Tawna Fenske's Blog, page 16
April 16, 2012
Alarming things on my bookshelves
Thanks so much to everyone who weighed in on last week's question about the best schedule for my shift to twice-weekly blog posts! Based on your input, I'm going to test out a Monday/Thursday routine and see how that goes. I appreciate all your insights!
Now back to our regularly-scheduled blogging . . .
As an author and the owner of a English Lit degree, I'm required by law to have a minimum of 10 fully-stocked bookshelves in my home. (Sidenote: the Facebook users among you might be interested to see my recent bookshelf refinishing project here).
The problem with having so many books is that you sometimes forget what you own and how its presence might alarm others.
Shortly after we started dating, my gentleman friend began spending more time in my writing office. A photographer and copywriter himself, he's an easy person for me to share creative space with, and I happily made room for him to work nearby.
I was busy writing as he arranged some of his possessions on the bookshelf beside me. Suddenly, he got very quiet.
"Um, what's this?" he asked.
I turned to see him studying this popular title:
My one regret is that I didn't have a camera to capture the "is there something you forgot to mention?" look on his face.
"It's for naming characters in the books I write," I assured him. "Check the bookshelves of every fiction author in America, and I guarantee 90% of them will have one."
Fortunately, he accepted that explanation without question. Unfortunately, I didn't get any smarter about hiding the more delicate titles on my shelves.
My gentleman friend's ex-wife recently dropped off their offspring and needed a few minutes of private discussion with him about kid-related matters. I kept the young'uns occupied in the kitchen with fart jokes while quietly fretting that the office where the grownups conferred looked like a nuclear weapon had been discharged on my desk. Every surface was littered with tax forms, editorial letters, and chewed-up pens. My coaster held a tea mug, a cup of water, and an empty wineglass. I'm pretty sure there was cat puke on the windowsill.
The instant the ex-wife left, I scurried into my office to see whether the mess might warrant a call to the child welfare office. It was then I noticed which title would have been most visible from her vantage-point:
For the record, it's a pretty good book (and yes, it's exactly the sort of fiction you might expect from the title). No one ever said a word about it, which is probably for the best.
My latest round of questionable reading material appeared just a few days ago. A friend who manages a bookstore knows I'm noodling a new story, so she loaned me a title to help me research the heroine's profession.
We were out drinking beer the evening she gave it to me, and when I came home, I tossed it on the kitchen counter and promptly forgot about it.
The next morning, I came down to find the housemates giving me goofy looks. I ignored them and made a beeline for the refrigerator, secretly wondering how I'd drunkenly embarrassed myself the night before.
"So, uh . . . congratulations?" one of them said.
I turned with a well-masked look of alarm. "For what?"
"When's the wedding?"
I stared in horror, my mind doing a slow replay of the previous evening's events. To the best of my recollection, no one had gotten down on one knee in front of me (which is a damn shame, but I digress).
Finally, the other housemate pointed at the book:
Relief flooded my body. "Oh, that. It's research."
They grinned. "Uh-huh. Right."
I'm still not sure they believe me, but maybe that's best. Maybe I'll ask whether they'd prefer wearing fuchsia or lavender bridesmaids dresses.
Is there anything on your bookshelves that would be alarming to others? Please share!
I'll be looking for a copy of How to Dismember Bodies and Get Away With It. Might as well give the housemates something else to ponder.
Now back to our regularly-scheduled blogging . . .
As an author and the owner of a English Lit degree, I'm required by law to have a minimum of 10 fully-stocked bookshelves in my home. (Sidenote: the Facebook users among you might be interested to see my recent bookshelf refinishing project here).
The problem with having so many books is that you sometimes forget what you own and how its presence might alarm others.
Shortly after we started dating, my gentleman friend began spending more time in my writing office. A photographer and copywriter himself, he's an easy person for me to share creative space with, and I happily made room for him to work nearby.
I was busy writing as he arranged some of his possessions on the bookshelf beside me. Suddenly, he got very quiet.
"Um, what's this?" he asked.
I turned to see him studying this popular title:
My one regret is that I didn't have a camera to capture the "is there something you forgot to mention?" look on his face.
"It's for naming characters in the books I write," I assured him. "Check the bookshelves of every fiction author in America, and I guarantee 90% of them will have one."
Fortunately, he accepted that explanation without question. Unfortunately, I didn't get any smarter about hiding the more delicate titles on my shelves.
My gentleman friend's ex-wife recently dropped off their offspring and needed a few minutes of private discussion with him about kid-related matters. I kept the young'uns occupied in the kitchen with fart jokes while quietly fretting that the office where the grownups conferred looked like a nuclear weapon had been discharged on my desk. Every surface was littered with tax forms, editorial letters, and chewed-up pens. My coaster held a tea mug, a cup of water, and an empty wineglass. I'm pretty sure there was cat puke on the windowsill.
