Michelle Lowery Combs's Blog, page 5

Heir to the Lamp Signed Copy Giveaway

In honor of today's cover art reveal, I'm hosting another Goodreads giveaway--this time for a signed copy of Heir to the Lamp. Just register here with the Goodreads widget. Good luck! .goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; background: white; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget img { padding: 0 !important; margin: 0 !important; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget a { padding: 0 !important; margin: 0; color: #660; text-decoration: none; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget a:visted { color: #660; text-decoration: none; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget a:hover { color: #660; text-decoration: underline !important; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink { display: block; width: 150px; margin: 10px auto 0 !important; padding: 0px 5px !important; text-align: center; line-height: 1.8em; color: #222; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; border: 1px solid #6A6454; border-radius: 5px; font-family:arial,verdana,helvetica,sans-serif; background-image:url(https://www.goodreads.com/images/layo... background-repeat: repeat-x; background-color:#BBB596; outline: 0; white-space: nowrap; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover { background-image:url(https://www.goodreads.com/images/layo... color: black; text-decoration: none; cursor: pointer; } Goodreads Book Giveaway Heir to the Lamp by Michelle Lowery Combs

Giveaway ends July 12, 2013.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Spanx You. Spanx You Very Much!

Mention the word “Spanx” to a woman of a certain age and you’re likely to be answered with a “Thank you, Jesus!” Atlanta-based designer Sara Blakely’s creation, a kind of footless pantyhose and magical blend of nylon and Lycra, could be the best invention in the history of womanhood save L’Oreal’s Revitalift!


At age 42, according to the May 2013 issue of Forbes Magazine, Blakely is the world’s youngest woman to make $1 billion on her own. She’s filthy stinkin’ rich for good reason. I became the owner of my very 1st pair of Spanx, contributing $38.00 to Blakely’s fortune, this past week. I chose a mid-thigh number that I can wear under summer dresses and Capri pants.




I gave the Spanx a test run under a shortish Moroccan print dress I was considering wearing for my uber awesome book launch party next month. I couldn’t help marveling at how well the garment was smoothing and holding in place All that is me without a single jiggle. I looked like I’d lost a good 12 pounds overnight!

For the life of me I couldn’t understand why some women complain about wearing the magic undergarment during hot Southern summer months. I was feeling fine. No swampy Spanx for me!

I worked at my desk (happily and productively, in case Little Sister and Boss Lady Stacey Hardy is reading this post), went to a dental appointment and shopped for groceries at my favorite Winn-Dixie in perfect comfort for over 10 hours in my Spanx with nary a complaint. In fact, was that a refreshing breeze I felt every now and again as my dress swished a few inches above my knees?

When I was home with the groceries I realized that the Super Spanx must have also been exuding some of their powers on my bladder—I hadn’t had to go to the bathroom since getting dressed that morning. I made a mental note to insist that Little Sister wear a pair of the dandy Spanx the next time we travel together—it would be nice to make a 6 hour trip in under 9 hours, after all—and decided I’d better go on and try to “go”.

This is when I discovered my mistake. Seems the style of Spanx I’d selected for myself is crotch-less. Sure, I’d read the part of the packaging that insisted the garment was so sleek that it wouldn’t allow for visible panty lines under any outfit, but I hadn’t wanted to take any chances. I hadn’t worn any underwear.



Immediately my mind began to enumerate the masses that may have gotten an unintended glance at my naughty bits. There were my coworkers, but most of us are female and related. If they’d seen me expose myself they would have said so after they posted a video of the debauchery on Instagram and YouTube. There was my hygienist and dentist. Oh, God! I’d wriggled awkwardly out of the side of the elevated dental chair to grab my cell phone while my hygienist Pam looked on. Was this the reason Dr. Young hadn’t made eye contact with me? Hadn’t he garbled his customary “Good job on your teeth, see you in six months” before rushing from the room? Then there was the produce boy at Winn-Dixie. Dear Lord. How graceful had I been when I’d wrestled that 20 pound watermelon off the floor of the produce department and into my buggy?

What is the world coming to with Paula Deen using the “n-word” and your next favorite YA author (wink, wink) running around flashing her hoo-ha in the public open air as if she were Brittney Spears or Lindsay Lohan?

