Ann Stephens's Blog, page 6

My Not-So-Secret Habit

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Sometimes when I am alone, I indulge in an old habit from my younger days. I feel somewhat silly revealing this, but hopefully you will understand that I need to come out of the closet about this activity.  It's not really harmful to anyone, but it's not that productive either.

Anyway, here's the big secret. Drumroll, please.

I like to color.  With crayons in coloring books, or with colored pencils on smooth paper.  And it is coloring, not drawing, because I can't draw worth a darn.  Even my stick people look peculiar.

In my defense, my mother made me do it.  Well, not exactly made me do it, but she used to color a lot too, so you might say she set a bad example.  I knew we had a genetic predisposition to coloring when out of the blue, my oldest started bringing coloring books and crayons to her skating competitions.  At the age of 16 on. I fear she may have corrupted several of her competitors.

I had been clean for several years when I happened to be wandering down the aisles of my local craft store.  I only went in for embroidery floss, I swear!  And I needed a few pens & things, so I took a quick detour into school supplies.  I walked past the classic 64 crayon box the first time, but I kept glancing back at it.  Remembering how all the coolest kids in grade school had *that* box, not the sad little 16 or 48 count boxes unless the teachers specified them.  (They had the 96 crayon box when I was a kid, too, but that bringing that to school was just pretentious. And they never fit in your desks.)

I know, I should never have stopped to pick it up, much less opened it to gaze at the untouched crayons, uniform in shape, but promising a bounty of colors.  Pine Green, Sky Blue, Sea Green…I didn't need to pull them out to recognize them.  And of course the magically shiny Copper, Silver, and Gold. I stood there, undecided, for a few moments, mentally reorganizing them the way I preferred.  (I always color coded mine by labels…browns, oranges, yellow, reds, greens & blues together.)  I inhaled.  That's what did me in.  The waxy, cool scent of fresh crayon.

Next thing I knew I was smiling sheepishly at the cashier as I handed over the box, a Barbie coloring book, my floss and a token package of pens.  "I have a niece visiting," I explained.  Both of my nieces live in the same city I do, and one was 18 at the time.  Curse that slippery slope anyway.

At the moment, I'm crayon-less but I've been playing with colored pencils, printing out sayings that inspire me and coloring them in, all on the sly. In my defense, it does make me feel a lot better.

What do you do when you need an activity to soothe yourself with that isn't reading? Colors? Needlework of some kind? Journaling?

Tagged: Coloring book, Crayon

My Thorn Among the Lilies

"I'd rather be the thorn. They're sharp and pointy." — my youngest

The first time I stepped out of the car wearing the Darth Vader-esque boot that has made up half my footwear for the last month, my youngest daughter took one look at it and deadpanned, "You're never going to be able to accessorize that."

That is only one of many reasons I love the kid.  While both of my children are phenomenal young women and I'm thankful to be their mother, I have a soft spot for my wise-cracking, moody, impatient youngest.  This summer especially, she has demonstrated remarkable fortitude in the face of disappointments.

Originally, my mother-in-law planned to take her to France for three weeks. However, my MIL's doctor found a malignant skin tumor shortly after our daughter's passport arrived. Thankfully, the doctor appears to have removed the entire tumor and my MIL is sailing through chemotherapy. While my daughter is as relieved as the rest of us that her granny is doing so well, it's only human to feel disappointment at the change in plans. Who could blame her?

Then I injured my leg severely enough to warrant a cast and crutches. So instead of visiting Paris and the Ardennes, my youngest spent three weeks serving as my hands and feet. My oldest helped where she could, but she had a lousy summer last year when her college closed.  To make up for credits lost when she transferred into the state university system, she's been taking day classes, night classes and summer school for nearly 12 months.

