Rachel Spangler's Blog, page 27

In His Own Words

I feel like I should say something about the 50th Anniversary of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech.  As a writer I am so in awe some people who use words to change the world.  So in awe in fact that I haven’t been able to say anything that seems worth of the legacy of this speech, so instead I wanted to share the speech itself.  50 years later is still resonates and I cannot think of a more fitting tribute than that.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we’ve come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”¹

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest — quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

My New Office

So I wanted to take a week off from hawking my new release, Does She Love You? to talk about a different new thing I have in my life right now.  It’s a new office!

When Jackson starts school in the fall, I will spend a lot of time bawling my eyes out. Then at some point I will turn my energy toward the goal of becoming a full-time writer. To help foster this transition (and keep me from collapsing into a total bundle of sniveling weepiness), my wonderful wife has set to work on turning our guest room into an office for me.

The first part of the process began when Susie decided she could do better than the mismatched bookshelves in our guest room.  Aside from being cheap and limited in space, they also ate up a lot of our floor plan and didn’t look very nice.  So Susie built me a more uniform and space-saving system.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when this woman uses power tools?  Well, I love it a lot.  I also love the results, in this case a series of book shelves that run around the ceiling of my entire office.  I of course then put the books in order by genre.

Then Susie’s mother got us a beautiful wardrobe for Christmas.  It’s huge so we had to wait for her mom and sister to drive it out in a big SUV.  Then it languished on the porch for a while until our friends Peter and Dustin came to help us move it up the stairs.  Try as we might, it wouldn’t go, so Susie and I took the entire thing apart, carried it up piece by piece, and reassembled it in the office.  Whew!

But that wasn’t enough for my girl. Once she got it all together again, she converted the inside of the wardrobe into a work station for me.  She made a pullout tray for my laptop, a space for all my files, and various shelves for my diplomas, pictures, and supplies.  She made cubby holes for bookmarks and envelopes, and a drawer for pens, pencils, staples, etc.  She turned this antique treasure into a modern office piece that still looks like it belongs in a bedroom (when it’s closed).  Check it out!

Next, Jackson decided he was old enough for a big boy bed, so we moved the twin day bed into his room, and Susie fitted the old crib side to serve as a headboard for a full-size bed for the office. I know, a bed in the office of a romance writer, let the jokes fly, but I do my best work in bed I have to be comfortable to write, and by the way our guests still need a place to sleep when they visit.

Finally, after hearing me talk for days about my endless jealously over the big dry-erase board Georgia Beers has in her office, Susie, the creative genius that she is, came up with a way to get me the same results without breaking her vision of the office or spending a dime.  She found a large, old  window in our basement, repainted the trim, and hung it on the wall in my office.  Voila!

We added the final touches by hanging pictures of me and other authors on the wall to help me stay focused on  the fact that I am a writer working in an office (not a childless mother crying in a guest room).  The final results are that we took a space that looked like this:

And turned it in to this:

And a space that looked like this:

And turned it in to this:

I’ve got a pretty awesome and crafty wife, no?

I’ve also now got a space of my own to start the very scary and exciting next stage in my life/career!

Does She Love You Reading for Bar Rag

Happy Friday friends,

Let’s fire up this weekend a little early. Sit back, relax, hell go ahead and put your feet up on your desk and listen to this reading I did for the Bar Rag last night.

Its always  good to chat with Andy who never fails to make me laugh and this time around I got to read a scene from my new release Does She Love You.  For those of you who’ve read the book, I hope you’ll enjoy this interpretation and for those of you who haven’t read it yet (why not?) I hope it piques your interest.

Best of all, this podcast is just a teaser for a full episode of Cocktail Hour we’re going to record in October to talk about the ins and outs of Does She Love You? and trust me you won’t want to miss that!

Go give it a listen here http://cocktailhour.us/archives/517

Does She Love You Trailer

So as you know, Does She Love You? launched at GCLS and got its wide release last week.  I’ve been promoting it here on this blog and on Facebook and Twitter and everywhere else I can think of, but one thing I haven’t done is do a trailer for this book.  There are a number of reasons, but the gist is that the story is really very complex and I’m a writer, not a visual artist.  The thought of trying to tackle an undertaking of that magnitude is downright daunting.

