Michele Scott's Blog, page 12

Sexy Men and a Mystery...

I just read where Ryan Reynolds was voted "People's Sexiest Man Alive." You can tell I am hard at work. I find Ryan Reynolds adorable. I am now asking myself what it means to find a man adorable? It means that I am getting old(er). :) He's super cute and I get it, but I am going with my old standby of Hugh Jackman. I think he's hot.
That said and if anyone cares, since I have already personally cast Marisa Miler as Michaela Bancroft I think I will cast Hugh Jackman as Dr. Ethan Slater and Matthew Mcoughneghy (how the hell do you spell his name) as Detecive Jude Davis.  I may have to write another horse mystery just for the visuals alone!
Here is Chapter Two of Saddled with Trouble. Before I post it I just want to add one thing. I love writing and part of the reason that I do is because as The Writer I get to be the director. And it also means that I can have characters say and do things that I would never do, but in many ways I would love to have done them. For instance in this second chapter, there is a scene where Michaela and her bff Camden go and do something not-so-nice to Michaela's ex Brad. Well, when I wrote this, I had inspiration as I thought of a former boyfriend--from way back when--who was a TOTAL jerk (and that is putting it mildly). I love what Michaela and Camden do to this guy. It cracked me up when I wrote it and it was cheap therapy. So for all of you struggling writers out there when your significant other complains about your writing time, you can explain that it's very therapuetic and much cheaper than a psychiatrist.
Enjoy!

Michele
http://www.michelescott.com/



TWO

MICHAELA OPENED THE BACK DOOR TO HER ranch-style house, which led into the laundry room. The house, located in Indio, California, amid the Coachella Valley, had been built in the early 80's and was badly in need of an update. Michaela and Brad had bought it with the horse facilities in place a couple of years after they were married, almost a decade ago. Her plans to bring it into the twenty-first century would have to wait until the debts were paid off.

She breathed in deeply. The smell of fabric softener and detergent filled the air. Unbelievable. Camden had actually been doing laundry. Huh. Surprise, surprise. She had come to believe that Camden simply went through clothes until she didn't have any left and then went out and bought more.

Michaela pulled her boots off, not wanting to track mud through the house. Shania Twain's "Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?" blared from the family room. God, why that song?

A little farther away the blender in the kitchen whirled at full throttle, probably mixing the contents of a powerful concoction— tequila, lime-aid, and more tequila. Michaela shook her head as she headed to her room to shower.

Cocoa, who recently had made it to her tenth birthday, lifted her head off her doggie bed and wagged her tail. Michaela bent down and patted the dog's head. "Hey you, you lazy girl. I see how it is, as soon as the sun goes down you hightail it back inside. By the looks of it, I'd say Miss Camden has been letting you dig into the doggie treats again. I'm going to have to scold her." Cocoa just kept on wagging her tail.

Michaela checked her voice mail:

"Hi, sweetpea, it's Uncle Lou. Give me a call back. I was wondering if we could have breakfast in the morning." She smiled. Uncle Lou was definitely one of her most favorite people.

But the smile faded when the next message came on. "Michaela, it's Kirsten. You better sign those papers, or else we're gonna have big problems."

Michaela flipped a finger at the machine. Why did she let that little hooker get to her? "Ooh look at me, I have fake boobs, collagen lips, lipo on my ass, and I'm Miss Rodeo America," she said out loud, her head bobbing from side to side in an exaggerated fashion.

"News to me."

Michaela spun around to see her best friend and newly acquired roommate, Camden standing, in the doorway, margarita in hand. She tossed back her latest colored locks— flame red— and held out a glass of the concoction. "I gotta tell you that if those are fake boobs, your plastic surgeon did a shitty job, because girlfriend, you're about a B cup. And, for God's sakes who would pay five thou for a measly B cup?"

They both laughed.

"Let me guess: The evil babe who the shithead robbed from the cradle has been bugging you again."

"Yep."

Camden held out the margarita. "Drink on me?"

"Nah. Thanks, though. It's been a rough day. The evil babe came by and gave me a piece of her mind. I don't think a margarita will cure this girl's blues."

"No. But a shot will, and I am not taking no for an answer. Now, c'mon." Camden grabbed her hand.

"I need a shower."

"Ten minutes more won't hurt. If I can stand you smelling like a horse, then you can wait. Live a little, and don't let this stuff get you down. You'll be old before you know it and then you'll be dead and you'll be saying, 'Damn I should have had more tequila shots with my best friend.' "

She held up her hands, palms out. "Fine, I give up. I know better than to argue with you. Besides, maybe you do have a point." She followed Camden into the kitchen. "But don't you have a date with Kevin tonight?"

"Nope. He's taking clients to dinner. I'll be seeing him tomorrow. He's taking the day off and we're going to spend it together." Michaela frowned, and Camden added, "I know you don't care for him."

"It's not that. I don't know him that well, really. I just didn't like that he was kind of a jerk to my uncle when he wouldn't sell him his property."

"He can be pushy, I admit that, but he backed off when Lou told him he wasn't interested. He's moved on to other projects."

"I know, but be careful, okay? Get to know this one a bit better than the last one before he slips a ring on your finger." Michaela had a right to be concerned that her friend would rush into another relationship. Her recent split from her third husband, Charlie Dawson— a big-time financial advisor— had left her in a lurch. Seems Charlie knew exactly how to work the financials to his benefit and Camden was out on her butt and wound up at Michaela's front door needing a place to stay, until she could find a place of her own to rent or buy. That had been six months ago, and as far as Michaela knew, Camden hadn't done any house shopping as of yet, only man hunting. She kept insisting to Michaela that Charlie would settle with her, because she hadn't signed a prenup, and then she'd get into a new house. But Michaela really didn't care. She enjoyed her friend's company and wild ways, so far removed from her own behavior, but entertaining nonetheless.

"What, you afraid you're gonna be stuck with me forever? That you'll have to install a revolving door for your divorcée friend? Won't happen, worrywart. I'm gonna find me a real man who can take good care of me and me of him. Who knows, it might be Kevin, it might not." She shrugged. "Now, let's have that drink."

Ten minutes turned into twenty and before long an hour had passed and Michaela had filled up on two of Camden's cure-alls, though refusing to down the shot. She didn't think she could handle the booze straight. "You know that SOB has a new truck," Michaela said. "A Ford F-350." She shook her head. "Kirsten tried to tell me that she bought him the truck. Please. Does it say sucker somewhere on my forehead? Jerk probably hid some money away that I didn't know about— maybe he hid some cash in a safety deposit box or under the mattress, or better yet under, his girlfriend's mattress. He's such a jerk, and that little trophy he hangs out with is a piece of work." Oh boy, the alcohol was certainly going to her head.

