Carla Neggers's Blog, page 31

Video for SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER

For the "story behind the story" of SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER (on sale January 31), check out the short video of scenes of the beautiful Swift River Valley in west-central Massachusetts where I grew up and the story is set. I talk about my connections to this area and a bit of the background of the story and the picturesque Quabbin Reservoir. Joe and I took most of the photos and all the video clips.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Southwest Irish Coast

Thinking about Ireland today…as we look forward to having our gang here in Vermont for Christmas. I hope you're having a wonderful holiday season!

Autumn in Vermont

What a beautiful time of year. HERON'S COVE, next up after SAINT'S GATE in my new Sharpe & Donovan series, takes place in autumn. Inspiration!

Goodbye to summer…

A summer walk at Cheekwood Botanical Garden in Nashville…what a beautiful morning that was.

[image error]

The writing life: dedication

Lately one of the most common questions I get from readers and writers (aspiring and published) is: how do you handle the inevitable ups and downs of a writing career? I suspect the frequency of this question arises from the uncertainties of the times in which we live and write. Publishing is undergoing seismic changes. The economy feels like it's one curve away from a repeat of disaster. Many of us are cleaning up and rebuilding after catastrophic natural disasters.

The name of this blog, "Out on a Limb," comes from my early writing days as a kid, when I'd climb a tree with a pad and pen, sit up on my favorite branch and spin stories. I'd look out toward the wilderness of the vast Quabbin reservoir and dream of being a published writer. I worked hard and slowly but surely I started to let people read my works-in-progress. First, my sisters. Then, a friend. Then, a high school teacher. Eventually, not long after my first child was born, I submitted my work to an agent, and she took me on and I sold my first books.

I don't know a writer who hasn't faced the slings and arrows that can come with a writing career — or any career! It's easy to tell writers to develop a thick skin and to persevere in the face of rejection and disappointment, but that sounds like a slog in a bug-infested swamp to me. I've learned to think a little differently. What I am — what I've been since I was a kid up on my favorite sugar maple branch — is dedicated to my writing. My passion and excitement for writing are as strong now as they were when I was eleven up in that tree.

Dedication is what allows us to be open-minded, to grow and to learn…to take risks…to hope…to keep writing even in the face of crushing rejection and heart-breaking disappointment. A writer I know recently encountered a difficult and unexpected career setback. She didn't pretend it didn't happen: she got in touch with the emotions that come with having high hopes dashed. Then she got back to writing. Why? Dedication. She cares about what she does, and her excitement, passion, enthusiasm and love of the work brought her back to it.

In his excellent book, THE ACCIDENTAL CREATIVE: HOW TO BE BRILLIANT AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE, Todd Henry says, "Our best creative work comes from a mindset of abundance and generosity rather than one of scarcity." Yes! In my view, dedication to our writing frees us to take the steps that we need to take in order to create in "a climate of abundance."

It's more fun, too.

Have a great day, everyone,

Carla

 

Portsmouth!

Just a quick post as I get ready to speak on creative focus, vision and dedication here in Portsmouth, NH, and the local RWA group's "Fall Fling" conference. I see sunshine and blue sky breaking through the clouds above the harbor!

Two books in particular helped me prepare for this speech. One is a longtime favorite, A WRITER'S TIME by Kenneth Atchity. The other is new to me and I think it's fabulous — THE ACCIDENTAL CREATIVE by Todd Henry. I highly recommend both books to any writer.

But, more later. I have to checkout of my hotel room and get busy!

Have a great day, everyone.

Carla

Lincoln, NH, on Thursday!

This Thursday I'll be driving over the Connecticut River and up to Lincoln, NH, to give a talk for the Lincoln Public Library. We're meeting at the historical society right next door to the library. We might have showers; we might not. Whatever the case, I'm looking forward to seeing everyone! On the way up there, I plan to visit my youngest brother and his family, a short detour to Lake Winnepesaukee (the setting for KISS THE MOON!). I'll be talking about SAINT'S GATE, writing, research and what's next for me…and answering questions.

Should be a lot of fun. If you're in the area, stop in!

Meanwhile, we had lunch today in Woodstock, Vermont, just down the road from us. Repairs on the damages from Irene are moving nonstop. We heard about people working 16 and 18 hour days to help Vermont recover from the flash flooding and couldn't be more grateful. The downtown businesses in Woodstock are open for business. It's a great time to be in Vermont! If you're planning a trip, just check http://vermontvacation.com/.