I’m writing to Ms. Sara Blakely of the Spanx Empire in ATL. I’ll be asking her on behalf of dentists, hygienists, stock boys, and young readers everywhere to more prominently inform buyers of her magic undergarments crotch-less design. Perhaps some bug-eyed or unconscious figures at the feet of the little cartoon lady smiling from ear-to-ear on the pink packaging?



My sincere apologies if you happen to be among any of my victims between the hours of 7 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. last Thursday. I promise it won’t happen again!

Time to DTR?

           Every now and then I'm asked not only by someone new that I happen to meet but even by some acquaintences I've known for years to DTR (define the relationship) I share with the many young people in my life.  While I consider the six children I've shared my home, checking account and my whole heart with nothing less than my very own,  I'm happy to oblige the curious--"my oldest" turned twenty-five in February after all, and I don't exactly want anyone walking away thinking I was Alabama's youngest tween mom.
         My latest request to DTR came from my publicist at World Weaver Press.  Seems she and my editor were curious about whether the "giant posse" in my novel Heir to the Lamp came from my real life.  My author bio is vague:  "too many children to count".  I was trying to be mysterious and not give the impression that I walk around dragging a wornout uterus behind me.  I've seen people look over my shoulder for just such a thing as soon as I've told them how many children I have at home eating every thing in sight with all the appliances and lights in our house on as if electricity is a new invention.
          Here's the low down:
          I became a mother for the first time in July 1998 when Michael Lowery and I welcomed our daughter Shelby Tate into the world.  In 2002,  Shelby got two brothers:  one 6 lb 7 oz bundle of joy Michael and I named Jackson and one 145 lb fourteen-year-old cousin named Shane who came to live with us after some difficulties with his parents.  I was happy to be the mother of a sweet baby to snuggle, a toddler that made me laugh, and a teenager that kept me on my toes.
          Fastforward a few short years to my second marriage.  Chris Combs and I had been a long-time couple as teens but went on to marry others.  In 2005, after our respective 1st marriages had ended, Chris moved from Georgia to Alabama with his two young sons--Christopher, 9 and Elijah, 6--and we combined our families.  I was now a woman with five children under one roof--a roof, in all honesty, that could have stood to be a whole lot bigger.  It was a challenge, sharing a mere 1,500 square feet with so many, but one that made me happy--this dispite Chris's and my never-ending battle to keep milk in the refrigerator and the washer and dryer running 24/7.
          I was content.  Shane was a senior in high school and Jackson was in Pre-K.  There was light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that is preschool tuition, and I'd have a few years repreive before the next round of driver's licenses, proms and college applications.
          Then I learned that I was expecting...again!  Danann was born in 2007.  I promptly begged Chris to run not walk to the nearest urologist for a vasectomy.  It is a testament to his love for me that he did not hesitate.  While under serious anasthesia, he even offered to let me do the job--this tickled his doctor to no end but, like a true professional, the man didn't send for me out in the waiting room.
          And there you have it:  the story of how I became a mother to five--er, six.  Sometimes I lose count myself.
          All of the children in the Lawson family in Heir to the Lamp are based on my real-life children.
         My little monsters really did starve to death the first pet I ever let them have.
         My younger daughter Danann aka Dahlilah collectively calls the older boys in our family "The Brothers" the same way that Ginn refers to her younger brothers as "The Terrible Twosome" in HTL.

(Danann with her BFF Gabby)
          Jackson, like Jasper, talked with a lisp when he was six.  He also cussed like a tiny sailor from the ages of four to seven, but I figured that tidbit to be inappropriate for children's literature.



(Jackson, the face of an angel and the mouth of a dirty sailor)
          Like Virginia, my older daughter Shelby is an athlete who bites her nails to the quick.  She's also a Homecoming princess and has a great sense of humor.


(Shelby with product placement for Dr. Pepper.  Where's my check?)
          My Elijah, like HTL's Eli, is crazy smart and mischivous.  He really did electrocute himself at school in the 5th grade when he cut a laptop cord with a pair of scissors.  Did I mention he's crazy smart?