"You know." Camden pointed at her. "It's not like you aren't gorgeous. I don't know why you always say she's the trophy. She's no prize. Brad lost the prize and I bet he knows it. Look at you. Oh, and I might add that you have a brain, too. A commodity Kirsten definitely lacks."

They were sitting on the couch in the family room. Camden took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the mirrored wall behind them. "Just look at you."

"Oh yeah, look at me. Real prize. I've got horse crap on my jeans, and my hair is pasted to my head from sweat. Yep. I'm a real prize."

"Shut up." Camden stood with her empty margarita glass. "Want another?"

"Nope. I think I've had enough."

As her friend walked into the kitchen to pour herself a refill, Michaela turned back to the mirror. She pulled the rubber band from her blond hair, letting it down, and studied her reflection. Twenty-two was ages ago; well, ten years to be exact. Although her boobs were small, they were still perky, and her hair wasn't bleached blond like a Playboy model— or Kirsten the rodeo queen— more of a sandy color, long and thick, too. That was a good thing. But, those damn freckles that the sun liked to exaggerate still gave her that "I'm the cute girl next door" look. At least her eyes were something; she really liked her eyes. They were nice— warm, hazel, garnered-lots-of-compliments eyes. Who needed fake anything, anyway? Botox was rat poison! And plastic boobs could rupture. Yep, natural worked just fine. A little more sunscreen and a Miracle Bra, maybe, but the other stuff— forget it, and who could afford it anyway? Damn if she could.

Michaela moved to a barstool at the counter, watching Camden pour some more margarita.

"It would be kind of fun to do something nasty to him, wouldn't it?" Camden asked.

"Who? Brad?" Michaela shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose it would. I'd love to do something to that stupid new truck of his. I'm sure he loves the thing."

"Ooh, like key it?"

Michaela gave her a look. "Nasty and mean are two different things. I don't know if I could go that far."

"You're a prude."

"Are you calling me a goody two-shoes?"

"If the shoe fits."

"Shut up. Pour me one more of those. Tell you what. Since we're in no shape to drive, I'll carry out a dirty deed to give Brad a nightmare to contend with." Camden rubbed her hands together. "On one condition." Michaela shot her index finger up.

"This is going to be good, isn't it?"

"We've gotta do this on horseback."

"Oh, sister, you expect a lot from a friend. You want me to get up on one of those filthy beasts?"

"Um, Camden, I doubt it would be the first filthy beast you've gotten up on top of."

Camden started to protest, then said, "Okay, you may have a point. So, you're willing to take a chance on putting my drunk ass on one of those animals and venture out in the dark?"

"Yep. Besides, I know you. You're barely buzzed. Me, on the other hand . . . phew, you make a strong drink. I'll put you on Booger. He's push button. I'd put a baby on him and trust him."

"Great. I get to ride a horse named Booger. The fact that I am even doing this is so not me."

"Who knows, you may like it."

They took their drinks out to the barn, where Michaela saddled up the horses. "Okay now, come here and give me your left foot." She clasped her hands together.

"What?"

"Put your foot in the stirrup here. Grab the saddle horn here with your left hand, and the back of the seat of the saddle with your right hand and step up in the stirrup and swing your right leg over the rear end of the horse and sit in the saddle."

"God, Michaela, I had no idea I'd have to do a flipping gymnastic stunt."

"Aren't you the girl always bragging about her flexibility?"

Camden sighed. "Fine. Let's do this before I change my mind." Michaela got next to her and helped to give her a boost up. Camden squealed as she swung her leg over and nearly came off on the other side. Michaela helped her get adjusted. "Oh shit, shit, shit. Get me off. Get me off now!"

"No. Now trust me. Hang on. That's all you have to do. Hang on."

"No shit, Dick Tracy, you think I'm about to let go?"

Michaela grabbed a trash bag filled with the contents they needed and put them inside a saddlebag. The saddle-bags tied on, Michaela put her left foot in the stirrup and swung her right leg over the mare.

"Showoff," Camden muttered.

They headed over to Brad and Kirsten's place, which was only a couple of miles away. It took some time because Michaela had to keep in mind that Camden hadn't been on a horse more than three or four times in her life. Every time she glanced back to see how she was doing, she could see by the light of the full moon that Camden wore a mask of fear. She tried to make small talk, but Camden was hanging onto poor Booger for dear life. Her hands were both around the reins and saddle horn so tight and from what she could tell it also looked like Camden had poor Booger's girth or mid-section in a vice. It was lucky Booger was exactly what she'd said he was— one mellow fellow— because a horse who wasn't so well broke would have been having a fit with Camden on board.

The lights were on inside Kirsten's house. Was that laughter? Yes it was. Oh, how nice for them. They were having a grand old time.

Kirsten's place was a modest ranch-style home with a few acres of land. There were a couple of horses out in a small pasture. One whinnied at the sight of newcomers.

"Shhh. Shut up," Camden whispered.

Michaela pulled slightly on Macey, her mare's, reins. The mare stopped, as did Booger. "Uh, Cam, they don't understand shut up. Besides, horses whinny at times. They won't think anything of it, even if they can hear what's going on out here. Sounds to me like they're having a party."

"Hmmm. I think you're right. Well, good, because we are the party crashers. Still want to go though with it?"

Someone inside cranked the stereo up another notch. It was playing Faith Hill and Tim McGraw singing "It's Your Love." Michaela peered through the front window and saw what looked to be Brad and Kirsten dancing. He had never danced with her. Jerk. "Oh yeah, I am so ready." Michaela dismounted and led Macey over to a hitching post next to the pasture. The other horses trotted over. The same noisemaker let out another "How do you do," and Michaela realized that time could be of the essence if he didn't pipe down. After enough whinnies someone would surely take a peek, and she wanted to be certain they were long gone before that happened. She wrapped Macey's reins around the post, and walked over to Camden.



"Okay, you always want to get on and off on the left side, so bring your right foot out and back around, then kick your left foot out of the stirrup— kind of lean over the saddle with your body and basically step down and off."

Camden did as instructed and landed on her butt. "Like that?" she asked, a smirk on her face.

"Not quite. You'll have a second shot at it later though, when we get back home. Now come on, get off your ass. We've got a treasure for Brad."

Michaela retrieved the trash bag and the two of them, quietly and quickly, all the while trying not to giggle at their immature antics, snuck up on Brad's brand-new red Ford F-350. She opened the driver's side door, knowing the moron wouldn't have locked it, sliced open the bag with her pocketknife, and shoved the contents under his seat. Boy, was it was going to be a real pain getting it cleaned out. "Nothing like the aroma of fresh manure to take away from that new car smell."

