Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 58

Meet Kathleen Gallagher

[image error]Hi Jennifer!

I’m happy to be here today. Thank you for the invitation!

Have you ever wondered what goes on in a writer’s mind right before a release date?

I’ll give you a peek into my world around this hectic time.

I have three upcoming releases. All within the next few months. It’s a writer’s dream come true when our babies get to go out on their own. All of the anticipation leads up to this day.

My contemporary romance, A Summer’s Journey, is set for release on May 3 by Rebel Ink Press. After I hit the send on the final edits, you’d think I’d be able to relax. No way!  Thank goodness, I work part-time at my day job. Don’t ask what happens to the laundry or the other household tasks when I’m in the middle of a tour. The daily chores get shoved down to the bottom of my list. I’m thankful for a supportive husband.

Promo time takes top priority in my house. I don’t have small children, so I’m able to devote time to each release. In between a huge party for another release in June, I had to schedule a tour, write posts for pre-release day, contact friends to arrange for spots on their blogs, set up advertisements, make swag, do blog hops. Wait a minute! I can’t keep it straight.  (Taking a deep breath) As you can see, it’s a cycle. I try not to go too fast. The thing I focus on is what is most urgent. While the story is off to be formatted, I  concentrate on promo. I do it a step at a time. It’s all worth it. My goal is to produce the best possible story for my readers.

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BLURB

Savannah Mason, the career minded journalist, spends long hours at work, hoping to take the spot as anchor.  She continues to fight for independence and refuses to allow her demanding father to take control of her life, despite his wish for her to take over his surgical practice.

On her darkest day twelve years ago, she agreed to give her baby up for adoption.  Now, on her daughter’s birthday, a chance encounter gives Savannah an opportunity to explore a corner of her heart she thought was lost forever.

Rob Sinclair a renowned surgeon and NY Times best-selling author has a new release and needs a promo spot on the television show, The News Stop.  When Savannah gets to conduct the interview over the senior reporter, a door opens to her future.  However, first she must face the unsettled issues in her life, before she is free to accept love.

The last thing she wants is a relationship, especially one with a divorced, doctor who happens to have two small children.

A man, who seems all wrong for her, slowly weaves himself into her heart.  Can he accept her when he learns about her past?

Rob’s commitment to climb the ladder of success and provide a good life for his family, keeps him on the road for days at a time.  When he meets the assertive newswoman, desire and passion awaken his broken spirit.  How will he ever be able to trust another woman?

Savannah and Rob’s strong attraction is undeniable as they journey to a place where honesty and the power of forgiveness, can guide them both home. Will it be enough to heal the scars of the past and allow them another chance for love?

EXCERPT

 Savannah stood and slowly moved toward him. Her chest tightened with each step. As she approached him and admired his broad shoulders, it dawned on her he could be a candidate for People’s sexiest man alive. Control yourself.

“I’m happy here.”  Savannah admitted. “I love it when the morning light shines on the water and it mimics fine pieces of crystal.”

Rob slowly approached her. The look in his eyes told her he had more than the view on his mind. Savannah turned away, afraid of what might happen next. Before she could stop him, they were too close for comfort. An electric energy surged between them. With one swift movement, Rob reached for her and gently placed his lips on hers. He cradled her head in his hands as if she was a precious jewel. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine and the world stood still. When Rob’s hands moved slowly across her back, her body went limp and it took her to a level of arousal she never expected. It all happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to react. She found herself spellbound by the feel of his rock hard body pressed up against her chest. All of the emotions she’d kept inside emerged when Rob held her tight. When they finally parted, Savannah stood frozen in shock with her heart pounding and her ears ringing.

Rob’s expression made him look as if he broke the law. He quickly took a step back. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry for my rude behavior.”

“You weren’t rude. I didn’t stop you.”

“I don’t know what got into me. You’re an amazing woman and I find you terribly attractive.” He stared deep into her eyes.

“Thank you.” Savannah looked down, still shocked, but flattered.

