Elizabeth M. Lawrence's Blog, page 29

Sugarplum Dreams Anthology Cover Reveal!

A late night reunion on the beach, warm cookies fresh from the oven, the overwhelming world of online dating, and a one-night stand that changes of the lives of three people — Sugarplum Dreams, Book Four of the Candy Collection, wields a voyage of self-discovery, new beginnings, new loves, and admirable courage.

Sugarplum Dreams in a word from our authors:

Lisa Bilbrey calls the collection: “Four amazing stories that will have you on the edge of your seat and begging for more.”

M.B. Feeney says, “Beaches, baking, blogs and babies — Sugarplum Dreams offers escapism for all romantics.”

R.E. Hargrave added, “Moonlit beaches, the London dating scene, broken eggs, and mistaken identity are the stepping stones to follow four distinct love stories that span months and years in Sugarplum Dreams, Book Four of the Candy Collection.”

Michele Richard said, “From beaches to bakeries, to babies, to dating blogs, this anthology has everything to fulfill those holiday romantic readers with delight!”



To be released December 11, 2011!

Michele Richard's Upcoming Release!

As part of Renaissance Romance Publishing's week-long Sugarplum Dreams holiday anthology cover reveal, I will be revealing one cover to each of the individual stories every day this week. Welcome to Day Four!




Spring break changes everything for Daphne Hobbs. A one-night stand leaves her pregnant and alone. She soon discovers that the father is an identical twin, and she's unsure of which one turned her world upside down. She’ll be forced to share her apartment with them until she can discover the truth. Julius and Jordan Sweet share everything in their lives — almost to the point of living one life. Will Daphne uncover who’s the daddy?


To be released December 11, 2012, as part of the Sugarplum Dreams Collection!

R.E. Hargrave's Upcoming Debut Release!

As part of Renaissance Romance Publishing's week-long Sugarplum Dreams holiday anthology cover reveal, I will be revealing one cover to each of the individual stories every day this week. Welcome to Day Three!




Lacey Harrison has been dealt an unexpected hand in life: being a single mom. With her father's help and that of the residents at Royal Hills Nursing Home, she thrives and goes on to become a successful baker. She is content with her life but knows that she and her daughter Candy are missing something. Will things change for the better when Trent Childress moves into town and adds some spice to her sugar?


To be released December 11, 2012, as part of the Sugarplum Dreams Collection!

M.B. Feeney's Upcoming Debut Release!

As part of Renaissance Romance Publishing's week-long Sugarplum Dreams holiday anthology cover reveal, I will be revealing one cover to each of the individual stories every day this week. Welcome to Day Two!


Disheartened about not being able to find “Mr. Right” on the London dating scene, best friends Jodie Lynch and Louise Hewson create a blog to not only document their disastrous dates with the numerous “Mr. Wrongs” and “Mr. Okay-for-nows” but also to help those going through the same experiences and to see where they’re going wrong. How will they deal with everything the dating scene has to throw at them — planned or otherwise?


To be released December 11, 2012, as part of the Sugarplum Dreams Collection!

Lisa Bilbrey's Upcoming Release!

As part of Renaissance Romance Publishing's week-long Sugarplum Dreams holiday anthology cover reveal, I will be revealing one cover to each of the individual stories every day this week.


Riley Farris and Natalie Sloane were the best of friends who spent every summer together on the sandy beach of Mustang Island. Then, just when Riley’s getting set to spend another summer with Natalie, she disappears. As the years pass, he struggles to understand what happened to the girl he knew. Until, one night while walking on the beach, he stumbles upon a woman who is broken and lost. 

To be released December 11, 2012, as part of the Sugarplum Dreams Collection!

