Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 37
June 28, 2017
Please Welcome Donna Simonetta
Donna Simonetta, a fellow Wild Rose Press author, is my guest today. She's talking about changing careers to pursue writing full time, and giving us a preview of Angels Fly, currently on sale. Angels Flyholds a special place in my heart, as it’s the first book I had published. It’s actually the third book I wrote, but the first to appeal to a publisher and see the light of day. Its publication was an exciting, milestone moment in my life, and I am now celebrating another such moment. Up until now, I have been dividing my professional time between my writing and a part-time school librarian job. This juggling act has become increasingly difficult to manage, so I decided this school year would be my last one, and I’m going to devote myself to my writing on a full-time basis. Gulp. It feels like I’m stepping out of an airplane mid-air without a parachute. However, in addition to the blind terror, I also feel unbelievably fortunate to pursue work that I love so much, and that brings me as much joy as my writing does.To celebrate this exciting time in my life, I decided to put Angels Fly, the book that started it all for me, on a limited time sale for .99 cents! If you’ve read it already–thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you have not, I’d be thrilled if you take advantage of this sale to give Angels Fly a try. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to jump out of an airplane!
Blurb
Two years after her husband’s death, Kelly believes her romantic life is done. Until she reconnects with her girlhood crush on social media, and as fate would have it, he lives across the street.
James is over the whole true-love thing. His grasping ex-wife tore that belief out of him, when she left him for a rich, old man. Then he finds out his first love moved to San Diego too, and their attraction burns as hot as ever.
What they don’t know is that Fate didn’t bring them together – the Guardian Angel Corps did, led by two unlikely Cupids – Kelly’s late husband and Zane, a rough and tumble, 19thcentury cowboy. When a Fallen Angel decides to tear Kelly and James apart, cherubs and harps aren’t going to cut it, and Zane’s unique skills might be just what they need to get a second chance at their first love.
Excerpt
She flashed a bright smile at her old friend, “I sent a friend request to Susie Davidson, and I want to see if she’s responded.”“Susie Davidson,” Grace’s voice dripped with disdain, “we didn’t badger you into doing this so you could reconnect with Susie Davidson.”“Hey, what’ve you got against old Susie? She was an integral part of our nerd squad in high school,” David said. “Right, Kel?” When she didn’t reply, he glanced over at his old friend to see her frozen at her computer, all the color drained from her face. “Kel, what’s wrong?” “I didn’t hear from Susie, but I did get a message from James Flynn,” she whispered.David jumped to his feet and peeked over her shoulder at the computer screen. “Yummy James Flynn from Rye?”Grace snickered, “Sounds like a sandwich. I’ll have a Yummy James Flynn on rye. Hold the mayo.”Kelly and David swung their heads in unison to stare at her.“What? It’s not my fault you two come from a town named after a bread.”David shook his head mournfully and intoned, “Californians.”“Native, baby.” The blonde woman grinned playfully, “And don’t you New England Yankees forget it.”“What does he say, Kel?” David asked with interest.Kelly gulped, “He wanted to get in touch and maybe meet for a drink.” She twisted her head to look up at David, her eyes huge on her pale face, “He lives here, David. In San Diego.”
Buy Links
Amazon:https://amzn.com/B01G46DQQ8Barnes & Noble:http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/angels-fly-donna-simonetta/1123842226?ean=2940158160998Amazon UK:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Angels-Fly-Donna-Simonetta-ebook/dp/B01G46DQQ8/The Wild Rose Press: http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/4409-angels-fly.html
My career has been a winding road. I worked in the business world for years, got my MLS and worked in a school library, and am now living my dream as an author. I love to read and write contemporary and fantasy romance. I live in Maryland, with my husband, who is my real-life romance hero. We both enjoy traveling to visit our far-flung family and friends, and spending time on the beach with an umbrella drink and a good book.
Want to talk to Donna?
https://www.facebook.com/donnasimonettaauthor
https://twitter.com/donna_simonetta
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15422407.Donna_Simonetta
https://www.amazon.com/Donna-Simonetta/e/B06X415TWW/
Blurb
Two years after her husband’s death, Kelly believes her romantic life is done. Until she reconnects with her girlhood crush on social media, and as fate would have it, he lives across the street.