“I’d like to take you on a real date. Would that be possible? Is it against your ethics to date someone you’re working with?”

“There’s no rule against dating a guest on the show. I make my own rules.” Savannah could not believe her own words.

“That’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid of taking a risk. I could tell from the moment I met you, you were a strong, independent woman.”

Unanswered questions twirled around in Savannah’s mind. What am I doing making a date with a doctor and one with a family, no less. I must be crazy. Her mind told her to run from a relationship with a client, however, her body told her something completely different.

Presale link:

 https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-asummer039sjourney-1185381-148.html

 

***

To get you in the mood for summer I’m giving away one Summer Wish scented, small jar Yankee Candle, and some swag. Tell me your favorite summer flower and don’t forget to leave your email address in the comment.

For more chances. Here’s where you can find me. I love to make new friends.

My blog. http://kathleensplacetoreflect.blogspot.com/?zx=e896f573de6ed38c

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/kathleen.a.gallagher?ref=tn_tnmn

Twitter https://twitter.com/Kathleenwrites

My website. http://www.kathleenanngallagher.net/

GOOD LUCK!

 

Happy Earth Day!

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This weekend, my daughter and her friends participated in our temple’s “Make A Difference Day” by putting together a presentation on “Going Green.” The girls worked hard, divided up the work and put a lot of effort into coming up with ways to save the environment. It was awesome, except…

They used paper! Lots of paper! There was a cardboard (I hope, recycled) tri-fold. There was pretty scrapbook paper glued on the background. There were photos printed out and cut with pretty borders. And there was a survey—the best was the survey. The survey was printed on paper. Two pages. Not double sided. Enough for fifty people.

I’m sorry trees.

My husband and I, and even the parents of one of the girls who worked with her on the project, suggested ways to make the project itself greener—use a computer rather than a tri-fold; print the survey double sided; give the survey orally and tally the results directly on the display. Nope, they were having none of it. They wanted their project to be exactly as they envisioned it, and they didn’t notice or care about the irony.

Their desire to keep their vision pure reminded me a bit of what it’s like publishing a book. As an author, I write what I want. If I’m lucky, I find a publisher and an editor who like it enough to publish it. But then the changes come—edits, covers and printing. And I don’t want changes. I want it exactly as I wrote it. Only, really, it benefits from changes. It needs a lot of other sets of eyes to make sure it’s the best it can be.

I was lucky. Rebel Ink has been so great to work with. They’ve provided meaningful edits that make my book better. Their cover design, as I’ve said earlier, is awesome! And they’re willing to publish my book, The Seduction of Esther, as an e-book and as a print book. Not so great when it comes to Earth Day, but definitely great when it comes to being able to sign copies for people.

To whet your appetite for my June 3 release, here’s a blurb:

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Samara Goldberg has a problem even the most beautiful singing voice can’t fix. She’s a walking disaster, especially when she’s around handsome men. To make matters worse, she’s in desperate need of someone to play the character of Mordecai for the Purim spiel she’s producing and the new congregant, Nathaniel Abramson, is a perfect fit. Nathaniel is a divorced dad who’s recovering from the biggest public scandal of his life. The last thing he needs is a relationship with the choir director at his new synagogue, who also happens to be playing the lead female role of Esther in the very play he’s been coerced into joining.

Woven around the Jewish holiday of Purim, The Seduction of Esther is a story of two people whose lives mirror the plot of the Purim story. Like Esther, who had to hide her Jewish identity from the King of Persia, Samara and Nathaniel are hiding key pieces of themselves. Evil Haman wanted to destroy the Jews, and the nasty Josh will do anything to keep Samara and Nathaniel apart. Will their love survive, like the Jewish people in Shushan, Persia, or will their fear keep them apart?

On this Earth Day 2013, as you consider ways you can go green and help the environment, please take some time out to stop by our amazing authors at Rebel Ink Press, who have some great books coming out. You can get to their blog posts by following the link below. And what’s more, by clicking on that link, you’ll be entered into a giveaway for a Kindle paperwhite, as well as some other awesome prized. So click, hop and good luck!

