Shelly Hickman's Blog, page 7

Vegas to Varanasi Launch and Dream Cast

I didn't do this for my two prior works, but discovered how fun it is to cast your own book. I'll admit some of my choices are not the right age. My Kiran is a little too young, and my Luke a little too old, so please indulge me. My selections are based on looks and/or personality, so let’s just pretend they’re the appropriate age.  And, here we go!
Anna

Anna is the girl who has never stopped traffic, but is terminally considerate of others. Sarah Jessica Parker is my choice for Anna, simply because she is not “Hollywood beautiful,” but I have always found her funny and quite adorable. 

Kiran

I knew that I wanted the male lead to be Indian, but I didn’t really know any celebrities to fashion him after. So before I began writing him, I Googled Indian actors, when I stumbled upon this guy, Hrithik Roshan. There was no need to look further! Yeah, he’s a tiny bit young for the part, so just picture him with a little grey on the sides. But oh my God, isn’t he yummy? David

I admit it. I have a bit of a crush on Steve Carell, and he's who I envision as Anna’s talented and goofy, yet messed up ex-boyfriend. Luke

Since Anna expressly says that Luke looked just like John Taylor of Duran Duran when they were in high school, of course Luke must be John Taylor! Carly

Jane Levy of Suburgatory is my choice for Anna and Luke’s sensible daughter, Carly.

Hayden

Brenton Thwaites as Anna and Luke’s easy-going son, Hayden. To be honest, I wasn't familiar with Brenton before now. I pictured Hayden with sort of a "surfer dude" look, and Brenton was perfect. Julia

I tried to think of someone other than Melissa McCarthy for Anna’s best friend, Julia, for no other reason than she is so popular right now and seems like an overly obvious choice, but I really couldn’t see anyone else in the role but her. Richard

Love Alec Baldwin, and had to cast him as Luke’s long-time partner, Richard. Christine

And finally, I chose the lovely Kate Winslet as Christine, Kiran’s ex-fiance who broke his heart. I hope my choices don't spoil it for anyone. I always prefer to create my own images of characters while reading, but I couldn't resist. This was just too fun.

Vegas to Varanasi Launch, Giveaway, and Dream Cast

Hello there! I'm so glad you're here. To celebrate the release of my latest novel, Vegas to Varanasi, I'll be offering the following giveaways below to help spread the word on December 7th. Please join me for the launch celebration on Facebook on that day as well. And while you're here, keep reading to see who would be my "dream cast" for a movie version. Hey, I can dream, can't I? Dreams are good! ;) 

Thank you for coming and good luck!
--Shelly U.S. Giveaway Residents of the U.S. who enter may win one of the following gifts. You must be a U.S. resident to participate in this particular giveaway. If you live outside the U.S., please see the International Giveaway below. U.S. residents are also free to participate in the International Giveaway.  a Rafflecopter giveaway International Giveaway Residents outside the U.S. who enter may win one of two $20 Amazon gift cards. a Rafflecopter giveaway My Dream Cast I didn't do this for my two prior works, but discovered how fun it is to cast your own book. I'll admit some of my choices are not the right age. My Kiran is a little too young, and my Luke a little too old, so please indulge me. My selections are based on looks and/or personality, so let’s just pretend they’re the appropriate age.  And, here we go! Anna

Anna is the girl who has never stopped traffic, but is terminally considerate of others. Sarah Jessica Parker is my choice for Anna, simply because she is not “Hollywood beautiful,” but I have always found her funny and quite adorable. 

Kiran

I knew that I wanted the male lead to be Indian, but I didn’t really know any celebrities to fashion him after. So before I began writing him, I Googled Indian actors, when I stumbled upon this guy, Hrithik Roshan. There was no need to look further! Yeah, he’s a tiny bit young for the part, so just picture him with a little grey on the sides. But oh my God, isn’t he yummy? David

I admit it. I have a bit of a crush on Steve Carell, and he's who I envision as Anna’s talented and goofy, yet messed up ex-boyfriend. Luke

Since Anna expressly says that Luke looked just like John Taylor of Duran Duran when they were in high school, of course Luke must be John Taylor! Carly

Jane Levy of Suburgatory is my choice for Anna and Luke’s sensible daughter, Carly.

Hayden

Brenton Thwaites as Anna and Luke’s easy-going son, Hayden. To be honest, I wasn't familiar with Brenton before now. I pictured Hayden with sort of a "surfer dude" look, and Brenton was perfect. Julia

I tried to think of someone other than Melissa McCarthy for Anna’s best friend, Julia, for no other reason than she is so popular right now and seems like an overly obvious choice, but I really couldn’t see anyone else in the role but her. Richard

Love Alec Baldwin, and had to cast him as Luke’s long-time partner, Richard. Christine

And finally, I chose the lovely Kate Winslet as Christine, Kiran’s ex-fiance who broke his heart. I hope my choices don't spoil it for anyone. I always prefer to create my own images of characters while reading, but I couldn't resist. This was just too fun.

Vegas to Varanasi Release

Today is the day, my lovelies! Vegas to Varanasi is now available in paperback and e-book on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I've listed the e-version at the intro sale price of 99 cents, so if you were considering downloading a copy, feel free to take advantage of the sale. :)

I also included a little music here to help set the mood. Yes, I swiped this song from a movie soundtrack, but I LOVE it and think you will, too.

Thanks, everyone!

Chick Lit Christmas Giveaway

Would you like a chance to win some chick lit for the holidays? Well, now's your chance. Several authors of chick lit or women's fiction, including yours truly, have come together to offer this holiday giveaway which will run today through Christmas Eve. All you have to do is click on the link below to get started. If you're learning about this giveaway for the first time from me here, clicking "Like" on on my Facebook page will enter you into the drawing. If you're already a fan of my page, then liking one of the lovely authors here will also get you an entry. The more pages you like, the more entries you will have, increasing your chances of winning, so I hope you will participate. Thank you, good luck, and Happy Holidays!

Click here to enter.

Celebrate the Season with Six Sassy Shorts!

Anyone up for some holiday chick lit?

Merry Chick Lit was created to benefit the charity, Rocking the Road for A Cure, a NY based breast cancer charity that sends out volunteers to help women with breast cancer with their everyday activities such as shopping, errands, laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. All proceeds for the book will go to this charity.

In the spirit of giving, six chick-lit authors "present" a charming collection of seasonal shorts sure to inspire holiday cheer-plus love and hope throughout the year, with all proceeds donated to Rocking the Road for a Cure!  Featured authors & stories include:

Carolyn Ridder Aspenson 
In "Santa's Gift," journalist Jessica thinks Santa's just a silly myth for children, so when he asks what she most wants for Christmas, she tells him the one thing she knows he can't deliver--true love. Or can he? 

Sarah Hitchcock 
In "The Christmas Lights," one competition pits two families against each other...who will win this war? 

Francine LaSala 
Pretty Izzy knows exactly what she wants for Christmas: hunky sales manager Jake Harrington wrapped up with a shiny silver bow--and nothing else. Except Santa may have other plans in "Carol of the Belles." 

