The evolution of a story...

Some days, writing is pure pleasure. The words flow onto the page like water rushing down a mountain stream during spring run-off. That’s when I love being an author. It’s easy and fun and everything comes together exactly as I pictured it in my mind. That’s not how it always goes, though.
I struggle with the first thousand words, every single time. I’m just learning about my characters, their likes and dislikes, and how they are going to react to each other. The words come slowly, reluctant to commit themselves to my laptop’s screen. There are numerous false starts, and dead ends that need to be fixed. Sometimes, it’s a battle to force the characters to do what I want them to do. I start. I stop. I get more coffee. I type a few paragraphs, and then stop again. I take the dog for a walk. I let the cat in. Why does the hero think the girl is not good for him? Why is the heroine refusing to see how wonderful the hero is?
I’m a modified plotter. I don’t write by the seat of my pants, not really. I have a vague outline, and I struggle to get a sense of how the characters fit into it. It can take days of fitful attempts to get a good start on the pages, one that I feel, deep in my gut, is right. And then the process gets smoother. The characters lead me where they want to go. There is a give and take. The connection between the lead characters grows and strengthens. There are love scenes that make my heart race, and exhilaration races through me.
Now it is good and I remember why I do this. It’s not for the money or the prestige, it’s because I have to get the stories out of my head.

I’m a writer. It’s what I do.

Weird and Wonderful Reading Places

WEIRD & WONDERFUL READING PLACES By Maree Anderson (for Writers Gone Wild)

Hi y'all,

Writing-wise, this week's been a complete write-off.

Have you ever had one of those?

Sure you have. Everyone has 'em.

But even though I've not managed to do any actual writing, looking back, I've still managed to do a bit of "research". Namely, crammed in some reading time and even managed to finished up a couple of library books.

I touted up the books I read this week, and was quite surprised by the number. And immediately felt a bit guilty, because my first thought was that if I'd found a way to put all that reading time toward writing, surely I'd have a quite healthy wordcount by now! And if that was indeed the case, then maybe I've been kidding myself about how busy I've been?!

But I've realized that I haven't actually had any sustained reading time. What I've been doing is snatching a couple of minutes to read here and there. And it's all added up.

Reading while brushing my teeth. It's amazing how meticulous my brushing has become, going over and over each tooth, because I just "have" to keep going until I've finished that really exciting chapter. I really should suggest this technique to my dentist!

Reading while waiting for the pot to boil so that I could put the pasta on. And then going, ah, feck it! Pasta only takes 10 minutes to cook, so I'll just lean up against this handy dandy cupboard here, and read for 8 more minutes... leaving 2 minutes to grate some Romano cheese, grab the jar of pasta sauce, bowls and forks. Who would ever suspect I wasn't completely involved with cooking dinner? ;-)

Reading while waiting to pick up son from Japanese language class. Got in five whole minutes because he was a bit late out -- score! Pity I didn't get the chance to do the same after driving from there to pick daughter up from hockey practice, because she was already waiting for me. But hey, there's always next week.

Reading while eating breakfast. Well, that kinda goes without saying, I reckon. Son, daughter and DH also have a habit of spooning cereal into their ears -- I mean, mouths -- while reading at the breakfast table. Mind you, with DH it's the Economist, which doesn't really count as a "book" but I think we'll give him that one.

Reading in the dentist's waiting room. Why is it that patients are required to ring and advise if they're going to be late -- because, yanno, a dentist is a professional and his time is soooo important -- but when the dentist is running late, no-one rings the patient to tell them their appointment is going to be half an hour or so later than scheduled? Ditto with doctors. And any other professionals one has to book appointments for. Oh well. Lucky I had my book with me, right?

Reading while waiting for my computer to boot up. And then my emails to download. Amazing how relaxed I can be about how freaking long it takes when there's a good book at hand, LOL.

And my personal favorite: reading in the TV ad breaks. I find that when I've been rushing round like a bat out of hell during the day, it's cathartic to zone out in front of the TV for a couple of hours and watch a favorite program like House or The Good Wife, or Flash Forward. But that zone-out time is never wasted when there's a good book to hand. Amazing how much reading you can get done in the 3-minute-30 second (or sometimes 4-minute) ad breaks.

