes). But there are times when I'm awake late at night and the house creaks the wrong way, and I'm reduced to relying on the cats as a natural alarm system - if they're not freaking out, nobody wrong is in the house.

A significant motivation for me to set my fears aside was a very basic building block of shows like Buffy: hot men. Who better to kick off this beastly Man Candy Monday than Buffy's men themselves: Angel and Spike.

Vampires have long been a favorite amongst the monsters we love to hate - or love to love in many cases. None more than the king of vampires himself, Dracula. Gary Oldman's Dracula is seductive, creepy, and not a little gross and I really miss the sexual appeal particularly when he looks like this:

Why yes, I do bite on command.

I much prefer him here. Hey, Sirius Black is an animagus, remember? Monster! Fits.

It's clear my affinity definitely lies with the beasts. I much prefer the mythos behind werebeasts than that of the blood sucking variety. Something about the feudalistic nature of were society appeals to me.

Whether it be the Lycans from the Underworld saga...

I am bad, blue, and my chest caves inwards


FREEDOM! From a SHIRT!

...or those lovely boys from True Blood (and by lovely boys I mean Alcide, naturally).


Growl for me, lovah

Flannel makes the wolf

I'll take a hot-blooded man over a cold one any day.

After all, no woman should be made to go without her own Wolverine.

Join us tonight on Twitter 9 PM EST/8 PM CST/7 PM MT/6 PM PST and use the hashtag #ManCandyMonday as you tweet us your favorite pictures of the beasts and monsters that make you go boo!

Authors on a Pedestal - What Do You Do When They Fall Off?

2011-10-27T07:00:00.019-04:00

Courtesy of icanhascheezburger.com

Last night, I cleaned out the trench between my bed and the wall, stacking books, jettisoning trash, sucking up enough fur to probably form a fourth cat in my household, and basically doing the sorts of tasks that pile up to unimaginable heights when you are, as I am, not a domestic goddess.

Last weekend, I likewise cleaned out the very back of my brain, hoovering through the detritus and scraping off the barnacles clinging to the underside of my skull.

I went to a romance writer's conference.

I love romance writer's conferences. There's nothing like being in the company of hundreds of people who get your obscure pop culture references, have mad love for the same books and authors, and don't look at you funny when you do or say something particularly - odd. Er.

Really, it's like the mother ship calling me home.

This was the NJRW conference - my home chapter, my homies, my peeps. My sole goal was to have a good time, which involves networking and workshops and other professional things. Also some Sangria. And the 6-pack of Magners Cider I brought with me. Yea, a good time was had by all.

How good a time? Well, New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James gave a talk about the state of the industry - to published authors. As a yet unpublished writer, I was not eligible to attend (ahem). Katiebabs/KT Grant of the Babbling About Books blog, has an excellent recap of this seminar though that I highly recommend

The conference kicked off with New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak giving an excellent 3 hour workshop (you thought I was going to say tour. Don't deny it.) on creativity during which she had me say "enormous penis" into the podium microphone as part of an example on subtext, but that's a story for another day.

New York Times Bestselling Author Suzanne Brockmann gave the keynote speech and spoke on having to work to find the love place, the place from which she writes from that still believes in happily ever after even with our country in its current economic and social upheaval. New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander gave a wonderfully funny special presentation workshop (which I had the honor to moderate), and New York Times bestselling author (I'm sensing a trend here) Rachel Gibson wound it all up with her luncheon speech about - well I'm really not sure what.

Here's the thing. There are plenty of places you can go to read about the particulars of what went on at the conference. My chaptermate Nancy Herkness has a great round up on her blog, for example, including the hot firemen and a list of the Golden Leaf and Put Your Heart in a Book winners while KT Grant is continuing to post details throughout the week of the numerous professional highlights of the weekend.

I want to talk about something that's been niggling at me since Saturday. As I said, Rachel Gibson gave the luncheon speech. I've liked her books since my first days at Avon Books as an assistant in the late 90s, particularly True Confessions, which was recently re-released in one of those elongated paperback editions. This weekend was the first time I'd seen her in person and I was disappointed. I suspect she's shy; maybe she was having an off day. Perhaps public speaking is not her forte. Certainly, her position at the podium meant the microphone didn't pick her voice up well and that unquestionably contributed to the situation. But the speech was - odd. And I was - bothered. What's worse is this impression has stayed with me all week, to the point that I put aside her newest book, a book I'd planned to dive into this week.

So my question is this: does it matter when an author you like doesn't live up to your expectations in person? Does it affect your ability to enjoy their work, books you previously would have picked up without question?

Even though I really don't like time-travel books in general - time isn't cyclical people! - I am a ginormous fan of the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. After years of reading every book in this series, several of them many times (and they ain't tiny!) I finally saw Gabaldon in person this summer at the RWA national conference and I found her to be - well - rather full of herself. I know she's quite actively involved with her readers; I've seen it with my own eyes. While dining at a pub in NYC that week, we saw numerous women led to an upper room where Gabaldon was hosting a Scottish-themed reader event. I also know, cause I'm a nerd who reads the small print in books and on web sites, that she's very involved in the Scottish communities, going to Gatherings and other cultural touchstones. Plus, her research is exhausting; whatever your feelings may be about her interpretation of the era, she's not phoning it in. But her attitude and delivery at the author's panel I saw in June was rather - smug. Also, the words "share the stage" do not appear to be in her vocabulary. I had to wonder, if I hadn't already read and loved the series, would I be inclined, after that experience, to start Outlander today?

What about you? Does the author-in-person experience matter in your choice of book? Have you ever stopped reading an author you enjoy because the real-life person didn't live up to your expectations? Do you think in our social media crazed world, an author's public face is more important than ever?

I have books - oy the books I have! - and will choose 3 random commentators on Sunday to each receive a book. Titles to come. Some people have said they have problems commenting; if this happens to you, shoot me an email at kiersten@kierstenkrumdotcom and I'll try to fix it.

For now, I have to return that call from the mothership.

One for the Money - Is it Worth the Dough?

2011-10-03T07:00:00.000-04:00

The movie trailer for One for the Money was released this week on the Internet and yea the fur, it is flying.

First, some background.

One for the Money is a mystery/comedy novel with romantic elements by New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich about Trenton, NJ-native Stephanie Plum. Stephanie has just lost her job as a lingerie buyer for a department store, is about to have her Miata repossessed for back payments, and is desperate to avoid moving back home to The Burb. To avoid this horror, she signs on as a low-level bounty hunter, chasing down the skeevy skips that populate the capitol city of the Garden State, everything from flashers to mob enforcers to a recently-divorced depressed woman who robbed a truck full of Cheetos.

Her first job is apprehending fugitive cop Joe Morelli, a reformed bad boy (though not too reformed) who, as a teenager, relieved Stephanie of her virginity behind the counter at the local donut shop. She paid him back by running him over with her dad's Buick thus breaking his leg.

To bone up her bounty hunter skillz, she asks Ranger, bad ass Cuban bounty hunter extraordinaire who'd like to relieve Stephanie of just about everything else, to mentor her in his mysterious ways. Along the way to getting her man, Stephanie partners with a former hooker who thinks Cluck in a Bucket is diet food, watches every car she touches catch on fire, and discovers that pineapple upside-down cake can pretty much solves just about every problem.

I highly - highly - recommend this series (up till about book 12, but that's a different post) and not only because it's set in New Jersey (holla!). It is fast and sweet and laugh-out-loud, pee-your-pants funny and if that's not enough to draw you in, well, you've got a real problem (though I hear there's an app for that).

You might assume, based on this, that I would be thrilled to have it made into a movie. Cautiously excited would be a better description. They'd better do it right, I thought with typical Jersey ferocity.

Of course, they didn't.

[Click the jump to see the trailer]

First of all, it's being filmed in Pittsburg - Pittsburg - and not New Jersey. Apparently, we can host the loathsome and nauseating antics of non-Jersey skanks down the shore, but we can't benefit from a potential franchise that is originally based in our state. Then there's the cast - but I'll get to that in a minute. And now this trailer.

We've got a blonde actress with questionable leading power dyed to be a brunette, an Irish actor for the Italian cop, dyed to be a brunette, and a full-of-himself charmer for the deadly bodyguard. Mostly, I like Katharine Heigel and have to say after seeing this trailer I'm not as completely opposed to her in this role as I was initially (though I can name at least three other actresses better suited for it). I've been fond of Jason O'Mara (currently headlining Terra Nova) since he played Stiles on The Agency and unearthed the Monarch of the Glen episodes that feature him too. He is not Joe Morelli. And I've never connected with Daniel Sunjata, (though that may be more the roles he plays than the man himself) and hate that he's playing Ranger (especially when Benjamin Bratt would've rocked this role).

Then there's the wink and the cupcake.

These are the two moments in the trailer that put me on high alert. Ranger winks at Stephanie; Morelli calls her cupcake. Straight outta the book.

Except it isn't.

In the book, when Ranger winks at Stephanie, it's hot. Ranger is sex on the hoof and that signature wink is so steamy, it could straighten Stephanie's naturally curly hair.

Cupcake is Morelli's pet name for Stephanie and when he uses it, it's hot. Morelli is a walking pheromone; when he walks into a room, women look around for flat surfaces to lay down on and Stephanie herself usually reaches for her zipper automatically.

In this trailer, both these moments are played for cute. Cute. These men are far from cute. Worse, I think this is indicative of the entire movie's flavor and that, well, that would be tragic.

I don't expect a movie based on a book to be a direct play by play of the source material; different mediums require different approaches and what plays on the page doesn't always sizzle on the screen. I do expect it to carry the same ethos, to get the rhyme and rhythm of the book, to personify its essence before our eyes. Fans of the book are the built-in audience for this flick; piss us off at your own peril.

Trailers are made to draw an audience. It's marketing and marketing can be manipulated, much like a book blurb, to entice the largest amount of viewers. Everyone has gone to a movie at some point only to discover it's nothing like what was advertised. If we're lucky, this will be the case for One for the Money. As it stands, this looks to be a movie made for the box office, not for the material or the characters, and one that is likely bound to disappoint.

Though for once, I really hope I'm wrong.

Television Tuesday: Emmy Edition

2011-09-20T10:00:00.001-04:00

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. CAN'T LOSE this time.

Full confession: I like awards shows. That said, I limit myself to the Big ~~Two~~ Four - the Emmys, Grammys, Oscars and Tonys - and even then, I'm only into the Grammys and Tonys for the performances and the rare win by someone whose work I may know and enjoy (*cough* U2 *cough*). Usually, I watch those two awards shows on delay so I can fast forward past the aimless drivel. For the Grammys, this is includes anything with JayZ, which is pretty much everything these days since he produces the dang thing. For the Tonys, it's often anything not involving Neil Patrick Harris. And Hugh Jackman, obviously.

But my well-documented love for television and movies make the Emmys and Oscars must-see TV. This year, a number of superb shows and marvelously talented people were nominated and I had hopes, dare I say high hopes, of some spectacular wins. Happily, I was not completely disappointed.

That said, the show itself was a major loss.

The bad:

The Emmytones. Shame. Shame. Shame.

From the God-awful Emmytones (shame on you, Zachary Levi and Joel McHale et al!) to Jane Lynch's uneven performance as host, to the embarrassing and baffling display of raunchy SNL songs (has Lorne Michaels bought the Emmys now?), to Jimmy Kimmel and Jimmy Fallon (and later John Stewart & Co.) wrestling on stage (where's Jack Palance when you need him? Oh yeah, dead.) to the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad scripted bantering, this has to be, hands down, the worst major awards show I've ever seen. And that's all I'm saying about that.

The good:

Despite the horrid overall flavor of the show, the highlights, when they came, were stellar.

Modern Family FTW - again

Awards were dominated by the same three or fours shows all night (par for the course), but as they were my shows (for once) and not part of the mighty marketing machine that is HBO, I'm casually looking the other way. Modern Family cleaned up the comedy awards and Downtown Abbey tut-tutted over the miniseries/movies made for television category. The Amazing Race and The Daily Show once again swept their respective categories of reality television and variety show. While I'm bored by the repeat winners, which I think reflects more ennui amongst voters than anything else, at least they are great shows.

I love Modern Family - the Halloween episode gave me a stomach cramp from laughing - and adore Downton Abbey and don't care in the slightest that they cleaned up in their respective categories. Before the winner of Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy was announced, Ed O'Neill reportedly said to his fellow nominees/cast members, "remember, whoever wins deserves this." I think that says a lot about that cast and crew and the quality they bring to this incredibly funny show. I look at its repeat dominance of the awards as payback for every year Two and a Half Men and/or Charlie Sheen made the cut, for each time Everybody Loves Raymond beat out Friends. If that makes me shallow and petty, I'm really OK with that.

The Fabulous Women.

In a wonderfully unscripted if planned moment, the nominees for Best Actress in a Comedy, the women who consistently bring the funny, ascended the stage as their names were announced as nominees. Standing side-by-side, hands locked together, gently mocking beauty pageants everywhere, they were a fabulous array of woman power. The moment was capped by the unexpected win by Melissa McCarthy for her work in Mike and Molly who proceeded to accept her award appropriately adorned with tiara and holding a bouquet of roses. Her joy and surprise were genuine and touching.

Joyous Margo Martindale

My love of the show Justified is well documented, but even I didn't expect Margo Martindale to win the award for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama. Her performance as the backwoods crime lord of Harlan County was at turns poignant and terrifying, a Masters class of acting every week. When her name was announced as winner, Margo closed her eyes, gripped the hands of her husband and co-star Timothy Olyphant, and whooped! Her acceptance speech was grateful and charming and overflowing with stunned joy. "Good things take time," she said. Her time has definitely arrived.

I think it's notable that both Melissa McMarthy's and Margo Martindale's (M squared times two!) unexpected wins were for women of plus-size, as society prefers to politely label us (and for McCarthy, it was for a show about a plus-sized couple). Personally, I was thrilled to see appearance judgment take a back seat to talent and skill for a change. Huzzah ladies. You rock at any size.

A Lannister Always Wins His Emmy

Peter Dinklage's work as Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones was only one of several outstanding performances in that remarkable series - but it did shine the brightest. Clever, smart, sharp, emotional, poignant, quick-witted, and downright funny, he commanded every scene he was in and then some. His win for Best Supporting Actor in a drama was well-deserved and, I hope, merely the first of many. His befuddled response to winning was charming and he later lamented thanking his dog sitter but not his agent and family.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can't Lose.

COACH!!!!!

Finally, finally, my beloved Friday Night Lights was recognized with a writing Emmy for showrunner Jason Katims and a Best Actor win for Kyle Chandler, aka Coach.

KYLE FREAKING CHANDLER!

'Bout damn time.

I shouted "YES!!!" as his name was announced, clenched fists raised victoriously (as though I had anything to do with it), a combined effect that made the cats scurry from the bed in fear.

This show, oh this show, was so unlike anything else on television. It broke your heart and warmed your soul at the same time. And holding the strong center was the marriage of Eric and Tammy Taylor, pitch-perfectly played by Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton (who was robbed of that Emmy, which is my only comment on Juliana Margulies' Best Actress win - ROBBED).

That it took four years either of them to receive any kind of Emmy recognition is a crime. That it took five for an actual win is nothing less than tragic.

Still, we'll take it.

All in all, the Emmy Awards of 2011 was a show that consistently made me say - out loud and on Twitter - "what the hell is going on here?" But being able to see some of my favorite people on television today accept well-deserved and often overdue awards for fine, fine work was a particular delight.

For that, I'll even endure Michael Bolton's singing pirate so long as next time he brings the rum.

All pictures courtesy of Google Images.

Back-to-School Blues

2011-09-14T07:00:00.031-04:00

Laugh it up, fuzzball (Google Images)

Last week, parents across the country bundled their offspring of various ages and sizes into cars and buses and onto bicycles and other modes of transportation and sent them back to school.

Almost, you could hear a sound wafting along the breeze, like the faint tones of the Whos down in Whoville, the tall and the small, as parents everywhere released a universal and nigh simultaneous expulsion of relief.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Behold back-to-school week. The time when parents reclaim the sanity that slipped from their fingers with each hot summer day and night that included the unrelenting presence of their children. Oh, I've no doubt they all love their respective progeny deeply, but I'm equally confident the urge to chuck their children began right around the Fourth of July - if not sooner. Sure, sports and dancing and music classes and scouts and plays and all the hither and dither that make a school year will soon sap the energies of many a mother and father. But for now, the bliss of even a temporarily empty hearth and home is effulgent.

But if you'd listened closely, if you truly paid attention last week, you would have heard the subtle ripple of a different timbre beneath this collective parental sigh emanating from the kid-free contingent (c'est moi). It went something like this:

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Oh, just get on with it! (Google Images)

No longer is my commute free of lumbering school buses. No more do I seamlessly flow down 287S. Instead the quagmire of moronic bumper-to-bumper traffic is mine to curse once again, the brake-pedal tango of pause-tap-slam mine to maneuver.

I have the back-to-school blues.

Look, I loved school. OK, I hated most of it up till the last two years of high school, but I loved learning (mostly) and adored college (usually) where, if you're lucky (and I was, eventually) they not only allow you to argue, they encourage it. Win!

Though I'm not in the ranks of the learning anymore, I enjoy feeling life settle back into the bloated school year structure, but oy, do I miss the empty roads of summer. The traffic these days is making me nuts (all right, nuttier) and it's only been a week! My kingdom for a teacher's conference!

Plus, there are people everywhere! Where did you all come from? The shore? Feel free to go back to clogging up the Parkway, you yobbos, or at least quit pulling out in front of me and slowing down to beneath the speed limit because you don't know how to go down a hill and around a curve at the same time. Yeesh. Tonight, driving home through the twilight, without warning, a utility worker ran out in the street maybe 10 yards in front of me. His orange vest was worthless in the gathering dark and damn, it was close. People are getting stupid(er) and its wearing on my nerves! There's only so many times I can miss!

Parents, have mercy on we few, we unhappy few, we band of befuddled who can barely muster the energy to glare when you gleefully swan up and down the aisles of an office-supply store cued to a Journey soundtrack. School is back is session, but- A-Ha! - it won't be for long! If such a small grace is so beyond you, then, for the love of Colonel Sanders, at least remember this. When you're on the highway half an hour later than usual after dropping Johnny and Jane off at school stay the hell out of the left-hand lane!

Gloat not, preening parents. Christmas break will be here sooner than you can press the easy button.

I Mean, the Earth Moved and Everything

2011-08-24T07:00:00.011-04:00

Tuesday afternoon, from one end of the East Coast to the other, the earth made its displeasure known. This was my first earthquake - a 5.9 with its epicenter in Washington D.C. making it the most activity that area has known all summer.

At the time, I was at my desk at the day job, diligently ~~surfing the Internet~~ working on an editing job. My screen, my desk, my pictures, basically everything started shaking, putting my world slightly off tilt. All right, all right, more off tilt than usual.

Naturally, I remained calm and composed. Ahem. Actually, I thought I was having vertigo. When I realized it was an earthquake (the shaking floor was a big clue) I kinda enjoyed it. There may have even been a "wheeeeee!!!" (as opposed to a wee).

The quake didn't last long. Or too long, depending on where you were at the moment, I suppose. Honestly, I was more worried when the elevator in Flatiron Building bounced up and down at the 18th floor during RWA Nationals. Big honking drop trumps mildly shaking floor any day.

Because my office is nothing if not responsive to the needs of its employees, we evacuated the building - after the earthquake was over. Yes, there was a concern over aftershocks, but really. Great Adventure gives me more of an aftershock than the actual earthquake and that's without even getting on a ride. Though we definitely had it better than our sister company (as usual) where the leadership apparently went "there was an earthquake? Too much to do, go back to work". One would think the lessons of 9/11 would provide us a better sense of the dangers we face today, or at least inspire a smarter response. But the cocoon remains well padded; I grabbed my mobile, not the Emergency Kit.

Those on the west coast pshawed over the somewhat giddy reaction the east coast had to the earthquake - once we were sure nothing had blown up. For my part, I was pleased to evacuate into such divine weather, the literal calm before the storm as we wait for Hurricane Irene to whack us upside the head on Sunday. I sat on the back gate of my CR-V and guffawed my way through the earthquake tweets. They ran the gauntlet from the "phew we're safe" variety to "the Force is strong in that one" ilk. Below is sample of some that amused me enough to retweet.

The first is by far the best one. It's already gone viral from Twitter to the world. Click on the link. You won't regret it. Assume crash positions. Looks like we're in for a bumpy ride.

@adamjclarkson images of earthquake devastation in Washington, DC bit.ly/rauALk

@jeffheimbuch MSNBC says the Washington monument is leaning to left. Fox news says its to the right

@86 adamlevine Ok. Even GOD is pissed off at Washington now.

@karianneholt I am going to be SO PISSED if the Mayans were right.

@pattonoswalt Not to panic anyone in NYC, but a screaming John Cusack just drove by in a limo that was missing a door

@jasonpinter: As though the publishing industry needed an excuse to drink more. #earthquake

@kierstenkrum @ least I left the bldg 1st. RT @vickydreiling: Checking Twitter during earthquake? So glad yr priorities are in order - snort

@71 angelajames Me: earthquake was abt 90 miles south of DC & was felt from Canada to SC. Walmart cashier: they must have felt it in DC then? Me: speechless

@kierstenkrum yup and twitter of course. where would be w/out it? RT @SmartBitches: Stay off the phones y'all. Text instead.

@kierstenkrum uh you may wanna wait... #earthquake RT @WeronikaJanczuk: CRAZY busy. Movin' back to NYC Sat. morning

@LAGilman: I don't know, I've read the OT it might qualify RT @Personanondata #Earthquake. Authorities confirm it's not 'terrorist related'

@amypierpont "Security guards in lobby reading 'in case of emergency' handbook. #ifeelsafenow"

@kierstenkrum the Force is strong in DC - though not so much in Congress #earthquake

@katespencer Right now Ryan Gosling is holding scared New Yorkers and whispering soothing words in their ears. #GosQuake

@kierstenkrum I'll see your "pffftt 5.9" and raise you a "pshaw hurricane"@Zoe_Archer

@Lord_Voldemort7 An Earthquake just hit part of the US and Hurricane Irene is still a threat. I will direct you to Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 1...

@nuttyxander Tweetdeck should really have a "WOAH, SHIT JUST GOT REAL" alarm when tweets suddenly speed up in a certain location.

@LaurieBLondon 5.9 earthquake hit VA and spread north. Californians are going "what? 5.9? you big babies." #earthquake

Breaking Up With Burn Notice - Television Tuesday

2011-08-16T07:00:00.025-04:00

There comes a time in any relationship when you have to admit that something is not working. I fear I have reached that point with Burn Notice and yea, it makes me sad.

From the moment it debuted, I have loved Burn Notice. A clever, witty show with guns and spies and beaucoup back story, a complex, conflicted hero (Michael Westen played by Jeffrey Donovan), betrayed by his government, manipulated by a shadow organization, who just happens to have a gun-running ex-girlfriend (Fiona played by Gabrielle Anwar with the worst fake Irish accent evah though it was quickly erased), an excess of yogurt, and Bruce-Freaking-Campbell (Sam Axe).

In a word - awesome.

But lately, as Michael has defeated said shadow organization, proved his innocence, and been reinstated to the CIA, the show has become - dare I say it? - formulaic. An A story-of-the-week where Michael et al help the helpless, a la A-Team and a myriad of other 80s adventure shows, while the B-story is the continuing saga of solving Michael's own professional angst. This summer season, that role is filled by the "Who killed (fellow spy) Max?" non-mystery as it seems painfully obvious to me that Max isn't really dead.