Nikki Mahood 
In "Spinster Christmas," Cara's looking forward to spending Christmas alone until she learns her old--and she believes very gay--crush needs a place to stay. Though it soon becomes clear that while still hot, Ronan isn't gay after all... 

Holly Martin 
Ella's dreams of making a better life for her and her daughter seem further away than ever in "Iced Dreams." But as Christmas approaches, and she wishes for a fairy godmother to wave a magic wand to fix her life, things begin to change in ways she never imagined! 

K.C. Wilder 
In "The Mermaid," Allie's content to spend Christmas by herself at a vacant beach house to make good on a promise made to her true love lost, Jeff. Until Jeff's gorgeous college roommate Tim crashes in on her with his own promise to keep... Rocking The Road For A Cure is tickled PINK to be selected as the recipient of proceeds from your purchase of  Merry Chick Lit.

We are a growing 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization in the New York City/Long Island area, dedicated to improving the quality of life of people undergoing the often energy-depleting and emotionally draining treatments for breast cancer.

Our name came from our founder and President, Dawn Frey, a musician, who learned through personal experience that “it takes a village” to get through the diagnosis and treatment of breast cancer, and not every individual has the support network they need.  Rocking The Road For A Cure provides free, in-home housekeeping, health and wellness services to restore strength and confidence, and to rebuild spiritual, emotional and physical well-being.

So, when you settle back and relax to enjoy reading  Merry Chick Lit , please know that you have helped us help a breast cancer patient to also settle back and relax…and heal.
Merry Chick Lit on Facebook
http://merrychicklit.blogspot.com/
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Rocking The Road For A Cure   

Guest Excerpt from "Keeping Score" by Jami Deise

Guess what! Jami Deise's chick lit novel, Keeping Score, is on sale for 99 cents this week. I read Keeping Score a few months ago, and if you've ever been the parent of a child in sports, you will relate to the humor and charm in this book, so don't miss your chance to grab a copy. And now a few words from Jami. :)


Thanks for having me on your blog today, Shelly!

November isn’t usually a month that most people associate with baseball. November is Thanksgiving (and Hanukkah this year), shopping, decorating, and getting ready for that big December holiday. And for many people who have family out of state, November also means travel. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the biggest travel day of the year.

So that’s one place where baseball and November overlap. They don’t call it “travel baseball” for nothing.

Below is an excerpt from my novel KEEPING SCORE, which illustrates the particular joys of having a tournament at the beach during a very busy summer weekend. My heroine, Shannon, finds herself saddled with one of her son Sam’s teammates when her ex-husband hooks up with another baseball mom…


The boys followed me to the elevator, where we had to wait another ten minutes for a car. They chatted about baseball and their teammates, while I mulled over what we might or might not find when we got back to our room. I hoped it was just our luggage and not David and Vanessa naked and sweaty. That was the type of trauma it took decades to get over. And the boys might be upset, too.

Luckily, when I got to room 816, there was no sex going on. There was also no David and no luggage. Plus, instead of the two queen-sized beds David had promised, there was only one king-sized bed and a pullout couch.

"Where's Dad?" Sam assumed, as he often did, that I had some kind of ESP that gave me access to information that wasn't readily apparent.

"Hopefully, getting our luggage and bringing it back here."

"Can't you call him?"

I dug out my cell phone. Then I remembered that the genius had lost his.   

"Perhaps he's still with my mum," Clive said.

I picked up the hotel room phone, dialed the operator and asked for --

"Clive, what's your last name?"

"Shields," he answered.

"Vanessa Shield's room."

A pause, and then the operator reported, "There's no one by that name registered here."

I was stumped for a second. Then I turned back to Clive and asked, "What's your mother's last name?"

"Bennington."

"I'm sorry. It's Vanessa Bennington."

A moment later I heard the phone ring. And ring. And ring. I guess hotels don't bother offering voice mail anymore, because it never picked up.

I hung up.

"Clive, what's your mother's cell phone number?"

"I don't have a cell phone."

"That's not what I asked."

"Why would I know her number if I don't have a phone?"

I wanted to bite off my own arm. Instead, I said, "You guys stay here. I'm going to look for our luggage. Clive, keep trying to call your mom."

"But I don't have a phone!" He whined like he hadn't just seen me try to call his mother on the hotel line.

"It's okay, Mom," Sam said. "I'll handle it."

I went back downstairs and into the bar, scouring the place for any sign of David, Vanessa or our luggage. I even asked the bartender if he'd seen where the obnoxious couple had gone.

"Lady," he sneered, "where do you think they went?" And no, he didn't have any idea where our luggage could be.

Finally, I found a porter who told me that they'd found an abandoned luggage cart near the elevator and stored it in baggage check. In the only bright note of the day, it held our suitcases.

"You shouldn't just leave this stuff lying around," the teenager lectured me. "It could get stolen or someone could plant drugs in it, or anything."

I gave him ten bucks to shut him up, then started wheeling the thing back toward the elevator. But there was something stuck on one of the front wheels. Rather than moving smoothly forward, it kept lurching to the right. The suitcases threatened to hit the floor with every rotation.

"You look like you could use some help there, little lady."

I turned around. It was Kevin. He had just walked in the hotel, and even though it was close to midnight, he looked as refreshed as if he'd just slept for ten hours.

"Wow," I said, "how long did it take you to get here?"

"Two and a half hours," he answered. "I left late to beat the traffic."

Got to love people who knew how to plan ahead. Or murder them.

 "Can I give you some help with that?" he repeated.

"What about your own stuff?"

He turned to show me the backpack on his shoulder. "Five years in the minors, you learn how to travel light."

I pushed the luggage cart at him. It veered right, but he caught it before it hit the wall.

"It's all yours.”

When we got to my room, there was still no sign of David, and both boys were fast asleep. Kevin plucked the suitcases off the cart, and sent it into the hallway.

"His mother ran off with my ex," I explained. "I guess I'll be sleeping on the sofa tonight."

"I'm on the fifth floor. You're welcome to hang out with me until his mother shows up."

I searched his face for any sign that he was propositioning me or even offering a gentle come on. Complete deadpan. I guessed it was just a friendly invitation.

I was about to say yes, but then I had a quick image of walking into Kevin’s room with him, while half of the Saints parents clustered in the hall. They’d never stop talking about it.

I couldn’t let that happen.

"Thanks anyway," I said. "We have an early game tomorrow, and I'm just going to go to sleep."

He nodded and disappeared quickly. I’d probably hurt his feelings. I felt bad, too, but I wasn’t about to risk my reputation. I hadn’t worked in PR for all those years not to learn that reputation was all a person had. 

I pulled the cushions off the sofa bed, and found three quarters and a Milky Way wrapper. Now I really didn’t want to sleep there, but what choice did I have?  I grabbed the loop attached to the mattress frame and pulled. And pulled. And pulled.

Nothing. And my shoulder was really starting to hurt.