I miss reading in the bath. It's a luxury I haven't indulged in far too long because frankly, our bath at home is small and pokey and it's in the kids' bathroom, so you're always getting interrupted. Cripes, hope my hotel room at the RWNZ conference venue has a bath so I can wallow for half an hour with a good book before getting ready for the evening functions. I tell you, if someone came up with a waterproof eReader so I could read while taking a shower, I'd pay a small fortune for one.

Anyway, anyone feel like sharing some of the weird and wonderful places or circumstances where you manage to snatch extra reading time?

I'm open to suggestions!

:-)

Maree

Win a Copy of No Turning Back

No Turning Back, the third military romantic suspense of my series with The Wild Rose Press, releases on Friday. This is Ben's story, and while he can be a giant pain in the ass, I hope you'll love him anyway. I'm going to give away a copy to one commenter, so if you're interested leave me a quick note and I'll choose the winner on Friday. Good luck!

Blurb:CIA communications expert Samarra Wallace is on the run from a faceless enemy when she learns terrorists have kidnapped and threatened to execute her cousin. She will do whatever it takes to free her, including breaking cover to contact the former teammate she is dangerously attracted to. Now all she has to do is convince him she's not working for the bad guys.

Ex-Army Ranger Ben Sinclair isn’t sure he can trust Sam, but he can't turn her away. Lives are at stake and she may be the only way to capture the terrorist mastermind his team is hunting. Despite his reservations, he finds himself falling for her. But when Sam's innocence is questioned again during a botched operation in the remote mountains of Afghanistan, the team pays a terrible price for trusting her. In the wake of that staggering betrayal Ben must decide if she's the innocent woman he fell in love with, or if she's a traitor who'd set them up to die.

Excerpt:
[Baghdad: late evening]

Still rattled from the bizarre events of the morning, Sam made her way to the hotel Ben had designated for their meeting. Thank God he’d answered her plea for help. When he hadn’t answered right away, she hadn’t been sure he would, but the knowledge she was going to see him gave her a renewed sense of hope and energized her exhausted body.

As soon as she saw him, she was going to fling her arms around him and hold on tight, just as she’d imagined doing a thousand times over the past week. She didn’t care if he thought she was losing it, because once she touched him she’d know for certain she was safe. Starting tonight, they’d be able to do something to help Neveah and the other hostages she’d read about in a paper she’d glimpsed at the market that morning.

Though she’d be glad to see him, she couldn’t help the thread of unease that slid through her at the thought of seeing him face-to-face again.

You’re being stupid. Ben won’t hurt you.

Holding on to that thought, she jogged up the stairwell to the third floor and found her way to the room he’d specified. Pulling out the key that had been left for her at the front desk, she unlocked the door and opened it hesitantly, glancing around in the stygian darkness before stepping inside. Ben wasn’t here yet. She was glad, because she could use a little extra time to pull herself together before he arrived. He was coming, right? He wouldn’t tell her to meet him and then blow her off.

Would he?

She hated the uncertainty. The sound of her even breathing was harsh in the silent room. When the door shut behind her with a soft click, a dim lamp came on across the room. She jerked, blinking in the glare as her heart rate skyrocketed.

“Hi Sam.”

The low cadence of his voice almost made her knees buckle. The hand she’d pressed to her heart fell away in relief. He was really there. She stared across the room at his large frame, folded into a wingback chair. He was an incredibly attractive man, but she’d forgotten how much so. Tall, muscular, black hair short in the back and a little longer in front and pale green eyes. The mellow light from the lamp played across his high cheekbones and square jaw, highlighting the jade of his eyes and the cleft in his chin. He’d shaved off his goatee, but a few days of growth shadowed his features. Even covered with stubble, his face was still enough to stop the breath in her lungs. But his frigid expression lodged it in her tight throat.

Any thought of rushing over to hug him vanished. She swallowed. He didn’t look all that happy to see her. In fact, he seemed pissed off. “H-hi.” Her voice came out as a mere thread. She felt completely off-balance.

He was deceptively relaxed in his seat as he studied her, but a coiled energy seethed beneath his calm surface. He could be out of that chair and on her in a heartbeat, and they both knew it. If it came down to fending him off, she had no chance in hell. He was twice her size and a fifth level black belt, in addition to being a former Army Ranger. The way he watched her with those cool eyes told her just how confident he was of his ability to subdue her if necessary. She wouldn’t have a prayer against him physically, so the only thing left to use as a weapon was her brain. At least there, they were evenly matched.

First off, she had to find out what had put him into this mood she’d never seen from him before. Her pulse drummed against her throat, dread eroding her joy at seeing him.