The Art of Manic Laughter

So… it’s still November. I’m still doing NaNoWriMo. BUT. I haven’t been able to work on writing for five – count them – five days straight. Not good.
This does serve to illustrate one of the reasons why WriMos go slightly insane by the end of the month. It’s called “Real Life.”
This year, we started with Sandy, the superstorm of incredible bad-timingness. Our local schools were closed for almost a week, and one middle school was even turned into a shelter. The weirdest part about this was that I live in Ohio – not exactly ground zero, as far as the storm path was concerned. However, power was restored to everyone in my City only a day or two ago, so the impact was significant.
We spent the first days of November trying to contact our friends in the hardest-hit areas, especially those in New Jersey, Virginia, and New York, and making sure that our local friends and family got whatever assistance they needed. I’m not the most selfless gal around, but even I had a hard time focusing on my own agenda with all that going on. Of course, school closures and horrible weather combined to produce cabin-fevered, cooped-up children. By day three, there was no ADHD medication on this Earth that could have kept Shorty from ricocheting off the walls. It was like he was competing with Sandy to see which of them could knock my house over first.
Things got back to relative normality, and I decided to go out with a friend. I had forgotten that I am Karma’s personal Slinky, however. I have a history with stairs. It’s not a good one. With my customary grace, I tripped up (yes, up) a flight of stairs and smashed the ever-loving hell out of my left leg.
Hello, ice packs and ibuprofen. And today, I had the added indignity of going in to the doctor’s office where A) they weigh you – every girl’s favorite thing; and B) I was sent for x-rays, which were handled by technicians younger, thinner, and more aesthetically pleasing than me. To add insult to injury, they asked me how I managed to hurt myself so badly. I told them I was just naturally graceful.
Did I mention that we had the presidential election on Tuesday? I voted early by mail, but it didn’t help me avoid Election Day distractions. Hellooo, live streaming. Goodbye, productivity. I tried to resist, but Jon Stewart is just too damn funny to be denied.
Tonight was our parent/teacher conference for Shorty. I should send his teacher an apology. Most parents don’t keep the teacher there for an hour and a half. My husband and I together are like a vaudeville team that time forgot. She was very patient, though, bless her.
All these hiccups in the road are behind me now, so my novel should blossom and thrive unimpeded. Right? (It’s okay to lie to me on this one.)
Shorty’s birthday is next week. My teenager’s parent/teacher conferences are Sunday. I have editing jobs lined up in a queue, mocking me with their not-doneness. Thanksgiving weekend looms. And those are just the things that popped into my head. I’m sure I’m missing stuff.
I do not despair, my fellow WriMos. I have done this thing before, and I know that where there is a will and a supply of coffee to rival the inventory of an apocalyptic bunker, anything is possible.
Don’t give up now if you’re struggling – there’s plenty of time!
And if you’re already at 50,000 words, I can only congratulate you and say with absolute sincerity:
Go away. I hate you.

Not Going According to Plan

This year, I was going to have an outline. I was going to arrange my plot ahead of time, actually finish the Scrivener tutorial so I could use it for once, and I was going to go into NaNoWriMo with a solid game plan.
As anyone who has read my blog can probably guess, that is not what actually happened.
I have heard of some people having already produced a NaNoWriMo word count of 20,000 or higher, and I’m trying not to spiral into a vortex of self-pity. There is a remote possibility that I might just been the teensiest bit competitive, but I can neither confirm nor deny it. Depends who’s asking.
I have so much on my plate right now that if I stop to really think about it, I wind up in the fetal position weeping to the accompaniment of terrible 1980s power ballads. I have 50,000 words to write, a charity piece to complete, and two manuscripts to edit… not to mention those paltry house/children/husband/personal hygiene issues that occasionally require my attention as well. Add in things like a hurricane, my teenager’s report card (don’t ask), a smashed kneecap, a new internet provider, and the virus from hell that is bouncing around my household, and things may feel just slightly completely out of control and hopeless.
Don’t worry for me, though. This is my third year participating in NaNoWriMo, so I’m a little calmer than I might otherwise be right now.  That’s not to say I’m actuallycalm – just less completely batshit insane.
What have I done today to combat stress? I gave myself permission to watch a couple episodes of Sherlock. I pfutzed with Instagram. I iced my knee while working on one of my editing jobs. And I opened the file for my NaNo novel, cast an appraising eye over it, and said, “Nope, not today.”
I want to enjoy writing this novel. Even with the pressure of the 30-day deadline – and often because of it – I have actually enjoyed writing the novels I created in prior years. When I sit down to write this year, if I’m not enjoying it, the deadline doesn’t matter. My feeling is that, with a ton of other things hanging over my head, I won’t be able to relax and have fun.
My advice to first-time WriMos is simple: relax. Yes, you want to use the pressure of the deadline to free yourself from your inner editor, but don’t put so much on yourself that you spend the entire month miserable and subsisting on Fritos and reheated diner coffee. You’re a writer, so writing should be fun for you. I still plan to hit 50,000 words by midnight on November 30th. I also plan to be sleep-deprived, slap-happy, and perhaps a wee bit mental. But those are all things I enjoy (in moderation). NaNo is the one time of the year when you are really aware of the breadth and scope of the writing community around the world, and it gives you a wonderful sense of camaraderie and belonging that we isolated and often awkward novelists are not used to experiencing.
So relax. Have fun. Write down every lunatic idea that pops into your head. And if you cherish your sanity at all, don’t worry about other people’s word counts. The only person you’re competing with is yourself.