My younger daughter managed housework, cooking, grocery shopping and driving me to and/or from work. Granted, she already knew what she was doing for all those things, but she was spending a lot more of her time doing them. And according to my family I am not a very good patient.  (I have no idea why they'd say that.) Yes, there was a certain amount of muttering, but I can't complain. There were also a lot of times when she'd poke her head in the door and ask I wanted a drink or something brought to me.

Not only that, she had to say good-bye to her best friend Sarah because Sarah's dad accepted a job on the East Coast. Sarah is everything my daughter is not: perky, optimistic, mild-mannered and soft-spoken. She and my moody, outspoken, assertive offspring have been inseparable since seventh grade. My daughter would use her sharp tongue to scare off people like the obnoxious boy in math class that creeped Sarah out, in return getting a daily dose of cheer. My daughter has other friends she loves dearly (she may be moody but she's no loner!), and they all form a Lack of Sarah Support Group for each other. But the day Sarah moved away required Mom hugs and medicinal Ben & Jerry's.

Our tastes aren't the same, but she's got a sound critical eye, particularly for film, and she's smart enough to be able to back up her opinions with good arguments. We've had some great conversations about dance, books, and movies.

As a late bloomer myself (really really really late), I watch this daughter make her plans for college and beyond, knowing that like most of us, she may very well change directions mid-course. I'm thrilled that she's looking at the future with as much optimism as a moody sarcastic person can. Changes and obstacles are the nature of life. But even if her plans fail, she won't.

Tagged: Daughters, Family, Postaweek 2011

My Thorn Among the Lillies

"I'd rather be the thorn. They're sharp and pointy." — my youngest

The first time I stepped out of the car wearing the Darth Vader-esque boot that has made up half my footwear for the last month, my youngest daughter took one look at it and deadpanned, "You're never going to be able to accessorize that."

That is only one of many reasons I love the kid.  While both of my children are phenomenal young women and I'm thankful to be their mother, I have a soft spot for my wise-cracking, moody, impatient youngest.  This summer especially, she has demonstrated remarkable fortitude in the face of disappointments.

Originally, my mother-in-law planned to take her to France for three weeks. However, my MIL's doctor found a malignant skin tumor shortly after our daughter's passport arrived. Thankfully, the doctor appears to have removed the entire tumor and my MIL is sailing through chemotherapy. While my daughter is as relieved as the rest of us that her granny is doing so well, it's only human to feel disappointment at the change in plans. Who could blame her?

Then I injured my leg severely enough to warrant a cast and crutches. So instead of visiting Paris and the Ardennes, my youngest spent three weeks serving as my hands and feet. My oldest helped where she could, but she had a lousy summer last year when her college closed.  To make up for credits lost when she transferred into the state university system, she's been taking day classes, night classes and summer school for nearly 12 months.

My younger daughter managed housework, cooking, grocery shopping and driving me to and/or from work. Granted, she already knew what she was doing for all those things, but she was spending a lot more of her time doing them. And according to my family I am not a very good patient.  (I have no idea why they'd say that.) Yes, there was a certain amount of muttering, but I can't complain. There were also a lot of times when she'd poke her head in the door and ask I wanted a drink or something brought to me.

Not only that, she had to say good-bye to her best friend Sarah because Sarah's dad accepted a job on the East Coast. Sarah is everything my daughter is not: perky, optimistic, mild-mannered and soft-spoken. She and my moody, outspoken, assertive offspring have been inseparable since seventh grade. My daughter would use her sharp tongue to scare off people like the obnoxious boy in math class that creeped Sarah out, in return getting a daily dose of cheer. My daughter has other friends she loves dearly (she may be moody but she's no loner!), and they all form a Lack of Sarah Support Group for each other. But the day Sarah moved away required Mom hugs and medicinal Ben & Jerry's.

Our tastes aren't the same, but she's got a sound critical eye, particularly for film, and she's smart enough to be able to back up her opinions with good arguments. We've had some great conversations about dance, books, and movies.