The instant the ex-wife left, I scurried into my office to see whether the mess might warrant a call to the child welfare office. It was then I noticed which title would have been most visible from her vantage-point:
For the record, it's a pretty good book (and yes, it's exactly the sort of fiction you might expect from the title). No one ever said a word about it, which is probably for the best.My latest round of questionable reading material appeared just a few days ago. A friend who manages a bookstore knows I'm noodling a new story, so she loaned me a title to help me research the heroine's profession.
We were out drinking beer the evening she gave it to me, and when I came home, I tossed it on the kitchen counter and promptly forgot about it.
The next morning, I came down to find the housemates giving me goofy looks. I ignored them and made a beeline for the refrigerator, secretly wondering how I'd drunkenly embarrassed myself the night before.
"So, uh . . . congratulations?" one of them said.
I turned with a well-masked look of alarm. "For what?"
"When's the wedding?"
I stared in horror, my mind doing a slow replay of the previous evening's events. To the best of my recollection, no one had gotten down on one knee in front of me (which is a damn shame, but I digress).
Finally, the other housemate pointed at the book:
Relief flooded my body. "Oh, that. It's research."They grinned. "Uh-huh. Right."
I'm still not sure they believe me, but maybe that's best. Maybe I'll ask whether they'd prefer wearing fuchsia or lavender bridesmaids dresses.
Is there anything on your bookshelves that would be alarming to others? Please share!
I'll be looking for a copy of How to Dismember Bodies and Get Away With It. Might as well give the housemates something else to ponder.
April 12, 2012
The passion that keeps you going when it sucks
Besides being a romantic comedy novelist, I work part-time as the Communications & PR Manager for my city's tourism bureau. For two days, I've been job-shadowed by a high school student seeking a career in tourism marketing.
Let's all pause here and shudder at the thought of an underage student learning anything from me, in any capacity, ever.
I spent plentiful time with the young lass, discussing marketing strategies, explaining social media tactics, and convincing her my job involves more than getting paid to drink beer with journalists.
Toward the end of our first session, she pulled out a list of questions her teacher suggested she pose to the professionals she shadowed. I looked around for professionals, and finding none, agreed to be interviewed.
Several questions focused on my career path, and I explained my progression from underpaid journalist to understimulated tech writer to marketing geek. The latter is where I've spent the last thirteen years marketing everything from community healthcare to kids' photography franchises to translation & localization services for the life sciences industry (say that ten times fast and then drink two shots of vodka, because that's the only way to make it sound anything other than mind-numbingly dull).
I explained that the type of marketing I do boils down to being a glorified cheerleader for whatever product or service I'm paid to hawk. Over the years, I have gotten pretty decent with my pom-poms.
She politely refrained from commenting on my pom-poms as she posed another question:
I thought about it long and hard (and didn't even make the "long and hard" joke while I did so.) Finally, I settled on a reply.
"About eight years into my marketing career, I got cocky," I explained. "I was switching jobs at the time, and I remember thinking I'd be happy marketing just about any product, as long as I was well-paid."
I was wrong.
I learned that the hard way as I found myself failing to get fired up over photo studios and translation services. I reached a point where I thought I might just throw in the towel on the marketing thing and try being a circus clown instead.
"Then, this job came along," I explained. "I've lived in this town for 14 years, and I vacationed here as a kid. I know a hundred million reasons this is the coolest place on earth to be, and I get to spend my days sharing that with people. I'm passionate about the Bend Ale Trail. I get giddy thinking about floating the river or finding the city's best mac-and-cheese. There are days I know I'd do this job even if no one paid me. And that right there is what will keep you going when the job f**king sucks. Because make no mistake about it – there will be days your job f**king sucks."
I didn't say f**king, but I did infuse my monologue with enough passion to make the youngster sit up a little straighter in her chair.
The advice holds for just about any task you undertake. When I began writing fiction nine years ago, I started off writing women's action/adventure romances. I sold my first book to Harlequin Silhouette's Bombshell line, which was canceled a month before my scheduled debut.
I'm glad about that.
Because my heart wasn't in that kind of writing, and I damn well knew it. While I won't claim to be the best romantic comedy writer on earth, I can tell you I'm a lot more passionate about writing penis jokes than helicopter crashes.
And that's what makes a difference when I hit the inevitable low spots in my writing career. Having a passion for what I write is what keeps me going even when the well runs dry.
My high school shadow finished scrawling in her notebook and stood up. "Thank you," she said.
"No problem," I told her.
The next day, I checked back once she'd finished shadowing my four colleagues.
"So after all that," I asked, "which job do you think you'd most like to do someday?"