Thankfully my friend and fellow Bold Strokes Author Barbara Ann Wright is not intimidated by the things I am.  She is also a creative genius with a wicked sense of humor. She stepped in and she was cajoled offered  to do a trailer for me.  I could not be happier with the results.  Here, watch it and see what I mean.

Now seriously, how could you not buy the book after that?  I mean, it’s perfect!  I feel 99% happy every time I watch it and the 1% of me that’s unhappy stems from the fact that [SPOILER ALERT!] I didn’t put any dinosaurs in my book.

So, if you haven’t ordered your copy of Does She Love You? please go here to get the print version or here to get the ebook.  Then check out Barbara Ann Wright’s vast collection of awesomeness here.

Does She Love You? is out!

Did you hear me? Does She Love You? is out!!!

You want the print copy? Get it here!

You want the Ebook?  Get it here!

But for the love of all things holy, please get it now!

Seriously, what are you still reading this for?  You could be reading Does She Love You?!

I mean, I’ve already told you about the back story and the characters. Heck, I even gave you a free preview.  What more could you want?

More free preview?

I don’t know.

Okay, fine. You drive a hard bargain.

Here is the second scene from Does She Love You? to tempt you to buy the whole book:

If you haven’t read scene one, go here first, then read on:

“I want to go home,” Davis Chandler said over the music that wasn’t loud enough to be obnoxious but still grated on her nerves. Blake’s was little more than a neighborhood bar on a weeknight. Aside from the mostly male clientele, its brick walls, cheeky waiters, and eight-dollar burgers made it pretty standard fare for Midtown Atlanta. “Nothing’s happening here anyway.”

“That’s because we’re at a men’s bar, dear, and you’re the one who chose it. Let’s go to My Sister’s Room.”

“No. I don’t want to go all the way out to Decatur this late.”

“It’s only nine o’clock, Davis. You promised to go out with me tonight.”

“I did. I came, I saw, I got tired. And you’re not having fun either. Other than one diesel dyke playing pool in the corner, we haven’t seen another woman in an hour. Even you like more options than that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Cass said, giving the denim-and-leather-clad woman another once-over. “But there’s no one here for you, and I think you planned it that way. Why else choose a men’s bar on a Tuesday night?”

“It’s right around the corner from my house, I’m on a deadline for work, I wanted someplace that serves food, and—”

“You’ve given up on ever having sex again.”

“I haven’t given up on sex. I’m just tired of all the other crap that comes with it.” Ten years ago she probably couldn’t have imagined saying that phrase, but at thirty-one she was a little more level-headed, or maybe she just wasn’t having any sex good enough to put up with the awkwardness, disappointment, or heartbreak that usually followed.

“I don’t put up with any crap, and I have plenty of sex.”

“You told me the last woman you took home wore yellow dishwashing gloves the whole time.”

Cass smirked. “I didn’t say that didn’t have its charms.”

“Well, good for your open-mindedness, but I don’t want to wake up to lover-Rubbermaid every morning.”

“I didn’t wake up with her.” Cass seemed appalled at the idea. “And that’s your problem. You go into everything looking for the U-Haul.”

Davis sighed. “I don’t need a U-Haul, but all I’ve found lately are liars, cheats, and skeezeballs.”

“Maybe your standards are a bit high.”

“Possibly, but I’m done, Cass. No more spending the night with someone I don’t want to spend the next morning with, too.”

“What about that one?” Cass asked, nodding to someone who’d just come through the front door. “I wouldn’t mind having her for dinner, breakfast, and brunch.”

Davis intended only to glance over her shoulder, but a glance turned into a second look that edged close to a stare. The woman looked like a lesbian Prince Charming with her dark hair, high cheekbones, and sculpted jaw. Her black slacks and blue oxford were disheveled just enough to add a rakish edge to her business professional vibe, and the dimples encasing her smile when she caught Davis gawking almost did her in.

“So much for sleeping alone.” Cass’s voice brought Davis back to their conversation.

“What?” She turned back toward the bar and tried to sip her amaretto and Coke casually.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to suck on that eye candy.”

