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Can we chat?

14183769_10154105636729145_3475893206531129845_nSo this is how it works.

I finish writing a book. I have about two minutes of absolute euphoria, and then reality hits.

This wonderful story, the one I’ve just dedicated my life to writing, the one that has wrung every emotion from my heart, now must be shared with the world, which means I need to work on the dreaded P word: promotion.

If you ever become exasperated, feeling you’ve seen the same post over and over or perhaps different posts about the same book . . . trust me, we authors feel the same way about promoting. It’s not our favorite part of being an author.

In my perfect world, I’d finish writing my book and then sit down with a group of my favor readers to chat with them about it. We’d get lost in characters and plot lines and so on . . . and at the end of our lovely tea, they’d go out and tell their friends about the book, who would in turn tell their friends . . . well, you get the gist.

Meanwhile, I’d sit back and work on the next book.

Now, though, my chatting takes place on social media. When I post a picture or a link, it’s my only way of telling people when to expect the next book. Live events are lovely and give me a chance to talk to readers in person, but there’s a limit to how many of them I can do. And so the internet it is.

Of course, I’m very lucky that I have my dear Temptresses with whom to speak. They let me go on and on about characters and stories, and I’m grateful. (If you enjoy my books and want to join us on the Temptress group, go here.) If only we could mystically meet up each time I finish a book and talk it out in person! They’re also awesome about sharing and twisting friends’ arms to get them to read my books . . . I adore their enthusiasm. It’s what keeps me writing.

Regardless of the opportunities offered on the web, nothing beats word of mouth when it comes to books. You telling a friend about a story that captivate you is more effective than fifty Facebook ads. Sharing your favorite reads is so important!

Well . . . since it seems no one is going to come bring me tea and chat about Days of You and Me just now, I guess you’ll keep seeing the pictures, the promos and the posts. If you feel spunky, shares are always appreciated, as are posts and tweets and emails . . . whatever does the trick.

That’s part of this author’s life.

It’s Hard to Have Faith on Fridays

{For a long time, I’ve had plans to write a weekly post on faith and what it looks like today. I even set up the category on my site here: Faith on Fridays. I hoped to begin at Advent last year, and then again earlier this year. For a variety of reasons, that didn’t happen. But this morning, I woke up and knew today was the day. 

