Alexa Darin's Blog, page 3

Ten subtle and not so subtle signs your guy is no longer in to you…

1. He no longer cares if you spend five hours a day on the phone with your mother.

2. He is no longer willing to clean up after your pooch.

3. He no longer pretends to like your cat.

4. He no longer sits down to pee just to please you.

5. He enourages you to spend time with your friends.

6. He no longer pretends to like your friends.

7. You’re no longer invited to join his Fantasy Football league.

8. You’re never included in anything with his group of friends. It’s always boys night out.

9. Your car won’t start and he suggests you call a tow truck, rather than coming to your rescue.

10. You shave yourself bald–ahem–and after two weeks, he still hasn’t noticed.

Can you think of any other signs your guy has left the relationship? I’d love to hear them.

Ten Lies I Told Myself To Make It Through The Winter

1. If I leave my Christmas tree up, spring will get here that much sooner.

2. If the snow sticks around long enough, all the leaves I didn’t rake will magically disappear.

3. If my hand somehow gets frozen to a pole, I’ll have a legitimate excuse not to write.

4. I don’t have rosacea; I’m just frostbitten.

5. Fallen pine needles are rich in vitamin C; if I get snowed in, at least I’ll have my vitamins.

6. Under all that snow, my yard is moss-free.

7. Walking in snow is great for my calf muscles.

8. Being snowed in and not being able to make it to the store will only make going on a diet that much easier.

9. White makes everything beautiful.

10. Winter takes care of my deer problem.

Happy Spring Everybody!!!

Good Enough…

My bestie, Sharra, was over the other day–and so was my piano tuner, a gentle man with a kind smile. Sharra and I were having coffee, and Sharra was lamenting the fact that though she’d been trying to get a new book contract for a couple of years, nothing good was happening for her.

“I get a lot of praise from my critique partners and fellow authors,” Sharra said. “But maybe everyone is being kind. Maybe I’m just not good enough and I should start thinking about doing something else.”

Maybe, I thought. Sharra is young. She could have a whole new career if she wanted. But I felt bad for her. I knew how much time and effort she’d put into honing her craft. Perfection would be hers even if it killed her.

I completely understood Sharra’s frustration and could relate because I, too, had been having a time of it, trying to get the attention of an agent. But sometimes it’s not a matter of being good enough. Being noticed/getting published also takes a bit of luck…talking to the right agent/publisher at the right time. They may not be interested in the type of book you’re currently trying to sell. Doesn’t mean they don’t think you have talent.

Even so, it’s hard to stay positive, and two cups of coffee and several chocolate chip cookies later, Sharra and I ended our discussion with a question on both our lips. How do you know if you’re good enough? When is it time to admit you’ve hit a dead end?

“I don’t need to be perfect,” Sharra said, standing at my door, looking lost. “I just want some acknowledgement I’m on the right path. That I have enough talent…that I should continue writing.” And then my piano guy spoke up.

“If you’ve already been published, you’re good enough. It’s not your job to decide your worth as a writer. Someone decided that for you when they published your first book. It’s your job to write.”

With those few kind words, Sharra left my house with a renewed sense that she’s exactly who she was meant to be. And I have a new appreciation for the man who services my piano. He let me know that I, too, am good enough.

Has anyone ever lifted you up when you’ve fallen? I’d love to hear about it.

Agent Search…it feels like falling in love!

It’s time. You’re ready for a relationship (with an agent). All you need do now is begin your search for others with similar interests. Could be a first glance (your query letter) is all it will take to spark something. Then maybe you’ll share a cup of coffee (agent asks to see the first few chapters). Or, perhaps, the two of you will get right down to business (agent dives in and asks to see your entire manuscript).

Now you wait. Waiting is hard. Were you witty enough, sexy enough, memorable enough? Did you make her catch her breath, laugh out loud, lose sleep? Or did you leave her feeling empty, like she’d wasted her time trying to get to know you?