She thought about it a minute, then pointed at two of my co-workers. "His or hers," she said before looking back at me. "I don't think I have it in me to do yours."
I think it's best I didn't ask what she meant by that. It's also best I refrained from snickering over the phrase, have it in me.
Are you lucky enough to be passionate about your career or some other aspect of your life? Do you find it makes a difference? Please share!
Let's all pause here and shudder at the thought of an underage student learning anything from me, in any capacity, ever.
I spent plentiful time with the young lass, discussing marketing strategies, explaining social media tactics, and convincing her my job involves more than getting paid to drink beer with journalists.
Toward the end of our first session, she pulled out a list of questions her teacher suggested she pose to the professionals she shadowed. I looked around for professionals, and finding none, agreed to be interviewed.
Several questions focused on my career path, and I explained my progression from underpaid journalist to understimulated tech writer to marketing geek. The latter is where I've spent the last thirteen years marketing everything from community healthcare to kids' photography franchises to translation & localization services for the life sciences industry (say that ten times fast and then drink two shots of vodka, because that's the only way to make it sound anything other than mind-numbingly dull).
I explained that the type of marketing I do boils down to being a glorified cheerleader for whatever product or service I'm paid to hawk. Over the years, I have gotten pretty decent with my pom-poms.
She politely refrained from commenting on my pom-poms as she posed another question:
What advice would you offer someone who's just starting out in this line of work?
I thought about it long and hard (and didn't even make the "long and hard" joke while I did so.) Finally, I settled on a reply.
"About eight years into my marketing career, I got cocky," I explained. "I was switching jobs at the time, and I remember thinking I'd be happy marketing just about any product, as long as I was well-paid."
I was wrong.
I learned that the hard way as I found myself failing to get fired up over photo studios and translation services. I reached a point where I thought I might just throw in the towel on the marketing thing and try being a circus clown instead.
"Then, this job came along," I explained. "I've lived in this town for 14 years, and I vacationed here as a kid. I know a hundred million reasons this is the coolest place on earth to be, and I get to spend my days sharing that with people. I'm passionate about the Bend Ale Trail. I get giddy thinking about floating the river or finding the city's best mac-and-cheese. There are days I know I'd do this job even if no one paid me. And that right there is what will keep you going when the job f**king sucks. Because make no mistake about it – there will be days your job f**king sucks."
I didn't say f**king, but I did infuse my monologue with enough passion to make the youngster sit up a little straighter in her chair.
The advice holds for just about any task you undertake. When I began writing fiction nine years ago, I started off writing women's action/adventure romances. I sold my first book to Harlequin Silhouette's Bombshell line, which was canceled a month before my scheduled debut.
I'm glad about that.
Because my heart wasn't in that kind of writing, and I damn well knew it. While I won't claim to be the best romantic comedy writer on earth, I can tell you I'm a lot more passionate about writing penis jokes than helicopter crashes.
And that's what makes a difference when I hit the inevitable low spots in my writing career. Having a passion for what I write is what keeps me going even when the well runs dry.
My high school shadow finished scrawling in her notebook and stood up. "Thank you," she said.
"No problem," I told her.
The next day, I checked back once she'd finished shadowing my four colleagues.
"So after all that," I asked, "which job do you think you'd most like to do someday?"
She thought about it a minute, then pointed at two of my co-workers. "His or hers," she said before looking back at me. "I don't think I have it in me to do yours."
I think it's best I didn't ask what she meant by that. It's also best I refrained from snickering over the phrase, have it in me.
Are you lucky enough to be passionate about your career or some other aspect of your life? Do you find it makes a difference? Please share!
April 10, 2012
Seeking your opinion on a new blog schedule
For a few months now, I've been plotting something dramatic.
No, I'm not shaving my head and joining a cult that worships bacon-wrapped water chestnuts (though if you know of such a cult, I would happily join it).
I've been blogging here every day, Monday through Friday, for two years, two months, one week, and two days. I began a month before my agent landed me a three-book deal for my romantic comedies, and have blogged faithfully through hangovers and perky mornings, through day-job stress and day-job euphoria, through divorce and new romance, through fears of losing my house and the comedy of acquiring two male roommates to pay the mortgage.
I've blogged through writing highs and writing lows, and through the release of two romantic comedies and one active-fiction romantic caper.
This blog has been an incredible outlet for my creative energy, and a chance for me to connect with some of the most amazing readers on the planet. We've supported each other through a lot of crazy stuff, and I'm eternally grateful for all of it.
But I've been teetering on the brink of too many near-missed book deadlines, and I'm slowly beginning to accept that something's got to give if I want to keep my head above water as an author.
Unfortunately, "something" will likely be this blog.
I don't plan to go away entirely, but I do need to cut back. That's where I'd like your input.
