Synergy and Geekdom

posted by Nancy

As everyone who has ever watched a sports show (or read or written about one or just gone through a spelling bee in second grade) knows by now, there is no "i" in "team." I'm really tired of hearing this. It has become a cliché.

However, sayings often become clichés because they contain kernels of truth. So does this one. The obvious kernel is that teams succeed because the members subordinate the desire for individual glory to the good of the group. This appears increasingly untrue in the NBA, but that's not what this blog is about. It's about what I got from being part of a team.

Y'all know I have a weakness for teams--Legion of Super-Heroes, Justice League of America, Smallville, Brockmann's SEALs, Dee Davis's A-Tac, Laura Anne Gilman's PUPI. I love groups that meld into families while serving a greater good. Plus reading about hunky guys, brave women, and deeds of valor never hurts.

Teams have been on my mind lately because I just finished Nora Roberts' masterful and totally engrossing Sign of 7 trilogy. The heroes are three boys born at almost the same time on the same day who have been lifelong friends, brothers at heart, and whose innocent camping trip and blood brothers ritual on their tenth birthday unleashes an ancient evil on their town. For seven days every seven years, a big part of the town goes mad, and these three battle to contain the damage.

Two of the heroines are friends who've known each other since college and come to investigate the paranormal upheaval due to recur that year. The third is a woman who's mysteriously drawn to the town. They find friendship, love, and surprising blood kindship as the madness starts early and the danger escalates, building to a showdown that will determine their fates, those of the men they love, and that of the town.

What makes this trilogy so good is, first and foremost, the writing, for which I don't think Nora gets enough credit. She writes love scenes that are intensely emotional without being graphic. Her dialogue reflects the way people talk. Yes, she slips in and out of POV, sometimes for as little as a paragraph, but the important thing, I think, is that the shifts don't feel like head-hopping. They're smooth, not jerky. Of course I also love all her science fiction and comic book references. (I'm currently reading Tribute, in which the hero writes and illustrates graphic novels--how perfect for me is that?) The plot arc escalates masterfully over the three books.

These books deliver a special punch, though, because of the way she draws on folklore, numerology, and metaphysics, giving them her own spin, to add layers and resonance to the world and the problem in a way that is just bloody brilliant. The first book, in particular, is not only scary but look-over-your-shoulder-at-shadows creepy. I gave serious thought to waking the dh up at 3 a.m. to escort me to the bathroom though I ultimately decided to woman up and deal, not wake him up because I'd been reading a scary book. It is definitely a romance, but it tips the hat to some horror conventions.

As a reader, I found myself completely engaged, unable to stop reading even though I'm not normally much for scary books. My heart was breaking as we went into the last chapters of the last book, The Pagan Stone, and I had to see what happened, whether she was really going to pull out an HEA or this marvelous hero would die. As a writer, I got taken to school. The way she set up that ending, kept the suspense and the doubt and the dread growing, was masterful. She also inspired me to hit the library and see what I could find that would give more depth to my own paranormal.

In the process of fighting this curse, these six people become not only lovers and friends but a team, a fact that becomes heartbreakingly clear in the last book. Some of the things I love about the characters in these books and the other teams I mentioned, obviously, are their solidarity, their mutual support, and their affection for each other, even with full knowledge of each other's flaws. Who wouldn't want to be part of a group like that? But I also love the way their individual skills mesh, the way they not only give to but take and learn from each other, the way they appreciate and defer to each other's particular talents.

All of this led me to look back at the years when I was part of a team, officially designated as such. I was even the captain my senior year. No, I don't mean the pep band, though I found out, not long before graduation, that pep band was officially a varsity team sport (no letter, though, alas). I was on my college debate team, fighting with words, sparring over ideas, and I loved it. I stayed involved, traveling to tournaments as a judge for our school when I could (every team is expected to provide one, but you never judge your own squad), for two or three years after graduation.

While a fair number of people participated, there was always a nucleus of people who traveled most of the time. My junior year, it was my partner, Maria, and me in novice and Mark and Gordon in varsity. My senior year, it was mainly Maria and me. After I graduated, though, there were Bobby, Brian and Marvin. I have no genetic brothers, but these guys were the next best thing--and an invaluable resource on questions about dealing with their gender, bluntly honest because they trusted me not to quote them and they knew I trusted them to help.

Working on things together created a synergy of ideas and personalities and sparked things none of us could have come up with alone. We would go to rounds during the day, watch each other's schedules, try to grab each other if we knew something about a team our comrades were facing, and then pool ideas and argue strategy over dinner and in the motel at night. On campus, we'd wander into the debate room, toss arguments around, dig into government studies and congressional hearings (talk about dry reading--sand practically filtered out of the pages!), and look for new angles on that year's topic. Geek heaven. While all that geekiness was going on, though, I was learning some important life lessons.

For example, don't let stereotypes suck you in. At a tournament at The Citadel (which was then all male and provided cute uniformed cadets as timekeepers for the rounds), Maria and I discovered that we were to face a female team known to dress in form-fitting clothing. One of them actually wore a skin-tight top that had a big, red rose directly over her left, er, bust. We dressed in business attire, as our guy teammates dressed in suits. Worse, our judge for that round was listed (name changed) as "Jones, Naval Academy." Great, we thought. Just great. We're screwed before we walk in the room.

Oh, ye of little faith! I especially should've known better, as the daughter of a hospitalman chief and a WAVE. Anyhow, we walked into the room, set our stuff down, and turned to greet the judge. And Ensign SUSAN Jones, USN, gave us a courteous smile and a nod. Just like that, we were back to the merits. As we probably would've been anyway, I can say with a more mature perspective. Back then, though, we had the geek girl insecurity common when expecting to face off against sexpots in front of a guy.

I also learned that when you get clobbered, you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and move on. Intercollegiate debate, at least in those days, involved putting out as much info as possible in the time allotted for each speech. The faster you could talk--and enunciate, so the judge could understand you--the better. We were pretty good at it. Then, one day, "pretty good" ran into "light speed," and it was game over before we even got to rebuttals. I couldn't write fast enough to take notes, let alone reply to everything they said, nor could my temporary partner.


I remember sitting there afterward, dazed, knowing we had another round in 15 minutes, trying to get the synapses firing, and just getting fog. Eventually, however, a realization penetrated the fog, that if we didn't get it together, we were going under a steamroller again, regardless of whether the other team was even decent. If you don't get any arguments out, you're guaranteed to lose. Somehow we shook it off and went on, and we finished with a decent record even though we didn't make the elimination rounds. We were the only team from our school there, so we had no one to buck us up. I'd never been so glad to climb back in the college station wagon and head home. But it was a valuable lesson. Some people are not just better than you but way better, and you have to learn to deal with that.

