Birthdays

by Joan

I’m not here. No, really, this post is a hologram sent to the Romance Bandits by way of Doolin, Co. Clare, Ireland. Even as you read this I’ve just finished a full Irish breakfast and am tooling along the Burren looking for dolmens, castles and the stray black haired Irish lad..and trying not to run off the road. You see today is my birthday. Yup, it's April 13th and NO I was not born on a Friday. I don't mind birthdays as a general rule though with being out of the country this year I avoid my brother's incessant teasing. I like birthday cake and cards and presents.

I like that my birthday falls in the spring. The whole renewal thing has an increased appeal this year. You see it's not just any birthday, it’s a Landmark birthday. (Which one, you ask? If you guessed 21 you are my new best friend).

Frankly I can ONLY refer to it as a Landmark birthday because to say the actual number out loud makes my eyes roll back into my head. Suffice to say that I decided that I would spend this momentous occasion in the most beautiful place God ever created—Ireland. Visiting the land of my heritage will ease the sting, soften the blow, help with the mind altering “I’m HOW *&$%# old?” (faint).

What? Huh? Oh, sorry. (Whew...no broken hip).

You see here’s a secret. I do not feel like I should be at this landmark yet. 50 is the new 30, right? I took a Real Age test online and it says I’m physiologically 6 years younger. I buy lotions and creams and serums to stay ahead of any outward indications of age progression. I regret with every free radical in my body that I was late coming into the wonders of olive oil. I thank my lucky stars I never smoked and with my fair Irish skin was never a sun worshipper. I exercise and eat better. I’m not particularly vain, but I want to look like I feel. I want to be all that I can be. (I do not, however feel the urge to join the Army.)

And what can I be? Well, a strong, confident, passionate woman who still believes dreams come true. One who believes she will be published, who knows she will find Prince Charming. An independent lady who uses her wisdom, her wit and her Aleve to feed the vibrancy that is her life.

And yeah….I LOVE the idea of being a Cougar! I am woman, hear me roar!!!!!

So Happy Birthday to me!

Meow.

What special thing did you do to celebrate your last “landmark” birthday? Note: We’ll only go back to age 13 :-)

PS to my brother: If there are a certain number of BLACK CROWS in my yard when I get home....grrrrr.

It's All A Game

by Joan Kayse

I have a critique group. Four ladies who I have bonded with not only as writers but as friends. We each write in different sub-genres—historical, romantic suspense, category and YA. Yet we all get each others writing and are there to help shape the stories, offer plot solutions, force the historical writer to get rid of the goat….

Ahem.

Anyway, we met this past weekend and spent a good thirty minutes reading the pages each had brought. But halfway through I looked across the table to find the category and YA girls playing football. No, not the kind with an actual ball but the kind played for decades by bored students in study hall. They didn’t have folded paper triangles but tightly wadded foil from every critique groups essential tool…Hershey Dark Chocolate kisses.

They became completely engrossed in the game and to be frank they amazed me with their skill. The category gal was especially adept at flicking the ball through an obstacle course of purple foil to score. The more they played, the more they laughed and the more I decided I needed to bring more pages to keep them occupied.

But their playing of this adolescent game got us to talking about other games we played as kids. Now you have to understand that we artfully dodged SOME discussion lest it date us as to our age.

While jacks and marbles were mentioned, I remembered more clearly those summer time plastic wonders. You know from Whammo or Hasbro. A favorite was a plastic heel you strapped onto your foot. Attached was a long string with a ball and you swung that around and jumped over the string as you would a jumping rope. It took skill, coordination and stamina. Sigh. Those were the days.

Remember Super balls? Man, you could not only put your eye out with those but if hit JUST RIGHT bean that annoying Mike L. in his backyard three houses down :-)


And Jarts. My cousin Bobby had those and we spent hours playing it. I can just hear child safety experts of today saying "It's all well and good until somebody pierces an aorta.". Spoil sports.

Hula Hoops, skates, Frisbees, rocks (Ever play rock school?), chalk for hopscotch, bubbles the "old fashioned way"...blowing.

What were some of your favorite toys as a kid? Tell us about them and especially any unusual stories. The person with the most memorable one will win a $10 Barnes and Noble gift card.