“Geeze, Cass, why do you have to go there right away? Why can’t I just say I’d like to get to know her?”

“You can, so long as we both understand you want to know her in the Biblical sense.”

“No,” Davis said emphatically. “She’s attractive, but that’s not enough for me anymore. She could be a pervert or a drug addict or married. I mean, really, why’s a woman who looks like her in a gay men’s bar on a Tuesday night?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came the sound of a woman’s voice over her shoulder.

Davis turned around slowly. “I’m sorry. Do you make a habit of eavesdropping on other people’s conversations?”

“I do, actually,” the woman said with a maddeningly confident smile. “It’s rude, I know, but really it’s the least of my faults, what with being a drug-addicted pervert and all.”

Cass snorted and raised her glass. “Well-played.”

The woman turned to the bartender. “I called in an order to go. The last name’s McCoy.”

“It’ll be a few more minutes. Want a drink?”

“Sure, I’ll take an amaretto and Coke.”

“You two have the same drink order,” Cass said. “I think it’s a sign.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” the woman said. “The true test would come if the bartender says, ‘We just have Pepsi.’”

“Shut your mouth,” Davis replied forcefully.

Prince Charming laughed. “Well, then, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“No so fast,” Davis cut in. She wasn’t about to get swept away in another pretty face, even one with dimples. “You never answered my first question. Why are you in a gay bar at nine on a Tuesday?”

“You mean aside from jonesing for an 8-ball?”

“Obviously.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m staying at the Wyndham down the road, and I’m sick of eating in a hotel room.”

That she could understand. She ate her fair share of bad food in lonely rooms, but that didn’t mean she was softening. “Why order the food to go?”

The woman crooked an amused smile. “Now you’ve caught me in my big perversion. I intend to take my sandwich and eat it in Piedmont Park because I like the way the skyline lights up the darkness from there.”

Davis frowned as she thought of a little grassy knoll where she liked to watch the sunset behind the high-rises. The idea of this woman she wanted to be suspicious of enjoying the same view made it much harder to keep her resolve.

“Order for McCoy,” the bartender called from the other end of the bar.

“Well, ladies, it’s been fun being interrogated by you. I hope you have a lovely night.”

“Sure, and any time you need someone to sass you into submission, come on back,” Davis quipped with the last of her resolve not to be any easy mark.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with another beautiful smile, and walked away.

Davis watched her go, wishing she’d made her invitation a little nicer. She’d just finished telling Cass she wanted to meet a woman she was actually interested in getting to know better, and yet she’d spent the last ten minutes pushing one away. Maybe her standards were too high, or her trust issues too deep. Was it so unreasonable to think single, attractive, socially adept lesbians still existed in Atlanta? There was really only one way to find out.

Davis slapped a twenty on the bar and faked a yawn. “I’m calling it a night, too.”

“Fine. Go. Both of you lonely bastards,” Cass said theatrically. “The night is young and so am I. I’m going to cuddle up to Diesel Dyke across the room and see how I like the smell of motor oil in bed.”

“You have fun with that, and be careful.”

“Me be careful? You’re the one about to go to the park at night with an admitted pervert.”

Davis feigned shock.

“Don’t deny it. Just go before she gets away.”

Davis kissed Cass on the cheek and headed out the door.

Prince Charming was only half a block ahead, walking slowly, and Davis took a second to enjoy the view before she caught up and fell into step beside her.

“All right. Well, if I’m about to go to the park with a pervert at night, we should at least know each other’s names.”

“Sounds reasonable, assuming I can trust you to give me your real name.”

Davis grinned. “I suppose that’s a chance you’ll have to take. I’m Davis.”

“Nice to meet you, Davis. I’m Nic McCoy.”

*  *  *

There you have it folks. Don’t say I never gave you anything.  I just gave you a peek into a book I am tremendously proud of. I sure hope it was enough to pique your interest because I am just dying to hear what you think of the finished product.  Have I mentioned you can now order said finished product by going here?  Oh, I have?  Well you can’t fault a boi for being thorough.