She tossed the bag down and grabbed Camden's hand as they ran back to their horses. She quickly boosted her friend up, who this time managed much better, and then she got back up on Macey. They rode off, cracking up the whole way home, making Camden loosen up, and actually enjoy riding Booger. Their laughter didn't stop even after they'd put the horses away, got cleaned up, and wound up on the couch with a bag of popcorn in front of the boob tube. "What I wouldn't give to see the look on his face."

"Oh God, I'd love to see him get in that truck and start smelling the smell and then he'll have to get out and when he looks under the seat, he's gonna die," Camden said.

This put them into another fit of gut-wrenching laughter. Yes, as childish as it had been, it did feel really, really good. Facts were that Brad had left for the much younger Kirsten after Michaela had spent the last few years trying to get pregnant. With Brad's support they'd sought out fertility specialists and Michaela had given herself shots daily in the abdomen in hopes of conceiving. She'd gone through the expensive in vitro process twice, and the day she was prepared to go through it again for the third time, Brad's infidelities had been brought to light. Now, there were a stack of bills from doctors on her desk and every time she looked at them, she couldn't help but be reminded of what Brad had done to her. Worse than sticking her with the bills, was his total deceit. But tonight was the first time she didn't feel a ton of anger toward her ex. Funny how a stupid teenage-type prank made her feel a bit better.

Michaela finally made it off the couch and into the shower she hadn't taken all evening. Then, finding Camden sound asleep on the sofa, Cocoa curled up on the floor next to her. Michaela decided to leave the two of them there, covering Camden with a blanket and patting her old dog on her head a good night. As she settled into bed, exhausted, her phone rang. She looked at the clock on her nightstand: a little after eleven. Her stomach sank. What if it was Brad or Kirsten and they'd seen her and Camden? No, caller ID said that it was her uncle.

"Hi, Uncle Lou."

"Hi. I didn't hear back from you tonight. Did you get my message? I thought I'd better check in and make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. I did get your message. Sorry. I was a little busy."

"No problem, sweet pea. I was only concerned because I know that you've had some rough times this past year."

"Thanks. But I'm fine. Really. In fact, I'm doing, uh, really well." She loved the way he'd called her sweet pea ever since she could remember. Her father always called her pumpkin, and that made her feel good, too, but Daddy also knew how to spank and send her to her room, or ground her when she needed it. She loved him for his sense of fairness. But Uncle Lou was the spoiler. He'd never had any kids of his own, so spoiling Michaela was one of his favorite things. "You want to grab breakfast in the morning with me, right?"

"I do. There are some things I need to talk about with you." He cleared his throat.

"Uncle Lou? Are you okay? You sound . . . I don't know. Tired?"

"I'm fine. Working a lot, that's all. I'm having a hard time unwinding these days for some reason. I'm getting old, and riding the animals every day is starting to wear on me."

"You are not getting old," she said. "Sixty-one is a spring chicken."

They both laughed. "I don't know about that. I'm feeling like a cooked goose. You get to bed now, and I'll see you about seven-thirty over at The Dakota House."

"Ooh, sounds good." Her stomach rumbled just thinking about the yummy breakfasts The Dakota House specialized in, especially considering that all she'd had tonight was a liquid diet. "I can't wait. Sleep well."

"You too, sweet pea."

Michaela hung up the phone. Something in Uncle Lou's voice bothered her. What was it? The sound of exhaustion? At first she thought maybe that was it, but, no. Resignation? Maybe. Defeat? Yeah, it did sound like that, but about what? She yawned. Whatever was eating at Uncle Lou, she resolved to get to the bottom of it tomorrow over a ham and cheese omelet.

Writing Women's Fiction

In between posting a few chapters here and there of "Saddled with Trouble," I thought that I would also post a workshop that I gave a few months back to the Orange County RWA on Writing Women's Fiction. It's quite long so I am breaking it up over the course of the next week. You can also find this workshop in my book "The Writer's Workshop." Thank You and I hope that you enjoy!
Cheers,Michelehttp://www.michelescott.com/


What is women's fiction, and how do we as writer's "get it right?"

According to Wikipedia, Women's fiction is an umbrella term for a wide-ranging collection of literary sub-genres that are marketed to female readers, including many mainstream novels, romantic fiction, "chick lit," and other sub genres.

I would say that's a decent generalization, but women's fiction is so much more. Women's fiction is all about relationships. Not necessarily romance, but the type of relationships women deal with everyday: family, friends, kids, career. We don't just read about it or write about it, we live it!

Today I want to break it down the best that I can from my point of view, explain how I develop my women's fiction pieces, and actually how I create my women's fiction stories differently than I do my mysteries.

One of the differences as far as within publishing that you will find with women's fiction versus romance is the way published books are shelved at the stores. Because women's fiction encompasses a wide vas of themes and topics, most of the time you won't find women's fiction in a genre category, but rather within the mainstream, which makes it tougher in my opinion to sell women's fiction.

So what is women's fiction exactly? Well, it's fiction that is obviously directed toward women, it's what I think of as a jump up from chick lit, and I'm not knocking chick lit here because in reality if you've read any of my wine mysteries they are really chick lit with a murder mystery plot line. However, chick lit remains on the lighter side of things. These books tend to be campy, usually the heroine is in her twenties to early thirties, she's single and looking for love, designer names mean something to her or else she makes fun of them depending on her socio-economic background or values, she likes martinis or white wine, Starbucks and usually has a good group of gal pals or gay friends who are all kind of eccentric and humorous—and humor tends to be a big part of the chick lit genre. Whereas, with women's fiction, I kind of akin it to taking chick lit and growing up. It doesn't mean your characters don't like white wine and hot guys, but it's at a different level. Chick lit I think is typically fun, and women's fiction although has elements of humor and fun in it at times, and sometimes it doesn't have it all (that really depends on the writer's style, which I will talk about shortly) takes characters, their lives, the themes within the story and the sub-plots to deeper levels.

I want to break women's fiction down to you by theme, characters, and plot—and hopefully give you a new look at how you might approach your women's fiction pieces.

1. I think as writers when we look at this type of fiction to write it to the best of our ability we're going to have to dig deep, we're going to have to soul search, get kind of ugly with ourselves and be truthful about certain areas of our lives. What do I mean by that, and why would I as a writer want to make my fiction about me? The reason is that women's fiction connects with women in a way that I don't think any other type of fiction does. So, when you sit down to write this type of book, your goal is to have your reader empathize with your character or main characters. This is the kind of book where you want your character to be the kind of person that your reader wants to be friends with or at least have that character have an about face by the end of the book that sways your reader to her side. Be sure to have a sympathetic not a pathetic main character.