I am an author, and my site is about that. But I am also a woman of great faith, and not allowing myself to express that in some form is not being true to myself. I don’t force my beliefs on anyone else, and I don’t ask that my readers agree with me. You don’t have to read this weekly post. But I have to write it. I hope you’ll stick with me through it, and perhaps comment and start a dialogue, no matter your background and your own beliefs.}

~~~***~~~

Cross on top of american flag symbolizing memorial day in United States

Last night, I was just about to go to sleep, skimming through social media for one last check before bed. I saw the first posts about a shooting in Dallas. This time, it wasn’t police shooting an unarmed black man; it was police who were being shot during a protest. I stayed up, watching CNN until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I went to sleep, they were saying ten had been shot and two were dead. When I woke up this Friday morning, the numbers had changed; twelve shot, five dead.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

Earlier in the week, I had been sickened and frustrated and angry about the two black men who were shot by police officers–one in Baton Rouge, one in Minnesota. I was horrified. This is America. On Monday we celebrated the anniversary of our freedom, of our proclamation that ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. All men. All women. Black, white, and every other color in between or beyond. Regardless of sexual identity, gender affiliation, religion, lack of religion and cultural background. All men are created equal. We have defended that peculiar notion for over two hundred years, we have bled for it and our soldiers have died for it. Yet we do not live it out. Not by a long shot.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

My faith is rooted deep, from seeds planted in my childhood, carefully cultivated by so many men and women and books who helped shape what I believe and in Whom I believe. I follow Jesus, who tells us that He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. I try my best to make my everyday choices reflect that belief. I know that He is still in charge. I know that He is the ultimate victor. I know who wins this war.

But it’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

Several thousand years ago, on a Friday in Jerusalem, a man of peace, a man of love, Son of God, son of man, of His own free will, gave up His life for me and for you (whether you believe it or accept it or not) in a shameful, horrific death on the cross. He’d been the hope of a generation, beloved of His many followers, and within hours, he was dead, laid in a borrowed tomb.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays.

If that were the end of the story, then what I believe would be futile. If that were the end of the story, then we could look around our nation and our world and have no reason for hope. If that were the end of the story, we should just give up.

But it’s not the end, because on Sunday, that tomb broke open and Jesus rose again, defeating death.

In the face of pain and horror and devastating loss, communities pull together. We support each other. We love despite differences. We embrace strangers. We march for peace. We hold our legislators accountable for making and enforcing laws that will make our nation safer and stronger, a country where ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL and are treated equitably and with dignity.

It’s hard to have faith on Fridays. But we hold on. We believe for a better day and a better way. We walk in His way, offering compassion and grace and love.

This isn’t the end. Love bats last, and there is not a single doubt in my mind about Who wins.

Keep the faith, even on Fridays.

Writers: A Higher Standard?

{This post originally appeared here three years ago. It’s a rerun because this week, this author is on vacation! That’s right, folks, I actually have a life. So enjoy a little blast from the recent past. It holds true even for today. See you next week!}

These days, I spend a good deal of time with other writers on social media sites like Twitter and Facebook.  It’s wonderful to interact with these creative minds, and most of the time, I really enjoy it.

tumblr_lvhuqruxUd1r1vzzeo5_r1_500But every now and then, I see a tweet or post pop up. . something along these lines:  “This is how my book got it’s title!”  Or “My characters love there story.”

Cringe worthy grammar issues make me. . well, cringe.

Am I too picky?  Maybe.  After all, these are just a few lines tossed out into cyberspace; it’s not the Great American Novel.

True. . .but shouldn’t authors, people who have chosen to embrace the written word as their vocation or avocation, be held to a higher standard? At the very least, shouldn’t we use the basics correctly?

My own personal biases are the least of the reasons to watch our grammar. As indie writers, we are already fighting preconceived notions that we just weren’t good enough to make it in the world of traditional publishing. I’ve encountered some traditionally-published writers who sniff (in their tweets of 140 characters or less!) that indie books are poorly written, poorly edited, amteurish imitations of ‘real’ books.  Why should we give them reinforcement for that argument?

You can be a writer even if you don’t know all the basic grammar rules, but you’ll be a better writer if you make the effort to understand them. Learn how to use there, their and they’re as well as its and it’s.  Study sentence structure.  And then pay attention to every tweet and post.  Yes, we’re all going to make mistakes here and there. That just means we need to proofread all the more vigilantly.

Writing well truly is its own reward. . .and the best revenge!

#Thursday Thoughts: A Chat With Vincent

So this happened yesterday, while I was writing I CHOOSE YOU, the third (and what is supposed to be the FINAL) book in the Perfect Dish series. (Yes, it started out as the Perfect Dish Duo. Now it’s a trilogy. But hold onto your hats. . .)

file4541298808299If you read JUST DESSERTS, you might vaguely remember Vincent, Ava’s brother. He’s not the one who got married in that book; he’s the brother who was single. Since I CHOOSE YOU is written from Ava and Liam’s points of view and is mostly about their wedding, Vincent shows up there, too.

I was just minding my own business. . .writing away, like a good author. . .and in strolled Vincent. Our convo went like this:

Vincent: Yo.

Me: Hey, Vincent. (continues typing)

Vincent: So another book about my sister.

Me (glancing at him distractedly): Yes. This is about Ava and Liam’s wedding.

Vincent: Why do they get another book? I thought the last book was theirs.

Me: Well, it was. But then people wanted to read more about them. . .listen, I don’t have to explain myself to you. I’m busy.

Vincent: But if you’re keeping track, Julia got Jesse. Ava got Liam. Even Giff got Jeff. My brother Carl got Angela. What about me?

Me: Yeah, what about you, Vincent?

Vincent: Why’m I still flying solo?

Me: Because, Vincent, you’re a side character. You’re not the main focus. You’re just there because Ava needed another brother to balance things out.

Vincent: But I don’t want to be left out in the cold.

Me (sighing, rolling my eyes and finally turning from the computer screen): Okay, Vincent. You want me to hook you up in this book? Fine. You can meet a bridesmaid or someone and get together with her. There you go.

Vincent (shaking his head): Nope. I want my own book.

Me (throwing up my hands): Vincent! I have no time for another book in this series. Honestly. Do you know how many series I’m juggling? Ongoing ones? Four. Four! And then there’s the non-series books I committed to write next year. Remember the historical romance set in Gettysburg? Does that ring a bell? And the stand-alone New Adult, and the middle grade book, and the big apocalyptic book that the kids’ve been begging me to finally get around to writing for them. . .oh, and the anthology for the King Series people. They’ve been waiting a long time.

Vincent: You can fit me in. I have faith in you.

Me (grumbling): Sure you do. Come back and talk to me in 2018.

Vincent (crossing his arms over his broad chest): Nope. It’s gotta be sooner.

Me: Even if I could fit you in somewhere, I have no idea who’d you end up with. There aren’t any more unattached females in these books.

Vincent (nodding smugly): Yes, there is.

Me: Oh, yeah? Who?

Vincent (leaning closer): I’ll whisper it in your ear. (proceeds to do just that)

Me: Really? Really? Wow, I never thought. . .but what about. . .hmmmm. Hmmmmm. . .

Vincent: Is that a good hmmmm?

Me (as my head hits the keyboard): It means you’re getting your own book, you big doofus. Now go away and leave me alone so  I can finish your sister’s book, okay?

Vincent: Sure. But what’s the book going to be called?

Me: I have no idea.

Vincent: It should be something cooking-related since I’m a pastry chef. Hot and Sweet? Rolling Boil? Simmer This?

Me: You’re not very good at picking out titles. Just saying.

Vincent: Hey! I got it. Just Roll With It. Get it? Roll with it? Like a rolling pin?

Me: Hmmm. It’s got potential. I’ll think about it. Now please go away and let me finish this book.

Vincent: Okay, I’m going. But I’ll be back.

Me: I’ll just bet you will be.

A Writer in the World: At the DMV

 

traveling_by_car_209233

A few weeks ago, I found myself in the DMV, or whatever its name is in the state of Florida. For the third time in my life, I was waiting while one of my daughters took her road test in order to earn her license.

As I sat there, it occurred to me that this is one of the most tense, anxiety-provoking situations that a parent experiences. Because, you see, there is nothing you can do. Your job is done. You cannot take the test for your child; you cannot even be in the car to provide moral support or words of assurance. You have to sit back, hope you’ve done your best to prepare her and try to keep the nerves from getting the best of you.

As a writer, I experience something similar every time a book is released. I’ve written the best story I can. I’ve revised, edited, revised again. I’ve had it formatted, chosen the best cover I possibly could. And then I release it out into the world.

I can’t go with it. I can’t be there every time someone buys my book to explain why I made the choices I did, why a character says what she does. I have to let it go and trust that I’ve done my best.

That day in the DMV, my daughter dashed back into the waiting room wearing a triumphant smile: she had passed. The hard work had paid off, and it was time to celebrate.

Since I’m gearing up to release a new book, I know I’ll be back in my virtual waiting room again soon. I hope the results are just as awesome.