Susan Sey's Blog, page 8

Love in the Land of Lakes

TASTE FOR TROUBLE WINNER!

And we have a winner!  

ADA H.!  

You’re the lucky winner of a copy of Susan Sey’s TASTE FOR TROUBLE of your very own!

This book is only available for Kindle, so shoot Susan a quick note to let her know to what email address she can send your prize!

And if you’re not a Kindle user, you can always download the Kindle App to your computer or iPad (it’s free!) to read it that way. 

You can reach Susan at susan@susansey.com.  

Taste for Trouble is here!

Hey, guess what?  

I wrote another book!

Now I’d love to say I’m one of those people who can cruise through a draft in a matter of weeks–or even months!  But for me, writing a book is a long-term affair.  It’s a commitment.  To go from idea to publication, we’re talking about a year at the bare minimum.  I just need a lot of time to let my ideas ripen, I guess.  Some people are pressure cookers; I’m a crockpot.  (Glamorous image, no?)

The upside of this is that by the time I release a book, I’ve been living with the characters so long that they feel like a second family.  I hear their voices in my head–cracking jokes, slinging snark, weighing in on my daily life & actions whether I want their opinions or not.  

Much like my actual family, now that I consider it.

The downside of this is that I worry about them like family, too.  Releasing a book is like taking my kids to a party where they don’t know anybody else.  I’m pretty sure they’re going to be fine, but you worry about them, you know?  You feel responsible, & want to make sure they’re having a good time.  You love them so much yourself, you want other people to love them, too.  No matter how weird they might appear at first.

So, since it’s just us, and since I do have a habit of collecting characters who need some time to grow on you…do you mind if I make some introductions? 

Great!  Okay, so, here’s James Blake, my superstar athlete and hero. (Played in my head by Owen Wilson.)  He’s America’s answer to David Beckham–a slow-talking, hard-partying Texan with a genius for soccer & a taste for  trouble.  And nobody spells trouble like the woman assigned to clean up his act.

That would be Belinda West, TV personality & baking maven.  (Played in my head by Jennifer Garner.) After James accidentally torpedoes Bel’s wedding day–on live TV, of course–Bel’s qualifications as a domestic diva come under fire.  Only by whipping James into shape can she redeem her reputation.  Which is how the Queen of Cakes ends up playing Mary Poppins to the sports world’s baddest bad boy.  And his wild brothers.

Speaking of whom, meet Drew.  (Played in my head by John Krasinski.)  This is James’ baby brother, a lanky, loose-limbed lover.  Of what?  Everything.  Waitresses, dramatic scenes, scrambled eggs, the Twitterverse.  You name it, Drew can fall in love with it.  He’s the Blake brothers’ heart.  Their conscience. He also really, really likes strippers.  (I know, right?  Congitive dissonance, thy name is Drew.  But he just came that way.  I only wrote him down.)

Oh, & here’s Will.  (Played in my head by Adrian Brody, only with lighter coloring.)  He’s James’ older brother & a certifiable genius.  Walked away from his childhood–and a full ride to UCLA–to take on legal guardianship of his brothers when their folks died.  Managed James into the money & singlehandedly kept their family together against steep odds.  But a dozen years later it’s not all happy endings for the Blake boys.  Because something’s up with Will.  He’s got a problem–something dark and dangerous and poisonous brewing inside his head & heart. Something that threatens to do the very thing he sacrificed everything to prevent–break up the family.

So there you have it.  Those are my Blake boys, & I’m in love with each and every one of them.  And I have plans to give each one of them the love story–and the happy ending–he deserves.

But this one is for James, that sweet-talking charmer with the pirate’s smile.  

Want to know more?  Check out the Books tab and click on TASTE FOR TROUBLE for the blurb & an excerpt!

Or you can just go to my website–plenty of info there, too!

So tell me, when was the last time you read a book, & the characters hung around inside your head for a while, even after THE END?  When was the last time you finished a book but continued to dream about that world & those people?  And do you ever sometimes catch yourself either a) speaking with a character’s accent or b) using slang that only exists in the book world?  (Please say yes, because I do this all the time & it’s embarrassing.)

To celebrate the release of TASTE FOR TROUBLE, I’ll give away a Kindle copy** to one lucky commenter so don’t be shy!

**This book is only available for Kindle.

Taste for Trouble

 

 

Been a long time…

So I did something last weekend I haven’t done in probably ten years.  

I pulled out my cross country skis.

As many of you know, I live in the frozen northland known as the great state of Minnesota.  As a result, I spend a chunk of every year up to my knees in snow.  At least I hope to.  I figure if it’s going to be cold it might as well be snowy.  At least you can play in the snow.  Last year was sort of stingy with the precipitation but this year is proving fabulous. 

