Labor Day--Better Than New Year's?

Lots of people wait for January 1st to formulate resolutions, but for me, Labor Day's all about new beginnings. Even at 57 (soon to be 58!!), the last holiday of the summer brings back memories of anticipation. Anticipation of a new school year, which meant:

New clothes
New teacher
New subjects
New students
New notebook

New NEW NEW!

Opportunities everywhere for THIS TIME doing things differently.

On the night before the first day of school, I agonized over which of my new outfits to wear. At this stage of the year, they hung neatly in my closet, probably in some kind of pecking order--favorite to least favorite.

On the first day, I'd eagerly jump on the school bus, happy to see friends I hadn't seen all summer. I'd sashay down the aisle, waving at everyone, exulting in the buzz of excitement that underlay just a smidge of apprehension. (After all, first days have their downsides!)

Upon entering class, I'd be exceedingly polite to my new teacher (yes, I proactively aspired to the role of "teacher's pet.") And I'd scan the new classroom walls, taking in the murals and posters, excited about these signs of the learning to come.

Finally, I'd find my assigned seat, swing behind the desk, and place my notebook before me.

Ah......the new notebook.

Nothing cooler.

Its cover unscarred by meaningless doodles...its corners unfrayed by wear. And best of all, the inside of the notebook. All neatly sectioned off by tabbed dividers, protecting the fresh pages of paper not yet scribbled on.

I LOVED a fresh notebook.

And each year, I SWORE, that by the end of the year, the notebook would closely resemble its original form, the only difference being that the pages inside would now be filled with organized lessons, notes, essays--whatever the subject demanded.

Oh, I had a plan. Every year I had a plan.

THE PLAN was that each day, I'd go home after school, sit at the desk in my room, and carefully do my homework before watching any television. I would keep my lessons up-to-date and my reading assignments completed ahead of time.

I would not only be a good student, I would be AN ORGANIZED STUDENT.

* * * * * * S I G H * * * * *

Yeah, right.

You know how THAT turned out every year, huh?

But still...today is Labor Day. As I write this, a plumber is installing a new toilet (I guess the adult version of new beginnings).

Think I'll run out and buy a new notebook.

Flashback Friday

Oops. Missed last week. Is that laziness, or what? I mean, how hard is it to paste in something I've already written? Okay, so here's a post from September 5, 2005. Yikes. Six years ago.

The Pink Index Card

...or why it’s good to write things down.

When I see entire workshops devoted to ‘goal setting,’ I shake my head and think what’s the big deal? You set a goal, you strive to achieve it, and bingo—you either succeed or fail. Plain and simple. Why overanalyze? Why turn goal setting into some mysterious ritual full of hocus pocus psychobabble?

So, at the RWA National conference in Reno this past July, we arrived at one of our lunches to find pink index cards on the table. Enough for each of us. Turns out they’re the bright idea of multi-published author Debbie Macomber, our speaker that day. She instructed us to take the pink cards home and use them to write down five writing-related goals for the coming year. Then she called out the names of several authors in the audience who stood and waved their pink cards triumphantly. Recipients of Debbie’s advice in workshops past, they’d followed her advice and achieved their goals.

Well, I may not believe in hocus pocus, but I’m all about being superstitious. So, I toted that pink index card home (mindful that just any ol’ index card wouldn’t do—it had to be the one I got in Reno) and wrote down five goals. The first two were long-term best case scenario kinda things, and the others were stepping stones.

By the end of August, I had started to believe in the magic of the pink index card. Instead of my usual half-assed effort, I’d methodically mailed out several submissions—to agents, editors and contests. Feeling smug, I dug out my pink index card to mentally tick off what I’d accomplished.

Guess what I discovered?

I hadn’t remembered them correctly. I hadn’t even completed one of the stepping stones which, trust me, were quite do-able. This, after even writing them down!

So, it just goes to show you that 1) it’s not enough to store your goals in your head, and 2) it’s not enough to write them down.

I’m tacking that little pink card on the wall next to my computer.