Other Blog Hop Participants (click here to hop along)

Rafflecopter Giveaway (click here to enter to win the Kindle)

I Have A Desk

I have a desk, which means I have a clean house. Ha, I know this doesn’t make sense, but trust me, it will.

See, prior to this weekend, I’ve done all my writing and paperwork from the dining room table. It was a nice place to work with lots of space to spread out and a set of French doors to look outside. But it’s also where we eat every night, and so anything I put on the table had to be moved constantly. And there is no way I can write there with other people around because it’s too distracting. Plus, there was no place to keep my stuff.

I kept piles of my papers in the kitchen on the counter and in letterboxes there as well. While I’d love to be a super-organized person with everything filed neatly away, I’m not. If I file something away, I forget about it. So my organization consists of piles—a “to-do this week” pile, a “to-do today” pile and a “to-do soon” pile. It’s not a bad system for me, since it works, but it made my kitchen counter messy.

Then there were the files. Despite my not being a “math person,” I’m the one who handles investments and taxes in my family—don’t knock it; I get us nice sized refunds every single year! My files for this were in the office. The office is my husband’s man-cave. It’s dominated by a roll-top desk big enough for me to sleep in (seriously), decorated with antique maps, Phillies baseball stuff and Star Wars paraphernalia. The desk is his. He does not like piles. He does not like my system of organization. So he gave me a stack of letterboxes to keep things in. I put one or two items in each box and promptly forgot about them. I made a small stack of things I need and tried to hide it in the corner.

I never go in there. It’s dark and cold. The heat continuously blasts cold air and frankly, I’ve been too lazy to call the heating people. The office chair was uncomfortable, so my husband bought a new one, but I still avoid the place if possible.

I finally got around to complaining. Sure, it’s his office, but I’m the one who works from home. It didn’t make sense to me why we’d set it up that way. So, my husband suggested we make me my own office—after finding out all the reasons why I don’t like his.

We bought a huge desk. I love it. It’s solid. It’s got drawers. It’s mine. And it came in a flat box with a gazillion pieces. Trust me, I counted. But I am woman and I decided I could assemble it myself (with some help from quickly disinterested children). My husband said okay and wisely stayed out of the way.

It took me two days and a reorder of some hardware (I ran out of the correct screws since I mistakenly used them somewhere else), but I made it! It’s big. It’s solid. It’s got drawers. And when I put things in it, on it and sit at it, it does not fall apart! Ha!

I’m almost finished cleaning out the dining room. It now looks like someplace where we eat. I cleaned out my stuff from the kitchen. I now have counter space. I pulled out my files from the office. I hardly have to go in there anymore.

As I said before, I have a desk, which means I have a clean house.

Oh, by the way, I’m writing this from the living room sofa! Some things never change.

My Cover

I have a cover! Want to see it? Check out my blog post today at Heroines With Hearts. And tell me what you think.

The Path To My Book

If you follow my author site on Facebook (you should: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jennifer-Wilck/201342863240160?ref=hl), you probably know that I’ve got a release date (!) for my next book (The Seduction of Esther), I’m proofing the edits my editor sent back to me, and that I have a gorgeous cover! What you might not know, aside from why there are so many exclamation points, is why I’m so excited.

Getting accepted by a publisher (also known as getting “The Call”) is awesome. If a book is compared, as it often is, to your baby, then finding out that someone wants to publish your book is similar to your kid getting into the college of their choice. It’s justification for how brilliant you’ve always known they are. “See, my kid IS as smart as I’ve always bragged about!”=”Wow, someone else other than me thinks this is a great story and that others will want to read it!!”

So you go around telling everyone you know that you’ve written a book and it’s getting published. Everyone tells you how happy they are for you.

And then you wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Because even though the editor and publisher love your book and want to put it into print, there are a ton of other authors on their list in front of you. And you have to wait your turn.

And waiting is boring.

