Erin Knightley's Blog, page 6
May 7, 2012
Mysteries of the Secret Curtsey Society, Revealed!
Rest assured, this was all for a good cause! My fellow Secret Curtsey sisters and I are donating a partial manuscript critique to the Brenda Novak Annual Auction for the Cure of Diabetes. I would say that this is the last time you'll every see me in my bath robe and shower cap, but we had so much fun making this video, I can't promise that another won't soon follow (she says, while adjusting her elbow-length gloves) ;)
If you'd like to bid on the critique, click HERE.
Keep in mind, all five of us not only finaled in the Golden Heart, but our books are debuting within the next year! We can't guarantee that our critiques will result in finaling or selling your book, but with five professional opinions, it can't help but be a step in the right direction!
April 30, 2012
Dream a Little Dream
Do you know what? Dreams can come true. I feel like I am a walking, breathing, writingexample of this. I’ve had to pinch myself over and over this past year, in awe of the things that are happening in my life. Even with deadlines draped over my shoulders like lead weights, and with so much to do before my first book debuts next month (holy cow, NEXT MONTH!), the joy of doing the thing that I love most—of being a writer—never leaves me.Last July, when the auction was going on, I was alone in my house, coming out of my skin with joy, excitement, incredulity, disbelief—you name it, I was feeling it. When the dust finally settled, I could do little more than sit back in wonder at the glorious transformation of aspiring writer to Big Six published author.With my husband out of town for the week, and under strict orders from my agent not to spill the news just yet, I treated myself to a quiet celebratory dinner at the neighborhood grill, basking in the joy that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. That evening, the burning, 3-digit heat of earlier gave way to a swift summer storm, and when I left the restaurant, all that remained were gentle, warm breezes and soft, diffused light. As I drove home, I was struck by the utter perfection of the moment. This was my moment. This was that unforgettable, joyous instant in time when all things came together in a way so absolutely right, I felt as though I’d achieved the very pinnacle of true happiness. I knew that this was a once in a lifetime sort of moment, and I wanted to seize it.I was moved to pull out my phone, and record the moment so that I could always have it, I could always look back and remember a single space of time when my dreams had come true. I’m bare of make-up, naked of emotion, and absolutely real in this video. It was never meant to be shared, but as I celebrate the impending release of the product of this moment, I thought. . . why not? Why not reveal what such a thing feels like; why not offer it up as inspiration for those still seeking their dreams? Never stop seeking, my friends. Because I can tell you with assurance, dreams can come true...
Have your dreams come true? Tell me about your perfect moment! And if not yet, what would be your dream-come-true moment?
April 24, 2012
From Whence We Came
My past has come to me in snippets and phrases recently in a way I have never known it before. Not the past of my own lifetime, but the past of those who came before me. Great-grandparents I never considered before suddenly seen in tinted black and white photos, great-great-grandparents revealed through obituaries or obscure signatures on censuses from centuries past.
Grandma Mary
If I’m honest, I have rarely given my ancestors much thought, other than to be grateful for their decisions which led to my existence. Occasionally I’ll be on the boat with hubby or shopping for a new pair of shoes, and I wonder what my depression-era great-grandparents would think of me and my lifestyle, so vastly different that their own. Would it be with pride for my accomplishments, or with censure for the frivolousness?
But recently, my sister and my aunt have begun sharing the fruits of their family-tree-building labors, and all of the sudden, the past is becoming real. My father’s mother, sporting a pageboy and giggling beside her sister . . . perched atop a huge motorcycle, adventure and challenge lighting her eyes . . . posing confidently in a daring bikini, her smile lighting her whole face. My father’s father, standing tall beside a plane, his lean frame hearty and hail . . . in his military uniform, straight-backed and full of pride . . .
And for the first time ever, I saw a photo of my paternal grandfather’s father. He looked oddly kind in the picture, unusual for the stoic photos of the era. He looked like the sort of man who would welcome his wife’s interruption of his work day, and slip peppermint candies to his grandchildren when their parents weren’t looking.