Hope Floats or Love by the Lockers

by Joan Kayse

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. There will be flowers and candy and little stuffed animals with goofy expressions distributed to thousands of special someone’s. Some might even send a singing telegram or pay someone to print their exclamations of love in the paper. How much you want to bet that there will be a high percentage of proposals wrapped in the red and white tissue paper of Cupid himself. All in the name of love.

But I’m not going to talk about that.

Well, actually I am but from a different perspective. I’m talking about unrequited love. You know, the type that is one sided, that goes unrecognized, that leaves an ache wrapped in hope deep in your heart. The most hopeful love of all.

It is hopeful, it really is. Occasionally, in an unrealistic way if you were to sit back away from the longing and analyze it. But I think the hope imbued in this type of love is the purest type imaginable.

What got me to thinking about this was a memory of Valentine’s Day from my childhood. Ok, sure in elementary school everybody got a Valentine. But there was always that one special boy that you would save the BEST Valentine out of the box for and take extra care to print his name just right. And when you received his in your red heart decorated paper bag you just KNEW he had taken the same care with yours…even if he gave the exact one to all the other girls.

Then high school came and with it lockers; the perfect spot for a “secret admirer” to slip a Valentine. For six periods your heart would beat just a bit faster, you’d chew on your lower lip as you punched in the combination. Your eyes would search for a pink envelope or the sparkle of glitter. When it wasn’t there you’d assure yourself that there was always next period.

At the end of the day after you had admired your friends cards and stuffed animals you gained comfort with the hope that there would always be next year.

Fast forward to adulthood and the hope takes on a different flavor. You hope to find “the one”, the man who will build a family with you, take out the garbage and kill the spidersJ. You meet some promising fellows; fall for their easy smiles, their wit, and their blue penetrating eyes. You practice being demure and flirt in an entirely sophisticated manner, of course ( and bake tons of cookies. That adage abou the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Not entirely convinced of that).You spend time with him and hope that he will look at you with the same conviction and promise that you are willing him to recognize in you.
Now as a grown up, you go to your mailbox on Valentine’s Day. You hold your breath when the flower delivery guy arrives at work with a dozen red roses. You hold your breath as he squints at the card and paste a smile on your face when he asks for Susan. You ooh and ahh at your friends engagement rings and their little stuffed animals. You clock out at the end of the day and you….hope.

Unrequited love is hard but the hope inherent in the “happily ever after” dulls the pain and helps you keep going, helps you believe that “the one” is still out there….just around the corner….waiting by the locker.

Have you ever suffered from unrequited love? What was it that attracted you to him (her)? What is the goofiest Valentine’s present you ever got?

The Hamster picture doesn't mean anything really, unless? Unless he's hoping the flowers will make an impression on his own true love :-)

It Started as A Quick Trip

by Joan Kayse

It was just going to be a quick trip across town to the Borders Book Store. I had the day off, a gift card from Christmas and a burning need to buy the entire backlist of a new author (for me anyway) JR Ward.

It turned into an obsessive quest.

I know, I know. How could I not have read the Black Dagger Brotherhood series already? Naturally backward, I guess. You're talking to the woman who had never read Nora Roberts until 2002 when on at her first RWA conference in New Orleans she was pointed out to her with reverent awe. "That's Nora Roberts," my friend said and I swear she bowed like an acolyte in her direction.

"That's nice," I remember thinking and noting she was wearing a T-shirt that said "Walking in a Wiccan Wonderland." Hmm. Must write about witches?

Then I read "Tears of the Moon" and bam....I was hooked. It took me all of maybe six months to catch up on her backlist. Haven't missed a new release since. And I discreetly bow in her direction at the conferences.

But back to my trip today. My critique partner gave me a copy of "Lover Eternal." It's got great characterization, she assured me. I knew it had to be impressive because my CP is typically not into vampires or paranormal books. So I began to read about Rhage and his brothers.

Characterization? In spades. Add in plot and suspense and soul deep description and no small amount of sensusal tension and you've got a brand new fan.

You know an author is brilliant when you can't stop reading even though it is 1 am and your eyeballs are falling out of your head. When you do force yourself to go to bed but keep wondering what happens in chapter twenty seven.

When you go to 3 different bookstores to get the backlist and actually growl at the manager of one who had NO COPIES OF HER BACKLIST.