As a late bloomer myself (really really really late), I watch this daughter make her plans for college and beyond, knowing that like most of us, she may very well change directions mid-course. I'm thrilled that she's looking at the future with as much optimism as a moody sarcastic person can. Changes and obstacles are the nature of life. But even if her plans fail, she won't.

Tagged: Daughters, Family, Postaweek 2011

Philadelphia Memories

Yesterday, America celebrated the 235th anniversary of our formal declaration of independent status from Great Britain. Independence Day is one of my favorite holidays. Usually we spend it with family and friends, enjoying favorite foods and lighting off fireworks. In between the burgers, Chinese coleslaw, watermelon and fireworks, though, I try to take a moment and remember the reason for the day.

Despite the imperfections of the U.S. government, the members of the Continental Congress risked disgrace, imprisonment, financial ruin and a traitor's death as soon as they signed the Declaration of Independence. The likelihood of defeating Great Britain, then the most powerful nation in Europe, seemed a distant dream. So did the hope of establishing a united government among 13 colonies who each guarded her privileges jealously against the others. (The U.S. Constitution came about after the Revolutionary War, by representatives empowered only to improve the Articles of Confederation.)

Despite the odds against them, the delegates took a breath and a leap of faith, and signed.

My family had a chance to visit Philadelphia a couple of years ago, and we took great pleasure in spending the day at Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell museum and historic center of the city. The exterior of Independence Hall and the room where the Continental Congresses met are familiar images, but our tour included the other rooms and floors as well.

Besides serving as a civic meeting place, the colonial public court met across from the Assembly Room. This picture shows part of the elevated bench where the justices sat, and the stand where witnesses were interviewed by counsel. The clerk sat at the small table to the right of the witness and immediately front of the judges so that he could hear and transcribe the proceedings.  Still, the high point for us was to see the room where founding principles of our country were debated and voted on.

On the next floor, the Long Gallery is set up for a banquet, with the tables set up along one side.  The rest of the floor would be cleared for mingling or possibly dancing to music provided by a harpsichord at one end. John Adams once confided to his beloved wife Abigail his hope that future generations would mark Independence Day with "pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more." I'd like to think that some of those celebrations were held at Independence Hall, the building where America was truly born.

Tagged: Independence Day, Independence Hall

Cast Away! or Silencing your Inner Whiny Child

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I've just spent the last three weeks in a cast, thanks to a sore calf and ankle that turned into a partially torn Achilles tendon. Today, the cast came off. (And there was much rejoicing!) I'm still hobbling around in a big, ugly black boot, but I'm thrilled to be cast- and crutch-free. My shoulders are really thrilled, believe me.

While I was sitting around with my clunky leg and ankle elevated, I had a lot of time to think. And journal. I journaled because when I tried to be a good little author and work on my current project, all I could think about was why did my toes looked funny or how frustrating it was not to be able to just walk downstairs to the television, for Pete's sake.

As long as I was so grumpy, I figured I would write out my frustrations in an old spiral notebook. Once they were off my chest, I could just toss the pages. There is never any reason to hang on to psychic garbage. This is similar to Julia Campbell's 'morning pages' in her perceptive book on creativity, The Artist's Way, although my pages were not written first thing in the morning and I didn't care if they led to increased creativity or not. I just wanted my Whiny Inner Brat to shut up.

And for the most part, it worked. I could moan and groan as much as I wanted on paper, knowing that they were headed for the shredder and no one, including me, would ever see those complaints again. It helped to deal with a lot of the frustration of enforced inactivity.

Eventually, though, my subconscious sot sick of the Whiny Brat and I started scribbling out occasional scraps of something useful. Like how to better arrange the linen/medicine closet and store the Christmas decorations. Nothing earth-shattering or award-winning, but helpful on a daily basis. I started writing about possibilities too, like what color palette I'd like if I ever get an office of my own. And ideas for future books, as well as a way to organize them before I start working on them in earnest. The latter is extremely helpful, as it drives me nuts when a new book wants to be written while I'm already working another one. I found myself saving a page here and there for later use.