But the most striking of all of my family tree discoveries were about my great, great-grandmother, Cecelia McCrea Kelly (my mother’s mother’s father’s mother). Memorialized in the obituaries of her local paper in 1934, it was immediately clear that she was something special. She was well-known and well-loved in her community, universally referred to as Mother Kelly. She was “sought for advice in practically all births and illness. These services was (sic) from her kindness and benevolence to her fellowmen, and not for any material gain, which she never accepted.”
I read and reread the words, awed by the respect and love my ancestor had garnered. She wasn’t royalty, celebrity, or even wealthy—she was merely giving of her time, heart, and talents. The swell of pride I felt at having descended from such a fine woman was palpable, and I was inspired to somehow be sure that she would live on. But what could I do?
The answer came to me as I plotted the Christmas novella that I'm working on. Mother Kelly's gift may have been in healing, but mine is in writing, and as such, I have decided that Miss Cecilia McCrea wasn’t just a hero—she shall be my heroine :-) So keep your eyes out this November when my Christmas novella comes out. I do hope I’ll be able to do Cece justice! And more than anything, I hope that my great, great-grandmother would be pleased by my small gesture, and that she'd know how proud I am to be her great, great-granddaughter!
What are some of the surprising finds you've discovered in your own family tree? Who would you memorialize as your hero or heroine if you had a chance?
April 17, 2012
#GasLeak12
My Fun-filled Writer’s Retreat, or
How Five Women Bonded Over Salted Chocolate Caramels, Near-Death Experiences, and Late-Night Evictions, and Decided to Name Our Next Heroes Bob
By Erin Knightley
So, with the Romantic Times Booklover’s Convention being held in Chicago this week, me and four of my writer friends decided it would be fun to meet before things got started and have a mini writer retreat of our own.
I know – brilliant idea. You’re jealous. Five woman sharing a gorgeous four bedroom condo in trendy downtown, chocolate and cocktails flowing freely while we put our heads together to come up with the next big thing, each of us destined to end up on the NY Times Bestseller list.
The first night was made of awesome. We laughed, we ate fabulous lasagna, we sat around the kitchen table and plotted like fools. We stayed up way too late, forgot to tell our families goodnight, and went to bed with visions of perfectly plotted books dancing in our heads.
Day two started off well enough. Coffee, cereal, orange juice, and fruit were quickly consumed before we got down to business. The first part of the morning flew by in a flurry of brainstorming genius until, all at once, our heads jerked up.
“Do you smell that?”
The unmistakable, cloying scent of gas slipped around us, impossible to pinpoint but nonetheless present. We jumped into to action, opening windows and doors and calling the landlord. By the time the landlord arrived, we had effectively aired the place out. He looked at us, we five educated, intelligent women, and saw a passel of overreacting females. No matter how much we tried to convince him otherwise, he assured us that it must have just been the smell of the heat kicking on, and to call him if we have any more issues. (insert his barely contained eye roll here)
Skip ahead hours later. We’ve had an awesomely productive day, with lots of great ideas bandied about. We’ve had a few more very light hint of gas, but nothing like that morning. Then, out of nowhere, a strong whiff of gas has us all jumping from our chairs. By now the temperature outside had dropped to around 45 degrees, but even so we opened all the windows and doors, and called the landlord once more. He didn’t answer that call, nor were the calls to the ‘after hours emergency line’ picked up. After some debate, we decided to call the gas company directly.
Now, at this point we were concerned but not freaked out. But once the gas company told us to leave the premises immediately, being sure not to flip any light switches or do anything else that may cause a spark, we were well and truly worried. Grabbing our purses and laptops, we headed into the cold night, crossing the street to wait for reinforcements.
We must have looked like a bunch of refuges, lugging our computer bags, our shoulders draped in blankets and huddled together for warmth.
And then, like something out of a movie, we watched as the next door neighbor came out onto his porch, popped a cigarette in his mouth, lifted his lighter and—
“NOOOOO!!!”
He nearly dropped his lighter as five hysterical women screamed, arms waving, yelling for him not to light his cigarette. Eliza was the only one who thought to clarify, shouting, “I don’t hate cigarettes, but there’s a gas leak!”