Which is why I pulled out my skis.  Cross country skiing is an awesome winter sport for the budget-minded snow bunny.   No lift tickets necessary, not a ton of skill involved, very little risk of massive head trauma.  In other words, right up this ‘fraidy-cat’s alley.

Kids, however, were a complicating factor when it came to pursuing my chosen winter recreation.  Unless you’re a lot more dedicated to the sport than I am–or you’re perhaps an 18th century fur trader–you don’t ski with an infant strapped to your person.  I shoveled the driveway one desperate morning with a baby in a sling inside my winter coat & that was plenty of pioneering for this girl. 

But this winter my kids are 9 & 6, & they’re big enough to ski.  So Mr. Sey & I hauled out our fifteen year old skis and boots, drove to the nearest golf course that rents kiddie skis & got this party started. 

The 9 year old took to it like a duck to water.  Mr. Sey spent a hilarious two hours chasing her up & down gentle slopes, laughing and shouting and racing. 

The 6 year old had a blast for 45 minutes, then cried and fell down for an hour.  Guess which parent got that kid?

But fate wasn’t satisfied sticking me with the sobbing kindergartner.  I also broke my ski boot.  Actually broke it.  I fell down three minutes into the adventure and snapped the sole right off my left boot.  Now the sole–in case your’e unfamiliar with this type of ski/binding/boot set up–is sort of crucial.  It’s what attaches you to your skis.  Skiing doesn’t actually work unless you’re somehow attached to the skis, you know?  This was a problem.  A big one.

But did I give up?  Hell, no.  We’d bundled up the kids (a serious time investment), driven to the ski center (another time investment), & rented kiddie skis (a monetary investment).  I was in it to win it.  

So I trotted up to the ski shop to see if they’d lend me a roll of duct tape to temporarily reattach me to my ski.  (What could go wrong?)  They refused.  (I have to assume they saw a lawsuit looming.)  But I was determined so I trudged down to the van & rustled up whatever I could find that might put a sole back on a shoe. 

Ten minutes later, I was back on skis, my boot MacGyver-ed to its sole with a length of tennis racquet grip & some dental floss.  (Kid you not.  Dental floss.)  I heroically inched along behind my sobbing, snuffling daughter while my toes slowly turned to ice.  I bellowed encouragement when she flung herself repeatedly to the ground & insisted she couldn’t get up.  (She sprang up handily when the ski team threatened to stampede us, however.)  I lavished her with praise when she stayed vertical for thirty seconds or more.  I patiently demonstrated how to pop off your skis when you become hopelessly tangled after a fall. 

But finally even I’d had enough.  I handed her off to her father and clomped off to the van to stew in my fury.  All I wanted was to enjoy a beautiful day outdoors with my family & what did I get?  A broken boot, an ungrateful child & absolutely no exercise at all.  Unless you counted taking my temper for a spin.  What a disaster. 

Or so I thought.  Guess who’s begging to go skiing again this weekend? 

And guess what gullible fool is going to take her? 

How about you?  Have you ever planned a lovely family outing only to have disaster take the wheel?  Make me feel better.  Share!

 

Games, games, games

It’s been something of a tradition in our house that our kids give my husband a game for Christmas.  

Now my kids are 6 & 9, so I’m using the word tradition lightly, but every year for the past few years–as long as they’ve been old enough to be conscious of Christmas & their role as gift givers–they’ve wanted to give my husband a game.  This is because Mr. Sey is a game guy.  If there are cards, dice, or playing pieces involved, he’s there.  He’s equal opportunity, too.  It doesn’t have to be fancy or complicated.  He’s as happy with Connect Four as with a fierce game of chess. 

And he’s wonderful about playing games with the kids.  Which is probably why they give him games & me pajamas.  They have our personalities pegged.  

We have this game store nearby –Flight of Fantasy–that’s always full of geeky white guys about my husband’s age.  They’re inevitably engrossed in all kinds of games I’ve never heard of but they’re so stoked about gaming in general that they never seem to mind taking a break to talk to the clueless women folk invading their domain.  ”What,” we ask them, “is the hot new game this year for dads & their girls?”

They drop their dice like hot potatoes & fall all over themselves to steer us in the right direction.  

A few years ago they pointed us toward this game called Blokus.  Have you seen it?  Here’s a photo.  It’s essentially a spatial reasoning strategy sort of game.  But it’s utterly beautiful.  Sometimes the girls take the board out & just put the pieces in at random because they’re so pretty.  We risk game pieces attrition this way but I allow it because it’s just so darn fascinating to look at. 