For me, Burn Notice began to wane when our fearless threesome became a foursome and Jesse (Coby Bell) was added to the roster. At first, I thought it an interesting angle for Michael to play as he inadvertently did to Jesse what the shadow organization had done to him: got him burned. I particularly liked it when, secret revealed, Jesse saved Michael's admirable tuckus from the bad guy by shooting Michael - with no small amount of pleasure on Jesse's part.

But I didn't want Jesse to stay and stay he did. Saying I don't like change is a gross understatement, so messing around with a cast I like is a wonky move. But, despite my considerable efforts at the contrary, the world doesn't revolve around me and television showrunners don't consult me before screwing around with the casting status quo. Their loss.

Setting aside my personal quirks, the show now has to find ways to include story lines and character development for five full time cast members (including Michael's mother Madeline played by Sharon Gless) and those of Michael, Fi, and Sam have suffered for it. It doesn't help that an in-the-CIA-fold with healthy relationships with mother and girlfriend Michael is far less interesting than burned, bitter, and ballistic Michael.

And then there's my waning suspension of disbelief. Just how many things does this guy have to blow up in Miami before local law enforcement wises up? The show tried to introduce a police-hunt wrinkle in season two (or was it three?) but it was an epic fail, no small fault due to the miscasting of Moon Bloodgood as the Miami cop on Michael's (enticing) scent.When you have an alpha woman like Fiona, you need a woman who can similarly challenge Michael from the antagonist side and Moon Bloodgood wasn't it. Tricia Helfer, however, worked very well as a previous big bad because a former cylon kicks everyone to the curb.

Also, why is there no traffic? How is it Michael, Fi and Sam can cross the city in minutes without a single traffic light or snarl, never mind the driving hijinks they get up to along the way? And then go and blow more sh*t up without getting arrested?

Horatio Caine would never stand for that crap in his city. His sunglasses alone would have to object.

The best Burn Notice episodes are when Michael and Fiona (and her lips) are balls to the wall in one way or another leaving Chuck Finley (alias for Campbell's Sam Axe) to front a rescue. Like last year's siege at the abandoned hotel or when Fiona was kidnapped to be auctioned off by an Irish terrorist, or even when Sam got nicked by the bad SEALs.

Good times.

[Let's pause here and touch on Gabrielle Anwar's lips. Look at her in Scent of a Woman. Granted it was 1992 and Gabrielle herself was only 22, but here and in The Three Musketeers a year later, she didn't look like Stephen Tyler had lent her collagen. Now I get an irrevocable impression of fish lips every time I look at her. Very distracting. I'm not saying she's had work done; at 5'3", she weighs about 80 lbs and it may be that, lacking any kind of collagen in her face, her lips merely stand out more. But it's weird.]

Back to Burn Notice. This past week, I actually stopped watching in the middle of the episode. Unheard of! Absurb! Yet true nonetheless. Why? Because I was bored, which, to me, is death knell.

Yet it makes me sad to say goodbye. I hold on for too long and wind up in this love/hate situation where I don't like what it's become but stay for what it once was. Shows like this that fire on all cylinders right out of the gate are few and far between. Television already serves the least common denominator of audience. Sustaining a show that raises the bar can't be an easy task. But Burn Notice would have been better served by ending once Michael had succeeded in his original mission to clear his name. Then we could have imagined him and Fi and Sam kicking around Miami, drinking mojitoes, hanging out in Madeline's garage, and looking out for the little guy in this big, bad world.

My dear Burn Notice. It's not me, it's you. I hope we can still be friends.

Man Candy Monday - the Wednesday Edition

2011-07-27T07:00:00.051-04:00

I'm too sexy for this ocean

After a long, holy-crap-is-the-Devil-on-a-bender hot weekend, I was looking forward to sweating over Man Candy Monday this week if only for some variety. This week's theme: Euro Trash. This theme somehow feels like the embodiment of Man Candy Monday's raison d'etre. Stripped of the puritanical American trappings, Euro Trash Man Candy had the potential to bring Man Candy Monday to a new level of "oh-my-gawd-what-is-that?" awesomeness.

And I missed it.

EuroTrash cowboy? So last week, darling.

I can hardly believe it myself. Have the blooms fallen off the Man Candy -er - stems? Have the burgeoning pecs of manliness been - gasp! - punctured?

Perish the thought! Merely an epic fail on my part as I turned around not once but twice in my office Monday night, sure that I was forgetting something but leaving nonetheless only to pull off the highway two miles from home with the realization that I'd left my laptop in my office.

Polish Moment unparallelled.

The scruff of sensitive ManCandy

He never inhaled - smoke.

David Gandy from Light Blue Cologne Advert

Gotta love a hot man in braces

Rather than have my - ahem - research to go unrewarded, here for your viewing pleasure are the pictures I'd amassed for EuroTrash ManCandyMonday.

Ciao Baby.

Just. My. Quarry.

Bon Jovi, the EuroTrash edition

Are those zebra trunks?

Hit me with your best shot. Please.

Dis towel is, how you say? Too much.

Don't repeat my mistakes and miss Man Candy Monday. Join us on Twitter every Monday beginning at 9 PM EST and use the hashtag #ManCandyMonday. The theme for August 1st is Bollywood. Finger chimes are optional.

Man Candy Monday – Men and Horses

2011-07-18T11:33:00.004-04:00

This week's Man Candy Monday theme is men and horses, and by this, we don't only mean cowboys. Of course, that's not going to stop me from leading off with an Australian cowboy in situ – even a faux one.

Ride 'em, mate.

Even in our modern age, a knight on horseback is an impressive image. It's not like people go to Renaissance Faires for the food. Jousting knights always get the biggest cheers. And when that knight is Clive Owen? Hoo, boy.

I like this shot of the princes at polo. They're so competitive with each other, and yet, when I watched them on the BBCAmerica documentaries that ran before the Royal Wedding, there's an unbreakable bond with genuine affection and respect evident between them – right before they take the micky out of one another.

The Renaissance Man himself. Viggo's movie Hidalgo may not have done well at the box office, but how can you go wrong watching beautiful horses race across the desert? Plus Viggo. On a horse.

Finally, I could not do this post and neglect the men from Silverado. "Jake fell off his horse?" Emmett asks at one point, an incomprehensible notion as Jake, played by Kevin Costner, was a centaur when on horseback. The man can ride. There's so much to love about this great movie (though not Patricia Arquette), from the many quotable lines, to the breathtaking photography, to the loving homage to classic western tropes. And lots and lots of men and horses.

Head over to the Man Candy Monday blog, ably corralled this week by Laurie B. London, for more great pics and some unique insights as Laurie is herself a horse owner. Join us on Twitter tonight, beginning at 9 PM EST for more Man Candy madness. Use the hashtag #ManCandyMonday and brace yourself for the stampede.

Eulogy for Radio

2011-07-14T07:00:00.003-04:00

Radio station 101.9 WRXP debut in 2008, the very month I moved out of Weehawken. That was a particularly chaotic year; that month alone should have landed me in the loony bin for good.

Discovering a new radio station of WRXP's caliber was a genuine pleasure, one that offset some of the crazy permeating my life at the time (as opposed to the normal crazy that consumes my every day). It couldn't come at a better time either as KROCK had just (again!) changed its format away from the rock it was known for to the every encroaching, every excretable pop/hip hop mix.

What I loved about RXP – then – was its devotion to rock music. Finally, here was a station playing the music that had yet to break through to mainstream, bands like Kings of Leon (pre Sex on Fire) and Muse and Mumford and Sons and others of that ilk. Bands that weren't on the pop stations at all (at the time) and were maybe breaking through on the (rare) rock station in the late night "new music" slots.

Matt Pinfield's morning show had phenomenal interviews that weren't timed promo slots but could go 10, 20 minutes as they dissected musical influences and motivations or traded stories from wild rock 'n roll days of the 80s and 90s. Pinfield has decades of music business experience under his belt and knows everyone (I suspect he may also know where the bodies and drugs are buried). Every morning he brought that experience and enthusiasm to the show. For once, I looked forward to the talking as much as the music because; one always elevated the other. I listened on the way in to work and piped the station through my computer during the workday to keep the music going. I told everyone about this great new radio station, I even blogged about it here. I absolutely loved it.

Slowly, much like New Jersey station 105.5 WDHA, this dedication changed. The interviews became pre-recorded, portions parsed out across the four-hour show or even over two or three days. I started flipping channels, the proliferation of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Pearl Jam and Led Zeppelin edging out Saving Able, and Black Stone Cherry and Muse. And oy, the 80s hair band music. I'm a child of the 80s and I still do not need to hear Welcome to the Jungle and Jump every bleeding day. (Take note DHA – Whitesnake and Poison need not apply all the freaking time and oh my giddy aunt, what is with playing the Ramones all the time?!).

Where once RXP would play music while all other stations were running the 5-minutes-to-the-hour commercial block, now the same adverts filled their airwaves at the same time. I started listening less and less, flipping channels as I had before discovering the station. There was now little difference, particularly with WDHA.

A few months ago, Pinfield and his partner Leslie Fram were moved out of The Rock Show morning slot and into the lunchtime hour. The show lost its pizazz and almost sounded automated as though Pinfield and Leslie had prerecorded their segments. More and more it seemed Leslie was taking the lead with Pinfield dialed back. Then this week, via his Twitter stream, Pinfield announced his departure from the station. Today, it seems, is the last broadcasting day for 101.9 WRXP in its current persona. Rumor is that a format change is in the making. Right. Because what we need right now is another Z100 clone.

When it began, RXP touted the fact that it was an independent station that could bring this level of attention to music and artists because it lacked a corporate overload directing content based on spread sheets. I can only surmise that this situation didn't last and that this once great station got gobbled up, possibly right around the time I stopped being a devoted listener.

It's a shame. It's a bloody crime, really. In a society of sameness, where a trend is milked dry to the last drop, to see another promising station, one whose sole purpose was to celebrate rock music and the artists that make it, fold again as so many before it have to what will presumably be yet another station bent on pleasing the most common denominators of the populace, is hugely disappointing.

No wonder so many are turning to pay services like Pandora. Anybody got a link to that?

Rest in Peace, WRXP, my sometime friend.

See you on the B side.

Man Candy Monday - Men! In Kilts!

2011-07-11T14:25:00.002-04:00


Och laddie!

I'm guest blogging today at the Man Candy Monday blog about Men! In Kilts! Head on over there to check out the tasty tableau of men in kilts. You can thank me later.

Yeah they do!

Prizes! Last week's winner of the Karen Rose duo of books is - da-da-da! - CheekyGirl! Congratulations! Send me an email at kierstenatkierstenkrumdotcom with your snail mail deets and I'll get those to you tout suite!

In the meantime, go leave a comment on Man Candy Monday. It's a prize in itself.

Finally, join us tonight on Twitter at 9 PM EST. Use the hashtag #ManCandyMonday and post your favorite images of Men! In Kilts!

My, what a big - buckle - you have there

There Will Be Wine

2011-07-05T07:00:00.002-04:00

There are a number of lists and blogs running the Internet gauntlet this week to deconstruct the RWA National Conference. Who am I to deny you mine?

I was a newbie at nationals or, as my line went all week, I was a Nationals Virgin. Had to be something left, right? Despite extensive planning and a last minute freak out, I wound up flying by the seat of my pants as usual and made it out exhausted, exhilarated, and ready to rock 'n roll the WIP.

Look! Highlights! Preeetttyyyy.

Start Off Right
There's no better way to start of a conference, especially as a newbie, than with a night spent at Lady Jane's Salon. The wonderful monthly event for the celebration of romance fiction hosted a special event in honor of RWA with 6 – count 'em, 6! – bestselling writers including co-founder Leanna Renee Hieber, Diana Love, Karen Rose, Carrie Lofty, Sarah MacClean, and the incomparable Eloisa James. The upper room of Madame X bar was crammed cheek to jowl with writers and readers including several online friends. A highlight for me was a lovely chat with historical romance writer Joanna Bourne who could not have been more delightful.

Wonder Roommate
Be it camp, college, or marriage, the roommate is key. I won the bloody lottery with my roommate for RWA. She found me through my post on the RWA roommate board and I will thank her for that for the rest of our lives. If one of us said "I like X" the other immediately said "me too!" (though we both loathe Y for reasons I won't disclose here). We quickly realized there was nothing either of us could say that wouldn't make the other guffaw. Highlights in conversation included "Honey, while I'm sure the proportionate size of rats' balls is fascinating, I just want to watch Tom Hanks talk to Conan and go to bed" and "I know he's too young and I don't care," and "it's too difficult to take the straps off the bed every time" and "oh honey, soon as he walks out on screen, I'm unzipping my pants."

I'll leave it to all of you to decide who said what. Hint: contrary to common belief, they all did not come from me.

Adapt, adapt, adapt
No schedule could survive the madness of a national conference intact. For example, as soon as Wonder Roommate told me the books at publisher book signings were FREE (be still my thundering heart), those events skyrocketed to the top of my must do list. There's your list of things to do and then there are the things you actually do. Those are usually the ones you remember always.

No Matter How Long You Take to Plan Your Footwear (3 months) or How Many Shoes You Pack (*cough* 11 pairs *cough*), You Will Only Wear the Lands End Saddle Shoes and the Foot Smart Sandals Because Dear Lord, Will Your Feet Hurt

That one is pretty self explanatory I think.

Do Not Hesitate If You Recognize Someone You Want to Meet
Many writers are introverts. I am not one of them, which likely surprises none of you. But I do have an instinct to shy away from promoting myself to someone especially if it involves a cold introduction. Never mind that these were not technically cold intros as I had conversed with many of these people, sometimes repeatedly, on Twitter and Facebook. Name recognition was likely if not a given. But the possibility of a crushing reception squelches the better impulses of the best of intentions.

Right from the beginning, I had to check myself from the "I'll do it later" excuse and call out to people as they passed by. In every single case, I experienced something wonderful. In some instances, I forced myself to follow up with a repeat cold intro at the end of the week to reiterate the early conversation. This is ballsy stuff for many of us, myself included. But it must be done.

Here's a secret: it gets easier. Gird your loins and stick out your hand. You won't regret it.

Everyone Needs a Secret Weapon
This fan was mine. Churned through every AA battery I brought with me but was the best buck fifty I've spent all year, especially in the fifth ring of hell that was the Literacy Book Signing. Hundreds, nay, thousands of writers and readers crammed into a double ballroom breed a whole bunch of heat, and not only because of the man titty covers.

I threw this bag in a bag into my bag at the last minute and it was a Godsend at every single signing. By the end of each it was hemorrhaging books but held strong and retracted as soon as said books were dumped on my bed. Again.

Harlan Coben Is a Riot
Somehow I missed the fact that Harlan Coben was doing a panel on suspense with Lisa Jackson. Fortunately, I realized my lapse in time. Besides being big, bald, and bestselling, he is a very funny speaker. Too many speakers brought the funny this week. I'm sensing a theme there.

Among other great quotes and bon mots, Coben said, "when you write and love to write, there's such a temptation not to write," an observation to which I can completely relate. He also advised, "Don't jump on a trend. Just write the story. Don't worry about pages, etc. Write what you love, not what you think the audience will want." This was a sentiment shared over and over this week.

You Will See the Same Six (Fantastic) People All Week and Never Glimpse the Other Six You Wanted to See
The "six" is a random number, but the fact is I routinely saw the same people (who are fabulous), but never saw a (growing) handful of people I was keen to meet in person. I'm choosing to see this as a chance to put those missed people at the top of the list for next year's conference.

You Can Steal the Mustard
This is not a euphemism. I got this mustard with my pretzel at XX pub (name redacted because I'd like to go back someday – they have hard cider on tap). It's so strong and delicious; it'll clear out your sinuses with one dollop. Loverly. No way I was leaving it behind. In fact, after I finish this post, I'm getting a soft pretzel out of the freezer and slopping some mustard on it. Yum.

If You're Not Published, You're Missing Out
That's the hard truth of it. A pre-published writer myself, I was amazed to realize part of the reason I wasn't seeing several people was because they were all involved in "pubbed" author activities. For my first national conference, my focus was on networking and workshops. The networking gets a little difficult when the people who you wish to talk to are off at published author events. It's like there's a secret password being whispered just beyond my hearing. What this does though is only make me more determined to be published for next year's conference.

I hate missing out.

That said my dance card was yet well and truly full. There is plenty to do for the pre-pubbed writer, fret not. I loved meeting the authors I chat with on Twitter and Facebook, putting faces to monikers I can spell correctly without looking. Highlights included Kate Noble saying, "I know, I follow you on Twitter" and Eileen Dreyer's lovely ego stroke "I love talking with you online" among many, many others. People question whether social marketing works, whether relationships online can carry through to real life with any sense of veracity. I'm here to tell you they absolutely do.

No Matter What, Eventually the Jersey Always Comes Out

Post party, I was with a gaggle of women happy to share a cab back to the hotel. Two of the ladies were from Canada, including the lovely author Julianne Maclean. At my suggestion, we went up to the NE corner of Broadway and 23rd Street to maximize our taxi-hailing chances. I saw an SUV taxi pull up on the NW corner and yelled "go now. We have to get that one." Immediately, these two ladies set off to cross Broadway, not noticing that the light was against them. I jumped into the crosswalk to follow, hoping to buy some extra time for them to make the corner. Traffic was blessedly light, but – of course – two cars barreled down on us, horns blaring, one disgruntled older man wailing on the dang thing till the Jersey came out and I yelled, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Shut up already!" Safely on the corner, Julianne looked at me and said, "You are definitely from Jersey."

You can take the girl out of the diner…

Don't try to hide who you are. Your inner Jersey or Montana or Michigan or Iowa will come out and you will be all the more memorable for it, hopefully in a good way. And on that note…

Ready to Turn on a Dime for Anything

Jersey from 19th floor of Flat Iron Building

I was thrilled to reconnect with people all week with whom I once worked, either as an assistant at Avon Books or promotion manager at Bantam Dell both oh so many years and, let's face it, significant pounds ago. I had hoped to see them and was delighted that (most) remembered me. A great friend, with whom I hadn't spoken in some time, immediately invited me to the St. Martin's Press cocktail party at their offices in the Flat Iron Building as her guest. The short story is I wound up in a limo with 9 other women (all friends with one another) including 2 bestselling authors, 1 Golden Heart (the RWA award for the best unpublished manuscript in its category) nominee and 2 agents, one who announced at the end of the ride that I was very funny. You can bet your bippy I'll be querying her!

You can't plan for this stuff. You simply have to be able to turn on a dime and make the most of the opportunities that present themselves and when you're standing in the taxi line and the bellhop says, "I have a limo for 10" and someone shouts "we have 9!" be ready to say "I'll be your 10!" Wonderful things can – and did! – happen.

Taking over world from CEO's desk

Since I came home with enough books to make a cabinet maker weep, I'm going to offer a pair of books from Rita-award winning author Karen Rose (though not the signed one for which I wrote back cover copy). Leave a comment, tell me your favorite moment of Nationals or, if you didn't go, which author you'd most like to see at a signing, or even simply what book you're reading now. I'll pick a winner on Saturday and one randomly chosen commenter will receive the books.

Disclaimer: I am not being compensated for this giveaway in any way, shape or form, except by the countless hours of enjoyment I receive from reading.

Time Is SO Not On My Side

2011-06-15T07:00:00.067-04:00

Spin me right round, baby

I can’t seem to get a handle on time.

Already, it's June. June. How did we get to June?Seriously, I really don’t know how I got here. In January, it seemed so faraway and suddenly – boom.

Used to be a week seemed endless,every minute taking a decade to pass by. These days, I breathe and months aregone. And now I only have two weeks.

Two. Weeks. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Only two weeksto the national conference for Romance Writers of America – my first nationalconference. Yea, I am a national conference virgin.

Two weeks.

Y’all, I am freaking out.

I’ve been preparing for months. From clothes and shoes to theweb site and business cards, I’ve been prepping in one way or another sinceApril. I’ve read what-to-do blogs and what-to-wear tweets and where-to-go e-mails.I’ve asked for advice (and given it) and made plans. I should feel like I got itgoing on.

But I don’t.

Time keeps on ticking...ticking...ticking

It’s the book, you see. The first draft is done. I’m in themiddle of deep revisions. I spent the entire Memorial Day holiday weekendlocked up with my laptop and ended each day feeling as though none of the workwas good enough. How can my tripe possibly be held up against theextraordinary work currently bouncing around Romancelandia?

I feel pressure building on the back of my neck, pressure toget it right. I’ve trapped myself ina spiral of self expectation that I can never hope to satisfy. I want my debutbook to burn across the tweet verse; I want writers and reviewersI admire to declare it one of their favorite reads. I want it to be feted and demandedand memorable. I want it to be the next Dragon Bound, the next Iron Duke, thenext Nine Rules, never mind that Idon’t even write in any of those genres. I’m caged in a self made prison of unrealisticwant.

Under the siege

And yet, I am pragmatic. I’ve done my homework. I know thenumbers and the stakes and the lottery odds of even being published in thefirst place. Hell, I have a degree inpublishing. I know. And I’m wellaware that these are juvenile desires, my ID raging free unchecked. Still, I amhobbled by my own oversized expectations because the work can never, ever liveup to them and so I rewrite and rewrite in a compulsive need to get the rightdialogue, the right tone, the right response.

Did I mention the whole freaking out thing?

Agent Rachelle Gardner writes a wonderful blog about thelife of a literary agent called Rants and Ramblings. Her post yesterday included the following (it’s a long quote but worthit):

It’s that very insecurity that will drive you to keepgrowing, keep learning, [and] be the best you can be. Lately I’ve been quotingthe famous yoga teacher BKS Iyengar to my clients. He said, ‘The moment you say‘I have got it,’ you have lost everything you had…The moment you say ‘I amsatisfied with that,’ stagnation has come. That is the end of your learning;you have closed the windows of your intellect.’ If you believe that, then yousee that we really need to look at writing and publishing as a journey, andtake from it what we can while we are in the middle of it. It’s part of ourlarger process of growing and developing as people; it is not a question of ‘arriving’but more a discipline of figuring out how to keep going. Don’t worry aboutyourself when you’re feeling insecure or even hateful toward your writing.Accept it as part of your journey; ask yourself what it means, how it can spuryou on, what it drives you toward. Let yourself feel satisfied for briefmoments, then go back to the natural state of the writer: insecure, frustrated,[and] driven.

So, according to Rachelle, I’m right on track.

Yesterday, after a weekend spent immersed in the romance writingcommunity, first at the Long Island Romance Writers annual luncheon (wonderful)then at the monthly meeting of the Liberty States Fiction Writers, I came tothis conclusion:

Nobody is going to like this book.

What a freeing revelation! If nobody is going to like it, thenthere’s no reason not to write whatever the hell I want, to stop questioning every click of my keyboard and to simply write the best book I have in me. If it doesn’t light upthe tweet verse, fine. If it doesn’t blow the expectations of every agent andeditor who reads it, that’s OK. If it gets vilified on high-traffic romancereview sites, bring it on. I’ll write what needs to come out of myfingers, what my soul demands should be on the page.

Absolutely no pressure.

The tick tock, the ticking to the tock tock

I’m going to blow the roof off RWA. Not because I’ve got thebest book or have the greatest platform or know the right insiders (which isgood, cause I really don’t), but because one, I am a ridiculously social creatureand two, I love romance. And in two weeks, I’ll get to spend a week in thecompany of 2200 people who love it too.

Outstanding.

Oh, I'm still freaking out.

That just means I’m doing itright.

Are you going to Nationals? What are you most looking forwardto doing/seeing? Are you planning a siege of workshops for craft or anetworking extravaganza?

If you will be at Nationals – be sure to look for me and come up and introduce yourself!

Probably a good idea to startat the bar.

I Got Nothin'

2011-05-25T07:00:00.004-04:00

Y’all, I got nothin’.