He shifted a little, and when his hand moved she realized for the first time he was holding a gun. She froze, fear squeezing her dry throat like a fist. She couldn’t take her eyes from the pistol, which she had no doubt was loaded.

“I’m not going to shoot you,” he said laconically, “unless you do something stupid. Since we both know you’re the furthest thing from that, I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She gulped and raised her eyes. What the hell was going on? Ben was holding a loaded gun against her.

“Been busy?” he asked in a mocking tone.

She attempted to pull herself together. Why even bother asking? If he’d followed the transmitter in her phone, then he knew exactly where she’d been the past few days. She refused to let him see he’d rattled her. Her chin came up. “I had a few things to take care of.” Like staying alive.

His short laugh was far from warm. “I bet you did, sweetheart.”

His south Boston accent took the R out of the endearment and made her heart ache. A few short days ago, he’d looked at her with warmth and kindness. Now, the expression in his eyes was almost glacial. Speculative and even angry. He had a right to feel that way after she’d disappeared on the team, but why the gun and the hostility radiating from him? She wished he’d let her explain everything. She needed him to believe her, because she had no one else to turn to.

Gathering her courage, she took a step away from the door, then another, holding that frigid gaze. He sat perfectly still, a tiger waiting to attack its prey. It unnerved her. This was not the jovial, affectionate Ben she’d come to know. He was a total stranger right now.

She stalled out a few steps from him, scrambling for something to say to ease the tension. “Ben, I—”

“Stop right there and hand me your bag.”

She bit her lip and did so, waiting while he emptied the meager contents on the table and went over each item looking for electronic devices. She clenched her teeth. Like she’d even had time to think about bugging anything.

He set the bag beside his chair. “Got your BlackBerry?”

She nodded. “In my pocket.” She was afraid to retrieve it in case it made him aim the gun at her. Her fingers twitched once, then fell still.

He held out one hand, palm up. Her eyes followed it. He had such beautiful, strong hands. She’d spent many hours working next to him, admiring them as they moved over the keyboard and the rest of their equipment. Long, lean fingers, the short-clipped nails blunt and clean. The hands of a healer and a warrior. She remembered the feel of them on her shoulders when he and Rhys came to her apartment after she’d called them for help back at the start of this whole mess. They’d lent comfort and support. Kindness. Now he motioned one impatiently at her.

“Hand it over.”

Careful to move slowly in case he suspected she had a weapon of some kind, she dug it out of her pocket and put it in his broad palm, the brief contact shooting sparks of heat up her arm. She snatched her hand back, hating the fact her body didn’t pick up on the cold front it had walked in on. He seemed remote, but she sensed something seething beneath his composed exterior. Whatever was going on in his head, he had to have something more on his mind than her disappearance. “You seem upset,” she ventured, not knowing what to make of it. If anyone should be upset, shouldn’t it be her?

An awful silence met her words. It expanded until it filled the room and pressed in on her.

“Upset?” he said finally, then shrugged. “I’m not upset. I’m just trying to figure out why you’d fall of the face of the earth exactly when bad shit started happening.”

She licked her lips, not liking what he was inferring. Something else must have happened that she didn’t know about. “I don’t know what I can say that will make you believe me,” she began, stomach squeezing tighter when he didn’t even glance at her. Despair filled her. “I called you because I need your help.”

He set her BlackBerry on the side table next to him and regarded her dispassionately. “That’s nice.”

His remote expression jangled her nerves. What had happened to make him look at her like that?

“You want me to trust you, Sam?”

She frowned. “Of course I do.”

“You’re a bright girl, so I’m sure you can understand why that’s not going to happen. But if you want to try to earn my trust, I’m game.” He tilted his dark head, pale eyes glittering a challenge in the lamp light. “You can start by taking off all your clothes.”


I hope I hooked you. To check out the previous two books, go to my blog or website for more information. Get ready for some edge-of-your-seat action and hold on tight!

Happy reading,
Kaylea :)

How To Spot A Bastard By His Star Sign

(Tambra Kendall for Writers Gone Wild)

I'm always on the look-out for good and unusual books for research or to help with my writing.

A number of years ago, I found this book called, How To Spot A Bastard By His Star Sign by Adele Lang & Susi Rajah.

Worst case scenarios (mostly) of all the star signs for men.
I thought this would be a great addition to my books on characterization. I wasn't wrong.