I'd prefer to stick with a set schedule, both for my own sanity and for a little predictability for readers. Do you have any preferences?
I'm tentatively kicking around the thought of a twice-weekly, Tuesday & Thursday posting schedule, but I'm open to other ideas. If you want to make a case for Mondays and Wednesdays, or argue that I can't possibly do anything less than three posts a week without losing half my readership, I'm all ears.
I'm also not ruling out the possibility of eventually returning to a daily blogging schedule. That's certainly possible once I feel like I've gained back a little ground on the writing front.
So how about it, guys? Got any input on the schedule? Please share!
And in the spirit of sharing, here's the best bacon-wrapped water chestnut recipe you will ever hope to find. Enjoy!
No, I'm not shaving my head and joining a cult that worships bacon-wrapped water chestnuts (though if you know of such a cult, I would happily join it).
I've been blogging here every day, Monday through Friday, for two years, two months, one week, and two days. I began a month before my agent landed me a three-book deal for my romantic comedies, and have blogged faithfully through hangovers and perky mornings, through day-job stress and day-job euphoria, through divorce and new romance, through fears of losing my house and the comedy of acquiring two male roommates to pay the mortgage.
I've blogged through writing highs and writing lows, and through the release of two romantic comedies and one active-fiction romantic caper.
This blog has been an incredible outlet for my creative energy, and a chance for me to connect with some of the most amazing readers on the planet. We've supported each other through a lot of crazy stuff, and I'm eternally grateful for all of it.
But I've been teetering on the brink of too many near-missed book deadlines, and I'm slowly beginning to accept that something's got to give if I want to keep my head above water as an author.
Unfortunately, "something" will likely be this blog.
I don't plan to go away entirely, but I do need to cut back. That's where I'd like your input.
I'd prefer to stick with a set schedule, both for my own sanity and for a little predictability for readers. Do you have any preferences?
I'm tentatively kicking around the thought of a twice-weekly, Tuesday & Thursday posting schedule, but I'm open to other ideas. If you want to make a case for Mondays and Wednesdays, or argue that I can't possibly do anything less than three posts a week without losing half my readership, I'm all ears.
I'm also not ruling out the possibility of eventually returning to a daily blogging schedule. That's certainly possible once I feel like I've gained back a little ground on the writing front.
So how about it, guys? Got any input on the schedule? Please share!
And in the spirit of sharing, here's the best bacon-wrapped water chestnut recipe you will ever hope to find. Enjoy!
April 9, 2012
On favorite lines and Easter candy
On Saturday afternoon, my gentleman friend and I enjoyed both a scenic hike and a heated debate about the best Easter candy.
He's partial to anything with chocolate and peanut butter. Though I was apparently born without a sweet tooth, I do enjoy the occasional chocolate-covered marshmallow egg.
The conversation got me thinking about a line in my new book, Believe it or Not. It's one of my favorite lines in the whole book, for reasons I can't explain but still cling to like a favorite sex toy that's faded and cracked but still runs fine if you jiggle the batteries and–
About that line.
It's an early scene in the book when Violet first meets the man she wants to like. He's kind and smart and normal and everything she thinks she wants, but soon learns isn't what she needs at all.
I originally wrote it as "creamy nougat," but the line editor flagged it and provided a link to a website that explained the actual content of a Cadbury milk-chocolate egg. There was much debate about the proper way to describe it without ruining the line. "Vanilla cream" almost won out over "creamy fondant," and at a certain point in the proceedings, I teetered dangerously close to not liking the line much anymore.
But I still do. It makes me giggle. It surprises me a little each time I read it. It captures the tone I wanted to create, with Violet over-thinking the situation and trying way too hard to find this guy appealing.
What's your favorite candy for whichever holiday you happen to celebrate this time of year? If you don't have one, how about sharing your favorite line from a book?
Or if all else fails, share you chocolate-marshmallow eggs. I didn't get one this year, dammit.
He's partial to anything with chocolate and peanut butter. Though I was apparently born without a sweet tooth, I do enjoy the occasional chocolate-covered marshmallow egg.
The conversation got me thinking about a line in my new book, Believe it or Not. It's one of my favorite lines in the whole book, for reasons I can't explain but still cling to like a favorite sex toy that's faded and cracked but still runs fine if you jiggle the batteries and–
About that line.
It's an early scene in the book when Violet first meets the man she wants to like. He's kind and smart and normal and everything she thinks she wants, but soon learns isn't what she needs at all.
She looked up into a pair of warm-brown eyes the color of Cadbury milk-chocolate eggs.
"Can I help you find something?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern rather than creamy fondant.