I had a different post planned for last week. And then I gotmad. Since posting while mad is probably in the Top 10 of things not to do on ablog, I waited.

Yep. Still Mad.

So I’ve been trying to gather my thoughts about power andsex and – well – Schwarzenegger. And it ain’t happening. Maybe it’s excessive testosterone, maybe it’sthe heightened sense of importance that goes with high-profile positions. I think it's simply that these men are total jackholes, but the proclivity of powerful men tocheat on the strong woman who are their wives seems to be ever more pervasive.And it’s pissing me off. What makes the Schwarzenegger situation all the worstis that his chosen paramour was a woman under his employ, a blatant, unforgivable abuse of power, whether it was consensual or not. Don’t even get mestarted on the dueling births of mistress and wife.

In Romancelandia, the hero archetype, alpha or otherwise, is empoweredby his strong heroine counterpart, not emasculated. Our genre is derided by theworld at large, scorned for its fantasy elements, for an unrealistic portrayalof love and life, and yet it’s the one place where you can almost universally findrespect and love between partners…after 400 or so pages of angst and conflictand hot (or gentle, if that’s your poison) sex.

But that was last week.

That was before the worst tornado inMissouri history tore the City of Joplin and the lives of its 40,000+ people topieces, only the latest in a year of devastating weather events around theworld. 124 people are confirmed dead in Joplin; another 7 have died in Oklahoma tonight from another tornadoas I’ve been writing this post. Texas is also under meteorologicalsiege tonight from tornadoes.

Whatever your belief system, all of us can agree that the recentrash of natural disasters is frightening – and awesome as in worthy of awe. Iread this Sports Illustrated article about last month’s storms in Alabama rightbefore Joplin, MO was hit this past weekend, and was touched by the people whoshowed up, pitched in, and supported one another.

As I write this at 11 PM EST, another tornado is headed for Joplin. More families will be homeless.More lives are about to be ripped apart. And sex and power and, more than anything,Schwarzenegger, are suddenly the most unimportant things in America.

Well, maybe not sex.

If you are able to help in any way, shape, or form, pleasecontact the Red Cross by calling 1-800-RED CROSS. They are also available for moment by moment updates onTwitter at @RedCross and I also recommend @BreakingNews for timely updates as thestorms continue.

Stay safe. Be Well. Remain Thankful. Have Faith.

Otherwise, we've all got nothin'.

The Merry Month of May

2011-05-11T07:00:00.001-04:00

I love May. Despite being a summer baby, May is my absolutefavorite month of the year. The never-ending rains of April abate – and theyfelt particularly endless this year – and the flowers and trees rejoice. May remindsme why I love New Jersey, why it’s called the Garden State, and why I am soglad to be back in suburbia. The beginning of the month brought with it came aparticularly strident time at The Day Job, which has fortunately tapered off just as the thermostat remembers how to reach 70.

The merry month ofMay typically starts off with bells. The May Day bells of Oxford University, OxfordEngland, that is. In Oxford, May is sung in by the choir and boy choristers of Magdalen College from the top of Magdalen Tower.

Too right.

The year I was a student there, I got to experience this May Day tradition first hand. Friends of mine studying in southernEngland had come up to Oxford for the weekend.We splurged on a cab to take usin around 4 AM to be as close as we could get to the base of Magdalen Tower by 6 AM

The streets teemedwith people making their way down to Tower Bridge. Many were students in formalwear ending their the all night parties withthe May Day music. After the Magdalen College choir sang and the bells rang, some of thesesame students would strip to the skin and jump off the bridge intothe River Cherwell.

Ah. Tradition.

But first the music.

It was cool, it was crowded, and it was a glorious morning. AsI remember, we were early enough to make it down to the edge of Tower Bridge,well positioned to hear the choirs.

I’d heard crowds go silent before, but I’d never heard anentire city go quiet up to that day. As the choir sang the Hymnus Eucharisticus followed quickly by “Sumer Is IcumenIn” in Middle English, the music rang through the hushed streets and the sun broke out over the gleaming city spires.

Download this mp3 from Beemp3.com

Then the drunken co-eds jumped off the bridge naked,shouting inaudibly – probably also in Middle English.

The absolute best part waswhen, crammed shoulder to shoulder in the crowd, my tiny, conservative Haitianhousemate was goosed by one of the soaking wet, naked men on his way back upthe bridge to reclaim his clothes.

(These day, Oxford has closed the Tower Bridge on May Day morning to prevent jumpers as the River Cherwell is only about 2 feet deep below the bridge. Buzz killers.)

After the choir sang, the bells rang out and the city danced.Literally. Morris dancers stepped lively in groups throughout the city. Restaurantsfeatured special May Day breakfasts for weary revelers with deep pockets. Wepoor students instead traipsed over to our beloved George & Davies ice-creamshop for free hot chocolate and what I still say was the only decent bagel in allof Britain. I don’t know why an ice-cream shop sold bagels; I wasmerely grateful. They also had homemade Bailey’s ice cream. A whole lotta yum.

Hands down one of my all time best memories of that life-alteringyear in that amazing city. Ever since, I cue up the YouTube videos of Oxford onMay Day to ring in spring the proper way. Look here's one now!

This year, however, May also began with a bang. An artillerybang, among other ordinances as the Special Forces soldiers stormed through Osama binLaden’s stronghold, killing the man who masterminded the greatest terroristattack ever perpetrated against the United States. The word of his death exploded across the zeitgeist late Sunday night; my Twitter feed nearly burned up as real-time posts came fast and furious. I could barely reply or post myself before another 20 to30 new tweets and retweets and news briefs and rumors replenished the feed.

I can’t answer for anyone else but I’m mighty glad that manis dead, and have no need or inclination to apologize for it. Not everyonefeels that way; many believe that rejoicing in another person's death is wrong nomatter what that person has done or to whom he/she may have done it.

Everyonehas to decided for themselves how best to respond to bin Laden’s death. Having seen the devastation wrought upon my city, upon the Towers where I had takenmy first steps as a professional, having held my mother through violent panicattacks due to the carnage she witnessed firsthand as a Red Cross responder,having lost family friends on Flight 93, I only have this one thing to say:

Boo.Yah.

May your month be as merry as the day is long and filledwith more bells than bangs. Leave a comment and tell me what excellent plans youhave for this lovely spring. I’ll choose a winner to partake of The Mighty Basket of Win and hopefully add some more brightness to your May.

Finding My Own Way

2011-04-20T07:00:00.050-04:00

For my last birthday (no, I won't tell you which one) my mother got me a TomTom GPS. I sent it back.

I like to find my own way.

I suppose it's in my blood. My father's always been one for the indirect journey. Though able to admit when he's made a wrong turn, thus eschewing the male stereotype, he is yet completely incapable of turning around. As kids, we knew we were in real trouble when he got the map out. Still, he would always insist the route we were on would work itself out in the end.

Maddeningly, it almost always did.

Not the road I was on. Darn it.

I was driving to an appointment last week when a traffic report warned of an accident on my route. Immediately I zoned out, mentally coasting along the highways and back roads that would get me around the jam. I knew the area well, having spent many teenage hours weaving through the towns of Morris and Summit counties. OK, my parents weaved because back then, the State of New Jersey wouldn't let me drive until I turned 17.

It was a lovely day for driving, the sun had remembered to shine, the air was comfortable, and I was on familiar roads dotted by landmarks that sparked warm memories. That was G's old house. Here's where I made M turn thinking I was funny and flirty when really I was an annoying 14-year-old twit. There's the Charlie Brown restaurant where my mother, sister and I watched what seemed to be a never-ending playoff game when the Mets took the pennant in '86. I love those roads. I love gunning it through the curves, coasting down the hills, knowing when and how to get around the inevitable slow, elderly driver. It helps that I remember where the cops like to hide.

Somewhere after crossing Noe Ave but before Long Hill Drive, it occurred to me that this drive was like the long and winding road of a writer's journey. Certainly my own journey as a writer has been far from straight. A hodgepodge of fits and starts followed by intense outpourings of – well, let's face it, utter claptrap. My current WIP is the descendant of a story I wrote my sophomore year of college. I still have steno books filled with the beginnings of another novel that I wrote while working for Sears credit central when I thought I'd fallen into a black hole from which I would never emerge (To quote Bull Durham, working for Sears sucks.) I had drive, I had intention and ambition, but I desperately lacked directions.

And then, I got out the map.

In 2008, I joined RWA and my local chapter, NJRW, and suddenly this wild and crazy desire, this pie in the sky dream, finally began to gel together into something real. This past weekend, as I listened to a panel of experienced editors and agents detail what writers do wrong, I thought of all the things I've done wrong on this journey and the handful of things I've managed to work out right. Joining RWA and NJRW, finding my extraordinary critique partners and a cadre of chapter mates who constantly encourage me, attending workshops and conferences, learning from great writers who've already gone down my rocky road.

Sure, life and responsibility continue to intervene, throwing detours and speed bumps in my way without even a sympathetic spat of a foreshadowing traffic report. The trick is to journey on, improving craft, making contacts, finding my own special way as I keep working to be better at what I am – a writer.

In the end, the route always works itself out.

Maps? GPS? Tell me how you like to find your way. Two random commenters will get a book from the Mighty Basket of Win.

The Mighty Basket of Win

2011-04-02T07:00:00.002-04:00

Here it is in all it's glory: The Mighty Basket of Win filled with Harlequin books.

And a close up:

Lots of reading delight to share! So check the next post and see if you're a winner.

And since my bookshelves runneth over, there will be more winners chosen in upcoming weeks. Stay tuned!

Day of Win!

2011-04-01T10:39:00.000-04:00

There's snow in them Jersey hills! Yep, more snow is hitting the east coast today and what better day to announce winners of not one but TWO Two Left Shoes commenting contests. Today is also my Unbirthday, the day when, as a kid, I would had a birthday party since, as an August baby, no one was ever around on the actual day to party (sniff. sad.). And it's April Fool's Day. AND it's Friday. Good grief! Good things are all over this day. Let's add to 'em!

Without further ado - The Winners:

The winner from Romantic Suspense Royalty: Roxanne St. Claire who gets his/her very own copy of Edge of Sight is - drumroll please -

Commenter #9 Rachel!

Congratulations Rachel. I hope you spend many exciting hours with the Angelinos!

Everyone had such great comments on Combating Doubt. Thank you for sharing your personal methods of beating the soul killer. I was so inspired, I decided to choose three winners to benefit from my basket of win.

They are:
Commenter #7 Abigail
Commenter #9 Ashley
Commenter #10 Sophie

Congratulations to all the winners!

Please send me your shipping information to kierstenkrumatgmaildotcom tout suite so I might get these prizes in your hot little hands quickly.

Thank you for all your fantastic comments. I so enjoyed reading and responding to them all and hope that you'll revisit Two Left Shoes and share your thoughts again that we might keep these great conversations going.

Disclaimer: Winners are randomly chosen by tried and true scientific method, by which I mean I put numbers in a bowl and had my day-job boss choose. It's her fault if you don't win.

Romantic Suspense Royalty: Roxanne St. Claire

2011-03-29T07:00:00.021-04:00

They say romantic suspense isn't selling. They say romance publishing today is all about paranormals and steampunk and historicals and the mighty resurge and reverb of young adult fiction. "They" like to say a lot.

Try saying any of that to Roxanne St Claire. No really, try it. I dare you.

Courtesy of Amazon.com

I'm a huge fan of Roxanne St. Claire. If I was a woman who squeed, I'd be a squeeing fan grrl. I dove into The Bullet Catchers series like I was breaking a fast and sped read through her backlist like it was require reading for RWA (it might be). Also, she has the best titles. A three book series entitled, respectively, First You Run, Then You Hide, Now You Die?

Total title win.

Roxanne's books are exciting, engrossing, and seriously hot. Her characters meld larger than life experiences with totally down to earth desires. And hold onto your arm chair because the pace is quick and the plots thick. I always read her books in one swift sitting, unable to put them down until I hit the last page. Best, she inspires me as a writer challenging me with every new novel to be a better one.

I mean, the woman originated her new series in Boston and this Jersey girl still thinks she rocks. Trust me, that's big.


Courtesy of Amazon.com

Today is debut day for Roxanne St Claire's new romantic suspense novel Shiver of Fear. This book #2 in her Guardian Angelinos series following last fall's Edge of Sight, not to be confused with the 80s soap opera of the same name that I loved unreasonably in my early adolescent youth (Preacher. Sigh.). Face of Danger, the third installment, will join the class on April 26^th.

Look! Cover flats! Ooooh.

But who better to sum up the Angelino's mission statement than Roxanne herself? From her web site:

The Guardian Angelinos are a Boston-based family that flies under the radar of the law to solve crimes, save lives, protect the innocent, and take down the guilty. This team of rule-breaking, risk-taking, wave-making siblings and cousins aren't afraid to get into the face of criminals as one of the toughest, grittiest security and PI firms around. This close-knit clan of protection, investigation, law enforcement, technology, weaponry, and legal experts all have one simple creed: The good guys win and the bad guys get the holy hell kicked out of them.

Courtesy of Amazon.com

You're going to love these books. I kid you not. I'm even willing to put my money to my mouth to prove it. Methaphorically speaking.

Leave a comment and tell me what you think of romantic suspense novels. Love 'em? Meh 'em? Give me some good reasons. If you're a fan, name your favorite authors that we may not squee with you. I'm so sure you're going to love Roxanne St. Claire's Guardian Angelinos, I'm going to start one randomly chosen commenter off with a free copy of Edge of Sight, Guardian Angelino Book #1, newly nominated for a RITA award in the romantic suspense category (for the uninformed, that's the Romancelandia Oscars so it's a big 'effen deal.)

I'm a proud writer of romantic suspense fiction and follow haltingly in the assured footsteps of kick-ass writers like Roxanne St. Claire who continue to weave intricate, engrossing, sizzling hot stories of men and women falling in love on the cusp of danger. Rock on Rocki.

Leave a note. Win a book. It's that easy.

Happy Reading!

BONUS: Do not miss the Edge of Sight prequel to see how it all really began, a free download on Roxanne St. Claire's web site. Why yes, I will link to it again.

Disclaimer: I was not at all given any incentives to tout these books. But if you want to send an Angelino after me, I wouldn't say no to Marc Rossi...no matter what he asked me to do.

Combating Doubt

2011-03-23T07:30:00.018-04:00

Writers are their own worst critics. It's no good, it'll never work, no one will want to read it, and no one will ever want to publish it. And the mother of them all: I'm a failure.

These are merely variations of the same theme: Doubt.

Doubt nests in us all (unless you're a narcissistic sociopath). It lurks deep in the belly, like bad chili, waiting for its moment to strike. According to the old axiom, it takes 10 nice comments to make up for one mean one. Doubt never bothers waiting for the one. It takes advantage of the slightest opportunity, striking hard and fast to zero in on your deepest fears and make them, even if only for a moment, truth.

Doubt is poisonous to those of us who create. Whether it's done with pen or keyboard, paint or clay, music or dance, the very act of creating embeds pieces of the creator's soul in every line, every stroke, every step, every note.

And doubt? It's a soul killer.

On a daily basis, the writing Twitter world explodes with links; links to blogs on writing and craft, to new release announcements, to on-the-spot alerts about the publishing industry – and to reviews. A couple of weeks ago, one of these links lead me to a category romance review. As I read through the short piece, horror and doubt followed every advancing word. Several of the book's plot points were eerily similar to mine. For a moment, I even had the crazy fear that I'd been scooped.

No, I don't recall the title. I deliberately did not pursue the book. The last thing I need is to have someone else's words and world in my head. But the damage had been done. I was suffused with doubt. My soul despaired.

And then I looked again. The review wasn't favorable; neither the author nor her plot or characters escaped unscathed. This brought me no small relief; to be honest, it stuck my nose up in the air more than a little – no one could ever call my heroine weak or whiny. (Yea, I am a shallow woman.)

In truth, the plot wasn't all that similar after all. OK, it was a little too close for comfort, but with further review, the differences were glaring, certainly enough to calm if not exorcize my doubts. All right, they were still there and they were raging. Self medication of the wine variety helped in the short term.

For the long term, I remind myself of 5 things to combat the soul killer:

No story is original. Not even Harry Potter. Themes, character archetypes, and plots reverberate and repeat throughout the history of storytelling. We're all working off the same template. Some of us are simply doing it better.
Originality manifests in execution. No one can tell your story except you. What you bring to these established tropes is unique. That's what makes it special.
Rejection comes like the dawn. We all fail. It ain't pretty and it's never sexy, but it happens to all of us – even New York Times bestsellers. The trick is in picking yourself up after a failure and journeying on.
Never, ever quit. Envision typing The End. Write your award acceptance speech (I've already altered the Oscar speech I wrote when I was 12 for the RITA award that awaits me). Picture your book on the shelf. Do whatever it takes to finish the book.
You are not alone. When in doubt, turn to your greatest cheerleaders – your critique partners. In my moments of doubt, mine continue to reach out with support and praise, though lately I fear I've made them spend more time talking me off the ledge than reviewing pages. Critique partners make all the difference in the world. Don't have one? Reach out to your local writing group and get one. In the meantime, call your best friend. They are your first and best cheerleaders. I know this from experience.

Have a method for combating doubt? Share it in the comments and on Sunday, I'll pick a random commenter to receive a free category romance compliments of my basket of win from the Liberty States Fiction Writers Create Something Magical Conference. With any luck, this will assuage some of my guilt for reveling in that poor author's bad review.

Television Tuesday: Southland – Show Don’t Tell

2011-03-08T07:00:00.021-05:00

One piece of writing advice repeated over and over in every medium (novel, T.V., film, etc) is the axiom "show, don't tell". Of course, for most writers (and by that, I mean me) this is one of the hardest guidelines to follow. I talk a lot and if you've been reading this blog for even the smallest amount of time, you already know that the tendency for my mouth to overfloweth translates epically to the page.

This means I'm always on the lookout for examples of "show, don't tell" that I can emulate as a template till I get my groove on. Now, despite my efforts to curtail, lately I've been watching a lot of T.V. You may have noticed as the only blog posts for a month have been Television Tuesday posts. No? Skipped those pearls of wisdom? Huh. Your love is fickle and fleeting, that's all I've got to say.

Back on topic. Where was I? Oh, right, show, don't tell.

Image from www.IMDB.com

I've been watching Southland on TNT. It's a good cop show, though I prefer the ride-along sequences over the detective scenes, especially now that they killed off Kevin Alejandro so True Blood can suck him dry (you know that'll happen eventually; Lafayette is doomed to be alone forever).

At the head of the cast are Michael Cudlitz and Ben MacKenzie as a bitter/experienced trainer and his newest rookie trainee, respectively. You may recognize Cudlitz from his superior performance as Bull Randleman in the Band of Brothers (his spotlight episode is one I never miss when Spike or The History Channel run the full series on holidays). He's also been on just about any show you can think of (no, not Masterpiece Theatre) and he's always great.

But I want to talk about Ben MacKenzie. I've never seen The OC, so I have no preconceived notions about him as an actor or character. I will say that he has played the crap out of rookie cop Ben Sherman, son of a high-powered Hollywood attorney whose scumbag client once broke into their house, raping the mom and beating up young Ben, which is, naturally, Ben's raison d'etre for becoming a cop.

Which brings us to Southland Season 3 Episode 3: Discretion

The man who attacked Ben and his mother all those years ago has been released from jail. Ben is not handling this well. He pulls the man over on a bogus infraction and threatens him. He visits his mother at home and sees an open liquor bottle on the counter at 10 AM surrounded by unpaid bills. He violently takes down another suspect, beating the man badly as an outlet for his inchoate rage. After having been reprimanded by his partner, cautioned by his sergeant, and pleaded with by his own mother, Ben ends his day parked outside his old assailant's apartment, essentially stalking the ex con.

Cue total implosion, right? Not so quick, my friend. Because knocking on the car window is none other than Ben's mom herself.

Where the bleepity bleep did she come from? Turns out, frightened ex con called her. (This is about the point when I yell at the screen "He has her number? Way to go dumb ass".)

Alas, I snarked too soon.

What follows is an achingly emotional scene between mother and son. Haltingly, between sobs, she tells Ben the truth about that horrible night. Though young Ben thought he was saving his mother from rape by a drug addict, he actually interrupted what had essentially become a drunken hook up, if initially out of an attempt by the mother to avoid something worse. Ashamed, unable to face the truth, his mother has allowed Ben to believe she was raped all these years. Only now, as the assailant is out of jail and Ben is clearly spiraling towards enacting bloody revenge, does Mom confess the truth to save her son.

Or at least, I think that's what happened, because this was where a good show became brilliant right before my eyes. Too upset and ashamed and afraid, she never overtly spells things out for Ben, never says the actual words. The camera quickly fixates on Ben. As the jumble of words stop and start from his mother's mouth, heartbreakingly inconclusive, Ben's face – oh my glory, his face – tells absolutely everything without him saying a single word. Pain, betrayal, anguish, shame, moment by moment his face encapsulates it all.

It was the very personification of show, don't tell and it completely blew me away.

How do we communicate what's happening in our story without actually telling what's happening in the story? It's a wonky line to walk as a writer; for sure I'm still working it out and likely will be on my umpteenth novel (oh Lord, please let me get to an umpteenth novel!).

Southland got it right. Really right. The production team could have highlighted the mother as she brokenly confessed her story. Instead they chose to show its impact by spotlighting the son. Like drawing the negative space in art, it's what we don't tell, or in my case, write, that could make all the difference and create that emotional whump in our reader/viewer that keeps 'em coming back for more.

Though, let's be honest here. I'll still probably not, not say it in less than 1000 words. Just how I roll.

Television Tuesday: Human Target Finale

2011-02-22T07:00:00.009-05:00

Welcome to the final installment of the She Said/She Said Human Target discussion between myself and author Samantha Hunter. My first review of Human Target (pre-Samantha) was here. If you've missed any of the cross blog posts, Samantha's first volley was here, my backhand return happened here, Samantha's hard serve down the center line occurred here and my weak return volley begins now.

Well now. That was an adventure.

At this point, Samantha and I are very close to agreeing on much about the show Human Target. We agree that season one was vastly superior to season two and that the show majorly veered off course with the attempt to make it more "woman friendly" by adding two new female cast members (one of whom is totally worthless story wise) and thus creating a forced romanced between our hero Christopher Chance and his unnecessary benefactor Isla Pucci has been a key component to the show's downgrade. But all that agreeing is boring, so here's some conflict to spice it up because we don't seem to agree on a key point.

Chemistry.

In her latest post, Samantha wrote the following:

I don't believe the actors themselves need to have personal chemistry to make it work (in response to Kiersten's Mr. and Mrs. Smith note) — it's nice if they do, but to my mind, it's their job to sell the story, either way.

Chemistry is essential to selling a romance. Do I believe it is an actor's job to sell a story, or in this case, a romance, no matter what may or may not inherently exist between him/her and his/her counterpart? Absolutely. It's their job to make us believe in something that isn't there. But good casting directors look for pairs that have chemistry together because it's something you simply can't fake. An Officer and a Gentleman is an iconic movie, a romance yardstick in many ways with richly drawn, deeply portrayed characters. But Richard Gere and Debra Winger who portrayed, respectively, the hero and heroine of the film, famously hated one another. I mean they loathed one another. They had extraordinary chemistry together, perhaps fueled by their mutual hatefest.

In Human Target, we don't even see that, and it shows. I don't believe it's a flaw of the actors (I could believe it's one of the director, but that's something else), because, as I said above, it's something you can't fake, it's there or it isn't, and a good casting director, a good showrunner, will pick a pair that have it. Human Target didn't.