Two Weeks Until Does She Love You: And the winner is…

Jackson picked our winner this morning and the  free pre-release copy of Does She Love You? goes to Jonathan Crowley!  Please e-mail me at Rachel_Spangler@yahoo.com or on Facebook with your address and I’ll get that in the mail for you.

As for the rest of you who were so awesome to comment on my last blog, fear not. I won’t let you go away empty-handed.  I’ve decided that for the next three weeks I will release 1 scene a week until you have the whole first chapter of Does She Love You? for your excerpted pleasure!  I hope that’s enough to pique your interest and make you head on over to http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com so you can pre-order your copy today.

So without further ado here is the first scene of Does She Love You?.

February

Chapter One

 Annabelle ran through her internal to-do list for the morning. She’d brewed Nic’s coffee and packed her suitcase, with the exception of her toothbrush. Nic’s suit was freshly pressed in a garment bag hanging in the hall closet, and her travel clothes were folded neatly in the bathroom. She loved these moments when everything was exactly how it should be, and she took pride in knowing the work she’d done helped provide a sanctuary for the woman she loved. She’d put off her next step long enough, but she wanted to let Nic sleep as long as possible, partly because, after thirteen years, she knew how grumpy she was first thing in the morning, but mostly because she wanted to keep her close for as long as possible. She finally pushed open their bedroom door and was struck once again by the blessing of still being in love with the woman in her bed after all these years.

Nic sprawled, one leg and one arm thrown over the pillow Annabelle had tucked beside her when she’d gotten up an hour earlier. Her lips parted slightly and her dark hair was pushed into a makeshift fauxhawk. Nic’s dark eyelashes fluttered slightly when Annabelle sat down lightly on the side of the bed, but she didn’t actually stir until Annabelle placed a gentle kiss on her temple. Nic snuggled closer to the pillow. The corners of her mouth twitched as if trying to hide a smile.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Annabelle kissed the dimple in her cheek. Nic closed her eyes tighter as she burrowed into their down comforter. Annabelle had to scoot farther onto the bed to kiss the only bit of skin still exposed, the top of Nic’s ear.

Suddenly, Nic sprang to life, wrapping one arm around Annabelle’s waist and the other around her shoulders. She quickly pulled her down onto the bed and placed little kisses along her cheek and neck.

Annabelle shrieked and tried to push her off. “You’re going to wrinkle my clothes.”

“Good, maybe you’ll take them off.”

“You’re so bad.”

“You love that about me.”

Annabelle rolled her eyes. “And modest, too.”

Nic zoomed in on the ticklish spot on Annabelle’s side and pressed, eliciting a giggle. “Say you love me.”

“You know I do.”

She tickled more vigorously. “Say it, Belle. Tell me you love me.”

Annabelle laughed and tried to sit up, but Nic quickly straddled her, tickling her all over now.

She could hardly speak through her laughter but managed to squeak out, “I love you.”

“What was that?”

Annabelle wrapped her arms about Nic’s neck and pulled her down until her lips brushed the ear she’d kissed minutes earlier. “I love you.”

Cupping her face, Nic kissed her in earnest. Annabelle sank into the mattress, unable and unwilling to resist. She surrendered to the familiar feel of soft lips against her own. Nic had always been able to shatter her resolve with a kiss, and she hoped that would never change.

They lay intertwined for too long, and yet not long enough, before Nic said, “I hate to go.”

“Then don’t.”

The mood in the room shifted. Annabelle regretted the words immediately.

Nic kissed her curtly on the cheek and got out of bed.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Nic padded into the bathroom, but she left the door open as she started to brush her teeth.

Annabelle stared at the ceiling until she heard the water running to rinse the sink.

“I know you work hard for us. I appreciate it. You know I do. I just miss you.”

“We’ve got a good life, don’t we, Belle?”

“Of course we do.”

“I hope you think so. I try to make sure you don’t want for anything.”

That was true. She had everything a woman could ask for: a four-bedroom house, a new Mercedes, a country-club membership, and any little bauble that caught her eye. Nic took so much pride in providing for her that she hardly had the heart to say she didn’t really care about any of it. She’d gladly trade everything for a two-bedroom apartment and a partner at home every night.

Nic came back into the room wearing her tailored black slacks and a sky-blue oxford shirt. “I know you get lonely. Why don’t you call your sister and go play some tennis at the club today?”