I was tired. I had things to do. But I was not leaving the end of town that has all the bookstores until I got what I came for! Heck, JR even lives here in my hometown and I briefly wondered if she had any in her basement :-)

This type of author is the kind I learn from. This is the type of story/series that I want to write. Now if you'll excuse me there is, ahem, a "Dark Lover" waiting for me!

So are there any authors you've discovered by accident that caused you to go wild until you read her backlist?

I Love Paris... But Why?

posted by Aunty Cindy

Have you ever visited a place, and quite inexplicably you just loved it? I don't mean like Disney World, or the Indy 500, or even the county fair. Of course you LOVE those, but that's why you went there. I'm talking about an affinity for a place, usually a city, that's like a strong sense of connection.

A feeling of belonging.

A bond.

I've heard this phenomena referred to as "genetic memory." Something in ye olde DNA is sparked somehow. Now much as I like this theory, I can't quite buy it. At least not in my case, but I'll explain why in a moment.

The first time I ever got this feeling was in my late teens, and it was my very first visit to San Francisco. Chalk it up to youthful enthusiasm, but The City By The Bay remains one of my favorite places in the world. The only other American city I've felt so strongly attracted to was New York City. And I have yet to connect like this with any place in Asia. But Europe is that WHOLE NOTHER STORY...

The first time I went to Italy, I had about a dozen people tell me how much I was going to love Florence! In short, I didn't. However, the minute I walked out of the Termini train station in Rome...Badda Bing, Badda BOOM! Love at first sight! And every time I've set foot in Rome since, I've had the SAME FEELING! So much for that genetic memory theory, because as far as I know, I don't have one drop of Italian blood in me. And no other place in Italy has affected me that strongly.

So far, the only other city that has stirred this unconditional love-fest in me is Paris. This is doubly strange because not only am I not even a miniscule bit French, but I was prepared to NOT like the place. Let's face it, Parisiennes are not known for their friendly hospitality, and that first visit for me was a month after Princess Diana died there. My head was not in a 'good place' about The City of Light, but it didn't matter. Paris instantly stole my heart!

Now I'm about to see if that love is true. This time next week, your old Aunty will be jetting off to see London and Paris for a few days. I'll let you know if I still LOVE PARIS!

Have you ever felt that instant attraction to a city or place? Please TELL us all about it! Also, since Aunty hasn't been to London in over 20 years, pretend you are stowing away in my luggage. What do you recommend we not miss in good old London town?

Time Travel

by Joan Kayse

Last week I was off from work. I hesitate to call it an actual vacation as I had no wonderful trips planned or exotic places to explore. Oh, I tried. I hinted and slyly suggested to various friends that New York City would be fun. Hey, how about a weekend in Gatlinburg? Um, what about Chicago?

Sigh. No takers.

I consoled myself that it is was economically prudent and just good sense to spend some time at home and take care of business. Organize my desk. Wash clothes. Clean closets.

Bleah.

What does this have to do with time travel? Well, ends up my closets took me back in time to other worlds, places I’d been in my life filled with memories. Check out some of the items I found:

My report cards. Yup, every one from first grade to high school. Turns out I was horrible in math, marginal in the sciences but could read an eighth grader under the table by the time I was ten. I only got sent to the principal’s office once. (I’m sorry. Eddie G. called me a four eyed creep from the deep….he deserved that tack in his desk chair!) Those slips of paper reminded me of the simple times, content times, fun times.

Twenty five purses. Dear Lord, when did I ever need that many purses? I sure don’t have money to put in them. But there they were in all their crocodile, patent and Liz Claiborne glory.

Clothes from the ‘80’s. Passed out on the floor with these. WHY had I saved them? Are shirt dresses and big belts making a come back? What delusional world did I ever live in that made me think I’d wear that stuff again? Or more importantly, do I have enough hair to make big?

A box of Troll dolls. Don’t ask me why, but the handful of colorful fuzzy haired little guys just made me smile. They did NOT go into the Goodwill box. Neither did the little stuffed Taco Bell chihuahua.

A bag of multicolored balls of yarn. Not a lot. Probably enough to knit the chihuahua a sweater.

Now, lest you think my time off was spent deep in nostalgia land and dust bunnies I did find time to write. To exercise. To eat two bags of left over Halloween candy. Seven days of rip roaring fun.