This year we were directed to this game called Ticket to Ride, in which the participants all compete to form railroad destinations all over the United States.  Evidently there’s an Asian version as well as a European one.  We played last night & tonight, & everybody from the 9 year old to the 70 year old played hard & was in the mix to win.  (Grandma took home the victory tonight but it was a squeaker.)

Once again, the game guys came through for us.  

What about you? Was there a game under the tree this year that rocked your world?  Share!  I’m always on the lookout for our next gift… 

Photos courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.  Mouse over for artist attribution.

Grace Burrowes winner from waaaaaaay back….

Hey, Gamistress66…

…it’s you!  You’re the winner of Grace Burrowes’ latest release, LADY LOUISA’S CHRISTMAS KNIGHT! 

(Remember this blog?  Closer Than Kin–the one Nancy Northcott & I did about Created Families back in October?  Yeah, it took us a minute, too, but we remembered & we have a book for you!)

I just finished Lady Louisa’s Christmas Knight myself (not your copy–yours is fresh & spankin’ new) and you’re in for a treat!

Nancy will drop your book in the mail to you ASAP.  Happy holiday reading!

12 Days Prize Announcement!

And the winner of an e-copy of Susan Sey’s KISS THE GIRL goes to….

 

CATSLADY!

 

Congratulations, Catslady!  Email me at susan@susansey.com to let me know if you’d like your e-book via Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Apple!  And thanks for helping make our 12 Days of Christmas a blast!

High Drama

It’s that time of year.  

No, not for decorating the tree or making cookies.  Not for addressing cards or–in my case–feverishly trying to dig up everybody’s current address because evidently I only befriend the highly mobile.  

No, it’s time for the annual….church pageant. 

We go to a small church, so everybody who has kids involved in the pageant is pressed into service.  And I–much to my eternal regret–am no exception.  I have pleaded everything from over-scheduled-ness to a terrible singing voice to no avail.  I have been cast.

Over the years, I’ve exercised my dramatic nature to play a number of roles, everything from the Virgin Mary on down to a custodian.  My most memorable role of all, however, has to be the year I wrangled the angels.

That was my official role–Angel Wrangler.

And why did we need an Angel Wrangler, you might ask?  Because in every group, there’s That One Kid.  And that year, in our church, That One Kid was an angel.  And he needed minding.  

We discovered this the previous year when he was  a shepherd.  He took out all three wisemen and was perilously close to knocking down the lit candles before we managed to get the shepherd’s hook away from him.

As an angel wrangler I had one job:  To get the angels into the sanctuary in time to climb up on the risers for their big line.  (“Be not afraid for we bring you good news…” etc. & so on.  You know the one.)  My fellow angel wrangler & I (yes, there were two of us & we were both necessary) gathered our charges around the door to the sanctuary & waited for our cue line.

As it happens, there was a table of snacks next to the door.  That One Kid helped himself to a banana. 

“Hey,” said my fellow angel wrangler.  ”There’s no time for a snack.  Put that down.”

That One Kid looked her right in the eye & peeled the banana.  Slowly.

“Don’t you dare,” she said.  ”Put that down.”

That One Kid looked her right in the eye & helped himself to a leisurely bite.  A big one.

Then came our cue line.  It was show time & That One Kid had a massive mouthful of unchewed banana. 

“Go on,” I told the other wrangler.  ”I’ve got this.”

So she bolted for the stage, a flock of obedient angels at her heels.  That One Kid tried to follow & I grabbed him by the wings.  

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”  I put myself between him & the door.  ”Chew.  Swallow.  Then we go hark the herald whatever.”  

He glared at me.  I folded my arms & waited.  He evidently came to the conclusion–accurately–that I would be delighted to stand between him & on-stage glory until he obeyed instructions.

So he chewed approximately twice then gulped down the banana mostly whole.  It went down his throat in a visible lump, like he was a snake swallowing his prey.

“Fine,” I said.  ”Great.  Now run.”

It was the run I regret.  I shouldn’t have said that.  

Because That One Kid took off into the sanctuary at a dead sprint, his eyes on the empty riser he was supposed to be standing on.  

He evidently didn’t see the giant pillar between him & it.  

He ran into the pillar face first.  Kid went down like a sack of wet cement.  The middle Wiseman gave a startled yip but nobody else seemed to notice.  And it would have stayed that way if That One Kid had just gone down and stayed down.  But did he?  No.  

He had knocked himself a good one, but sadly it wasn’t good enough to remove him from consciousness.  Not fully, anyway.  Standing was beyond him but he did manage to drag himself to his hands & knees.  I watched, stunned, as the kid crawled up the steps to the altar, making this horrible HUUUUUUUUNGHHHHH sort of noise.  The kind of noise you make when you’d like to breathe but your lungs are still all, “Dude, what the hell?” 