(Danann, Christopher & Elijah)
         Christopher, aka CJ in HTL, is forever in trouble, but has a generous spirit and is my only child to thank me EVERY single night of his life for dinner.
          Like Sean, Shane is the consumate big brother, willing to help any of my other children out whenever they should need an accomplice.  He's dedicated, hardworking and fun.

(Shelby & Shane, Homecoming 2012)
          I drew on the real life adventures of my large family when writing my 1st novel.  Everything from the way my children came to me in unique ways to their highly indiviudalized personalities.  I'm thankful for all they've given me to work with as a writer.  Now, if only they'd learn to properly sort the laundry and leave me at least one Little Debbie cake in the pantry every once in a while.






         

Revenge Appalachian Style

     It's been a while since I've posted anything about what I've been reading.  The world isn't all genies and fairy tales and some of you might be surprised by the grown-up books I actually read in my free time.  Here's the low down on one I finished over Memorial Day weekend.


I’m a huge fan of books set in Appalachia.  While Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain is an obvious example, I’ve also written previously about Amy Greene’s book Bloodroot, about three generations of domestic strife in the form of the sometimes dangerous bonds between mothers and their children.  Silas House’s Clay’s Quilt, A Parchment of Leaves and Coal Tattoo are others I’ve enjoyed.  House’s stories also encompass three generations of a family in a place called Free Creek and have been called “a long love poem to the hills of Kentucky.”  My Old True Love by Sheila Kay Adams is a novel inspired by the ballads of the English, Scottish and Irish that settled Appalachia in the 1700’s.  Adams’s book is largely about a family whose men serve in the Union Army while their wives and children endure hardship and harassment from Confederate Home Guard during the Civil War in Marshall, North Carolina.  The narrative is rich with song and I loved the audiobook version for how it showcased these long-sung tunes in a unique way.  It was with these other much-loved Appalachian Mountain-based reading experiences under my belt that I turned to Ann Robbins-Phillips’s Revenge.


Based on an actual feud in the North Carolina mountains that culminated in the midst of the Civil War, Ann Robbins Phillips has used material from her own family’s past to tell a story of revenge sought by a man who witnesses the murder and brutalization of members of his family as a nine year-old boy.Hate rose like bile into my mouth and burned my nose and eyes.  Senseless deaths.  These were my family.  They weren’t necessarily Jackson County’s most honorable citizens, but neither did they deserve to die the way they had.  Right or wrong, to the last drop of my blood………..I’m ready to serve revenge where none has been dished out. --Nathe Watson Milsaps, Revenge
So begins Nathe Watson’s quest for vengeance against his family enemy the Hoopers.  While searching in secret for the men who murdered his family, Nathe takes refuge with a young widow named Addie Fisher and her two small children.  Ever fearful that he’ll be discovered by the Hoopers, Nathe and Addie endure the mountain hardships of sickness, fire and death as they work to resurrect her neglected farm.  Someone does know why Nathe has returned to Rich Mountain after ten years, and it could ruin everything, especially when it seems Nathe’s desire to reestablish a family of his own may be just as strong as his need for revenge.  There’s something he doesn’t know about the woman he’s come to care for, however—something that could make all the difference. I enjoyed portions of Revenge greatly.  The first chapter, for which Robbins-Phillips won a national fiction contest, is gripping and later scenes describing the tragic death of a small child and beloved character made me cry; they were emotionally riveting.  I very much liked all the characters in Revenge, and having a reader care for and thus become invested in a character is no easy task for a writer to accomplish so well.Despite the feud I knew the book to be about from the get-go, I hoped to read about creeks and streams, valleys and cottages built into the sides of rugged mountains that look down into “hollers” far below.  Setting is such an important part of Appalachian stories, after all, but Revenge is heavily dialogue driven.  There is so much talking going on that I found myself craving more description of the mountains and farmland Nathe and Addie work to revive.  Told in Nathe’s first person point-of-view, there are plenty of opportunities for the reader to see Rich Mountain through Nathe’s eyes, but Robbins-Phillips doesn’t always capitalize on those opportunities and that disappointed me a bit.  While the dialogue does propel the action of the story ever forward, there were times I found conversations between the characters to be a little stiff and formal.  Dialect is as important as setting in Appalachian novels and serves as a constant reminder of place and time.  When it feels wrong, it can pull a reader from the story and there were a few times this happened for me.  This was also the case with errors and typos that can mark the self-published title as such, despite a beautiful cover and impeccable layout. I gave the book 3 ½ stars on Goodreads.  If you’re a fan of Appalachia—the place, the people and their stories—then I think you’d enjoy Revenge.  If you appreciate the Hatfield & McCoy legendary feud, Revenge is also a book for you.  In fact, readers of Hatfield & McCoy books have been recommended Revenge on Amazon.com.Robbins-Phillips second novel Bad Blood is the sequel to Revenge and further explores the mistrust and betrayals of the Hooper and Watson families.  While it’s entirely common for these kinds of stories to explore the emotions and difficulties of mountain life, in the case of the Revenge series, these musings don’t just come from the imagination of the author, but from the imperfections of real people in her family history.For more on Ann Robbins-Phillips, Revenge and Bad Blood, please visit Ann’s website at http://annrobbinsphillips.weebly.com.  Author Ann Robbins Phillips

