Lindsay Emory's Blog, page 15

A Room at the Inn

To be honest, two minutes after I said I’d participate in the 12 Days of Christmakwanzaka Bloghop, I flipped out a little. I don’t consider myself a sweet holiday romance kind of girl. What the H-E- double candy canes was I going to write about? But I had an image in my head, of a rock star on a diverted airplane. I decided to make it Christmas Eve and we’d see what would happen.

The story that flowed out ended up showing me exactly what the holidays mean to me. A little something sweet, a little more champagne, and a whole lot of hope. 

A Room at the Inn

I didn’t even know how to spell Reykjavik. But here I was, spending Christmas Eve in an Icelandic version of a Holiday Inn, while my Air France flight waited for the Christmas miracle of forty-eight inches of snow to magically disappear off JFK’s runways.

Halfway across the Atlantic, our jet had turned towards the North Pole in an unexpected detour to Reykjavik. I twisted the name around my tongue, just to try it out while I waited in the hotel bar for my room. Some of the passengers had opted to stay at the airport; I had jumped on the first bus out of there. No, I didn’t have my luggage. But damned if I was going to spend Christmas Eve scrunched up on a bench somewhere in an airport where even all the duty free shops were closed.

There was a gentle nudge on my right shoulder as another stranded passenger fought for space at the bar, like it was Bethlehem 2000 years ago. I moved over as much as I could. Far be it for me to stand between a man and a drink.

I glanced over briefly, just to give a polite we’re-all-in-this-together smile and then froze, as things in Iceland are wont to do. The man next to me was Cord DeBose, lead singer for the Pope Mobiles.

Deep breath, Annie. Play it cool, Annie. Just because People’s Sexiest Man Alive is standing RIGHT NEXT TO YOU is no reason to…

“Hey.” That was Cord DeBose. And that was his mouth moving and his voice emanating and his eyes looking at me.

Freak the fuck out.

“Hey,” I managed before groping for my beer.  He motioned to the bartender, who promptly brought over another beer, because even Icelandic service workers recognized the lean, mean hotness of the international superstar, even when he was just in a flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal those recognizable tattoos on forearms that rocked a guitar every night. I took a deep, deep drink of Northern Atlantic ale.

“You from the Air France flight?”

My hand shook a little, realizing that Cord DeBose was making conversation. With me. “Yeah. You too?”

“Yeah.” His mouth quirked a little, and I caught a glimpse of hesitation in his face, which would be weird because Cord DeBose couldn’t be nervous. Could he?

“I love that guy.”  He gestured at the new David Sedaris book I had in front of me on the bar, the one that I had saved just for the plane ride back.

“Me too,” I said, caught off guard that I might actually have something in common with a rock star.

“I’m Cord.”

“I’m…”

“Annie,” he finished. That hesitant light flared in his eyes again. “It’s uh, on your boarding pass.”

And it was, the slip of paper sitting next to the book, my ticket to get on the Air France bus.  If any other guy in the world had sidled up next to me in a bar and spied my name, I would have backed away slowly, but I wasn’t doing that now. But it wasn’t just his fame that put me at ease. It was that light. That slow smile. That respectful pause that made me realize that there might be more to Cord DeBose. Something real.

He reached for his beer and something overtook me. Something that had been dormant for years, something that I barely recognized. I lifted my glass. “To the holidays,” I said, making direct eye contact for the first time.

Cord smiled, a little surprised, a little pleased and raised his beer to meet mine in a kiss of glass. “To Christmas.”

A rush of warmth flushed through me at our toast, better than any yule log. Maybe this Christmas wasn’t going to be the worst ever, after all.

Then I got a tap on the shoulder from someone in a hotel uniform. “Miss Coller?” He asked, mispronouncing my last name. “I’m sorry to say, but we were unprepared for the room requests. We have no more rooms available. The bus can take you back to the airport when you are ready.”

Cord groaned while I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of trying to make a pillow out of my sweatshirt on an airport floor. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” Cord asked.