I originally wrote it as "creamy nougat," but the line editor flagged it and provided a link to a website that explained the actual content of a Cadbury milk-chocolate egg. There was much debate about the proper way to describe it without ruining the line. "Vanilla cream" almost won out over "creamy fondant," and at a certain point in the proceedings, I teetered dangerously close to not liking the line much anymore.
But I still do. It makes me giggle. It surprises me a little each time I read it. It captures the tone I wanted to create, with Violet over-thinking the situation and trying way too hard to find this guy appealing.
What's your favorite candy for whichever holiday you happen to celebrate this time of year? If you don't have one, how about sharing your favorite line from a book?
Or if all else fails, share you chocolate-marshmallow eggs. I didn't get one this year, dammit.
April 6, 2012
Conversations from the household of perverts.
I walked out to the garage the other day and discovered both housemates in the process of repairing a motorcycle.
Housemate 1: That's not gonna be long enough.
Housemate 2: Want me to use my hand?
Housemate 1: Never mind, I got it in.
***
I was driving around with my gentleman friend when I remembered it's time to remove the snow tires.
"I need to get these studs off," I said.
He laughed. "I hear you're pretty good at that."
***
I walked out of office my last weekend and found the housemates sprawled in the living room watching a documentary about beavers. I stood there for a minute and listened, waiting for the dirty jokes or the eruptions of laughter. Nothing. I finally lost it when the announcer declared, "the beaver is stockpiling wood."
Both housemates turned and looked at me. "We had a bet how long that would take you," one said. "I won."
***
I appreciate that my tax software gives me the option to enter myself, but shouldn't that wait until after I've finished the taxes?
***
So what's making YOU laugh these days? Please share!
Housemate 1: That's not gonna be long enough.
Housemate 2: Want me to use my hand?
Housemate 1: Never mind, I got it in.
***
I was driving around with my gentleman friend when I remembered it's time to remove the snow tires.
"I need to get these studs off," I said.
He laughed. "I hear you're pretty good at that."
***
I walked out of office my last weekend and found the housemates sprawled in the living room watching a documentary about beavers. I stood there for a minute and listened, waiting for the dirty jokes or the eruptions of laughter. Nothing. I finally lost it when the announcer declared, "the beaver is stockpiling wood."
Both housemates turned and looked at me. "We had a bet how long that would take you," one said. "I won."
***
I appreciate that my tax software gives me the option to enter myself, but shouldn't that wait until after I've finished the taxes?
***So what's making YOU laugh these days? Please share!
April 5, 2012
First the pork, now the balls
I've gotten a lot of lovely messages from readers who made the Cranberry Pork Roast recipe I shared from Getting Dumped and managed not to burn down their homes. Way to go!
For those who've been asking (or for those who prefer a culinary experiment that doesn't involve turning on an oven), I'd like to share the no-bake White Chocolate Apricot Balls that are also featured in the story. Enjoy!
White Chocolate Apricot Balls
2/3 cup powdered sugar1 cup blanched almonds2 cups dried apricots2 tablespoons rum
Zest of 1 medium orange1.5 teaspoons vanilla extract4 ounces of white chocolate (look in the baking section, or just a regular old bar of white chocolate will do. You can even try white chocolate chips if you can't find anything else)
This is pretty much the easiest recipe on the planet if you have a food processor. Throw the almonds and powdered sugar in the processor and pulse until the almonds are finely ground. Don't go too crazy or you'll end up with almond butter. Once you've done the nuts, (snicker) throw in the dried apricots and pulse until they're chopped up nice and small. After that, dump in the rum, vanilla, orange zest, and white chocolate. Pulse again until everything's nice and blended.
Here comes the fun part...
Spray your hands with nonstick cooking spray. Then grab a handful of the goo in the food processor and make a ball. You should have enough to form 20-24 balls, so get rolling.
Spread them out on a baking sheet, but don't bake them. Chill them in the fridge for a couple hours (though if you're impatient like me, you can start gobbling them up right away – they just won't be firm at that point, and isn't it always best to wait 'til something's satisfactorily firm?)
So there you go – another recipe from Getting Dumped. Those of you who read the first episode may be interested to know episode #2 is right around the corner. Those who haven't read it yet can find it here on Kindle.
Happy eating! (And reading).
For those who've been asking (or for those who prefer a culinary experiment that doesn't involve turning on an oven), I'd like to share the no-bake White Chocolate Apricot Balls that are also featured in the story. Enjoy!
White Chocolate Apricot Balls
2/3 cup powdered sugar1 cup blanched almonds2 cups dried apricots2 tablespoons rum
Zest of 1 medium orange1.5 teaspoons vanilla extract4 ounces of white chocolate (look in the baking section, or just a regular old bar of white chocolate will do. You can even try white chocolate chips if you can't find anything else)
This is pretty much the easiest recipe on the planet if you have a food processor. Throw the almonds and powdered sugar in the processor and pulse until the almonds are finely ground. Don't go too crazy or you'll end up with almond butter. Once you've done the nuts, (snicker) throw in the dried apricots and pulse until they're chopped up nice and small. After that, dump in the rum, vanilla, orange zest, and white chocolate. Pulse again until everything's nice and blended.