James is over the whole true-love thing. His grasping ex-wife tore that belief out of him, when she left him for a rich, old man. Then he finds out his first love moved to San Diego too, and their attraction burns as hot as ever.
What they don’t know is that Fate didn’t bring them together – the Guardian Angel Corps did, led by two unlikely Cupids – Kelly’s late husband and Zane, a rough and tumble, 19thcentury cowboy. When a Fallen Angel decides to tear Kelly and James apart, cherubs and harps aren’t going to cut it, and Zane’s unique skills might be just what they need to get a second chance at their first love.
Excerpt
She flashed a bright smile at her old friend, “I sent a friend request to Susie Davidson, and I want to see if she’s responded.”“Susie Davidson,” Grace’s voice dripped with disdain, “we didn’t badger you into doing this so you could reconnect with Susie Davidson.”“Hey, what’ve you got against old Susie? She was an integral part of our nerd squad in high school,” David said. “Right, Kel?” When she didn’t reply, he glanced over at his old friend to see her frozen at her computer, all the color drained from her face. “Kel, what’s wrong?” “I didn’t hear from Susie, but I did get a message from James Flynn,” she whispered.David jumped to his feet and peeked over her shoulder at the computer screen. “Yummy James Flynn from Rye?”Grace snickered, “Sounds like a sandwich. I’ll have a Yummy James Flynn on rye. Hold the mayo.”Kelly and David swung their heads in unison to stare at her.“What? It’s not my fault you two come from a town named after a bread.”David shook his head mournfully and intoned, “Californians.”“Native, baby.” The blonde woman grinned playfully, “And don’t you New England Yankees forget it.”“What does he say, Kel?” David asked with interest.Kelly gulped, “He wanted to get in touch and maybe meet for a drink.” She twisted her head to look up at David, her eyes huge on her pale face, “He lives here, David. In San Diego.”
Buy Links
Amazon:https://amzn.com/B01G46DQQ8Barnes & Noble:http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/angels-fly-donna-simonetta/1123842226?ean=2940158160998Amazon UK:https://www.amazon.co.uk/Angels-Fly-Donna-Simonetta-ebook/dp/B01G46DQQ8/The Wild Rose Press: http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/all-titles/4409-angels-fly.html
My career has been a winding road. I worked in the business world for years, got my MLS and worked in a school library, and am now living my dream as an author. I love to read and write contemporary and fantasy romance. I live in Maryland, with my husband, who is my real-life romance hero. We both enjoy traveling to visit our far-flung family and friends, and spending time on the beach with an umbrella drink and a good book.
Want to talk to Donna?
https://www.facebook.com/donnasimonettaauthor
https://twitter.com/donna_simonetta
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15422407.Donna_Simonetta
https://www.amazon.com/Donna-Simonetta/e/B06X415TWW/
June 26, 2017
Let The Summer Begin
Well, summer has officially started for me, which means it’s time to post about camp. I’d post about Banana Girl’s trip to Israel, except the packing is finally done and there is no risk of bears there—other, scarier things, which would not sound funny at all and will only keep me up at night—so I’m going to assume she’s safe, smart and having a great time.
The Princess, however, is spending the summer at a camp. Not her camp, since the dates don’t gel well with graduation and leaving for college, but a different camp. A day camp. The last time we did day camp, she was tiny. These days, she’s older and bossier, which means she gets to be a counselor.
The good news is that I get at least some of my summer freedom as she’s gone from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm daily. I didn’t have to spend the last week and a half convincing her to label and pack her stuff. We didn’t have to shove anything into our car and transport everything out to bear country. And I don’t have to sit in front of my computer hitting “refresh” to spot her ponytail in the camp photos and wonder if she’s been eaten by bears.
The bad news is that I have to cook, paying attention to the food she likes as opposed to our usual “it’s summer, the kids are away and we can finally eat what we want” plan. I have to be aware of her plans, and coordinate my plans around her. But it’s her last summer before college and part of me is looking forward to having her around.