I also learned to focus when fighting. It's about the issue. It's not about you. Or about him/her. Winning arguments address the merits, not the perceived or even actual personal defects of the opponent. You shake hands with the other team when you finish the round, just as opposing lawyers shake hands at the end of a trial, because, again, it's not personal.

I have to say guys are generally better about this than women, though there are plenty of exceptions on both sides. With guys, you can be blunt because they are, and you don't have to dance around what you mean and think of the 17 ways someone might decide you were actually being personally insulting so you can phrase your comment to avoid that. You can slam right back at a guy with as many reasons as you like about why his idea won't work, you can get up in his face when he gets in yours and harden your voice like his, and he'll respect you for it. Might use the B word behind your back if you're a woman, but he'll respect you.

Women, as a rule, not so much. Many women take any disagreement personally and then turn it into a personal feud. I'm happy to say most of the women I know are not like this. The banditas, in particular, are a joy to work on problems with--lots of respect for the opinions of others, openness to different ideas, trust that everyone's focus is the group, not her own ego, and unwavering willingness to let the one most skilled or experienced at whatever run with it.

I also learned, I hope, to be a good winner as well as a good loser. In my novice year, the varsity teams told us we could gripe all we wanted in the car going home (and we all did), but we'd better not say a single bitter word or cast a single angry glance on the tournament grounds. We should congratulate people who had beaten us or had finished higher than we had. Making friends on other teams who might give you a tip or appreciate one from you was more important than indulging your disgruntlement. We did make friends, other teams of amiable people we were glad to see and who were glad to see us, to hang out at meals, maybe have a beer, and help each other out unless or until we met across a lectern.

At my first big tournament, they announced the speech competition results before the debate ones. These were events like oral interpretation, impromptu speaking, dramatic interp, and so on. People in these events, guys and girls, had a tendency to squeal and jump up and down--not just a couple of times or for a few seconds but on and on and on--and hug their entire squad before going up to get their trophies (which were often tacky, though that tournament gave beautiful silver bowls to the winners). One of the guys informed Maria and me that we had better not ever do that because such behavior was obnoxious and winners should have a little dignity.

Like I said, blunt. But well intentioned. And when we learned, a few minutes later, that we had won the novice division, we were too blown away, too shocked, to squeal, anyway.

I'm not sure weeping your way through a thank-you speech, as I did at the Maggies, counts as having dignity. It doesn't meet my standards, quite, but I did hold it together enough to get the actual words out. And I did not jump up and down and squeal, hug all my friends in the room, or hold up the proceedings. Yet writing this makes me wonder what my old teammates would've said. One of them would probably have come out with some variant of "Jesus, Ms. Northcott!" ("Jesus, you people!" being one of his favorite statements to make in disgust at an argument) But, aside from doubting he cares much about romance as a genre, I think he would've been happy for me because a win is a win is a win.

Maria and I have stayed close over the years. I mostly lost touch with the guys but have recently reconnected with some of them over Facebook and the internet. Yet the affection I felt for them all has endured, as I hope theirs for me has. Meanwhile, I've been lucky. I found another team, one that won't graduate and split apart, the Romance Bandits. I can't wait to see the ones who're coming to Orlando and, together, drink a toast to the ones who aren't.

When I graduated from high school, my wonderful Latin teacher wrote in my yearbook, "tibi splendet focus," which translates as "my hearthstone shines for you" or, more prosaically, her door was always open. As mine always will be to my former teammates. And to my current ones, the Romance Bandits.

I'm giving away a mystery package of books I'll be picking up at RWA next week (hence the mystery) and a copy of Blood Brothers. So tell us one or all of the following--have you ever been part of a team? Do you have a surrogate brother or sister, a tight bond formed by choice rather than blood? Is there someone you've lost touch with but would immediately welcome?

Holly Cupala Visits the Lair!

Hosted by Kirsten Scott

Romance Banditas and BBs, we've got a huge treat for you today: the fabulous Holly Cupala, a brilliant writer and all-round wonderful person is visiting to tell us about her newly-released young adult novel, Tell Me a Secret. I got a chance to read it this weekend and I poured through it in a matter of hours. Couldn't put it down (except to grab a hankie, of course). It's no stretch to say that this is not just a book for teens -- this is a story anyone can love.

After you read our interview, please visit Holly's website at: www.hollycupala.com. She's got lots of great things going on there, including giveaways, video trailer, and more!

TELL ME A SECRET is a little bit mystery, a little bit romance, and a little bit family story. Can you tell us about it?

It’s been five years since Miranda’s bad-girl sister disappeared into the night and died in a mysterious crash. Five years of holding her family together – her drama-obsessed mother, her disappearing father. In just one year, she will escape to college on the arm of her boyfriend, Kamran, and disappear herself. Until then, she has a new best friend with the keys to unlock her sister’s secret world. But now Miranda has a secret of her own…two lines on the pregnancy test that will shatter everything she hopes for—and may even show a way into her own future.

Miranda, the main character, is a seventeen year-old pregnant teen. Are there elements to the story that you think will appeal to adult readers as well as teens?

Many of my readers seem to be adults—or at least, those are the ones who tend to contact me—and I’ve been amazed and grateful at the response. A number have said: “I haven’t stayed up until 2am for years, but I couldn’t put it down!” (I love that one, because I haven’t stayed up until 2am for years, either…at least not on purpose!)

The story has so many layers—the pregnancy, the loss of a sister, a difficult mother relationship, first love, perilous friendships—that I think it resonates on many levels. Every review and blogger response has honed in on something different, which makes me think readers bring so much to this story. I’ve heard it’s an intense emotional roller coaster!

What about your journey to publication? You originally wrote for children, isn't that right? How did you end up writing YA?

I’ve been all over the map, beginning with two teen romances…this, of course, was in eighth grade, before I actually experienced teen romance, but I had every girl in my class reading them page by page! Then there were tragic poems, and short stories, and I intended to write the Great American Novel—all the while working on an epic (ok, yes, you can laugh now) 1,600-word rhyming picture book text. When I got serious about making a career out of writing, I thought I wanted to write for kids. So I joined SCBWI (the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators), took classes, attended conferences, wrote a fair amount of dreadful stuff and even started to write some publishable stuff for magazines and anthologies. But none of it really plumbed any depths. Later I realized I was mostly writing for other people’s approval.

All of that changed when a tragedy struck our family—we lost our first daughter at birth. I almost quit writing, but some very good friends wouldn’t let me. A few months later, the idea for TELL ME A SECRET came out of nowhere. It compelled and terrified me. I knew it was something I was meant to write.