Walk that line especially when doing a coming of age piece on a woman who technically should already be of age. Keep in mind that most of the main characters in women's fiction are over 30. If she's too strong, the need for the growth disappears. If she's too weak, you run the risk of annoying your readers. When you write this, ask yourself, would you want to be friends with this person. That doesn't mean you have to like the characters every step of the way. In fact, I think we can all agree that as much as we love our best friends there are moments when they annoy us or down-right piss us off, but then we either forgive them, or realize we were the jerk, or we just let it go because that is what friends do much of the time.

I'm going to use my books as examples here because they are what I know best. So for example in my novel "Happy Hour" one of my main characters is a real control freak because she's so afraid of doing anything wrong. She just wants to keep everyone happy, which we all know is impossible and she's in an impossible situation. She has teenage boys, she's newly married and now has a 6 yr old step-daughter whose mother is a pain in the ass and my characters just really wants a peaceful life. I can tell you that in a blended marriage with step-children and ex-spouses there is not much luck in finding any real peace, but that's life. So, when this character loses it on one of her friends the reader thinks she's being a real jerk and she is, but at the same time there are things going on in her life that although there is no excuse for her treatment of her friend, there is an understanding as to how she might react the way she does. She is human and good women's fiction is all about humanity.

That is the first key to writing women's fiction--it must maintain a theme of humanity throughout for your characters and their situations to be believable.

Saddled with Trouble

I'm not going to lie. Writers need to make a living. Yes, we write because we love it and we want to entertain but earning money is necessary when writing is your career. So for those of you who view this as a marketing tactic, you are correct. It is. What am I up to? Well, I am going to be posting chapters of my novel "Saddled with Trouble," over the next few weeks. Why Saddled? For one thing the book has been out for some time now and interestingly enough it has suddenly appeared to have a new life to it. People are buying and reading the book. You just asked yourself, "Then why offer it for free?"
Good question. The first reason is that I have 12 other books out and if you enjoy this one, you may pick up the others in this series or any one of my other 12 titles. Second reason is that I have three new books out next year. Yipee!!! I am doing the happy dance. They are all mysteries but 3 different series. One is a YA that I am super excited about. One is another Nikki Sands book, and one is TOP SECRET. I'm banking that if you like this mystery you might go ahead and buy the books that come out in the next year. Third reason is that in the next two weeks I have two thrillers coming out on Kindle and later in print under the psuedonym of A.K. Alexander (which in essence makes my third reason the same as my second only with different titles). Fourth reason that I chose this book is that I love the book and on Saturday evening while I proceeded to do some more unpacking in the new house I found a copy of it and started glancing through it (nice distraction from unpacking. Hmmm...now I know why it is taking me so long to get the house in order) and I thought, "this is a pretty darn good book." ( a writer must toot her own horn).

I started thinking about when I wrote the book and the process of writing it. When I begin a new book I put together a scrapbook (see blog: http://adventuresnwriting.blogspot.com/2009/11/visual-outlines.html) and who I envisioned as Michaela Bancroft is Marisa Miller (yes, the Victoria's Secret super model). I once had a reader write in and ask me why my heroines are always pretty. I'm sorry but vicariously living through one's heroines is quite fun and I think I wouldn't mind looking like Marisa Miller and I am pretty sure my husband would not mind either. Plus, Marisa Miller grew up riding horses and surfing. If you know anything about my life then you know that I have been riding since I was a tot and my husband has been surfing for just as long. Cool. Hmmm...except I don't think I would want my husband surfing with a super model. Anyhoo--we now come to my fourth reason for posting free chapters of "Saddled."  I know that Ms. Miller the super model is now doing some TV and I totally think that she should star in The Michaela Bancroft Mystery series. Here's my hope--she discovers my completely and totally popular blog (stop laughing) and then finds my e-mail address (It's on my website at http://www.michelescott.com/), no better yet, she searches my phone number out and calls me and says, "I want to be Michaela Bancroft and I have a production company, director, network, et al lined up." Then I get offered lots of money and I put all three of kids through college, take a vacation, buy more horses and write more books--oh and a few day spa trips soound nice too and also have this on-going love affair with Tarjay Boutique (Target). You can get a bazillion very cool things in Target. I knew you would like that fourth reason. So, if any of you out there know Marisa Miller could you send a link of the blog to her?
If you've already read a copy of Saddled do not fret. I will do double blog postings throughout the week. I know you want some more recipes. :)

Enjoy! Check out the book trailer http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRX9bcFGga8

ONE


MICHAELA BANCROFT DIDN'T HEAR HER SWORN enemy walking up behind her until it was too late.

"Working overtime?" Kirsten Redmond said.

Michaela whipped around in her desk chair, where she'd been sitting for thirty minutes going over finances. She immediately stood up. "What do you want, Kirsten?"

"I know you received some very important papers early this afternoon from our attorney, and I'd like them signed, sealed, and delivered as soon as possible, so that Brad and I can get on with our lives."

Michaela brushed a patch of dirt off her Wrangler Jeans. She'd been working with the horses and out in the barn all day and knew that her appearance wasn't remotely close to Miss Glamour Puss's here. The thought caused a flutter of discomfort. "You amaze me. What, do you have your little hair-sprayed, fake-bake, plastic Barbie doll-looking friends spying on me? Because it truly is a wonder how you know every little detail of my life. Or maybe you're screwing the mailman, too. Does his wife know? What, did he give you a call as soon as he delivered the papers?" She hated sounding so bitchy. God, why couldn't she just turn her back and ignore Kirsten?

"You're such a bitch."

That was why. Not that she was a bitch, but Kirsten and Brad had sort of pushed her into that category and she was living up to it, at least at that moment. "Yeah, well, it takes one to know one. Now, be a good girl and run along and play dress up or paint-your-nails with your girlfriends. Okay?"

"At least I have friends."

"Oh, that hurt. And, you probably have some real quality conversations with them. You know, about important subjects like what color hat and boots you'll wear to this year's Miss Rodeo Pageant. C'mon, Kirsten, give up the dream. You're a bit too old for the crown and from what I know of rodeo queens, they have a lot more class, know how to ride a horse, and have a brain. Oh yeah, and they're what, usually about five years younger than you are?"

Kirsten frowned. "I was Miss Rodeo of Indio, you know."

"Yeah, five years ago. I think I do remember. Wasn't there some article about the Coachilla Valley being desperate for entrants?" Michaela smiled sweetly, knowing she was getting the best of Kirsten.

Kirsten stomped her foot. "At least I've got Brad and you don't, and as soon as you get those papers taken care of we can start planning our future and I can start thinking about what color to paint our nursery. We want lots of children."