How can you not instantly love a book that starts like this (page 3) We're-Hot-So-Shut-Up-and-Worship-Us FIRE SIGNS: Aries
Fire Sign Bastards are always better than you and will never fail to tell you so. They'll then hammer the fact home by telling you again-just in case you didn't hear them the first time.

(Page 6 for Aries): English is his second language, grunting is his first. And all he can grunt about is himself, his career, his sporting achievements, and how feminists would be a lot less uptight if he gave them all a good f*ck. Of course, good and f*ck are polar opposites when it comes to this rock-throwing Romeo.

It goes on for each sign with these categories: How To Spot One, Where To Find One, How To Intrigue One, The First Date, When To Do The Deed, When To Pop The Question, If He Dumps You, If You Dump Him

ISBN:0-312-28486-1
Published by St. Martin's Press

I found my copy of the book at Barnes and Noble. Not only is the book funny but it can really give you some good characteristics for characters.

Let me know if you have the book or if you buy it.

Hugs to all,
Tambra

Romancing a Miracle

Silence...

That's what woke Geo. Not the idyllic, ocean whisper that made Sanibel Island the perfect retreat for some downtime with his kid. Oh, hell ,no. This particular hush was tense, thick, the proverbial calm before the storm. The storm in this case being his nine-year old son, Blaise.

Where the hell was he?

Sitting up, Geo pushed a hand through his hair and shook the cobwebs from his mind. A quick scan of his surroundings revealed no evidence of the boy's whereabouts.

"Blaise!" he shouted.

His words were devoured by the pounding surf. Brilliant move, Sherlock. And since when had calling out for his kid had precipitated a response, much less offer a clue to his whereabouts?

Christ, what kind of father was he?

That's an excerpt from my new work in progress, Passion Storm. Natch, it's a parnormal.

A lot of people feel writing is therapeutic, but I've always argued that for me, story telling is escapism in its purest form. Reality kinda blows right now, so it's no accident that my work leans heavily on magic and supernatural elements. Contemporaries have this way of veering off in a direction that risks coming too close to home. Close to home right now = not so good, especially since my oldest son's difficulties with autism were compounded by schizophrenia.

The culmination of my boy's illness led to the partial burning of our home. Nuf said. Suffice it to say, this last year has been a painful one for my family. We are in recovery mode. So escapism has remained the rule of the day when it comes to writing.

Or so I thought.

When I began my latest piece, all I knew was a few sketchy details. My hero, Geo, is a widower. He is also unknowingly allergic to the toxins in the Red Tide, and he has visited Sanibel Island with his son, Blaise.

When his boy goes missing, Geo goes off in search of him. As his quest to find his son before the season's first hurricane breaks grinds on, the Red tide sickens him to the point that he develops amnesia. He wanders aimlessly through the mangroves until he comes upon a lovely mermaid who has been exiled from her brood for reasons unknown to him. With her is a beautiful young boy....

My mermaid, Arabeth, has her own problems. She is infertile. In this world, mermaids get only three moons in which to breed and hers are over. Unless she wants to serve her brood as a servant to her sister's child, her life is over. Instead of spreading her toxic resentment to her innocent nephew, she exiles herself from her brood.

Solitude brings it's own brand of misery until Arabeth finds a mute child wandering alone in the mangroves. Surely Triton has heard her prayers!

As I began pounding at the keyboard, I discovered that my hero's son wandered off in search of the elusive seashell that would complete his collection. By the time I go to the end of that scene, I realized that the boy in my story has autism.

Woah. Stop typing. Do I really want to go there?

Guess so. While I filed the story away as too dangerous to pursue, Geo's and Blaise's continued to haunt me...

Turns out, Geo has brought his son to the islands because the lull of the ocean is the only place in the world where Blaise can escape some of his sensory difficulties and simply enjoy being a kid for a while.

Or so Geo thought...

Little does my amnesiac hero know that the child he has assumes belongs to the Arabeth is actually his son...until she tells Geo that he is her mate. Since he doesn't remember squat,and he and the boy have matching birthmarks, he accepts her statement as truth. And day-um, she's a really hot mermaid. :)

Problem is, Red Tides don't last forever. With the end of this one drawing near, Arabeth knows the man who believes himself her mate,the man she has fallen hopelessly in love with, will soon remember who he is. She knows that when Geo discovers what she has done, he will stop loving her and take away her last, best hope for true love and motherhood.