I'm so sorry for your loss, Holly. I must say, when I was reading the book it definitely felt like some of Miranda's journey came from somewhere very personal and profound. I'm sure it was emotionally grueling to write, not to mention sending it out for the world to see. After this, it must be hard to start something new -- or perhaps a huge relief. What's next for you?

Speaking of romance…the next YA, tentatively titled STREET CREED (HarperCollins, Fall 2011), is very racy—at least for me! It’s about Joy, a teen girl who runs away from home for secret reasons in the hopes of meeting up with a boy called Creed, who lives on the streets of Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. She falls in with a band of homeless teens…including the mysterious Creed. Every one of them has secret reasons for being on the streets, and Joy is forced to make a terrible choice. It’s gritty and tender, about what it means to love. And there’s this one scene…as I was writing it, I sort of panicked. My agent (a guy) is going to read this. Wait a sec, my *husband* is going to read this! But they took it rather well—they both really liked the book, actually! I’m excited to be working on edits now.

So, in the spirit of the Romance Bandits, I will share a little passage from TELL ME A SECRET…Kamran and Miranda’s first date:

“I have a surprise for you. Hop on.” Before I had a chance to ask where we were going, he fitted the helmet onto my head and slung on his own, then strapped our bags to the back. He mounted the bike and I wrapped myself around him, drinking in a musky smell with the faintest hint of sour-sweet.

As we wound our way through the streets, I couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of my body against his or the warmth I felt through every layer. We crested Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood, where the past met the present in a violent tumble of brownstones and mansions, transients and transplants, infinite varieties of colors and art and self-expression. We nearly collided with pedestrians, odors exotic and taboo, and a thousand visual feasts.

“That’s my parents’ restaurant,” he shouted, pointing to Café Shiraz, a hole-in-the-wall place with cinnamon and garlic scents emanating from the open door.

“Is that where we’re going?”

“Later, maybe.”

“Where, then?”

He grasped my hand with his nimble and smooth one. “Ask no questions, I tell no lies.”

Commercial buildings blurred into brownstone apartments then towering evergreens near Cornish College of the Arts. He turned into the campus parking lot and led me through the heavy doors and stained glass to the current art exhibit: Travels through Space and Time.

Later, over kebabs and hummus and his mom’s famous stuffed figs, we talked about light sources and vanishing points, MIT and Baird. He told me about his parents leaving everything to come here and start a restaurant, I told him about my parents disappearing into their work. I asked about physics. He asked about art. I stopped short of telling him about Xanda.

The office and basement were lit when we pulled up to my house—each of my parents in separate domains. Kamran and I sat on the curb under the rhododendrons, exactly the place where Andre parked his green Impala and Xanda disappeared into the night. We watched the sky turn from gray-gold to gray-plum, an echo of the paintings we’d seen at Cornish as we wandered the corridors, hand in hand. He was so close, I could feel the roughness of his jacket brushing up against my skin.

“So you never told me about your poetry.”

“Ah, right.” He grinned. “You mean when I was copying your artwork.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. So where is this so-called poem, inspired by my labyrinths?”

“Oh, that.” He ran his fingers through rumpled hair, olive eyes squinting through dark, dark lashes. “You don’t really want to see that.”

“Oh, but I do.” I felt out of my depth. Xanda would have pulled him close, felt the skin under his T-shirt, his waistband . . . for me, it was enough to be touching his sleeve.

He rummaged through a folder in his pack for a sheet of graph paper swirled over with that same tight handwriting. Sentences began in one corner and spread out like branches in a tree.

He held it aloft. “I don’t know if I want you to see this—it’s not actually a poem. Well, sort of. It’s more like . . . strings of possibility.” He sat down next to me, tracing his finger over the lines. “It’s all the things that could bring a person to this point—”

“A person?”

“W-well, two people.” Leaning over his shoulder, I caught only fragments: She follows a path, a labyrinth . . . A landscape of mystery beneath her lines . . . A girl seeking shadows, past and future . . . What secret she seeks, answers or lies . . .

The sentences curled away from each other until I reached the top, the one that nearly stretched off the page: . . . paths cross, time stops . . . then she and I would meet.

Those sentences uncloaked me, the same way I felt when he lost himself in my mazes—like he already knew me. The thought both excited and terrified.

“To what point?” I asked, my voice unsteady. I could almost taste the figs lingering on his breath.

Then our lips met in our own mad, messy kiss, tender and fruity, pomegranate fireworks, his hands cupping my face and mine warm under his jacket, noses bumping and chins tilting until he pulled away, the two of us existing in a moment of perfection.
It was then that I knew I could tell him anything—about Xanda, the labyrinths. Someday I might even tell him about Andre.

Thank you, Kirsten and all of the RB ladies, for inviting me to Romance Bandits!

And thank YOU, Holly, for visiting! I'll be mailing a copy of Tell Me A Secret to one lucky commentor today, and Holly's got lots of other giveaways at her blog. So stop in and say hello!

Summertime Blues

by Beth

My son had big plans for this summer. Having recently graduated high school, he planned on making the most of the last three months spent at home before going to college over 600 miles away. He had a full-time job and even worked more than enough over-time (a great opportunity to sock away money for college *g*) He and his girlfriend planned to head up to Lake Erie a few times and he had plenty to do with his friends - baskeball, street hockey, video games, graduation parties. Throw in a few family outings, picnics, trips to the drive-in and him wanting to spend time recording songs and his summer schedule was packed.

And then he came down with Strep throat. I mean, the worst case of Strep I've ever seen. His throat was so bad, even the physician's assistant grimaced she saw it. And it wouldn't get better. On his second trip to the doctor, a blood test revealed the reason why: Not only did the boy have Strep but, joy of all joys, he had Mono, too!

There went his summer :-)

Okay, not his entire summer, but a sizable chunk. Luckily, after spending a few weeks on the couch, he's feeling better and is back to work.

This reminded us of one of our favorite children's book: The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Vacation. The Bear Family set off on their vacation with all sorts of plans: They're going to fish and swim in the lake, eat delicious berries as they hike the trails and relax in a lovely, quiet cabin. Except...things don't go quite as planned. The cabin is a dump with a leaky roof, the lake is a muddy mess and there's nothing to eat *g*

I have to admit, I know how both my son and those bears felt. My own plans for a sunny, romantic honeymoon didn't quite work out. Yes, it was sunny. Too bad I got too much sun and ended up with sun poisoning. And then I got a rash from being stung by some sort of sea creatures. By the time we left, I had a cold, too.