If you’re smart, you’ll get to work on the next book. But you still check your email box multiple times every day to see if they’ve contacted you again. You still check their website in case there’s news about you there (I’m listed as a Rebel author here). You still hem and haw about asking questions.

Which is why, when my new editor sent me back my manuscript for me to review, I was so excited. Actually, it was one of the reasons. The other reason is that she edited it! One of the things I’ve been told about Rebel Ink Press, and one of the key reasons I’m so excited to work with them, is that they edit the heck out of your work. I love that. I want an editor to love my manuscript enough to publish it, but not so much that they don’t touch it at all.

When I was a senior in high school, I had an English teacher who used to give me an A++++ on every single paper I wrote. She was a real teacher, with a PhD and everything, but for some reason, she was under the delusion that my papers were perfect. I was 17. Perfect wasn’t possible. And after the first 10 seconds, those extra ++++s were meaningless.

I want an editor not only to show me she’s read what I submitted, but also to find ways of making my writing better—”Hello, Jennifer, let me introduce you to a Thesaurus, brush up on Strunk & White and please, for the love of God, work on your commas!” Something, anything.

I spent this weekend reviewing her changes and I have pages and pages and pages of things she changed. Yay! And everything she changed is for the better. She’s great—and not just because we share a name. ☺ As soon as I finish writing this blog, I’ll be going back to the manuscript and going over it again, making sure I try to catch any lingering mistakes.

As for my release date, I was given a choice of dates, and ultimately decided on June 3. I love summer releases and this one gives me just enough time to start promoting it without interfering too much with end of school year chaos and packing for camp. I’m trying a few different things this time around, so we’ll see what happens—more on that later.

But the most exciting part of all of this is that I have a cover (and it is GORGEOUS). The cover artist is a genius. Really, he is. When Rebel Ink first accepted my manuscript, they had me fill out a cover art form. The form asked questions about my book, offered a stock photo site for me to peruse and enabled me to provide as much guidance as I wanted for the cover. And believe me, I provided a lot of guidance. I spent hours picking out multiple photos—women who reminded me of my heroine; men who reminded me of my hero; alternative photos and ideas that could be used in place of a specific person. I gave color schemes, themes, textures. You name it, I provided it.

The cover artist created something completely different and it’s perfect. Somehow, he weeded through everything I thought I wanted, determined I was wrong, figured out what I actually wanted and gave it to me. How many people can do that???

I’m still waiting on final word before I reveal it, so if you’re not already a fan of my author page, like it (link is at the top) and you can see it there. You can also check my webpage, where I’ll post it soon (http://jenniferwilck.com).

Please, when you eventually see it, let me know what you think!

The Four-Hour Window

I can’t make this stuff up. I’m just not that creative.

My husband has an elliptical machine. He uses it everyday. Six weeks ago, it broke. Well, the console broke. The elliptical itself still works, but you can’t program it. Without hills, speeds and times, it’s kind of the equivalent of walking in place or pacing around the house. Burns calories, but you look like an idiot.

So I called the store that manufactured it (I’m being nice and not naming them) and they told me we had a protection plan, which meant we got free repairs. Awesome! Or so I thought. What that protection plan really means is that I’m at their mercy. Without the prospect of payment, they have no incentive to do anything. Except I didn’t learn that until later.

The lady asked me what the problem was, I described it to her and she said, “Oh, you need a new console.” She ordered it and set a date for the repairman to come fix it, within a four-hour window. The day before he was scheduled to arrive, I received an automated call from them that the part wasn’t in stock and I’d have to wait for it to arrive and then reschedule the appointment.

A few days later, a coffin was delivered to my house. Seriously, the box was big enough to fit a body inside of it. The console is the size of a book. So I dragged the box into the house, opened it and found the post that the console sits on. This was not what I ordered.

I called the manufacturer and spoke to the same woman as before. I told her I had received the wrong part and I wanted to reorder the correct part before scheduling an appointment. She told me she couldn’t reorder the part, the technician had to do it and therefore, he had to come out to my house anyway. She ordered the part originally based on my description of the problem; she couldn’t just do the same thing again? Apparently not.

