Today I planned to post pictures from my new office. I even cleaned it this morning (somewhat), took a bunch of pictures, and figured out how to upload them to my iMac (very easy, wow!) What I can’t seem to do is resize them. All the pictures are huge and too big to upload into wordpress. And they would take forever to load on your computer, too. I don’t have a program on my Mac that is a photo editor. iPhoto doesn’t seem to want to resize anything for me (though I can edit the photos.) So I figured out who to export and thought that in Preview I could resize . . . nope. The only way I would be able to do this is to email the photos to myself (which will probably crash my email–see, I deleted them off the camera already) and bring them up on my husband’s PC and adjust them in photoshop, then write my blog there. But it would take me an hour at least, and I need to finish this book (SUDDEN DEATH.) They are revisions and I have the last 50+ pages to edit and a couple scenes to write and I want everything done by tomorrow. So we’re going to have to wait until next week for pics of my office . . . I’ll take new pictures on Monday after my fabulous housekeepers come in and make my office shine.

So I don’t have a blog topic for today.

I will share the fact that I still write better and faster when I’m not sitting here in my beautiful, nearly complete office. I don’t know why that is. I think it’s mental. No surprise there…I’m a bit of a mental case sometimes! I can write here, but it takes longer. Still, that’s better than last month when I COULDN’T write a word in this office. Now that my bookshelves are in, my books are in them, and I have some furniture and it feels like an office, I’m getting there.

But I did go to Starbucks last night because I really, really needed to get a lot of work done. And I may have to escape tonight as well. I really want to get this book done. I have another to write . . . and the littlest Brennan who starts Pre-K (4 year old class) on Tuesday is off for the next two days. I have Go, Diego, Go playing in the background (I have a tv in my office) and while I can blog, read emails, and even write up a blurb or read to the sound of television, I have a hard time writing the actual story. For that, I prefer rock. Hard rock. Loud

Oh, funny story. Yesterday was Brennan #5’s last day at preschool before the changing of the classrooms. If I’m late to the school, I have to traipse into the office, get them tardy slips, then walk them to opposite ends of the school (Kindergarden and 2nd grade.) I did NOT want to be late, and it was nearing the point of no return. I told all of them to get into the car (they did) and I finished up the lunches, grabbed my purse and ran out. We were halfway to the school when #4 said, “Number Five isn’t wearing any pants.”

Grrr! He was still in his pajama top, no bottoms because he doesn’t like wearing them to bed. Just a Mickey Mouse top and Buzz Lightyear underwear.

Fortunately, he had a change of clothes in his cubby at school and I dressed him there. He also had an extra pair of shoes in the car . . . I was lucky. Very lucky.

Next week starts sports. I’m doing sports through the school primarily because all the practices are after school, at school, and I don’t have to drive the kids everywhere. Brennan #1, in high school, already started in the summer, and her first volleyball game is tomorrow at 5. I hope to at least make half of it, but the little kids (4, 5, 7) have a hard time sitting through a full game. But we’re going to try. Brennan #2, junior high, starts volleyball next week. It was supposed to be this week, but the coach had a family emergency. Brennan #3–my smart and smart ass 7 year old son–wants to play golf. They have a special program at the school and I tried to get him into soccer or basketball, but he picked golf and he’s adamant about it. The thing is . . . I think he might be pretty good. He has incredible hand-eye coordination (video games) and he has patience. Brennan #4 is starting soccer. And #5 is too young. Thank God. Because I don’t know if I can handle any more! Next year . . . well, I’ll worry about that then. Because #5 is, out of all the kids, the one who NEEDS to be playing sports. He’s active and aggressive and needs to get rid of that energy.

One good thing about the sports program because it’s at the school, there’s three days a week I don’t have to jump up right before 3 to get the kids. They practice from 3:15-4:30 and that means I’ll have more writing time. Except for games, of course, which I don’t want to miss.

What does this have to do with writing? Hmmm, nothing, really, except time management. I can juggle family and writing pretty well . . . but don’t throw anything else at me or I’ll probably scream. Like my inability to post pictures of my office here. Next week. Promise.

Do you ever read a series of books, all in one weekend? Most of us don’t do that. And if you picked a series like, say, JD Robb’s series, you would be in big trouble, because there are like 49 kajillion of them. Or if you picked Stephenie Meyer’s series, those “Vampire” books, you might be struggling, too, because they are huge.

My daughter went to a dance convention last week, and it featured four dancers from the SYTYCD top 20. Those four just HAPPENED to be Utahns. We grow ‘em talented here in Utah. But at any rate, my daughter’s best friend was telling me that she met one of the dancers (a male) down at a studio where she was learning a solo, and they bonded because they were BOTH reading the Stephenie Meyer books.