“Maybe I will, but you know I’d rather play with you.”

“Reserve us a court for Friday when I get home, and then I’ll take you out to dinner anywhere you want. But, if I’m going to be able to afford to keep you in the lifestyle to which we’ve both grown accustomed, I have to go.”

Annabelle got up and followed Nic downstairs. “You know you don’t have to do this for me. All I want is you.”

Nic looked momentarily frustrated but covered it quickly with a smile. “That’s not true, darling. You want a baby, and those little bundles of joy get expensive.”

“Oh, Nic, we’ve got more money in the bank than any of our friends.” She didn’t want to nag, but she was tired of petty excuses. She gestured as they passed through their expansive foyer to the large, open kitchen. “And we’re not lacking for space. How much more do we need?”

“I’ve actually thought a lot about that.”

Annabelle stopped in mid-reach for the coffee pot. She was always the one who broached these particular conversations, not Nic. “What have you been thinking?”

“Just that a senior vice-president of sales would be able to give her wife and child a pretty nice life.”

“Nic?”

“And I just so happen to be up for a promotion to senior VP this summer.”

“Oh, please, don’t joke.”

“I’d never joke about our future, Belle. You know I take my responsibilities seriously. I want a family as much as you do. If I put in the hours I need to now, we could turn the spare room into a nursery by next fall.”

Annabelle threw her arms around Nic’s neck and hugged her tight. “Really?”

“Really.”

She kissed Nic fully on the mouth, joy and love pouring out of her.

“Whew, woman.  You kiss so well, you make me forget where I’m going today.”

She took a hint of pleasure in the lust-filled gaze that clouded Nic’s sharp blue eyes, and her desire to drag her back to bed warred with her inner secretary. “You’re headed to Atlanta today, then Boston tomorrow.”

“Ugh, Boston will be wretchedly cold this time of year.”

She handed Nic her garment bag and a travel mug of coffee, sad the moment had passed but proud of her ability to keep things running smoothly. “When whoever’s in New England’s through with you, I’ll make sure you get warmed up properly, but you’d better get going or you’ll be late.”

“I see how it is. I just mention a baby and you’re ready to push me out the door.”

“No.” Annabelle shook her head and hoped Nic knew that wasn’t true. “I miss you so much when you’re gone, but the sooner you go, the sooner you come home to me.”

“Fair enough, Belle.” Nic smiled and kissed her one more time, then grabbed her suitcase and headed out the door.

Annabelle waited until her taillights faded from view before wandering back upstairs.

She needed to change her wrinkled shirt and make their bed, but instead she entered the room across from hers. She’d secretly considered this room the nursery ever since she and Nic had moved in five years earlier. The space currently held a four-poster, queen-sized bed with a matching oak dresser and nightstand, but Annabelle saw the space differently. In her mind, a crib stood against the other wall with a rocking chair instead of a nightstand. They’d put a changing table by the window and fill the dresser with clothes so tiny they’d make the drawers seem enormous in comparison.

Could her dreams really be so close to coming true? Despite her frequent assurances that she wanted kids as badly as Annabelle did, Nic had been hesitant to talk about the particulars of having a family. Responsibility weighed so heavily on her that surely she wouldn’t have broached the subject at all this morning unless she felt ready.

She closed the door as softly as if a sleeping baby was actually there. She had work to do around the house and errands to run, but they’d all be a little easier now with the knowledge that she and Nic were equally committed to the idea of family.

Three Weeks Until Does She Love You

Hey friends,

The good news is that we’ve only got 3 more weeks until Does She Love You? is released.  The bad news is you have to wait a whole three weeks!  Luckily I have received my author copies in the mail.  It’s a really special feeling to hold a book in your hands after over a year of work.  I honestly can’t even explain the pride I feel when I can flip through those pages and see the story I carried in my heart for so long unfold before me.  I think the only thing that tops that feeling is seeing someone else enjoy that book, which is why  I’m going to give away a free copy to one lucky blog reader next Tuesday!