"I feel sorry for those kids." Michaela's stomach tightened and she clenched her fists.

"Just sign the papers."

"Just go away. Bye, bye." She waved at her. "Some of us have important things to do."

Kirsten stood her ground, planting her light pink Justin boots into the dirt. Her long blonde hair hung loose down her back, and her overly made-up face caused her to look aged and brittle for someone who couldn't be over twenty-five. She shoved her hands into her plastered-on jeans, belted in by a bright silver belt buckle— her Miss Rodeo Indio silver belt buckle.

"Listen. I've asked you to leave nicely. I don't have time for your games. Trust me, I don't want Brad within fifty feet of me. Why you feel the need to annoy me like this is very confusing. I've moved on."

"Great, so you'll sign the papers?"

Michaela sighed and forced a smile. "The papers. Yeah, well see, those divorce papers aren't your concern. It's really between Brad and me."

"Not really. We want to get married. Brad just got a new truck. A Ford F-350. It has a backseat. We got the backseat for when we start having babies. And, trust me, it won't be long."

Anger rose from Michaela's gut and rushed straight to her brain. "As I told you, I don't want Brad back at all. Here's the problem, though: Brad owes me a lot of money from debts incurred by him, and I want that money. When I get it, I will sign the papers. Maybe he should think about returning the truck."

"I bought the truck. And, Brad would be able to pay you off on your debt if your uncle hadn't fired him."

"That debt is our debt, not just mine. And, as for my uncle Lou firing Brad, that was cut and dry: Brad wasn't showing up for work even before Lou discovered what was going on between you two, but once he did and showed me the proof, Brad never even phoned Lou. I don't think my uncle had much of a choice, other than to let him go."

"Whatever. You are so gonna be s.o.l. if you don't make a move quick and sign the paperwork." Kirsten did the hair flick thing, a sign of her disdain for Michaela.

All it did was make Michaela want to laugh. "Let me give it to you in simple speak. Brad is an adulterer, so I will sue him to my heart's content until he pays me back every dime, and something tells me that the judge is going to be on my side. Or, how about this? I just won't sign the papers ever and all those babies you're talking about having will automatically have a stepmommy."

"You can't do that!" Kirsten whined.

"Watch me." Michaela was aware that she really couldn't. After all, it was California, and she knew she only had thirty days to sign the papers or contest the decree before she defaulted. She was banking on Little Miss Hot Pants not being exactly well-versed in California state divorce law. But, surely Brad's lawyer was, and no matter how Michaela tried to play it, she'd likely be forced to sign those papers. She also knew that she would probably have to sue Brad for what he owed her in medical bills, and rumor had it he was going to file bankruptcy, which meant that she wouldn't ever see a penny from him. The lawyer fees alone in taking Brad to court would put her out of business. She knew Brad was living off Kirsten, so why not sign the papers and be free of him, her, and the whole mess? Because they'd stuck it to her and she wasn't about to let them get the best of her. Not yet, anyway.

Kirsten turned on her heel in a huff and marched out. Michaela walked out of her office and peered outside the breezeway, watching Kirsten roar away in her red convertible Mustang GT, kicking up dust all the way along Michaela's drive. Talk about trouble. Michaela shook her head and let out a long sigh. What she'd ever seen in Brad Warren was beyond her, because anyone who could fall for a tramp like Kirsten was not a man she would ever want to be involved with. But she had been, and as Mom always liked to spout the age-old adage, "You made your bed," now she'd have to lie in it.

She turned and headed back to the barn to say her good-nights to all the horses down the row. She stopped at the end— at Leo's stall. Her ten-month-old colt glanced out, then returned to his dinner. Michaela had big plans for the little guy. She'd nurtured him from the night he'd been born last March and for a time it had been touch and go. She hadn't known if he'd make it . . .



* * *

THE EARLY SPRING NIGHT STILL HAD A CHILL IN the air. Michaela held a thermos of coffee in her hand as she curled up on a cot inside her office, checking on her mare every hour or so and listening intently for any sounds that might echo down the breezeway, alerting her that the time had come. Cocoa, her brown Lab, lay at her feet, snoring. Michaela had put a blanket over the aging dog. Usually by this time of night the two of them would be sound asleep in the house.

Her mother, after calling earlier, stopped by and brought her some homemade chicken noodle soup and coffee, aware that Michaela would be keeping vigil into the wee hours. It didn't matter how many foals Michaela had seen born in her thirty-two years. It never ceased to amaze her.

Around 1 A.M., as she drifted off to sleep, a thud woke her. She hurried into the stall. The mare eyed her from her straw bed.

Michaela went inside and knelt down beside her, stroking her face. "I know, girl. It's okay. You're all right. You're all right."

Little Bit let out a groan and lifted her head, groaned again, and laid it back down.

"Easy, easy. You're doing good. Good girl."

The mare's water broke and wet her underside. This was it. Michaela went around to Little Bit's backside. The front hooves came first, and then the long spindly legs, revealing black legs like Little Bit's. Next, a tiny face with a small star on it poked through, and with one final push the foal slid out, slippery and covered in the birthing sac, which with Michaela's assistance came right off. She took a hand towel from her jacket pocket and wiped the foal's nostrils and eyes. The foal struggled, laid back down and struggled again. Michaela wiped the tears from her face. The miracle of life.

Little Bit groaned again and Michaela noticed that she was having a hard time lifting her head to look at her baby. She watched for seconds before she realized what was happening with her mare. A lot of blood— everywhere. Oh God. Wait! This was all wrong. Oh God, no! She was hemorrhaging. Somehow she'd been torn inside during the birth. Michaela pulled her cell from her coat pocket and called Ethan Slater, her vet— and longtime friend. Growing up around horses and being a rancher's daughter, she knew that there wasn't a whole lot she could do, and it was unlikely the vet could either. She was losing too much blood, too fast to get her into surgery, and Michaela cried as she gently stroked Little Bit's face, willing her to live and in some way hoping she was alleviating any pain the old girl felt.

Ethan pulled in fifteen minutes later. But it was too late. Little Bit had died, quietly bleeding out as Michaela held her and whispered to her. When he opened the stall door, he reached his hand out to Michaela and she took it. He pulled her up and hugged her. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm really sorry." He let go after a minute and looked at her with his intense green eyes. "We've got work to do now. She's gone, but he has a chance. C'mon. Go to the truck and in the right side of my vet box are packages of Foalac. You'll find a bottle there, too. Get them out and follow the mixing directions. I'm going to move him, so you don't have to see her like this. Okay? Now, go unlock one of the open stalls and slide the door for me."