Samantha adds:

I see it as a failure in the acting and the writing. It's their job to make the chemistry work. Romance is a natural offshoot of a show like this — you have a show full of sexy, magnetic guys, and it would be completely unbelievable that they don't at least hook up here and there.

My point exactly. There were several great women guest stars peppering season one. Why bring in a totally new romantic interest rather than build upon what had already proved itself to work?

Case in point: White Collar. Marsha Thompson, late of LOST (sniff, miss you!), who played Agent Diana Barrigan in the pilot was not retained for season one. Though not a romantic foil, Thompson's chemistry with star hottie Mathew Bomer was great, but when the full season began, she was nowhere to be seen. Now I don't know what actually happened because the producers failed to consult me (more fool them). Maybe it was scheduling, maybe it was a specific choice, but she was gone. Instead, Natalie Morales was added to the cast as Agent Lauren Cruz and I cringed every time she came onscreen – she just didn't fit and had zilch in the chemistry department with Bomer. Come season two, who should return to the show but Marsha Thompson with Morales out. They didn't try to force a different woman into the slot; they went back with what had worked the first time. Take note Human Target.

From Samantha:

Season one was solid, with all kinds of good bits to build on. But the pacing was all off as they grappled with how to do it, and I don't feel I know any of these characters any better by the end of season two.

Again, agree. Season one was solid. The show wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was certainly feeling its way out. This is not unusual for a new show. The comedy Cougartown started out as a sitcom about women over 40 looking for love with younger men. But when the producers saw the kooky chemistry that developed amongst the cul-de-sac crew and that the show was best when that group got to hang out together and drink lots of wine, a great show was born (though continually hampered by that off-putting title).

Human Target was beginning that chrysalis towards the end of season one. We heard about the old man all season, we'd even seen a showdown between Chance and his former comrade in assassinations, Baptiste. Then in the season one finale, we got more rich detail into Chance's back story and boy was it a doozy. Why should Winston and Guerrero be treated any differently?

Here is where, in the spirit of a show about a reformed killer for hire, I'd like to mention character assassination. Winston and Guerrero were characters with magnificent potential who were hamstringed by the ridiculous misdirection that was season two. Winston has gone from jaded former cop to whiny den mother who spends more time floundering around looking for a storyline than being the crucial clutch player of season one.

Meanwhile Guerrero has gone from bad ass mother*cker whose name alone makes the baddest of bad guys cringe in fear to some disgruntled babysitter of the hardly to be borne Ames. Why not, as Samantha suggests, delve deeper into the backgrounds of these two compelling men? Guerrero was affected by Chance's change of life direction; by choosing not to kill him, Chance proved he'd undergone a fundamental alteration to his core code. By his own code, Guerrero could no longer go up against him; instead, whenever Chance asked for helped, Guerrero would now drop everything and go. This relationship offered a number of comic moments, such as when, after speaking with Chance, Guerrero hanged up the phone, opened the trunk of his beloved Eldo (Eldorado), and said to the bound, gagged, and beaten man inside "it's your lucky day, dude." This is a complex character, essential a really bad dude with a wonky moral code who kills all too easily but whose loyalty to Chance is unquestioned. What rich stories might be gained from putting that loyalty to the test?

Samantha and I disagree in our enjoyment of the episode Imbroglio. I think I was so delighted to see some of the old show's fire again that I missed the overall picture. Upon review, I more than see her point about Guerrero looking less than completely accomplished as he's somewhat easily overpowered. This was further illuminated by the following episode, Cool Hand Guerrero, where a nascent if skilled thief like Ames easily broke through paranoid Guerrero's safe and in addition went on to break his pass code for the super secure briefcase. That he kept files on everyone wasn't surprising (only Chance could possibly be considered anything close to "friend"); that he'd made it so easy to find those files had me screaming at the screen. The Guerrero of season one would never, ever be that obvious.

Still, I maintain that the show is at its best when Chance, Winston, and Guerrero are left alone to do their thing – whether it's their action thing, their male bonding thing, or their shoot shit up thing. Above all else, these guys have fantastic chemistry together.

And that's essentially the heart of what Human Target lacked this season – chemistry. Chemistry in the stories, chemistry in the character interactions, and, above all, chemistry in its "romance". Human Target is a show that needs to snap, crackle, and pop on all cylinders. It needs to be tasty to our senses, to our minds, and most especially to our hearts. If it miraculously gets renewed for a third season, I won't be disappointed because I'm not done with these three amigos, but without a return to form, whether I'll be tuning in remains top secret.

Thanks to everyone who tuned in to mine and Samantha's pas de deux of blog posts on Human Target. We had so much fun doing it that we're currently brainstorming new shows to dissect in our next discussion. Human Target Season One is available on DVD and it is definitely worth checking out. Season Two – well, enough's been said on that. For now.

Disclaimer: I did not receive any enticements, bribes, or assundry for watching this show or for beating it into the ground, merely the kind request of a fellow writer to blog about television we loved – or loved once. Please, don't send Guerrero after me.

Television Tuesday: Human Target Part Deux

2011-02-15T07:00:00.014-05:00

Few things bring as much joy as discovering someone as obsessed over a TV show as you are. If nothing else, you can at least share the same medication. Imagine my delight when Samantha Hunter and I began tweeting about Human Target, a show I blogged about here a few weeks ago. After our mutual appreciation fest had worn itself out, we decided to chat about the show back and forth on our blogs - She Said; She Said - and share some love for good television while discussing the finer points of an action hero versus romantic hero and how (for my part) this show has quickly gone completely off the rails by forcing romance on its hero. Samantha took the first pass earlier this week; now it's my turn.

I'm not going to reiterate my objections to the two women characters added to the cast for Season Two (exactly how much longer are we to be forced to endure Ames?). Rather, I'd like to focus on Samantha's points regarding the relationship between Christopher Chance, our hero, and his boss and benefactor, Ilsa Pucci.

First of all, what relationship? There is zero chemistry between these two characters. Look, there's a reason Mr. and Mrs. Smith destroyed a marriage: the chemistry between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie literally leaps off the screen. It crackles before your very eyes. There's no crackle between Chance and Ilsa. There's not even a spark. How are we expected to believe this supposed romance when the hero himself couldn't look more bored?

I do agree with Samantha that Ilsa began to come into her own in the jungle episode. Certainly, we got more insight into her back story (I'm a sucka for a good back story). But even there, I rolled my eyes. Northern Ireland? Really? I'm all for blind casting, but Indira Varma is not remotely Irish. Trying to convince me otherwise merely yanks me right out of the story. I'd actually forgotten that Isla was assaulted at the end of that episode. That's the point: I forgot. There wasn't anything remotely memorable about that episode. Except clearly Northern Ireland. And the spiders.

Samantha proposes that Isla is actually now in danger of becoming a more interesting character than Chance.

[Isla] is actually becoming such an interesting heroine that Chance has to catch up. The danger here is that as she becomes more interesting and layered, he becomes more flat. That may have been okay when it was just the guys — an action hero can be more one-dimensional – but if you are sparking up romance, conflict, inner turmoil, and so forth, your hero HAS to rise to the occasion. While he has been written as a fantastic action hero — he plays that to a tee — the romantic hero presents new challenges.

I have to agree with Samantha. When the stakes rise, be they emotionally, romantically, or externally driven, an action hero must also rise to the occasion. But while Samantha calls Chance's characterization flat in light of Ilsa's evolving complexity, I see it as simply a total lack of interest in this fabricated romance.

One of the things I loved about Season One was the slow reveal of the origins of Christopher Chance. The allusions to "the old man", the assignation tango with former friend, the killer Baptiste (Lenny James rocked it hard in that role), that nail-biting finale when Wilson is kidnapped and freaking Armand Assante comes to their rescue. The holy crap revelation that Lee Majors, the Six Million Dollar Man himself, was also once Christopher Chance (the richness of The Princess Bride homage in that reveal pleased me to no end. "I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts. My name is Ryan.")

It's not an over exaggeration to say that the Season One finale gave me chills.

The characterization of Christopher Chance is a rich feast of a man trained to kill without conscience who came to a crossroads in his life and took the unknown road. This has mainly been lost in Season Two as the show as deviated away from this premise in order to force this "romance" down our throats. Of course Isla is becoming more complex in comparison to Chance; his previously compelling story has been truncated to fit the demands of having two additional full time cast members and a romantic subplot that supersedes any effective continued development of our hero whether he's action or romance oriented.

Samantha writes, "There is a difference between strong and silent, self-assured, confident and restrained — and emotionally stunted. In the finale, some of the very best moments were the hanging off the building declaration ("Don't let me go…" "Never")"

Actually, I found that moment a major fail. This level of emotional commitment has in no way been earned by these characters. It's like the writers are following a template and this is where the instructions say to put in the Last of the Mohicans moment. Chance and Isla went from zero to 60 in about 3.3 seconds and that's only a good thing if you're an Enzo.

Samantha continues:

[Chance] has to be talked into going after her at the end. As much as I liked the trek across the city in the 'vette (and the music was great), Chance had to come to this on his own, not be pushed into it by Winston (who could have delivered that awesome line quoted above at the start of the show, not the end). That he didn't do this just puts another flag in the emotionally dumb camp, and there is nothing attractive about that. The biggest problem is that while we have seen Ilsa grow and change over the course of the season, Chance has not — or not much — most notably, in spite of his promise on the side of the building, he was in fact very willing to let her go.

That's because he's not in love with her. He's merely doing what everyone tells him he should be doing (including the writers). I figure as long as Ilsa continues to pay the bills, Chance is happiest when she's anywhere BUT by his side.

What makes it all so much worse is that the bones of the show I love occasionally still shines through. Remove the ridiculous romance and you have great episodes like Imbroglio.

Ilsa is attending the opera with her sister-in-law sans the rough and tumble guys. At the last moment, Chance and the wonderful if seriously defanged Guerrero (worthy of a whole post all on his own) also attend. Some dodgy intelligence has given Chance a bad feeling. As Isla confronts them, scornful of their proposed interest in La Traviata, Guerrero deadpans "I'm not gonna lie, if I have to sit through this Baroque stuff, I'd much prefer Rossini."

Ha! I rewound that moment. Twice.

Imbroglio crackled with intensity, high-stakes, action and humor. Not surprisingly, Ames was nowhere to be seen in the episode and even while at its center, Isla was significantly toned down. Honestly, it was such a thrill to watch Chance kick bad guy ass again. Because the heart of this show, of the story, are these three men, Chance, Guerrero, and Wilson and oh, so much not the romance.

The Season Two finale showed sparks of the old fire as Guerrero got to go all super assassin on the CIA. Suddenly, it just. Got. Interesting (though don't think too hard about how a rogue CIA agent can suddenly take down headquarters but is quickly subdued by the bad ass Guerrero.) I think it's telling though, that when the CIA spies fast roped into the loft, my first thought was where's Carmine the dog? Do not hurt the dog!

That fire was quickly snuffed out, abbreviated for a misapplied, run-through-the-night-to-stop-the plane segment where Chance didn't exhibit an iota of passion or urgency to reach Ilsa before she left (the Corvette showed more urgency than Chance, but come on, it's a 'vette. It's not like it'll let you drive it slow). Frankly, I don't think the man cared.

Yes, my John Hughes-trained heart surged to see the Corvette streak through the rain at night towards Isla – but that's mostly because I like well made cars. Frankly, the 'vette was the only thing keeping me watching at that point because I was so abysmally bored. I knew exactly what was coming next, I could have written the scene myself, and when I'm saying the lines out loud along with the actor and it's the first time I've seen the episode, honey, that is not a good sign.

Look, Human Target is a show worth saving, but not in its current state. I would rather see it be canceled than have to endure another season of these story and character bastardizations that aren't generated by organic growth but rather manipulated to suit the flawed visions of outside forces.

Samantha?

My Funny Valentine

2011-02-14T07:00:00.059-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day! Can you believe we're already in mid-February? I could have happily skipped right over the first 6 weeks of this new year. Though apparently, the Groundhog saw his shadow so we're headed for an early spring.

Good thing, 'cause love is in the air. Admittedly, I'm not the biggest cheerleader for Valentine's Day - unlike St. Patrick's Day when the Irish music is piping all around me nonstop. With V Day, the trick seems to be not to take it too seriously and to know that the first person you have to remember to love today or any day is yourself.

Still, if asked (you're asking, right?) I'd have to say my favorite V Day would have to be in 1991 when I decided to screw the whole "couples only" mind-set for V Day. Being date-less didn't mean I had to hide in my dorm room and listen to Indigo Girls on endless repeat. Really.

Instead, I took matters into my own hands (no, not like that). Since the college's theatre production that year was a musical, Camelot, and, for the first time being performed off campus at the Gloucester Stage Company, I decided to dress up and take myself to the musical for Valentine's Day, borrowing a friend's car and buying my own dang ticket. No, it wasn't pathetic and sad but sort of social - it was empowering. After I told a friend about my plans, he insisted on taking me to a florist and buying me a red rose wrist corsage. Flowers on V Day. Sigh.

Ya know what? I had a blast. I stood tall when asked who I was with and replied "myself" (I had to stand tall; I was wearing four-inch heels). I endured pitying glances and too hearty "oh that's great!" and "well, good for you!" responses. I didn't care. The play was great, the night was marvelous, and when I got back to the dorm room, another guy friend had left me a beautiful peach rose on my dresser. My 18-year-old heart swooned, I'm not ashamed to say. I grinned for days.

Sidebar: Camelot was randomly on TCM channel this afternoon. I have mad love for Richard Harris (The Lion in Winter remains an all time favorite movie of mine) and clearly a soft spot for Camelot itself. Not for the first time, I wound up spitting unkind epitaphs at Guinevere. I mean, come on woman! You're married to a great king. Keep your flippin' legs shut already. Lancelot will not live up to his name, I promise. And then after wrecking a kingdom and breaking your husband's heart, you go to a nunnery? Yeesh. Even Vanessa Redgrave can't fix that one.)

Back in 1991, I think what makes that particular Valentine's Day so special to me was that I made a choice. A choice not to allowed the strictures of society, the ones that say if you're not one of two, you can't enjoy Valentine's Day, to keep me from doing just that. Years later, I would take that philosophy with me to Ireland and Italy, having adventures in some of the most beautiful places in the world without waiting till I had someone to go with me. Or, to put it into Silverado parlance: "Life is what you make of it, friend. If it doesn't fit, you make alterations."

Romance is great. It's amazing. I am a romance writer after all and I think, done right, it can melt hearts and rejuvenate the way someone feels about herself. But ultimately, Valentine's Day is about love, not only romance. Check out a greeting card wall if you doubt it. Or better yet, the streets of New York.

Love that comes in all kinds of guises.

Speaking of guises, no one knows the many faces of love quite like Harlequin books. For decades they've been the front line of romance novels. Love 'em or scorn them (and you better not let me hear you do that!), everyone knows the name. And I love the fact that vintage Harlequin covers have become available as office products. Nothing like a piece of Gothic romance art to add zest to your notebook cover.

To celebrate Valentine's Day and all the myriad ways we love, I'm giving away three 2011 Harlequin vintage covers calendar. Hey look! A picture! (Taken with my phone, so images may not truly reflect the awesome sauce that is this calendar).

Want one? Leave a comment and tell me about your favorite or funniest or most poignant or even your worst Valentine's Day. Let me know the best ways you've shone/been shone love. I'll pick a random winner on Thursday.

I wish for all of you a day, a week, a year full of love in all its versions.

The Greatest Generation Lies Like a Bad Rug

2011-01-11T07:00:00.017-05:00

For Veteran's Day this past November, I wrote this post about a story my grandfather told me about returning from World War II. That evening, I called my beloved Dad-dad to thank him for his service to our country.

Sidebar: Yesterday brought the sad news that Richard (Dick) Winters, a brave, good, humble, and inspiring man, passed away. A true hero, admired by many, he was the leader of Easy Company of the 101 Airborne during World War II, a company immortalized by the book/miniseries Band of Brothers (Winters himself was brilliantly portrayed by Damian Lewis in that miniseries). He was 92. My grandfather, who served on the aircraft carrier Bonne Homme Richard in the Pacific theatre of that same war, is also 92 (he'll be 93 in June). I am vividly reminded not only of each man's faithful service, but how unbelievable lucky I am to still be able to call my grandfather and have the following conversation, no matter how much I may have wanted to reach through the phone line and swat him upside the head at the time.

Kiersten: Hi Dad-dad.

Dad-dad: Hey! How you doing?

K: OK. Happy Veteran's Day. Do we say that, Happy Veteran's Day? Seems odd.

DD: [chuckling] Yeah.

K: Well, I wanted to thank you for your service to our country.

DD: [silence]

K: I love that story you told me. You know, the one when you landed, was it in San Francisco? I tell it all the time.

DD: Yeah, we came back to San Francisco.

K: I thought so. I love that story.

DD: What story?

K: How a sailor came down into the ship to tell you that your brother was on deck and when you went topside, it was Uncle Henry.

DD: Henry's your Mom-mom's brother, not mine.

K: [patiently] I know that. But the sailor called him your brother. And then the two of you then went off and bought Aunt Vera's engagement ring. I love that story. Two sailors returning from war and buying an engagement ring.

DD: That never happened.

K: [shrieking] What?

DD: You made that up.

K: No I didn't. You told me about it a few years ago.

DD: No I didn't.

K: You did!

DD: Nah, you made that up.

K: [offended] I did not!

DD: Yeah you did. I'll bet you made that up when you were little.

K: It was two years ago! YOU told me about it.

DD: No I didn't.

K: You did. I can still see it. It was two or three years ago and we were sitting in your living room and you told me all about it.

DD: [laughing] Never happened.

K: You wretch! I can't believe this! I love that story! I pictured you coming up on deck and seeing Henry there and then going off to get the ring together - I wrote about the damn thing on my blog today!

DD: What is that? A blog?

K: It's an online journal. You know this already because I've told you. Don't try to distract me, old man. You lied to me!

DD: Nah, I didn't lie. You made it up.

K: I tell that story all the time! You just made me a liar to, well, a bunch of people! So Henry never came to the ship then?

DD: Nah, Henry wasn't on the ship. Dick was on Paradise Island, though.

K: Uncle Dick was? Where's Paradise Island?

DD: Marine base by San Francisco. He didn't come to the ship, but he called me and got me a pass. I went up there for about two hours with Dick.

K: [confused] Where was Uncle Henry?

DD: Oh, he was in a donut shop. I don't know how I knew he was there, but I walked in and there he was.

K: You told me he was in an officer's club drinking a root beer or something.

DD: Nah, he wasn't an officer. He was in a donut shop.

K: And that's when you went and got Vera's ring?

DD: We didn't get any ring. They were married a while before we left.

K: None of it happened?! You are freaking kidding me! I am never believing anything you tell me ever again!

DD: Ha! Yeah we took a streetcar up to Porter Hill to see the Myers sisters, we'd heard about these three sisters and – well, I don't remember much more.

K: Yeah, let's not finish that one. I am shattered, wrecked that my grandfather not only lies to me, but then blames me for it! I can't believe this story that I treasured – treasured – was a complete lie you made up. And don't tell me that I did it.

DD: [laughing] You did!

K: [stunned] Unbelievable. I am totally gobsmacked. [acerbically] Gee. Thanks for your service, Dad-dad.

DD: [laughing] You're welcome, hon.

That Old Epiphany Thing

2010-12-09T07:00:00.005-05:00

I don't have a lot of experience with writing contests. Generally, I avoid them because, well, the book, it ain't done (yet. Always yet.). This is kind of a sticking point since by entering a contest, I run the beautiful risk of having some ask for a full submission when I am yet without a full to submit. But really, at the crux of it all is the same fear that lies at the base of all my inertia – what if it really is total crap? At least by not entering, I could live in cotton-lined ignorance.

Last year, at the very last minute I entered the NJRW Put Your Heart in a Book contest, staying up till 4 in the morning on a schoo – er, work night to chop what I wanted to submit down into 25 pages plus a 5 page synopsis. Let no one tell you otherwise, those synopses are killers. I did not final, I did not want to final, but I did get some great comments and one excellent and one good score. Best of all, people liked it.

Since then, I've kept my eye out for contests that might be beneficial for me, always weighing entry costs against the benefits of final judges and exposure even though running the contest gauntlet is not yet at the top of my writing goals. Nonetheless, I entered the Beacon Unpublished Contest back in October. It had things that suited me namely, no synopsis or query letter required, 30 pages submission limit, and very good industry insiders as final judges.

My scores arrived over Thanksgiving weekend, and while I didn't finish (what is UP with these judges?) I did get what I consider to be really good scores. Judge #1 gave me 40 out of 45 points while Judge #2 came up with 38 out of 45. Better than points, ("it's an honor just to be nominated") were the fantastic comments and constructive criticism they both gave me such as:

"Watch the cursing"

"Your first sentence didn't start with a bang"

"I really like your heroine and her courage. Very good as romantic suspense."

"Tension lessened by all the thoughts and descriptions. Take some out. Use shorter sentences." (Clearly, this judge has never read my blog.)

"The story is compelling."

"I would recommend it."

"I thoroughly enjoyed your story and I feel it will not be too long before you sell"

"Your tension in chapter 3 was very well done. I felt nervous for her."

"Overall, I think your writing is excellent. You have great description and you place us in the scene very well. Your dialogue is very well done and so are your characters"

I know, right?! Pretty fan-damn-tastic. I can dine out on that stuff for at least a week. What's particularly heartening is that the strongest comments were about the things I worry most about – characters and dialogue, making sure each is authentic so that they don't all sound the same. The hook I can easily fix – I'd already been churning that in my head. The cursing, well, that's the second reader to bring that up, so I'll bend a closer eye on that as I move on. The point is there's little here that's not fixable or flushable as I decide.

Of course, of course, I've barely been able to write a word since. In addition to exhaustion and work tension and business and Mom stuff and life, that pesky self-sabotage thing has been working overtime. Lethargy is a bitch. I've been sitting at the laptop and tweeting or on Facebook, or even reading eBooks, simply unable for whatever reasons to follow through. This past Saturday was another total wash out. By Sunday, despite not feeling up to par, I'd had enough and finally was able to force myself back to it around 2pm.

Somewhere around 8pm I wrote this: "Adore? That was an odd word for him. He wasn't usually in the market for adore. Possess, sure. Claim, absolutely. Need, more and more every minute that passed. But adore? He wasn't really an adoring kind of guy."

I reread it and thought, eh. I even tagged it with the comment "this needs work; emotions are hard" because I'm having a hard time softening my hero enough to admit his feelings for my heroine. This comes more from my own angst than the characters but I figure that's all part of the process.
Then around 10:15, 5 pages later, on the cusp of the post rescue clinch, my fingers typed this: "She ran towards him and launched herself into his arms. He pulled her close, squeezing her tightly against him, and knew that adore was exactly the right word."

Epiphany time.

I didn't plan that full circle of emotion for my guy. I didn't know it would wind itself around at that moment. It really did just happen. That makes it all the sweeter.

Look, I'm pretty much spinning by the seat of my pants in this whole writing game. I know what I like and I try to write it as best as I can. It's no hyperbole to say that I agonize over every word. I do it to get to these gorgeous moments. They may not seem to be much to an outsider, but for me they're seismic.

The contest judges' comments are important and essential feedback for improvement along with those from my CPs, but they can only take me so far. I want more of them, I pathetically need constant reaffirmation, but it has to start with me. That happens in these little epiphanies born from a confluence of work and inspiration and talent and support and grit and nearly 6 hours work and a 2 liter bottle of Coke. It may be a smaller, softer beat of my story, but it takes me ever so closer to writing that Holy Grail moment – The End. And there's no one better to be the judge of that.

