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Using the Pain

I’m veering away from bookly goodness this week to talk a little about my life beyond the page.

This weekend, I’m leaving the Sunshine State to drive north–a little further than normal. Next week I’ll be at the United States Military Academy at West Point as a guest at my father’s 50th class reunion.

1965CrestcolorWhen the planners of the reunion contacted me a few years ago, inviting my sister and me to attend in place of our father, I was glad to say I’d be there. After all, 2015 seemed a very long time away.  But as the time has crept up on us, and the reunion is more reality than it was, I have to admit to a little emotional panic.

I was close to my dad, and our bonds were built around books, a love for history and nostalgia, a passion for popular music and a shared enjoyment of football and baseball. Army football was the pinnacle for us; I can’t remember a time when I didn’t fully understand and fervently believe the phrase “Go Army, Beat Navy!” My father was a ’65 grad (Strength and Drive!), and for me, West Point, the old gray home in the mountains of New York, was always a touchpoint, no matter where we lived.

My mother and father dated all through his years at the Academy, so she always claimed to be part of the class, too. And she was.

We watched the Army-Navy game every year, mostly together, but sometimes only together in spirit, depending on travels and Thompson25688where we lived. I remember the last game we watched together; I’d stopped to drop something off at my parents’ house, and the game was just beginning. We sat in the dwindling light of a December afternoon, glum witnesses to the Army loss.

The following June, my father left this life on the 41st anniversary of his USMA commencement. That was not a coincidental date. It was a different sort of graduation.

The next year, my mother was fighting leukemia and about to go into the hospital for a stem cell transplant. My father’s class invited both my mother and me to be their guests at the game. My mother was thrilled, even though it was a bittersweet day for us both.

The following June, her funeral was held on the first anniversary of my father’s death, 42 years after his West Point graduation.

Next week will be the first time I’ll be at West Point since losing my parents. I’m looking forward to being there, to seeing places that are memorable to my husband (class of ’87 grad) and to meeting my parents’ friends. But I’m also dreading it. In a very real, I’ll be saying goodbye again.

We use our pain as writers. We use the grief, and we channel it into our stories. Even now, as I’m growing anxious about next week, what am I doing? I’m writing about it.

I had more than one person tell me that they thought I’d modeled Michael from The King Series after my dad. I didn’t do it consciously, but perhaps. There have been goodbye scenes that have come from painful days. And the dialogue between Ava and her mother, before her brother’s wedding, was directly from my own experience.

With everyone pitching in, clean up didn’t take long. My mother and I were leaving the restaurant, heading home, before I knew it.

            “I thought Daddy was coming with us.” I climbed in as my mother turned the ignition.

            “He’s riding home with your brothers. I wanted to have this time with just us.”

            My heart flipped over. “Oh.” I struggled for something to say, anything to keep her from talking about Liam and me. “I’m sorry the rehearsal was such a disaster.”

            “Not me! Bad rehearsal, good wedding. Trust me, it never fails.”

            She backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. “I’m happy for your brother. I love Angela like she’s one of my own. She practically is, as long as she and Carl have been a couple. This is a happy day. Tomorrow will be even better. But you know. . .” Her voice trailed off, and a sob caught in her throat. “Every happy day from now until forever will always have some sadness, because our Antonia should be here with us.”

            Tears blinded me, and I put my fist to my mouth. My sister had been on my mind all day: she should have been cutting onions with me at the table, making faces at the rehearsal, fussing over her daughter’s dress for tomorrow. But she wasn’t. All the places she should have been were empty.

            “I miss her every day.” My mother dashed at the tears running down her face. “Every day, I talk to her while I’m getting up, getting ready. When I go over to open the restaurant. When I drop Frankie at pre-school. But it’s worse on days like this, when everyone’s together.”

            “I miss her too, Ma.” I sniffed. “So much.”

            “I know you do. That’s why I wanted this time with you. My sisters, my mother, of course your father and the boys, they miss her. But not like us. And I needed to just be with you, and cry a little. Remember.”

            I reached across the seat and gripped my mother’s hand. “Wouldn’t she have loved all the family together today?”

            “She would have. But I’ll tell you something, she would have hated those pink dresses Angela picked out for all of you. Can you just hear her now?”

            And so we drove home, laughing through our tears, remembering, and somehow it brought Antonia closer to us again. I could almost hear her giggle and smell her perfume.

            When I climbed out of the car, still wiping away tears, my mother gripped me and pulled me to her for a hug.

            “I’m proud of you, Ava. Proud of your hard work and what you’re doing.” She stood back and patted my cheek. “Don’t think I don’t know things are hot and heavy with you and Liam. I don’t like it. . .but I like him. And I understand. I remember what it was like to be young. It makes me lighter to know you have someone who loves you like that.”

            “Ma, it’s not like that. Not yet. It’s new.” I glanced up to the light in my bedroom, where Liam was probably getting ready for bed.

            “Don’t tell me what I don’t know. He looks at you with love. When you know, you know.” She took my hand. “All right now, let’s go in, and watch your father and the boys pretend they don’t see our wet faces. Because don’t think they weren’t doing the same thing all the way home.”

Next week, while I’m getting through this time of remembering, part of me will be tucking away the sadness and feelings. They’ll show up in one book or another. They always do.

 

I’m Reading The Mistake by Elle Kennedy and The Friend Zone by Kristen Callihan

I was trolling the ‘Zon last week when lo and behold, I saw that The Friend Zone by Kristen Callihan had been released! I gobbled it up–you might remember that Kristen wrote The Hook Up which I’d found earlier this year. I was so excited to read this book, and it didn’t disappoint. I absolutely loved the relationship between Ivy and Gray and the easy way it developed. Both were well-rounded, believable characters, likable and real. I was thrilled with the bumps along their way and how they were resolved. It was a story worthy of the huge hangover it gave me.