Looks like this story doesn't intend to leave me alone. Yes, I thought my writing was escapist. And in a way, it still is. In this alien world, I feel safe exploring my greatest fear: that I'll wake up someday and my boy will be missing.

Have there been tears as I've worked on this piece? Um....yeah. But there's also hope growing here. Somewhere along the way, I forgot that love makes miracles happen. Love heals. Love transforms....

Love is all about believing in happy endings.

And that's why I write romance.

Tall Poppy Syndrome

TALL POPPY SYNDROME by Maree Anderson (for Writers Gone Wild)

We New Zealanders are well-known for our Tall Poppy Syndrome. In other words, if you excel at something, you keep your head down and don't advertise the fact. You don't tell people how good you are at something. You don't put yourself forward. And if anyone does call you on it, you downplay your abilities, even talk yourself down.

Those who are good and don't try to hide it, are often considered arrogant. Delusional, even. People often can't wait to see them fail and take great pleasure in it if they do.

This extends to sports, the performing arts, academic achievements... you name it. And kids learn the deal from an early age. Especially in our schools you'll find kids who know the answers, refusing to put their hands up. Because they don't want to be jeered at . They don't want to be "different". And to fit in, they hide their talents under a blanket of I-want-to-be-the-same-as-all-the-rest mediocrity.

So it was no surprise to me that when daughter came home and said she'd been chosen for her high-school's gifted kids program, we had a chore on our hands.

My heart went out to her. She was thrilled to bits to give me the letter from the teacher running the program. Proud as punch to turn the letter over and show me her brilliant scores on various tests designed specifically to catch kids like her. And then, when it all had time to sink in and we were looking at how much time away from the classroom was involved, reality smacked her a good one.

Her friends would dis her -- she already gets a hard time for putting her hand up in class and knowing the answers. Or being asked by the teachers to help other kids out. I have it on good authority she's always kind and never arrogant, but that doesn't help matters. Sure, the teachers love her but that only makes her life more difficult. She's been labelled a "teachers' pet" and not even the fact that she plays hockey and is not too shoddy at it, seems to give these kids pause.

Bottom line? She doesn't want to be in the program. "Mom," she told me, "I don't want to be smart. I just want to be like everyone else!"

So, what the heck are you supposed to do when a bright kid, who has all the potential in the world, only wants to be average so she can fit in?

Tough call. Because we all remember how desperately we wanted to be "cool" and "fit in" at high school.

I went to the parents' meeting last night and here's a funny aside: I was in a hurry to get to the meeting, so making a good first impression wasn't foremost in my mind. Hence me turning up in trackpants, runners and a bright blue tee-shirt featuring a yellow cartoon chick wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and proclaiming Chick With Brains. Hmmm. Appropriate, much? Well, perhaps if my daughter had been the one wearing it and not me, LOL. Especially considering everyone else had come straight from work and was nicely dressed. Whoops.

Anyway, I discovered at the meeting that what my daughter is going through is not unusual. And it was a relief to talk to other parents and find out what their sons and daughters think about the program. The teacher in charge is sympathetic, too. That's why she's called it "The Wings Program" instead of "The Gifted Children Program". Because, as she said, "People think you're boasting if you say your kid's gifted. Same with the kids: their peers think they're showing off. So we don't like to use the word 'gifted'. This way, the kids can just tell their friends they're going to Wings and they won't be hassled about it."

Sad but true.

So we're encouraging our daughter to stick with the program and to just kick back and enjoy the experience of being extended along with kids who won't dis her. In other words, celebrate her differences and not try to fit in by pretending to be something she's not. Life lesson #1: Lying (or in this case, misrepresenting yourself) always comes back to bite you in the butt! And with a bit of luck, our little tall poppy will embrace the Wings program and learn to soar. Or at the very least, handle those kids who rag on her.

Hey, I just thought of something. At least I wasn't wearing the tee-shirt that goes, "It's hard to soar like an eagle when you work with turkeys". LOL.

So what about you guys? Ever had to deal with people putting you down because you're talented at something? (I could only wish!)

And what do you tell your kids when they're in the firing line because they've excelled at something?

That's it for this week. See you next Thursday!

Cheers,

Maree

Moving and Writing

Over the last month as I was packing up all mine and the hubby's stuff for the big move, I did a lot of purging. Boxes of clothes, kitchen items, books (sniffle), and everything else. As I'm settling into my new home I realized it wasn't nearly enough. Didn't think that was possible given how much I've gotten rid. The place we're in now is adorable but it's also a lot smaller so I re-purged my book collection and gave a box to my mother-in-law and later this week I'll be dropping another off at a local thrift store. That's in addition to a mess of other stuff.