So even though I'll be in a hideous piece of footwear for several weeks and have a rather long 'to-do' list awaiting me, I am refreshed and ready to resume my usual routine. Which is a good thing, because once I ran out of complaints, words for my WIP started coming again, and my hero and heroine have an important scene coming up.

Has anyone else out there ever had a forced break from routine? How did you handle it? What, if anything, did you accomplish during that time?

Tagged: Artist's Way, Journaling, Julia Campbell, Postaweek 2011, Writers Resources, writing routine

Exposition: Your Reader's Need to Know File

I can't speak for other writers, but I've found that placing exposition into my stories is either a pleasure or a giant pain. 'Exposition' is related to 'expose', and thus refers to unveiling information the reader must know in order to make sense of the story. One must have exposition, just not too much of it at one time.

The most common example of this kind of information is back story, or past events which influence the characters or plot of a book, but which do not take place during the length of time the book covers. In Nicole Jordan's To Desire a Wicked Duke, the heroine's loss of her fiancé in battle occurred well before the book opens, but it affects her decisions and her relationship with the hero. Her fiancé's death is part of the back story.

Most new writers, including yours truly, often open their first manuscript with pages and pages explaining the hero or heroine's home, or family of twelve, or college days, or…it really doesn't matter, because your reader wants to know about the main characters, not their 500-year-old family pedigree, no matter how distinguished it is. These reams of exposition are the dreaded 'info-dump', guaranteed to put off agents, editors and readers alike.

For film it's said that for every foot of film used in the final cut, there are two feet on the cutting room floor. I've come to think of exposition the same way. Yes, it is necessary to come up with detailed character biographies that do include birth year, birth place, family history (and probably their dates as well), education, favorite colors, the character's particular talents and his or her greatest flaws, etc., etc. — even though this information may never appear in the actual book.

Some of you are probably throwing up your hands and asking, "Then why go to so much trouble?" Considering the research and effort that goes into creating this kind of detail, that is an excellent question!

The answer is that when we writers set down that much information about a character, it nails him or her down in our heads. This kind of detail helps us understand how characters respond to each other as well as to challenges, failures or successes. The writer knows how their hero or heroine will go about reaching their goals. And on a purely practical level, if all of this is written down beforehand, the writer has a reference any time a question about a character's past comes up. That saves a lot of time all by itself.

As a historical romance writer, I also use exposition to explain aspects of life in past eras that modern readers wouldn't necessarily be familiar with. For example, in Her Scottish Groom I used it to include details about life in Scotland during the late Victorian era. Trains, cruise ships, and telegrams had been around for years by then. The heroine is accustomed to indoor plumbing.

My debut, To be Seduced, presented even more of a challenge because it takes place during the Restoration. Even something as straightforward as attending the theater needed a little explanation. The experience differed significantly from seeing plays during the nineteenth century, which is heavily represented in historical romances. The trick in both cases was to create vivid scenes for readers to enjoy, not give them a history lesson!

Clues to characters and period or universe (in the case of fantasy or paranormal romance) are imperative to an authentic, well-rounded story. But exposition, like everything else in a well-written book, should be layered in carefully, and nothing should appear on the page that does not advance or enhance the story.

What are some of the most interesting or unexpected bits of information revealed about a character in a book you've read?

Tagged: Backstory, Exposition, Her Scottish Groom, Historical romance, Nicole Jordan, Postaweek 2011, Romance novel, romance novels, To be Seduced, To Desire a Wicked Duke, Writing

Writing…and Reading

Some writers have had the urge to string words into stories from their earliest memories, while some of us don't discover this passion until middle age or later.  Whether they first scribbled a story on the back of grade school homework or had to gather courage and read their first attempt to a room of people more experienced than they were, all the good writers I've ever met or heard of reads, and has read, enthusiastically from childhood on.