Anyone who comments on this post before Noon on June 18th will be entered to win an advance copy of Does She Love You.  All you have to do to be entered into the drawing is go to the comments section and answer two questions 1) What’s your favorite Rachel Spangler novel and 2) What’s your favorite Reba McEntire song.  If you don’t have a favorite book of mine, that’s fine.  If you don’t have a favorite Reba song, then you better go listen harder.

I will autograph a book then drop it in the mail for the winner, and for the rest of you, maybe I can be persuaded to give you a little sneak peak next week so be sure and check back in on Tuesday!

Four Weeks Until Does She Love You

Over the past two weeks I’ve talked about the inspiration behind the plot of Does She Love You as well as my reasoning behind writing three main characters instead of two.  I had my plot and the people who drive it, but now I had to actually sit down and write it.   This is, of course, the hard part, and it was made especially hard because of the complexity of this story. I’ve always considered myself a storyteller more than anything else, but in order to do this novel justice, I had to focus on the craft of writing an unconventional romance.  Thankfully, at the time I began writing the book, I was also teaching my first college level class in romance writing.

A professor once told me that when she’d asked a fellow professor if he’d read a book, he replied by saying “Read it?  I haven’t even taught it yet.”  Funny, but sadly true in too many cases for me. I’d never formally studied romance writing. I had to go back and read classic romance standards, many of them for the first time, in order to discuss what makes them work with my class.  I had to learn to articulate the conventions of a genre I’d called my own for five years. I had to examine not only the core of what makes a romance, but also explore the outer boundaries of what a romance could include, and what it didn’t have to be if it didn’t want to.  I wanted my students to see that much of the “classic literature” they read in the English classes were actually romances, and I wanted them to understand that the genre offered much more freedom to them as writers than they would expect if all I knew about romance was the grocery store bodice rippers.   This process hopefully showed them the breadth and depth of the romance genre, but in reading, teaching, and talking with them, it also gave me the freedom to press the boundaries in my own work.

You see, a story about infidelity, broken trust, and double lives is not always happy.  It’s not always sexy.  Sometimes the characters are happy and sexy when they had no right to be, sometimes the story turns sad and painful while also inspiring a sense of hope and joy. Does She Love You is very much a romance novel. It more than meets the minimum requirements and ultimately serves as a very powerful argument for love’s ability to overcome anything, but it took me to some dark and decidedly unromantic places along the way, and I had to learn to accept that. This story was hard.  Hard to quantify, hard to live, and hard to write, but thanks to my students I didn’t write it alone.

On the first day of class I made a promise to the young writers before me.  I swore I would never assign anything for their writing that I wouldn’t do for my own.  When they did character studies, I did character studies. When they workshopped dialogues, I workshopped my dialogue with them.  When they wrote a sex scene, I wrote a sex scene, and always, always my work was published in our class folders alongside theirs.  They read this book as I wrote, and each one of them commented on my story the same way I did theirs.  As the semester progressed, I had to articulate not only how to do each assignment but also why it was important to the writing process, which was only fair to them but not always natural to me. Sometimes it meant examining habits I’d previously taken for granted.

One such previously unexamined area was setting. I’ve set romances in familiar places, foreign counties, dramatic landscapes, and in some cases really rooted my characters’ emotions to those locations.  It’s something I’ve generally done without thinking too much about it.  But simply telling students to write up a vivid setting and make your characters interact with it didn’t make for a very good lesson plan.  I researched setting worksheets and gimmicks, but I’d promised I wouldn’t make them do anything I wouldn’t do for my own story, and I wasn’t about to waste time filling out busy work. So, together we worked out the idea of a setting mock-up which combined not only visuals of the setting and the characters, but one that actually moved through the story with them, a cross between a collage and a storyboard.  These projects ended up becoming one of my favorite assignments to review with the students, and my own mock up became a valuable tool that I referred to at almost every step in my own writing process.  Like so many parts of our craft, we worked together to take a weakness and turn it into a strength.

No part of this process was easy, none of the planning or the writing or the explaining, but then again, I wasn’t writing an easy book.  I’m not sure I could have tackled such an emotionally heavy and technically challenging novel without having to teach my students to do the same. Learning to teach writing taught me to be a better writer. Suddenly, writing wasn’t just something I did anymore. It became something I knew, something I could share.