Even though it's hard to say goodbye to my books, it's also a little liberating. I know I'll never reread the ones I gave away or in some cases read at all so I'm glad they're going to a good home. It's a little like how I feel when I'm ripping scenes out of a story. Sometimes the words just don't fit or an entire scene is in deviation from my character's personality or whatever reason. Saying goodbye to my words is always hard even though it's the best thing for my story. I'm not one of those people who fight saying goodbye, but I do mourn the loss.


What about you? Are you a pack rat when it comes to saving stuff whether it be words in your manuscript or antique action figure lunch boxes?

The rhythym of the muse

Fact: Everyone has a Circadian rhythm, a way their bodies and minds function according to sleep patterns in a twenty four hour period. For instance, I am more creative first thing when I wake up, less likely to criticize whatever I've slapped onto the page of my current WIP. I can only do math between 2:58 and 3:02 PM. Seriously. And after nine, I'm pretty much worthless without a cup (or an I.V.) of coffee to keep the old synapses firing.

Part of our natural rhythm has to do with lifestyle. People with kids need to get up early to make sure the little darlings don't root around in the refrigerator and upend a container of Parmesan cheese on the kitchen floor. Those who work the graveyard shift get use to sleeping while the sun is up. My husband would stay on third shift if his job let him; he's a total night owl to my lark.

Understanding these patterns can help busy people, schedule their days. I try to get up and log a few hundred words first thing in the morning. If I don't have any other pressing tasks, I might be able to stretch that out into a few thousand. There are days where I need to don the Hazmat suit and my fantasy world doesn't get another thought. Then my muse packs a bag and heads off to Cabo. Fickle, fickle creature.

So how about you, do you find you have a more productive time of day? Are you more patient, more insightful according to the angle of the sun or is it all just random? What kinds of things throw you off your game? Inquiring minds want to know!

A New Start

A New Start
by Tambra Kendall

I’ve just finished taking the last three classes for my degree. I hope I pass. LOL
I needed closure and to finish what I started. If all goes well, I’ll have my AA in English.
Through my Early British Literature class, I discovered a love for Chaucer and Christopher Marlowe.

Now that I’m out of school, I’ve been setting up my art studio. Some of you may not know but I’ve been an artist for a number of years. I hope things settle down so I can take lessons again. I’m mostly self-taught. After I move into the studio, I have a series of fantasy art watercolors planned.
My eventual goal is galleries and possibly book covers. Artists that have influences me are: Beatrix Potter, Brian Froud, Boris Vallejo, Julie Bell and Jessica Galbreth.

I do have stories to finish and submit to literary agents and I’m really excited to take this next step in my writing career.

I look at this as a new start, a new beginning for me.

If anyone is looking to take one of my online classes, I’ll be teaching at Savvy Authors in July on The Basics of Romance Writing. www.savvyauthors.com

A bad storm is approaching. I have to get off the computer and shut things down.

Hugs to all,
Tambra Kendall/Keelia Greer
Christmas of Hope: 5 Cups and a recommended read from
Coffee Time Romance Reviews and 4 Books from
Long and Short Reviews with a recommended read!

Families and Reunions

My family isn’t the big, extended kind that holds family reunions in the park in July. Truthfully, we could hold a reunion in a small motel room. I have one brother and one sister, and between us we have seven children. There are no aunts or uncles or cousins. We’ve managed to move to opposite ends of the globe, so face to face meetings are few and far between. Oddly, my sister and I have managed to be in the same place at the same time several times a year for the past couple of years, and I just found out that she will be meeting me at my Dad’s place when I go later this week. Dad, of course, lives on the other side of the continent.

My sister lives in China, which is as far from my home as she could get without actually leaving the Earth, so I’m thrilled that she’ll be able to join me. We might even get to have a girl’s night out this time. I find that the older we get, the more we appreciate each other. When we had young families we never had the time (or the ability, before internet and e-mail) to keep in touch. Things have changed a great deal, and now we can toss ideas back and forth with the click of a mouse. Technology has truly changed our world.

As for my brother, he’s only one province over so I get to see him several times a year, and I know that if I holler for help, he’d be here in mere hours to rescue his little sister. It’s a comforting feeling.
So despite the fact that there are so few of us, we all feel very loved. How about you? Did your family remain in the same place when they grew up, or did they scatter to the ends of the Earth like mine?