“Yeah, and you probably BOTH want to be with Edward, too,” quipped my smart-ass daughter. Yeah, it’s the dance world. They get used to that early.

My daughter was telling me who men in the dance industry were, early in her life. “That’s Dave Dancer and his partner Tim Tango,” she would say around age seven, without a moment’s hesitation. (The names have been changed to protect the talented. We don’t really care which way they swing as long as they have rhythm.)

If you don’t know who Edward is, or Stephenie Meyer, climb out of that cave and check out her Web site. She is America’s answer to JK Rowling, and in fact, there is currently a little controversy because the latest Harry Potter movie has been delayed. Some believe it is to avoid coming out at the same time as the movie based on Meyer’s characters, Twilight.

I suppose that is possible. Why on earth would ANYONE want those movies coming out against each other? Sounds dumb to me. I THINK that one of the former HP cast members stars as Edward. Help me fans of Meyer. Am I right? At any rate, even though Stephenie Meyer hardly needs my help, go check out the trailer to the movie. It is TRES cool, and gave me the creeps, which means it is working.

So back to my point. Have you ever tried to read a series in a weekend? There are four Twilight books. Forty-nine kajillion Eve and Rourke books. And, um, THREE Jenny T. Partridge books. How about that? Have you ever tried to read THOSE in a weekend? Well, some people have.

This week alone, I received FIVE emails from readers telling me they read ALL three books over the weekend. Quite frankly, I credit all of this to a very ardent bookseller at a B&N around the Philly area. She is awesome, and I KNOW she is plugging those books. I know, I know, my FIVE emails are piddly. Stephenie Meyer probably gets 5,000 a week.

But it warmed my heart to know that people embraced Jenny. I LOVE Jenny. In a lot of ways, Jenny is me. Silly, funny, a little eccentric, and terminally poor. In a lot of ways, of course, Jenny is NOT me. While I danced through college, and continue to appreciate the art, I no longer engage in it. I am still in touch with the world, of course, through Dancing Daughter and the different studios I work for. And dance teachers are still pretty much all crazy. Except her new teacher and studio owner, who is eccentric, and lovable and who LOSES MORE PHONES than Jenny. Hard to believe, I know.

There were many hard feelings as we left our last dance studio. It felt somewhat like a divorce. People were saying nasty things, and texting nasty messages. Backbiting and angry words were spoken. And that was from the MOMS!

I put it behind me, because I know we made the right choice. The new dance teacher and studio owner may be eccentric and like Jenny, but she is also business savvy, and smart and kind, and she KNOWS how to surround herself with the right people.

Again, I have digressed and rambled, haven’t I?

Oh well. That’s what Jenny is known for, and frankly, as I admitted, there is a LOT of me in Jenny.

Writing a series is a lot different from writing a standalone, and I have loved the experience. Unfortunately, when you write a series, you get attached to the characters. And you don’t want them to stop having adventures. At least I don’t. And a few of my readers (five this week. Did you read that?) don’t, either.

And you know what? That is what keeps you going. That is why we write.

If you are a writer, WHY do you write? And if not, why do you read?

A while back, my husband and I went to Wendy’s for a Frostie. It was a hot evening, and we just wanted to sit and chat.

We got our frosties (or is it spelled frostys?), we both had chocolate and vanilla, and once we got our ice cream, we chose a high table with three chairs. The two of us sat across from each other, with a chair between us. We were talking away about whatever…our conversations run between the every day stuff of kids, work, the house, bills, to the weird stuff I could never explain.

In my peripheral vision, I see the Wendy’s employee carrying a tray heading our way. My husband’s back is to her so he doesn’t see her yet. Some part of my brain is thinking, “Hmm, woman over thirty working at Wendy’s. Empty nest? Divorce? Victim of downsizing? Second job? It’s just a small part of my brain doing a character profile.

Then the woman shocks me. She walks right up to our table, plants her butt in the third chair and drops the tray down on the table. She says something like, “I need a break from my boss looking over my shoulder.”

My husband and I were speechless. I just had no frame of reference to grasp that the Wendy’s employee had suddenly decided to join us.

I’ve handled some weird situations, and in hind sight, I know how I’d handle this now. But then—SPEECHLESS. My husband too.

Evidently, she realized that we just weren’t that friendly, so she got up and left, and sat down at ANOTHER table.

Okay, now I know why she’s working at Wendy’s. The woman clearly doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries.