Two weeks pass. Where is she? Panic sets in. What if you forgot to give her your phone number? And, gasp, email address? You know you didn’t, but what if you did?

You could use a shower, but showers are for wusses. And, anyway, it’s not easy to check phone messages while standing under running water. The upside of waiting, though, is that you’ve lost your appetite and along with it, those last ten pounds. Yay!

Another week goes by and now your friends are avoiding you. You stink! And it’s not just your body odor. Your ever downward spiraling mood has sent them running. What were you thinking? You can’t write. You’re not a writer. That agent isn’t ever going to call. You didn’t show her a good time. You weren’t witty or memorable enough.

You were b-o-r-i-n-g!

But wait– Is that your phone? Ringing? You check and see that–omigod!–it’s her! Your mouth goes dry. Your heart goes pitter pat. Your deoderant fails you. Thank God she can’t smell you right now. Or see your hair. Or see how you’re still wearing that blouse you spilled coffee on five days ago.

You wait to answer, while you compose yourself. But you don’t want to wait too long, else she might hang up…and never EVER call again!

“Hello, Ms. Agent? Oh, yes, I was just doing some laundry/reading/etc. Oh, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. What’s that? You’re interested in having a relationship with me?”

You hang up. To hell with composure. You scream loud enough that your neighbors think you’re having an affair with the mailman. But you don’t care what the neighbors think, because right now you’re consumed with happiness. You’re over-the-top giddy with the promise of a long-term commitment. You can’t sleep, can’t think straight, can’t do anything but smile. You’re in love.

Writing…and all those other crazy things you do when you get to be a certain age

Seriously, as I dive head first into, hmm, middle age, I find more and more of my friends have developed what one of them has dubbed “the crazies,” which, according to that friend, is a blessing, as well as a curse. And from what she describes, I think maybe I’ve got a bit of the crazies in me, too. Now I’m not yet using pure olive oil (a girl has to get her fruits and veggies, after all) for moisturizer, but I do have symptoms that lead me to believe things are achangin’.

Irresistable urges. I’ll eat anything that even remotely resembles chocolate. FYI, those chocolate chip doggy biscuits? They won’t do it for ya.

Temper tantrums. I once considered throwing a pickle jar across the kitchen because the shade of lipstick I’d just purchased didn’t go with my new dress. But when I realized I’d be the one cleaning up the aftermath, I instead went into my calm zone. Talk about mood changes.

Rash decisions. Okay, maybe this wasn’t a rash decision, only time will tell, but quitting your job to be a full-time romance novelist may be premature if you’ve never written anything longer than a college term paper.

Then, again, how hard could it be to write a book?

Very.

What I didn’t know about writing, back when I first put pen to paper, could have filled a book the size of my bookshelf. Keeping all those details straight, developing characters, WRITING WHAT YOU KNOW! What?! Okay, so I’m not a world traveler. But I do know some things…like, um, how to do laundry, how to grow flowers, and how to cook (but only if I’m working from a recipe).

Yet, here I am. I’ve got a couple of books out, a couple more ready to go, a couple more first drafts…and I did it all by writing what I know.

Relax your furrowed brows, girlfriends. Writing what you know doesn’t necessarily mean you have to have been there or done that. It simply means that if you’re going to put it in your book, you’d better know what you’re talking about. If you have a pelican in your story, for instance (ahem, as I did in my first book, Good With His Hands), then find out what kind of sound that big ol’ bird makes. And while you’re at it, find out what color his eyes are, too.

That’s right. It’s all about research, ladies. Subscribe to a magazine, pick up a travel guide, read other novels that contain snippets about your subject. Anything that adds little details to your story makes it all the more real for your reader. And guess what? You might even learn enough that you’ll finally win one of those blasted Trivial Pursuit games.

