Ute Carbone's Blog, page 51

The P-Town Queen cover!

The P-Town Queen. Cover art by Amanda Kelsey  This is the cover for my romantic comedy, coming to CBG in June!


NikkiSilva thinks she's blown up her life. Divorced, funding for her shark researchcut off, she's moved back to Provincetown to live with her father. Nikki'swritten a grant proposal funded by a commission run by her ex-husband Ned, whowould rather not give money to his ex-wife.
            Marco Tornetti wants to turn Newark spaghetti joint intoa trendy bistro. His silent partner, Fat Phil Lagosa, wants to use the place tosolicit questionable business deals. When Fat Phil turns on Marco and has him marked for a hit, Marco knowshe's in too deep.
            Marco escapes the hit man and takes the first bus out of thecity. Marco figures that Phil would never look for him in Provincetown's gaycommunity. But when he meets Nikki, he finds that pretending to be gay isn't aseasy as it would seem.

Coming Soon: Recipes from the Vineyard

Eighteen authors at Champagne Books (including yours truly) have gotten together to cook up a cookbook.
The book includes thirty recipes and the stories behind them. It'll be coming out in April and, maybe best of all, it'll be free!
Stay tuned for more details on the release and on how you can snag a copy.

Sunday Snapshot: French Meadow

French Meadow in Hollis, New Hampshire
Here in New Hampshire, we're enjoying some gorgeous weather. It's Seventy six and sunny as I write this. Not bad for March! My husband and I went out walking. French Meadow is a favorite spot: peaceful and lovely today with the sun warming us and a slight breeze whispering though the white pines.

Sweet Saturday Sample: Blueberry Truth Out Take

Link on cover for details
Welcome to another Sweet Saturday Sample.

I thought it might be fun to do an 'out take' today. Early drafts of Blueberry Truth included some of Blueberry's voice. Though they didn't make the final draft, they did help me to get inside the head of  troubled seven-year-old Blueberry Truth, which made a big difference to the book over all.

This scene comes from the center of the book, when Beanie takes Blue to her niece's First Communion. Blue has never been in church before. This is her take on the experience:


Granny, she don't believein church. There be a God, he no friend of mine, she say. Beanie go to a fancychurch. All rich with colored windows got pictures in them.  Big vat of water in the back. Beanie dip herhand in and make a sign of a cross like I seen Julio do and drag me down to thefront. We sit on a long bench next to a whole bunch of other peoples that isher family. Get them all these bright colored dresses. One lady, she wear a bigwhite hat that flop down all over. The hat lady hug Beanie and kiss her on thecheek. This my sister Lily, Beanie say. Then we all sit down.There this big music thatcome up.  Beanie point up behind us tothe balcony. Silver pipes going every which way all making sound.  Whoever play that thing miss the notes. Theneverybody stand up and start to sing some song I never hear before,  voices all up and down and everywhere. Beanieshow me the magazine, which got words and notes all over like a story. Then abunch of kids come in. Boys all got white suits. Girls like they going to getmarried, all in white dresses. They walk down girls on one side, boys on theother. Maybe they get married like that, but they just kids like me and kidsnot supposed to get marry. I want to ask Beanie, but she say no talking so Idon't say nothing. The big hat lady, sisterLily, she look like she fit to cry. Another lady in a pink dress sistersomebody, put her arms around hat lady and whisper something at her. Pink dresslady look at me eyes all sharp and then to Beanie. Beanie smile and look at themagazine.They go on and on a longtime just like Beanie has told to me. We pray and then we sing again and then aman come with a basket on a pole and everybody put money in the basket exceptsome put in a envelope like maybe they write a letter to God or Jesus.Then all the get-marrykids go up front and the preacher give them something look like a white paperto eat. Then everybody else eat the white paper. Beanie's Ma and the rest ofher peoples go, but Beanie put her arm around me and whisper we wait here. Isit down and wait and everybody come back and say excuse me and kneel on thatthing they got for kneeling.  We beenhere about two million year now. Beanie whisper almost done. Then themarry-kids go out and everybody follow and we stand on the step outside. Thesun make me blink.
For more Sweet Samples, please visit Sweet Saturday

Beanie's Recipes: Chicken Piccata

In my novel, Blueberry Truth, the main character Beanie likes to cook occasionally. She makes, among other things, chicken piccata.







Here's an easy recipe:

Ingredients:
2 boneless skinless chicken breasts
2 T Parmesan cheese
1/3 c flour
2 T milk
1 egg
1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1t salt
1/2 t pepper
1 t Italian seasoning
Olive oil
1/2 c chicken stock
1/4 c lemon juice
1/4 cup capers
1/4 cup fresh chopped parsley

How to make it:
1. Cut chicken breasts in half lengthwise. Pound to 1/4 inch thickness
2. Beat egg and milk together in bowl
3. In a separate bowl, mix cheese, breadcrumbs, salt,  pepper, and Italian seasoning.
4. dredge breasts in flour, then dip into egg mixture, then coat with breadcrumbs
5. Pour enough olive oil to coat bottom of a large skillet. Heat oil.
6. Cook breasts in oil until done (3-5 minutes per side)
7. remove breasts from pan and cover with foil to keep warm
8. add stock, lemon juice and capers to the pan. Heat to boil, scraping pan drippings. Lower heat and cook until reduced by half.
9. pour sauce over chicken and sprinkle with parsley.
10. enjoy!



 Blueberry Truth is available as an e-book. Click on cover for details.

Sunshine Award

I've gotten a sunshine and award from the lovely and talented Rosemary Gemmell!