Have a great day,

Carla

SECRETS Of The LOST SUMMER

February 2012

MIRA Books

Mass Market

Order this Book:

- Amazon

- Barnes & Noble

- Books-A-Million

- IndieBound

SECRETS of the LOST SUMMER

New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers returns to her contemporary romance roots with a heartwarming tale of riches lost and found.

Beneath the surface lie the greatest treasures.

A wave of hope carries Olivia Frost back to her small New England hometown nestled in the beautiful Swift River Valley. She's transforming a historic home into an idyllic getaway. Picturesque and perfect, if only the absentee owner will fix up the eyesore next door….

Dylan McCaffrey's ramshackle house is an inheritance he never counted on. It also holds the key to a generations-old lost treasure he can't resist…any more than he can resist his new neighbor. Against this breathtaking landscape, Dylan and Olivia pursue long-buried secrets and discover a mystery wrapped in a love story…past and present.

Read an Excerpt

Olivia Frost dribbled water from a measuring cup onto herb seedlings lined up in tiny pots on the windowsill above her kitchen sink. Parsley, dill, rosemary. The window looked out on the alley behind her Boston Back Bay apartment but received enough sunlight to grow a few herbs.

No sunlight today, she thought, setting the cup in the sink.

Just when New Englanders hoped they could put away their hats, gloves and boots, March had decided to turn into a lion again. The weather forecast promised the dreaded "wintry mix" by early afternoon.

Olivia sighed at the fresh green of the herbs. She didn't hate winter but she was ready for spring. March had less than two weeks to turn into a lamb and usher in April showers and May flowers. She couldn't wait to drive out to the hills and quiet back roads of Knights Bridge, her out-of-the-way hometown west of Boston, and plant her herbs at the early nineteenth-century house she'd bought last fall. The purchase had felt impulsive, but the owners, desperate to make a quick sale, had offered her a great deal. She had never been one for extravagant spending and kept her expenses as low as possible in Boston. Instead, she had saved her money and was able to snap up her historic house, as picturesque as her hometown itself.

Except for the eyesore just up the road, but that was a problem for another day.

She had enough problems for today.

"Challenges," she said aloud, turning from the sink. "Challenges, not problems."

She was already dressed for work, opting for a black skirt and blue merino sweater. She'd add what she needed to accommodate the weather, but she had a client lunch—a critical client lunch—and wanted to dress less casually than when she knew she'd be holed up at her desk all day.

She'd been too keyed up to sit at the table for breakfast, instead downing coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with walnuts at the sink. She liked her apartment, even if it was small and overlooked an alley. When she'd moved to the city five years ago, she had talked her landlord into letting her paint the walls and woodwork, choosing cozy, cheerful colors—misty-greens, rosy-pinks, summer-cloud whites—to offset the dreary light. On her way home from work last night, she'd picked up a dozen pink tulips and divided them between two glass pitchers and placed one on the kitchen table and the other on the dresser in her bedroom.

Tulips and herbs. Olivia smiled to herself. All would be well.

With a deep breath, she walked through the adjoining living room. The wood floor and her sofa were stacked with books on herbs, artisan soap-making, landscaping, old houses and painting furniture. All winter, she had half dreamed, half plotted how she could convert her historic house into a destination for weddings, showers, lunches and small one-day conferences—eventually, perhaps, into an overnight getaway.

She hadn't thought of her notes and plans as distractions, but maybe they were. Maybe, in part, they were the reason today's lunch was so critical.

She reached into the closet by the front door and reluctantly got out her scarf and coat, a full-length blend of black wool and cashmere that she planned to wear for years. She skipped gloves. She didn't care about sleet, snow and freezing rain. It was mid-March, and she wasn't wearing gloves.

Her iPhone dinged and she saw she had an email from Marilyn Bryson, another graphic designer and one of her best friends.

Hey, Liv. I can't get together while I'm in town after all. I'm so busy these days I can hardly breathe!

I love what I'm doing. I look forward to getting up every morning. I can't wait to go to work.

xo Marilyn

Olivia noticed Marilyn didn't mention when they might get together or ask about her, but she pushed back any disappointment and typed a quick response.

Glad to hear all is well. Have a fun time!

That was diplomatic, she decided, glancing in the small mirror she had positioned by the door after reading a book on feng shui. Her dark, shoulder-length hair was still slightly damp from her shower. She'd fussed with her makeup more than usual, but it was still understated. She would have to remind herself to put on fresh lip gloss before her lunch.

With another deep breath, she headed out, making her way down the steps of her building, a former single-family house, to Marlborough Street. Gray clouds had descended over the city, but there was no precipitation yet. Olivia tried to focus on her familiar routine. Her lunch was with Roger Bailey of Bailey Architecture and Interior Design, her biggest client. Something was off in their recent communications, and she was worried he was about to jump ship and had scheduled a face-to-face meeting.