Michaela knew that the timeline they had to get the colt to feed was about one to two hours, but the sooner they could get a grip on things the better, just in case there were further complications where he was concerned. She was so grateful for Ethan's no-nonsense, methodical ways. She wanted to fall apart. She loved that mare. Hell. Thank god, Ethan knew exactly how to handle the situation and her.

She nodded and followed his orders, leaving the stall as he went to pick up the colt, who weighed about seventy pounds. Michaela had lost animals before, but the pain was always just as intense. But she'd never lost a mare this way, and of all her horses, she'd had a real connection with Little Bit. She had an inside joke with herself about how she'd wished for years she was more like her mare, who had no problem at all getting pregnant.

She took the supplemental food and mixed it as Ethan tended to the colt. She brought it back in the large bottle he'd told her to grab. Ethan asked her to set it to the side. "Let's get him up to drink. We don't want him choking." Together they helped the colt get to his feet. Michaela grabbed the bottle and handed it to Ethan, who took it from her and stuck it into the colt's mouth, teasing him a bit at first with it, allowing him to get used to the feeling of the rubber nipple. The baby gummed it, but soon his pink fleshy tongue wrapped around it, and as sucking noises escaped from his mouth, Michaela felt her body relax. She stood on the other side of the colt in case he lost his balance on still-wobbly legs. That night, she resolved to see him through, to see him grow strong and healthy. She'd named him Peppy Leo after his great-grandsire Mr. San Peppy and great-great-grandsire Leo San, both of whom had been huge cutting horse champions, and because her colt was as strong as a lion. And he had survived.

* * *

"GOOD NIGHT, CHAMP," MICHAELA SAID TO HIM. She turned out the breezeway lights and headed toward the house, knowing that in a little more than two years her colt would indeed be a champion. As resolved as she'd been to save him that night ten months earlier, she was just as committed to her vision for him— and herself— now. Kirsten might have taken Brad from her, and the bank might come after her, and who knew what else might happen, but no one could steal her dream from her— the dream she knew would become a reality.

Stumped on what to get that impossible to shop for person?

It's that time yet again, the holidays are approaching and everyone is getting sick.  The entire office has been sharing the flu bug and it hit full force.  Although it has literally knocked me flat out, it has allowed me some time to get some quality writing time in for upcoming books.  If you're strapped for holiday gift ideas why not do a unique gift basket.  All you need is a copy of Happy Hour, pick out one of the fabulous recipes and include all the ingredients (that won't spoil), a bottle of wine (all recipes give a pairing wine), plus a cute apron!  Poof you have an instant thoughtful gift perfect for a mom, daughter, friend of any cooking level.  Enjoy, Michele

Another Fabulous Recipe from Happy Hour, Salmon in Miso

This recipe is another tasty one but also great for your health.  Both salmon and miso are high in omega-3 fatty acids which helps your body reduce inflamation, can help regualte your blood preassure, makes your skin glow, and even helps prevent cancer. 
Jamie's Salmon in Miso


1 cup mirin (Japanese rice wine)
4 tablespoons light yellow miso (fermented soybean paste)
6 tablespoons sugar
4 salmon filets (about 5 or 6 ounces each)
1 ½ cup snow peas



Add the mirin and sugar to a small, nonstick saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium and continue to boil for three minutes, whisking as it boils to create a smooth miso marinade.

Reserve 1/3 cup of the miso marinade and set aside. Pour the remaining miso marinade over the salmon filets in a gallon zip-lock bag or shallow dish. Let salmon marinate in refrigerator for at least an hour (or up to 12 hours). Grill the salmon fillets skin side down about 5 inches from the coals or heat for about 14 minutes or until salmon is cooked throughout. You can lightly brown the top of the salmon fillets by broiling briefly in your kitchen oven or by gently flipping salmon fillets over and grilling them, flesh side down, for a couple of minutes.
Meanwhile to make a miso sauce for the table, add the 1/3 cup of reserved miso marinade to a small nonstick saucepan and stir in 3 tablespoons fat-free half and half and a teaspoon of flour. Bring to a gentle boil, stirring constantly, until the sauce has reached desired thickness. Add snow peas to a small microwave safe dish with ¼ cup water, cover and cook on HIGH until snow peas are just tender (about 3 minutes).
Serve each serving of broiled salmon over a scoop of steamed white or brown rice (if desired) and to with a drizzle of the miso sauce and fan some snow peas on top for a garnish.


Goes great with Viognier.
Cheers!  Michele

Scene by Scene

As a writer, I get asked a lot of times about my creative process. I have some very specific processes and I actually wrote about them in a book I put together on various workshops that I've taught over the last few years, titled "A Writer's Workshop." http://www.amazon.com/Writers-Workshop-Michele-Scott/dp/1453659803/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1

And I use my process, but I also tend to work a book in my head before I ever sit down to write out anything within the process. It's actually a natural thing for me. It just happens and I can't give anyone wanting to write a checklist in this aspect. So much of the time my ideas come with the characters already and then as I develop or already have developed the characters I hear their dialogue and begin creating scenes in my head with them.

For example, just the other day when I spotted a really cute little Chihuhua (spelling--help!), I could hear one of my characters from the Wine Lover's Mysteries start his chat in my head--Simon (Nikki Sands' BFF--for those of you who don't know, Nikki is the heroine of this series) saying, "Oh my God! Way cute. Too cute. I want one. Love it. Not just like. But sooooo loooooove it."

Then I could hear Nikki saying, "I thought you were allergic to dogs. You can't even get around Ollie without popping a few Claritin."

Then I can see Simon make a gesture with a shoulder shrug and a flip of the wrist. "That's only your brutish hound, Snow White. He's like five thousand pounds and his dumb blonde act is a little old. I'm not buying it anymore. He thinks that I think he's stupid because he acts stupid, but I know and you know that Ollie is not stupid.  Now that..." he pointed to the half pounder of a beast...

"Is a stupid dog?" Nikki interrupted.

"No. Pleeeeze. That is what I want. No. I want two." He held up two fingers. "Dos. Two. Yes. Yes. Yes. I want two of them and I'm going to name them Senor Estefen Sanchez and Senora Veronika Sanchez."

"Really? Really, Simon? Married chihuahas with last names and everything." She shook her head. "From Mexico, I take it?"

Simon's eyes lit up. "Yea-ah."

"You're kidding me, right?"

He shot Nikki one of his "I hate you," looks, and she let out an aggrieved sigh realizing that her weekend would most likely consist of helping Simon find his new puppies, even if that meant making a trip down South to Mexico.

Maybe I am crazy (oh yes, mentioned that before), but that is how books/stories come to life for me--scene by scene, character to character.