Careful or You'll End Up in My Novel

(photo credit:  kellieelmore.com)
Writers are weird.  It’s entirely true.  Most of us will readily admit that we’d rather sit quietly alone somewhere reading or writing when the alternative is an overwhelming room of hundreds of other people.  Sure, we’re social  and can hold our own in conversations that involve books, writing or a subject we’re highly engrossed in researching for our latest project, but we largely prefer to hover at the periphery of chit-chatty conversation—we’re studying your dialogue, don’t you know?As I type this post, I am surrounded by 200 student athletes and their parents at a banquet to celebrate a school year of sportsmanship and All-American competition, yet I am awkwardly separate and alone.  It won’t be until I awake around one or two a.m. tomorrow that my brain finally comes up with the perfect words I could have used this evening to insert myself into one of the small clusters of laughing and talking people at the tables all around me.  For now, I just look up every few seconds from my smartphone and smile like an imbecile at anyone in sight.My good friend and fellow writer Mary Weber Furlow and I share a theory that we, and most other creative people we know, are afflicted with at least some small degree of an Asperger-like syndrome that makes us over analyze and then feel uncomfortable about our “performances” in certain social situations.  What I have come to realize recently is, while this kind of insecurity has a tendency to make me stand out like a lump at a cafeteria table clutching her Android like a floatation device, it’s also what makes me and other writers good at defining the motivation, affects, and responses  of the characters in our work.So writers are weird.  Big deal.  I guarantee you we aren’t the strangest folks you’ll ever meet or sit across a table from lauding the achievements of teenage golfers, cheerleaders and football players.  Please, cut us a little slack and forgive our awkwardness.  And, while you’re at it, you might want to mind what you say to--or even near--us…unless, of course, you don’t mind ending up in one of our novels.

The Countdown Begins!

          In sixty-nine days, my 1st novel will be available to readers!  I feel like I've been pregnant for the last three years and an induction date has finally been set.


                                                    (image credit:  photostock.com)



          Like any expectant mother, I'm alternating between feelings of excitement at bringing something new into the world and worry for what the world will do to my little one.  Will readers hold this piece of me lovingly and with appreciation?  Or will they dropkick it into a corner and run screaming from the room?

          Ya'll play nice with my baby!


           Here's the official release from my publisher/midwife:

          
           http://worldweaverpress.com/news-and-blog/

Yes, Virginia, There is A Publisher!

I am thrilled to announce that my first novel, a YA urban fantasy titled HEIR TO THE LAMP, has found a home with World Weaver Press!  I can hardly believe those words.  My genie story, born of a desire to put some of the anecdotal stories of my favorite young people  (those I birthed and assorted others) on paper lest they ever forget accidentally starving a hamster to death or aspiring to be garbage truck drivers, is going to be published and available all over the world!

I can't stop smiling...or writing the book's Acknowledgements page in my head.  There are so many people to thank, but for now I'll start with Eileen Wiedbrauk and Elizabeth Wagner of World Weaver Press.  Thanks for giving Virginia and her wacky family a home.