I sighed as I finished, flipping back onto the home screen of my Kindle, and I blinked in surprise and then glee–because there was The Mistake by Elle Kennedy, the follow up book to The Deal. It was like a miracle . . . a reader’s miracle.

While I was enjoying it, though, I was surprised to come across a familiar name from another book. Drew Baylor? But he was a character in The Hook Up. I loved it, though–characters crossing worlds. How cool! So imagine how giddy I was when I reached the end of the book and found out about a very cool Facebook group that lets fans of some of my favorite authors hang out and chat!

The Locker Room celebrates the books and characters of Cora Carmack, Elle Kennedy, Kristen Callihan, Monica Murphy and Sarina Bowen. It’s a dream come true.

So to recap: this week’s books were both excellent follow-ups to the fabulous first books. Both were deep and sassy love stories, deep and realistic characters, men who make us all go ga-ga and women who are more than capable of kicking a little ass.

What could be better? So glad you asked. All Played Out, the Rusk University book I’ve been waiting for over the last months, finally hit my Kindle last night. You know what we’ll be discussing next Wednesday.

Sigh.

Signed,

One Really Happy Reader

A Little Posse Tease

Since we’re kicking off the Summer of Beach Lovin’, I thought we’d have a little Posse tease today. If you haven’t read this sizzling beach romance, grab it now, before the next book in the Crystal Cove series comes out in late June!

The Posse

The apartment over the restaurant was tiny. When she and Daniel had moved in after their wedding, it had been romantic and fun, finding used furniture, using mismatched dishes and pots and pans handed down from their families. Close quarters hadn’t been a problem. And even after Meggie was born, she had taken up so little space, and it had been handy to leave her sleeping upstairs while Jude worked in the restaurant, baby monitor hooked to her belt.

Since they’d moved, the apartment was more of a flophouse, Jude thought as she stripped off her shorts and T-shirt in the miniscule bathroom. It was a handy place to crash when the posse hung at the Tide and maybe had had a little too much to drink. The kids used it sporadically during their summers at home.

She’d considered selling the house and moving back here, right after Daniel died. The kids and her brother had talked her out of it, arguing that if she did that, she’d never get a break from work. They probably had a point.

Jude gave into the temptation of a quick shower, knowing her sister-in-law and friends were more than capable of running the show on their own for a few extra minutes. And it felt heavenly to let the water sluice over her, feel the grease and stress of the day slide down the drain.

Dressed again in a fresh shorts and a thin cotton tank top, she sprinted down the steps and ran smack into Logan.

She’d seen him that morning, of course, as she had opened up, but tonight he too was freshly showered, dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt that brought out a deep tan. His light brown hair was damp as it fell across his forehead.

He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Whoa, there. Where’s the fire?”

Jude felt that same disturbing skitter in her heartbeat that had been showing up whenever she saw him lately.

Logan, she reminded herself. This is just Logan, one of my best friends.

“The fire better be in my kitchen, under some burgers.” To prove to herself that she could, Jude tiptoed and kissed Logan’s cheek. “Glad you’re here. Ready to see my plan spring into action?”

Logan released her arm, frowning. Jude wondered if she’d upset him with the kiss.

“Seeing as neither of the necessary parties are here yet, I think I have a little while before show time.”

Now it was Jude’s brow that furrowed. “Matt’s not here yet? Or Sandra? Are you sure? I told them both five.” She scanned the room.  “It’s twenty after.”

Logan shrugged. “I heard there was traffic on the bridge. Maybe that hung up your friend.” His eyes lingered on Jude’s damp hair, wandered down her neck, making her acutely aware of the small rise of her breasts visible at the top of the tank.

She shook her head to clear it. “Did you get a drink yet? Sam’s supposed to be making one for me.” She didn’t wait for an answer but turned to head for the bar.

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Songs That Tell a Story

Last week, we talked about songs that are part of our stories, that become woven into our family or personal mythology. But what about songs that tell a story in and of themselves?

I’ve always been intrigued with those. I remember hearing American Pie by Don McLean and wanting to know more about Buddy Holly and how it fit into that story. I was a big Helen Reddy fan when I was little, and I loved that her songs often told tales–like Angie Baby, which was actually pretty scary. And how about the oldies that broke our hearts: Tell Laura I Love Her, Teen Angel, or Last Kiss?

I’ve always been a sucker for a song story that makes me sob. Exhibit A: The Last Game of the Season, arguably one of the saddest story-songs ever. If you haven’t heard it, take a listen here. But it’s a tear-jerker–you’ve been warned!

What songs captured your heart with a story? Which ones made you laugh, made you cry, stayed in your mind?

Life Beyond the Laptop

Most writers tend to be a tad introverted. Even those of us who like to hang out with other people on a regular basis often find ourselves in the midst of a shrinking world with the computer at its center.

And that’s not odd. When you consider that we write our stories, promote our books and interact with our fans there, it stands to reason that most of our hours are spent with fingers on the keyboard and eyes on the screen.

But every now and again, something happens to pull me away from my desk and out of my office chair, and I’m reminded that life does not revolve around the words.

For the past few weeks, my other life has been taking precedent over my writing life. I’ve had opportunities to socialize, meet new people from around the world and enjoy long conversations about topics that don’t cross my mind every day. Or any day.

It’s been both eye-opening and healthy. And while there’s always that itch at the back of mind to get back to the writing, I know that these brief interludes only make me a better and more well-rounded author.

So my lesson for today: no matter what you do on a regular basis, consider stepping outside that box today and doing something different. Go for a walk. Choose a new spot for lunch. Turn off the TV and listen to music. Opt to visit a friend instead of working that extra hour.

Embrace life wherever it leads you.