Well before I started writing seriously, I gave thanks that I was born into a family of book lovers. My parents possessed wildly different tastes in reading material, and both of them affected me. I got my love of historical romance from my mother. Her paperback books contrasted with my father's volumes on geology, dog training, history and anthropology. Mom introduced me to Georgette Heyer, and the late historian Barbara Tuchman. Dad's books were drier, but watching him devour volumes on a wide range of subjects encouraged me to explore the non-fiction shelves of the library.

They read to me and my sisters, everything from poems to comic books. I don't really remember anything but pretty pictures, but the sense of security and comfort of being tucked beside them carried over into the act of reading itself. Once we could read for ourselves, we got books on most major occasions and often on smaller ones. Laura Ingalls Wilder and Louisa May Alcott were found in my bookshelves, along with Swiss Family Robinson, fairy tales and myths. I saved my allowance to buy Nancy Drew books.  My dad attempted to get me interested in 'Treasure Island', his favorite book as a boy, in vain. Ditto for Charles Dickens. (Sorry, Dad. I tried.) He succeeded wildly with 'Lord of the Rings', though.

High school lit classes introduced me to John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath and The Moon is Down, as well as the sly, wry humor of Mark Twain. I found Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein around then as well, thanks to my best friend who shared out her brother's science fiction books.

My interest in Tolkien led me to explore other fantasy writers. The voice of Ursula LeGuin is more ambiguous and darker, but her haunting stories stay with you long after you finish them.

As an adult, I discovered Jane Austen (finally!) and Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd, the histories and biographies written by Lady Antonia Fraser, and Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody mysteries, among many, many others.

These days, I read Tolkien for comfort and inspiration, Heyer when I want to be charmed and amused, Fraser and Tuchman when I need more solid fare, C. J. Cherryh when I want to read science fiction, and Shakespeare and Homer when I'm in the mood for something classic. And I've read historical romance in one form or another for decades. There are so many wonderful authors out there to choose from.

Who are your go-to writers for comfort or inspiration?

Tagged: Authors, Childhood books, Georgette Heyer, John Steinbeck, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Postaweek 2011, Reading, Thomas Hardy, Writing

Notes

Having had my week thrown off by Memorial Day on Monday, this post is shaping up as more of a 'bits and bobs' notice. I've started a temp job for the summer that's taking up more time than I expected, and I have the pleasure of my youngest daughter's company more hours of the day now that she's out of school. So my apologies for a more disjointed post than usual.

My big news is all about the cover above! Shortly after TO BE SEDUCED was released in North America, it was purchased for publication in Brazil. My understanding is that the Portuguese version went on sale earlier this year. I guess this means I can now call myself 'internationally published'. Although the book's hero, Richard, has undergone a somewhat alarming transformation from blond to brunette, I quite like the translation of the title. According to Google, the meaning of 'A Noiva Seduzida' is 'A Bride Seduced'.

I'd love to have my stepsister's half-Brazilian husband compare the Portuguese version with the original English, but I suspect I'd have to duct tape him to a chair and pour a lot of alcohol down his throat before he'd agree to read a romance through even once.

Meanwhile, HER SCOTTISH GROOM moved into the top 100 Historical Romances purchased on

A Brick in the Wall

I am writing this post with my feet up and an ice pack around my left ankle. No, I haven't suffered a dramatic injury. It's more a matter of running into a wall I've seen ahead of me but haven't had to acknowledge before now: age.

Not old age, yet. Just age. My ankle is on ice because I had my weekly ballet class last night. For several weeks, we've been working on a complicated section of petits battements, small jumps and footwork. These movements require speed, strength and elasticity. Until recently, I was pretty decent at them. Now, repeated practice has resulted in swelling and tenderness along both Achilles tendons, to the point that I am in pain not only when I dance, but when I do other things. Like walk down steps.