Has LOST Lost the Plot?

Has LOST Lost the Plot? by Maree Anderson (for Writers Gone Wild)

Hi all,

To paraphrase Nathan Bransford, so what the hell is going on with Lost?

Now before I go any further, please, no spoilers! Doubtless New Zealand TV is a tad behind the US, so we've got about 3 episodes to go before the end of the final series.

I gotta admit, I'm not really enjoying this last series. I get the feeling that the end is being rushed. The writers have opened up soooo many plot threads, that now it's the final season, they're scrambling to sew them up. Honestly, there's so much going on and so much skipping through time, that I find it hard to remember what the hell has happened from week to week. I'm kinda numbly going with the flow and not even bothering to make sense of it all any more. And if it wasn't for the fact that I've been with Lost from the very beginning, and I'm determined to see it through to the end, I'd probably give it up for...well, lost. (Hah! Sorry 'bout the unintentional pun. *rolls eyes*)

(Note to Lost writers: did you really have to make it so gosh darned complicated?)

Anyway, in last night's episode, two of my favorite characters died. Sun and Jin had only just found each again after being lost across time, then Sun gets trapped when the bomb goes off in the submarine. Hurley can't help because he's saving Kate, who's been shot. Jack can't help, because he's saving Sawyer, who's unconscious. Sayid's just died. So has the pilot dude. And despite Sun begging him to go, Jin opts to stay with her rather than save himself, and they both drown.

The ultimate sacrifice: to promise someone you love that you'll never leave them again, and die with them. It was a heartbreaking moment....

Or at least, it would have been if I hadn't been so royally pissed that these two characters hadn't got their much deserved happy ever after. And I'm this close -- visualize a really teeny tiny gap between thumb and forefinger -- to not watching the rest of the series. Especially now they've made a point of letting viewers know that certain people are expendable, because their names are either not on the cave wall, or have been crossed out and they're no longer "candidates".

I swear, if Kate dies next week, I'm outta here. I'll read a synopsis of the final episodes online somewhere, but I won't bother to watch them. DH feels the same. Because we've invested too much in these main characters to be thrilled by them being killed off. We're waaaay past the stage where we'll stare at each other when the episode credits roll and exclaim, "Wow, I sure didn't see that coming! Boy, are these writers gutsy to kill off a main character!"

Basically, we're saps: we admit it. We've put up with all sorts of twisty turny "WTF?" plot weirdness , we've put up with loads of nasty unexpected deaths of various beloved characters, and we've reached our limit. The Lost characters have been put through hell and frankly, now we just want everyone to live Happily Ever After. I guess we're both just romantics at heart, LOL.

So if Lost was a series of books, would you still be reading?

Or would you have given it away long before now?

I rather suspect I'd have given it away.

:-(

Maree

Absolution

At long last I get to show off the cover for the fifth and final book of my romantic suspense series with The Wild Rose Press. Absolution features Luke, my favorite character (like you couldn't tell, if you've read any of my other books), and his ex-wife Emily. These two have been through hell and back, and if anyone deserves a HEA, they do.





























I'm thrilled with this cover, and today I received the file for the final galley so I get to spend one last read through with Luke before saying goodbye. I had a hard time moving past this series once it was finished, and took a month off to let my muse lick her wounds after I contracted Absolution. It won't be out until the end of the year at the earliest, but I hope you'll love this wrenching love story as much as I do.

Happy Mother's Day

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY By Mareee Anderson (for Writers Gone Wild)

It's Mother's Day this coming Sunday (well, here in New Zealand, anyway.)

We've got two different traditions for Mother's Day in our household. In my family, we always celebrated the day with a small gift for our mom. When my brother and I were younger, and had no money of our own, we would make a card, and produce a handmade gift that we'd made at school or at home. When we were more capable -- i.e. less likely to burn the toast and drop the breakfast tray! -- we'd get her breakfast in bed, or make a lunch or dinner. As we got older, left home and earned our own money, we sent gifts to our mom and remembered to ring her on the day if we couldn't see her in person.

In DH's family, Mother's Day is considered to be a day where mothers remember their responsibilities to their children. So no gifts, but DH will phone his mom on the day. And needless to say, DH isn't impressed about the "rah rah rah! Spend mega-bucks to show your mom you care!" circus that the retailers have made Mother's Day into here in New Zealand. Evidently you show her you care with diamonds or a flat-screen TV or expensive linen.