I quit.

I piled the cushions back on, grabbed the extra bedding from the closet, and lay down. After a minute, I remembered to kick off my shoes. Then I stopped thinking about anything.

 

When her son wanted to play travel baseball, Shannon Stevens had no idea the worst competition was off the field…

When her son Sam asks to try out for a travel baseball team, divorced mom Shannon Stevens thinks it’ll be a fun and active way to spend the summer. Boy, is she wrong! From the very first practice, Shannon and Sam get sucked into a mad world of rigged try-outs, professional coaches, and personal hitting instructors. But it’s the crazy, competitive parents who really make Shannon’s life miserable. Their sons are all the second coming of Babe Ruth, and Sam isn’t fit to fetch their foul balls. Even worse, Shannon’s best friend Jennifer catches the baseball fever. She schemes behind the scenes to get her son Matthew on the town’s best baseball team, the Saints. As for Sam? Sorry, there’s no room for him! Sam winds up on the worst team in town, and every week they find new and humiliating ways to lose to the Saints.

And the action off the field is just as hot. Shannon finds herself falling for the Saints’ coach, Kevin. But how can she date a man who didn’t think her son was good enough for his team … especially when the whole baseball world is gossiping about them? Even Shannon’s ex-husband David gets pulled into the mess when a randy baseball mom goes after him. As Sam works to make friends, win games and become a better baseball player, Shannon struggles not to become one of those crazy baseball parents herself.  In this world, it’s not about whether you win, lose, or how you play the game… it’s all about KEEPING SCORE.
About Jami Deise…

A lifelong resident of Maryland, Jami Deise recently moved to St. Petersburg, Florida, along with her husband Tom, son Alex, and dog Lady. A baseball mom for over 10 years, “Keeping Score” is her first novel. Jami is an associate reviewer at www.chicklitcentral.com and a generalist reader for an NYC-based literary agency. Along with women’s fiction, she loves all things horror and watches too much TV.

Links:

Keeping Score is on sale for 99 cents this week on Amazon! (Kindle/paperback): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E6GHQYM

on Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/keeping-score-jami-deise/1116264551?ean=9781491201817&isbn=2940045164511

on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

Blog: www.JamiDeise.blogspot.com

Twitter: @JamiDeise

Facebook: www.facebook.com/JamiDeiseauthor

Guest Excerpt from Carolyn Ridder Aspenson, Author of Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel

I'm delighted to welcome back friend and fellow author, Carolyn Ridder Aspenson, to celebrate the success of her book, Unfinished Business An Angela Panther Novel. Carolyn is warm, funny, down-to-earth, and I'm so happy for her recent accomplishments.

A little note from Carolyn:
It was a # 1 best seller on both Amazon and B&N. It also placed 42 on B&N's top 100 Nook books for sale and 99 on Amazon's top 100 paid kindle books. It placed in the top 10 of three other B&N best seller lists and 2 of Amazon's. I'm pretty stoked. I know my mother, who the character of Fran is modeled after, is up in Heaven telling everyone, "My daughter's book is about me. I'm really popular." And no, I'm not joking. She's totally doing that. What a trip that woman was.
Unfinished Business

An Angela Panther Novel

By

Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

_______________________________________________________________________

Sometimes the dead need our help and sometimes, we need theirs

ANGELA PANTHER HAS A PERFECT LIFE:  A lovely home, an attentive, successful husband, two reasonably behaved children, a devoted dog and a lot of coffee and cupcakes. But while her life might border on mundane, she's got it under control. Until her mother, Fran dies-and returns as a ghost. It seems Fran's got some unfinished business and she's determined to get it done.

Now Fran's got some nifty celestial superpowers and isn't opposed to using them to levy a little ghostly retribution on her granddaughter's frienemies and even her own daughter, which doesn't make Angela happy.

While Angela's shocked and grateful to have her mother back, she's not thrilled about the portal to the afterlife Fran opened upon her return. Now every ghost in town is knockin' on Angela's psychic door, looking for help-and it's a royal pain in the butt.

Now Angela's got to find a way to balance her family life with her new gift and keep her mother in line. And it's a lot for one woman to handle.
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson tackles, with comic cleverness, the serious subjects of mother-daughter relationships, death and raising teenagers in this smart, funny take on the love of family and the uncontrollable paths our lives take.

"It's about ghosts, the love of family, the never-ending love of mothers and daughters...add some humor and it's the perfect combination of adult/chick- lit/paranormal (all in one book)." -  The Book Trollop

"Aspenson hits the ground running with her debut novel and carries the reader along on a rollicking adventure highlighting both the joys and conflicts of mother-daughter relationships." -  Katrina Rasbold Amazon
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CarolynRidderAspenson.com
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Twitter: @AWritingWoman

Chapter One

The air in the room felt frigid and sent an icy chill deep into my bones. Searching for comfort, I lay on the rented hospice bed, closed my eyes, and snuggled under Ma’s floral print quilt. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of Dove soap, Calvin Klein Eternity perfume and stale cigarettes. The stench of death lingered in the air, trying hard to take over my senses, but I refused to let it in. Death may have taken my mother, but not her smell. Not yet.

“You little thief, I know what you did now.”

I opened my eyes and searched the room, but other than my Pit Bull, Greyhound mix Gracie, and me, it was empty. Gracie sensed my ever so slight movement, and laid her head back down. I saw my breath, which wouldn’t have been a big deal except it was May, in Georgia. I closed my eyes again.

“I know you can hear me, Angela. Don’t you ignore me.”

 I opened my eyes again. “Ma?”

Floating next to the bed, in the same blue nightgown she had on when she died, was my mother, or more likely, some grief induced image of her.

“Ma?" I laughed out loud. “What am I saying? It’s not you. You’re dead.’

The grief induced image spoke. “Of course I’m dead, Angela, but I told you if I could, I’d come back. And I can so, tada, here I am.”

The image floated up in the air, twirled around in a few circles and floated back down.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to right my brain or maybe shake loose the crazy, but it was pointless because when I opened my eyes again, the talking image of my mother was still there.

“Oh good grief, stop it. It’s not your head messing with you, Angela. It’s me, your Ma. Now sit up and listen to me. This is important.”

As children we’re conditioned to respond to our parents when they speak to us. We forget it as teenagers, but somewhere between twenty and the birth of our first child, we start acknowledging them again, maybe even believing some of what they tell us. Apparently it was no different when you imagined their ghost speaking to you, too. Crazy maybe, but no different.

I rubbed my eyes. “This is a dream, so I might as well go with it."

I sat up, straightened my back, plastered a big ol’ smile on my face, because it was a dream and I could be happy the day my mom died, in a dream and said, “Hi Ma, how are you?” 

“You ate my damn Hershey bars."

“Hershey bars? I dream about my dead mother and she talks about Hershey bars. What is that?”

“Don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Angela."

“But I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma.” I shook my head again and thought for sure I was bonkers, talking to an imaginary Ma.