“Oh, Mr. DeBose, your room is available now. The Presidential suite.”

Guilt and embarrassment nearly dripped off Cord as the hotel employee assured him that he would be taken care of, for as long as necessary. And when Cord held up a hand, the man stopped groveling and backed off.  Must be nice to be rich and famous, I thought, sliding off my barstool and grabbing my carry-on.

I was in the lobby when I heard Cord’s call. “Annie, wait.”

I looked between the rock star with the unfortunate entitlement complex and the front door where the Air France bus was loading a bunch of other pissed off, exhausted refugees. “What,” I snapped, not really caring that I was being rude.

“You don’t have to go. You can stay.” He paused. “With me.”

Riiiiight. He must have seen that thought on my face because he amended, quickly. “Or you can have the room. But it’s a suite, so there will be plenty of space. For the two of us. To share. Or not.”

I shifted my bag on my shoulder and saw the crowd of people trudging their way into a bus encrusted with gray snow. The window reflected the single strand of twinkle lights strung over the reception desk, reminding me that this was Christmas and every cell inside me did not want to be alone, in an airport. Not this year.

“Fine,” I sniffed, like I was doing him a favor. “Thank you,” I added. Even I couldn’t be that bitchy on Christmas Eve.

++++++

“Presidential Suite?” I said in shock as Cord and I surveyed the rather small, rather plain room we’d just unlocked. Nothing about this room said, “head of state.” Maybe the view was good.  “Does Iceland even have a President?”

“They keep using that word and I don’t think they know what it means.”

I blinked twice and just like that, my heart unlocked. Stupid Princess Bride. Making frozen -solid hearts melt since nineteen eighty-something.

Cord tossed his backpack on a nondescript chair, oblivious to the miracle he’d unintentionally wreaked when he’d quoted my favorite movie. “Let’s hope they know what ‘room service’ means,” he said, grabbing a menu off the TV. “I’m starved. I bet you are too.”

I turned away quickly before he could see the moisture welling up in my eyes. The Princess Bride reference had done its job. Simple acts of human kindness, like feeding me dinner were going to do me in. Turn me into a sniveling, snotty pile of goo. I wiped my eyes. This was so not the time. Or the place. Or the company.

Which was awesome company, I realized about thirty minutes later. Because when you stay with a superstar musician, he orders one of everything off the menu with extra fries and the hotel sends it all up pronto with complimentary bottles of pretty decent champagne.

In the years ahead, I’ll look back and blame the champagne for what happened next. I felt warm and relaxed and the question just popped out of me. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Cord stilled in that rock-star-caught-in- the-flashbulbs kinda way. “No.”

“What about -”

“No.”

“But I read -”

“No.”

I was stumped. What if everything I’d read about a famous rock star in magazines and blogs wasn’t true? I was working that one out in a champagne haze when his question burst my bubble.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

An unexpected laugh exploded out of me. “No! I don’t even have a husband!”

Which sounded awkward, and from the wary look on Cord’s face, I knew I’d have to explain. “As of today. Or… yesterday.” I fumbled and tried to remember the dates. “My divorce was final yesterday.”

Cord’s brows drew together. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” I reached for my champagne glass, knowing it was a teeny white lie. I had been devastated enough, six months ago, to run to Europe on an extended business trip until the lawyers finished everything up. But now… I shrugged. “After all, no good marriages end in divorce.”

A smile lit up Cord’s eyes. “Do you watch his show? It’s hilarious.”

I put a hand to my mouth. Cord DeBose understood my Louis C.K. reference. Tears started welling again and this time, I couldn’t hide fast enough.

Cord cursed and reached over the table to take my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that your divorce was hilarious.”

I shook my head. How could I explain? “You’re just so nice. And I haven’t felt like this in such a long time…”  Good one Annie… Now he’ll be terrified of you. I tried snatching my hand back, but Cord held it in a firm grip.  I swallowed. “Not like that. I’m sorry. I’m not insane or declaring my love or anything.” Call it the Princess Bride effect, but I looked him straight in his dark eyes and took a chance. “What I meant was, I’ve forgotten what a connection with another human being felt like.”