The bad news for her is that she gets to witness the “fun” summer projects I take on and participate in them—cleaning out her closets, getting ready for college, cleaning out the bathroom cabinets, and other exceedingly fun things like that.
I’m looking forward to finding out how day camp differs from sleep away camp. Especially because the bears only come out at night, after she’s home, right?
The Princess, however, is spending the summer at a camp. Not her camp, since the dates don’t gel well with graduation and leaving for college, but a different camp. A day camp. The last time we did day camp, she was tiny. These days, she’s older and bossier, which means she gets to be a counselor.
The good news is that I get at least some of my summer freedom as she’s gone from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm daily. I didn’t have to spend the last week and a half convincing her to label and pack her stuff. We didn’t have to shove anything into our car and transport everything out to bear country. And I don’t have to sit in front of my computer hitting “refresh” to spot her ponytail in the camp photos and wonder if she’s been eaten by bears.
The bad news is that I have to cook, paying attention to the food she likes as opposed to our usual “it’s summer, the kids are away and we can finally eat what we want” plan. I have to be aware of her plans, and coordinate my plans around her. But it’s her last summer before college and part of me is looking forward to having her around.
The bad news for her is that she gets to witness the “fun” summer projects I take on and participate in them—cleaning out her closets, getting ready for college, cleaning out the bathroom cabinets, and other exceedingly fun things like that.
I’m looking forward to finding out how day camp differs from sleep away camp. Especially because the bears only come out at night, after she’s home, right?
June 19, 2017
An Idiot's Guide to Makeup
Not that my blog is that deep to begin with, but I’m going to go shallow today. There are too many things to stress over, the world has become the prologue to a dystopian YA novel and frankly, we all need an escape. So today, I’m talking about makeup. Specifically, my “how the hell can you still be female and not know this” side of it. Because when it comes to makeup, I am woefully ignorant.
I know the products I use and basically how to use them. I admire other products and techniques, but haven’t a clue what they’re for or how to use them. And honestly, between the fact that my husband doesn’t like me in makeup and I have no desire to spend the time on it, I’m good as is.
I’m a writer. Most days I spend in my house at my keyboard. I get fully dressed because wearing sweats/t-shirts/yoga pants makes me feel schleppy/fat, and other than to walk the dog, you won’t find me in those—although I have to admit I’m kind of longing for some of the cute jogging outfits I see people wear; I just have to make sure they won’t require me to actually jog. But I digress.
I don’t usually wear makeup unless I’m going to see people.
This morning I was seeing people. So I had to wear at least something. I grabbed my cover up. It was empty. Luckily, I had bought two extras a few weeks ago.
Now, I like this brand of makeup because it’s reliable, inexpensive and actually matches my skin tone. It doesn’t make me look orange or unnaturally tan. The tube was the same shape, located in the same place and I assumed it was the same thing I’ve been buying for years. There wasn’t anything else to choose from either, and there was no empty spot on the counter.
I pulled it out and opened the package. It was the same brand and the same sized tube, but it looked different. But it said cover-up, so I assumed it was fine. I squeezed the tube and white lotion came out. Now, I’m pale, but not THAT pale. So I looked at the words on the tube, which were really small. They said something about color matching. That's a thing?
So I decided to go with it. I rubbed it in and I didn’t have blobs of white on my face. In fact, I think it actually does match my skin tone. Or it just faded away to nothing. Being the snarky, cynical person I am, I am equally willing to consider that I might have just been taken in by some marketing genius.
As the mom of two teenaged girls who are way more knowledgeable about makeup, I suppose I could ask for their opinions. I have to get up the nerve, though, since I just embarrassed myself with them over a gel manicure.
But that’s a story for another blog post.
I know the products I use and basically how to use them. I admire other products and techniques, but haven’t a clue what they’re for or how to use them. And honestly, between the fact that my husband doesn’t like me in makeup and I have no desire to spend the time on it, I’m good as is.