This would, of course, be the exact moment that the gas company shows up. One look at their faces make it clear that they witnessed the five unkempt (who needs showers, make-up, or real pants when you’re writing??), hysterical women with blankets on their shoulders screaming and gesturing wildly to strangers fifty feet away.
Let me just tell you how eager they were to take us seriously. These two didn’t even bother to conceal their eye-rolls as they exchanged looks, gathered their equipment, and headed to the condo. Closing the doors and windows, they started in the kitchen. We got our first taste of justification when they found a tiny, barely detectable leak at the stove connecter. We got our second taste when the fireplace was found to be leaking like a sieve. The little meter doohicky sounded like a tornado siren by the time he stuck it next to the logs.
Then he went upstairs. From below, all we could hear was muffled, “Oh, no. No, no, no. No, no, NO!” When he finally descends, he’s shaking his head. “You have nothing here going good. We’re shutting off the gas to the whole place.”
In the words of Eliza Evans, what sweet, terrible vindication!! Having realized that we are not just a bunch of panic-stricken females, the gas guy is quickly becoming a friend. Had he not just saved us from blowing up? After learning about all the illegal things going on with the (*leaking*) furnace and water heater, we’ve decided we must dedicate out next books to Bob. By the end of the night, he leaves with two signed books, a handful of bookmarks and post-it notes, and a reader gift bag.
And we leave as well – heading to the conference hotel a day early. On the way, I leave a voicemail for the landlord that still has not called us back. “Dear landlord. The gas company has found four separate leaks and three code violations. They have shut off the gas to the condo, and having no heat, hot water, or stove, we are headed to a hotel. Feel free to call me tomorrow if you need to know where to send the refund. Love, the non-delusional, wholly vindicated, justifiably irritated renters from Apt. 2B”
Side note: We made a pact to check into the hotel and hightail it to the room as fast as possible, not wanting to be seen in all our grungy, make-up-less glory. Which is why, of course, I saw every person I have ever known hanging out in the lobby that night, lol. Thank goodness I’m not yet published, so there were no readers who could recognize me… unlike the talented Heather Snow, who had just that happen. :-) Seriously, I’m still laughing just thinking of the look on Heather’s face when the reader came up to her.
(If you would like to see a play-by-play account, we used the hash tag #gasleak12 to document the whole debacle)
Moral of the story? It’s trifold
1) Never underestimate a woman's mental capacity (or five women, as the case may be)
2) Always brush your hair, even if you don’t plan on leaving the house. You never know!
3) Never cross a writer – you’re bound to end up the scullery maid or rat-catcher in their next book! (I’m talking to you, Mr. Landlord!) On the flip side, if you’re nice, you may end up with a dedication. Keep an eye out, Bob the hero – you, sir, shall be immortalized in my next book!
If you could immortalize someone – be it for something good or bad – who would it be? Why?
Well, in honor of the most awesome dessert cocktail ever that we ordered at the hotel, here is a recipe for Godiva Chocolate Martini’s!
1 1/2 shots Godiva chocolate liqueur
1 1/2 shots crème de cacao
1/2 shot vodka
2 1/2 shots half-and-half
Chocolate syrup
Whipped Cream
Mix all ingredients in a shaker with ice, shake and pour into a chilled, chocolate-swirled cocktail glass. Top with whipped cream and enjoy!
Read more: Godiva Chocolate Martini recipe http://www.drinksmixer.com/recipes/302/#ixzz1sJk9ZYIN
April 9, 2012
I'm So Excited - and I Just Can't Hide It!
Click Here
I hope to see you there!
April 3, 2012
Of Easter Eggs and Colored Memories
Ham . . . potato salad . . . deviled eggs . . . pasta salad . . . baked beans—the Easter feast will soon be upon us. As I filled my cart this weekend with all the ingredients necessary to bring our feast to life, I blithely passed right by the candy aisle, the basket and fake grass display, and the stuffed bunny tower—those things weren't for us, sophisticated thirty-somethings that we are. But while I was pushing my cart down the baking aisle, I caught sight of one of those Paas egg coloring kits, and couldn't help but smile.