Cord’s thumb brushed my sensitive wrist, sending tingles up my arm. “You know why I came to talk to you in the bar?”  When I didn’t answer, he continued. “I saw you, on the plane, reading your book. You were laughing at David Sedaris and then you snorted.”

Oh God. I was going to die of embarrassment in Iceland. How embarrassing.

Cord continued. “And I wanted to spend Christmas Eve with someone I could laugh with.” He paused and let go of my hand. “I didn’t want to be lonely tonight, either.”

This time I reached for him, clasping my fingers around his long, callused ones. We sat and searched each other’s faces, and I saw the realness I’d seen first in the dim light of the bar. I saw warmth that had taken the place of loneliness. I saw shared jokes and champagne and Christmas and loved what I saw. And when he squeezed back, I guessed he liked what he saw, too.

Cord ended up ordering more complimentary champagne, as rock stars do. We shared another bottle, watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation on the television, the Icelandic subtitles hypnotic, Clark Griswold and Cousin Eddie hilarious. We laughed at all the same parts and when I inadvertently snorted, Cord took my face in his hands and kissed me, a sweet, hot, gentle kiss that could have melted a hundred inches of snow on JFK’s blessedly frozen runways.

The kisses continued, each one a simple, sparkly gift between two souls who needed to make room for one more person. We fell asleep holding hands, neither of us alone on Christmas Eve.

Thank you so much for reading! And many tinsel-y thanks to my A+ super amazing beta, Katy. If you liked this, check out my Pinterest page devoted to inspiration pics and retweet/ regram my link.  This is the sixth day of the 12 Days of Christmakwanzakah Blog Hop. I’m sharing the day with the talented Rebekah Weatherspoon. Check out her story and many others  here or follow #12DaysHop on Twitter.

For more stories like this and to keep up to date with all my big news, sign up for my newsletter.

Sisterhood is Deadly

For the past 12? 13? months I’ve been the biggest publishing tease. Without further ado, I’m about to (dis?)continue that tradition.

I HAVE NEWS!

That’s right! It’s a new book deal!

This one has happened pretty quickly. Last May, I was floating in the pool and this book spilled into my brain. A murder in a sorority house. Elle Woods meets Jessica Fletcher. I finished the book and then didn’t know what to do with it. It’s a little quirky, a little sassy.  I went to RWA and when people asked me what I was working on, I said, “this funny mystery that there’s probably no market for.” My cousin, the big time famous author Jill Alexander Essbaum (of the soon to be released Hausfrau), urged me to send it to agents (an ego-demolishing but necessary process called ‘querying,’)  I got a little interest. Then some more. Then I signed with my faboo agent Cassie Hanjian who got more people interested.

Now Margot Blythe is coming to a bookseller near you.

You’ll meet her in the spring. Of 2015.

I know.

Then she’ll be back, hopefully in fall 2015.

Now I can hear what you’re saying. “We’ve heard this before Lindsay.” “What about those other books you said were going to be ‘published’?” And, “Where’s that leopard print belt I loaned you?”

I swear I didn’t make the other books up. I’ve worked hard on them. Other people are working hard on them. They’re coming. I just can’t say when.

Yet.

(And that leopard belt looked darling on me, thanks)

I’ll make you a deal. Sign up for my newsletter  and I promise, you’ll be the FIRST to know about appearances, signings, and (yes, yes, I KNOW!!!) release dates. Not Twitter. Not Facebook. Newsletter gets big news first.

Because you’re going to want to hear about Margot Blythe. She’s loyal, she’s funny. She’ll be the sister you always wished you had. 

Dress up like a… book?