I’m a writer. Most days I spend in my house at my keyboard. I get fully dressed because wearing sweats/t-shirts/yoga pants makes me feel schleppy/fat, and other than to walk the dog, you won’t find me in those—although I have to admit I’m kind of longing for some of the cute jogging outfits I see people wear; I just have to make sure they won’t require me to actually jog. But I digress.
I don’t usually wear makeup unless I’m going to see people.
This morning I was seeing people. So I had to wear at least something. I grabbed my cover up. It was empty. Luckily, I had bought two extras a few weeks ago.
Now, I like this brand of makeup because it’s reliable, inexpensive and actually matches my skin tone. It doesn’t make me look orange or unnaturally tan. The tube was the same shape, located in the same place and I assumed it was the same thing I’ve been buying for years. There wasn’t anything else to choose from either, and there was no empty spot on the counter.
I pulled it out and opened the package. It was the same brand and the same sized tube, but it looked different. But it said cover-up, so I assumed it was fine. I squeezed the tube and white lotion came out. Now, I’m pale, but not THAT pale. So I looked at the words on the tube, which were really small. They said something about color matching. That's a thing?
So I decided to go with it. I rubbed it in and I didn’t have blobs of white on my face. In fact, I think it actually does match my skin tone. Or it just faded away to nothing. Being the snarky, cynical person I am, I am equally willing to consider that I might have just been taken in by some marketing genius.
As the mom of two teenaged girls who are way more knowledgeable about makeup, I suppose I could ask for their opinions. I have to get up the nerve, though, since I just embarrassed myself with them over a gel manicure.
But that’s a story for another blog post.
June 12, 2017
Breathe
“If you’re going to react that way, I can’t tell you things.”“I inhaled.”
Out of all the reactions I could have had, the only thing I did was inhale. As in, breathe. While I’m willing to admit I often react first and think second when it comes to one of my teens telling me something, I’m unwilling to compromise on breathing.
Last week was prom. This past weekend was after-prom. I’m actually surprised I was able to inhale—I thought I was holding my breath from Thursday on. Apparently biology beat out psychology and left me with a little extra air to inhale.
We had many long conversations about after-prom. She was going to the Poconos.
You know, where the bears live.
She was going with a group of twenty or so friends—safety in numbers.
Except I didn’t know all of them.
There were going to be lots of things to do.
Not going there...nope.
So we talked about safety and responsibility and good judgment and what was acceptable (or not).
We also talked about what to do if something felt off.
Ultimately we let her go. She’s responsible. She’s proven she knows how to handle herself. And she’s going off to college in a few months, where I won’t have the luxury of knowing what she’s doing at all times.
She called. And I inhaled.
And then I remembered that she was doing exactly what we talked about her doing when she felt uncomfortable. So we talked and we strategized and ultimately, everything was fine.
She came home in one piece. She had a great time. None of the things I worried about came true.
She didn’t even get eaten by a bear.
Out of all the reactions I could have had, the only thing I did was inhale. As in, breathe. While I’m willing to admit I often react first and think second when it comes to one of my teens telling me something, I’m unwilling to compromise on breathing.
Last week was prom. This past weekend was after-prom. I’m actually surprised I was able to inhale—I thought I was holding my breath from Thursday on. Apparently biology beat out psychology and left me with a little extra air to inhale.
We had many long conversations about after-prom. She was going to the Poconos.
You know, where the bears live.
She was going with a group of twenty or so friends—safety in numbers.
Except I didn’t know all of them.
There were going to be lots of things to do.
Not going there...nope.
So we talked about safety and responsibility and good judgment and what was acceptable (or not).
We also talked about what to do if something felt off.
Ultimately we let her go. She’s responsible. She’s proven she knows how to handle herself. And she’s going off to college in a few months, where I won’t have the luxury of knowing what she’s doing at all times.
She called. And I inhaled.
And then I remembered that she was doing exactly what we talked about her doing when she felt uncomfortable. So we talked and we strategized and ultimately, everything was fine.
She came home in one piece. She had a great time. None of the things I worried about came true.