Some writers/readers here might ask as far as plot point. Okay, so I have this silly dialogue, which is a big part of the Nikki Sands' series (quirky, silly humor), some might ask how a short scene like that would play into the big picture and then tie it all together? Good question and it is something that as a writer you have to ask yourself on a regular basis--will this be able to work within the major or sub-plot line of the story, and does it in some way move the story forward? And, remember that even your sub-plots have to at some level lend themselves to the plot.

For example, one of the sub-plots that has been an undertow in the series is that Nikki was basically abandoned at a young age by her mother to go and live with her aunt who was a homicide detective. I don't push this in the reader's face and in some of the books in the series it doesn't get brought up. However, there are underlying insecurities that my main character Nikki has that shows up throughout all of the books in the series and it's these insecurities that can hinder her in solving crimes and also in her relationships. It is suttle but it is character and plot development throughout a series. But back to this small scene between Nikki and Simon in regards to the dogs. In the big scheme of plot line--these dogs will become two new characters in the series. I am an animal lover and I find that animals have distinct personalities and I like to incorporate that in my writing. There are a variety of ways Senor Estefen Sanchez and Senora Veronika Sanchez may play into various plot lines (be them sub or main). They could save the day. They could find a clue. They could bite the bad guy or even trap him in some way. As a sub-plot, they could show character flaws or strengths in anyone that comes across them. I have learned dogs have a way of bringing out the best and worst in people. They can also help develop Ollie's (Nikki's Rhodesian Ridgeback) character. Plus, can't you just see some fun scene on the vineyard with these two little dogs and the gigantic 120 pound Ollie romping around?

I don't mean to make light of creating scenes, because there are days when I sit and stare at the computer and go, "Duh, duh, duh..........um, um, um......), and actually most of my scenes aren't created in front of the computer. They start when I'm driving, in the shower, eating lunch, making dinner, etc--and then when I sit down at the computer I have something to work with.

Any writers out there who play scenes in their head? Any readers out there who may add to scenes they've read, or think about the characters after the book is finished? Do you ever get lost in a fantasy land of scene by scene? I'd love to hear back from you!

Cheers,
Michele

 

Quinoa Made Tasty

I like food. I like to eat good food. Yeah--bad food sucks, but I definitely am up for good food. I love to make it and I love to eat it--and the best is when my family tells me that they love it. My youngest actually said last night, "You are the best cook ever, Mom." Talk about melting my heart. Okay, so might have been trying to schmooze me, but whatever--I will take it anyway.

I have found one of the best and most nutritious side dishes you can make is Quinoa. If you don't know about Quinoa, here is a bit of nutritional information about it that pulled off of Wikipedia:

Quinoa was of great nutritional importance in pre-Columbian Andean civilizations, being secondary only to the potato, and was followed in importance by maize. In contemporary times, this crop has become highly appreciated for its nutritional value, as its protein content is very high (12%–18%). Unlike wheat or rice (which are low in lysine), and like oats, quinoa contains a balanced set of essential amino acids for humans, making it an unusually complete protein source among plant foods.[9] It is a good source of dietary fiber and phosphorus and is high in magnesium and iron. Quinoa is gluten-free and considered easy to digest. Because of all these characteristics, quinoa is being considered a possible crop in NASA's Controlled Ecological Life Support System for long-duration manned spaceflights.

So, not only is this stuff good for you, it is TASTY. It is TASTY if you jazz it up a bit, which is easy to do with a little creativity. I make our Quinoa in a rice cooker. I always cook (steam it) in some type of broth--usually low sodium chicken broth, but I have found that Red pepper soup is excellent as well as Butternut Squash soup. Toss in a teaspoon of garlic, dice in some onion, if you like a smoky flavor toss in a few chipotle peppers and the liquid--there is a ton you can do with this stuff. Last night I cooked it with the chicken broth, salt, garlic, a dash of rosemary and some chipotle powder (the peppers can be too strong for my youngest). I made a pork tenderloin with it that I had done a mesquite rub on. I browned the meat on each side and then put a bit of broth and wine in the pot, which I then covered until done--scooped out the quinoa and poured the au jus over the top of it--YUM! I had one of the kids make a green salad, and we had an excellent meal that took all of 30 mins prep time tops and about 40 mins cook time. I figure that if I can teach my kids how to make a good quinoa recipe then when they go off on their own (which, sadly, they will) then if that's the only thing they know how to make then they should be okay. Lucky for them--I'm teaching them a few others meals.

How about you? Is there a dish you make that you or your family loves (unexpectantly loves) that is easy and nutritious? If so, let me know. I'm always interested in good food!

Cheers,
Michele

Review of Happy Hour

Michele Scott - Happy Hour
Happy Hour
by Michele Scott
Reviewed by moodylady on August 25th, 2010, 8:49am
4.Format: Print Books
Series: Other.Author: Michele Scott
Title: Happy Hour
Publisher: Createspace
Publish Date: Oct 2009
Rating: 4 Stars
Book Blurb: Four friends working in Napa Valley, Sundays are for fellowship, good food and wine. Jamie is editor-in-chief at "Wine Lover's Magazine," and a single mother. Before her husband died, she lived a fairy tale life. Guilt from his death keeps her from moving forward. Kat is a sommelier, and co-owner of a restaurant with her chef husband Christian. Although deeply in love they deal with a myriad of issues, including ex-spouses, Kat's teenage sons and her new age mother Venus. Danielle is a vintner who finds herself entrenched in both an identity and family crises when her eldest daughter returns home from college with a bombshell of a secret. Alyssa is an artist and gallery owner. When a tragic past event catches up with her, she must face the skeleton in her closet and rely on her friends to see her through her darkest hours. These women discover that friendship is the right prescription to get through the hard times as well as for enjoying the wonderful moments together.

Review: Happy hour is the kind of book that makes me feel some discontent. I want friends like these women. Maybe not these women as friends, but a group of women that get together and share their lives with each other over good food and wine.

Danielle, Kat, Jamie and Alyssa all have their ups and downs, some seem to have more downs then ups, but they muddle through, mostly with the help of each other. They learn to get their lives into focus and they learn to accept love into their lives again. For Danielle who is still bitter over her divorce and Jamie, who is having a hard time dealing with the loss of a husband, that is something that isn't too easy to do.

They all have problems, just like you and me, and likely there's something everyone can relate to in at least one of these women, whether it be relationship woes, financial strain or the frustrations of being a parent. It is all there in these four women.

Some times the issues they face seem to resolve themselves too easily but this is chicklit and with a small dash of romance tossed in, so a happily ever after is something that is required by the last page, but the resolution isn't forced so all is good.

By the time you do reach that happily ever after, you'll be wishing you could have a happy hour with some friends.