Oh, and did I mention I got motion sick on the plane ride and my husband had to hold the airsickness bag for me? I still feel bad for the guy on the other side of me who tried very hard to lean away from the sick woman :-)

Have you ever had your summer, a vaction or any other plans derailed in a major way? How did you make the most of it?

Avery Aames Says CHEESE!!

by Kate
I'm thrilled to welcome Avery Aames to the Lair today! The first of her Cheese Shop mysteries, The Long Quiche Goodbye, is out this month and I know you'll love it!

Today, Avery wants to tell you all about a very special Love Affair she's having. Take it away, Avery!

Shhhh! I’m having a love affair with cheese. I think about it all the time. When I wake up, when I go to sleep. I dream about it. I crave it. I walk into a cheese shop and the scent of cheese makes my heart skip a beat. As I approach the cheese counter, I look over my shoulder to make sure no one’s watching because I know, yet again, I’m going to caress the cheese labels with my fingertips as I read the names: Roaring 40’s blue, Taleggio, Capriole Goat Cheese, Bonne Bouche, Baby Swiss, Butterkäse, Crème Fraiche, Pecorino Romano. The names roll off my tongue. A tuneful song comes to mind. I find myself humming a sexy tune. Face it, cheese is sexy, delectable, aromatic. No words can describe what I’m tasting, but people try: savory, brothy, salty, grassy, with the flavor of toasted-marshmallow, a hint of clover or hazelnuts.

I get to eat cheese. Every day of the week, if I want. Because I have to. [That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.] I have to, for research. Who am I kidding? I eat it because I love it.

Before I started writing The Long Quiche Goodbye, the first in A Cheese Shop Mystery series, I knew a little bit about cheese. I knew I liked it on pizza, in lasagna, and on a cracker. I ate the usual suspects, including Cheddar, Swiss, and Mozzarella. I liked to sprinkle Parmessan on my salads. It was cheese. It tasted good. Oh, and it had milk in it, so I was getting my calcium.

But when I had to learn more about cheese…for research…I forced myself to visit cheese shops. Forced? A herd of horses couldn’t have kept me away. Thanks to the help of some wonderful cheesemongers, I discovered that there were hundreds—no, thousands—of cheeses, from all over the world. I started wandering into every cheese shop I could, to taste, to smell, to savor. At one, I was treated to a piece of Tuscan Tartuffo. Sinful. I was advised to take it home and drizzle it with honey. This morsel was as good as any dessert I’d ever eaten. And a bite of Rosemary Crusted Mitica Romao? Taken with a dollop of chopped olive, it is downright decadent.

The heroine in The Long Quiche Goodbye, Charlotte Bessette, is on a quest to taste every cheese in the world. She is a woman who has had a love affair with cheese since she was a little girl, and as The Cheese Shop owner, she has made it her mission to introduce people to the world of cheese. Me, included. [Shhhhh. I haven’t told her I’m the one who makes her up. She believes she’s real.] She lives in the quaint fictional town of Providence, Ohio, surrounded by rolling hills, dairy farms, honeybee farms, budding wineries. Her delectable cousin Matthew is her partner and he runs the wine annex. Don’t get me started about wine. Pair a delicious Sancerre with a nutty Pecorino and fresh fruit and you might ascend to heaven.

Tourists flock to Providence to buy wares like Amish quilts and antiques and art. Fromagerie Bessette, or The Cheese Shop as the locals like to call it, is a hot tourist spot. That’s because Charlotte and her fellow townsfolk make Providence inviting.

Charlotte would particularly like to share her passion with one handsome farmer, Jordan Pace. Whenever he walks into the shop, [cue: Hollywood-style cowboy music] Charlotte’s heart flutters. Charlotte is thirty-something and not very confident around men. She wants to be, but when her ex-fiancee abandoned her in the middle of the night to follow a dream of being a chef in France, her confidence gave way. She dreams of having a full-blown romance, but whenever she finds herself in Jordan’s presence, she gets a little, well, you know…dreamy. She has to talk herself back down to earth to put a coherent sentence together. Jordan has only been in town a couple of years. Though a number of eligible women have tried to snare him, he seems to be happy living alone. He owns a huge farm where he provides a service for the community. [Now stop that. Not that kind of service.] He is the first to build an affinage center, a concrete structure buried into the hillside where he and his staff take on the aging process for some of the smaller farms’ premium cheeses. He’s normal, Charlotte thinks, so why does she believe there’s some mystery to his past?

Forthright in all other ways, Charlotte makes sure that she sets up meetings with the local farmers on a regular basis, if only to drink in the scent of Jordan. And she always has his favorite cheese, Cabot Clothbound Cheddar, on hand. During the course of the murder investigation in The Long Quiche Goodbye…did I forget to mention this is a mystery novel? During the mystery, Charlotte and Jordan grow much closer. Suffice it to say that, by the end of the book, Charlotte is not only dreaming about cheese.

So tell me, have you ever had a love affair that you wanted to shout to the world? Have you ever tried to keep it quiet? If you could set yourself in any town in the world, where would it be? Would you follow your passion? Would that passion be part of your daily life? And have you ever had a bite of cheese that you absolutely had to share with someone else?

To find out more about Avery and her Cheese Shop mysteries, visit her website at http://www.averyaames.com, or find her on Facebook, Twitter, and on two blogs: http://www.mysteryloverskitchen.com and http://www.killercharacters.com.

In Search Of Balance

posted by Loucinda McGary aka Aunty Cindy

About a year ago, I stumbled across an online site that calculated a more complete horoscope than just your sun sign. In addition to being a Sagittarius with Aquarius rising, one of my other important 'houses' (and of course I don't remember which one) was in Libra. Maybe this is why I'm constantly trying to find balance.

I have this tendency to go overboard (I know, I know, no surprise) in certain areas. And I've learned from vast prior experience that the "too much of a good thing" definitely applies to me. So when my natural enthusiasm (and any horoscope book or site will tell you, we Sagis are always enthusiastic) for something new gets a bit out of hand, I find myself working hard to counter balance.

In my everyday pursuits, I can often go too far in one direction or the other. I used to 'pull all-nighters' in the reading and writing arenas. Or I invested waay too much time and effort on a particular project. Or I decided to add avocados to very dish I prepared because they were just sooo darn tasty, and they were on sale so I bought fifteen!

Getting the picture?

So what has this got to do with writing? A few things, actually.

Back in the "good ole days" when I wrote in and around my Dreaded Day Job (where I invested too much time and effort), I started many a story. I LURVED the idea, the characters, the setting and I would rush home from work, nuke some dinner and write for an hour or two before I had to put myself and the child to bed. On the weekends, I'd spend every spare moment scribbling (yes, I had little or no social life).