This is such a little thing. We certainly didn’t feel threatened and no real harm was done. But I was annoyed. It just felt like a weird kind of invasion.

In other, nicer restaurants, a trend I’ve noticed lately is for the manager to come over and strike up a conversation with the customers regardless if they customers seem to be deep in conversation. This happened to us on Valentine’s Day. We watched the manager do this over and over, then zero in on our table. A simple, “How is your meal this evening?” would be fine, but he’s doing the buddy routine, going on and on, even trying for humor.

So I’m just wondering, does anyone else find this behavior annoying? Intrusive?

It is very rare that an article has such an impact on me that it stays with me for more than a few minutes, much less the entire day, but when I read this yesterday, I sat for a long time as a maelstrom of emotions, thoughts and feelings swirled around inside of my head, heart and soul. Please cut and paste or click on the link below, read it, then come back here and tell me what your gut reaction was to this article, and we’ll start a conversation.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/02/fashion/02love.html?_r=1&emc=eta1&oref=slogin

School starts Monday. Am I happy? Well, I put stars and happy faces on the family calendar around August 25th. The kids were not amused.

True, my three little kids have had summer camp roughly the same hours as school. But because there’s no set time they have to be there, we were always late. School starts at 8:30. We weren’t getting to “camp” until 9:30, 10 . . . and then by the time I got my Starbucks and got home, it was 10:30 or 11.

And my two older girls, they had activities up the wazoo. Volleyball practice four days a week, acting classes, movies, etc. I was driver extraordinaire, which normally I don’t mind except that it interrupts my writing time. Sometimes I had to put my foot down and just say, I’m not leaving. But mommy guilt set in and I’d end up providing transportation, cutting up my writing time into smaller chunks.

That’s not the way I write. I like 4-5 hour chunks of time. That’s when I get my best work done. It takes me at least an hour to get back into my story. Then, once I’m deeply into the story, I like at least three hours to stay in the zone. When I have to drag myself away in the middle of the zone, it’s twice as hard to get back into it an hour later. This is the primary reason for most of my procrastination this summer–if I know I only have two hours before picking up Brennan #1 from volleyball, I tend to not start working until after that. It’s like why I don’t nap. If I take an hour nap in the middle of the day, I’m pretty much dead the rest of the night. I’m tired, I usually have a headache, and crabby. I hate naps. My husband, on the other hand, can take a 20 minute power nap on the sofa in his office and be re-charged. Wow, I wish it were that easy for me! Instead, I’ll just have an extra shot of espresso in my skinny caramel latte . . .

When school starts, I’ll have five and a half hours (roughly 9-2:30) to write. I won’t be interrupted unless it’s an emergency. I won’t have an excuse to procrastinate. I can still pick up my Starbucks and be back at my office by 9. I can be deep into the story by 10, 10:30 and write uninterrupted for hours. I’ve also found that I do some of my best writing at night, so I generally will write from about 9-midnight, which was my schedule before I sold.

So I hope.

I firmly believe that writers should write daily. And I do–even when it’s crap. Without creating a habit of daily writing, it’s much harder to sit down and write. Much easier to procrastinate.

There’s was a really good post over at Murderati yesterday if you missed it. JD Rhoades talked about whether you write (or read) as an “exorcism” or an “escape.” I found myself thinking about that question–and realize that I write as a form of exorcism, but I read to escape. I don’t think they are mutually exclusive, however. It’s quite cathartic to write about justice and killing off the bad guy. It’s also just as cathartic to fall deep into a story whether it’s a romantic comedy or a dark crime thriller. But for me, it’s the dark stories that stick with me for the duration, the ones where even in the midst of chaos and tragedy, good prospers over evil. I want to know–I need to believe–that no matter how bad things get, there is always a silver lining.

So I really have two questions today:

Do you write daily?

Do you read as exorcism or escape?

And, because I JUST got this in, I had to share my Japanese cover for SPEAK NO EVIL. Needless to say, I love this cover. I didn’t think I’d love it more than the first trilogy, but wow. I do!

As some of you know, it took me a while to get back on a plane after 9-11. In fact, my hiatus from flying actually began two weeks before that terrorist attack. Just a funny but strong feeling in my gut that said I should stay on the ground for a while. That feeling hung around for almost four years. When I finally started testing the waters again and boarding those metal birds, most of the angst was gone. Now all I get when I fly are leg cramps from sitting in one place too long. No, wait . . . that’s not true. I do get something else when I fly now . . .furious.