I'll be passing along details about the publication and availability of HEIR TO THE LAMP as they become available.  Here's WWP's official announcement:

http://worldweaverpress.com/2013/04/11/introducing-world-weaver-presss-newest-author-michelle-lowery-combs/

Fire in the Tub!

I believe the Book to be a sacred object—the heft of one held tightly in my hands or lying open in my lap is a tangible reminder of how a person’s vision can be manifested into a physical thing, a way for the characters and places an author has imagined to inhabit our world in a real way.  My affinity for books, especially a new book, doesn’t end with the feel of it, though.  I like the way books smell.  If I’m very still at my desk at work and hold my head just right, I’m almost certain that I can detect the fresh ink and paper smells that mix so pleasingly with the scent of Joe Mugs coffee two blocks away at Books-A-Million.   It’s an intoxicating amalgamation of aromas that tempts me on a daily basis to leave Little Sister to take her own calls from solicitors and telemarketers for a couple of hours while I stumble drunk-like through the aisles of fiction at BAM.  In the new era of kindles, nooks, iPads and other e-readers, I have been hesitant to give up these favorite sensory experiences for the convenience and novelty of digital media…until Little Sister presented me with a Kindle Fire HD at Christmas, that is.Maybe Little Sister noticed that the ample bookshelf in my bedroom is always overflowing?  Maybe she suspected I tend to spend more money than I should on books that it takes me months to get around to reading?  Maybe she was feeling a little guilty over her Staples Rewards and Ebates-hoarding ways and therefore extra-generous?  Maybe she was looking for new means to keep me chained to my desk for a full work week?  Who can say for sure?  All I do know is that I am now hopelessly in love with an ultra-light, shiny black rectangle that smells like…glass.I’ve read or listened to FIVE unabridged titles since December 26th.  That’s more books in 16 days than I read the entire second half of 2012.   I’m like a junkie scoring a fix for as little as $2.99 every three days!  I’m not eating.  I’m not sleeping.  I walk from point A to point B clutching my new toy, snug in a protective leather case, like Charlie Brown’s Linus and his blankey!  I’m making great strides in plowing through my reading list.  Truth is I’m reading all the time:  at my desk, in the car-rider line at school, during half-time at basketball games—virtually everywhere except for my absolute favorite reading place of all:  the tub. All of my favorite books have watermarks at the bases of their spines—I only invite a really great book into the tub with me—and here is where my new love affair with the Kindle Fire HD is being tested.  How does one justify lolling in near-boiling hot water for at least an hour with a $300 electronic gadget gifted to her by her new favorite sibling?  I risked steam-induced water damage to finish Veronica Roth’s gripping Divergent several days ago, but sitting erect and leaning over the side of the tub to hold my kindle away from my body and tub water wasn’t relaxing in the least and I won’t be trying it again.  Print media in the form of traditionally published books will always have a place in my heart…and my bathtub.How about you?  Have you embraced e-readers?  Do you have a preferred device?   I’d love to hear about your reading experiences. 

Dads: The Ultimate in Dateable?

As a twenty-year-old my dating standards were off-balance.  A handsome face was #1 on my Dateable Checklist.  A job or even the pursuit of a job didn’t rank at all.  How was Mr. Right supposed to shower me with attention if he was spending copious amounts of time in classes or at work?  Second only to an honest-to-goodness career as a deal breaker, was a child.  Again, how was I supposed to be the center of some guy’s universe when there was a potentially adorable offspring walking around with half his DNA needing at least that much of his time and income?  A man with a child was un-dateable as far as I was concerned.Fast forward some years later (cough, fifteen), and I cringe with shame over those sentiments.  What an idiot!  These days I’m hesitant to date a man UNLESS he has children.  As a parent myself, how else can I be sure that a potential mate understands the rigorous, often unexpected demands of parenting unless he too has been vomited on by a teary toddler at 5:30 a. m. or had to run to Wal-Mart on a Sunday night for emergency fourth grade project supplies?  How can I know that he isn’t still living in the fairytale land of air brushed abdomens that exist only in the pages of his Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition unless he has real world experience with a belly distended by an actual human being growing inside of it?  How can I be assured that he is capable of being a sensitive and loving step-father if he isn’t already a great father to his own children?The answer to the question “So, do you have kids?” posed to a man I’m interested in getting to know can actually be an answer to countless others:  Ever seen a stretch mark up close and personal?  Can you appreciate the beauty of a breast that’s been suckled near constantly for thirteen straight months?  Do you know what it feels like to have your heart walk around outside of your body?  Is there a human being on Earth you would lay down and die for AFTER you’ve constructed him or her a perfect replica of a volcano that erupts on cue?I don’t mean to imply that there are no childless men out there that aren’t sensitive to women’s body issues.  Any one of those same men would most likely make an excellent father to a woman’s future children and/or a loving step-father to any children she already has.  Being childless doesn’t make a man un-dateable, but having a kid or three, especially if they love their Dad to the moon and back, definitely bumps him to the top of my list…just under Employed and Possessing 98% of his teeth.