But back to the crazies. My friend, who shall remain nameless, lest she go “crazy” on me, says crazy has taken over her life. She says she was recently on the verge of incinerating a good friend via email. It went something like this: “Dear Former Best Friend, Sending me a birthday card a week late is confusing. Are you early for next year, or do you simply think so little of me that you can’t even get your @$$ to the post office to mail me a card so that it gets here on time? And, furthermore, you only came to my tenth book signing because you happened to be in the neighborhood shopping for shoes at Nordstrom’s fifty percent off sale!

Wait! That wasn’t me she was talking about, was it?! No. I didn’t even go to her tenth book signing. Whew!

Okay, so mayby every now and then I go crazy with a pickle jar, but at least I know not to hit “Send” after I’ve written an email in a moment of heated passion. And if having the crazies is what finally drove me to write romance novels, I hope I continue being crazy. Too, if I suddenly have an urge to buy a new house, refrigerator, or maybe even a new car, I hope it’s something in silver or black, ’cause those colors look really good with my blond hair.

So, tell me, ladies. Have the crazies ever played such a big part in your life that it’s changed who you are…how you live…who you love? If so, I’d like to hear about it…believe me, it helps to get it all out.

A Book…

One hundred twenty-four years ago, J. B. Lippincott Company published a book of poems, by William Cullen Bryant. I recently came across that book while looking through some of my mother’s things and it was a bittersweet moment to be sure. The book is mine now, but it will always be something that was hers.

I remember seeing Mom read that old book, smiling and taking in words that seemed to have secret meaning. Perhaps a handsome suitor discovered it in an old bookstore and presented it to her. I can only surmise, of course, but being that it’s a book of love poems, it seems a possibility.

The book is frail and smells of time and distance. Both front and back covers are hanging by a thread, and the front has a burn mark as though the book had, at one time, come too close to flame. Bedtime reading by candlelight perhaps?

As I turn the pages, I take care so as not to cause them to break loose from their binding. They crinkle like autumn leaves trod upon by meandering feet. The edges of each page are frosted with gold, and just inside the front cover is a black and white sketch, which is protected by a thin piece of transparent tissue. And when I touch it, it makes me feel as though I’m touching something special. Something to be treasured.

It’s not just a book. It’s a memory. Part of my mother’s past. Digital downloads and e-books will never replace a book such as this. No matter how much time passes, an e-book will never have that old book smell. Its digital pages won’t ever become fragile…or special.

I know things are changing, and they have to, don’t they? Else how would we humans progress? But I fear progression at times comes with a price. If books should one day become a thing of days gone by, will our children’s children ever really know their true wonder?

Yes, like it or not, times are changing. And if there’s something from your past that you hate to see go, I’d love to hear about it.

ever blond,

Alexa

All I Ever Knew About Love, I Learned From Doris Day

Ah, falling in love. It’s something I began to look forward to by the time I’d reached my tenth birthday, thanks to watching Doris Day movies with my mother. I naïvely believed that once it happened, some unseen force would cause me to gaze into the sky and I’d open my mouth and out would pour lovesongs. Nevermind that I’d never once seen or heard such a thing in real life; it was on TV, so it was real to me. (Who says TV doesn’t influence our thinking?)

Oh, my heart has leapt a time or two and my stomach has turned a few somersaults. And, yes, some well-placed kisses have made me feel like I might swoon. (Swoon: a term used by women my mother’s age to mean they’re about to pass out. And, FYI, if I did in fact pass out when a man kissed me, I might be wondering if he’d put something in my drink.) My mind has spun, my chest has heaved, and my hair has nearly caught fire. My heart has raced, my toes have curled, and my knees have gone weak. But not one damn time have I ever come close to breaking out into lovesong…not even close. Not even a perky little jingle.

I think the TV lied to me…and it’s only taken me a few decades to figure that out.

So tell me…is there something you believed as a child, only to grow up and find out it wasn’t so? I’d really like to hear about it…and no fair saying you believed in Santa, the Easter rabbit, or the Great Pumpkin.

ever your blonde,

Alexa