She gave me a day and a four-hour window.

The repairman arrived, looked at the box, looked at the part and agreed that it was the wrong one. Because apparently I need someone to confirm what I already knew. He reordered the part I needed and told me that it was simple enough to install so that we could do it ourselves. I gave a dubious okay and he left, taking the wrong part with him and asking me to fill out a survey. Hah!

A bit annoyed, I took to Twitter. With an @ and a #, I expressed my dissatisfaction with the service I’d received. Within minutes, I received a tweet and later that day, I received a phone call from a different lady. She listened to what happened and scheduled a repair appointment with a four-hour window so that my protection plan wouldn’t be voided if I messed up in attaching the new part. Because while my husband is pretty handy, and I can follow directions, you just never know.

A few days later another coffin arrived. Once again, the wrong part had arrived. The SAME wrong part. Had I been thinking ahead, I would have kept the box and used it to bury a body or two. I mean really, at this point, it was almost like a sign that someone wanted me to bury someone. They certainly didn’t want me using the elliptical!

So I called the new lady and yelled. I’m usually pretty non-confrontational, but I hate stupidity, and this one put me over the edge. She was not helpful. She told me the technician would have to come out—during a four-hour window, and reorder the part. I asked to speak to her supervisor. She said she didn’t have one. Flabbergasted, I asked how that was possible. She said, “Some of us are just lucky that way.”

There are no words to describe how angry I was. I would have cursed, but none of the existing curse words are strong enough. So I got on the Internet, looked up the company headquarters, found a phone number and asked for customer service.

I am now capable of anything. In the world. Because despite how angry I was, I did not yell at the woman on the phone.

I explained the problem, tattled on the rude woman I’d spoken to previously, and asked for help. She apologized and spent 30 minutes on the phone with me, researching the part, double checking with a technician and ordering it for me, along with confirming my appointment within a four-hour window.

The box arrived. It was not a coffin, but it was big. I opened it and found a smaller box inside. I opened the second box and found a console.

If and when this company files for Chapter 11, it will be because they spend way too much money on boxes.

The technician arrived. He went downstairs, I went upstairs. I waited.

“Mrs. Wilck?”

“Yes?”

“The part’s broken.”

I can’t print the rest of the conversation.

He reordered the part and scheduled another appointment with a four-hour window. He asked me NOT to fill out a survey.

In the meantime, I tattled some more to the rude lady, who called the check up on me. And laughed. I tweeted some more too.

The new part arrived in a smaller box. I didn’t even bother opening it.

The technician came back again. You’d think by now I’d know his name. I do remember how he smelled though.

He went downstairs, I went upstairs. I waited. There was silence. Too much silence. No one makes that little noise when they use tools. He walked outside without speaking to me. He sat in his van for 20 minutes. He came back inside. This time, I heard him talking on the phone. Also, not a good sign. A few words filtered upstairs, the most important one being, “broken.”

I called the rude lady again. I told her wanted a new machine. She said okay.

The new machine is scheduled to arrive on Wednesday. I suspect it will be a lawn mower. Perhaps even a broken one at that.

Tantrums

My husband tells me I’m not good with change and I laugh at him. But after this weekend, I have to admit (dammit) that he’s right.

I’ve been complaining about my computer for months. It’s old and slow and the battery dies after about ten minutes. If I happen to have my calendar open at the time the computer shuts down, it messes up the sync with our phones and my husband has to spend hours fixing it. It freezes every time I copy something and try to paste it somewhere else. Word randomly stops working, only to restart and randomly still have my saved work. Shockwave doesn’t work and makes my computer freeze—have you any idea how many ads on the Internet use Shockwave? It’s a bit ridiculous.

I’ve tried to fix the problems. I took it to the Geek Squad and they fixed most of the problems, only they came back a few weeks later. I bought a new battery and it’s definitely an improvement, but, well, it’s only a matter of time until that one runs out too. And honestly, if I mess up the calendar one more time, my husband might actually explode.