Flashback Friday--A New Feature

Okay, call me lazy. Or call me frugal. I've decided to recycle some old posts and call them Flashback Friday. Well, hey. I've been blogging here for eons (yes, much more frequently in the past), and there are GEMS in those posts, I tell ya, GEMS.

So I went to a random date generator (God bless the Internet), and the first Friday it spit out was September 5, 2008.

Click, click, click (fingers crossed there's something halfway decent on that date, and voila!) The following is an account of what was going on in Randyland September 5, 2008.

Writing Stuff

Contrary to recent posts, Randy DOES continue to write romance. Currently, I'm hacking away at a manuscript for which the full has been requested by an agent.

So, that's something, right?

Meanwhile, partials of various manuscripts remain in slush piles all across Manhattan. My favorite is the partial that's been "with an editor" for nearly two years. (Yep, no typo there. TWO YEARS.) Another one--this an actual REQUEST--is going on ten months. Suffice to say, there are others that I suspect are lost forever with no response, despite the SASE provided. Ditto for a couple of short stories submitted twice (not to True Romance, by the way).

In the department of new writing, well...I'm trying an approach which I think can best be summed up as "letting the story come to me" instead of forcing it. When I first began this journey of questionable wisdom, it seemed prudent to have a second manuscript ready in the event the first one garnered significant interest. So I feverishly went about completing Stealing Amy (and then sold down the river to an epub). Then I wrote Leftovers. These days, I'm not in the same kind of hurry. As a result, after completing Lights! Camera! Love! back in February (March?), I didn't rush to start something new. Did a lot of research, though. Sketched out some characters and snippets of ideas. Conjured up a few possible plot lines. Tossed them out to my critique partners who came back with all kinds of help.

Still, the story didn't take shape--it didn't fit the nebulous vision in my brain.

So I waited.

Yesterday, I admitted to myself that I've been avoiding the structure the book absolutely MUST have if I'm to succeed at what I set out to achieve. Truthfully, I'm not sure I have the chops to pull it off, but I have to try.

The cool thing is that I get a little tingle in my writing fingers when I think about rising to the challenge.

Wish me luck!

Rant for A Sunday

Back when I first started blogging, the title of this site was Randy's Rants, Raves, and Ramblings...or something like that. I forget. Anyway, sometimes I miss having a venue to spill my guts, so today...ta-da! Back to ranting.

Yesterday, step-bro Patrick phoned with an ominous message--Charter Cable was threatening to cut off my mom's cable and Internet service if the outstanding bill wasn't paid within twenty-four hours. Since I handle all their finances, yeah, the issue landed in my lap.

And since I handle all their finances, WTF? Had I missed something?

Which meant a trip to the office where I keep all my paperwork. Just what I wanted to do on a Saturday, right? Schlep into the office? But schlep I did. And as I careened into the parking lot, it occurred to me...um...did I have my keys?

Spent ten minutes going through my purse a million times. No keys.

Schlepped back home (with a detour for gas), pawed through my other purses (y'know--the black one, the white one, the beige one). Finally found them in...you guessed it...the ORIGINAL purse. (How did I forget to check the little zippered pocket on the outside of the damn thing?)

Schlepped back to the office.

Hauled out my records and fired up the computer. Sure enough, there was the payment I made on July 23. Next, I called up the on-line bank statement.

Oops.

But, hey. Is it my fault someone (Charter? the bank?) mis-read my handwriting? That 188 looked a teensy bit like 108...? And aren't they supposed to go by the WRITTEN amount (y'know where the words are actually spelled out?). Meanwhile, I called stepbro, and the new bill had just arrived. Wasn't even due yet.

So, let me get this straight. For all Charter knows, I made a PARTIAL payment, the next payment isn't even due yet, and they're threatening to cut off the service??

Naturally, speaking to a human is nearly impossible, so rather than spend any more time on it, I paid the whole thing with a credit card. But I'm seriously pissed at Charter. (Yeah, and I know they're quaking in their boots.)

And while we're on a rant, how about this one? I ordered a rather pretty dress from an outfit called Soft Surroundings last week. It arrived on Friday, and for various reasons, I went back to the website to see what it looked like on-line. Well, crap. The thing was now on sale for FORTY DOLLARS less than I paid only a week ago! And, as I checked the dress out, I noticed it was made in China.