My earliest memories of Easter involve two things: getting to wear a pretty Easter dress for church, and coloring eggs at the kitchen table. Come Saturday night, the table would be covered in newspapers and the freshly chilled hard-boiled eggs would emerge from the fridge and be set before we three eager kids. Dad would mix up the vinegar and dye tabs, the pungent scent wrinkling our noses and filling us with anticipation.
Two spoons would be laid out beside the little metal egg holder that came with the coloring, and inevitably we would all lunge for the coveted holder. One way or another, I swear my brother would always end up with it and would wave it in the air above his head – a victor with his spoils.
And then, the real work would begin. Kara approached the task as she did all things, carefully and with exacting standards, creating little eggy works of art with crisp lines and intricate patterns. She would sit patiently, holding the spoon just so, ignoring my brother and me completely as she worked her masterpiece.
Andy would take a decidedly different approach, dropping his egg in, waiting all of three seconds, then yanking it out and tossing it in the next color. His were always easy to pick out; muddled, pastel colors with murky lines and the occasional fingerprint marring the ugliness. Not that he saw them as ugly—no, he would laugh and hold it up for us to admire, proud of his distinctly male design.
I would fall somewhere in between, not quite having the patience and care of my older sister, but done with a much more artistic eye than my brother's. I'd try for stripes, and plaid, and the occasional electric blue egg. I remember laughter, and colored fingers, and the exclamations of delight from my parents every time we proudly held aloft our finished product.
The next morning, the very first thing I would do after opening my eyes was shove my hand beneath my pillow – and there it was! My very best egg from the night before would be waiting for me, the first of the hunt. The rest of the morning we would scurry around the house, unearthing our colorful trophies from between couch cushions, behind books, and in light fixtures. At the end of the hunt we'd find our baskets hidden in the most clever of locals: in the oven, under the kitchen sink, in the greenhouse window above the sink.
Afterwards, we'd dress in our new finery and head to church, high on sugar and excitement. That afternoon would bring juicy ham, forbidden potato chips and dip, carrots, green beans, pasta salad, and slightly dyed hard-boiled eggs. By the end of the night, we'd be tucked into bed with our new stuffed bunnies, kissed goodnight, and left to our chocolate and jelly bean dreams.
All those memories of decades earlier brought a nostalgic smile to my face, right there in the baking aisle of Target. On a whim I claimed the egg-coloring kit and tossed it in my cart. There is much to be said for the whimsy of childhood traditions, and this year, I think I'd like to have a few tinted deviled eggs for Easter dinner. After all, we are never too old for smiles :)
What are your favorite Easter memories? Did you color eggs, or use plastic ones? Did you have a traditional meal?
Now, I've given this recipe here before, but for my newcomers, I thought I would post it again. I give you, the world's best carrot cake!
Carrot Cake Deliciously moist, perfectly sweet cake that is perfect for any occasion. Slightly modified from the recipe found here .- 3 cups grated carrots - 2 cups all purpose flour - 1 and 3/4 cups sugar - 2 tsp baking soda - 1 tsp baking powder - 1/2 tsp salt - 1 and 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon - 4 eggs - 1/2 cup oil - 1 and 1/4 tsp vanilla extract - 1 cup crushed pineapple in own juice, lightly drained - 3/4 cup chopped pecans (optional)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Grease and flour either a 9x13 pan or three 9-in cake pans
In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients and mix (carrots, sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, salt, cinnamon. Stir in eggs, oil, vanilla, pineapple, and nuts, and mixed until combined.
Bake 23 to 28 minutes (9-in pans) or 30 to 40 minutes (9x13), or until center comes out clean
Cream Cheese Frosting:
1 8oz package neufchatel cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup butter, softened (1 stick)
1 lb powdered sugar
1 tsp vanilla
Cream butter and cream cheese, add vanilla, then slowly incorporate sugar until well mixed. Spread over completely cooled cake and ENJOY!
March 26, 2012
The Get-Away Actually Gotten
We almost didn't go.