I've danced most of my life and know what to do to minimize injuries.  I've also tried to dance through the pain, but it has worsened progressively. Despite my attempts to avoid a doctor's appointment until June, I'll go in sometime in the next two weeks. Online research about my symptoms keep bringing up articles about tendonitis, and they all have variations of the phrase "often afflicts people over 40″.  Well, I am over 40 all right. Way over 40. Over ten years over 40, in fact.

As walls go, this one is more an annoyance than a serious, stop-you-cold-in-your tracks issue like catastrophic illness or losing your retirement savings. But it IS an annoyance. I may have to cut back on an activity I love because my body can't do it any more.

That weekly dance class is a huge stress reliever. No matter how rotten my mood is when I go in, I am calmer and happier when I leave. I don't pretend to understand how movement and exertion affect human brain chemistry. What I do understand is that the stylized posture and movements of ballet require my complete attention.  I can't pirouette and let my mind wander to the car repair bill or the chapter that is not working. If my attention wanders from the steps I'm doing, I lose balance or fall behind.

There's also the pleasure of mastering a new skill, or at least improving it. And I'm not going to lie — it's an ego boost to know I can keep up with girls my daughter's age. At least I could before now. Grumble.

If I can put my poor baby self-image aside, there are solutions to my aching ankles. First, I need to get to the doctor and get her diagnosis. Second, I will discuss my dilemma with the dance studio director and ask for her recommendation. I once joked in class that I'd continue ballet until I had to hobble to the barre with a walker. While it seems less amusing today, I do know that adjustments are possible.

But nobody says I have to like them.

Tagged: Ballet, Dance, Postaweek 2011

More Passion!

We all need a good passion in our lives. I don't mean sexual passion, although that's fun, too. I refer to those activities, objects and relationships that make us want to jump out of bed and seize the day. Or if you're like me, to at least shove the covers back and stagger to the nearest source of caffeine without as much whining.

One of the greatest encouragements I ever heard for giving in to passion came from a sermon. The priest said that those things that make our heart sing are what God means us to enjoy. Whatever you believe (or don't) about God, we human beings are not meant to slog through life with a mental chorus of 'should do' and 'ought to' making us miserable. Among the obligations to do things for others, we also have the gift of  intense attraction to certain activities or objects.  These are our passions, and they deserve exploration.

What makes your heart sing? Old houses? New houses? Gardening? Hiking? Movies? Dinner with family? Gaming with friends? I get excited by writing, ballet, period movies, roses, sitting under a shade tree on a hot day. There's more, but hopefully  you get the idea.

Note that I said "good passion" in the first line. Those feed our souls. People who are drawn to activities or behavior that hurt themselves or others need to explore their passions as well, but under the guidance of a professional who can help them heal or master their urges.

Granted, any unmastered passion causes problems.  It's a matter of balance. If you indulge in your love of restoring hardwood floors 24/7, you're going to alienate the people around you who don't share that particular passion, and you'll neglect practical matters like washing the sawdust out of your clothes and eating right. Much as I love writing, at some point I have to turn off the computer or put the pen down.

Souls are smart. Once you discover a way to do things you love on a regular basis, your soul knows it will have another chance to sing. The trick is finding or making the time to feed it in the first place, and then keeping that commitment to yourself. Have you always wanted to learn to dance? Maybe there's a beginner's class out there somewhere if you can set aside the time and money, although I'd be careful and ask to observe the class first. The director of our family dance studio believes that dance benefits anyone of any age and sets up 'adult beginner' classes so no one is intimidated. It is better to forgo classes if the atmosphere does not nurture you.

If you explore your passions, you might find an activity that brings you so much joy it gets you through the work week. You might even end up with a new job that gives you a sense of purpose and wonder. Either way, a good passion brings out the best in you.

If I had not explored my fascination for telling stories, I would not be published. How many of you have discovered things, big or small, that make your heart do a happy dance? What have you always wanted to try?

Tagged: Hobbies, passion, Postaweek 2011, Self-knowledge, Writing