She didn’t even get eaten by a bear.
June 5, 2017
Some Girls Like It Hot and We Do Too!
We’re treating romance readers to a hot, summertime giveaway. Enter for the chance to win a Kindle Fire HD 10, Kindle Fire HD 8, Kindle Fire 7, Amazon Gift Cards & More!Grand Prize Giveaway June 1-12 and Facebook Hop June 9-12(Sponsored by the 53 authors listed below)
Alyson Hale • Amy Knupp • Astrid Arditi • Cailin Briste • Cheryl Matthynssens • Christa
Paige • Constance Phillips • Cynthia Clement • Debbie White • Eden Rose • Elizabeth
Rose • Elizabeth SaFleur • Emily Leigh • Enigmatic Books • Felicia Beasley • Gayle
Parness • Jeanne St. James • Jenna Barwin • Jennifer Allis Provost • Jennifer Wilck •
Joanne Dannon • Jody A. Kessler • Josie Litton • Katie O'Sullivan • Kris Michaels •
Kristina Knight • Laura Marie Altom • Lynda Haviland • Margo Bond Collins • Marie
Booth • Melissa McClone • Mia Ford • Michelle Jo Quinn • Nancy Segovia • Olivia
Wildenstein • Peggy Jaeger • Romance Author Quinn • Saint Brothers Series • Sarah
Williams • Siera London • Sophia Knightly • Soraya Naomi • Sorchia Dubois • Stacy
Gold • Stella Marie Alden • Stephanie Julian • Stephanie Queen • Sydney Aaliyah
Michelle • Tamara Ferguson • Tania F. Walsh • Victoria Pinder • Aileen Harkwood
Enter the Giveaway Here
http://somegirlslikeithot.blogspot.com/p/the-hop.html
Be sure to join us for our Facebook Hop June 9-12, when we will have 100+ gift cards for you to enter to win. That’s a gift card at every stop! Plus a bonus giveaway for the winner’s choice of an Amazon Echo Dot or Kindle Fire.
Facebook Hop Starts Here on June 9
http://somegirlslikeithot.blogspot.com/p/the-hop_29.html
Don’t Miss Our Second Giveaway June 9-12, where we do it all again!
May 22, 2017
Scenes From Hoboken
Banana Girl and I spent Sunday afternoon in Hoboken as part of her Mother’s Day gift to me. She took me to lunch at Honeygrow. OMG, it was amazing!She first went there on a trip to DC and came home raving about it. She’s my foodie. When she gave me a certificate for lunch with her, I suggested we find a local one and go together. Our options were Hoboken or New Brunswick. We chose Hoboken.
We made our own stir fry and then split a honeybar. I cannot wait to go back.While we were there, I took some photos of Hoboken. My upcoming book takes place there and I thought the photos would come in handy.Hoboken is a small city across the Hudson River from New York City. Lots of young urban professionals live there because it’s easy to commute across the river to jobs in New York. It has lots of great restaurants and bars. I remember hanging out there after I graduated college.I took a few of the town to give readers a feel for the location.
I took some of high-rise apartments, since both of my characters live in them—the other option are smaller brownstones.
And I took a photo of the riverfront, where my hero goes to contemplate next steps.
Of course, while I was there, I had to take a photo or two of the view.
If you’re ever in the area, definitely take a look (and stop at Honeygrow!).
Addicted to Love…coming July 21, 2017.
Preorder now
We made our own stir fry and then split a honeybar. I cannot wait to go back.While we were there, I took some photos of Hoboken. My upcoming book takes place there and I thought the photos would come in handy.Hoboken is a small city across the Hudson River from New York City. Lots of young urban professionals live there because it’s easy to commute across the river to jobs in New York. It has lots of great restaurants and bars. I remember hanging out there after I graduated college.I took a few of the town to give readers a feel for the location.
I took some of high-rise apartments, since both of my characters live in them—the other option are smaller brownstones.
And I took a photo of the riverfront, where my hero goes to contemplate next steps.
Of course, while I was there, I had to take a photo or two of the view.