Apparently, my parents heard my complaints (or maybe my husband muttering) and decided to get me a new computer for my birthday—the old computer is preventing the writer from writing, horrors!—which was awesome! Truly it was! Except that they got me a Mac.

I like Macs, or I did before I got one. They’re sleek and light and do cool stuff. I know this because The Princess got one for her birthday and has been showing me all the neat things it does. Since most of what she shows me, however, involves putting One Direction screensavers on it, identifying every One Direction member by sight in her photos, listening to One Direction music while supposedly doing her homework, etc., I’ve only paid attention with a teeny part of my brain (the rest is busy trying to figure out when this phase will pass and how to survive until it does), so I’m not an expert, by any means.

When I opened my present, I was shocked. My husband was thrilled—not only would I not complain anymore, but I wouldn’t kill the calendar and he wouldn’t have to be involved with helping me, since he doesn’t have a Mac—it was like the trifecta of perfect for him. The Princess was excited because now she could show me how to work everything and all the cool features. And Banana Girl started scheming how to get my old computer.

Everyone was thrilled, until I actually started using it. Because I didn’t know what the heck I was doing. I didn’t know how to use the track pad, I couldn’t figure out how to get the Migration Assistant to work—my old computer kept losing the connection, I didn’t know how to move my email or my folders or my pictures and I didn’t know any of the Mac shortcuts that supposedly make Macs so much easier to use.

So, I threw a tantrum. All. Day. Long.

“I can’t dooooooo this!”

“I want a magic fairy to wave her wand and make this work!”—(I think this was my husband’s favorite)

“Aaaaaacccccckkkkkk!”

“Why the bleep isn’t this working?”

The last time I threw a tantrum, I was two. There was something in a store that I wanted, my mother said no, I ran down the aisle, fell and split my head open. It was the last time I ever threw one. And I was pretty proud of that fact; I’d learned my lesson. Until Saturday.

I threw such a tantrum that no one yelled at me or asked me to do anything. They all looked at me, then looked around for the easiest way to disappear. When they couldn’t find any, they sat there and waited for me to stop. They didn’t complain that I was preventing them from watching TV (I was a bit noisy). They fed themselves. My husband answered whatever questions he could and then happily went off to do errands. He didn’t call once to ask about something on the list. The Princess volunteered to transfer things from one computer to another. Banana Girl invited friends over to do homework and snuck them into the basement, shut the door, and didn’t ask for anything the entire day.

It was a bit embarrassing. I did not throw anything (or anyone), I did not break anything and I did not split my head open (although I did give myself a headache). By the end of the day, I hated the Mac a bit less than I did in the morning. And by the end of the weekend, I had figured out most of what I wanted to do—my husband still won’t let me touch the calendar.

And The Princess was awesome. She came over every time I asked for help, even if she’d already shown me how to do something.

I learned a few things this weekend.

1. I owe my family an apology, because I did not give them the best weekend. And they were wonderful despite my behavior.

2. My parents really do pick out great presents.

3. Apple needs to learn from Samsung’s technology and invent something so we can bump computers together and magically transfer all info from one to the other (I’m thinking I have a better chance of that happening then a magic fairy.).

4. While tantrums are less dangerous than they used to be (for me), they’re still stupid.

5. The Mac is pretty cool.

6. I am not good with change.

I’m Back!

You might have noticed, hopefully, that I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks. I’m sorry to say, I ran out of words. Hard to believe, I know. According to my dad, Banana Girl is supposed to run out of words by the time she’s twelve—she my daughter who talks non-stop and is convinced that if she stops talking, she’ll stop breathing. We’ve five months to go, and frankly, I’m not hopeful.

But I’m a writer. I’m not supposed to run out of words! We just don’t do that. Apparently, I do. Or, at least, I ran out of some words.

I’ve spent the past month participating in a 30,000-word challenge (manuscripts only, no blogs) with my local Romance Writers of America chapter. It was fun and exhausting (a bit stressful too, but that could just be me) and I made great progress on two manuscripts. Hopefully, I can keep the momentum going.