Here comes the fun part...
Spray your hands with nonstick cooking spray. Then grab a handful of the goo in the food processor and make a ball. You should have enough to form 20-24 balls, so get rolling.
Spread them out on a baking sheet, but don't bake them. Chill them in the fridge for a couple hours (though if you're impatient like me, you can start gobbling them up right away – they just won't be firm at that point, and isn't it always best to wait 'til something's satisfactorily firm?)
So there you go – another recipe from Getting Dumped. Those of you who read the first episode may be interested to know episode #2 is right around the corner. Those who haven't read it yet can find it here on Kindle.
Happy eating! (And reading).
April 4, 2012
My mailbox made me smile
There are few things in life I love more than a sale, and most of them involve being naked.
The sale you guys created by voting for Making Waves in the Sourcebooks #ebookbracket challenge kicked off yesterday and goes through Monday, April 9. If you haven't read the book yet, or if you know someone with an e-reader who'd enjoy a thoughtful 99-cent gift, you can snag Making Waves for Kindle here or for the Nook here or for other formats like Kobo, iPhone, iPad, Sony eReader, and others here.
Thanks again for your votes, guys!
I'm going to make this short and sweet today and just share something that made me smile recently. I received a thank you note from my kid brother in the mail earlier this week. Here's how he addressed it:
I should point out the letter arrived without incident, which leads me to assume the postman thinks this is my real name.
Those of you who've read my second romantic comedy, Believe it or Not , might have caught the following line in the book's acknowledgments:
It's true, but it's also worth noting I've rarely called my brother by his real name, either. I'm dimly aware my parents named him "Aaron," but can't remember a time I called him anything besides "Russ" (the name of Clark Griswold's son in National Lampoon's Family Vacation).
So there you have it....a sale, some funny mail, and a family tale. I should totally give up this romantic comedy thing and become a poet.
What's making you smile this week? Please share!
There once was a man from Nantucket...
The sale you guys created by voting for Making Waves in the Sourcebooks #ebookbracket challenge kicked off yesterday and goes through Monday, April 9. If you haven't read the book yet, or if you know someone with an e-reader who'd enjoy a thoughtful 99-cent gift, you can snag Making Waves for Kindle here or for the Nook here or for other formats like Kobo, iPhone, iPad, Sony eReader, and others here.
Thanks again for your votes, guys!
I'm going to make this short and sweet today and just share something that made me smile recently. I received a thank you note from my kid brother in the mail earlier this week. Here's how he addressed it:
I should point out the letter arrived without incident, which leads me to assume the postman thinks this is my real name.
Those of you who've read my second romantic comedy, Believe it or Not , might have caught the following line in the book's acknowledgments:
Thanks also to Aaron "Russ" Fenske, who may not recognize my name on the cover of this book, because to the best of my knowledge, he's never called me anything but 'Butthead.'
It's true, but it's also worth noting I've rarely called my brother by his real name, either. I'm dimly aware my parents named him "Aaron," but can't remember a time I called him anything besides "Russ" (the name of Clark Griswold's son in National Lampoon's Family Vacation).
So there you have it....a sale, some funny mail, and a family tale. I should totally give up this romantic comedy thing and become a poet.
What's making you smile this week? Please share!
There once was a man from Nantucket...
April 3, 2012
Real authors probably have a better system for this
A new romantic comedy idea sunk its teeth into my brain last week and began gnawing like a feral hamster on crack.
A smart author would probably devote time to charting a detailed plot and analyzing the characters' goals, motivations, and desires. At the very least, she'd put some solid thought into her hero and heroine's names.
I opted to leave that to the housemates. I found one sipping coffee in the kitchen, and though I wasn't certain he was awake, I decided to pick his brain.
"I'm starting a new book this morning," I informed him. "Name my hero and heroine."
He blinked at me. "Johnny Appleseed. Allie Alligator. Donald–"
"Allie, that's good. That'll work. I've never written an Allie before."
"Especially not with the last name Alligator."
"Right," I agreed. "I might have to change that. OK, now you have to name the hero."
He stared at me blankly for a minute, then looked down at his coffee.
"Hold that thought," I told him. "I have to refill the dog's kibble. You keep thinking."
"Kibble's a good name," he mused as he took a sip of something he probably wished was a lot stronger than Starbucks.
"I know!" I announced. "The hero comes from a big military family. How about a famous military name? Weren't you a history major? Here's a great chance to use that degree!"