This writing frenzy usually lasted about four or five weeks before I burnt myself out. Then after a few weeks of actually catching up on housework, yard work, and family obligations, I'd get another story idea and the same scenario would repeat itself. It was only after I left the DDJ that I learned how to balance my writing and the other aspects of my life. And I actually FINISHED manuscripts!

Alas, that was not the end of my balancing act.

Once I had finished the first draft and started revisions, the perfectionism set in. Maybe I have Virgo in one of my astrological houses too, because I could not leave my manuscripts alone. Actually, I wasn't so much a perfectionist as I was a tinkerer. Every time I got ready to send something out, whether to an editor, agent, or critique partner, I'd see something I just had to change.

It was only after I joined the ranks of published authors that I finally overcame my tinkeritis. Deadlines will do that to you. So in this case, it was a matter of finding my balance or DIE! (That's another thing about us Sagis, we tend to be slightly over-dramatic.) I gradually learned to embrace the mantra of 'doing the best I can at that point in time.' A much better alternative than adapt or die!

Now that I've moved into the heady realm of multi-published author, I'm struggling to keep my balance again. At this time last year, I'd just finished writing the first draft of Book #3 when I went to RWA National in Washington DC. While I was there, I signed copies and talked about Book #1, while at the same time I was planning the promotional tour for Book #2 (which started in August)! ACK!! Do you see why I was tipsy without tasting even a wee drop?

I survived that craziness none the worse for wear. But now I'm at it again! For the past three weeks I'm been on a wild and crazy blog tour for The Wild Irish Sea. Yes, it's been fun but also exhausting. Plus it has seriously cut into my writing time for my current work-in-progress. Oh, and did I mention I've also been on the great agent search? ACK!!!

I really had NO CLUE how much more than simply writing a good story was involved in this publishing game. But, of course, now that I'm in up to my arm-pits, I'm not about to stop. Seeing my books on the shelf and hearing from readers who have enjoyed my stories is even better than those yummy avocados! But I desperately need to work on my balancing act.

This multi-tasking is highly over-rated!

So this is where I call on my Banditas and all the BBs for help. What do you do to maintain or regain your balance? Yoga? Color-coded agendas? Lamaze breathing?

Any and ALL suggestions are greatly appreciated!

Book Booty!

Book booty to give out today!

The winner of Maureen Hardegree's H'ain't Misbehavin' is Lady Graeye.

A copy of Patricia Rice's The Wicked Wyckerly goes to Louisa Cornell.

Congratulations to the winners, and thanks to everyone who stopped by.

Winners, please email mailing information to Nancy via the link at the top of the blog.

A Copycat Party

by Christie Kelley

Did you ever feel like a copycat? When I read Anna's post for her release party for the Mammoth Book of Regency Romance, I couldn't believe how similar it was to the one I'd planned and had already started writing for today. It's really not that uncommon a thing, especially in books. Haven't you ever read a book and thought you might have read it before, only to realize you were thinking of another author's book? I have...several times.

So here are the similarities in the posts:

I also have a short story in the Mammoth Book of Regency Romance, along with some fabulous authors like Anna Campbell, Elizabeth Boyle, Lorraine Heath and Barbara Metzger.

I'm currently traveling (cruising the Caribbean) so I might not be able to post much today. (Yes, that is a picture of the ship I'm on right now!)

My short story, The Weatherly's Ball is also a reunion story.

Like Anna, I'm also including an excerpt:


“It truly amazes me that anyone would invite Lady Townson to a ball,” whispered a female voice behind him.

“Poor Mrs. Billings felt she had no choice but to bring her into her home after the old lord died. After all, she is her cousin,” another woman commented.

“She should have stayed in the country.”

Fury washed over him at both the comments and at the idea that Tessa was at the ball. Had she seen him and dropped her glass? He almost laughed at the thought. The cold-hearted woman had probably only been flirting with another man when she let the glass slip. She was likely just trying to attract more attention to herself.

But watching her scamper off to the gardens had sent his anger even higher. It was high time he confronted her about what she’d done to him. With her living in the country, he’d never felt a need. But now that she had returned, he would deal with her. He strode toward the terrace, attempting to ignore the pain in his hip and the looks of pity from the people around him.

The cool April air was like a slap in the face after the stifling conditions inside the ballroom. The fresh scent of the evening air refreshed him. He moved along a row of rose bushes, the gravel crunching under his feet as he listened for any sound. The chilly temperatures had kept most of the amorous couples inside. A few torches lit the path as he ambled toward the brick wall to the back of the garden. He paused for a moment to listen to the rhythmic shuffle of pacing on the gravel path ahead of him.

He found her with her hand over her mouth, muttering, pacing, her eyes frantic.

“How can he be alive?” she whispered. “He was dead.”

He didn’t move for a moment but just stared at her, remembering exactly how she had looked five years ago. So beautiful it took his breath away.

With her red hair and blue eyes, a heart shaped face and curves exactly where a man wanted them, she had been one of the most popular girls out during her seasons. She had favored him with her smiles and her dances. And he had craved her attention. Now she had matured and sorrow marked her face. Could she have loved her older husband so much that she still missed him a year after his death?

“What are you doing here, Tessa?”

She glanced up with a gasp and shook her head. Tears trailed down her cheeks and her blue eyes looked like wet sapphires. “What am I doing here?”

“That was my question.”

She rose from her seat and stared at him. “You are supposed to be dead.”


And, I'm giving away a copy to one lucky person today. All you have to do is post a comment and you'll be in the drawing. The winner most likely won't be posted until I return from my cruise on the 24th.

Let Sven massage your troubles away today. The cabana boys are here to bring you a sweet drink so let the party begin!! Just don't have too much fun while I'm on vacation or I'll get jealous.

Have you ever felt like a copycat? Have you ever arrived at a party in a new outfit only to see someone else wearing the same thing? Or tell us about a book you felt was similar to another!

Marie Force Is In The Lair!

posted by Loucinda McGary aka Aunty Cindy

Welcome back to the Lair, Marie! So glad to have you with us again. Can you please tell us about your new release?

Thanks for having me back, Aunty! It's always a great pleasure to stop in for a visit with the Banditas. And I'm looking forward to seeing many of you at RWA!