Back it goes.

Okay. Feeling better now. How 'bout you?

Leftovers Available Now! (Edited LOL)

Nooooo...we're not talking food, although each chapter begins with a tasty little recipe from my heroine's kitchen.

Leftovers is my latest release! (Pause for the applause)

I've gotta be honest here. Leftovers is a little different from my previous two books. Let's just say that while Stealing Amy and Lights! Cameras! Love! are romances that also happen to be mysteries, Leftovers is more like women's fiction that also happens to have romance. Go figure. I don't seem to be able to get away from it.

Anyway, just in case the description's not up at Amazon yet, here's what it will say when it arrives (okay, don't quote me on this, 'cuz I've already forgotten what I posted, but this is a reasonable facsimile):

Rose waited too long to get married...now she's stuck with other women's leftovers.

Call her an anti-feminist, but Rose Thornton doesn't care about 'having it all.' She just wants a husband and kids of her own to make up for inheriting the step-family from hell at the age of ten. Impending marriage to her boss John Worthington (the third, and a doctor no less!) bodes well for the dream...until she catches him with a hussy who turns out to be pregnant with his child.

Out of a job, temporarily bunking with a girlfriend, but still fiercely attached to her goal, Rose goes the Murphy Brown route, with only two minor glitches to solve: no money...no sperm. She gets the finances handled, then proceeds with daddy donor options: there's the "baby back-up" (her ex-beau who promised to do the deed if they managed to hit forty still childless); the Internet sperm bank (who knew swimmers were only a click away?);

and...well...there's dating.

Meanwhile, there's also Sam Sheridan--father of two daughters and married to Rose's sister, Angie. Only Angie's currently on hiatus in Borneo doing a spiritual cleanse and Sam's bi-coastal job's left him needing someone to watch the girls. Who better than a family member like jobless, homeless, Rose?

Treading in her sister's stilettos is pathetic enough, but when Rose finds herself falling for Sam, it's her worst nightmare come true.

Talk about your leftovers....

Available now as a digital download at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. And as soon as Smashwords ships to Apple and all the rest, you'll be the first to know!

And shhh...don't tell Amy or Daphne, but Rose's book is my favorite to date. ('Course I'll probably say the same thing about Jen And The Art of Menopausal Maintenance when I get around to finishing it.)

Coming Soon!

The Day I Taught Kunte Kinte About His Roots

Not sure how I got on this "the day I" kick, but whatever. Oh, and btw, this may turn out to be one of those "long road to hoe" stories, so apologies in advance.

In about 1980, producer Susan and I had the dream job. We were given free rein by Golden West Television to "come up with the next Scared Straight" (with which we'd been peripherally involved). Over the course of several months, we shot hours and hours of film for what she envisioned as a documentary about how and why our society is effing up its children.

Along the way, we encountered this cool character named Barney, an old white guy helping kids in Watts and Compton. Two things about Barney instantly come to mind--one, he drank a lot of water, and why? So he'd wake up all night long, climb into his van and patrol the streets looking for youngsters who shouldn't be out. Two, he EMPLOYED kids on weekends to clean up (paint over) the graffiti around town. Sure, they only made a couple bucks, but we're talking six year olds...eight year olds...making their own money while providing a service. Great training, huh?

Yeah, Barney was a gem.

Too bad he didn't make the cut in our film which ended up being about child abuse.

Then one day, as Susan and I sat eating our lunch and catching up on the news (Variety for her, L.A. Times for me), I stumbled across an Op-Ed piece about the tragic death of a guy named Barney.

My hands literally shook as I read the article. Poor Barney. Stabbed to death in his van one night by persons unknown. Susan and I couldn't believe it.

And then it came to us...we already had all that footage of him...why not assemble it into some kind of tribute? All we needed was some interviews with people in the community and a host to narrate the story.