~My book blog: http://achickwhoreads.blogspot.com
~ March 2010 Member of the Month

A Ghost Story

I love a good ghost story and being that it's Halloween I figured I'd tell you my own personal ghost story. Believe it or not, I have a knack for attracting the spirits beyond. It's kind of a joke with my family now because it's been going on since I was a kid. I know that you're thinking I am a total whackadoo and I am totally okay with that, because I know what I know and trust me there are such things as ghosts.
Just the other day when I stopped by to see my dad he said to me, "You brought the poltergeist back with you. I can't find a damn thing around here." He refers to "her" as the poltergeist--this is from a man who never ever would have believed in ghosts in a million years until he lived in the house that I grew up in. I refer to her as the little pixie because she never does anything mean. She's more of a prankster--moving shoes around (I know you're thinking--no you do that and just forget because you're a human. No--I am talking about moving shoes and placing them in obscure places like underneath avocado tress on the back forty not to be found for two months later.), she has slammed hallway cupboards in the middle of the night (the entire family can attest to this), radios go off at odd hours, and the best one was when I was home for a weekend from college many, many, many years ago (I am feeling old suddenly. It wasn't many, many, many--just many) and being a Sunday afternoon it was time for me to make the two hour drive back up to school. My dad was out of town and no sooner do I get back to my apartment does my mom call me and she's freaking out. I mean really feaking out. She asks me if I (get this) poured coffee on the stacked dishes in the cupboard and then set a full cup of coffee on top of those dishes. So there were something like 8 dishes and there was coffee on each one as if someone had poured a small amount on to each dish. "Um no. Why would I do that?" I didn't even start drinking coffee until after I had children. On top of that she said that she had turned on some lights in the house before going out to feed the horses that evening, and when she came back in different lights were on and others that she'd turned on were off. I told her that she should get out of the house. But instead, my very sweet and usually intelligent mother, took it upon herself to walk around the house with a butcher knife as if she were in a horror flick. No one was there (except the pixie).
When did these ghostly things begin happening? Not long after we moved into the house. I was five-years-old and the neighborhood was all brand new--small and rural. The houses all sat on at least an acre so there was some land around us. The first thing that started happening was that lights would flicker on and off. My dad did the logical thing and called an electrician who thoroughly checked this out and to no avail. A second electrician came out and also claimed there was no issue. The lights flickered like that in the house for the entire fifteen years that we lived there.

As I mentioned before--radios would come on and off, things would be moved around. One time my dad couldn't find a pair of his boots (his favorite boots). He looked everywhere for them for days. High and low. Then one day, they turned up at the front door--perfect and neat. When the first remote phones came out, one of the phones went missing--found underneath a bed a week later. Crazy stuff--never mean but just aggravating.

So my dad (the non-believer) started doing some actual research into "poltergeists." He discovered that they like to be around small children and in particular girls. That they do some of the things I mentioned--lights, etc--and this is the kicker. Dad discovered that our property (the neighborhood) was on old Indian grounds and possibly even burial grounds. 
Well, as time would go on, my parents decided to buy a new house with more property for the horses. They did not disclose the fact that there was soemone or something else who lived in the house. My folks became kind of friendly with the family who bought it though. One day, the lady who moved into our old house called my mom up and asked her, "Hey this might sound strange but did anything weird ever happen in the house?" My mom knew what she was asking and proceeded with caution. It turned out the little pixie was up to her same old shenanigans and had begun hiding all sorts of things from the new family. Fortunately, they--like us, were not too freaked out about it and just went on about life. I'm not sure if she is still there or if she has moved on, but I can assure you she was very, very real.
How about you? Anyone with a good ghost story to tell? I'd live to hear it.
Happy Halloween,
Michele 

What Sells Books?

The world of writing/publishing is changing to say the least. It's an intersting time to be involved with the literary industry. It's been kind of a bumpy road for all of us (hmmm--more like a roller coaster ride) as major publishing houses try and figure out how they can stay afloat and also stay with the times. People are self-publishing at a rate like never before because with the access we have with The Internet--it's easy and many times free. There are small publishing houses popping up all over the place too--many of them with new and innovative ideas and many of them not so much.

I'm not going to lie. It's hard work to be a writer/author.It's like anything in life that is worthwhile--you gotta work at it. A mid-list author doesn't exactly get the pats on the back and the kudos, and yet he/she works just as hard as the big bestselling authors (I think so anyway because I am one and I know a few others like myself). Honestly, when you take a good look at the world of writing and how success is achieved there is no real rhyme or reason to it. Yes--writing a good book is the number one key. But even good books sit on the book store shelves until they are eventually sent back to the publisher. It's a sad fact, but a fact. What can be done to change that? I'm not sure. I have not found the answer, but if I do, I shall let you know. I truly think "the stars" have something to do with it. Not to get all hoodoo voodoo on you (that I'm saving for my new mystery series--Delebs), but what I am saying is that I think a little lining up with The Universe, stars, good luck fairy, pixie--whatever you want to call it has a role in this whole thing.

And a bit of tenacity and savvy always helps. I feel fortunate that I am able to continue working as a writer and moving forward in my career. I enjoy what I do. I actually Love what I do. Writing is my creative outlet (besides cooking). It allows me to create worlds and escape in them. I get to be in control (HA Ha--a maniachal voice is now playing inside my head) of those worlds, characters, settings--what people say to people (you know the kinds of things you wish you could say but never do).

So, as publishing changes, as a writer/business person I have to make some moves with it. However, fundamentally as a Writer, I don't have to make any real changes. I just have to keep on writing. That is the only key I know to really succeeding at this crazy business. Keep on keeping on or write on writing on. For anyone who needs some encouragement to get that book inside of them "puked" out (I know it's a gross visual, but it's my word for getting the first draft out and I am sticking with it), remember that November is National Novel Writing Month. Their website offers so many great tools and ideas in helping writers move forward with their writing. It is an extremely supportive community and if you've never participated in National Novel Writing Month then maybe this year is the time to do so. What do you have to lose? Visit their site at  http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Okay, now for anyone who has missed the Free Kindle or Nook opportunity contest, are you crazy? Scroll down, read how to enter and get on with it. :)

I'd love to know your thoughts on publishing, National Novel Writing Month, the crazy weather patterns, Lady Gaga (not really), Katy Perry and Russell Brand's Indian wedding (this I do really want to know your thoughts on), why 4th grade math homework is really impossible these days, and of course any recipes you want to share. Oh hell--write anything (as long as it's nice. I like nice things. Or at least humorous--JP better read this and respond with one of her quips).

That's all I got for now. It isn't much--just a little food for fodder.

Cheers,
Michele