“Oh for the love of God, Angela, my Hershey bars. The ones I hid in the back of my closet.”

Oh. Those Hershey bars, from like, twenty years ago, at least. The ones I did eat.

“How do you know it was me that ate your Hershey bars? That was over twenty years ago.”

The apparition smirked. “I don’t know how I know, actually. I just do. I know about all of the stuff you did, and your brothers too. It’s all in here now.” She pointed to her, slightly transparent head and smirked.

She floated up to the ceiling, spun in a circle, and slowly floated back down. “And look, I’m floating. Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you, Angela? You know, I’d sit but I tried that before and fell right through to the damn basement. And let me tell you, that was not fun. It was creepy, and it scared the crap outta me. And oh, Madone, the dust between your two floors! Good Lord, it was nasty. You need to clean that. No wonder Emily’s always got a snotty nose. She’s allergic.”

“Emily does not always have a snotty nose.” She actually did but I wasn't going to let Ma have that one.

The apparition started to say something, then scrutinized the bed. “Ah, Madone, that mattress. That was the most uncomfortable thing I ever slept on, but don’t get me started on that. That’s a conversation for another time.”

Another time?

“And I hated that chair.” She pointed to the one next to the bed. “You should have brought my chair up here instead. I was dying and you wanted me to sit in that chair? What with that uncomfortable bed and ugly chair, my back was killing me.” She smiled at her own joke, but I sat there stunned, and watched the apparition’s lips move, my own mouth gaping, as I tried to get my mind and my eyes to agree on what floated in front of me. 

“Ah, Madone. Stop looking at me like that, Angela Frances Palanca. You act like you’ve never seen a ghost.”

“Ma, I haven’t ever seen a ghost, and my name is Angela Panther, not Palanca. You know that.” My mother always called me Angela Palanca, and it drove both my father and me batty. She said I was the closest thing to a true Italian she could create, and felt I deserved the honor of an Italian last name. She never liked Richter, my maiden name, because she said it was too damned German. 

“And that recliner of yours was falling apart. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself in it. Besides, it was ugly, and I was sort of embarrassed to put it in the dining room.” I shook my head again. “And you’re not real, you’re in my head. I watched them take your body away, and I know for a fact you weren’t breathing, because I checked.” 

Realizing that I was actually having a discussion with someone who could not possibly be real, I pinched myself to wake up from what was clearly some kind of whacked-out dream.

“Stop that, you know you bruise easily. You don’t want to look like a battered wife at my funeral, do you?”

Funeral? I had no intention of talking about my mother’s funeral with a figment of my imagination. I sat for a minute, speechless, which for me was a huge challenge.

“They almost dropped you on the driveway, you know.” I giggled, and then realized what I was doing, and immediately felt guilty, for a second.

Ma scrunched her eyebrows and frowned. “I know. I saw that. You’d think they’d be more careful with my body, what with you standing there and all. There you were, my daughter, watching them take away my lifeless, battered body, and I almost went flying off that cart. I wanted to give them a what for, and believe me, I tried, but I felt strange, all dizzy and lightheaded. Sort of like that time I had those lemon drop drinks at your brother’s wedding. You know, the ones in those little glasses? Ah, that was a fun night. I haven’t danced like that in years. I could have done without the throwing up the next day, though, that’s for sure.”

Lifeless, battered body? What a dramatic apparition I’d imagined.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes and considered pinching myself again, but decided the figment was right, I didn’t want to be all bruised for the funeral. 

There I sat, in the middle of the night, feeling wide awake, but clearly dreaming. I considered telling her to stay on topic, seeing as dreams didn't last very long, and maybe my subconscious needed my dream to process her death but I didn't. “This is just a dream." I tried to convince myself the apparition wasn’t real. 

She threw her hands up in the air. “Again with the dreaming. It’s not a dream, Angela. You’re awake, and I’m here, in the flesh.” She held her transparent hand up and examined it. “Okay, so not exactly in the flesh, but you know what I mean.” 

This wasn’t my mother, I knew this, because my mother died today, in my house, in this bed, in a dining room turned bedroom. I was there. I watched it happen. She had lung cancer, or, as she liked to call it, the big C. And today, as her body slowly shut down, and her mind floated in and out of consciousness, I talked to her. I told her everything I lacked the courage to say before, when she could talk back and acknowledge my fear of losing her. And I kept talking as I watched her chest rise and fall, slower and slower, until it finally stilled. I talked to her as she died, and because I still had so much more to say, I kept talking for hours after her body shut down. I told her how much I loved her, how much she impacted my life. I told her how much she drove me absolutely crazy, and yet I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

So this wasn’t Ma, couldn’t possibly be. “You’re dead.”

The figment of my imagination shook her head and frowned, then moved closer, and looked me straight in the eye. I could see through her to the candelabra on the wall. Wow, it was dusty. When was it last dusted?

“Of course I’m dead, Angela. I’m a ghost.”

I shook my head, trying hard not to believe her, but I just didn’t feel like I was sleeping, so God help me, I did. 

My name is Angela Panther and I see dead people. Well, one dead person, that is, and frankly, one was enough.

###

“Honey, it’s time to wake up.” My husband, Jake, shook me softly. “We have to go to the funeral home. Come on, your brothers will be there soon. Wake up.” He shook me a little harder. 

I sat up. “Where’s Ma?”

He studied me, his expression a mix of sadness and compassion. “I know this is hard but it’s going to be okay.” He hugged me and it felt good, comforting. I let him hold me a little longer, and then I remembered the night before.

“No,” I told him, pulled away, and rubbed the sleep fog from my eyes. “Ma. She was here. Last night. I know she’s dead, but she was here. I saw her.” I grabbed his shoulders, trying to show him how serious I was and whispered, “She told me she’s a ghost.”

His eyes widened and all of the sadness and compassion flew right out the dining room window. Jake was a fantabulous husband, and supported me in ways that often tried his patience, but to see the gray area of what he considered to be only black and white was asking too much. Fantabulous and all, he had his limits. 

“Ang, it wasn’t Fran. It was a dream. I’ve read that kind of stuff happens. People dream about the person who died and think it’s real.” He made a small attempt at comforting coos, but they just sounded like our cat before she died.

I pushed away from him and got up. “Stop it. You sound like a sick cat, and I need coffee.” My mind barely worked without a good night’s sleep, but without coffee, even the simplest conversations were practically impossible. Besides, it wasn’t the time to get into a debate about the hereafter. I walked to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee and said a silent thank you to Jake for making a pot. I would have said it out loud but I was a little miffed at him for discounting my ghostly experience.

Jake was kind enough to get our two kids, Emily and Josh, off to school while I slept. I felt a sense of relief for not having to deal with them and then felt a little guilty for that. They left me a handmade card near the coffeepot knowing I’d be sure to see it there. It had red hearts and sad faces drawn all over the front, most likely by Josh, because he drew eyes with eyelashes. The inside of it read, “We’re sorry for your loss. We loved Grandma and miss her.” 