The wind picked up as she walked to her building, a five-story brick bowfront just past Copley Square. Roger wanted to refresh the look for his company and she assumed—no, she thought, he'd told her—that he wanted her to take on the job. Landing his Boston-based firm as a client two years ago had been her first high-profile achievement as a graphic designer, and her work for them had won awards. She and Roger had hit it off from the start. Losing him as a client wouldn't be good.

Jacqui Ackerman, the slim, fifty-four-year-old owner of Ackerman Design, one of Boston's most prestigious studios, greeted Olivia with a quick "good morning," then disappeared into her first-floor office. Olivia tried not to read anything into Jacqui's behavior. She could be in a hurry. She could have a client on hold.

Olivia walked back to her own office and switched on her computer as she pulled off her coat and scarf. She had several small projects that she could clear off her desk this morning, and she'd go over her Bailey Architecture and Interior Design files before lunch, so that everything would be fresh in her mind when she met with Roger.

Three hours later, as Olivia reached for her coat to head to her lunch with Roger, she received a text message from his secretary: Roger has an unexpected conflict and can't make lunch. He apologizes and will call tomorrow.

Olivia stood frozen by the coatrack. The secretary couldn't call? Did that mean the cancellation wasn't that big a deal—or that it was a huge deal?

In the past, Roger would have called or texted himself.

"This can't be good," Olivia said under her breath.

Bailey Architecture and Interior Design was not only her biggest and most prestigious client, it was one of the biggest and most prestigious for the studio. The last thing Jacqui would want would be for a defection of that magnitude to start a stampede out the door.

Taking a moment to pull herself together, Olivia put her coat on, anyway, then finally texted the secretary back: You caught me just in time. Thanks, and let Roger know I look forward to speaking with him.

She slid her iPhone into her handbag and left, grateful that she didn't run into Jacqui or anyone else she knew. It was just as well Marilyn couldn't get together while she was in town. Olivia had to admit she was too preoccupied with her own problems and wasn't in the mood to see her friend. Marilyn had worked hard to revitalize her own graphic design career—with Olivia's help. Marilyn had been stuck at a mediocre agency in Providence. She hadn't been bringing in clients—never mind top clients—and her work hadn't been setting anyone on fire. Last fall, she had asked Olivia's advice on how to break through, and together they had mapped out a Marilyn Bryson career revitalization plan.

It worked, too, Olivia thought as she crossed the street and walked toward Copley Square, not even certain where she was going. The wind was biting, bringing with it sprays of cold rain mixed with sleet. She pulled her scarf over her head and tucked in her chin, rushing with a small crowd across Boylston Street.

From November to mid-January, Marilyn had called almost every day and often emailed throughout the day and into the evening. She was focused, determined, hardworking and open to constructive criticism and advice from wherever she could get them. Olivia had admired her friend's resilience, her insights, her dedication to her work.

"When I'm successful," Marilyn would say, "I'm getting all new friends."

A joke, of course. An irreverent way for her to deal with her uncertain situation. She and Olivia had met at a graphic design and digital media conference in Boston not long after Olivia had started at Ackerman Design and had been friends ever since.

Not only did Marilyn revitalize her career, she opened her own studio in February, immediately wowing everyone. It was as if she had reached critical mass—a tipping point—and her success only brought more success. No longer in need of advice and moral support, enormously busy with her work, she got in touch with Olivia less and less frequently and took longer to respond when Olivia initiated contact. Visits to Boston and invitations to Providence for late-into-the-evening brainstorming ended. By early March, Olivia realized their friendship was in a lull if not in jeopardy, and she backed off, letting Marilyn take the lead.

Nothing happened. Marilyn disappeared, until the email two days ago that she would be in Boston this week and would love to get together. Then came this morning's email, canceling.

Olivia turned into the wind on Newbury Street and half wished she'd woken up with a sore throat and had just stayed home and planted more herbs, but it wouldn't have changed anything. She continued down the block, finally reaching one of her favorite restaurants. She descended concrete steps to a small open-air terrace that in warm weather would be filled with diners. It was empty now, a few handfuls of salt and sand scattered on the concrete. The interior of the restaurant, however, was crowded with people who had braved the lousy weather.

Lowering her scarf, Olivia pushed open the glass door. She would enjoy a pleasant lunch by herself and think about how to restart her own career if Roger defected. She couldn't deny reality any longer. He was on his way out. The signs were there.