Television Tuesdays: Human Target

2010-12-07T07:00:00.048-05:00

I'm a big fan of the FOX action show, Human Target, so I was delighted when it was renewed for a second season. It sports one reformed assassin, one not so reformed, and a bitter former cop. Brought to life by Mark Valley, Chi McBride, and Jackie Earle Haley, from the start, this was a great, fun, exciting way to spend an hour every Wednesday night. Ever since the great Keen Eddie, I've been waiting for Mark Valley to get another chance at his own show and this immediately seemed to the perfect fit.

Imagine how I feel now to have to admit my disappointment with this new season.

The premise is this: reformed assassin Christopher Chance takes the impossible jobs protecting/helping people who are on their last hope for survival. If it sounds a bit like the intro to The A Team television show – "If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them..." – that's no mistake. Human Target invokes the very best of that era with strong characters and relationships – and ample chances to blow stuff up. Assisting our hero in his weekly endeavors at redemption is the former cop Winston (Chi McBride, late of Pushing Daisies, which I adored but I hear tell that he felt differently) and the morally ambivalent but fiercely loyal Guerrero (Jackie Earle Haley), who you do not want to ever meet in a dark alley. Week to week, they take cases, they save lives, they banter, all while pieces of their respective pasts are slowly, tantalizingly, revealed.

In the season one finale, the origins of Christopher Chance finally came out. "It's the name that strikes fear into a man." If you're having Dread Pirate Roberts déjà vu, you're not alone. In riveting flashback, no less than the iconic Lee Majors explained how Christopher Chance was a name passed down from one reformed human weapon to another. That finale was a masterpiece of infodump done right including how our Christopher Chance assumed the mantle of that name. It ended with Winston kidnapped by really bad guys, and Chance having to team up with his former mentor (Armand Assante, gleefully chewing every piece of furniture in sight) in order to rescue his friend from certain death.

Ooh baby.

Notorious for its lack of faith in new shows, FOX dumped the highly touted Lone Star after only 2 episodes and brought the season debut of Human Weapon forward from January to fill its spot. Cool, thought I. Less wait time before I can finally see the conclusion of that great cliffhanger.

Alas, whilst on hiatus (no, I don't know why I'm suddenly talking like a Victorian suffragette), Human Target had a production shake up that culminated with a new showrunner.

And man, can you see the difference.

Immediately noticeable is the absence of the evocative, "victorious" (according to my closed captions), theme song from Bear McCreary, who contributed so much gorgeous music to BSG. In its place, a pale imitation tries and fails to live up to its predecessor. Then the resolution (and I use the word lightly) of that great finale cliffhanger was wrapped up in the freaking cold open of the first episode. This was a huge waste of Timothy Omundson, who played a seriously creepy antagonist who could have been mined for several more back story episodes and instead was killed right off the bat. But the biggest change that is really beginning to bug me is this:

They added women.

This is not automatically a death knell, not even for a show like this that nearly bows under the weight of testosterone over seasoning. Amy Acker was the distressed damsel of yore in that great finale episode, and I wish she'd stuck around (that girl is not dead, I don't care that the boat blew up.) I'm all for the strong, female character. Any other day or show and I'd be demanding it. First season Human Target gave us some really good ones too, not only Acker but also Emmanuelle Vaugier who I think is a gorgeous, kick-ass heroine in any role. She certainly gave Chance a run for his money in her episodes.

But we didn't get them. We got Isla and Ames.

I don't remember the boys being in drastic financial trouble last year, but by the end of episode one of the new season, they'd allowed a wealthy former-client, Ilsa Pucci, to buy and basically sugar-mommy their organization. This wasn't an organic move, it was shoe horned in to reconfigure the show in order to suit the desires of the new showrunner wanted it to be. That bugs me. I liked the nitty gritty environs of the loft. This slicker, polished incarnation is like a poor man's 007 headquarters with the computers in the tabletops and Winston learning how to sweep images from one screen to the next with the flick of his hand. I didn't like this look-at-how-tech-savvy-we-are crap in Quantum of Solace and I loathe it here.

Even played by Indira Varma (of the phenomenal Rome fame and lately from the BBC miniseries Luther), Ilsa's a mere foil to clutter up the guys lives and has already annoyed the hell out of me by bleating about their less than lovely methods. I mean, what the hell, lady? Did you or did you not know what you were getting into? Then shut up. Argh.

I suppose I could live with it after a while. There is some comedic fun to be had watching Winston maneuver around and sometimes through their squeamish "boss".

But then there's Ames.

Ames (played by, I don't know, some chippy. Oh all right, I looked it up and the actress is Janet Montgomery) is supposed to be a thief on the cusp of reformation. Instead she's an annoying brat shoehorned into a nearly pitch-perfect show because she looks good oiled up and crawling through heat ducts. Last week's episode made her the client and with the amount of time I spent yelling at the screen, (mostly along the lines of "you stupid git"), I practically watched the show twice because I had to keep rewinding it to hear the dialogue.

Worse, I hate how she softens Guerrero, this remorseless killer who drops everything (usually a body) whenever Chance asks for help puts him and bickers with Winston like the Odd Couple 2010. Now Winston is bickering with Ilsa and Guerrero is being all-too-easily won over by this ridiculous girl.

I just – I just – no. Just no.

Look, I get making tweaks to a show in an attempt to garnish new viewers. Frankly, I was happy just to have a second season. But don't mess with what works in the meantime. (Really? You didn't even like the theme song?)

After three episodes now that were mostly concerned with establishing the show's new rules, tomorrow night we get an episode chock full of back story as Chance's nemesis Baptiste returns. Having British actor Lennie James on the screen raises the bar for everyone and I have hopes that this return to the bones of the show will bring us just our three guys barely scraping themselves out of trouble and saving the day – again.

I love this show – or at least I loved it. I'm still watching it because Valley and McBride and Haley are working hard and having a good time. And when the stunts (including a speeding train that can't be stopped and a ski lift as the only way in or out of a monastery in the mountains) and plots are on full season one throttle, it's a fantastic show. I'm still watching it, but the doomsday clock is winding up even as I really, really hope my doubts and aggravations about this new direction are soon made obsolete.

That and the women.

Human Target is on Wednesday nights at 8 PM EST on FOX (channel 5 in the tri-state area).

Disclaimer: I did not receive any promotional consideration from the show in any way, sort, or form, though if it's Guerrero who's asking, I can't promise anything because I like to live.

Those Who Do, Don't Speak

2010-11-11T15:42:00.000-05:00

Today is Veteran's Day, the day set aside for us to remember and thank those who have stood on the front lines in defense of freedom and liberty – and sometimes, simply because they were ordered to and honor and training compelled no other response.

My grandfather – my Dad-dad, often featured on this blog because he rocks hard – served in the Pacific Theatre of World War II on the aircraft carrier USS Bon Homme Richard. He is 92 now, but the memories of that service have not faded.

USS Bon Homme Richard (CV-31) c. 1944

Not too long ago, he told me the tale of his return, when the ship was anchored off the coast of California. It was one of the last carriers to arrive as one of its last duties was transporting discharged soldiers home. A fellow sailor sought Dad-dad out in the bowels of the ship to tell him Dad-dad's brother was on deck looking for him. When he went up top, he found my Great Uncle Henry, my grandmother's brother who was a Marine, himself recently returned from the war. They went off for a day doing whatever sailors do only on this day, after root beer at the club (he may have edited himself here), they went together to buy what would be my Great Aunt Vera's engagement ring.

It's been a few years since he told me this story, but I never forget it. I never forget how Uncle Henry referred to himself as my Dad-dad's brother when he was, in fact, a brother-in-law. Such distinctions had no value then. I never forget the smile that crossed Dad-dad's face when he revealed to me that it was Uncle Henry up top awaiting him or the pleasure learning his brother lived still gave him all those years later. I never forget how this was the first memory of that time that he ever shared with me, and that it was a memory of joy.

I never forget.

He doesn't talk about the war. He'll talk about what happened afterwards, once he even talked about a non-combative situation on the aircraft carrier, but he doesn't speak about what he did or what he saw.

And that in itself speaks volumes.

I was an adolescent when I first watched a Charlie Brown special called What Have We Learned?, the one with Snoopy as the ace WWI fighter pilot drinking root beer in the French café. The show concludes when Linus (who else) recites In Flanders Fields in a field of poppies. I'd never heard that poem before, and I had no clue to what event it referred. But my young self was so touched by the words, so impacted by the visual of cartoon poppies surrounding white crosses, the next day I went to the library to find and memorize it.

I can still recite that poem to this day (along with the opening paragraph to The Outsiders, but that's a different story), though I've only just realized that I've had the last line wrong lo these many years (still so Polish).

My grandmother's family sent seven men to World War II, including my Dad-dad; miraculously, seven came home. We are fortunate in the fact that it was the last time my family sent members into combat (we're mostly a family of women) but I am never unaware that others went instead (I'm thinking of you, Cavanaugh, wherever you are). They serve their country in battlefields around the world and many are suffering for it as well, as Aaron Sorkin illustrated this morning in his great piece for Veteran's Day.

Today, I'll call Dad-dad and thank him for his service (I tear up a little thinking about it) and I'll probably watch an episode or two of Band of Brothers and remind myself of the unfathomable courage those men exhibited every dang day.

In honor of those many men and women who have served and lived to tell about it, go thank or even hug a veteran or active duty soldier today, and tomorrow, and then again next week.

They've earned that and more.

Television Tuesday: Sherlock

2010-11-02T17:35:00.001-04:00

I dislike plot points that invoke a disease as explanation for a lead character's personality quirks. I don't particularly like Temperance Brennan of BONES because I think she's a bit of an arrogant tool. Is she brilliant? Yes, unquestionably. But her assertion of rationality above all else is conveniently set aside when she's the one making leaps of judgment based on unqualified data, impressions, intuition, or gut instinct. Her inconsiderate and often outright offensive treatment of people is justified by her brilliance and success, and her rudeness and lack of social know how is generally excused (though never, to my knowledge, explicitly stated in the show itself) as due to her having a disorder along the lines of Aspergers syndrome.

I disagree. Now I know jack all about Aspergers syndrome beyond what TV tells me, and we all know how accurate that is, so please don't harangue me about how ignorant I am about the disease because I am well aware. Deconstructing the syndrome isn't my goal here. Commenting on its use as a character trait/excuse is.

I think Brennen's simply an arrogant if brilliant tool with no concern for the feelings or viewpoints of anyone else beyond herself (which are sacrosanct) and the people she values personally – and often, not even them – most especially evidence by the way she shifts her views of rationality based on what suits her best at the moment. This seems most evident to me when she insists on wielding a gun and going through a door side by side with her FBI "partner" Booth. A trained sniper and agent, Booth has the experience and training to go into potentially violent situations bearing arms. That Brennan vehemently and repeatedly insists she has every right to do the same without those years of training or specialty irks me sorely. I've stopped watching BONES because I can't tolerate the character any longer; not even the pleasure I have watching David Boreanaz succeed post-Angel is enough for me to further stomach more Brennan quirks. And with BIG BANG THEORY and COMMUNITY now in competing time slots with the show on Thursday nights, it's bye-bye-BONES.

As I watched A Study in Pink, the first episode of the BBC's brilliant new series SHERLOCK, early on I worried that this would be another quirky/annoying Aspergers-like sufferer exercising his brilliant mind coupled with an insulting and annoying personality in the pursuit of justice. I should have trusted the brilliant Stephen Moffat (co-creator of SHERLOCK and writer of A Study in Pink) more. Very early on in the episode, the exchange between Sherlock Holmes and the bitter pathologist with a grudge against him put my fears to rest.

"This from the psychopath," (or words to that effect) the pathologist sneers in response to one of Sherlock's startling observations.

"I'm not a psychopath," Sherlock retorts. "I'm a highly-functioning sociopath. Do your homework, [Smith]." This last bit of signature patronizing snark is laced with a keen self-awareness refreshing for its lack of glamor.

Color me hooked.

This Sherlock is completely aware of his own make up and how he behaves towards others. He just really doesn't care. His mind works on such an extraordinarily advance plane of being that mortals can but stop and stare. It's not Jeremy Brett's Sherlock, cocaine-fueled and full of bonhomie and haughty entitlement (my personal yardstick for all versions of the Great Detective having never seen Basil Rathborne's incarnation). Nor is he the rough, occasionally brutal, ripping rascal of Guy Ritchie's recent big screen adaptation of the same (more on that in a minute).

Here, Sherlock is a young (though not YOUNG SHERLOCK HOLMES young), adept savant with the manic energy of a hopped-up teen. He's mad for texting and can hack a laptop password faster than you can spell you first pet's name. One of his particular talents is the ability to quite literally envision the mechanics of a case. He can picture the maze of London streets as though he'd laid the tar and cement himself. He's petulant too, a side effect of his youth, and huffs and puffs when things or people get in his way. Played engagingly by Benedict Cumberbatch , Sherlock is compelling, frustrating, rude, cocky, manipulative, and cheeky.

He's also marvelously entertaining.

Updated to modern-day London, SHERLOCK is the brain child of Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat. I'm most familiar with Moffat's work. With COUPLING, JEKYELL, and most recently, DOCTOR WHO in his resume, Moffat's biggest appeal to my mind is the clever writing and plotting he brings to every script. His WHO credits for THE DOCTOR DANCES, THE GIRL IN THE FIREPLACE, and those freaky-assed weeping angels of BLINK feature amazing drama with dialogue that spits and spatters like Aaron Sorkin on his most crazed day (I recommend closed-captioning subtitles for both). And boy does he bring the funny.

With SHERLOCK, Moffat and company inherit a built-in audience who do not easily warm to changes to the canon. Tying themselves (the correct, if potentially hobbling, move) to the vaunted source material, they are left a bit strangled at times. I was yelling "don't leave the girl alone you nitwits" at the screen during last Sunday's episode when they did just that. But with so much good stuff on the screen, I can easily swallow a plot hiccup here and there.

Adapting classic Holmes stories (A Study in Pink is the refashioning of A Study in Scarlet), Moffat and company are bringing Holmes into the 21^st century without sacrificing an iota of what made him so compelling in past ones. Still, even a cutting-edge modernization requires a few ole standbys to resonate with any kind of authority. Enter John Watson.

As part of the modern-day setting, this John Watson has recently returned from the current war in Afghanistan, depressed, psychosomatically injured, and secretly craving the adventure he's left behind. He keeps a blog, instead of the more traditional journal, and immediately dives into the crazy that is Sherlock. As always, Watson is our every man, frustrated and annoyed by the self-centered Sherlock and yet dazzled by his brilliance – and the adrenaline rush offered by Sherlock's more dangerous cases.

Recently christened with the mantle of bringing Tolkien's Bilbo Baggins to life in the big screen adaptation of THE HOBBIT, Martin Freeman's low-key, steel-enforced Watson is a little bit bumbling and a little bit shy but a whole lotta hero lurks beneath that affable skin, quickly apparent as he quietly and repeatedly saves the day. Watson is our lens into the world of Sherlock and he gives us a prime view of the madness of genius while serving as the rock solid foundation of old.

With so recent a hit as SHERLOCK HOLMES in the forefront of viewers' minds, comparison is inevitable. Besides the obvious differences of time and space changes, small changes distance SHERLOCK from Guy Ritchie's recent big screen adaptation of the same, most overtly by relying on "Sherlock" and "John" monikers instead of the more traditional "Holmes" and "Watson". Lestrade (ably portrayed by Rupert Graves, who seems to be everywhere these days (INSPECTOR LEWIS comes immediately to mind) but will always and forever be Freddy from A ROOM WITH A VIEW to me) is more mentor and friend to Sherlock than a Cockney out-of-his-depth detective. Likewise Sherlock's relationship to his older brother Mycroft is much less one of avowed hero worship as in Brett's version; here Mycroft is a powerful player in the political world who loves but is concerned for his wild, unpredictable, and potentially ruinous younger brother. Too, Moriarty lurks in the wings, waiting to be revealed, but his presence is quickly felt even in his absence and he will take center stage in this Sunday's final episode.

Altogether, SHERLOCK is a refreshing update to a will-never-get-tiresome story. To paraphrase Sherlock's own quip, the game is most assuredly on.

The third and final episode in its abbreviated first "season" airs Sunday night at 9pm EST on PBS' Masterpiece Mystery program (how fiendishly delightful is Alan Cumming as Masterpiece Mystery's front man? Delicious.) The first two episodes are airing intermittently on various PBS stations in the area, so fear not if you've missed one.

As always, I have received no promotional consideration or bribery for review this program; I'm simply driven by my own inability to resist well-crafted television and a quirky detective with an English accent.

Good Kitty: A Cat Lover's Halloween

2010-10-29T15:30:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween!

I'm doing the poor man's black cat today (headband of cat ears, pumpkin earrings and socks, fluffy hair) and am basically using the day as an excuse to eat too much candy and laugh at my coworkers fantastic costumes. Here's a look at some of the atmosphere around here. Clearly we get into the spirit of things around the office today. Our costume party stars in six minutes and I've 2 big jobs to knock off first but that just adds the greatness to my lateness. I like Halloween. I'm no horror fan so its not the scares of the day that I enjoy (cause be frightened ain't funny, people!) but I love seeing the crazy costumes clever people can come up with. Set aside the creepy and the ghoulish and the certifiable and you have a special whacky day when the rules get set aside and the Id can take over for a little while in a good way. Also, I love me some Monster Mash.

Since my mom's beloved grandmother's birthday was 10/31, Mom always decorated our house with cool Halloween images that were funny and classic enough to offset the creepy. Of course, I love the black cats and the chance to be someone else for a while without people looking at you funny for a change - or if they do, this time, they're the ones with a problem.

On that note, watch this great video from www.bigcatrescue.org (I SO want to go visit) where the kings of the jungle (and the rain forest and the mountains) are just big ole kitties playing with their bright orange pumpkins. Enjoy! May your sugar rush be worth it!

Cleaning Out the In Box

2010-10-27T07:00:00.003-04:00

I have a history of letting my e-mail inbox clutter up. Currently, there are 688 e-mails in my Gmail in box, a good portion of which are yet unread. Mostly this is a symptom of "I'll get back to that" syndrome. I'll mark something unread to remind myself to go back and deal with it and then I don't.

A few months ago, I unilaterally deleted everything in my office inbox. There were e-mails five and six years old in that thing and the sheer number of e-mails was staggering. Rather than waste hours sorting and filing, I deleted the lot, reasoning that if I hadn't needed any of them for this long, it was unlikely that their absence would make any difference.

But old habits abound and the in box, it grew anew. Yesterday, I girded my loins and waded through and about an hour later, only a neatly pruned list of five e-mails remained.

In a similar vein, I cleared out my writer's in box this weekend.
I spent Friday onwards at the NJRW Put Your Heart in a Book conference. This is my RWA chapter's annual regional conference and it's one of, if not the best one going (yes, I'm biased, but that sentiment comes from experienced out-of-towners too). Our proximity to the publishing mother ship in NYC helps greatly, but NJRW really knows how to throw a conference too and this year especially did a bang up job. There was a fantastic line up of speakers and authors attending this year's conference and the conversation flowed like good wine fermented with laughter and insight.

This is also a great chance to catch up with writing friends and critique partners. My critique partner rocks hard. She's constantly uplifting me and my work and yet is the first to point out what doesn't work. Look at what she did for me clear out of the blue at one of our lunches this weekend. I have it perched right next to the laptop for those doubt-filled moments (of which there are many). I spent fun, productive time with my good friend Judi who confirmed my long-held concern of a pacing problem in the oft rewritten first 50 pages and helped me verbally rip the sucker apart over drinks while her shiny new Golden Leaf award looking on. My roommate Ann patiently listened to me revise and tweak my pitch during commercials while we watched Law & Order UK. Then there was my total fangrrl moment of chatting with Sherry Thomas and Meredith Duran both of whom I'm pretty sure actually hung the moon. I also think they were a little relieved that after I stood up from my chair in the lounge and stepped right into their path calling them by name, I didn't turn out to be a total whack job. Well, not in the need-to-get-a-restraining-order way at least.

I had a spectacular time and, like a good church retreat, left revitalized and pumped to get back to the journey.

This is my third conference as an NJRW member, but the first time I've been really aggressive in promoting me, myself, and I and our baby – i.e. The Book – possibly because the end is ever nearer in sight as I bring the WIP closer and closer to its conclusion (though pre-revision – sort of). This was why I spent a week alone in a cabin in the woods in August. Since this summer, my working goal has been to finish the WIP so I could pitch at the conference.

To pitch: v. when the unpublished wannabe (that's me) sits before the publishing gatekeepers (that's the editors and agents) and has 10 minutes to, Yeats like, lay her/his dreams (that's The Book) at said gatekeepers' feet and beg acceptance.

I don't cold pitch well. I'm more of a drinks-at-the-bar-hey-wanna-hear-about-my-book author. But that's not a surefire plan and if I'm serious about this writing stuff, and you know I am, then I gots to pitch. So I had a goal. But things like hives and full body restless legs attacks (mom) and leprous skin rashes (me) and the Big P at work interfered. Since, in the spirit of Justified, my CP was going to literally shoot me if I didn't pitch this weekend I checked the box on the registration form next to "yes, I want to pitch". And because I am good at nothing so much as self-sabotage, days before the conference it was discovered that I'd messed up the registration paperwork and didn't actually have a pitch appointment on the schedule.

Oh darn.

Fear not, said the pitch coordinator or words to that affect. There were yet more pitch appointments available. I kid you not I was in line to sign up for an appointment muttering to myself, "I really don't want to do this." Yes, of course I want agents and editors to read, like, and oh please Lord, buy my book. This cold sell stuff is simply not my strength. It's not the actual pitch itself either. Most editors and agents are delighted to chat with you, they wouldn't be there otherwise, and as it really only takes a smile and a "how ya doin'?" to get me to bend your ear for an hour, this is pretty much a walk in the park. Once I get going. Much like taking a Scantron exam (ugh, kill me now) it's the lead up that slays me, the anticipation of crash and burn and the self-recriminations that abound until I walk in the door and (hopefully) nail it.

Well, I think I did. I had two appointments with two lovely agents and look forward to speaking with them both again soon (just in case you're reading this, ladies!). I was a bit of a train wreck; I messed up my time by a 10 minute window and then looped back through twice for my correct times so I was on a bit of a revolving circle for 30 minutes or so. But once I sat down, I was on and I can yammer with the best and worst of them though hopefully not to a repulsive degree. Both lovely agents were warm, welcoming, and enthusiastically asked to read my baby, which I assured them would be done by the end of the year with January as the revision month. So that's the rest of 2010 for me.

The euphoria after something like this is like the applause after a performance – a total high. I was a bit giddy and pressure free.

And then I realized I was right next to the bar. I was going to walk right past, I swear. Somehow, I found my body curving around the corner to ask "do you serve liquor before noon?"

Yea, I succumb to the siren's lure. No, I'm not going to hell for it (that's a different post).

Yes, yes, I had a shot of whiskey at 11:15 in the morning. Sue me. Look, if they don't want us boning up flagging courage or chasing the relief of a finished pitch with a healthy shot of delicious firewater, then they shouldn't make us pass the bar coming and going to the pitch ballroom. Am I right? I mean it's right there with all the bottles shining their polished gleam behind the oh-so-helpful and distressingly cheery bartender. I am not strong enough to resist that. Hercules isn't strong enough to resist that. Xena isn't strong enough to resist that.

Dem pitches, they're killers, I'll tell you.

That's how you clean out an in box.

Television Tuesday: Fall Premiere Week

2010-09-21T14:10:00.002-04:00

This week is fall premiere week on the telly, when the networks debut (for the most part) all their new shows and new seasons for existing shows.

Ooohhhhh. Exciting.