Bad enough, right?  Unfortunately, the kid’s sense of direction was as compromised as his ability to take a decent breath.  He heaved himself onto the stage but instead of crawling toward his riser, he veered left.  Toward the sheep and shepherds and angels innocently admiring the baby Jesus in the manger.  With their backs toward him.  

He took them all out like a human wrecking ball.  

(“HUUUUUUUNGHHHHH.”  ”Wha…?”  Wham.  Down.  One after the other after the other.)   

I, horrified into utter paralysis, stood there watched the whole thing unfold.

Finally the kid gave up & rolled onto his back, at which point his mother hopped onto the stage & handily removed him from sight.  

Evidently, she’s used to this sort of thing.  

Well, I thought to myself, at least they’ll never ask me to help out with the pageant ever again. 

Yeah, right.

  I shall be an angel, an acrobat AND a dove in the morning.  If you’re the praying sort, you might consider sending one up for me today.  

But at least I’m not wrangling angels.

So what about you?  What’s the craziest thing that’s ever hijacked one of your holiday events?  I’m giving away an e-copy of my latest release KISS THE GIRL to one lucky commenter, so don’t be shy!  Share!  

Check back tomorrow to see if you’ve won!  And also to enjoy the bewitching Christie Kelley who takes the wheel to continue the Bandita Twelve Days of Christmas!  In fact, come back every day between now & Christmas  for your chance to win prizes, books and gifties leading up to a HUGE GRAND PRIZE of books and goodies on Christmas Day!!

All images courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net, mouse over photo for attribution.

Blue

I’ve been a little down lately. 

Not depressed or anything, just a touch…blue.  

I won’t bore you with the details; suffice it to say that I–like many of us this time of year–am taking a routine visit to the Pit of Despair.  

I suspect it has something to do with this being an “At Home Year” in terms of holiday travel.   Now don’t misunderstand.  I dearly adore the years we don’t take this circus on the road for the holidays.  But I have to admit it–I miss my family something terrible.  I was the only sister who missed Thanksgiving this year & I had kind of a hard time with it.

I’m not an amateur, though.  I’ve lived far from my family for years & I know a thing or two about clawing my way out of the Pit of Despair.  And since I have to assume that you lovely people also visit the holiday-themed PoD on occasion, I’m going to do you a solid.  I’m going to share with you my time-honored recipe for busting out.

First, you need a treat.  For me, this takes the form of a large bowl of ice cream.  Typically the ice cream is shoveled into my mouth on frozen cookies, which serve as a spoon & therefore don’t count as the treat itself.  Cookies & ice cream is my particular treat; you can scoop up whatever makes you happy.  But you must take care to indulge in this treat alone.  If other people are around they might A) judge you on the cookies-as-a-spoon thing, or B) talk to you.  Neither is acceptable in my mind.  Ice cream requires solitude.

Second, you need a juicy book.  I’m indulging in one of Victoria Dahl’s contemporaries right now–Start Me Up.  Love her.  She’s so fast-paced & funny & deliciously dirty. (Not makes-you-feel-dirty dirty.  Just makes-you-feel-naughty dirty.  That’s the good kind of dirty, in case you were wondering.) For maximum effect,I recommend reading the book while eating the ice cream.  Now that I have an e-reader, I can put the book on the stand & use both hands to eat.  This is wonderfully convenient.

Now usually this is enough but sometimes I’m really deep in there & need an additional boost.  If this is the case, I take Emergency Measures.  This is generally Diet Coke, a hot bath, lunch out, or some combination of the three.  Just something I usually deny myself.

Now I understand some women shop.  This doesn’t work for me, as I’m  not sized/shaped to feel validated by a trip to the mall.  (I can’t even do shoes; I have thick ankles.  It’s awful.)  However, if that’s your thing, go for it. 

I understand some women cook or bake.  I don’t do this either, sadly.  I used to but when I’m in the Pit of Despair, I need to feel indulged. Pampered.  Appreciated.  And nothing kills my self-esteem more than putting a delicious dinner on the table only to have my fussy little eaters sigh & ask if they can have a bowl of cereal.   

This photo is several years old, but that’s my youngest up there, approaching dinner in protective goggles.  As if my carefully and lovingly prepared meal were out to get her or something.  And, yeah, that’s a bowl of cereal in front of her.

Is it any wonder I end up in the Pit of Despair so routinely?

So what about you?  What do you do to shake the holiday blues?  Or do you wait until the holidays are over to visit the Pit of Despair?  What’s your recipe for busting out?  Believe me when I say, I would love to hear all about it.