Halloween is coming! Do you love books? Do you need a costume? If your answers to both of these questions is, “Why yes!” I have four solutions for your literary Halloween. All the creative thought and shopping has been done for you. Just click the pics and read the books just in case (for any possible trick questions from fellow book fans-slash-trick or treaters.)

Let’s start with something easy.

Daisy from The Great Gatsby.

All you have to get is a flapper dress. Fun, glamorous and an American classic? What could be better?

Fancy Nancy!

If you have kids, especially little girls (like I do) you know this precocious, oh-so fashionable character. I think it would be fun for a grown up to find her inner Fanciness with a red curly wig, a tiara, and a few fancy accessories.

 

Outlander

If you’re a romance novel fan, or a historical fiction fan, you may be obsessed with Outlander, the books and the tv series.  Halloween is the perfect time to practice your Scottish burr with a glass of whisky and a young red-headed Scot (IYKWIM.)

If you’re lucky enough to have a Jamie Fraser lookalike along for your hayride, you could dress him up in something like this:

A Claire Beauchamp Fraser costume may be a bit trickier, but a historical type dress plus a bit of plaid should do the trick.  Maybe carry a cellphone for that anachronistic, time-traveling touch.

Gone Girl

You loved the book, you loved/hated the ending (I loved it-but no spoilers here!), now you want to spread the love/hate on October 31.  This one’s kind of tough, but here’s what I’d do.

1. Recreate the Gone Girl missing poster, seen here.

 2. Hang around neck.

3. Add a disguise:

Those who are in the know will get it.  Those who don’t know, well, it will give you an excuse to talk about books you love!

What are you dressing up for as Halloween? Will it involve a book character? What other book costumes have you seen or thought of?  Hit me up on Twitter, Facebook to talk about it and make sure you sign up for my newsletter.  Maybe I’ll put my costume in there! (Maybe it will be one of these?)

It’s Fall Y’all

I’m calling it. FALL.

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I know some of you in other parts of the world may not understand the seasonal uncertainty that we Texans have.  When the calendar says October and you’re still in flip flops and shorts and smacking mosquitos, it can be a bit confounding to the internal clock.

But I have a scarf on today, and I’ve got “closet change” on my weekly to-do list, the process wherein I pull out the knits and boots and long sleeves and box up the tanks and floaty skirts.  So that’s it. It’s Fall. Done. *mic drop*

And yes, I may still be smacking mosquitos at Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ll have boots and a scarf on, damn it.

TEXAS FALL TRADITIONS

So now that it’s fall, it’s time to share my favorite fall traditions.

Aggie Football –

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We got to go down to College Station to soak up the Aggie/ Ole Miss game day atmosphere last weekend. A beer at a tailgate in Spence Park, a look at the new stadium remodel, and seeing the yell leaders and Aggie Band bring the football team into Kyle Field. There’s nothing better. (Ok, a WIN would be better, but I’m focusing on the positives, here.)
State Fair of Texas

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Look at this guy. This is Big Tex and he’s an icon here in Dallas. And this year, he’s telling everyone to wash their hands.  *Sigh* (Hopefully  incurable disease is not a new Texas tradition) My family spent a fun day at the fair, watching pig races, going to the car show, and eating fried foods.  My favorite? The Fletcher’s corny dog. Close second: fried collard greens from Chef Cassy’s. No pic because I ate them too fast.
Pumpkin

Ok, this isn’t a Texas tradition. I just wanted to share my favorite pumpkin find this season – Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Bar mix.It’s like a blondie with chocolate chips and pumpkin and spices. The PERFECT treat to enjoy with a cup of tea and a good book on a chilly 85 degree day.

I’d love to hear your favorite fall traditions in the comments or on Facebook  or Twitter.  Also, make sure you sign up for my newsletter!  I promise I’m only going to mail it out for the BIG IMPORTANT  BOOK ANNOUNCEMENTS (hopefully soon! *crosses fingers*)

On Editing.