He didn't look entirely enthusiastic about the opportunity, but began rattling off names anyway. "Custer. Patton."
"Too redneck. Too gay."
He frowned. "Ulysses?"
"As in Ulysses S. Grant?" I tried to remember eighth grade history class and whether Ulysses S. Grant had a history of bestiality. "Grant's good. I don't think I've written a Grant."
I thought about it for a second as I scooped kibble into the dog's dish. By the time I set he bowl back on the floor, my mind was made up. "Allie and Grant. I like it. Those are my characters' names. Thank you."
He nodded. "I still like Kibble better."
"I know you do."
So there you have it – the new characters I'll be getting to know shortly. I hope I didn't spoil anyone's notions about the hard work and creativity that goes into naming romantic comedy protagonists.
If you're a writer, how much thought do you give to your characters' names? For the readers among you, how much of a difference do names make in your perception of a story? Please share!
I'll be hard at work crafting the fate of Allie Kibble and Grant Patton.
A smart author would probably devote time to charting a detailed plot and analyzing the characters' goals, motivations, and desires. At the very least, she'd put some solid thought into her hero and heroine's names.
I opted to leave that to the housemates. I found one sipping coffee in the kitchen, and though I wasn't certain he was awake, I decided to pick his brain.
"I'm starting a new book this morning," I informed him. "Name my hero and heroine."
He blinked at me. "Johnny Appleseed. Allie Alligator. Donald–"
"Allie, that's good. That'll work. I've never written an Allie before."
"Especially not with the last name Alligator."
"Right," I agreed. "I might have to change that. OK, now you have to name the hero."
He stared at me blankly for a minute, then looked down at his coffee.
"Hold that thought," I told him. "I have to refill the dog's kibble. You keep thinking."
"Kibble's a good name," he mused as he took a sip of something he probably wished was a lot stronger than Starbucks.
"I know!" I announced. "The hero comes from a big military family. How about a famous military name? Weren't you a history major? Here's a great chance to use that degree!"
He didn't look entirely enthusiastic about the opportunity, but began rattling off names anyway. "Custer. Patton."
"Too redneck. Too gay."
He frowned. "Ulysses?"
"As in Ulysses S. Grant?" I tried to remember eighth grade history class and whether Ulysses S. Grant had a history of bestiality. "Grant's good. I don't think I've written a Grant."
I thought about it for a second as I scooped kibble into the dog's dish. By the time I set he bowl back on the floor, my mind was made up. "Allie and Grant. I like it. Those are my characters' names. Thank you."
He nodded. "I still like Kibble better."
"I know you do."
So there you have it – the new characters I'll be getting to know shortly. I hope I didn't spoil anyone's notions about the hard work and creativity that goes into naming romantic comedy protagonists.
If you're a writer, how much thought do you give to your characters' names? For the readers among you, how much of a difference do names make in your perception of a story? Please share!
I'll be hard at work crafting the fate of Allie Kibble and Grant Patton.
April 2, 2012
Fulfilling my promise to lift my shirt for you
OK, everyone – offer me either your right hand or your backside.High fives and butt pats all around, because we won the Sourcebooks #ebookbracket Twitter challenge!
From a field of eight Sourcebooks authors who all have a strong social media presence and at least two published novels, Making Waves somehow emerged victorious with the highest number of tweeted votes during the one-week contest period. Thanks to you guys, the eBook version of Making Waves will be priced at just 99-cents April 3-9.
I couldn't have done it without your support, and I'm HUGELY grateful to those of you who tweeted your little hearts out and made it happen..
And now, I'll hold up my end of the bargain (along with the hem of my shirt).
I promised last week that if we won the #ebookbracket challenge, I'd show you my new tattoo. It's a 3.5-inch starfish inked on the left side of my ribcage, and I got it last Wednesday after nearly two decades of contemplating some sort of body art.
It's my first tattoo, and though I generally have a high tolerance for pain, I'll confess right now it hurt like a sonofabitch. Note to self: Next time (if there is a next time) pick a nice, fleshy spot like a butt cheek or a boob.