They weren’t here last night. I knew it was Ma’s last day, and Jake and I didn’t want them to see her die, so we made arrangements for them to spend the evening with friends. Jake picked them up after the funeral home took Ma. I lacked the energy and courage to talk to them, so Jake asked them to give me some alone time.

The card was sweet, and I got a lump in my throat just reading it even though I was sure they’d never work for Hallmark. 

“What time is it?” I asked, and then checked the clock. “It’s ten a.m. What the – we have to be at the funeral home at eleven fifteen.” I finished pouring my coffee, took a huge gulp, and cursed myself as it burned my throat, then rushed upstairs to get ready.

We arrived at the funeral home just before eleven fifteen. My long, blond hair was pulled into a ponytail since I didn’t have time to style it. I didn’t have on an ounce of makeup and was dressed like a typical soccer mom heading to a yoga class. Normally I wouldn’t go to an appointment like that but considering the fact that my mother just died, I didn’t really give a crap.

We walked in through the front doors into a sitting area I’m sure was meant to seem comforting and inviting but instead felt like a grandparents’ family room, old fashioned and overstuffed. The couch was a ridiculously huge, twenty years outdated, 1980s floral print of mauve and gray, flanked with humongous pillows in matching solid colors. There were two matching and equally uncomfortable looking chairs and ugly, ornate tables that didn’t match, intermixed with the seating. A few magazines and tissue boxes sat on the tables. I grabbed a couple tissues just in case I needed them later. Overhead, soft music played, and I was sure they thought it made someone in my position feel better, but mostly it was just annoying. 

Carnations in various colors sat in vases on stands around the lobby, attacking my nasal passages like an old woman drenched in White Diamonds perfume. Almost instantly I had a sensory overload headache. The entire room smacked of old people, but I guess it should since it was really mostly old people who died. Jake crinkled his nose at the smells, too. We both moved quickly as we followed the signs to the assistant funeral director’s office, almost like we were running from a skunk. I silenced my cell phone, knowing my best friend, Mel, would probably text. I’d talked to her just after Ma passed but not since. I was sure she’d check on me sooner rather than later.

Before Ma died, we talked about what she wanted, and I promised her I’d honor her requests. They were simple. She wanted to be cremated and buried with my grandparents in Chicago. Since we lived in the suburbs of Atlanta, we’d have her body cremated here but her memorial and burial would be handled separately.

My brothers, John and Paul, were already in the assistant director’s office. There was a spread of coffee and its fixings set out on the conference table, and I made a beeline for it. I’d have an IV of caffeine inserted into my wrist if it were socially acceptable. Actually, forget socially acceptable. I’d do it even if it weren’t. Coffee for me was like sex to a twenty-year-old man – never too much and never too often.

My oldest brother John lived nearby, and was with Ma and me when she passed. Paul lived in Indiana and didn’t make it here in time to say goodbye. I could see the angst and regret on his face. I said hi, hugged both of them, and turned toward my chair so I wouldn’t cry. Crying in front of my brothers made me appear weak and I refused to let that happen.

“Ma wanted to be cremated and buried with her parents,” I told the assistant funeral director, a short, squat man, with a bad comb-over and a blue paisley tie that didn’t quite fit over a mid-section that rivaled Santa’s.

“Yes, your brothers told me,” said Comb-over. “It is our policy to return the remains to the loved ones for proper burial if our services are not being used.”

We all nodded in agreement, and then Paul asked Comb-over if he could see our mother.

Comb-over gave us what must have been his really sympathetic face. “Oh, no. No. I’m sorry. It is against our policy to allow family back into the crematorium. You understand.”

Paul nodded his understanding.

Seriously?

“Excuse me. My brother wasn’t able to see our mom before she died. He lives out of state and couldn’t get here, so I’m sure you can make an exception. I mean, it is our mother and we are paying you after all.”

Jake smirked in my direction, liking my passive aggressive technique, and I gave him a quick smile.

“Well. ” Comb-over back-pedaled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He then gave us what was obviously his, I am not making enough money for this job face, excused himself and closed the door behind him. A chill filled the air, and I hugged my arms to my chest for warmth.

My brother's mouths gaped. “Well, it’s a stupid rule and someone had to call him on it.”

Paul nodded. “Thanks."

I nodded and then saw my mother floating behind him, smiling, too. I shook my head to clear the image but it didn't work. She was still there.

“You’re such a good girl. I knew you loved your brother."

“Uh, I guess I do.”

Paul tilted his head. “You guess you do what?”

Well, crap. For a brief second I considered saying, sorry I was talking to the ghost of our mother, who, by the way, is floating behind you, but instead went with, “Look behind you,” as I pointed behind them.

They did. “What?” Paul asked.

Ma winked at me and laughed. They couldn’t see her.

“Oh, nothing. I thought there was a spider or something on the wall, sorry.”

Probably it wasn’t a good time to tell my brothers I could see our dead mother and I wasn’t sure there would ever be a good time for something of that nature.

Paul started to say something again, but Comb-over walked back in. The man may have been a fashion nightmare, but his timing was impeccable. He coughed lightly and straightened his tie. “We don’t normally allow anyone into the crematorium, but given the circumstances, we’ll make an exception.”

We. Uh huh. We, as in the big boss, I bet. I smiled my I won smile and thanked him. Comb-over explained since our mother was being cremated, they didn’t prepare her body as they would for a traditional burial. I assumed that meant she’s not made up and nodded my understanding. He walked over to the closed door behind my brothers and walked right through my mother.

She shuddered. “Oh, Madone, that was creepy.”

I concentrated on the wall and searched for the imaginary spider and tried to ignore her.

Through the doorway I saw my mother lying on a gurney, the mother that wasn’t floating in the room with me, that is. My eyes shot back and forth between the horizontal Ma and the floating Ma. This was all a little confusing. First I had one Ma, and then she died. Now I had a dead Ma and a ghost Ma. If they both started talking to me, I’d get right up and drive myself straight to the loony bin. I stood up and shook off the crazy. “Ah, Paul, you can go first.” He did.

The fact that I took control of the meeting was not lost on me. As the youngest of the siblings, my brothers always considered me the baby, never quite aging me past a toddler in their mind so for them to acquiesce authority in this situation was surprising. I wrote it off to their shock and grief at losing Ma and expected the newfound respect to burn out quicker than a birthday candle. But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to enjoying it just a little.

We all said our goodbyes to my mother. I couldn’t hear their private whispered words, but I could hear Ma responding. Not the Ma lying on the gurney, the ghost one. As I said, it was confusing. Like the loud Italian woman she was in life, her raspy, I’ve had one thousand too many cigarettes, voice enveloped the room, for me at least, since apparently I was the only one who could hear her. “Oh Pauly, it’s okay. I’m not mad that you weren’t here. Don’t be upset. It’s okay.”

I always knew he was her favorite.