Hmmmm. Gotta admit I wouldn't exactly say no! LOL.

So when DH and I got married, and Mother's Day swung 'round, the inevitable question was asked of me, "What's with the gifts?" And some tension arose over our different family traditions, until I pointed out that I was hardly going to quit sending presents after years and years of doing so, just because his family treat the day differently. We finally agreed to disagree, LOL.

I still remember my first Mother's Day. In other words, the first Mother's Day that I was actually a mom! I remember it because in the flurry to race all the way out to my mom's place with DH and baby daughter in tow, and present her with my Mother's Day gift, I completely forgot about myself. In fact, it was so stressful getting a very young baby in the car with all the assorted gear, and driving quite some distance, and then trying to cope with nursing and timing the drive home with naptime, that it didn't even occur to us that I could be celebrating Mother's Day until very late that night!

I think it went something like:

"Hey, I just remembered I'm a mom!"
"Hey, you are, too! 'Happy Mother's Day, sweetie.'"
"Thanks! Oh crap. The baby's crying."

If nothing else, it was a memorable non-event, LOL.

So how do we celebrate Mother's Day in a mixed tradition household?

I don't subscribe to the gift-giving idea, though I freely admit I'd be rapt if I got gifts -- what living, breathing female wouldn't be? LOL. So all I hope for is that my kids will remember to make me a card and try their best not to argue with each other for the day. If I'm lucky, they might even make me breakfast in bed and I'll be left to read a book in peace for an hour or so. Bliss!

What about you? How do you celebrate Mother's Day?

And to those of you who are moms, Happy Mother's Day for Sunday! I'll be thinking of you.

:-)

M

Happy Cinco de Mayo

Hi all! I wish I had something witty or thought provoking today but I'm in the midst of packing and dealing with all the fun things associated with a move across a couple states so... I'm just gonna wish you all a Happy Cinco de Mayo. Contrary to what some people believe, this is not Mexico's Independence Day. Short history lesson: France and Mexico were at war over a financial dispute so the French invaded Mexico. They were doing okay until they hit Puebla. On May 5, 1862, the Mexican army defeated the much larger, stronger French army. The war still wouldn't end for another four or five years but the Battle of Puebla was a big deal. End history lesson.


It's more of a regional thing in Mexico, but apparently Americans don't need an excuse to throw back a bunch of margaritas ;) I'll be enjoying coffee with my mom after work today (yes, I know I'm a wild one) but if you go out tonight, have fun!! Oh, and a little less than a decade ago I was a bartender and margaritas are a pain in the butt to make so show your bartender some love tonight! (and no, I don't mean that in a dirty way)

Writing and Mother Nature

Is it just me or does it seem like the human race is being seriously spanked by natural disasters in the last decade? Earthquakes, tsunami, flooding, tornadoes, hurricanes, volcanoes, yeah it's enough to make a body feel pretty insignificant.

We can make all the plans we want, act like total arrogant tools but leave it to Mother Nature to take us down a peg, show us that what we know doesn't amount to a hill of beans.

When I logged on this morning , I noticed one of the most searched for items was the Gaylord Opryland Hotel, which was seriously affected by the flooding in TN. No one knows the true extent of the damage yet but everyone is expecting the hotel to be closed for months. It is also supposed to be the site of the 2010 RWA national conference at the end of July and as the latest RWA bulletin stated, we are in a wait and see mode.

Tennessee is wrecked, if you want a real accounting of what's going on, follow Sherrilyn Kenyon on Twitter. She lives in that area and is posting about the devastation she and her friends and family are going through.

I grew up in Barryville, N.Y. along the Deleware River. I've seen flooding, and the havoc left behind when the waters recede. My grandfather built me a playhouse back in the 80's above the site of the old D&H canal. I remember my cousins helping to paint it and etch flowers on the window boxes. It was where I played house, and school and made up some of my very first stories.

It was leveled in the flooding of September 2004. When I was still in the hospital after giving birth to my youngest son. My grandmother had to be evacuated by canoe as the stream that ran through her property washed the bridge out. Her house was mostly okay, some damage in the garage but the water didn't get inside the actual house. Overall, we were lucky.

So I guess it's only natural that when I set my story River Rats along the same river, there was going to be a flood. Natural disasters are quiet a plot device for a writer, but sometimes they're much more than that.