In order to participate in this challenge, I sequestered myself in my house for most of the month. I tore up my usual to-do list and put “writing” on the top of the list each day. That meant that all my regular duties, including things for my family, chores around the house, errands and even volunteer work that I do took a back seat to writing. I still got most things done, I just took longer to do them (and some days, my fridge and cupboards were a bit bare). My brainstorming time was filled with ideas for the next thousand words I had to write.

Without any brainstorming time, and without getting out of the house much, my inspiration for my blog suffered a bit.

But now I’m back and while I’ll continue my fiction writing, my blog writing will get back to normal—every Monday. In the meantime, I have an announcement!

My new publisher, Rebel Ink Press, is publishing a cookbook as their 2013 charitable project and I’m in it!

Through the ages food has been seen as a way to commune with others, bringing fellowship to the table while nourishing the body. Food is key in celebration and in honoring. It’s also been commonly widespread everything from asparagus to honey to chocolate and oysters hold aphrodisiacal properties. But we at Rebel Ink Press believe not only is food nourishment for the body and fuel for romance, cooking is one of the sexiest and most nurturing things one can do for another.

It’s the way to the heart.

Rebel Ink Press presents The Way to the Heart, a collection of recipes from twenty-six Rebel writers, our charitable project for 2013. For every copy sold a charitable donation will be made to help nurture families and communities around the world through Heifer International.

Thank you for your purchase. By opening your heart, you’ll find the way to someone else’s.

It’s coming out in paper and e-book on April 17. I hope you’ll check it out!

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Peer Pressure

Can someone tell me when, exactly, peer pressure ends? Because at this point, I have visions of all the old people in the nursing home congregating around me in their wheelchairs and walkers and trying to dissuade me from playing bingo because, well, the bingo caller is tough, or trying to convince me to go to the early seating at meals because that’s when all the “cool” residents eat—and by the way, what exactly is a “cool resident”? Is it one who has all his/her hair and teeth? And what color is that hair? And I could go on and on, but I hope you get my point.

Growing up, I tended to avoid a lot of the kids trying to convince me to do what I didn’t feel was right. Moving between middle school and high school helped; once I got away from the middle school I hated, I just tried to keep a low profile and not make any waves. Apparently, a bunch of us had the same philosophy, because I ended up in a group of really nice boys and girls who didn’t much care about the same things I didn’t care about either.

I thought I’d gotten past it. Then I became a mom and I found out how wrong I was. Because I experienced a whole new form of peer pressure. It wasn’t about buying the right baby clothes or attending the cool kiddie classes. This form of peer pressure seems to be about making people worry and stress over everything.

Now, before I go any further, let me just say this. I am the Queen of Stress. There is NO ONE, and I mean NO ONE who stresses better than I. I stress when I have nothing to stress about because obviously I must have forgotten something to stress about! So I value friends who don’t help me add to that stress.

But I’m not talking about my friends. I’m talking about the acquaintances. You know, the ones I meet in the grocery store (when I’m just running in for 1 or 2 things and my hair is everywhere and I’m wearing clothes that I wouldn’t be caught dead in otherwise), or while waiting for an activity to end, or in the carpool lane.

There must be something in my expression or another blinking light over my head (other than the Sucker Light) that tells these people that I want to hear about how much they hate something that I’m about to do, or how difficult something my child is going to do is. Because they tell it to me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

In January of my oldest daughter’s kindergarten year (JANUARY!), moms came up to me and started telling me how hard 1st grade was, and what a huge adjustment it was going to be and how much homework there was and on, and on, and on. I started out by blowing them off—well, I listened politely and then ignored everything they said. Because seriously, how hard can 1st grade be? 1+1 = 2 and “cat,” “sat” and “hat” all rhyme. It’s not like she was going to jump from kindergarten to middle school! But after six months of being barraged by ridiculous people’s ridiculous worries (see my note above on stress—for me to say their worries are ridiculous is obviously saying something), even I started to worry.

As I suspected, it was no big deal.