I just turned in the second pass of edits for the first of my Love & War in Dallas series.  When I finished, I realized that this is a very hard process to explain to people (husbands, children) who don’t understand why other hypothetical writing people  can’t focus on anything (e.g., laundry, personal hygiene) until edits are done. So I thought I’d try to illustrate the editing process from a writer’s point of view, using the magic of a new technology that captures the fundamental nature of human experience (GIFs).

By the way, this story will be told in third person, deep POV.  If you don’t know what that is, well, I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful writer, Regina Falange, just going about her daily life.

Then she gets an email from her editor, which is very exciting!

Or it could contain horrible news. So the beautiful writer is waylaid by some important procrastinating.

 

But finally, Regina finds the time to open the e-mail and remains completely calm even while faced with what looks like a Dexter Morgan crime scene.

 

 

First, Regina texts her  writer friends to let them know the good news!  They know exactly what to say.

 

 

Regina also lets everyone on Twitter know that she will be #editing. As always, Twitter is totally supportive.

After clearing her schedule, Regina sits down and gets ready to review her editor’s notes. As with every good critique, Editor starts off with all that is right in the book.

 

Then she points out  more positives!

Then she makes a few teeny tiny suggestions to “polish” the document and get rid of the “rough edges.”

Regina was calm and professional,

And decided to get started on the minor tweaks her editor suggested.

50,000 calories later, Regina was a little overwhelmed by the challenges presented by re-writing a jillion words.

But then… after some more of this:

 

And going down some wrong-way streets:

Things started clicking. Light bulbs started to, you know, shine and stuff.  And suddenly, Regina looked at her editor’s suggestions with a fresh appreciation.

 

And while it was hard, grueling, difficult, challenging, backbreaking work to think of synonyms for every word in the document, Regina got excited by what was happening.

 

Regina tells herself that she knew what she was doing all along.

And all her writer friends agreed that they knew she could do it all along.

 

When she couldn’t edit the hell out of that book anymore, she hit “send.”

 

Regina felt invigorated by the whole, life-affirming process that reminded her why she wanted to write Happily Ever After stories to share with the world.

THE END.

Author’s Note:

The above story is fictional and bears no resemblance to anyone, living or dead, and especially not me, Lindsay Emory, who is a competent, professional, chill writer chick who really, really loves editing especially because it makes her beloved novel 1000% better.

Also, if you caught it, the above verb tenses were switched on purpose. For art. And reasons, OK? Geez. Let it go, already.

 

 

On Serendipity and Sacred Voice

So many smarter and more astute people are posting their wrap-ups to RWA14. Some can even do it with Supernatural GIFs.  (Jennifer Armentrout is so full of win.)  If you follow my twitter you’ll see that

I LEARNED SO MUCH.

And I didn’t even learn what I went to learn.

Which is great.

I will explain.  I went to RWA nationals with the intention to learn everything I could about craft, to only take the workshops that taught the fundamentals and mechanics of writing. I looked at the workshop offerings and thought, “publicity, six figures, publishing, blah blah blah.”  Those other things were for people more advanced in a writing career than me.  Someone like me, a virtual unknown needs to write a damn good book. Or six.  Hence, the  focus on craft.

But then I got to San Antonio and I just started… following. Following the whispers, the advice, the serendipitous occasions. Following Julia Kelly. (Or did she follow me? We may never know).  And when I followed this mysterious  whispering wind, I found myself in the presence of Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Nora Roberts, Jayne Ann Krentz, Sylvia Day, Julia Quinn, Bella Andre… the list goes on and freaking on. And sometimes those fabulous women would talk about craft (SEP’s exercises on character will stay with me for a long time) and sometimes they would say stunning  things like “Don’t write from a place of fear” (That was the ah-maz-ing Sarah Maclean) or “Stop fucking around and write” (that was the inimitable Nora Roberts. Seriously. Nora Roberts is a BAMF.)

I heard these inspiring writers talk about having no regrets, even when their careers were dead and no one believed in them. To them, a dead end only meant they got to scale the wall or throw their truck into four wheel drive and take it off road. They look back and are thankful for a bad contract or an unhelpful publisher because it pushed them to be better, be stronger, be more resilient.