Well, it is if you're like me and enjoy a slightly unhealthy addiction to the boob tube, as my father used to refer to it. I like me some good drama and comedy and there's a lot of T.V. shows that have been delivering just that for a while now (Justified, I 'm looking at you. Hurry back!). This year, for the first time that I've been aware of, it feels as though we've hardly gotten away from things over the summer. Adverts for new fall shows have been running since before the 2010 spring season ended and my EW magazine has been hemorrhaging ads for new shows practically since Memorial Day. It's hard to get excited for new programs when you're being hit over the head of them before you've had a chance to finish processing the finale of LOST (to be fair, I'm not sure that last bit will ever happen.)

But I am having television fatigue. Yes, I said it – I am weary of the boob tube. Even with my DVR, I simply cannot keep up and the time suck that's happening from trying to is becoming detrimental.

As a result, I have decided to parse down my DVR "Must-See" list for this fall. A quick rundown after the jump.

SHOWS I'M KEEPING
CHUCK – goes without saying. They've resolved the UST (unresolved sexual tension) and added Linda Hamilton as SpyMommy for the season arc and with a new CIA-run Buy More and a preggers Ellie, I'm ready to rock-n-roll.

SONS OF ANARCHY – the beauty - and curse - of these basic series shows is their short runs, only 13 weeks of new episodes at a time. At season 3, I'm totally wrapped up in the conflicts of the outlaw biker gang that constantly feels like a strange if electrifying mix of Shakespearean and pulp.

MODERN FAMILY, COMMUNITY, COUGAR TOWN, and THE BIG BANG THEORY – finally, for the first time in years, sitcoms that are smart, clever, bitingly funny, hysterically wacky, and filled with tons of heart and silly songs (and, with COUGAR TOWN at least, lots of wine). It's been a while since I've laughed out loud at a sitcom, but these shows regularly hit the funny spot.

THE CHOIR – I love this show so much. It's winding through its last four episodes, and I'll miss it when we it goes on BBCAmerica hiatus.

GLEE – I tried to step back from this a bit last spring in a pre-emptive attempt to cut back on my T.V. watching. The wackiness and the camp sometimes gets to be too much for me, but then the sweetness, Brittany, and the music constantly pulls me back. I love it. It's staying.

SUPERNATURAL – I got pulled in with the Winchester Boys over the summer, catching up with TNT repeats of seasons 1-3 and CW repeats for season 4. I want to see how they write their way out of Sam taking the devil back to hell and what happens when Grandpa Winchester shows up. Plus, those boys are awfully pretty.

TERRIERS – lacking any JUSTIFIED for awhile (season 2 filming doesn't even begin until October) I'm watching this great, new show about a pair of PIs on the bottom rung of the PI evolutionary ladder. It's funny, it's quick, and it's a little sad, but marvelously engaging. Another basic cable show that hooked me from the start.

SHOWS THAT DIDN'T MAKE THE CUT
CASTLE – I enjoy CASTLE the show but mostly I'm there for Castle the man because I have deep and abiding love for Nathan Fillion. But the procedural shows are really beginning to weigh me down. THE MENTALIST is another casualty of procedural fatigue. Both these shows have killer leads, but I'm really only interested in the Red John episodes of THE MENTALIST and the UST of Castle and Beckett is getting old quick. With Internet episodes and holiday reruns, I can scan through the best when not trying to ruthlessly cut down a 140,000 word (and growing!) manuscript (and you thought I wrote a lot here!).

BONES – another show I've watched a long time, primarily for Boreanaz. And now, I've taken as much Brennan crap as I can stand. I don't buy it anymore and there's only so much genius tunnel vision I can buy with her. Despite being a superb episode of work from Boreanaz and Deschanel in the episode when she finally kicks him to the curb for good (or at least for right now), that was the final straw. , I've never like Brennan and find her to be an inconsistent character that shifts her highly-touted rationality to fit whatever her needs/wants are in the moment and I'm done.

GREY'S ANATOMY – I go back and forth with GREY's. What usually gets me to watch is the addition of actors I like, such as Kevin McKidd and Mary McDonnell, but it doesn't take too long before Shondra the Showrunner screws around with everything and pisses me off (if I could have lifted my T.V., I would have thrown it against the wall during the George and Izzie debacle). Even McSteamy isn't enough to counter that. I have finally learned to only tune in for the big episodes, like the riveting two-part season finale. I've got the DVR set to record the premiere because I want to see Christina and Owen get married, but that'll be it.

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES – I caught up with this show online this summer out of boredom and its mythology caught me up enough to try out the new season. Two episodes in, I'm done. Kevin Williamson's shows are just too mopey for me – 35 minutes of whining for every 10 minutes of plot momentum/action. I didn't even make it past October with Dawson's Creek and I'm not going to be a must seer for this one either.

NCIS – Mark Harmon's smile is what drew me to this show long ago, but now I'm kinda digging the whole thing, especially the humanizing episodes like Tony's doomed romance with Jeanne and when Gibbs goes home to PA. This is another season premiere I'm cued up for on the DVR, but I'm not planning on going beyond that. Again, I'm weary, and have no problem with waiting for the odd repeats or online episodes. I never got into NCIS: LA (too boring) so that poses no dilemma for me.

HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER – funny as all get out when it's firing on all cylinders, but I can't be bothered to care about Ted or his future but not too future baby mom. It's all about Barney, Marshall, Lily, and Robin Sparkles for me and again, if I really want to see it, there are other places to find it.

THE CLOSER – pretty sure this last season was the last one for me on THE CLOSER. The one-note wonder of Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson is over and while the squad and Fitz have been enough to keep me hoping, after this last run of Mary Sue wonderment, I'm done.

NEW SHOWS THIS FALL
I tried HAWAII FIVE-0 and CHASE last night and both are blah, certainly not worth giving up CASTLE for either one of them. I actually think CASTLE may get back on the DVR for insomnia nights and for the Captain (oh Captain!). Alex O'Loughlin is terribly pretty and cut like a sharp knife and I've never felt as though he gives the wooden performances he's accused of, until now. Putting him up against Scott Caan, who's a trip, just seems to bring that plankness to the fore. I did enjoy the pilot, helped spectacularly by the surprise appearance (to me) of James Marsters as the episodes baddie. I had a good time yelling at the screen (ex: it's a casing, you git! Like the crime scene techs would have left it behind and Way to hit the carotid artery there, buddy. Come on! You're supposed to be a SEAL and you can't hit center mass?! ) and that always entertains me (though never those friends/family brave enough to watch something with me) so it wasn't a total waste, but I don't see it continuing. I liked Annie Frost in CHASE but she's no Karen Sisco, and while I'm also fond of Cole Hauser, I've already got a U.S. Marshal show (Hurry back JUSTIFIED, in case I haven't already said that yet!) - two if you count IN PLAIN SIGHT, which I don't because, yep, I'm done there too - and I don't need another.

Of all the debuts this week, the only one I was really tempted by is LONE STAR for the sheer amount of fantastic critical buzz its getting (and the lead is a dead ringer for FNL's Coach, Kyle Chandler), but I'm staying away from it so as not to get caught up in yet another show. Plus, based on the ratings of its premiere last night, this is likely another FOX show bound for an early and regrettable death, and I don't need another Brilliant but Canceled show to miss (still pining for you, LIFE).

I do plan to watch LAW&ORDER UK, probably the first time I've anticipated watching an L&O show since the SVU debut. Jamie Bamber, formerly Apollo on the late great BATTLESTAR GALACTICA, is heading up that cast, which makes it an instant headliner on my list. It also has Freema Agyeman, my least favorite of the revamped Doctor Who companions, but that wasn't her fault and I'll get over it (eventually). I suspect that BBCAMERICA will roll out one or two more shows that I absolutely have to see (they usually do), but right now L&O UK is the only newbie I'm excited about checking out.

This fall season will be the first time in a long time that I'm not lining up the DVR for a list of new shows. It's not that there aren't any out there, simply that there are none that can pop as well as those four comedies or engage as much as LOST, which, yes, I do still miss. I'm lacking a deeply plotted, heavily mythological show (THE EVENT is a nonevent, I promise you), but I really don't think I'm missing it and I'm more than OK with that.

And if I'm wrong, well, that's what NetFlix is for.

Thrilled to Pay the Piper

2010-09-16T07:00:00.028-04:00

Courtesy of LOLCats

I love paying bills. I get particular pleasure mid-month when I clean out the household bills. There have been too many times when I haven't been able to pay when I've been out of work or out of sorts or simply having a bad run of it all at the same time. I know what it's like to dread the phone ringing and stare at the ceiling worrying throughout the night. Finally, there came a time when I had to make a conscious decision not to be afraid of any of it anymore but to answer the phone and open the mail and deal with it. It was tough and it was challenging but damn if a piece of paper was going to make me quake.

It makes being able to pay things off now all the sweeter. For the first time, and I knock hardily on wood praying I don't jinx myself with this statement, there's more than only a flicker of dim light at the end of the tunnel.

Yesterday, I paid off an outstanding medical bill that vexed me on several points (do not get me started on the abysmal changes to our health insurance options that my company implemented for the year). The sheer joy of knowing that it's off my ample chest is almost indescribable. It's a real feeling of accomplishment, on a slightly smaller level than when I paid off my first car. Earlier this year, I finished paying off the bed I'd bought in 2009. Those were two debt goals I had this year and they've been reached earlier than I had originally planned. Whee!

As with other flawed decisions his administration has made (cough healthcare cough), the changes Obama has made to how credit cards determine payments has caused more day-to-day harm than good, certainly it did in my situation. I have two outstanding bank credit cards (which I have long since closed) that have large balances due to being out of work for an extended period of time in the early 00s, a time when my mother's physical disability kicked in full throttle. There was a lot of charging going on for nearly three years mostly on extracurricular things like food and gas and medication. I never once missed a payment or was delinquent in any way and I'm pretty damn proud of that. I am absolutely pathological about my credit rating and bust my butt to keep it pristine, even in the worst of times. This is why I've avoided using a consumer credit company all these years. While it can be incredibly helpful and beneficial, I wanted to wait until it was absolutely necessary so as not to ding my credit rating.

This year, with the Obama changes, minimum due amounts are now being determined by taking 1% of the overall balance and adding the finance charge to it. The goal here is good: help consumers pay down more of the principal balance faster rather than have finance charges eat up nearly all of their monthly payments. Unfortunately, this "new math" increases the monthly amount due considerably and, for someone like me with a healthy balance on not one but two cards (they were really bad years), well, let's just say that the shriek I let out when I saw the amounts was matched only by the speed at which my hands began to shake.

I made a frantic phone call to the credit card company, (it took several tries – see shaking hands), and here's where the sun began to shine. After only one telephone transfer and a lengthy discussion with an extremely helpful advisor, I was able to lock in a plan on both cards that will see them paid off completely in five years (now four and a half. Yes I am counting, wouldn't you?). My finance rate and minimum due will never, ever change again. Pristine credit rate, baby. It pays off in spades.

Five years!! That's nothing compared with the 90 I was looking at instead. And while my minimum due did increase on one card, the other was reduced so that the overall increase was only $20/month. Now, I look forward to making those mid-month payments, and I won't lie to you, there's a little zing when I do it too. Sisyphus can keep his damn rock; I've got an end date.

Don't mistake me, it ain't all roses and champagne – I've got more. As of this moment, there's a pesky retail card in my targeted sights that should be paid off by March 2011 and another outstanding medical bill that I plan to subjugate beneath the heel of my check card within the next year. But anyone who's ever struggled with debt and money management, which I suspect would be most of the known world, knows how satisfying it is to come out on the other side, to diligently chip away at an at times overwhelming balance and finally see that fidelity bear fruit.

Undoubtedly, some new catastrophe will whack me over the head soon (that does seem to be the pattern) but today I'm going to revel in one less payment to make and look forward to the next time I'll get that thrill again. The beat does go on, but these days, it's marching to my tune and that tune is cracking.

Postscript: It's been said before, but let me reiterate that they are several solutions for debt relief. I strongly encourage anyone in a similar situation to mine to contact your credit card companies and discuss your options. You never know what they might be able to do for you. Be honest, stay true to whatever arrangement you make, and good things can happen. Really.

Fair and Balanced

2010-09-08T07:00:00.005-04:00

I unload a lot on this blog about the frustrations of having my mother living with me and all her health issues that the last, oh, eight years have seen landing on our collective doorstep. It's only fair that I also include those things that go amazingly right because, let's face it, it doesn't happen often and it's good to be reminded that, as Tolkein put it, the darkness is only a small and passing thing. There is light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.

My mother has had a medical aid here in our apartment since she was discharged from the rehabilitation center in late 2008. This is one of several benefits she receives under her Medical Medicaid qualification and it is priceless, truly. Isabelle, Mom's aid for the last two years, has been a real blessing in many ways but, as in all personal interactions, everything wasn't perfect. Among other things, her lack of conversational English was greatly prohibitive to any significant collaboration between her and my mother. She was very, very good to my Mom and they share a real and genuine affection, but there were bumps.

Isabelle went on vacation in early August and we had Mara for a week, and she was terrific but scheduling issues prevented her from staying more than a week. This was right at the time when I was going on vacation. Thankfully, Velka came to work with Mom and she couldn't be more perfect. With a little scheduling creativity, we were able to retain Veilka permanently. Unfortunately, the agency handled the situation with Isabelle poorly and there were some hurt feelings in the end. I volunteered to be the bad guy and the agency – and my mom – leaped at the option. Fine by me.

Velka is a dream. She is outgoing and positive. She chats with my mom and is a real companion to her. She monitors her medication and her new, multiple treatments for hands, feet, and lungs that Mom has to go do each day, and – Lord be praised – she proactively insists on and monitors Mom's exercises to the point of counting the reps and keeping her focused. The difference in Mom is atomic. This is best catalogued by the fact that her text messages to me have decreased from 15+ some days (and that's not an exaggeration) to 2 – maybe. Last week, while I was chauffeuring my grandfather to the VA clinic in center city Philadelphia , Velka's fan belt broke and she wasn't able to make it to the apartment. Throughout the day, she sent repeated text messages to Mom to check on her and make sure she'd taken her meds and eaten when she should showing an above and beyond commitment to her charge. Frankly, she checked in with my mom more than I did that day.

Now when I get home at night, Mom isn't climbing the walls, desperate to talk to someone (me) when all I want is the telly, the kitties, and some peace and quiet after a day editing pharma. And things get done! My sister's Christmas gifts are now packed and ready to be shipped – just in time for this Christmas. Mom's bedroom is transformed into organization – well, maybe organization is pushing it, but I can walk in and not trip over a thousand things and that's genius. And Mom herself has improved dramatically.

It's amazing how something so simple as having the right person in place at the right time can make such a huge difference.

See, I can manage fair and balanced. Some of the time.

Death and All His Friends – Grandfather Edition

2010-09-07T07:00:00.003-04:00

On the phone with my grandfather

K: Hi there!

Dad-dad: Who's this?

K: Kiersten

DD: Who?

K: (shouting) IT'S KIERSTEN!

DD: Oh, hi! You don't have to shout.

K: (sighing) OK. How ya doin'?

DD: Oh, all right I guess. That pain doctor wants to burn my nerves

K: He's getting on your nerves?

DD: No, he wants to burn the ends of the nerves in my spine off. Where I have pain.

K: Um, I don't think so. Who is this guy?

DD: The pain doctor I've been seeing. The injections aren't working see. Your mom wants me to see Dr. J- first

K: I was going to say that. I definitely want you to get his opinion before you let anyone burn anything. He's a great pain doctor. He did really well by Mom when she lived down there. If anyone's taking a sodering iron to your nerves, it better be Dr. J-

DD: Yeah. I need to get this cardiologist stuff done first. Your aunt takes care of fall of that. She knows the guys at the hospital, see. I don't know why I don't just call Lownes and be done with it.

K: Who's that? The cardiologist?

DD: No! Lownes. The funeral home.

K: (laughing) Oh! Of course. Well, sure, that's definitely an option. A little premature perhaps…

DD: Yeah, I was talking to Peggy. She's the lady that organizes the van transportation and everything, mostly with the assisted living and healthcare people. She set me up when your aunt and I went down to the VA clinic last week in the van. And I was telling her that my granddaughter was driving down from north Jersey next week to take me back so I wouldn't need the van again.

K: Ri-ight.

DD: And I said to her, we should just go get a discount at Lownes. Six for the price of one.

K: (laughing) Did she laugh?

DD: (chuckling) Oh yeah.

K: Who are the other five people? Do you have anyone in mind?

DD: I dunno. I'm sure we could rustle up a few candidates around here.

K: Yeah. That shouldn't be any trouble for you.

DD: Whadythey call it when they drain all the blood from you?

K: Exsanguination?

DD: (with exaggerated patience) Noooo. I don't wanna bleed to death.

K: Mummification?

DD: Closer. Yeah. Embalming! That's what we should do. Just have them embalm me and be done with it.

K: That would save me from having to drive down there next week.

DD: See what I mean? Works for everyone.

Wrestling With My Better Grammar Angels

2010-09-01T07:00:00.002-04:00

Being a writer with a day job as an editor is a recipe for madness, because, inevitably, the little quirks of everyday language that most people would never, ever notice stand out like a garishly lit billboard in Times Square. I get a tad irked when "which" is used without being preceded by a comma as is grammatically correct in 99% of its usage. I'm irritated when sentences end in prepositions like "with" to the point that I've spent upwards of 10 to 15 minutes rewriting a sentence to try and avoid it only to (usually) fail. And the whole who/whom thing bugs me from time to time even though 9 times out of 10, I'm getting it wrong myself. Like any good editor, the urge to correct such errors is nigh irresistible.

It's tough because so much of our spoken language is grammatically incorrect and that's before we start looping in slang and urban and regional dialects. These days, there's almost a negative connotation to it and if you insist on proper grammar use in everyday conversation, you'll quickly get tagged as an elitist snob or something of that ilk. I wonder when it became a bad thing to insist on the "King's" English, so to speak. Probably about the time we picked up muskets and pointed them across the pond.

I was buying cat food the other day – or cat fud as I tend to write it on my shopping list thanks to an old Boynton cartoon. Yes, I make a list. I'm not completely undomesticated. At the checkout counter, one of those paw shaped magnets caught my eye. "Who Rescued Who?" it asks. Charmed, I bought it for the CR-V. It wasn't until a few days later when I was loading groceries that I looked at it, smiled as I always do, and then thought, "Shouldn't it be Who Rescued Whom?"

Well that was that. Seriously, people, it would not leave me alone. Finally, I caved and asked my boss to weigh in. No kidding, we spent ten minutes debating it on the phone and she even suggested I look it up in our AMA style guide. I managed to restrain myself from that level of craziness, but it was a near thing. And I only managed to do that because I decided the magnet was wrong. It should definitely be "Who Rescued Whom?" and that's all I have to say on the matter.

Except it taunts me. Each and every time I swing open the back gate to the CR-V, there it is, waving its irregular usage at me like discount shoes in the wrong size.

To put the cheeky thing in its place, I'm on the hunt now for a magnetic "M" of sufficient size to tack onto its end. That'll teach it to mess with me.

This grammar stuff ain't for the weak, you know.

Television Tuesday: Emmy Awards Roundup

2010-08-31T07:00:00.004-04:00

The Emmy awards were last night. Did you notice? I did, even though I didn't get to actually see most of the telecast as Verizon Fios decided that NBC would be the one channel my DVR would NOT receive last night, but only between the hours of 8 and 11pm. What recorded on my DVR instead was three hours of blue screen. Every. Other. Channel. Worked. Just not the one showing the biggest television awards in the world. So off to the Internet I go – except NBC decided not to have a streaming broadcast, no doubt to appease advertisers. I spent a good 20 minutes searching for a streaming broadcast and found one site that would let me view it, but only after I filled out a survey for car insurance including all of my information, or downloaded a game to my computer and that was not going to happen. I wound up listening to it instead, woefully believing that I could watch it all later on my DVR. Boy, was I wrong. Still, I figured NBC would have clips up on its website this morning, but alas, only of the acceptance speeches and the Community promos for Infiniti (which were funny because that cast is very funny, but come on already!). Basically, it was an epic fail night for Fios and NBC as far as my household was concerned.

Ergo, rather than my typical blow-by-blow post mortem, I'm forced to comment in brief (Ha! Brief. Right.) bursts of flawed and slightly delayed opinion.

Overall, I was very pleased with the winners, particularly as there was a marked shift in who was winning. Finally, the Academy has decided to wake up and see that awarding the same old people for the same old roles isn't the right way to run an award system that is supposed to recognize the best in performances of the year, not the most familiar and/or comfortable. How is it that Jon Cryer has won multiple Emmy Awards for Two and a Half Men? It boggles the mind. After too many years of this sort of award behavior I was dangerously close to eschewing the awards altogether. Now, I can't wait to see what happens next year.

Jane Lynch looked fierce and while favored to win the Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy award last night for her work on Glee, she didn't deserve it any less for that. Sue Sylvester may be broad comedy, but Lynch makes it very funny and, amazingly, finds a heart within the character when it looks like that particular organ is missing. I love it when actors who have be toiling away in the business for decades, always being the "hey it's that guy/girl" whether in theatre, television, or film, suddenly get the right role at the right time that finally brings the recognition they so rightly deserve. I'm looking at you Michael Emerson and Terry Quinn (sorry about the loss last night guys.)

I don't watch Breaking Bad, I'm not big on any show with a large focus on drug trade, but Brian Cranston is another actor who's been around forever (even before Malcolm in the Middle). The first time I watched Cranston was the inaugural season of the soap Loving. Remember that one? Yeah, didn't think so. This is his third Emmy for Best Lead Actor in a Drama and okay. I was routing for Coach to win, aka Kyle Chandler, but even I knew his nomination for the strong, subtle, complex, funny, and riveting work he's done on Friday Night Lights was all the recognition he was likely to get last night. And if Jon Hamm isn't going to get the statuette for his phenomenal work on Mad Men, than I'm fine with Cranston getting it – again. I would like to see Hamm take it next year, and with Cranston out of the running since Breaking Bad's season won't debut in time for qualification, maybe we'll finally see the man who could sell snow to Eskimos finally get his due. Except, wait, next year is the last season for Friday Night Lights. Screw Hamm – GO COACH!

Juliana Margulies was the recognized shoo-in for the Best Actress in a Drama award – and didn't get it. Kyra Sedgwick finally got the award she should have had three years ago for her work as Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson. I watch and enjoy The Closer and think Kyra should have won this award years ago when the role was fresh and the show's procedural structure not so formulaic. But I'm glad to finally see her get what turns out to be her first Emmy award because she's terrific, both as Brenda Leigh and in numerable other roles over the years. She's probably the only woman on the list that I can live with winning instead of Connie Britton. Like Chandler, Mrs. Coach was only ever going to get the recognition of a nomination at these awards, but, again, like Chandler, it comes after four years of shut outs for, hands down, the best female performance out there in television today. (Though Katay Sagal gave her more than a run for her money this year on Sons of Anarchy but she was, shamefully, not nominated.) I'm hoping that the nomination repeats next year and the game-changing shift in the types of winners last night paves the way for her and Chandler to bring it home as the fantastic Friday Night Lights comes to an end next year.

I love Modern Family and am absolutely thrilled it won Best Comedy last night. I think it emblematic of the great talent in the series that the main cast all submitted themselves for supporting actor nominations, not one of them taking the position of lead actor/actress for the show. It is very much an ensemble show and I don't think it would work without any one of those parts. To see Eric Stonestreet win for Best Supporting Actor was fantastic – I actually fist pumped from the kitchen (listening to the broadcast via Internet) when I heard his name announced. And then he gave such a beautiful, heart-warming acceptance speech, even my cynical heart was touched. He is often (but not only) the heart of the show and to "see" him continue that offset was charming. He is also often the most laughing out loud funny cast member (though Ty Burrell gives him a run for his money) and one only has to watch the Fizbo episode to see why. There was always the danger that the multiple nominations for the Modern Family men would split the vote for some other nominee. I'm so glad it didn't.