Here We Go Again...

Here we are, quivering once more on the cusp of November. I am preparing to take that deliberate leap into insanity known as NaNoWriMo. If you have never heard of this authorly phenomenon, please see my barely-coherent posts from this time last year for a slap-dash, but essentially accurate, explanation.

Before I fling myself into the abyss, I wanted to stop by and relay my thoughts on this auspicious occasion. Unfortunately, my thoughts seem to have distilled down to something along the lines of: “I must be out of my ever-loving mind.” Nonetheless, I will make a concerted effort to post regularly about my NaNo experience this year in between choruses of Nearer My God to Thee.

On a side note, everyone has discussed the fun-filled gobsmack that was Hurricane Sandy. No one was more surprised than me at the impact that an east-coast storm could have on Ohio. I really thought that, like so many other tourists, it would head straight for New York City and ignore the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I was wrong. Not only was the Rock Hall damaged, but thousands of residents are still without power and Shorty will be staying home from school for the third day in a row. In fact, one nearby school is now being used as a shelter for people displaced by the storm. We were very lucky to have been in one of the first areas to which power was restored, and all our friends in the affected regions have had their heads cyber-counted.

Many people have suffered terrible losses, however. Please consider donating to the Red Cross by texting REDCROSS to 90999 to give $10 to American Red Cross Disaster Relief.

Now, to all my fellow WriMos, best of luck to each of you! May your wit be plentiful, May your word counts be high, and may your coffee never get cold!

Harvest Treats - Goodreads Giveaway!

I know I’ve been shamefully lax in updating this blog. I’m still not really properly updating – I’ve just stopped by to let people know about my Goodreads Giveaway.
Harvest Treats is the collection of autumn-related stories in which my story “My Apple Tree” is featured. I am giving away one copy of the book on October 29th, so sign up if you’d like to get your own free copy!
I’ll be back soon with manic NaNoWriMo posts and other documentary evidence of my general mental instability!

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Giveaway ends October 29, 2012.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Why I'm Not the Next Neil Gaiman