If you’re ever in the area, definitely take a look (and stop at Honeygrow!).Addicted to Love…coming July 21, 2017.
Preorder nowMay 8, 2017
Brakes and Helicopters
I’m sitting in the car place because there’s something wrong with my daughter’s brakes. I’m sure there are things just as scary or even more so, but I’ve been awake for two nights terrified of a car with messed up brakes, and she hasn’t even driven it!
For some reason, car places are closed on Sundays. I know, no one should be required to work seven days a week, but when my daughter tells me her brakes are making a weird noise, when my other daughter uses her typical exaggeration and tells me it’s the worst noise ever, and even my husband, who never hears any car noises, can hear it, I want a car place to check out the car ASAP.
Unfortunately, snapping my fingers did not encourage my car guy to open just for me. So I called at seven thirty this morning, when his website said he opened. No one answered. I called at seven forty-five with the same result. Finally at eight he answered the phone and told me to bring the car in, which I did.
I heard the noise. I reminded myself all the ways to stop a car when the brakes fail. I cursed a lot at turns and near large buses and trucks and highways. But I made it, without incident (and my nerves were due probably more to my own mishegas than to anything actually happening).
Unlike most other times, my car guy didn’t laugh at me when I described the problem. Maybe because they’re brakes and I’m not the only one who thinks they’re scary. I use him because he’s good and reasonably priced, not because of his sparkling personality.
As I sit here waiting, he’s talking to other customers, one of whom is a dad of a college student in California whose tire blew out and now the dad is nervous about the other three tires. He’s asking my car guy if the tires should be replaced. The only thing preventing my car guy from responding, “How the hell should I know, the car is 3,000 miles away!” is that the dad asking is a guy. Remember that sparkling personality? Well, it’s a sexist one. But he really knows cars, as long as they’re NOT 3,000 miles away. So he uses restraint, which I can visibly see, and suggests his son take his car to someone out there. The dad isn’t sure his son will do that. My car guy says short of flying out there to take his car himself, there’s only so much the dad can do. The dad reluctantly agrees. So my car guys says he’ll call a repair guy he knows out in California, who can probably help the college student, and the dad leaves happy.
This mom will be leaving happy, too, with two brand new rear brakes, knowing her daughter will be safe. And hopefully, I’ll get some sleep, but probably not today, since my car guy also makes really strong coffee!
For some reason, car places are closed on Sundays. I know, no one should be required to work seven days a week, but when my daughter tells me her brakes are making a weird noise, when my other daughter uses her typical exaggeration and tells me it’s the worst noise ever, and even my husband, who never hears any car noises, can hear it, I want a car place to check out the car ASAP.
Unfortunately, snapping my fingers did not encourage my car guy to open just for me. So I called at seven thirty this morning, when his website said he opened. No one answered. I called at seven forty-five with the same result. Finally at eight he answered the phone and told me to bring the car in, which I did.
I heard the noise. I reminded myself all the ways to stop a car when the brakes fail. I cursed a lot at turns and near large buses and trucks and highways. But I made it, without incident (and my nerves were due probably more to my own mishegas than to anything actually happening).
Unlike most other times, my car guy didn’t laugh at me when I described the problem. Maybe because they’re brakes and I’m not the only one who thinks they’re scary. I use him because he’s good and reasonably priced, not because of his sparkling personality.
As I sit here waiting, he’s talking to other customers, one of whom is a dad of a college student in California whose tire blew out and now the dad is nervous about the other three tires. He’s asking my car guy if the tires should be replaced. The only thing preventing my car guy from responding, “How the hell should I know, the car is 3,000 miles away!” is that the dad asking is a guy. Remember that sparkling personality? Well, it’s a sexist one. But he really knows cars, as long as they’re NOT 3,000 miles away. So he uses restraint, which I can visibly see, and suggests his son take his car to someone out there. The dad isn’t sure his son will do that. My car guy says short of flying out there to take his car himself, there’s only so much the dad can do. The dad reluctantly agrees. So my car guys says he’ll call a repair guy he knows out in California, who can probably help the college student, and the dad leaves happy.