 

I heard, “Be you.”

 

I heard, “Your voice is sacred.”

 

These are not messages women hear every day.

 

And these were the  messages I needed to hear.   Maybe they won’t help me write a damn good book or six.

But maybe they will.

 

Welcome to Texas, RWA!

For those that don’t get the title, RWA = Romance Writers of America. Every year, they hold a national convention and this year it’s in San Antonio, Texas! When I heard that last year, I told Hubs that I was going. San Antonio is, after all, just a short six hour drive down I-35. What could be more convenient?

So I’ll be heading to RWA Nationals this week. I’m terrifiedly excited and nervously jittering. SO MANY WRITERS. One small Riverwalk. And margaritas. It’s an introvert’s nightmare and my every dream come true. *Takes steadying breath*

On our way home from our Great All-American Family Roadtrip a couple of days ago, I got the idea to make a Texas-themed playlist for all the writers descending on Texas this beautiful July. So here it is.

 

I tried to include some of my favorite Texas-themed songs, some of which are in the playlists for my Love & War in Dallas series. Or some of them are just by my favorite Texas artists. Not all of the Pistol Annies are from Texas, but Miranda Lambert is, and I thought “Hell on Heels” was a pretty good theme song for some (most?) of the ladies headed to RWA14.  And I stopped myself at a reasonable number of videos. I couldn’t include all of Robert Earl Keen’s albums, or all of the tracks on Lyle Lovett’s Road to Ensenada  which might have been about his breakup with Julia Roberts and also helped me find myself again after a breakup (but not with Julia Roberts). Or all the songs I drank to in parties while single in college. And for some of my favorites, there aren’t good videos on You Tube.

I wish RWA had asked my opinion and organized a real Texas country music concert for the conference.  It’s not that I’m a huge country music fan – I listen to music like I read – I’m an omnivore.  But when you’re in San Antonio, you need more than the Riverwalk and five or six margaritas to experience Texas. You have an opportunity to discover the soul of a nation and music can help you do that.

Since there will be no concert, pop my playlist on and get ready for San Antonio. If you’re going to be at RWA, I’d love to meet you! I’ll be the girl with the margarita, singing Willie Nelson songs.

Doing what frozen things do in summer…

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I can’t believe it’s July. I’m looking forward to a family roadtrip to Colorado next week and then I’ll be headed to the Romance Writers of America (RWA) convention in San Antonio!  It’ll be my first RWA and I’m so excited to see what all the fuss is about!  

I’ve been such a bad blogger here but there hasn’t been much to update. I’ve been writing, editing and writing more. My beautiful debut novel is being polished ever so lovingly and I’m trying to use this time before publication to cram as many words into other projects as I can. If you don’t see updates here on the site, please make sure you follow me on Twitter as this is like my formal living room, with the plastic covers on the couches and the old-fashioned silver tea set that needs a good polish – it only gets used for important events.  Twitter is like the basement man cave, where I click on the big screen, invite tons of friends over, let their kids get hopped up on juice and Cheetos and we just shoot the bull  and whip up margaritas on a Saturday night.  You may prefer one environment over the other, which is cool.

Or Pinterest! Pinterest is like… the kitchen. Everyone always ends up in the kitchen. There’s always something to look at and talk about in there. 

And then there’s Facebook. If you haven’t heard, it’s a difficult place to be right now, especially if you want your friends and followers to actually see your posts, since Facebook is controlling what pages you see on your timeline. Continuing my (rather uninspired) metaphor, Facebook is like the laundry room. Completely necessary but not super convenient for the hostess or the guests.

So follow me in all the places, and you’ll soon see a newsletter signup. It’s my goal to do that this summer. After RWA and before school starting and in between book drafts.  It’ll happen! I promise!

Check in with me from time to time and hopefully I’ll have the Big Book News that everyone is waiting for soon!