Paul and I haven’t always had the smoothest of relationships. In fact, as a child he wanted me dead. No, really. He tried so hard to make it happen he actually pushed me in front of slow moving cars three times. I was lucky to suffer only emotional, not physical, damage. Attempted murders aside, my heart ached for him now. The guilt of not being there when Ma passed would haunt him forever, though I couldn’t help but wonder if that was easier than being haunted by her ghost.

###

An hour later, the four of us sat with coffee in hand, at Starbucks. Coffee made everything seem better, if only a little. Before we left the funeral home, Paul asked Comb-over to let us know when Ma’s body was cremated. I preferred not to know, but everyone handles death differently and Paul needed what he needed so I didn’t argue. Admittedly, backing away from an argument with Paul was a new thing for me. Ma’s death had really messed with my brain.

We were discussing the arrangements of her burial when I got the call. Comb-over told me they’d started, and as I nodded to Jake and my brothers, a heavy sadness filled the air.

I disconnected from the call and stayed on task. “Okay. When should we go to Chicago?”

“That’s a good question,” John, the over thinker of us siblings, said. “I’ll call the cemetery later today and find out if we can bury Mom with Grandma and Grandpa. If they won’t let us, we’ll have to figure out what else to do. I was thinking maybe we could each take a portion of her remains and do something with our kids to honor her.”

Oh, no. No, no, no. That was not going to happen. I promised Ma I’d do this for her and I’ll be damned if I didn’t do it right. Especially since she was haunting me. There was no way I would to spend the rest of my waking days with the ghost of my mother pissed off because we didn’t honor her final wish. No way.

“It’s okay,” I blurted out before Paul agreed with John. “Ma was worried about the same thing, so we called the cemetery a few weeks ago and found out that it’s fine.” I took a quick breath and hoped God wouldn’t strike me dead for lying.

“They told me that as long as we’re not getting a stone, the plots are ours to do with as we please. Except for digging up our grandparents, that is.” I checked the sky, but still no lightning. Phew.

My brothers nodded. “Okay.”

Dodged that bullet. What’s wrong with a few little lies? This was what Ma wanted and eventually I’d tell them the truth, once she was buried and we were on our way home. Or maybe next year. What’s the saying? Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That’s what I’d do, eventually.

I offered to make the memorial arrangements even though we all knew they’d have asked me to do it anyway.

I filled them in on my call to our cousin. “I already called Roxanne, who said she’d make the rounds of calls, and since the funeral home here said they would put the obituary in the Chicago papers, that’s covered. Does the weekend after next work? That gives us all time to plan accordingly.”

“I don’t see a problem with that, but I’ll have to check with Elizabeth and see what her schedule is,” John said.

Jake nodded in agreement with his eyes still glued to the screen of his iPhone.

Paul nodded too. “Let’s go through all of our pictures of Mom. I can make a video with music, and we can show it at her memorial.”

We all agreed that was a great idea and made plans to confirm the date over email by tonight. My brothers left Jake and me there to share our addiction to the warm, smooth taste of coffee. We got refills before we headed home, too.

The rest of the day I was on autopilot and truth be told I couldn’t remember much of it. One minute Jake and I were getting coffee and the next it was after ten p.m. I kissed Jake goodnight and went upstairs and checked on the kids, who were already blissfully sound asleep.

“It’s done,” I texted Mel after I settled under the covers.

“I’m sorry,” she texted back. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay. Going to bed. I’m tired.”

“K. I’m here if you need me. (HUGS).”

Vegas to Varanasi Cover Reveal

Here is my lovely cover I've been dying to share, designed by the super talented Kari Ayasha at Cover to Cover Designs. I am so pleased! And since she's provided me with a cover for a print version, I guess this means I'll have to brave the world of CreateSpace and figure out all that formatting for a hold-in-your-hand book (which kind of scares the crap out of me), but I'll give it a go. Thank you, Kari, for my beeea-u-tiful design!


I'm still planning to release December 1st. The book will be undergoing edits this month, however, I would like to obtain as many reviews as possible before release. If you are interested in receiving an advanced reader copy, in exchange for posting a review on Amazon during the first week of December, I would greatly appreciate it! Please contact me at sydneyhickman91@gmail.com to let me know which format you would prefer (mobi, epub, or pdf.) Or you can message me privately on my Facebook page.


And now, for a little excerpt...


As I take a sip from my glass, the most stunning couple sits down at our table. I can’t decide who is more attractive. The woman reminds me of a movie star from old Hollywood, with wavy auburn hair that cascades down her shoulders and milky white skin I’m sure has never seen a pimple in its life.

The man? My God, he takes my breath away! I have to avert my eyes because when I look at him, I just want to grin like an idiot, he’s so beautiful.

I once had this same reaction when I was in college and had to take a summer geology class for a random science credit. I was not looking forward to the class because the study of dirt and groundwater doesn’t exactly excite me. However, when the instructor, a grad student, walked in, I got a big, stupid grin on my face because he was so cute.

That guy in no way compared to the specimen sitting across from me now. He looks Indian. Dark skin, luscious black hair with just a touch of grey, and the most amazing, sea green eyes. They might be the same color as mine, actually, but with my coloring, they’re nothing special. On him . . . holy hell!

I must be forgetting to avert my eyes because Luke’s voice jars me. “Anna!” he whispers. “You do realize that you’re psychotically staring at that guy, don’t you? Because I’m pretty sure he notices.”

The heat rises to my face, and I raise my glass to polish off my champagne. The man smiles politely at my show of bad manners.

No one else is seated at the table with us, so Luke offers introductions. “Hello, I’m Luke and this is Anna.”

“I’m Kiran, and this is Miranda,” the man replies. Miranda offers a curt nod, but is clearly bored with us already.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Luke says.  “So how do you know the newlyweds?”

The waiter returns to fill their glasses. “I’m not a fan of champagne,” Miranda says as she pulls a compact out of her Coach wristlet. “Could I have an amaretto sour?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you,” Kiran says to the server, before he addresses Luke’s question. “I’m friends with the family of the groom, for about fifteen years now.”

He must have grown up in the States, because I detect no accent when he speaks. “So you’ve known Jacob since he was a boy then. I hope you can vouch for his character,” I tease. “Luke and I have known the bride’s mother, Julia, since high school.”

“Her daughter made a good choice,” he confirms solemnly, as if I were being serious.

The waiter returns with Miranda’s drink and she takes a sip. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s not a vodka sour.” She sets the glass down in a huff.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I thought you said amaretto sour.” The waiter glances at each of us nervously.

“Well, clearly you thought wrong. Would you please get it right next time?” She then wrinkles her nose at me and smiles.

A roaring fills my ears, and I squeeze Luke’s knee to keep from saying something. He puts his hand over mine and pats it.

Kiran leans over and whispers something in Miranda’s ear, and her smug expression turns to indignation. She says nothing in response, but shifts in her seat to create some distance between them.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” the waiter says as he collects her glass. “I’ll get that vodka sour.”

As he passes me I touch his arm to stop him. I put my hand against my mouth like I’m trying to be discreet, but make sure my voice is loud enough for her to hear. “She did ask for an amaretto sour.”