In keeping with the sunny theme, here are ten little things that make me smile:
1. Warm days in March that promise spring
2. A hot cup of coffee
3.Sinking into the world of a good book
4. Dark chocolate
5 Soft and sensual kisses
6. A glass of red wine
7. Sunsets on the beach. (Best enjoyed with someone you love)
8. The woods on a snowy day
9. A warm fire on a cool evening
10. Sleeping in a big comfy bed with lots of pillows

Part of the award is to pass it on, so I'm giving it to five sunny bloggers:
Sue Roebuck
Nadine Feldman
Linda Kage
Samantha Stacia
Diane Gillette 

The Insecure Writer: I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough and Doggone It.....

I'm channeling Stuart Smalley today. You remember Stuart, the Al Franken character from Saturday Night Live who sat in front of the mirror and did affirmations?

My mirror image is tired of me. "I'm a writer," I tell her. "I'm a good writer. I'm funny. I can be profound. And darn it all, readers love me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says. "You're a writer. Yada, yada, yada. Stop staring at me and go write something already."

"Write something? Like, now?"

"Why not now?"

"Well...I'm not being visited by the muse."

"Not the muse thing again. What happened to 'just do it'?"

 "I don't know if I can. I mean, have you seen what I've written lately? It looks like somebody threw up on it. It makes no sense. The sentences don't go together. The spelling, well we all know I can't spell. It's dull as yesterday's socks. And the words, when I read them out loud they sound like the drill at the dentist's office. It'll never match up to the last book. Now, that was a good book. This..."

My mirror image sighs. She's got better things to do. She could be flossing her teeth. Or examining the tiny mole at her hairline. What is that thing anyway? Should we have it looked into?

I walk away. She's right. I should write already.


For more writer insecurities or to join the angst, please visit The Insecure Writer

Beanie's Interview

 Beanie MacKenzie, the main character in Blueberry Truth, is being interviewed today! Come stop by at the World Literary Cafe and say hello!

Wild Women and Friendship

Some of the Wild Women at a writing retreat in Maine in 2009A few Sundays ago, I got together with a phenomenal group ofwomen known collectively as the wild women. For ten years, we wrote togetherweekly. Writing was the cornerstone of our little circle, but we were so muchmore than writers who wrote together.  Together, we were a creative force to bereckoned with, a grand and extraordinary orchestration of voices.I was the group's unlikely workshop leader, a woman whoneeded to spill words to the page and thought that maybe, just maybe, therewould be joy in spilling out words with likeminded people. The group was formedand, oh, there was joy. There was joy and laughter and a tear or two. Out of joy andlaughter and tears, friendships grew. I have been blessed beyond blessed tohave these incredible, diverse and intelligent women in my life. Women whocreate. Women who are true to themselves.I haven't always been true to myself. For years, I tried tomold myself into an image of perfect women: the nice girl became the good wifeand  mother. Of course, I was far fromperfect.  I knew all along thatperfection was a myth and yet I clung to it. I clung so hard that I forgot tolisten to the cool, still voice inside of me. The voice that had always whispereda single word in my ear: create.  Itwasn't a word I trusted. I had no real life connections to those who calledthemselves artists. From afar, they seemed a strange and self-indulgent bunch.  And yet, as I kept trying on the titles-Artist, Writer,Poet- I found they fit me well. As I began to write, I grew tobe more and more comfortable inside my skin.In the company of wild women, I can just be. This is a greatgift. There are no hard and fast expectations, there is no need to act acertain way or to impress. If I tell them I feel like lying down and crying onoccasion, they will answer yes, we know that feeling. If I tell them what mademe laugh aloud the other day, they will laugh and share their own funnystories. The joys, the sorrows that are mine are also theirs. Each of us knowswhat it is like to love and to lose and pick yourself up again. We know howdifficult it can be to say to the world: "Here I am, take me or leave me, butplease don't try to change me."We no longer meet as a workshop, each having stepped forwardinto the next part of her life. But we still get together now and again. And sowe were on that Sunday, women of a certain age now, each with our own storiesto tell. If I were queen of the world, I'd bestow good life and happiness toeveryone. Most of all, I would bestow friends like these, the wild women.

Let it roar! Let it roar! Let it roar!

Thanks to Nina Wright for the photoMarch came roaring in today. It began snowing yesterday and continued all through the day, totaling out a just under a foot.

I'm writing about the weather because, here in  Southern New Hampshire, this is the first significant snowfall we've had all winter. Usually, winter begins roaring in as we're putting up our Christmas lights and doesn't stop bellowing until we're doling out Easter candy. In other words, winters are long in the northeast, with a tendency to cold and snowy.

I grew up in the Adirondacks. The winters there make the winters here look downright tropical by comparison. When you grow up with winter, you learn to take it into stride. I like to ski and I snowshoe now and again. I like a quiet day at home, when bad weather is a good excuse for excessive coffee drinking and an afternoon dive into a good book.

 But like most northeasterners, I've about had it with the white stuff by the time I flip the calender to March. March snowstorms generally want to make me shake my fists at the sky and yell, "Enough already. What are you trying to do, kill us?" By March, snow is old news. The snowbanks start looking derelict. By March, snow is a four letter word spit out as a curse.

This year, though. This year has been an odd year. We had a foot of unexpected snow back in October, which caused the electricity to go out for days and left us all shaking our heads in disbelief. And then we had no snow at all. Nary more than a flake or two through the long, dark months of January and February.

Then, today, we woke to half a foot covering driveways and porches. Snowing still, it accumulated to foot by the afternoon. Hubby and I went out to shovel. And, as I was lifting a hefty shovelful of the white stuff from the porch, I found I was unexpectedly happy. I found myself wanting to shout "Yeah, snow!" and dance a little snow dance. This is winter. White stuff is supposed to happen. It feels right, even in March. So let it roar!