When my daughter was the only girl on her T-ball team (I know nothing about baseball, I had no clue there was a girls’ team and a boys’ team, and it’s not like the town refused to take my money), all the moms came up to me and suggested I might want to move my daughter to the girls’ T-ball team. Other than the first day, when we showed up and the Princess said, “Mom, I’m the only girl,” she didn’t have any issue with it. All the boys ran up to her, asked her to play catch with them, and sat on the bench and discussed Star Wars with her. And I had an easy time spotting her because she was the only one with a pink batting helmet.

When we started middle school, again, all the experienced moms (not my friends!) came up to me and told me how hard it was, what teams to avoid and what teachers to avoid. I might as well have homeschooled my kids, because I think there might have been two teachers who weren’t trashed.

Both my kids have loved middle school and with few exceptions, have had great teachers—there have been a couple of doozies, but hey, it’s good experience for life.*

Parents have called me to ask if I’m stressed about my daughter’s upcoming test. Um, no, I’m not taking it. Other parents have called asking me if I’d like to set up a study group for my daughter. Really? The goal is to get her to study, and I’m pretty sure if I set up anything resembling a study group, she’d turn around and burn her books. That’s her job, not mine. I stopped setting up “play dates” a long time ago.

Now that we’re heading to high school, it’s more of the same. Your child has to stand out. Your child has to do this or that. Watch out, the teachers in this subject are awful! Everything is so hard! She’ll never get into college!

The best is when we went for orientation and the administration warned us about the block schedule they follow and how they know we’re going to stress about it, but not to worry, our kids will get it eventually. Why would I stress over not understanding my child’s schedule? I’m not the one who has to follow it, she is. If she wants to discuss it with me, or brainstorm ways to remember how it goes or where she has to be when, I’m happy to sit down with her. But she’s pretty smart. She handled that transition from kindergarten to 1st grade pretty well. I’m pretty sure she will be able to figure out her schedule within a couple of hours, if not days. I haven’t run across any kids at this point who don’t know their schedule—it’s February. And if there are any, well, maybe that’s Darwinism at work.

Now if only Darwin could get rid of all my these people who try to make me worry for nothing!

*If I’ve freaked anyone else out, or turned into one of these moms for you, I sincerely apologize. [image error]

Book Number Three!

Yes, that’s right, I’ve got a contract for my third book! The story, currently titled The Seduction of Esther, is another contemporary romance, but what makes it different is that it’s Jewish. I love reading all kinds of books, but what I’ve noticed is that there are few romances, other than chick lit, that have Jewish characters. The default is always Christian. I don’t mind reading those books and usually enjoy them very much. But there’s something about having a character or a group of characters that I can relate to that appealed to me. So, when coming up with this story, I decided to make the characters Jewish. They’re still relatable to everyone else, and you won’t have to be Jewish to enjoy the story, just like I don’t have to be Christian to enjoy other romances. [image error]

Additionally, I came up with an idea that works great in my head (don’t they all) to make this a series. This first book revolves around the holiday of Purim. One of the many themes in this holiday is hiding one’s identity, at least temporarily. That theme also makes a great one for a romance! Other books in the series will revolve around other Jewish holidays and celebrations, which have equally good themes.

Of course, I have to write them first. To that end, I’m participating in my local RWA chapters JeRoWriMo, which is a 30K word challenge in 30 days. For the month of February, I’m burying myself behind my computer and writing. The words have to be for a manuscript, not a blog. So hopefully, this challenge will get me a jump start on book two!

In the meantime, I’m also filling out a cover art sheet for Esther, getting to know the amazing authors and editors at my new publisher and thinking about marketing ideas (again!).

If you want to keep up with my progress, be sure to like my Facebook author page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jennifer-Wilck/201342863240160?ref=hl.

I’d also like to thank the group of writer friends that I’ve made who have been so helpful and welcoming to me. Whether you’re blog partners, Facebook friends, RWA members or fellow authors at the publisher, your advice and friendship has been invaluable.

Looking forward to the new adventure!

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