I haven't laughed out loud at a sit com since Friends ended. Jim Parsons changed all that. I didn't watch The Big Bang Theory from the beginning, but tuned in this year after all the great buzz for it caught my attention. Plus, I realized I wasn't watching any sit coms and I missed laughing at things that weren't meant to be ironic. And I love it. Jim Parsons is absolutely hysterical – the LOTR Ring episode is a personal favorite – and while the show does sometimes detour into The Sheldon Show too much, I can't really regret that. In general, the show is very, very good, but Parsons elevates it to unbelievably funny. He couldn't do this without the excellent cast that surrounds him and while it can't be easy being the straight man, Johnny Galecki does a wonderful job at it. Parsons winning the Emmy last night is yet another example of the Academy finally getting it right.

Less so on the Best Actress in a Comedy front. Look, Edie Falco is a great actress, I know this even with only seeing two episodes (if that) of The Sopranos and three of Nurse Jackie. Her intensity on the screen is – well – intense. But, as Falco herself said when accepting the award, she's not funny and Nurse Jackie isn't a comedy. But the Academy loves her and they're going to award her every chance they get. And they did.

Like I said, I don't watch Breaking Bad, so I really can't comment on Aaron Paul's win for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama except to say that I hear his work this past year has been award worthy. Likewise with The Good Wife. I'm a big Margulies and Noth fan, and that was enough to get me to the show's premier, but I'm tired of doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs, and could not bear for another series in courtrooms and law offices however good the writing and however stellar the talent. I will, however, say that I'm excited to see Archie Panjabi take the award home for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama as what little I saw of her work was electric.

I love Mad Men. It's smart, it's clever (and you know how I love the clever), it's funny, it gorgeous to look at, it's heartbreaking and, sometimes, horrifying. It's brilliant. I watch it and think about how this was the era when my parents were young parents. This is the culture in which they were becoming adults. I watch it and think of the advertising that I'm involved in at my day job and how so much of the terminology and focus hasn't really changed since in the last 40+ years. I hear the names of companies still running the major advertising accounts of the day and think of the longevity of cutthroat business. I think of the subtle and overt ways women were harassed in the work place and pushed towards trading careers for hearth and home and how brave and fierce those women were to forge a different path for those of us who were to come. The show fascinates me and the writing, the acting, the set design, the production are the best thing on television today. It raises the bar for other shows out there. It never panders to the audience – I probably only get about 70% per episode of all of what's going on and that's likely too generous a percent. And that just makes me love it more. In a culture that elevates the ridiculous cast of Jersey Shore to iconic positions, a show that challenges audiences to much, much more needs to be on everyone's television sets. Of course, it's the Best Drama of the year. It should be the best drama of the year for every year that it's on the air.

I found Jimmy Fallon to be a capable host – what little I was able to see of him. It's a thankless job, and there are few who can nail it. I had to see the Glee inspired opening number on youtube this morning, but I thought it was very funny. Just watching Jon Hamm back it up to Betty White made the whole thing a ten for me. Yeah, it was basically a big promo for Glee, but I'm OK with that since anything that champions musical education in schools gets my vote. Also, I love Glee.

As far as fashion goes, again, I missed a large part of the broadcast thanks to Fios and NBC not having their acts together. I did see the Red Carpet broadcast – that had no problem coming through much like commercials. I really liked Tina Fey's hieroglyphic dress, thought Jane Lynch looked incredible (see above) and so, so happy, likewise Lea Michele who was also topped by that fantastic choker necklace, Jewel had way too many furbelows on her pink princess gown, Anna Paquin looked like she should top some ziggurat or an Aztec sacrificial pile with that bolero short jacket, and Lauren Graham, who I love, looked silly. But no one seemed terribly outlandish. Except one.

What the hell was January Jones thinking? First, her hair looked like she'd just rolled out of bed. Second, that peacock train may be top of the line for Cirque du Soleil, but only molts in the California heat wave. Third – just what? I loved the color, but it was so, so wrong for her. She's a cool blond, and that doesn't translate well to peacock couture. It does put you on the cover of almost every magazine this week even if it is on the worst dress list which is probably exactly what she was aiming for. In the Red Carpet interview I saw, she was also slightly off, polite, but really reserved and somewhat distant, which makes me wonder if there was something else going on there or if she's really simply very shy. Neither of which explains the dress.

All in all a great night for television – what I saw of it. There are a lot of good shows coming down the pike this year. I actually plan to cut back some of my viewing because much too much of my time is getting eaten up by television, but there are still one or two that may make the Krum cut. And if the Emmy Awards for 2011 are anything like the 2010 awards, I'll be sure to tune back in for them too.

Twitterific

2010-08-12T14:37:00.000-04:00

I came late to the social networking realm. It took me a long time (read, most of my early life) to work my way out of the desperate (and natural) urge to fit in with the world around me. By my mid-20s, I learned to not only embrace my tendency to be more than a little left of whoopee, but to trumpet it too. So when my sister got on my case about joining Facebook, I pshawed and scorned until I tried it, and then I proceeded to saturate myself in it. For the first few weeks, I was drowning in the thrill of finding people I'd regretted losing touch with, while enjoying not "friending" those people I was glad to be rid of. Petty? Maybe, but that's one of the pleasures of Facebook. I can be petty and no one will know about it. Now, I never got involved with Farmville or Mafia Wars. For me, Facebook was (and is) simply a place to reconnect and chat and share without having to be in the same room.

I had a reluctant attitude towards Twitter in the beginning too, though that was more out of ignorance and confusion. 140 characters? I haven't spoken in only 140 characters since I gained the power of speech. And it's not like I need another venue at which to talk. Jeez, I barely shut up as it is; I even talk in my sleep! But I kept hearing how important it was for book promotion (rock on LSFW and NJRW!). Then I was noticing great conversations from the people behind blogs I read like Smart Bitches and Dear Author (see sidebar for link) that I was missing because I wasn't on Twitter. And you know how I hate being out of the loop…

So I joined. At first, I didn't pay much attention to it. Until my Facebook time was curtailed. That's when I learned about cross-posting and other useful ways of managing the social networking world. Gradually, like an addicted, I became more involved. It's a community and the one I choose to be a part of most on Twitter is the publishing community, specifically, but not exclusively, romance publishing. As a rule (there are always exceptions) the world and writers of romance publishing are incredibly supportive of one another, sharing tips and encouragement across the 'verse. I am constantly learning.

This week, I'm on vacation and despite being in the mountains by myself, I haven't really been alone. I've spent more time on Twitter than ever before, having downloaded Tweet Deck, which I like using ever so much more than the original website. Not only has it been really useful, I've really enjoyed it too. Last month, I found it incredibly helpful when trying to follow along (somewhat) with the RWA national conference. And now, well, it's been quite a week. The repercussions from Dorchester's move to ebooks and POD are still rolling out and echoing across the Tweet verse. I've had some great "conversations" with people I like and respect and have been alerted to and bookmarked a slew of relevant and interesting articles on publishing and the romance novels. I've chimed in (a little) on an excrement of an article that proclaimed the sole purpose of marriage as being to give women dignity and protect them from being raped because we poor dears are incapable of caring for ourselves or having an identity outside of marriage (asshat). I've been able to track some of the blogs that I like to read (hello Bettys!) and post links to my own (point in case…). I've trumpeted my love for all things Loretta Chase (the woman is a goddess amongst historical romance writers) and on and on.

I am a total (if belated) convert. Ya know, it's been fun. And as my vacation finally rolls to an end, one of my biggest regrets is that back in the world, I won't have nearly enough time to be this involved on Twitter. Because it is a massive time suck. I've learned pretty quickly that if I have a prayer of doing anything except Twitter all day, I have to turn the Tweet Deck off completely, much like I have to shut down the email and Facebook links. The August edition of the Romance Writer's Report magazine had a fantastic social networking time management article that I plan to tack up on the wall by my home desk (once it dries out from being completely soaked at the pool. Don't get me started.) It's timely (ha!) and relevant as I delve ever deeper into – and enjoy ever more – the social networking 'verse.

My favorite thing on Twitter this week is that, on Tuesday, Jane Little at Dear Author began a meme with the hashtag #womeninpublishing that challenged people to name and celebrate their favorite women in publishing. For me, this really illuminated the power and possibilities of Twitter. There was such an enormous response to this meme that by the end of the day, it had garnered an online media response at PublishersWeekly.com and GalleyCat.com. I suspected in the coming days it'll go even farther.

I set up a separate column in my Tweet Deck to watch this meme in action and added new "follows" for several touted names of women in publishing I hadn't been aware of before. Now GalleyCat has compiled a list of these fantastic women and where/how to follow many of them. It was exciting to watch in unfold and thrilling to see women get such a huge shout out, particularly in an industry in which they dominate but are still paid considerably less than their male counterparts. People are still chiming in on this meme and it's evolving and growing and getting a little he said/she said along the way and that's okay because, well basically, it's Twitterific.

Interested in joining the conversation? Sign up at www.twitter.com and start following.

Notes From Pool Side

2010-08-09T11:41:00.015-04:00

I know, I know, I've dropped the blog baton again. Bad Krum.

These last few weeks have been busy or boring depending on which day I was on. We've been experiencing consecutive vacation weeks at work shorting my department by one since mid-July. Typically, this means the remaining two people not on vacation are swamped with heavy volumes of work, which raises tensions and stress levels and other things. During the short interval between manager and asst. manager vacations, I was sick with the cough that wouldn't die and desperately wanted my lung to be outside my chest. Add in my birthday the first week of August and cap it all off with Major Work Drama as just before my spontaneous vacation (thanks M&S!) my P*****account at work exploded first with one problem, sussed out over a couple of days, then with another that blew up (for me) at 4pm Friday. Not. Fun.

The end of July brought the Romance Writers of America national conference in Orlando that I did not get to go to, (next year in Manhattan baby!) so I was a tad blue about that. Then Dorchester Publishing announced it was going full digital with print-on-demand trade paperbacks available for some titles after digital release. This is a BFD in romance publishing especially, so the Internet, it has been churning around my little hobby (as my mother sometimes thinks of it.) Speaking of mothers and vacation...

Usually I go to Arizona about this time every year. But the airfare was +$400 and didn't move much from that in the 6 months I was watching fares. I refuse to pay that when I know it can be less, and then have to pay the luggage fee and the car service fee to get to the airport at 5 AM for a 6:30 AM and all that. So I was looking at no vacation during a very stressful year. My boss finally forced me to take some vacation, mostly so I wouldn't back end my paid time off into December. What began as a few days became a full week off in a vacation home somewhere in Pennsyltucky as my best friend insisted I use her family's vacation house.

Now, I'm somewhere in the mountains of Pennsyltucky. I think. I know I crossed the state line, but I still have NY channels on the telly. Actually, that makes things easier, so no complaints. I couldn't complain if I wanted to – and I don't. The drive out here was gorgeous and I was so glad I didn't make it at night so I could marvel at it all, never mind the narrow, twisty roads. The house is near a ski resort and yesterday when I went to the pool, I stood at the top of a ski slope for the first time in many years. Beautiful mountains stretch before me, musty green in the dusk light. It's so quiet here; I'm in the kitchen on the first floor looking out on the road and I've seen one car and two young girls walking and that's it. Glory.

Yesterday at the pool, I was sitting near the children's wading pool with its mushroom shaped umbrella fountain streaming water on the kids. I was reading my EW magazine when shrieking made me look up. An approx. two year old boy was blatantly strangling his three or four year old sister, water wings failing to hamper his efforts. There was no way I could get to the kids; by the time I hoisted myself out of the lounger, it would all be over, and I couldn't figure out which woman on the rim was the mom. Nevertheless, I was beginning to get up when Mom #2, closer to the fracas, waded in and separated the kids with a stern word to the boy, Mom #1 right on her heals.

It wasn't that Mom #1 was inattentive (I'd seen her earlier on the shallow-end steps to the main pool keeping watch on her offspring), it was simply that, while standing near me at the edge of the pool, she'd been slightly distracted by talking to the (presumably) kid's grandfather.

Then the amazing thing happened. As Mom #2 – now clearly shown to be a stranger to Mom #1 – apologized (presumably, this was a muted soundtrack) for interfering, Mom #1 thanked her for her help. No "how dare you touch my child!" no "what the hell do you think you're doing, lady?" just a clearly grateful Mom who couldn't move fast enough herself.

The girl child had moved away from her brother to the far side of the wading pool. The boy, no fool there, waited till the moms had returned to their respective positions and then pursued his sister, this time shoving her under the water in a clear attempt to drown her. This time, the response was even faster, a Mom #3, who'd seen the entire first murder attempt by two-year-old, instantly wading over to pull the boy from the girl, halting the rising Mom #2 in her tracks. Mom #1 was also already on the move with a fierce, "OK, that's it" and crossed through the pool to pull her son completely out of it, again, with a grateful word to Mom #3. Mom #1 proceeded to strip her son of his water wings, amongst a wailing howl of protest from him (I think more because his sister was still alive than because he had to leave the pool), and hustle him around the pool to his patronizing grandfather, and then wade in to remove her daughter as well, now pleasantly playing alone without fear of imminent death.

Responsible parenting? Damn straight. Grateful, appreciative co-supervision amongst mothers? Boy. Howdy. Lack of threats and accusations? You betcha.

I grew up in an era (70s & 80s) where such things were fairly common place. People looked out for one another's kids and if you were bad with someone else's parent, they would discipline you or let your parents know who would then punish you worse. If another kid's parents did discipline you and you complained to your own 'rents, they would side with the other parent! (I still think there's an element of that that's unfair, but as an adult I'm on board with the practice)

I'm not a Mom, and I'm not around those Moms I know and love a lot when they're in parenting mode. But in our current, highly litigious society, I would think that such interference as Mom #2 and Mom #3 demonstrated would never happen, people too scared of being sued to do the natural thing, like preventing one kid from murdering the other. The media so often portrays the lack of common sense people can display, especially when money and lawyers enter the conversation. It was so nice to see in the normal course of things that people (Moms specifically) aren't afraid to do what's right. In fact, they don't even think twice about it.

The moral of the story? Don't mess with the Mother. Any of them.

I've been up since 9:30, determined to go straight for the bagel and the WIP. I've got the bagel but instead have been doing the Twitter and Facebook thing and then posting this before you all think I've dropped off the face of the planet for good this time. My goal was to be at the lake by 1pm, but I'm going to push that to 2pm so I don't hate myself completely. Today is mid 80s and mild. It'll rain tonight and lower the temp to the 60s and then sunny and back to the 80s tomorrow.

Bliss.

The Return of Car Karma

2010-07-14T13:41:00.000-04:00

My poor car karma is legendary – or perhaps more accurately, notorious. I've had a good run of it though lately, through no skill of my own, I assure you (and here I'm choosing not to include my mother's past unfortunate experiences with my Civic).

By my poor car karma returned in early June when I was rear-ended while passing through Manyunk, PA en route to spend the day with my grandmother. I'd stopped for the light at Green Lane when WHOMP! A car slammed into the back of mine. Apparently, there had been a bee in the car with the young girl driving it (without license or updated insurance card) and she "freaked out." Oy. Vey.

Let me take a moment here to say that you should pray never to be involved in an accident in Pennsylvania. Of course, you should pray never to be in an accident period, but Pennsyltucky turns the already difficult process into a nightmare. Apparently, the new law states that cops do not come to the scene of an accident unless the auto damage is such that a vehicle is undriveable or there are injuries. One must visit their local precinct the next day and fill out a police report. Except if you happen to be from out-of-state. Then you're supposed to call in to the precinct where the accident occurred. Except no one has told this to the precincts, because when I called in, I got an enormous run around where I was bumped from precinct to town hall to 911 operator and back to the precinct. This included a long, useless conversation with a new 911 operator who took the whole report over the phone with the beep beep of the 911 mechanism sounding the whole time only to be told by a new supervisor at its completion that this was completely the wrong office to take the report and I should call the local precinct and do it all over again. The officer then hung up on me. I'll leave you to guess what I said then.

Anyways, once I'd stopped shaking, I looked at my back bumper and was glad I'd bitten the bullet and bought a small SUV. To the naked, untrained eye there was limited damage but once the insurance assessor and the auto body shop got a look at it, more extensive repairs were determined. So my CR-V has been in the shop since last Tuesday and I've been driving a Jeep Liberty rental. It was a cross between that and a Kia Spectra and as they were offered at the same price, I took the Jeep.

I hate this car.

First of all, for a good-sized small SUV, it has small seats. The center console bulges into the driver's leg space and the space is narrow enough that the inner door handle and seat belt buckle press their images into my hips. Now, I admit, there's a lot of me to accommodate, but this is a little ridiculous. There's no cruise control either. A year ago, this wouldn't have bothered me as I'd never had cruise control in my life, but I've gotten used to it in my CR-V. And the Jeep is a noticeably heavier car; I'm finding it requires constant concentration. If I look down at the radio or the a/c control for a second, it drifts and if I zone out during for the smallest moment, suddenly I'm doing 80+. Despite my (OK, well-earned) heavy foot reputation, this is faster than I want to go. There's the position of things. When I glance down at the dash, the first thing I see is the RPM counter. To check the speedometer, I must look left. So there's maybe a 2 second disconnect before my brain registers that the speedometer is not where is should be and then tells my eyes to glance left. During this 2 second delay, while my attention is off the road, the car drifts. That's when I also realize that somehow I'm doing 85 mph. Also, it's a hatchback so I have to step back from the trunk after opening it to avoid being smacked in the head by the dang door.

Then there are the little things. Look, up till last year, all I knew was the one-armed bandit, roll-up window mechanism, but I got spoiled in that one year. The driver's side window goes down with one click but not up. And the lack of cruise control really bugs me. This is a big, expensive car and yet, no cruise control? It has an automatic function on the lights, with is nifty; you turn them on auto and leave it there. But when it's only raining, I can't tell if they're on or not, which is the law in New Jersey. With the constricted nature of the seats, I can't even reach into the back seat for anything. No sky hooks either, which makes getting in and out of the Jeep interesting with its height, heavy doors, and no extra loading ledge. There's only two cup holders (yes Dad that does matter), which are weirdly placed, and the a/c takes nearly a full minute to turn on, much less cool off the cab. It's a real pain in the donkey to park too; judging the space difference is dicey and I'm frequently hanging 1 or 2 feet out of the space for fear of bumping the front end.

Is there anything I like about it? Sure.

Um…hmmm…lemme think.

OK – it has interval wipers with gradations, not just one interval and then you have to go full throttle. I had that in my Geo Prism and really missed it when I transferred to Hondas. The gear shift is back in the center console where it belongs – getting used to the CR-V's on dash gear shift placement was a challenge, let me tell you. The engine is big. No, I don't know how big. Whatdya think this is, Top Gear (love you guys!)? But it's big and lugs along unless I push the accelerator to get it to downshift and speed up already, dang it. It's actually on the quiet size despite its size and does a decent pick up when I downshift without the resisting noises my CR-V sometimes blesses me with. Altogether, it's definitely a much quieter ride, offset by the one thing that's really makes the Jeep bearable.

Satellite radio.

Took me two days to realize I had it, but it's been pumping ever since. I've got octane rock, alternative rock, and coffeehouse rock on constant play with country (yes, country, deal with it), 40s on 40s and classical on the other presets. No commercials, no ridiculous DJ shenanigans, no multi-plays of the same 3 or 4 Boss songs, or Zepplin or Floyd or the Stones or AC/DC just to get to one Muse or Airborne Toxic Event, or Kaiser Chiefs or Hailstorm, or any other off-the- Billboard-list alternative rock bands that I'm enjoying. It does peter out under overhangs and overpasses but those are momentary losses and after years of DirecTV snafus, I'm a duck –it just rolls off my back.

It's a good thing I found the radio too, because I just found out that the auto body shop (Midland Park Auto Body; terrific guys doing terrific work) found more damage to my car as they were reattaching the door and it'll take at least another day. Frankly, I'm expecting to go through the weekend with this puppy, which will include a trip to PA this Saturday.

At least the tunes will be cranking. Pray for good car karma.

Appointment Television – The Choir

2010-07-13T13:40:00.012-04:00

If you're not already watching BBCAmerica's The Choir – well, why the heck aren't you? It's perfectly lovely, a wonderful, uplifting treat.

Here's the sitch: Choirmaster Gareth Malone believes that every student should be exposed to music. Oh forget this. I'll never summarize it well enough. Here's a snippet from the BBCAmerica Web site.

From schools with no tradition of music to blue collar neighborhoods in need of a community focus, Malone is a man on a mission. It's an emotional journey of shocks and surprises, challenges and rewards with heartwarming results. At BBC America's session at TCA in January, Gareth achieved the unthinkable by getting the journalists in attendance on stage to sing a rollicking rendition of "Barbara Ann." This was a testament to both Gareth's fearless passion to unite people in song and his ability to make it fun for everyone.
From hit TV singing contest shows, to musical based films and television series to millions of downloaded songs - singers are front and center. It could be said singing is everywhere, but where are the choirs? Classically trained Malone embarks on a groundbreaking journey to save the choir and prove it's cool to sing together. Malone dives deep into the community's culture discovering where classical music stopped and what will ignite these people to be inspired to unite and sing.

For more info, check out www.press.bbcamerica.com

Pretty cool, right?

I've had my share of choirmasters in my time, a handful of them quite spectacularly hitting all the high notes and not just vocally. I was terribly excited for this show from the moment I saw the advert and couldn't wait for last week's premiere. The show completely rewarded my anticipation; I was totally enchanted. Gareth is an absolute delight, an inexhaustible champion for these kids and (in later episodes) the adults who make up his choirs, but a strident task master too. He inspires and challenges them all and they simply light up around him (though this sometimes takes a little time). It doesn't hurt that he's immensely talented and bears a striking resemblance to a certain doctor. Who else could pull this off?

Don't let press comparisons to the zeitgeist show of the last season, Glee, turn you away from this gem. That's simply the pitch and the marketing. In fact, The Choir has little to do with that campy, polished show (and I am fond of Glee).

In the 13 weeks that the show runs this summer, Gareth will put together and transform three choirs. With Northholt High School, he aims to take a nascent choir all the way to China for the World Choir Olympics. Next he takes a year-long teaching position at the all boys Lancaster School, determined to build a 100 voice strong choir to perform at Royal Albert Hall at a school with no music department and where singing is practically a dirty word. Finally, Gareth goes to the town of South Oxhey where "a divided community struggles to shake off a poor reputation that stretches back decades." Can a community choir revive the people of South Oxhey?

Tune in and tune up to find out.

Edited 7/14/10 to add: It helps if I tell you where and when to find it, right? The Choir is on BBCAmerica on Wednesday nights at 10pm.

Disclaimer: I did not receive compensation for this gushing review and Gareth is not coming to my apartment to serenade me in thanks anytime soon. Though really, tout suite on that one, kiddo.

Hot Days in the Summertime

2010-07-07T11:44:00.003-04:00

These days, everybody's whinging about the heat, me included. And I was born in this kind of weather. Well, at least this time of year.

We don't have a/c so every fan we've got has been working overtime all weekend. I move the small one to the kitchen to blast on while I've been working. And I have been working, lovies. Oh yes indeedio. I've powered through moments of deep doubt, I've rewritten and slashed and moved and compiled. I have four open Word documents on my desk top right now, the actual WIP, a file for lines I've cut, just in case, one for lines I want to use later so I don't forget them, and the last a section I wrote a few weeks ago that I'm hoping to have incorporated into the main document by the end of today. Irons, they are in the fire and piping hot. Why not? Everything else is.