Well, remember. This was 1980. Roots had aired in...what...1977? Somehow we got ahold of LeVar Burton who instantly said yes. (Squeee!) In short order, there we were...driving him in Susan's Honda down to Watts for a day of shooting intros and outros.

Okay, confession time. I've never seen Roots. (Sorry!) I was in graduate school when it aired--no time for TV viewing, so I'd sorta missed the hoopla.

But as soon as we set foot on the sidewalks of Watts...it didn't take long to realize I was in the presence of a ROCK STAR. Crowds of people gathered. Young girls drove by shouting, "Kunte Kinte! Kunte Kinte!"

Yeah, it was a memorable day.

Later in the evening, when we'd finished shooting and driven back to Hollywood, the three of us had dinner at Denny's across the street from KTLA. (Yeah, big budget--we took our star to Denny's.) It was then LeVar told us he'd never been to Watts before.

Actually thanked us for introducing him to another side of his "roots."

Our half-hour film Barney aired locally on L.A.'s channel 5 and eventually garnered a local Emmy nomination. We invited the two young men who'd been Barney's right-hand aides to attend the awards ceremony with us, but they didn't show up. Later they explained that "going over to L.A." was too much of a hassle. How telling, I thought, that they didn't perceive themselves as living in L.A....

We won the Emmy that night, and I was always sorry they weren't there to "bask in the glory." And I wonder, thirty years later, what ever happened to them.

LeVar, I know, kept on being a really cool guy.

Explaining the Natalie Wood Reference

So in an earlier blog post, I mentioned that Natalie Wood's death caused one of the most frenetic workdays of my life. Hate to put it that way since...y'know...it was SUCH a tragedy and definitely not "all about ME."

Having said that, here's what happened.

It was Thanksgiving weekend, remember? On Sunday, word came from Catalina Island she'd somehow drowned while anchored on the Wagner yacht off Isthmus Cove.

When I heard the news, my first thought centered on how young she was. Too young to die. Too beautiful.

My second thought?

Holy crap. Natalie stars in the Noxema commercial we have running on Tuesday in just about every market in the country. WORSE, in it she utters the line: "This is the last moisturizer I'll ever use..."

Eeeeek.

Obviously, this was BACK IN THE DAY. Y'know...the day when we didn't have email or faxes, i.e. INSTANT communication. Plus, there were (still are) legalities about how you do stuff when it comes to commercials.

So there I was, bright and EARLY Monday morning, armed with a ton of coffee, ready to spend hours on the phone.

First up: confirm with the advertising agency that they indeed wanted me to pull the commercial. Oh, yeah. They did. (Way to go, New York--smart call!)

Next...okay, you young people prepare yourselves...I sent something called a T E L E G R A M to all the stations carrying the show. See, it had to be uber-official. With a paper trail. And it wasn't like I could just send one to NBC because we weren't a network show, we were SYNDICATED. Meaning that in Boise we might be on the local NBC affiliate but in El Paso we were on ABC. And in Des Moines we might be on an independent.

And the way Western Union worked? I had to read off the full address of each TV station, one at a time. There were about 190.

Alas, it all worked out...with only a couple exceptions, the commercial didn't air.

And that, ladies and gents, is how the death of Natalie Wood impacted by job nearly 30 years ago.

Come Join the Party!

It's over at Carol Kilgore's where I'm guest blogging today "Under the Tiki Hut."

Drop by for a cocktail, some munchies, and great conversation about characters in novels, traveling, and...well...whatever else happens to come up!

The Night I Danced With Christopher Reeve

Yep, it actually happened. Well, kinda.

According to IMDb it must have been 1980 which sounds about right. I was eating lunch on the KTLA lot with Sally and her friend Gay--an entertainment reporter for one of L.A.'s all-news radio stations. Gay had an assignment to cover a premiere that night and she was trying to talk Sally into going, but Sally was busy so she turned to me.

I looked down at what I was wearing--a plaid wool skirt topped by a belted sweater. Yeah, early 80's. Clearly not a glitzy Hollywood premiere ensemble.

But Gay shrugged it off. Said she was going in what she had on--which wasn't much fancier than my outfit.

"You're sure I shouldn't run home and change?"