The cold, wet wind followed her inside as the door shut behind her. Then again, maybe she'd just never mind her high-stress, competitive career for an hour and think about her herb garden and the color scheme for her house in Knights Bridge. She had never been one to stay in a rotten mood for long. Even if she wasn't as super-hot as she'd been two years ago, she was still an established, respected designer. Designers and studios lost clients all the time. It was the nature of the business. Why should she be exempt?

She unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her scarf. She was looking forward to warming up with a pasta sampler plate and salving her wounded ego with a glass of Chianti.

The bartender, a slender, black-haired man, waved to her as he filled three glasses in front of him with red wine. The restaurant was narrow, with small tables lined up along a brick wall on one side and a dark-red painted plaster wall on the other, both walls decorated with inviting black-framed prints of Tuscany. Five years ago, Olivia had celebrated her first night in Boston at a table in the far corner. She hadn't known if she would last six months in her graphic design job, but she was still there, still working.

She noticed that the far-corner table was open, but as she started to take off her coat, her gaze fell on a man and a woman seated across from each other halfway down the brick wall.

Olivia didn't need to look twice. The woman had her back to the entrance, but Olivia recognized Marilyn Bryson from her glistening pale hair and the way her hands moved when she was animated and trying to make a point. The man was even easier. He faced the entrance where Olivia was standing, coat half off. She only needed a glimpse to recognize stocky, gray-haired Roger Bailey.

She was positive that Roger and Marilyn hadn't seen her.

They couldn't see her.

Olivia had never been good at the small social lie and knew she couldn't come up with one now, under pressure. Instead, she mumbled something unintelligible to the bartender, then fled, pushing past a couple coming through the door. Ignoring the icy conditions, she raced up the steps back out to the street.

Out of sight of anyone in the restaurant, she adjusted her scarf and debated her options. Just go back to work? How could she? She'd have to tell Jacqui what she'd just witnessed.

Unless Jacqui already knew.

SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER is a Main Selection of the Rhapsody Book Club
and a Featured Alternate of the Doubleday Book Club, Literary Guild, Doubleday Large Print Book Club, BOMC2 (online) and Columbia House DVD and CD clubs.

Praise for SECRETS OF THE LOST SUMMER:

"Neggers captures readers' attention with her usual flair and brilliance and gives us a romance, a mystery and a lesson in history. She also presents breathtaking views of a real New England past and present, characters who stay with us long after we close the book and more than one romance. Her story will engage readers all the way through."—RT Book Reviews TOP PICK!

"This heartwarming tale is full of fascinating secondary characters, and enhanced by plot threads involving the long-term effects of a flooded valley, a search for stolen jewels, and long-ago passion." —Booklist

"An engaging contemporary romance."—Publishers Weekly

"The plotting is perfect, the characters are fascinating, and the contemporary romance mingled with a 'lost-love' tale is unforgettable."—longandshortreviews.blogspot.com, 5 Stars

"The plotting is perfect, the characters are fascinating, and the contemporary romance mingled with a 'lost-love' tale is unforgettable."—featherquill.com

Update from Vermont

Out On A Limb

During the past week, I've heard from many people who've visited Quechee and nearby Woodstock, Vermont, both such beautiful places, and want to know how we're doing post-Irene. I'm happy to say that every day is better! I arrived home last Tuesday from my SAINT'S GATE tour to high rivers and battered roads, bridges, homes and businesses. Helicopters whirred overhead as they delivered aid to people cut off by the flash flooding. Since then, the rivers have receded, and the cleanup and rebuilding continue at a breathtaking pace. I don't know anyone who isn't impressed, and grateful for the help.

Our little covered bridge, a replica that crosses the Ottauquechee River at a narrow point in the village, is salvageable, and will reopen eventually. Right now our thoughts are foremost with those who have suffered personally up and down the east coast from Irene's devastation.

Thank you for all your support, and I hope you'll consider a visit to Vermont soon! Irene didn't blow the leaves off the trees, and I for one am looking forward to a bright, beautiful autumn. Right now, I'm hard at work in my hilltop office on HERON'S COVE, the next up in my Sharpe & Donovan series.

Carla

Fried Apricot Pies!

Many readers have written to me for the recipes for fried apricot pies and squash casserole that archaeologist Sarah Dunnemore whips up as she copes with the sniper attack on her Deputy U.S. Marshal brother in NIGHT'S LANDING. Both are perfect late-summer fare! You can find them here on my website. I'll be adding more recipes using Maine wild blueberries…apples…lobster…we'll see.

We've been out and about, and the damage to our roads and bridges and so many homes and businesses is incredible. The good news is the speed at which the cleanup and repairs are happening and how our small towns here in Vermont are pulling together.

Have a great day!