So, in the interest of sharing that connection between my career and my classroom, here is the setting mock-up for Does She Love You.  If you click through the Prezi, it will zoom in on the various quadrants that offer a snapshot of various stages in the novel.

http://prezi.com/gyqnms_w0hoo/does-she-love-you-setting/#share_email

I’ll leave the interpretation of those photos to you as you read the book.

And finally, no Does She Love You blog would be complete without some Reba

Five Weeks Until Does She Love You

Last week I introduced you to idea behind the plot of Does She Love You.  This week, I’d like to introduce you to the trio of women who drive that plot.

This first is Annabelle, Belle, Taylor.  She is a classic Southern beauty, with blonde hair and baby blue eyes. She’s got an hourglass frame with curves in all the right places. A blue blood daughter of a wealthy horse rancher, Belle had the world at her fingertips.  She didn’t have to work at all, but while at the University of Georgia, she refused to follow in her sorority sisters’ footsteps and get an MRS degree.  Instead, she studied to be a teacher and did so successfully until she fell in love with Nic McCoy, a woman short on connections but long on charm.  Belle stood up to her family and the rest of their country club set by not only coming out, but also by making a life and home with Nic.  She has taken her place in the upper echelons of Athens’ society circles, but she’d done so with her woman by her side.  Belle is fiercely protective of Nic and proud of what they have together. She’s a gourmet Southern cook, she plays a mean game of tennis, she keeps an immaculate house, and she enjoys playing the perfect partner to a businesswoman on the rise.  She’s so in love with Nic that she occasionally puts her own desires on the back burner, but she knows she’s blessed and is desperately looking forward to starting a family with her.

Davis Chandler is an independent woman.  Her natural wit and sarcasm has served her well while living on her own in Midtown Atlanta.  Some may call her jaded, but she knows what she wants, and she’s learned the hard way that most people won’t meet her standards.  She’s got a temperament typical of her bright red hair color, fiery, sexy, passionate.  A graphic designer, she’d got an eye for the aesthetic, and she embraces her modern urban surroundings.  She’s fit and lean from always being on the go and enjoys riding her bike through the city.  Davis has a big heart and never does anything halfway.  She wants to be able to apply that same drive and passion to a relationship. She’s ready to go after what she wants, but she won’t beg. She knows she’s worth more than the string of losers she’s met in the last few years.  She’d rather remain single than become a doormat for any woman.  She wants to play it cool when she meets Nic at a bar. Her experiences have taught her that a woman who looks too good to be real probably is, but Davis isn’t one to sit back and let life happen to her.  She dives in headfirst and doesn’t look back.

These two women were more than enough to keep any writer on her toes.  I loved them both from the beginning, to the point that I almost felt bad about making them fall in love with the same woman, but I knew they were both strong characters who could take anything I could dish out.  They were so full of life, so beautiful, and they offered each other so much balance I knew they could make it through, and what’s more, I knew could guide them along the way.  I got them, I saw them, I understood what drove them.  I knew I could find the bottom of their pain and that together we could find our way back.  I had such a strong connection to Davis and Annabelle from the very beginning, as if I recognized key components of myself in each of them, and I knew my readers would feel the same.

I had my full cast and my plot. I was ready to go, and yet I wasn’t going.  The ideas sat in my mind for weeks, stretching into months, and I didn’t know why.  I was happy with what I had to work with, and I really believed my readers could really pull for these women in this context. It should be easy, a nice clean, clear-cut story of triumph, if only I could write it.

I was still stuck as I arrived at GCLS 2011 when KG McGregor took the stage to give a brilliant keynote address on refusing to take the easy way out.  She talked about the importance of telling the tough stories, of tackling the hard issues, of exploring the darker aspects of ourselves.  It was an emotional speech, one that gave me chills several times, but more than that, challenged me to go beyond my heroes and look at the person I’d previously cast as little more than a very static villain.