"Nah, you'll be fine. I'll swing by and pick you up around five."

Yeah, well you can guess how that turned out. By the time Gay swung by to pick me up, she'd magically changed into a sexy black jumpsuit (again, early 80's). I felt just like my heroine in Lights! Cameras! Love! Ordinary, plain, and definitely not dressed appropriately, but oh well. Too late to do anything about it. Lesson learned.

We entered the theater and took our seats. Immediately behind me (behind me!) sat Natalie Wood and Robert Wagner. (Sidenote: Eerie to realize now that within one short year, she'd be gone and her death would cause one of the most frantic work days of my life, but I'll leave that story for another post...) An emcee announced the Wagners had seen a screening the night before and loved the movie so much they'd come to see it again.

Anyway, the movie turned out to be FAME, and I echoed RJ's and Nat's sentiments. LOVED it. All those talented young hopefuls getting their big breaks in a story ABOUT big breaks.

After the movie ended, we were directed outside to the party. (Later in life, I dated a guy who provided the rentals for these shindigs but at this point, I was simply amazed by the surroundings, the food stations, the bars, the people...and I was soooo horribly self-conscious in my school-girl outfit. Reliving it makes me positively shudder!)

And, y'know...it wasn't like I could blend in and make the best of it. Oh, no. 'Cuz remember, I'm with Gay--of the sexy black jumpsuit Gay--and she's on assignment. Within minutes, she dragged me into the VIP circle where I found myself hobnobbing with the cast and crew. (I have to say, though, I give credit to Gay for not shoving this embarrassing creature--me!--into the background. Or were we both young and insecure??)

Anyway, Gay KNEW people from having interviewed them. So right away, she introduced me to Marilyn and Alan Bergman, and I mean, wow. Be still my beating heart. I play the piano and had all their sheet music. (And thank God that meant I could actually hold an intelligent conversation with them, horrible plaid skirt and all.)

Next I found myself chatting with the cinematographer. By then I'd ingested enough cocktails to think I was holding an intelligent conversation. Oh, yeah. This green newbie to the film world was full of heady opinions. All I remember now is that either the man was very kind or I was good at the technical schmooze thing, cuz he didn't run away.

Finally, a band began to play and...well, you know sexy black jumpsuited Gay--once again she dragged me into the inner circle of VIP dancing.

And there he was. Not only Superman, but the hero I'd fallen in love with at a screening of Somewhere in Time. Christopher Reeve in all his 6'4" blue-eyed glory.

Dancing next to me.

Our eyes met. He smiled. And for one moment, for that one moment, this somewhat naive 27-year old in a wool plaid skirt danced with Christopher Reeve!

Looking back, memories of that night conjure up a variety of emotions. Sadness for what the future held for Natalie and Christopher, surely. And nostalgia for a career I eventually left. But a sense of gratefulness, too. Appreciation for having had the opportunity to sample that lifestyle even if just for a few moments, a few years.

Which is also why I turned to the setting I did for Lights! Cameras! Love! There's a little bit of me in Daphne...although I didn't make her wear the wool plaid skirt. And she may not get to dance with Christopher Reeve, but there's this guy named Josh....

The Night I Saved Richard Simmons' Bacon

Let's all jump in the way-back machine and return to 1982, shall we?

Time: About 11p.m. (I'd probably just finished watching Dynasty.)
Place: My condo in the Valley
State of mind: Just ready to lay my head on the pillow for a nice snooze, when...

R-r-r-r-ring.

A brief debate ran through my mind--something like, did I give my number to that annoying guy at the bar last night? After deciding the coast was clear, I picked up and found myself speaking to someone who identified herself as Richard Simmons' publicist.

Oops. Sidebar. In case I haven't mentioned it before, I used to work for the company that syndicated The Richard Simmons Show.

Anyway, said publicist calmly announced that Richard had moved out of his suite at the Waldorf Astoria. That he was now happily tucked in at the Helmsley Palace.

Which wouldn't have made a bit of difference to me...except for the fact I had arranged for eight of New York's biggest ad firms to attend a lunch/preview of Richard's nightime show the next day in his suite at the Waldorf.