I think Kiran stifles a chuckle.

“Whatever,” Miranda says.

Did she just say whatever?

Luke mutters under his breath, “Could she be any more horrible?”

“I don’t think so,” I answer at normal volume, looking straight at her with my fake smile. Then I make a show of taking the lip balm out of my Kohl’s Nine and Co. clutch, simply because I have the burning desire to repulse her with my mediocrity.

We continue to make idle chat, and the minute it comes up that Luke and I are not an item, Miranda makes it her mission for the evening to sink her claws into him, making me wonder about her relationship with Kiran. It isn’t long before the rest of the guests assigned to our table show, making it more difficult for Miranda to flirt. However, it doesn’t deter her from speaking over the couple between her and Luke.

Luke plays along, and I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s leading her to believe there will be some sort of fruit for her efforts, and even asks her to dance. He’s good. Very good.

Kiran’s posture is relaxed and he doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Miranda’s behavior. In fact, he seems amused. We exchange polite smiles, and he points to Luke’s empty seat, asking if it’s okay to sit there. I nod in agreement.

“Before I forget,” I say as he takes the seat beside me, “Would it be really out of line for me to ask what you said to Miranda after the amaretto sour incident?” Oh, wow. I realize I’m on my fourth glass of champagne, giving me the gumption to ask questions that are none of my damn business.

“No, it would not be out of line at all.” Geezus. Those eyes. “All I said was there was no reason to be unkind.”

“Thank you!” I hold up my knuckles for a fist bump. “You, sir, rock!”

He seems a little uncertain of what I’m doing at first, then smiles and returns a fist. Sheesh. Even his teeth are perfect.

“Well, as long as I’m being, let’s face it, really, really nosy, why don’t you seem to be upset that she’s all over my ex-husband?” Yeah, I’m definitely feeling the champagne.

“Ah.” He looks back in her direction; she is now inappropriately close to Luke on the dance floor. “This is a blind date. A friend of my mother has been bugging her about setting me up with her daughter. I’ve never even met her before tonight, but it didn’t take long to discover we weren’t going to hit it off.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

That was a quick change of subject and my faculties are a bit dulled. I pinch my eyebrows together. “I’m sorry?”

“From high school. You don’t remember me.”

I’m pretty sure I have a look of panic on my face because apparently all night I’ve been speaking to someone I knew in high school, and I don’t even have the decency to remember him.

“I’m sorry,” I say for the umpteenth time, “but Kiran isn’t exactly a common name. I think I would remember . . . Wait. Now that I think about it, there was a Kiran in my English Lit class junior year, but he was this quiet, kind of pudgy . . . .”

Kiran smiles and raises his eyebrows before nodding ever so slightly.

Inadvertently, I gasp and put my hand over my mouth. “No way!”

“You remember. You do remember me!” The pleasure in his voice surprises me.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to call you pudgy!” I. Am. Mortified.

“It’s okay, Anna. Actually, I was fat.” He takes another sip of champagne.

I can’t help but giggle at his directness. “No, no you weren’t. I admit I don’t remember a whole lot about you. You were soooo quiet! We did speak a few times though, didn’t we?”

“A few times. But do you know what I remember about you?” Briefly, he taps the top of my hand with his finger.

“Oh, God no.” I suck in some air between my teeth and scrunch up my face, praying it won’t be something embarrassing. “What do you remember?”

“There was this guy in our class, Mark. Big, muscle-bound jock.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, and my pet name for him was asshole.” Kiran laughs and rubs his chin. I look over his shoulder to see Luke and Miranda slow dancing, and she’s girlishly fiddling with his tie. Boy, is she in for a surprise. I return my gaze to Kiran. “Sorry. Continue.”

“Mark was always making mean comments to me about my glasses, my weight.” I do sort of remember that. He sat behind Kiran, and I sat next to Mark. “Well, one day he was at it again, and you told him to give it a rest. And he said, ‘What about it? He’s a whale!’ Then you said, ‘And you’re a dick.’”

I nearly spit out my drink. I have no recollection of this incident. “I said that?”

“Yes. Yes, you did. And I had a huge crush on you from that day forward.”

Oh, no he did-unt! This Adonis had a crush on me? Inconceivable! Yes, I know. He wasn’t an Adonis back then, but still . . . .

Vegas to Varanasi, aiming for December release!

Well, I finally wrote the last chapter of my next book, Vegas to Varanasi, a romantic comedy. I hope it will be something readers enjoy. So now, I just have to patiently await editing and my cover, which I cannot wait to see! I thought I would share the blurb, and I want to thank a few ladies for letting me bounce it off their eyes, so to speak, and for helping me flesh it out: Brea Brown, Patricia Mann, Samantha Stroh Bailey, Corie Skolnick, Carolyn Ridder Aspenson, and Wendy Janes. Thanks, ladies. You rock!


Anna has never been the beautiful one; she’s always been the nice one. So when the gorgeous man sitting across the table at a wedding reception remembers her from high school—and quite fondly at that—she’s taken off guard. Formerly overweight and unpopular, Kiran has never forgotten Anna, the one person who was kind to him when no one else could be bothered, and Anna’s a bit flustered as she slowly comes to grips with his intense attraction for her. In what feels like a romantic dream come true, all-grown-up, hunky Kiran invites Anna on a trip to Varanasi. But her troubled, whack-a-do ex-boyfriend starts interfering, creating drama at every turn, which begs the question, “Can nice girls really finish first?”

Cover Reveal and Interview with Patricia Mann

Earlier this year, I read Patricia Mann's novel Is This All There Is? and was extremely impressed by how honest and real it was. I remember tweeting Patricia while I was in the process of reading it, expressing how stressed out the story was making me because of the path her protagonist was traveling! It's funny, but since that time, we've gotten to know each other quite well, and I now consider her a close friend. See how a good book can bring people together?

Since I've never had Patricia on my "Not a Blog" before, (remember, I won't call this a blog because I'm too undisciplined to consider one), I thought I should have her as a guest during her blog tour. Mine is an "unofficial" stop. I'm happy to share her new, sexy cover for ITATI, as well as let you get to know her a little. I'm not one that really likes to gush, but I have to say Patricia is one of the most down-to-earth, kind, and generous people I know. I'm so excited to have her.

1.     One of the things that impressed me most about Is This All There Is? was its honesty. I know that parts of the story are based on your own experiences while others are purely fictional, but when you decided to publish, did you worry about the reaction it would receive from readers? Did you ever worry readers would assume the entire story was autobiographical and you would likely receive a tongue-lashing from some?

First of all, thank you for your kind words about Is This All There Is? and for being so supportive of the book and of me. It’s an honor to have you host me on your site – being the huge Shelly Hickman fan that I am!

I was very fearful about the reaction from readers. A story about a woman who is married with kids being tempted by a younger man is pretty taboo. I did also worry that people might mistakenly assume that the book was entirely autobiographical, which is why I chose to use a pen name. My main character, Beth, is based on me in a number of ways, but we’re also quite different.