Here's the skinny on Fatal Affair: On the morning of the most important vote of Senator John O’Connor’s career he is late—again. His best friend and chief of staff, Nick Cappuano sets off to O'Connor’s apartment expecting to roust him from bed and hoping he is alone. But what Nick finds is that O’Connor, the handsome, amiable Senator from Virginia, has been brutally murdered, and Nick’s world comes crashing down around him. Complicating the disaster, the detective assigned to the case is none other than Sam Holland, Nick’s one-night stand from six years earlier, the woman who broke his heart and haunts his dreams. With six years worth of unfinished business hanging between them and more than a few scores to settle personally and professionally, Nick and Sam set out to find the senator's killer while trying—and failing—to resist the overwhelming attraction between them that seems to have only grown over the years.

It soon becomes clear that the senator’s past holds secrets that not only led to his death but now endanger Nick and Sam as well. Working together to find a killer and to rediscover the love they thought they lost long ago, they must put the past behind them and build a future that offers a world of new opportunities for both of them—including an offer from the Virginia Democrats for Nick to finish the last year of John’s term. Find the book at http://ebooks.carinapress.com.

What other exciting things have been happening with you?

There's a really cool story behind the sale of Fatal Affair. When we put it out last year it didn't sell, primarily because editors were looking for a new couple in the second book, but I saw the series as Sam and Nick, their cast of supporting characters, romance, suspense and politics. Because I was already halfway through the second book I wasn't willing to retool the series idea at that point. So when I heard that Fatal Affair hadn't sold, I had to figure out what to do about that second book, Fatal Justice. After I had a big ole pity party, I decided to finish the book, which I did—a full year after I started it.

When Carina Press opened its doors last November, claiming that no great story should go untold, I figured why not? Carina bought Fatal Affair in February and Fatal Justice in May. Fatal Affair was released June 21 to wonderful reviews and in the latest issue of RT Magazine, I was named a Future Star of Romantic Suspense. From dead on arrival to future star in four months' time. Pinch me please!

Fatal Justice will be out in January. We've submitted the proposal for book 3, Fatal Consequences, to acquisition, and I've been chipping away at that as well as another contemporary I'm excited about. I guess my story with the Fatal Series just goes to prove that you never know what's going to happen in this business! I'm very excited to have the opportunity to write the series I wanted to write, and I'm thrilled to have connected with an editor and publisher that sees the series unfolding the same way I do.

What a FANTASTIC story about preserverence and believing in your work! Thanks for sharing that with us, Marie!

What are some of the challenges you've faced in writing your first series versus your stand alone titles?

That's a great question. As I begin book 3, I'm starting to feel the challenge of multiple characters and situations and relationships and plot lines. Remaining true to each of them is going to be a huge task. I was joking last week that I need to take a vacation to do a series bible, but since that's not going to happen any time soon, I'm soldiering through!

Here’s a little excerpt from Fatal Affair:

“Why haven’t you ever gotten married?” Sam asked Nick

“I don’t know. Just never happened.”

“Surely there had to have been someone."

“There was this one girl...”

“What happened?”

“She never returned my calls.”

Shocked and speechless, Sam stared at him.

“You asked.”

Tearing her eyes off him, she accelerated through the last intersection before the turn for the public safety parking lot. “Don’t say that to me,” she snapped. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

She pulled into a space and slammed the car into park.

He grabbed her arm to stop her from getting out. “Calm down, Sam.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She tugged her arm free of his grasp. “And save your cheesy lines for someone who’s buying. I don’t believe you anyway.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be so pissed right now.”

“Do you want to know what happened to your friend?”

With one blink, his hazel eyes shifted from amused to furious. “Of course I do.”

“Then you have to stop doing this to me, Nick. You’re winding me up in knots and pulling my eye off the ball. I need to be focused, one hundred percent focused on this case, and not on you!”

“What about when you’re off duty?” The teasing smile was back, but it didn’t steal the sadness from his eyes. “Can I wind you up in knots then?”

“Nick...”

Fixated on the drab-looking public safety building, he sighed. “We’re about to go in there and take John’s parents to see him laid out on a cold slab, and yet, all I can think about right now is how badly I want to kiss you. What kind of a friend does that make me? To him or to you?”

His tone was so full of sadness and grief that Sam softened a bit. “You were a great friend to him, and in the last twenty-four hours, except for the whole kissing thing, you’ve been helpful to me, too. Can we keep it that way? Please?”

“I’m trying, Sam. Really I am, but I can’t help that I feel this incredible pull to you. I know you feel it, too. You felt it six years ago—as strongly as I did—and you still do, even if you don’t want to. If we had met again under different circumstances, can you tell me the same thing wouldn’t be happening between us?”

“I have to go in now.” Her firm tone hid her seesawing emotions. “His parents are probably waiting for me, and I don’t want to drag this out for them. Are you coming?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door. “I’m coming.”


OOOO! Thanx for sharing that great excerpt, and for guesting with us today Marie!

Thanks you have having me, Aunty!

Now I have a question for readers: What do you think of a romance series with the same couple headlining every book? What are the things you like and dislike about this type of series? Thanks in advance for your input!

Feeling Like We Know Them

I struggled this month to come up with a topic about which I had something to say. I tried two or three and ended up erasing them all. I sat back and let my mind wander. What had I been thinking about lately? And then it hit me.

For the past few years, I've been a big fan of the Discovery Channel's reality show Deadliest Catch. Unlike many low-brow garbage reality shows, Deadliest Catch actually has a ring of reality to it. Each week, we're taken on a journey into the deadliest job in the world, crab fishing on the volatile Bering Sea. I'm amazed at what these guys face just to keep the world in crab legs. They fish in hurricane force winds, huge seas that will tip a boat without thinking twice, and crippling ice that can sink a boat in no time flat. They haul up crab pots while it's way below zero and they're soaking wet. It looks like my idea of hell, quite frankly.

But it's not the crab that interest me so much but rather the people who go out in search of them, their very human stories. We see so many sides of these guys -- the utter fatigue after working for 20 hours straight, the frustration when the crab pots come up empty and they're basically working for free, the jubilation when a crab pot comes up full, the thought and effort that goes into some of the best practical jokes on the planet, the grief when they lose one of their own (at a staggering rate of one person per week during crab season). We are witnesses to fights among the crews, injuries, near-death experiences, the stress captains constantly live with, family dynamics since many of the boats have multiple family members on board, and the sort of wild cowboy mentality many of these guys have. It's obvious from the start of the theme song -- Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive" ("I'm a cowboy, on a steal horse I ride") -- to the shots of the chain smoking and bleeped words.