"Just thought you should know," she said cheerfully before hanging up.

I remember sitting there, letting the shock ooze in. Ticking off the ways I was so screwed. First, because my boss was on a red-eye to New York, so no contacting him. Second, because our NY sales person was on the same flight, so no "local" person to call.

Nope.

I was on my own.

Do you know how hard it is to cancel and re-book an event like that from the opposite coast in the middle of the night?

Trust me. I was NOT happy.

I mean, it's not like those types are on-duty twenty-four/seven. (And by types, I'm referring to the people you need when trying to pull off an elegant lunch followed by a TV screening.) Plus, what with the time difference, it was about 3 o'clock in the morning. I made about a million calls setting up a new menu, arranging for audio/video equipment, you name it. Lots of details.

Then, about 8 a.m. New York time, I paged my boss and our salesperson at the airport. Yeah, right. Like they were gonna hear it.

About 8:30 a.m., I began phoning all the advertising agencies to advise the change in venue.

About 9:00, I CALLED RICHARD IN HIS SUITE to confirm the new plan.

"Oh hi," he says blithely. "What can I do for you?"

"I want to confirm you're in the suite at the Helmsley," I grit out through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, I had to ditch the Waldorf. Someone died in that room."

I blink. Really? Euw. "Oh," I say. "Well, then...I don't blame you."

All right, YES. Call me STUPID. CALL ME NAIVE. It was YEARS before I realized no one actually DIED in Richard's suite. He was simply referring to the decor.

Grrrrrrrrr.

Well, all's well that ends well. It was now 6 a.m. in the Valley and time to get ready for the daily trek into Hollywood.

The lunch went off without a hitch, the ad agencies bought into the nighttime show, and everyone made a lot of money.

I'm still waiting for my thank you note from Richard and his production staff.

Television Tales

Back in another lifetime, I got my first post-college job at 5800 Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, California. Yep. Right there on the second floor to the left...can you see my office? (Okay, I'm lying; I didn't have a window, but my door WAS opposite the entry to Gene Autry's lavish suite.)

See, like my heroine Daphne in Lights! Cameras! Love!, I was a secretary-to-a-secretary at the corporate level. Yes, in spite of the newly minted MBA adorning the wall above my toilet at home, I took a lowly position in order to...as they say...get my foot in the door. What a coinky-dinky--cuz that's exactly what Daphne does!

Within a year, I got my big chance--I moved to another less imposing building behind the one pictured here and found myself working as an "Assistant to the Producer" on a new hybrid show developed by Norman Lear. (Sadly, the less said about the show, the better.)

Anyway, lots of TV programs taped on that lot. One in particular (now I'm really gonna date myself) was Dinah! starring the late Dinah Shore who--for those of you too young to remember or (worse) weren't even alive yet--hosted a daily talk/variety show which aired in the afternoons. When Dinah was in production, we'd get a kick out of what we called "the Dinah line" parading past our windows in the afternoon. Usually older folks, trucked in from whoknowswhere by the producers to fill the audience.

On one such occasion, as the Dinah line was exiting the studio around twilight, I happened to be walking across the parking lot.

Suddenly cries rang out. "Dinah! Dinah, is that you?"

I swiveled around, expecting to see the seventy-something celebrity. Nothing but lots of cars.

A few elderly women broke from the pack, advancing on me. "Dinah," they said. "Can we get an autograph?"

Oh, God. They meant ME! (Sure I was blonde--still am--but for God's sakes, I was only twenty-seven!) Somehow I managed a graceful getaway, disappointing my ardent "fans."

Later that night, after taping our show, I walked to my car with our host, Steve Edwards (yes, the Steve Edwards who now has a morning show in Los Angeles and who often gets skewered on The Soup). So, who did we run into? Well, Dinah herself--the first and only time I ever met the lady.

Naturally, I told her about the earlier mistaken identity. And in her charming southern way, she invited me to impersonate her anytime I chose. (Cool and all, Dinah, but really? Did she think I ENJOYED being taken for a seventy-something woman?? Notsomuch.)