To my surprise, the vast majority of readers have responded with great empathy and compassion for Beth. It has honestly changed my perspective about how forgiving people can be when they understand the bigger picture of what someone is going through. As cliché as it might sound, these situations are complicated. I did my best not to vilify anyone and to shed light on the pain that everyone involved goes through.

2.     Both women and men go through what Beth experienced, feeling unappreciated by a spouse, maybe experiencing a loss of identity to family and/or a job, resulting in discontent and a belief that there is something more out there. Why do you think women tend to go through this, it seems, in their twenties or thirties, while it’s stereotypical for men to go through it during mid-life? Or do you even agree that this is the case? Why do you think it’s so common?

What a great question. I do think it’s true, for many people. I could be wrong, but one guess is that women put more pressure on themselves to do it all at a younger age than men. I know for me, I wanted to be married, have at least one child, be established in a career, and own a home by the time I was 30. A lot of men seem okay with having at least some of that a little later. But for both men and women, once you supposedly “have it all,” there can be this overwhelming feeling of disappointment. Caring for kids, keeping a relationship strong and passionate, building a career – these can be wonderful, yet they are exhausting and often don’t live up to our expectations. So I did do all the things I set out to do before I was 30, but then I was left wondering what was left to strive for, and also questioning why all those accomplishments didn’t bring me the nirvana I had anticipated.

3.     What have you found to be the hardest thing about being married? About being a parent?

For me, the hardest thing about being married is finding the balance between being your own person and staying connected to your partner. In entertainment, we usually see the honeymoon period of relationships, when a couple can’t get enough of each other and the passion is at its peak. Ten or twenty years down the road things are very different. I like to quote John Gray, who uses the metaphor of a gas tank. He says we need to be able to fill our own tanks to about 90%. Then our partner can top us off with that last 10%, making life more enjoyable. That makes sense to me. But I think many of us need to do a lot more to fill that 90% ourselves and we unfortunately expect way too much from a partner.

Being a parent… we’ve talked about this before, and you are a great mentor for me on the subject. I agree with you that the hardest thing is seeing your child suffer in any way. And I realize my children have had very easy lives and haven’t had to go through anything truly difficult. But still, when one of them is hurting, it just destroys me. I can’t focus on what I have to do, I constantly dwell on how I might help them, obsessively research the issue online, bug my husband about it, seek advice from friends, and on and on. Intellectually, I know that learning to face their challenges themselves will make them stronger. But as a mother (not to mention a sappy, sentimental, people-pleaser), there’s nothing more counterintuitive to me. Similar to my response on marriage, I suppose finding the balance between providing a safe, loving home and nudging our children out into the world to make their own way is the biggest challenge. I struggle with it every day.

4.     What do you think are some measures married couples can take to avoid some of the bad decisions Beth made, aside from the typical recommendation of having a regular “date night” to stay connected?

I don’t think couples necessarily need to share every single thought or feeling with one another. I’m a fan of talking with girlfriends and family members and having a circle of supportive people in our lives. However, when one partner feels unhappy, unfulfilled, sad, etc., it’s important to express that somehow and ask for help. It can be easy to blame a partner or a relationship for the problem, when really there’s an individual issue that should be addressed or need that’s not being met. I’m also willing to admit that couples therapy as well as individual therapy has been immensely helpful in my life. It’s difficult to let go of your denial and admit to what you truly think, feel, and want, so why not seek the help of a qualified, trained professional? But aside from all that serious stuff: laugh, play games, dance, exercise, swim, sing – have fun together!

5.     You and your husband have been married for a long time. Tell us about how you met. Was it an immediate attraction or was it a friendship that grew into something more?

For anyone who has read Is This All There Is?, you can basically go back to the story of how Beth and Rick met to answer this question. I know, how uncreative of me! But it was a secret ode to my sweet husband. We met at a fraternity party when we were in college. It was during the summer after my third year and his first. Yes, I was a mini-cougar. I had recently sworn off fraternity guys but after much begging, a sorority sister convinced me to go to the party with her that night. At least I kept my promise to myself not to drink a drop of alcohol. Somehow a bunch of us ended up back at my sorority house and my now husband pulled out a little paperback called The Book of Questions. We all took turns answering “What would you do if…” questions. His answers were so perfect. He would make all the right choices, always tell the truth, save the world, and so on. I wondered if it was an act. But it worked – I was instantly smitten. When he politely asked me for my phone number at the end of the evening, I was beside myself with excitement. And twenty-four years later, I can say without a doubt, it was no act. He’s the real thing – as solid, ethical, and kind-hearted as they come. Oh, and as to the attraction part of the question… I was totally hot for him the moment I laid eyes on him and he says the same was true for him. We skipped the friendship thing.

6.     You use a pen name because you were concerned the subject matter of Is This All There Is? might impact your career as a professor. However, you’ve now been considering using your real name for your next novel and plan to merge Patricia Mann with your true identity. Do you regret using the pen name?

While I do feel it limited what I could do to promote the book, overall I don’t regret it. I can’t imagine how I ever would have published this particular story without the pen name. It was safe and allowed me to get a feel for what it’s like to be an author – the good and bad parts. The biggest fears I had never came true, so I think I’m ready to put the real me out there as an author now – especially since I won’t be writing any more books about professors having affairs with students!

7.     Some people say they always knew they wanted to go into their current profession and never considered anything else. Is that the way you felt about teaching? Or did you ever have different ideas about what you wanted to do?

Yes and no. Yes, because when I was a little girl, I would beg my friends to play school with me and I always had to be the teacher. I loved the idea of it from a very early age. No, because there were a million other things I wanted to do as well: be a ballerina, an actress, a writer, a politician… I better stop there because it’s an endless list. I’m too all over the place to be the kind of person who only wants to do one thing. That’s why I also have a consulting business, write books, and come up with new ideas for what I want to be when I grow up regularly.

8.     You’re currently working on something with your mother, which I understand has kind of a “Grey’s Anatomy” feel to it. Tell us a little about it.

I’m honestly having so much fun working on the new book with my mom. Yes, a literary version of Grey’s Anatomy is the best way I can describe it at this point. My mom has been a nurse for well over 30 years and her stories are riveting. Some are miraculous, some are heartbreaking, and each has an inherent lesson about the value of life and the importance of relationships. So the book will include fast-paced medical drama along with a steamy romance between our main character – a nurse, and a hot ER doctor, who seems to be avoiding commitment. Not sure if he’ll come around or if someone else might enter the picture. I think she’ll let us know when the time comes.

9.     What kind of themes, if any, would you like to focus on in your future works?

I think you and I are interested in many of the same themes – compassion, love, understanding, spirituality, relationships, parenting, friendship. I’m also fascinated the sexual side of people, maybe because it’s not often talked about openly. I like to dig beneath the surface of things and find out what people truly think, feel, and desire.

Thanks for these great interview questions, Shelly! You really got me thinking – and I love that!  Website: http://www.patriciamann.me/
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Twitter: @PatriciaMann11