My parents had a bad habit when I was growing up. Any new thing I took lessons for became an instantly-impossible hurdle. Here’s how it went:
Young Me: “I want to take ballet!”Parents: “Wonderful! We’ll enroll you!”Young Me: “Yay! This is going to be fun!”Parents: “Make sure you work hard, or you’ll never become the principal dancer for Ballantine!”Young Me (with considerably less enthusiasm): “Um… yay?”
So I took ballet until the class got onto pointe, when I realized that shit hurt no matter how much lamb’s wool you shoved into the toes of those torture devices they call shoes, and I dropped out. And then a year later…
Young Me: “I want to take violin!”Parents: “Wonderful! We’ll enroll you!”Young Me: “Yay! This is going to be fun!”Parents: “Make sure you practice hard, or you’ll never become the next Itzak Perlman!”Young Me (with considerably less enthusiasm): “Um… yay?”
So I took violin until I realized that I didn’t like being choked by a large piece of wood and had discovered that whipping the bow at the piano bench made outstanding dents in its surface, and I dropped out. Then a bit later…
Young Me: “I want to take piano!”Parents: “Wonderful! We’ll enroll you!”Young Me: “Yay! This is going to be fun!”Parents: “Make sure you practice hard, or you’ll never get to Carnegie Hall!”Young Me (with considerably less enthusiasm): “Um… yay?”
I should mention here that I am double-jointed. This means that if I apply pressure to my fingers, the knuckles bend in the wrong direction quite often. Did you know this makes playing piano difficult? I do… now. ANYWAY, some time later…
Young Me: “I want to take voice lessons!”Parents: “Wonderful! We’ll enroll you!”Young Me: “Yay! This is going to be fun!”Parents: “Make sure you work hard, or you’ll never be the next Beverly Sills!”Young Me (with considerably less enthusiasm): “Um… yay?”
I’m an alto. Like “hello-I’m-going-to-the-basement” alto. My voice teacher thought I was a mezzo-soprano. Also, I then entered the high school years, and my social calendar became much more important. I did join the college choir and women’s ensemble, both of which I enjoyed, but the one-on-one lessons were not a particular success.
I should say here and now that I know how very lucky I was to have parents who had the means and willingness to give me access to all these lessons over the course of my childhood. I suppose that it is especially telling that as a child I knew who all the people were that my parents held up as role models to motivate me. I’d seen Madame Butterfly performed live four times before I’d hit puberty. I actually saw Yule Brenner onstage in The King and I. I’ve seen Dame Judy Dench and Kenneth Branaugh perform Coriolanus in England. I got to hear Beverly Sills sing before her retirement. These are all wonderful, enriching experiences that I feel privileged to have had.
So, what’s my point? 
What the patterns above will show you is that before I’d even begun to try, I was being held up to an impossible standard, and this stripped all the fun out it. It wasn’t enough to say, “Yes, we believe in you. Go out there, do your best, and have fun!” Instead, the message was, “In order for this to be worth anything, you must go out there, be better than anyone else, and become famous!” I was told to be the best of the best before I’d even really started, and it was off-putting.
I love writing. I mean I really, really, really love it. When I told my parents that I was going to be a professional novelist, here was the reaction: “We always believed that you could write the Great American Novel!”
Sigh.
I write romance. It’s sometimes funny, sarcastic, strange, or serious, but it’s still romance at the end of the day. I’m not looking to write the Great American Novel. I don’t really want to. But as soon as that thought gets in your head, it’s poison. How many writers out there have been literally crippled by the belief that everything you write is inadequate? How many of you despair because your books aren’t immediately popular and Hollywood isn’t knocking at your door? How many of you wind up softening your true writing voice to make it sound like the style of one of your writing heroes?
I know people who love you really believe you’re brilliant and are happy to tell you so. But if you’re anything like me, that expectation of brilliance is a heavy burden. How am I supposed to release a mushy, sentimental love story when my nearest and dearest are expecting the next War and Peace?
For myself, I had to flush out that thinking entirely. Comparing yourself to someone at the top of their game is unrealistic and unfair. You didn’t know Stephen King when he was struggling with rejection letters and feelings of inadequacy. Of course it looks effortless from your perspective – you’re not in his head (thank God). I have had to force myself to stop comparing myself to my idols. 
Give yourself permission to try. It’s okay that you’re not successful right off the bat. You don’t need a film deal to be a novelist; you just need to love writing. As long as you are fulfilling that essential drive within yourself to create, nothing else matters. Honing your craft, improving your weaknesses, and learning to tell the best story you can will only happen if you continue to love what you’re doing. Otherwise, you’re going to be a little kid sighing over piano lessons and dreaming of doing something fun instead.