So there you have it--my big brush with quasi-stardom. I didn't use this story in Lights! Cameras! Love! but there are others that I did....

Stealing Amy--No Such Thing As an Old Review

Faithful blog readers will remember that I originally sold Stealing Amy back in 2006 (eeek! 2006!) to an epublisher. It was released in February (or thereabouts) of 2007 and I withdrew the rights three weeks later for various reasons. Didn't matter one way or another because the (RWA approved) publisher went bankrupt in June of that year.

Ah, yes. Live and learn.

Another reason to self-publish!

Just sayin'....
But the point is...at that time, I'd begun a lot of the promo hoo-ha involved with releasing a book, including the round of review sites. Don't know how cool it is to bring up an old review, but hey. It can still be found on the Internet, so why not?

Here's an excerpt from The Romance Studio:

Randy Jeanne has written an exciting, fast-paced read about the pitfalls of stolen identity and the drawbacks of falling in love. She uses her imagination and her sense of adventure to show many difficulties in their budding romance and the interruptions of both his unwanted exes; she was constantly pressured by the appearance of her mother. The wittiness is incredible!

I thoroughly enjoyed this light-hearted romance. There was a little bit of sex, a little humor, a little nosiness, some responsibility to others, and, of course, some danger--all the wonderful aspects of any novel. I wholeheartedly recommend this book!

Today I googled Stealing Amy and GEEZ. A lot of my earlier efforts still exist--especially tons of links to the "movie" trailer I made. Um...in case you run across that, please ignore the reference to Triskelion Publishing! It can, however, be found at Amazon (Kindle version) and Barnes and Noble (Nook version).

Dreaming...

...of sandy beaches (are there any other kind?) and tiki huts. Writer friend Carol Burnside a.k.a. Annie Rayburn is blogging today at Under the Tiki Hut. Drop in to get acquainted with her characters and grab a cocktail or two.

Setting Inspiration

Okay, confession time. I was a HUGE fan of Romancing the Stone, and I'd always wanted to write a story set in a steamy jungle. So when I needed to send my heroine off on a search for her identity thief, I thought, why not Mexico? After all, my favorite vacation spot happens to be Puerto Vallarta, and just south of town is--you guessed it--a nice steamy jungle. Perfect for stranding two strangers who distrust each other yet can't deny their growing attraction. Better yet, who are forced by circumstances to rely on each other.

Not to spill the beans, but eventually Nick and Amy escape the jungle and head for an upscale resort (each with their own motivation). For this, I discovered a cool place called Las Alamandas upon wich I loosely modeled "Casa Rivera." Some day I hope to be able to visit Las Alamandas for real, not just in fiction!

Writing Tips From Odd Sources

Not an entirely accurate title for today's post but close enough. What I mean is that you never know where you're gonna learn something about writing.

Case in point: I'm currently reading Spencer Quinn's Chet and Bernie mysteries. Hm? Not up on Chet and Bernie? Well, get this: Chet is a dog and he's the narrator. Doncha love it?? So cute. So clever. And, hey--guess what else??--the books boast damned good mystery plots to boot!
But what I love most of all is that Chet, being a dog and all, doesn't react and observe the same way as a human would--and therein lies the lesson. He's a MASTER (dare I say best-in-show?) at showing rather than telling. For instance, when he's happy, a sudden breeze comes up, and seconds later we realize he's wagging his tail. Or take the way he uses smells to size up a character new to the scene. (Love that!)

I know Spencer Quinn (apparently a pseudonym) isn't the first author to use a non-human for his narrator, but still...Chet's pretty unique and laugh-out-loud entertaining. I mean, ya gotta love it when he sheepishly (sorry, Chet) confesses he's not so good with describing colors. Or that his sense of time is measured by describing the movement of the sun or the moon.

See what I'm getting at here? Instead of writing, "the next day" we get the actual physical observation. Kinda cool. Refreshing.

And ya gotta love a narrator who flunked out of K-9 school on the last day, although so far, Chet's always too busy to go into details....

I'll Play!