But I ended it with a trip back in time with a visit to the Roman Art from the Louvre. It’s an exhibit not far from Louisville at the Indianapolis Museum of Art. Talk about time travel! The pieces were beautiful. Huge sculptures of people who lived in Rome so many centuries ago. Replicas of the way life was in the time period that is so near and dear to my heart. I was in Roman hog heaven.

It took me less than two minutes to leave my critique partners in the dust. I slipped from statue, to jewelry display, to sarcophagus, to glassware, to representations of the chariot races and gladiator games reading the descriptions and smiling like a loon. My hands itched to touch the smooth coolness of the white marble, to pick up a clay amphorae, (don’t try to get by those retiree docents….they’re brutal LOL). I wanted to run my fingers along the etched inscriptions.


Caesar, take me away!

As an historical writer, I could have no greater gift. I’ve never been to Rome (at least in this lifetime). I rely on books, the internet and occasional movie or television show to give me insights into the world of my characters. But here I could FEEL Jared, Damon and Bran striding along the Via Appia, looking at the intricate sculptures, drinking from the wine bowls, relaxing by a fountain (sigh). It also gave me my new motto “Dum Spiro, Spero” While I breathe, I hope~Cicero.

Well, maybe I did have a vacation after all.

What are some of the things we might find in your closet? What could you simply NOT throw away? Is there any place you have never been but dream about?

Just the Facts, Ma'am

by Joan Kayse

Just the facts. Wouldn't that make for a short and incredibly boring story? Boy meets girl. Girl saves boy from crucifixion. Boy saves girl from mad villian. They lived HEA.

What? That isn't just the facts? What about a crucifixion, you ask? Well, you're right. I dropped a kernel of description in there and it might have gotten your attention.

Many times on these blogs or loops we writers talk about point of view (POV), conflict, plot, etc. But there is another aspect that is often maligned. And that is the use of description.

Now, I'm not talking about a ton of backstory that drags the plot down. Or distracting purple prose that jerks the reader out of the moment.

Description in its best form enhances the experience of the character, sharpens the impact of the POV and...in the case of historicals....weaves a sense of time and place into the very fabric of the story.

Here's an example from my manuscript THE PATRICIAN'S FORTUNE:

They reached the bottom of the affluent Palatine neighborhood and turned toward the center of the city. Damon set a quick pace, navigating the twisting thoroughfares with ease. He knew this city like a man knows a lover. A boiling cauldron of arrogance, greed, and excess, Rome was the focal point of the civilized world, though Damon was certain a majority of the Empire’s conquered regions would hotly argue the point.

The crowds began to thicken as they continued down the Via Sacra and approached the two enormous pillars marking the entrance to the city center. Damon eyed the carved statues of Rome’s legendary founders, Romulus and Remus, circling their circumference. There were dozens of similar statues scattered around Rome, adorning public buildings, heralding a general’s successful campaign, an emperor’s benevolence, but this one had always been his favorite.

The famous twins faced each other, swords tightly clutched, expressions reflecting the stoicism of a conquering race, prepared to defend the nation they’d founded. Romulus’ free hand rested on the head of the legendary she-wolf who had suckled the abandoned infants. An omen the ill fated Remus, murdered by the brother who named an Empire, should have heeded. Take care who you trust. A lesson Damon had learned good and well. With Kaj flanking him, Damon stepped through the stone arch into the Forum.

The market was well designed. A large open area provided ample room for pedestrians and shoppers to go about their business. Weavers, jewelers, bakers, oil merchants, and pottery makers vied with tavernas and wine shops for their share of the citizens’ coin.

Street philosophers chalked their thoughts on the sides of buildings, some accompanied by unflattering drawings. Candidates for political offices spouted grand promises from stone block perches while those who had already been elected bustled about the business of government. Temples dedicated to one god or another stood wall to wall with brothels where, Damon mused, you were more likely to get your prayers answered than kneeling at an altar.

The city pulsed with life and Damon reveled in it. This was where he’d first experienced life after Jared had granted him his freedom. He closed his eyes for a moment, savored the sounds of bartering and badgering, inhaled the scent of spices and perfumes and—he cocked one eye open and looked at the painting of a pork hind gracing the side of a building—the butcher’s shop.

In this passage, I tried to show the power of the Empire as reflected by daily life in the epicenter of Rome itself....and my hero's connection and response to it.

Can you remember a description someone gave you about something? A trip or a gift or an event? Something that made you wish you had been there?