After planning on our trip to Washington D.C. for months – a special little getaway for the two of us – all it took was once look at the weather report and Kirk was second guessing our plans. He had traveled extensively these last few months for work, so the idea of a 'getaway' held somewhat less appeal for him than for, say, a socially starved, dungeon-dwelling, deadline-fighting writer who hadn't left the house for more than four days in as many weeks. You know – just for example.
With the weather channel promising glorious near-summer weather and the cost of gas over $4 a gallon for our premium-demanding car, the trip seemed less and less like a good idea the closer it got. The thing is, whenever the weather gets nice, it becomes harder and harder to shoe-horn us out of our own backyard. It's wonderful—a dream come true, really—to live on a lake, but in the six years we have been here, I can count on one hand the number of times we've 'gone away' with just the two of us.
We've made all kinds of plans to go to the beach, or Wilmington, or Asheville – even places like the Gulf of Mexico and Vegas. But inevitably, we can't justify the cost when we have the lake in our backyard, and we always end up staying home. Errands beckon, groceries need procuring, and before we know it, the weekend gets away from us. Again and again these days pass, and soon, we are without any special experiences or memories to mark the rapid march of time.
Well darn it, I wanted to do something special with my hubby. So, to my delight, Kirk agreed to follow through and Friday found us packing up the car and waving goodbye to the pooches. Our adventure had begun!
It was such a small thing, wandering the streets of an unfamiliar city, pointing out trinkets in store windows and yummy-looking restaurants, taking in the monuments and landmarks that pepper the city, and exchanging glances at the odd things people-watching readily revealed. No grand plans, just a couple strolling arm-in-arm, taking in the sites. We paused at storefronts, wandered the crowded halls of museums, and sat across from each other at tiny tables tucked in intimate restaurants. At night was paused to take in the twinkling lights and fresh air, listening to the hum of the city around us. Throughout the weekend we marveled at ancient artifacts, braved the unfamiliar world or mass transit, and wound our way through the cherry blossom forests, all the while showered with a million fluttering, blushing petals.
For the first time in months, the camera made an appearance, clicking softly with each captured moment. Posing before royal jewels, and flaming sunsets, and soaring tributes, we paused to record the silky threads of experiences memories are woven from.
There were far more people around us than we knew what to do with, and it did end up raining on Saturday, but the moments shared in each others company, with no work, or writing, or dogs, or TV between us, made the whole trip worthwhile a thousand times over.
We had thought the trip frivolous and unnecessary, but in fact it was the most meaningful thing we had done in ages. Yes, it took a bit of a bite out of the bank account, but you know what? Being reminded of how much I adore simply being with my husband was absolutely priceless. :)
Tell me about your favorite get-away! How often do you manage to sneak away? Where do you want to go next?
In honor of our decadent eating experience this weekend, here is the link for the insanely delicious brownies we indulged in at Dean and Deluca. Tell me this doesn't make your mouth water! Click Here
March 19, 2012
New Website and Giveaway!
Babysitter. Pizza maker. Day care worker. Youth leader. Lifeguard. Biochem lab worker. Lifeguard part 2. Paleoclimatology lab worker. Resident Advisor. Dry cleaner clerk. Geographic Information Systems Analyst. Real Estate agent. House cleaner. Environmental Technician. Environmental Specialist. Jewelry store salesperson.
Writer. :)
What a glorious thing to be able to label ourselves with the title most dreamed for. To wish, and hope, and work, work, work toward that which we want most. Today, as I reveal my beautiful new website (thanks Andy, my under-paid but much appreciated brother!), I can't help but think of all choices that led me to where I am today, on the cusp of debuting my very first novel, surrounded by supportive friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers. What a dream job!
A year ago this week, I was waiting with baited breath for the Golden Heart finalist announcements, wondering if my life was about to change. Boy was it ever! This year has been one of the very best in existence, and I am forever grateful and thankful to all those who offered help, support and well-wishes.