To be honest, I probably don't have a lot in common with these hardy fishermen, and I think that's part of what makes Tuesday nights fun. I get to watch a slice of life I'll never experience, get glimpses into the lives of people who aren't just characters, who haven't gone soft with the ease of modern society. They're real, and over time you grow to feel like you know them even though you've never met. Sig Hansen of the Northwestern's hard-driving fishing style, Johnathon and Andy Hillstrand's hilarious senses of humor aboard the Time Bandit, the Harley-driving/rock-and-roll listening/tell it like it is lifestyle of Phil Harris on the Cornelia Marie and his insistence that he could smell crab farts (which met with much teasing). I can't tell you how many times I've laughed out loud at Johnathon's crazy jigs in the wheelhouse when the fishing is good or been on the edge of my seat as the Coast Guard races into horrendous weather to rescue a crew in trouble.

I'm the kind of person who gets attached to fictional characters even though I know they're not real. When Buffy killed Angel in season 3, I bawled like a baby! So when it's real people, it's even harder to watch -- and yet you can't stop watching. There have been deaths on Deadliest Catch through the years, but they were never among the featured crews. The boats going down emphasized that this is, indeed, the deadliest job in the world. You saw how it affected the crews we did see each week. And you prayed that this never happened to them. So far, it hasn't, thank goodness. But this season suffered a major loss anyway. In January, while in port at St. Paul Island, Alaska, Captail Phil Harris of the Cornelia Marie suffered a major stroke and had to be flown to Anchorage. He pulled through the initial surgery to relieve pressure on his brain and looked to be on the mend before he suffered a second event and passed away in early February, leaving his sons Josh and Jake, deckhands aboard the Cornelia Marie, to keep his legacy alive. For a guy who wasn't hot on a cameraman in his wheelhouse in the early years, it was amazing that he asked to see the cameraman who'd become his friend while he still couldn't talk. He wrote on a piece of paper to keep filming, that "you have to get the end of the story." And thus, we witnessed the final days of Phil Harris and all the raw emotions felt by family, friends, his crew and fellow captains. Just thinking about that makes me want to cry.

And I'm not the only one who felt this way. Millions of people love this show, these crews, Phil. They've converged on memorial services and shed tears, filled online message boards to bursting, and watched Phil's final few episodes to the tune of 5 million viewers -- astounding numbers for a cable show. Phil provided endless hours of entertainment, but perhaps one of the most important things he left with viewers was the knowledge that we should cherish every day because we never know when it might be our last.

Rest in peace, Captain Phil.

Dum Dum da Dum

by Tawny

I get to attend a wedding this weekend - my husband's cousin is getting married. YAY!! I love weddings. they are both a beginning and an ending. The beginning of a life together, and for most romance novels, the end of the story (note, I didn't say the end of the romance *g*)

When I think weddings, I immediately think romance. Shocking, I know. Romance author on a romance blog thinking weddings are romantic. The promise of forever, the beauty of the ceremony and all of the lushness and pageantry.

Like romance novels, there are so many possibilities for a wedding. The hero and heroine are front and center, but it's the bride (our heroine) who sets the tone for the story. Romantic or sophisticated. Beach babe or nostalgic. Sexy or sweet. She really does epitomize the genre of the wedding.

The secondary characters begin with the attendants, as many or as few as the bride needs. The guests, the father of the bride, the potential conflict and drama. From the tears to the applause to the distractions, the secondaries are there to support the heroine and her hero, right?

And the setting. Oh man, the setting. So many times when writing, we're told that setting is character. The reception, the flowers, the food, the cake, even the music. They all create the world for our characters to live out their romance.

There are specific acts or turning points in both a book and in a wedding. The walk down the aisle and the beginning of the story. The ceremony - or the first meeting of the heroine and her hero. The first kiss. The first dance (oooh yeah baby!). The toast and the feast build the relationship. Thankfully most weddings don't have a dark moment, but you could say that wave good bye as they leave the reception in a cacophony of tin cans or old shoes is a good climax. And the resolution? How about opening all those wedding gifts *g* The oohs and ahhhs and realization that yes, this lovely heroine and her hero are ready to start their life together.

Tell me what you think - do you like your romance novels to end with 'the promise of marriage' (a proposal, a wedding, or something similar) or is the lovely dovey commitment enough to make you close the pages with a smile? When it comes to weddings, what's your favorite part?

And... the biggest question I mulled while writing this blog... if the heroine sets the tone and genre in a wedding... what --really-- is the role of the hero? I've got an inkling of an idea, but would love to hear yours!!!

Blarney Booty!

Sorry to be so very late with this post. Aunty has been so stressed lately that she wouldn't even know her own name if the other Banditas didn't keep yelling it at her!

Can't believe my fantastic launch party was almost two weeks ago...

So without further adieu, the commenter whose blarney carried the day was:
Pat C. with her blarney about the "him-acane!"

And because it was just about impossible to pick only ONE winner, I am awarding another signed copy of The Wild Irish Sea to:

Chris In Hawaii!!
Yes, any guy who will write a limerick to try and win a book for his wife is definitely FULL of BLARNEY! And Aunty means that in the nicest possible way.

Please send Aunty your snail mail info at the bandit email: romancebandits AT gmail DOT com so I can get your autographed books in the mail to you!

BIG THANX to everyone who helped make my launch party so much fun! Sven and the Cabana Boys are still muttering about it, and that's no Blarney.

I've Got Nothing to Wear!

Now, before you all grab your faces and shout “My eyes! My eyes!” I can assure you, I do have SOMETHING to wear to RWA conference in two weeks. I mean I would not want to be the cause of Mickey Mouse keeling over in shock.

Rags. All of it rags.

Ok, not really but one thing I always look forward to before conference is buying new clothes for the occasion. I have “adequate” clothing for the business end of it and several cocktail type dresses, sparkly heeled sandals with sparkle still left. But I like to get something new to wear. Something fresh, something stylish, something that will make me look like the perfect next bestseller. Chic instead of comfy. Satin instead of worn cotton.

Especially given the tropical setting of Florida. I wasn’t quite geared up for that but the idea of supplementing my wardrobe with fun colors and soft, flowing tops and dresses and sandals…dear Lord, don’t get me started on the sandals!! I HEART sandals (deep breath Joanie, deep breath)…was enough to make my credit card grin.

So, armed with this elevated enthusiasm, I trotted out to the malls. (Quick, somebody pick up Nancy…she hates malls). Macy’s here I come!

I ran in and headed for the Misses department, my eye keen for shades of teal, of royal or sea blue, navy, white and the occasional pink. Maybe even some white or black capri’s. ….a girl can never have too many. I circled and circled and circled…nothing. I stood in stunned silence. Everything was so UGLY!

The prints were loud, in startling shades of bright orange/yellow/green or incredibly dull shades of pewter or faded puce. Electric brown melded with globs of mustard yellow. I was in shock. How could one of my favorite stores let me down?