Suddenly Nic McCoy needed a voice, she needed a backstory, she needed motivation.  She became more than a shadowy figure in my mind.  She became my fears, my darkest impulses, the person any one of us could become if boiled down to our basest instincts. Nic became the place where the toughest questions of the story get asked and sometimes answered.  Nic has everything any of us ever claims to want.  She’s good looking, she charismatic, she’s successful. Nic has all the qualities we as a society value.  She’s self-made, she never gives up, she’s never content to take second place when she could be first. She also has impulses every one of us could fall prey to.  She wants to be wanted, she fears failure, she likes to win.  She is, like Annabelle and Davis, a part of each of us, and I had to face that in light of the mistakes she makes, the pain she causes, and the damage she does to the women who represented the best in each of us.

Thanks a lot KG!

Once I added Nic to the trio, the story unfolded pretty rapidly, but it was no longer the simple, sweet romance I’d intended.  Does She Love You suddenly became the longest, deepest, most exhausting thing I’ve ever written.  The characters challenged me, they knocked me around and wore me out, but they also gave me an emotional pay-off like I’d never experienced before. I hope this cast of characters has the same effect on you.

 

Six Weeks Until Does She Love You?

How are we halfway through May?  Gah, even that isn’t right, we’re more than halfway through May!  I’ve been waiting and waiting for the right time to start talking about my upcoming release, Does She Love You? I wanted to make some big grand announcement. I wanted to be clever and cute and funny. I wanted to make you want to read it so bad you curse the long months ahead and work yourselves into a frenzy.  Alas, I did none of those things, and all of a sudden it’s more than halfway through May!  I now only have six weeks to whip you into a tizzy of anticipation.

Where does one even start?

How about we start at the very beginning. Julie Andrews once told me that’s a very good place to start.  And in keeping with that vain, Does She Love You? started with a song.  You see right now as a teenager I am was in love with Reba McEntire. It was my first full-blown, same-sex crush, even before I realized I was gay. I was a member of her junior stalker fan club.  I had all her tapes (yes, I said tapes) and videos, and I read her biography so many times it fell apart and I had to tape it back together.  She was smart and fierce and talented, and such a story-teller. Also, she’s a redhead. I mean really, need I even go on?  The point is, during my middle school years, Reba and I were inseparable.

One year for Christmas I got Reba’s Greatest Hits CD, which kicked off with a wicked cool duet where she and Lynda Davis sang about loving the same man. It’s dramatic and powerful, and when you’re a romance  writer teenager, high drama is oh so very appealing.  I listened to that song until I wore out the tape. And what’s more the video is super cool too, in that cat-fight-via-song way that puts the Sharks and Jets to shame like little boys caught playing a big girls’ game. Then to top it all off, the whole video ends (spoiler alert!) with Reba blowing the cheating husband and mistress to smithereens.  Reba don’t mess around.

The years went on, and I never lost my love of Reba, but other women came into my life.  I came out, dated and married. I started a writing career. Then I had a baby. That baby’s biological father is Southern gay man.  I adore him, but I often don’t get his references.  He and Susie talk about knitting, show tunes, wine, and composition theory. They use words I don’t know. They are besties, and I love to see them together, but I often don’t have much to contribute to the conversation, that is until Will fires up the iPod and flips it to his country collection. I feel for poor Susie when Will and I get going, because we will sing every song Reba has ever recorded.

It was on one such Reba overdose session when “Does She Love You” came on.  I remember it clearly: We were halfway between Raleigh and Greenville, North Carolina.  Without comment I took Reba’s part, and he took Linda’s (he is infinitely more likely to steal someone’s man).  We did not hit the high note, but we didn’t care. It was a true country queen-off, and we had fun with it.  As the song came to a close, we both admitted loving the drama of that song. And with a contented sigh, I said, “Those two should just make out with each other and be done with that cheating bastard.”

Will nodded absentmindedly. He tends checks out at the talk of two women together, but the idea stuck with me in a way that surpassed the fantasy images of Reba lip-locking with Lynda Davis. Within a few hours I had character sketches in mind. I could envision two power women, both beautiful, both compelling, both strong in their own ways, and both in love with the same person. The possibility for dramatic encounters were endless and so very juicy. The story worked its way into my heart like an old country ballad. It would be a long time before I had everything figured out, and even longer before I had the book written, but from that moment on, Reba and I were inseparable once again.