Karate Chop to the Throat? I Volunteer!

                I’m a volunteer—have been one since coaching my first little league soccer team when I was sixteen.  I’ve given selflessly to kids for over half of my life as a coach, girl scout leader and cheerleading sponsor because I know for almost any activity a kid is dying to participate in, there’s a huge shortage of adults willing to sit through a couple hours of campfire songs, paper mache crafts, half-time choreography, or dribbling practice every week.  Afterall, we have other priorities like jobs, families to feed and other crap of our own to do on any given day.  I get it.                For the most part, my volunteer experience has been positive:  the kind of warm fuzzy-inducing stuff that makes all those scout meetings and practices worth it.  The light in a pair of eager eyes when a child learns that even they can make a difference, high-fives from sweaty little palms, being considered “pretty cool for somebody so old”.   A little girl on one of my 8 and under soccer teams once gave me a trio of children’s books about a horse before practice for no other reason than she thought I was a “freaking awesome coach.”                Every now and then there’s the bad apple that makes me question my commitment to community after I’ve silently counted to ten instead of wringing their little neck.  The brownie who told my daughter that she was pretty sure I was going straight to hell because of the sunshine tattoo on my back that I carelessly let shine during a troop meeting or the Junior B cheerleader who spewed an impossibly large mouthful of Gatorade onto the top of my head at a game because she “like couldn’t help it.  _____ made me laugh!”Even the parents of these little beasties get to me sometimes.  I can usually tell at our first meeting who my troublemakers will likely be.  The mom who introduces her son:  “This is Little Johnny.  I just need to tell you that Little Johnny is THE BEST player in the league.  I mean, he’s so good that coaches from the teams we played last year wanted him benched so that other kids could have a turn.  You’re going to make sure that Little Johnny gets to play as much as possible, right?  ‘Cause we want to win!  Ain’t that right, Johnny?”  Or the dad who says after shaking my hand for the first time:  “So, how much experience do you have?  I mean, my kid got pretty good last season and I just want to make sure she’s on the best team.  ‘Cause we want to win!”  Any parent who uses the word “win” within the first fifteen minutes of meeting me is going to be trouble 100% of the time.  It doesn’t matter that Little Johnny plays in an age division that doesn’t even use a goalie, where any snot box kicking a ball should be capable of scoring a goal or that Dear Ole Dad is operating under the fantasy that little league coaches are scouted and contracted based on their records and not some Mom or Dad extorted to coach or else their own kid isn’t going to be able to play due to a coaching shortage.In a perfect world the Volunteer—especially the Youth Organization Volunteer—would be worshiped and revered.  We’d walk with petals thrown at our feet in appreciation for all the campouts we’ve endured with 23 squealing tween girls.  Doors would open before us in gratitude for all the ADHD rugrats we managed to keep on a fifty foot rectangle for 45 minutes three times a week.  Jewels and crowns would be presented to us as recompense for all the parents we didn’t karate chop in the throat after some asinine statement about “winning”.  In a perfect world there’d be more of us to go around—more men and women who, when asked to take a troop, team or squad, said “Okay—I’ll do it.  They can count on me.  Sure I’ll never be caught up on my laundry, sit down for a meal away from the ball field until Thanksgiving or even have the energy to shave my legs, but I’m in!”  More of us to share the load would insure that those of us who’ve made the lifetime commitment to volunteerism don’t get burned out…or go to jail for assault.