Long-time writer friend Carol Burnside (a.k.a. Annie Rayburn) has graciously awarded me a Verastile Blogger Award which comes with serious responsibilities!
Okay, totally lying. I mean, this is not exactly clap your hands so Tink doesn't die. Hm, do I have that right? Is it hand clapping or...clicking heels together three times? No, wait. That's Wizard of Oz. Geesh, I'm old. No memory.

Anyway, here's the deal:

1. Thank and link to the person who nominated you. Check. Thanks, Annie!

2. Share 7 random facts about yourself. Ready, set...go!

a. When I was about 22, I coordinated regional pageants for Miss California Teenager. (Yeah, that was a real ego-boost--constantly surrounded by gorgeous young girls giving me fashion tips)

b. When I was about 29, I managed the syndication side of things for The Richard Simmons Show (speaking of egos...).

c. I was the Associate Producer on several award-winning documentaries.

d. I once taught a community college course on how to develop employees through training (ha...my current employees may find that amusing)

e. I am the proud recipient of an aortic valve donated by a cow (which explains the occasional moooooo)

f. I could sight-read piano music by age five. Sadly, it's not a handy talent to have because I can't play a note without sheet music in front of me, so I'm a real dud at parties.

g. I've never been married! (Yes! The most random fact of all!)

Back to the rules...

3. Pass the award on to 5 newfound blogging buddies.

Uh-oh. Really?? Who knew this would be the hardest part? Okay, here goes:

1. Newly-minted bride (not to mention newly minted LAWYER) Reagan at One!Singular!Sensation!

2. Writer friend Liz Falkner who'll have a release out soon!

Okay, we're seriously gonna have to put item three on the back-burner for awhile. (In other words...until I dredge up some other bloggers!)

Finally (back to the rules): Notify the recipients of your award. Coming atcha, Reagan and Liz!

Catching Up With Technology

Color me clueless when it comes to the latest tech talk. In fact, up until this morning, I'd have been hard pressed to explain the difference between a laptop, a notebook, or a tablet.

But that was then, this is now!

'Cuz I just ordered me a cool new toy!

Notice the handy-dandy detachable keyboard!

No guarantee I'll know how to actually use it when it arrives, but still. I'm-a-gonna-get-me-one.Something tells me this guy and I will be spending spend some real quality time together, traveling the planet. (That is, if I can manage to keep it within my possession and away from all matters of catastrophe, like water, sun, and the impact of rapid changes in gravity.)

Stumbling Around

Okay, no one ever said I was an Einstein when it comes to technology, so it may not surprise you that I've flubbed a couple steps in this whole self-publishing journey.

First, I'm definitely not an artist. (Gee, can ya tell by my book covers?) Second, I have a day job (whine, whine) so I'm not always able to (cough) get things done in a timely manner.

Hence the difference in covers for Lights! Cameras! Love! on Smashwords versus Amazon. And let's not even get started with the notion that I haven't uploaded to Barnes and Noble yet. Hey, they need banking info and that's at my office. My writing stuff's at home. Never the twain shall meet (unless I concentrate real hard on the task).

Meanwhile, I'm supposed to keep writing??

The good news is that Smashwords approved Stealing Amy for their Premium catalog which means it will soon ship to other "stores." (For instance, you folks who read books on iPads will be able to purchase it from Apple--yay, you!) Lights! Cameras! Love! is pending but I'll keep ya posted.

Meanwhile, yikes. The object now is to promote, promote, promote (or as I call it, pimp, pimp, pimp). I'm really not so good at that--kinda why I did this under my pen name.

So anyone who wants to spread the word on their own, have at it!

Lights! Cameras! Love!

Yep. I uploaded another one. Lights! Cameras! Love! should be available in about 24 hours for you Kindle users at Amazon.com. Meanwhile, it's in various other formats at Smashwords.

This one's kind of an Ugly Betty goes to Hollywood tale. Anyone who knew me...um...about 30 years ago might recognize some stuff in the details from back when I was an associate producer for Golden West Television on the KTLA lot. While writing this book, it was fun to revisit my old haunts if only in my mind!