This mom will be leaving happy, too, with two brand new rear brakes, knowing her daughter will be safe. And hopefully, I’ll get some sleep, but probably not today, since my car guy also makes really strong coffee!
May 1, 2017
Hurry Up And Wait
Those who know me know I have a few good qualities, but patience is not one of them. So it’s driving me crazy knowing that I’ll be getting a release date for Addicted to Love, and a cover for In the Moment any day now.
I keep checking my email, pacing, checking it again and pacing some more. It’s great for my FitBit steps, but not much else.
I’m not contacting my editor to find out when they’ll arrive. I don’t want to nag (even though I’m really, REALLY good at that), and in the original guidelines I was given by my publisher, it stated very clearly that there’s a process and a timeline and my editor will find out about these specific things about the same time I will. So bothering her is useless, will give me a bad reputation, and won’t hurry things along. And I’m not frustrated with her, or even my publisher. They have lots of other authors to get to, there’s a line, and I’m somewhere on it.
I just really want to know my release date and I really want to see my new cover. I have a to-do list that’s waiting for me and I can’t do anything else on it until I have my release date. I have postcards ready to mail as soon as I have a release date. And I have a lot of shouting from the rooftops to do.
Same with my cover. I loved the one for Addicted to Love so much, I can’t wait to see the one for In the Moment. And show it to everyone else. And then create a to-list for that book.
It’s a great problem to have, I know. Doesn’t make the time pass any quicker, though!
I keep checking my email, pacing, checking it again and pacing some more. It’s great for my FitBit steps, but not much else.
I’m not contacting my editor to find out when they’ll arrive. I don’t want to nag (even though I’m really, REALLY good at that), and in the original guidelines I was given by my publisher, it stated very clearly that there’s a process and a timeline and my editor will find out about these specific things about the same time I will. So bothering her is useless, will give me a bad reputation, and won’t hurry things along. And I’m not frustrated with her, or even my publisher. They have lots of other authors to get to, there’s a line, and I’m somewhere on it.
I just really want to know my release date and I really want to see my new cover. I have a to-do list that’s waiting for me and I can’t do anything else on it until I have my release date. I have postcards ready to mail as soon as I have a release date. And I have a lot of shouting from the rooftops to do.
Same with my cover. I loved the one for Addicted to Love so much, I can’t wait to see the one for In the Moment. And show it to everyone else. And then create a to-list for that book.
It’s a great problem to have, I know. Doesn’t make the time pass any quicker, though!
April 17, 2017
Me, Myself & I
My favorite day of the week is Monday. The kids go back to school, the husband goes back to work, and I get the house to myself.
It’s not that I don’t love them to pieces. I do. And I love having them home and doing things with them and spending time with them. But I need my alone time, and after a weekend where my routine changes significantly, I need Monday to regroup.
Today is the first time I’ve had the house to myself in 13 days. Thirteen! First, the Princess was home recovering from having her wisdom teeth removed. Then we were all preparing for and participating in Passover seders. Then Banana Girl and I went college shopping.
And now everyone has gone back to their regularly scheduled activities, leaving me home alone in silence.
It’s not that I don’t like people, but if I don’t get a certain amount of alone time, I start to go a little crazy (or crazier than usual). So I will take advantage of the next six hours to do whatever I need to get done. I’ll clean, getting everything just right until everyone comes home and messes it all back up again. I’ll do the piles of laundry that have been sitting waiting for me (my husband did all of the other laundry, so I’m not complaining at all). I’ll edit, since I’m on deadline again. I’ll probably talk to myself (I tend to do that a lot), but no one will be around to hear me, wonder if I’m talking to them, wonder why I’m talking to myself when they’re around, or complain. And all the while I’ll get my head into gear so that when everyone comes home six hours from now I can be the sane, rational person they’re hoping I’ll be.
It’s not that I don’t love them to pieces. I do. And I love having them home and doing things with them and spending time with them. But I need my alone time, and after a weekend where my routine changes significantly, I need Monday to regroup.