It's a discipline I'm not used to – not in me, and it hasn't been easy to maintain. I spent seven hours at Starbucks yesterday working and then another three when I got home. And I'm back again today. My forearms are sore from leaning on the hard table, my back is aching from hunching over the laptop and man does my butt hurt from the chairs. But I'm here, and I have a plan of action for the day, which, with any luck will end with a dip in the community pool and another Tessa Dare novel.

Sidebar: I read Dare's Goddess of the Hunt Sunday while enjoy the cool of the pool, and I mean that literally because every, single child interesting in splashing, throwing balls, or jumping off the side of the pool did so right around me. No matter how many times I moved up and down the wall, and there were plenty of them, children would find me. Once, another woman was following my example (reading while standing in the pool) only two feet away from me and she was TOTALLY DRY. Of course she was – all the little heathens we hanging around me!

Look, if you chose to read a book in the community pool, you're going to get wet. Thems the breaks. I get that. But kicked, bumped, totally drenched, and literally leapt over? Srssly, they were jumping over my head. Sigh. I need my own damn pool.

OK – mean old lady rant over.

Goddess of the Hunt is an amazing novel. Already, I have the next two in Dare's series on interlibrary loan request and as I said, if my day goes the way it should today, I'll be back in the pool (glowering) and diving into her Once Dance with a Duke. I figure historical are a safe bet to read when I'm writing because it not the subgenre that I write in, so if her words get in my head and seep into my writing, they'll be easy to find and delete. As I've taken craft seminars and worked on shaping my own work to be ever better, I read books differently. I'm looking for the things I've been taught.

Well, I looked up at page six of Goddess of the Hunt and realized Dare did in six pages what I had yet to achieve in fifty. Hero and heroine clearly and well defined. Conflict defined, setting defined, all with showing, not telling. And funny, witty interactions between h/h from the get go.

Truly I am a swallow in a cavalcade of eagles. But rather than feeling completely hopeless, I've dug in deeper instead. I remind myself, constantly, that nobody gets it right the first time. That what I'm reading is years of work and rewrites and critiques forming a final product. I tell myself, again and again, that I don't have to do it exactly the same way that my way can be different, that it should be different that, outside of grammar and basic craft, there is no wrong way. That swallows are still able to fly. Some of them even carry coconuts.

America's Birthday

2010-07-02T13:02:00.008-04:00

I plan to spend this holiday weekend mostly at my laptop with side trips to the community pool, West Point for fireworks, and perhaps cleaning and rearranging my room (though probably not that last).

I wish you all a safe, restful, and fun holiday celebrating family and good friends and barbeque and fireworks and most of all, our hard-won freedoms in defense of which men and women continue to stand in our place on battle scared front lines across the world.

Though not at all related to the 4^th of July, or even to America, here's is a fantastic clip of the band Muse at the Glastonbury Festival in southern England this summer, playing WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME for their encore performance with a little help from The Edge himself. Enjoy!

And may God continue to shed His almighty grace on the United States of America.

Random Funny

2010-06-23T12:05:00.009-04:00

The other day, I was reading a New York Times review of a new movie called The Killer Inside Me. This is not a movie I'm going to see - ever - nor is it anything I was particularly interested in especially once I read the brief description. I don't do serial killer movies and I find no aesthetic value even in what could be an extraordinary performance of said sociopath. Silence of the Lambs might be the only movie of that type I've ever willingly gone to see and that was more because of the guy I was going with than the movie itself. Though I do enjoy a good villain (Alan Rickman's over-the-top Sheriff of Nottingham and Hans Gruber top my favorites), I'm not big on glorifying that kind of dark, perverse evil that can and does exist within mankind much less celebrating it. I don't do horror movies either, mostly because I don't think getting the crap scared out of me is entertaining.

Hey, it works for some and there's no judging here, only love (you whackjobs), but it's just not for me.

Still, the review itself for Killer Inside Me was interesting enough that I journeyed on. And I was rewarded with this last jewel tucked in at the end of the piece amongst the rating notification for this depraved and violent movie. And I quote:

“The Killer Inside Me” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent to adult guardian). Sex, violence, violent sex, sexualized violence. And smoking.

There's SMOKING?! Oy, surely the essence of depravity!

Heeeeeeeeee

It's not enough this guy escalates from increasing and various violent degrees of sexual congress to outright torture and murder. Like Whedon's penchant to identify his villains by having them light up, the killer inside this guy smokes - truly he is evil. (P.S. Spike, even in reruns, you're still my Big Bad.)

I love this reviewer's wicked sense of humor. That's my kind of MPAA rating caveat.

Narnia: Maybe This Time

2010-06-22T15:33:00.004-04:00

Narnia is my home away from home.

The summer I turned 14 (or maybe it was the summer after) I spent Friday nights with some of the best in the world, swimming, laughing, eating, and studying/discussing The Chronicles of Narnia book by book. Sure, I'd read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (LWW), but before then, I'd never delved more deeply into the canon. Each week, we read one of the seven books, took a quiz, and discussed the novel particularly the religious and moral themes and insights. At the end of the summer, there was a final, very in-depth exam that, once passed, made you an official Knight of Narnia. I confess I never finished the exam (thought I still have it in a box somewhere).

To this day, those summer nights remain a shining memory amongst the angst of my teenage years.

Imagine my utter glee when I first heard the news that a feature film was being made of LWW, which a franchise of the entire series planned should the first film prove successful. Of course the combination of a beloved children's book brought to life on screen and the Christmas holiday made it a smashing success.

I loved the movie of LWW for many reasons. I was involved with the grass roots marketing campaign for the film, which was very exciting, so I was invested from early on. And they got a lot of things right in this movie. Tumnus, the Beavers, Father Christmas, the White Witch, the general sight and feel of Narnia. I've a few pet peeves; I wouldn't be me without them. I'm not crazy about Liam Neeson as Aslan, especially not the same year he was Raj Ah Gul in Batman Begins – added to Qui-Gon Jinn from Star Wars: Phantom Menace, that's too much mentoring from one man – but he does well enough. Also, it's hard to get a centaur right (no one has yet that I've seen) and after years of watching moviemakers try, I've decided it's the whole head thing. Horses' heads stretch out from their bodies; on a centaur the man/woman head stretches straight up and it just looks wrong. But while they softened the Christianity, they didn't jettison it completely and that counts big with me. I know Andrew Adamson (director and co-producer) loved the book as a child and was committed to doing it right and I think that shines through.

I was excited about the next installment, Prince Caspian (PC) because I wanted to see Narnia explode beyond the Christmas story even the uninitiated knew something about. But here's where Disney and Adamson (back again wearing multiple hats) went way off the reservation. PC has a slow start with dual stories running simultaneously, which is not how the story originally unfolded, though I have to allow that there probably wasn't any better way to reveal the two stories cinematically.

In the book, when the four slightly-older Pevensie children (Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy) return to a much older Narnia, they rescue Trumpkin, the dwarf who was sent to find anyone who responded to the magical trumpet's call for help (I'm skipping a lot because I really don't want to go too far into the plot here). Trumpkin spells out Caspian's back story to the Pevensies. Having Trumpkin tell the story of Prince Caspian to those who portend to be his rescuers doesn't make for an engaging film; it's the "show, don't tell" storytelling ethos. So Adamson shows us Caspian's story first and has him blow the trumpet, not after being surrounded at Aslan's How and effectively reaching his lowest point as its written in the original book, but during his initial escape from King Miraz's castle.

By doing this, the film looses the rich context of the Pevensie's journey. It's during this journey that the essence of the story is explored, that of choosing the right path even in the face of great objection and even harassment from those that matter most to you. This is what Lucy experiences when she maintains that she could see Aslan and he was directing her to go another way. Peter's bullheaded desire to reestablish himself as a king of Narnia rears up here, not in a trumped up pissing match with Caspian. In the film, this journey isn't given nearly enough opportunity to explore these once and current kings and queens of Narnia.

Because the Pevensies deal with these themes en route, they are already in their Aslan mindset when they finally arrive at Aslan's How. In the novel, their arrival occurs as Caspian is being confronted by the witch and the hag, when the Pevensies storm the darkened central chamber and kill the baddies. In the film, it's the Pevensies that face off against those traitors who would resurrect the White Witch, effectively denying Caspian his own revelatory moment to "do the right thing" when alone and under great pressure and almost certain death, Caspian stands up to the evil denizens and irrevocably aligns himself to follow Aslan's way.

It's a pretty awesome moment, actually. In the book. In the film, the replacement confrontation between Edmund and the essence of the White Witch is engrossing, but the themes are well trod. Edmund made his choice long ago and has risked his life for that choice to prove it. The White Witch holds no more threat or enticement to him. This scene only goes to show how much Edmund has grown and how he has managed to surpass Peter in mien and bearing.

Look, I can forgive a failed, mid-film castle invasion scenario shoe horned into the story to add risk and cost to our character development and I even enjoyed the requisite end battle too, (though don't get me started on the river god apparition and its blatant and bad rip off of Lord of the Rings). C.S. Lewis' style doesn't help the modern filmmaker either; like Tolkien, he liked to describe a battle in retrospect, following the "oh my God, I can't believe what I just saw happen" narrative style. And thank God they got Reepicheep's tail sacrifice correct, or heads would have rolled. But while LWW was so faithful to the material while effectively cutting and parsing down for the modern audience (though I missed the lion, reanimated from the White Witch's stone garden, repeating reminding other Narnians that Aslan said "we lions." Little things), PC went way too far off the reservation for the purist and yet did not manage to commit to it enough to bring in the newbies.

Disney apparently had a similar reaction to PC, though probably more over less healthy box office returns compared with LWW than content adaptations objections). The studio had enough of something to discontinue the franchise. This is not a bad thing. The Chronicles of Narnia have real risk and real cost in its short pages and trying to express that while keeping it Disneyfied and gentle enough for kids is a fine line that is rarely walked successfully. Just look at PC

Despite my dislike of PC (I don't own it, the ultimate thumbs down) I was disappointed to think that none of the other novels would get their shot at a red carpet premiere. I'm actually not looking to see all the novels adapted. I'd be happy to get through the first four, rounding out the film franchise with The Silver Chair. The Last Battle is cataclysmic, but I won't be overly disappointed if it doesn't make the cut as the story is less rich what with the donkey impersonating the lion and that annoying ape. Plus, there's a reason not too many people remember The Horse and His Boy (read it and find out) not to mention some potentially dodgy cultural issues with the Arabic-like villains. And while Narnia's origin story in The Magician's Nephew could be a fun stand alone, I think seeing Narnia emerge through LWW is more poetically potent. But I really want to see The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (my ultimate favorite) and The Silver Chair unfold on the screen so long as they do it right.

Fortunately, the franchise was picked up by Fox, which normally would send me into tizzies of discontent, but for this one, anything not Disney is pretty good. Adamson is taking a back seat, serving as producer but ceding writing and directing duties to others. Michael Apted is directing. Among other things, Apted was responsible for directing duties on three of the best episodes of the first season of Rome and that field was a competitive one as nearly every episode was mind-bogglingly fantastic. The point is he's done more than Shrek (sorry Adamson) before coming to Narnia. Experience counts.

There is one major character shake up. Eddie Izzard, of whom I am ridiculously fond, was the voice of the warrior mouse Reepicheep in PC. Via IMDB.com, he will now be voiced by Bill Nighy. OK – I had a whole paragraph here about how great Bill Nighy is, but when searching for the link below, I discovered via NarniaFans.com that he's been replaced by Simon Pegg. Shame, it was a really good paragraph.

Reepicheep is sacrosanct. After Aslan, he's the one Narnian you do not want to miscast.

Do not mess with the mouse.

Izzard was great, playing the charming humor and dedication of the big, loyal warrior in the tiny body like an endearing version of Shrek's Puss in Boots without the tomcatting around, pun intended. But in Dawn Treader, Reepicheep becomes more, oh, so much more, and ultimately is the heart and soul of the story.

Simon Pegg will be great too, I'm sure of it. He's a closer match to Izzard's voice than Nighy and he'll definitely bring the funny; we'll have to see how he does with the more serious and poignant aspects of Reepicheep. But I was really looking forward to hearing Bill Nighy's humor, his talent, his plumy voice in Reepicheep, my favorite character of the Narnian saga.

Where am I going with all this? Right here. The new trailer for The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. The first time I saw it I gasped, and a few seconds later gasped again, and then literally clutched my metaphoric pearls. I saw Reepicheep in the bow of the row boat, I saw lilies in the water, and I saw a wall of water flowing upside down.

"Return to magic. Return to hope. Return to Narnia," the tagline exhorts.

Oh yes, please.

I think, I think, maybe this time they got it right. On December 10th, we'll all find out.

Further up. Further in.

Soapbox Rant: Volkswagen Advert

2010-06-16T13:33:00.019-04:00

Dear Volkswagen,

I love your cars. Really. German engineering – MWAH! Big kiss. Pain in the ass expensive to repair, but great fun to drive and you can drive those puppies into the ground. Also, potential to be incredibly cute in a way that doesn't bug (heh, see what I did there? no? read on) the crap out of me. By which, I mean the reincarnation of the Beetle. Kudos on that.

I grew up with Volkswagen cars. First there was the grass green Beetle of my infancy (really ugly). When my parents sold it, my sister and I stood by the driveway sobbing as the new owners drove it away. Mom and Dad traded up for the dark green Beetle of my childhood, followed by the grass green Rabbit of my pre-adolescence and finally the dark green Rabbit of my teenage years. The 'rents definitely had a green theme going on there. After that came the one lemon, the red Jetta, a totally cash suck for many years. Probably it was the color change that did it.

I loved that last Rabbit. I called it The Turtle thanks to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle plush toy (Michelangelo, natch. Kowabunga dude) won on the boardwalk of the Jersey shore that adorned my dashboard. And the whole green thing. Sadly, the name never caught on with anyone but me, but that was enough. That Rabbit was bliss, that car was freedom. And it was my first and last stick shift transmission. I loved driving that car.

Ergo, I have the pedigree for this rant. So pay attention.

It is NOT Punch Dubya. We are not, however much we may desire, punching George W. Bush every time we see a VW.

It is PUNCH BUGGY.

Get it right, you gits.

This is a (car) game specific to the VW Beatle – AND ONLY THE BEETLE. Beetle=a bug=buggy=Punch Buggy. I don't know where it came from or how it began, but I do know what it is and especially, what is it not. And every single time I see your commercial, I scream at the screen, "It's Punch Buggy you brainless gits!" If I was deliberating on whether or not to buy a VW right now, this would have lost you a sale. Yep, it's that important.

Listen. If you're going to use the parlance of slang that has risen up around one of your seminal, for better or for worse, products, DO NOT bastardize it by stretching a dodgy advertising campaign across the entire line of automobiles. All you're doing is creating bad will amongst those of us savvy enough to know and fond enough to remember your original incarnation of said model (namely me) for whom Punch Buggy is a reminder of long cars rides to the Poconos and other parts of the tri-state area when my sister and I negotiated for real estate of the back seat while we sang songs and played games (and fought) to pass the time in an era before DVD players and iPhones and iPods and whatever else parents stick on or at their kids to shut them up became de rigueur.

Seriously man! Don't violate my childhood with your flawed marketing schemes.

Deep breath.

I aim an emphatic finger in your collective direction.

Don't. Mess. With the Punch Buggy.

Sincerely,

Design Maintenance

2010-06-15T07:56:00.000-04:00

Notice anything new ye few, ye happy few who read my ramblings? Behold the new layout.

Blogger came up with some new templates recently so yesterday I played around with the template.

I'm quite keen for maps, a fondness shared by my father who never met a map he didn't like. When on road trips, we used to joke that we were in real trouble when Dad brought the map out. But when I knew I'd be driving around Ireland, the first thing I did was buy a map. Still have it too; I love that map. My mom bought me a TomTom for my birthday and I had her return it (one of the rare times I exercised my desires on a gift already given) because I'd prefer to figure a route out myself (and I wanted the new Kodak color printer). So when I saw the new map template, I thought, wow, blogger actually got something right.

I really dislike blogger and only remain here because I'm too dang lazy to transfer to wordpress even though I know it's heaps and heaps better and easier to use. I'll get there soon though and until then, I'll just keep playing with the template. I started out with a standard one for about a year that I never really liked, too unexciting, and then instigated the light house motif last summer. Now I'm segueing into map territory – here be dragons for sure. I like the thematic implications too, almost as though this is a place yet uncharted where I tap tap along at my keyboard writing whatever comes to mind and sometimes unwisely posting it here, but there you go.

Which is where ye few come in. Weigh in, will ya? I'm not crazy about the salmon background but I like how the map looks on it. The trick is getting everything to show up on a light background without resorting to too heavy a color for the text and accendiaries. I don't like web sites with dark backgrounds. I'm not writing paranormal here so I don't need the dark and stormy night implications. And blogger gives you a color palette to work from and though I'm never quite happy with the choices, I do what I can with what I'm given. I'm also trying to keep from simply making everything reds and blues and be done with it.

I do see myself biting the bullet in the near future and getting official about this web site stuff. Until then, it's trial by error, still working out the blog kinks and changing the look to suit my mood at any given moment.

Let me know what you think of my latest attempt at design maintenance.

Cryin’ on the Inside

2010-06-14T14:18:00.006-04:00

I had a phenomenally inspiring weekend that kicked off with the Long Island Romance Writers annual networking luncheon. I was a luncheon virgin having never attended before, but it was a fabulous event that I'll tell you all about - some other time.

As usual, attending a writing event lit the banked fire under my butt to write. I've actually been doing well, but I got stuck in editing the old stuff again in the hopes that it would inspire new stuff and, well, that never works. I have a couple scenes blocked in my head I only need to get them down on the page as they do no one any good locked in my brain. I churned the whole bloody thing out Saturday night with 3600 words spewing from my fingertips and then Sunday I massaged them a little and added till I reached the 5200 level. I'm pretty pleased with myself, but that won't last, and I'm not writing this to fluff up my traditionally drooping wings.

The scene is when my heroine delivers grievous news to a girl's parents. OK – yes, the girl is dead, but before she died, my heroine made a promise to tell the parents so they wouldn't spend the rest of lives in ignorance. She's giving them closure, a horrible kind of closure, but nonetheless. And it's an important scene because the hero sees her empathy and pain as she's talking to the parents and begins to finally accept that she (our heroine) is not the heartless, scheming, manipulative jade he thought she was. He's suspected this for a while, but he's been denying it. Now he has to finally accept it.

This is also a turning point for our heroine because she's got more to do with this girl's death than she's letting on. Confronting the parents here opens up this wound and finally, she starts letting our hero in and he (along with the reader) begin to learn more pieces of the back story. So it's a BFD scene, emotion wise for all parties, right?

OK – here's where I fess up that I am not a crier, which sometimes is simply another manifestation of my control freak tendencies (the "I will not cry mentality) but not always.

Here's an example: When we were driving to the cemetery after my grandmother's funeral, my rightfully grief-stricken sister said to me "why aren't you crying?" to which I answered, "because I'm a cold, empty bitch" but of course that wasn't it. For me, tears are a private thing whenever possible (and sometimes it's not). And at that particular event, there were things to do, cars to follow, people to greet, a mother falling to pieces, a grandfather mute with grief, and other family angst to manage. Grief (and crying) took a back seat. Also, a good cry makes me ravenous, seriously, will-eat-my-hand hungry, and there wasn't a WaWa near the cemetery (Kidding. A little.)

Crying is an important emotional release for a person. I get that and I agree with it. People need to cry sometimes or frankly, there's something wrong with them. It's a necessary part of being human and, probably, having a soul. And I think that's exactly what it should be used for, not some manipulative tool to get your own way. All too often people, particularly women and I'm guilty of this too particularly in my juvenile past, use tears to this end. I'm not that kind of person and, frankly, I think it stinks. Also, there's still that little girl in me who gobbled up Native American literature and believed that crying was a show of weakness. Those early beliefs are hard to circumnavigate as an adult however much reason says I'm off my rocker. Of course, I scream bloody murder instead – better to be angry than scared or worse, hurt –and I'm not quite convinced that's any better, but what are ya gonna do?

So there I was Saturday, the anti-crier for lack of a better phrase, writing this scene where this mother is literally destroyed by the news this stranger (our heroine) has brought to her door. And as I'm writing, she (the mother) is screaming at her husband that she wants her baby and the words, and I say this with no aim for hyperbole, were absolutely flying from my fingers. And as I came to the end of the flow and sat back, drained, in my desk chair, I realized the corners of my mouth were fiercely turned down.

Bet you expected me to say I was crying, right? Ah - psych. I'm not that far off the reservation yet, but after this experience, I'll admit, I'm not ruling it out either.

It was pretty cool. This woman, while a minor player in the overall scheme of things had become a real enough character to me that her pain was causing me sadness.

Listen, everybody remembers Joan Wilder writing the end of her novel at the start of Romancing the Stone while sobbing along, tissues used up, as she pounded out the triumphant finale. That will never be me.

But I've had years of listening to or reading of writers who say that their characters took off with the page, or that they had no idea what was coming next , the characters took over or any other myriad of things writers say about the creative process and where the work comes from. I never got that. I mean these people and these ideas are coming from the writers' heads. How could they not know?

I'm not sure I get it still, but I definitely had something special going on this Saturday. Hard won, hard found, and hardly known, but something.

Though I am curious about what might happen next.

No Rest for the Wicked

2010-06-03T16:21:00.005-04:00

I've got a stack of work on my desk that will not end till the end of my day because we're short staffed today, last month's freelance copy that I have to rewrite – again – for what's probably the fifth time by Monday, a deluge of *****X work expected to begin its June gestation at my desk tomorrow, and a pitch and summary to perfect before next Friday's big luncheon not to mention the need to finish writing the DAMN BOOK.

So I'm a tad stressed.

What I really want to do it curl up with Sherry Thomas' newest novel His at Night. Two days and I'm only on chapter 5. Unheard of! I've also got Julia James' Something About You waiting for me at the library and my cousin's Christmas Barnes and Noble gift card to bruise with Julia Quinn's Ten Things I Love About You. I need a vacation just to get through my TBR pile!

The freelance work has me annoyed. I'm so appreciative of it because, despite my client's title increase this year, I'm getting fewer and fewer assignments. There's a lot of good reasons for that, few if any that have to do with me or my work directly, but it's a dramatic enough decrease that it's no longer a piece of income I can rely on regularly. More time for my own writing then, you say? Well, yes, but the pay out for that is a long way off – if ever. And cash in hand is gooooood. My fabulous editor got me some extra cash for it because it really is a new direction for the copy, and that's very good. But I'm still annoyed because I thought the job was put to bed and here the editor hadn't even looked at it yet and once she did, decided it needed to be sweeter. Oh-kay. It's a pretty hot book, but apparently were focusing on babies and fantasies and happily ever after and sweet instead. I don't typically do sweet and having a baby is not my idea of happily ever after, so I lift an incredulous, Stephen Colbert-like brow at this and then repeat my manta – not my book, not my book, not my book.

Because it's not my book; it's someone else's hard work that my copy with help position to sell. Ideally. Someday perhaps, someone will be writing copy for my hard work. Yeah right. Like I won't rewrite that puppy a hundred times. But until then, I'll bend my pen to this title again to try to find the right words that are not too smart or witty, nothing remotely chick-lit-y about it, as, rather than weave my new bracelet into my WIP this weekend, I'll spend the few hours I have post another PA visit to rewrite and reposition this copy – very sweetly, I promise.

Because on Monday, the real work begins. On Monday, the faux wood of my desktop will disappear beneath the bevy of job bags from *****X. it may indeed save lives, but this month, as it does every June, it will do its damnedest to kill me.

Good thing I have a few good books to look forward to.