In thanks and appreciation for all of you lovely people who have come to join me as I debut the new website, I'm thrilled to offer up a special treat: One lucky commenter will win an Advanced Reader Copy of my debut novel, MORE THAN A STRANGER! Win it way before you can buy it, as the book will release officially June 5th :) Simply leave a comment between now and Wednesday night. The winner will be chosen at random and announced at 9pm EST on March 21 here in the comments section. Good luck!
S0 tell me: what would be your dream job?
PS - Have a look around at the new digs! Excerpts from both MORE THAN A STRANGER and A TASTE FOR SCANDAL can be found by clicking the "Books" link on the menu to the left. Enjoy!
If you don't see the comments section below, click on the post title (New Website and Giveaway) and scroll down. Will have this fixed shortly!
March 12, 2012
A Spring in my Step
This weekend, I was made blissfully happy by the exact thing that seemed to wreak havoc and unimaginable strife on hordes of people across the country. I speak of the wonderfulness that is Daylight Savings Time.
I can already hear the groaning. Twitter was packed with harried souls, all complaining of their precious lost hour, and the difficulty in adjusting their inner clock. Dinner is too early. . . not the least bit tired at bedtime. . . super tired in the morning—there seemed to be complaints aplenty clogging every stream.
Now, granted, I am on a different schedule than most, staying up really late and waking when I'm good and ready. But still, even when I had the 8 to 5 job, I LOVED daylight savings time. For me, it is catapulting me not just one hour into the future, but straight into spring in one fell swoop. In the space of one day, I feel as though fresh, new life is on its way, with summer not far behind.
Who wouldn't love that? More time to do things outdoors after work? Sign me up! Every year at Daylight Savings Time I feel as though I'm emerging from my cocoon, blinking into the brightness of day and filling my lungs with the fresh scent of promise.
With the changing of the clock, I can finally shake loose the hibernation of winter, the hours on the couch lit by the artificial light of lifeless bulbs or the flickering light of TV and computer screens, and the inherent slowness that seems to drape my movements all winter. The brisk spring air calls to me, the sunshine beckons mightily, and I can't help but heed the call.
With the change, flowers seem to come from nowhere, not yet fully formed but perfectly filled with potential. The grass begins to green, and the distant hum of pontoons hitting the water flavors the air. The door to the back porch finds itself open more often than not, and the lure of the grill beckons once more.
For the first time in months, I feel like a kid again, eager to explore, to laugh, to spread my airs and spin in the sun-warmed air. Bring on the light! Bring on the side into spring and summer.
Now, go forth and wallow in the goodness, and forget the small price we must pay for the one way ticket to spring. Your inner clocks will adjust, I promise!
Are you with me? Or do you hate DLS like so many others? Am I the only one who loves this time of year?
March 5, 2012
Joy Is...
Joy is…
Feeling the sunshine on my face
Watching the puppies frolic in the water
Being swallowed up in my husband's arms
Talking to friends
Watching Downton Abbey
Splurging on the Chocolate Mascarpone Cheesecake
Cleaning the house til it shines
Taking a walk with my hubby and three pups
Sitting on the back porch, watching the geese land
Making a proper dinner
TURNING IN THE MANUSCRIPT ON TIME!
Seriously, it has been utter bliss rediscovering all the joys of everyday living. As much as it sucks to go through super strenuous or stressful times, it really does give us a chance to reflect on all the simple joys of everyday life. It's those humble things that we take for granted that make up all the small, special moments of our lives, don't you think?
So tell me, what are your simple joys? What are the things you look forward to after a particularly difficult time? Give me ideas for what to do after that next deadline comes a-callings!
For today's recipe, I modified a recipe I stumbled across online. It is simple, joyful food at its best :) Enjoy!
Super Easy Vegetable Soup
64 oz vegetable broth (I used Swanson)
1 red pepper
1 zucchini
2 large carrots
1 cup chopped mushrooms
1/2 head or cabbage
2 cups cauliflower
2 cups broccoli
1/2 onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
salt and pepper to taste
Chop everything coarsely, combine in large stock pan and cover with broth. Bring to boil, reduce to simmer. Simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Enjoy!