Today is the first time I’ve had the house to myself in 13 days. Thirteen! First, the Princess was home recovering from having her wisdom teeth removed. Then we were all preparing for and participating in Passover seders. Then Banana Girl and I went college shopping.
And now everyone has gone back to their regularly scheduled activities, leaving me home alone in silence.
It’s not that I don’t like people, but if I don’t get a certain amount of alone time, I start to go a little crazy (or crazier than usual). So I will take advantage of the next six hours to do whatever I need to get done. I’ll clean, getting everything just right until everyone comes home and messes it all back up again. I’ll do the piles of laundry that have been sitting waiting for me (my husband did all of the other laundry, so I’m not complaining at all). I’ll edit, since I’m on deadline again. I’ll probably talk to myself (I tend to do that a lot), but no one will be around to hear me, wonder if I’m talking to them, wonder why I’m talking to myself when they’re around, or complain. And all the while I’ll get my head into gear so that when everyone comes home six hours from now I can be the sane, rational person they’re hoping I’ll be.
April 10, 2017
Happy Passover!
I might have taught my kids my fear of bugs. I’ve tried hard not to, but even I’m starting to believe in my lack of success.
While at dinner with friends Friday night, I texted my girls to find out why they were still home—they were supposed to be going out to dinner with my parents, but my stalker app said they were at our house. The Princess texted that they had a “bit of an issue in regard to a very large spider.”
I started to laugh.
She told me it was dead and flushed.
I told her I was proud of her.
She then informed me my dad came over and killed it.
He came over to my house, killed the spider, went back to his own house and waited for my girls to follow him so they could go to dinner.
I will be the first to admit I’ve called my father over to my house to kill a bug. As an adult. In fact, about three years ago. Usually because my husband refuses to leave work to do it, and my dad is retired. So the fact he came over to do this doesn’t surprise me nearly as much as it should. Even he admits it was big.
The part that does surprise me is the killing part.
When I called him to come over, it was to kill a cicada. It was on the window on the INSIDE of my house. As in, sharing space with me. I cried. He came over.
But he didn’t kill it. He placed it back outside and let it go back on its merry way, meaning if it managed to find its way inside the first time, it was now free to do so again.
He let it live.
A cicada is also known as a locust, as in one of the ten plagues of Egypt THAT CONVINCED THE PHAROAH TO LET THE HEBREWS LEAVE EGYPT!!!! Their presence was enough to get rid of an entire labor force.
But he let it live. It can now breed other locusts able to make their way into my house.
So as you’re sitting around your Passover seder this year, think about that.
And if you need bugs killed, call my dad. Unless it’s a cicada.
While at dinner with friends Friday night, I texted my girls to find out why they were still home—they were supposed to be going out to dinner with my parents, but my stalker app said they were at our house. The Princess texted that they had a “bit of an issue in regard to a very large spider.”
I started to laugh.
She told me it was dead and flushed.
I told her I was proud of her.
She then informed me my dad came over and killed it.
He came over to my house, killed the spider, went back to his own house and waited for my girls to follow him so they could go to dinner.
I will be the first to admit I’ve called my father over to my house to kill a bug. As an adult. In fact, about three years ago. Usually because my husband refuses to leave work to do it, and my dad is retired. So the fact he came over to do this doesn’t surprise me nearly as much as it should. Even he admits it was big.
The part that does surprise me is the killing part.
When I called him to come over, it was to kill a cicada. It was on the window on the INSIDE of my house. As in, sharing space with me. I cried. He came over.
But he didn’t kill it. He placed it back outside and let it go back on its merry way, meaning if it managed to find its way inside the first time, it was now free to do so again.
He let it live.
A cicada is also known as a locust, as in one of the ten plagues of Egypt THAT CONVINCED THE PHAROAH TO LET THE HEBREWS LEAVE EGYPT!!!! Their presence was enough to get rid of an entire labor force.
But he let it live. It can now breed other locusts able to make their way into my house.
So as you’re sitting around your Passover seder this year, think about that.
And if you need bugs killed, call my dad. Unless it’s a cicada.