I dashed out to New York and Company. I can ALWAYS rely on them. Well, colors were good but the cuts of the blouses, the designs? Ack! Not made for this girl who is not 5’6 “ and
-80 lbs. I don’t even hold that against retailers because we all know that sizes are relative anymore. I take one size in one brand and a smaller one in another. But man...not even ONE top?

I scanned the racks for a dress. A casual, cotton knit dress to wear breezing around the Magic Kingdom. I searched and searched finally seeing one in the perfect shade of teal, the perfect cut, the ideal material.

I couldn’t catch the woman wearing it walking across the Food Court fast enough!

Hours I spent looking for the Orlando look, mentally taking an inventory of my closet. It will be too hot to claim Caren’s Chico jacket though Nancy’s jewelry is still an option. Those white capri's from last year aren't too worn out.

Came home with two pairs of sandals and a beach towel.

Sigh. I can always accessorize. Oh, Nancy!!!!

So, what about you all? Do you have a favorite store? A favorite brand? What works best for you, the tried and true or the impromptu shopping trip. If you’re going to the conference, have you found the perfect outfit?

It's Launch Party Time for The Millionaire Meets His Match!!

By Kate

I am beyond thrilled with the release of my first romance, The Millionaire Meets His Match! Adam Duke is the millionaire in question, and he’s Silhouette Desire’s Man of the Month for July. How cool is that?!

After a rough early childhood, Adam was adopted by heiress Sally Duke, along with two other boys. From their early childhood experience, the Duke brothers believe that love doesn’t last and leads inevitably to pain. They vow to each other that they will never get married. Adam is determined to keep that pact.

The poor guy doesn’t stand a chance when Trish James enters his life!

So now let's party!!!

A Night of Fantasy

I’m hosting our launch party today at the fabulous Fantasy Mountain Resort and Spa, the latest luxury property from Duke Development International. Hop aboard Adam’s private jet and enjoy a nice glass of champagne while you recline in plush leather seats.

We’ve left behind the Sacramento skyline. The beautiful California coast will be visible for several minutes out the left side of the plane before we make our way toward the mountains.

Ah, here we are, at the Fantasy Mountain airstrip. A quick limo ride later, and we arrive at the magnificent, six-story Arts and Crafts style resort.

Smile for the paparazzi! They’re here in force, as they always are for events hosted by the Three Most Eligible Bachelors of California. The Duke brothers are looking fine in their tuxedos.

There’s dancing in the main lodge, so get your boogie on. Call out your requests. The band knows everyone’s favorites, guaranteed. What kind of band? Whatever kind you like – this is Fantasy Mountain, after all. We can all dance to the beat of our own drummer.

When your feet get tired, pop into the spa for a relaxing shoulder massage from Sven or Konrad. (Or Ingrid, for those of you looking for the feminine touch.)

Don't forget to order your favorite cocktail from our cabana boys! And dinner will be served whenever you want it. We have a table just for you in front of the wall of windows looking out onto the mountain scenery. The staff is here to cater to your every whim.

Thank you again for celebrating with me! This has been the perfect way to introduce The Millionaire Meets His Match to the world.

And please visit my brand new romance website! It's katecarlisle.com/romance, and I'd love to know how you like it! Do you like the colors? Do you like the graphics? Is there anything missing from the site? Let me know!

Once you've got your cocktail in hand, I have some Red Carpet questions for you: What are you wearing? Will you be on tomorrow’s Best Dressed List, or the What Was She Thinking page? Who is your date? Who is the celebrity you most want to meet tonight? (Living or dead – We’re on Fantasy Mountain, remember!)

Money, Honey Fabio-ulous Prize Winners!

The photo: Fabio on the Prairie
(From Man of my Dreams, not Savage Thunder, much to the disappointment of my inner 13 yo who likes to make fart jokes.)

And the winning captions?

"Stop breathing so hard. The heaving bosoms in this book are supposed to be mine." --Janga

"I can't believe it's not a b--- j--." --Gannon Carr

And Ms. Hellion for the idea that perhaps Fabio isn't embracing this woman so much as using her to shield his manly bits after unexpectedly losing his loin cloth to a fierce prairie wind. Which would explain both his look of extreme gratitude & her look of "Whaaaa?"

Email me at susan@susansey.com with your snail mail address, & I'll get a copy of Money, Honey winging your way!

I Will Survive... and Other Anthems

by Christine Wells

Music is very important to me in a number of ways. I have a list of songs I play to get me in the mood to write. I love introducing my children to great music and I love to dance. I love cheesey 80s hair band ballads and smoothly witty Cole Porter tunes and head banging hard rock and most things in between.

And then there are the anthems. Those songs you play at certain times in your life when you want to dance with joy or wallow in self-pity. They can express your mood, heighten your emotions or sometimes even change them. Isn't that a powerful thing?

In the late (perhaps unlamented) television show, Ally McBeal, the neurotic Ally's therapist recommended that she get herself a theme song. Something peppy and positive she could play in her head to make her feel better. Music can be wonderful therapy.

So today, I'm going to share a few of my favourite anthems with you.

Songs to Brighten Your Day:

Shiny Happy People (REM)
Love Shack (B52s)
Right by Your Side (Eurythmics)

Songs to Celebrate Being in Love:

It's Only the Beginning (Deborah Conway)
This Kiss (Faith Hill)
Night and Day (Ella Fitzgerald)
Love Story (Taylor Swift)
I Don't Want to Miss a Thing (Aerosmith)

Songs to Help You Wallow:

Everybody Hurts (REM)
Fire and Rain (James Taylor)
I'll Never Fall in Love Again (Dionne Warwick)

Songs to Get Over Him By:

I Will Survive (Gloria Gaynor)
You're so Vain (Carly Simon)
These Boots are Made for Walkin' (Nancy Sinatra)
You oughta Know (Alanis Morissette)

Songs to Celebrate You're a Woman by:

Sisters Are Doing it For Themselves (Aretha Franklin & Annie Lennox)
I am Woman (Helen Reddy)
Man, I Feel Like a Woman (Shania Twain)

Songs for Australia Day:

Still call Australia Home (Peter Allen)
Under the Milky Way (The Church)
This is Australia (Gangajang)
Solid Rock (Goanna)
And no, I am *not* going to list Waltzing Matilda. Gah!

Songs to Miss Him By:

I Remember You--Love Letters in the Sand (Skid Row)
Don't You Forget About Me (Simple Minds)

Songs to Party By:

Let's Get this Party Started (Pink)
We Will Rock You (Queen)
Jungle Boogie (Kool & the Gang)
Dancing Queen (ABBA)

So what are some of your favourites? Do you have a theme song? If you had to choose one, what might it be?