Here are a couple photos:
Why a starfish? Quite a few reasons, actually. I've had a fondness for stars of the astral variety my whole life. Each year, my birthday coincides with the peak of the Perseids meteor shower, which may have something to with that fixation. Many of my favorite poems have star themes, including Walt Whitman's "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer," Robin Schecter's "Venus, or Maybe Mercury," and "Decembrum," by Wallace Stephens.My parents grew up and met on the Oregon coast. Since my grandparents remained there through most of my childhood, I spent a lot of time poking around in tidepools and contemplating a career as a marine biologist. As a globetrotting adult, I gravitated toward destinations with great snorkeling and marine life, like Fiji, Jamaica, Hawaii, Mexico, Barbados, and Australia's Great Barrier reef (the birthplace of my debut novel, Making Waves). Since my parents retired, they've spent part of each year on the Hawaiian island of Kauai, which is where they summoned me last year when I was on the brink of divorce and in urgent need of love and support.I've always admired the regenerative properties of starfish. Most varieties can regrow an arm that's been torn off, and some (like the Linckia starfish commonly found in Hawaii) can regrow an entire starfish from a single severed arm. Every writer has moments of feeling the pursuit is futile and no one really cares what we have to say. Years ago, someone shared an excerpt from Loren Eiseley's "The Star Thrower" (commonly known as "The Starfish Story") and it's the thing I always repeat to myself at times like that. The gist of the story is that a man was walking along a beach littered with starfish that had been washed up by the tide. As he walked, he spotted a boy picking up starfish and throwing them into the ocean one by one. "What on earth are you doing?" the man asked. "Helping the starfish," replied the boy as he picked up another. "If they don't make it back into the water, they'll die." The man shook his head. "There are thousands of starfish and dozens of miles of beach here. You can't possibly make a difference." The boy bent down and picked up another starfish. Tossing it into the ocean, he turned and smiled at the man. "I made a difference for that one." Cheesy? A little bit. But on those inevitable rough days in my writing career, I can't tell you how amazing it is to get an email or blog comment saying, "You made me laugh on a day I really needed to, so thank you."And thank you, dear readers, for all your comments, tweets, emails, Amazon reviews, Facebook posts, and telepathic butt pats. These last couple years have been a wild and crazy ride, and I'm damn lucky to have had you all in it with me.
March 30, 2012
You get free books, I get a Turkish prison stay
Between all the voting for the Sourcebooks #ebookbracket competition and the voting we've had going for our little caption contest, I'm feeling a bit like a politician. Maybe I should do something inappropriate with a cigar.
Though you still have 'til 1 p.m. CST Friday to tweet your votes for Making Waves in the #ebookbracket challenge on Twitter, now's the time to announce the winner in our caption contest.
Drumroll please?
Congratulations to Jennie Shaw, who did such an impressive job campaigning for votes that I'm a little concerned for her health. Nice work, Jennie! Send your snail mail address to me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com, and I'll hook you up with your prize pack that includes signed copies of Believe it or Not and Making Waves , as well as a whole buncha bookmarks.
I feel a little bad sending our second-place competitor away with nothing, and since Rhonda Hopkins got pretty darn close with her vote collection, I'd like to offer her the choice of a signed copy of Making Waves or a signed copy of Believe it or Not . Take yer pick, Rhonda, and email me with your snail mail address. I'll even throw in a few bookmarks for good measure (and if any of the other three competitors want bookmarks, shoot me your email as well!)
Thanks so much to all of you who voted, submitted entries, or just lurked around and snickered. That was fun!
On an unrelated note, I just learned Turkish rights have been sold for both Believe it or Not and Making Waves . I'm awaiting word on whether that comes with a free flight to Turkey and a complimentary day at a luxury Turkish bath, but I'd settle for a couple hours in a Turkish prison with three strapping young men and a bottle of good wine.
Harika bir haber, teşekkür ederiz!
That either means "great news, thank you!" or "please hold my wombat while I admire the handcuffs." Whatever.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Though you still have 'til 1 p.m. CST Friday to tweet your votes for Making Waves in the #ebookbracket challenge on Twitter, now's the time to announce the winner in our caption contest.
Drumroll please?
Congratulations to Jennie Shaw, who did such an impressive job campaigning for votes that I'm a little concerned for her health. Nice work, Jennie! Send your snail mail address to me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com, and I'll hook you up with your prize pack that includes signed copies of Believe it or Not and Making Waves , as well as a whole buncha bookmarks.
I feel a little bad sending our second-place competitor away with nothing, and since Rhonda Hopkins got pretty darn close with her vote collection, I'd like to offer her the choice of a signed copy of Making Waves or a signed copy of Believe it or Not . Take yer pick, Rhonda, and email me with your snail mail address. I'll even throw in a few bookmarks for good measure (and if any of the other three competitors want bookmarks, shoot me your email as well!)
Thanks so much to all of you who voted, submitted entries, or just lurked around and snickered. That was fun!
On an unrelated note, I just learned Turkish rights have been sold for both Believe it or Not and Making Waves . I'm awaiting word on whether that comes with a free flight to Turkey and a complimentary day at a luxury Turkish bath, but I'd settle for a couple hours in a Turkish prison with three strapping young men and a bottle of good wine.
Harika bir haber, teşekkür ederiz!
That either means "great news, thank you!" or "please hold my wombat while I admire the handcuffs." Whatever.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