I don’t know if the aging process has anything to do with it, but I find myself getting much more verbal as of late and willing to put up with far less than I used to. For example, a couple of flights ago I’m checking a couple of bags at the Continental counter, and the woman behind that counter promptly tells me I have to pay $25 to check the second bag. I’d heard rumors that the airlines were going to take that route to try and manage the rising cost of fuel, but I wasn’t expecting to get hit with that fee on this trip.

“Say what?” The ticket alone had cost me well over $500, and now they wanted an extra $25?

“New rule,” she says. “The extra weight means we have to burn more fuel, and with the price of fuel going up—”

“Wait a second. You’re saying that I have to pay $25 for the fuel it will take to carry the weight of my second bag?”

She nods. “Afraid so.”

“That’s discriminatory.”

She looked taken aback. “No . . . no, ma’am. Everybody’s got to pay the fee for a second bag.”

“Because of the weight?”

“Yes.”

“More weight, more fuel, right.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I leaned closer to her and lowered my voice. “Then what about that 450lb man standing over there? Are you going to charge him more because of the extra weight he’s bringing onto the plane?”

She blushed. “Uh . . . well, we’d charge him the same amount if he checked a second bag.”

“Suppose he doesn’t have a second bag to check?”

“Then we wouldn’t charge him.”

“I see. So what you’re saying is you’re going to charge me $25 for an extra 10 pound bag, but that guy who’s carrying almost four times my body weight gets to bring all that weight onto the plane for free?”

She glared at me. “Do you want to check the bag or not?”

What I wanted to do was shove that bag up her a**. Yeah, I wound up having to pay the fee because I couldn’t do without the stuff in that second bag, but I’ve been making noise about it ever since. To date, I’ve written fourteen letters to different powers that be in Continental Airlines and will keep writing them until somebody coughs up a damn good explanation about the weight discrepancy. Until then, I’m driving more again. As far as I know, most, if not all, of the airlines are charging extra for bags now.

Oh, and the crème de la crème—news has it that U.S. Airways started charging $2 for a cup of water or soda that only one month ago they were giving passengers for free. Two dollars for a cup of water?? I sure as hell don’t think so!

When is the madness going to stop?

I think I’ve had my share of misfortune this past year, although it doesn’t take much to find someone WORSE off. All you have to do is turn your head. But it’s still been rough, and I think it’s affected my brain. I appear to have HOLES in my head, because I can remember NOTHING anymore.

Still, I manage to laugh. For example, many of you will have read about the Dog Cloner, who turned out to be the infamous Joyce McKinney. This story made news worldwide, with pictures of “Bernann” McKinney holding her precious puppies. They were cloned from the ear of her late, beloved pet BOOGER. Yup, that’s right. Booger.

Well, when Joyce’s picture showed up online on news sites, after the AP wrote a story, more than a few people recognized the former beauty queen, even though it has been many years since her, uh, heyday. At first, she denied she was the infamous McKinney, who followed a Mormon missionary to England, kidnapped him and then held him captive and raped him.

Joyce is very well known for this quote: “I loved him so much,” she told a judge, “that I would ski naked down Mount Everest in the nude with a carnation up my nose if he asked me to.”

She made some pretty funny protestations about NOT being Joyce, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out it WAS Joyce. Then, she said this:

“I thought people would be honest enough to see me as a person who was trying to do something good and not as a celebrity,” McKinney told the AP. “My mother always taught me, ‘Say something good or say nothing at all.”‘
“I think I gave people too much credit,” she said.

Whoa! You should have heard what she said to ME when she thought she was talking to MY mother! It involved a lot of expletives and words like “hell” and there was some major screamage going on…..

Yup, I had my own run in with Joyce, and it resulted in a criminal stalking injunction. Against her, not me. Then I stopped talking about it.

I doubt she is real worried about ME right now, however.

I hear she’s on the lam again, running from charges that she engineered a burglary in order to buy a prosthetic for her three-legged horse…. I am NOT lying.

Truth is stranger than fiction.

So how was your weekend?

Let me tell you about mine. My husband came home early Friday so we went to lunch. We decided to try this place near by that is supposed to be like a 1950’s diner. I got a pastrami sandwich.

I suspect the grease dripping out of the sandwich was from the 1950’s.

Saturday? I got up and thought, Hmm, I must have made the coffee too strong. It’s tastes almost bitter. Then my stomach sent out a message, DO NOT EAT AT THAT DINER EVER AGAIN!

Message received and I spent Saturday with my bottle of Pepto.

Sunday, I slept all night and woke up feeling great! My coffee tasted just right. I had plans! I wanted to do a few chores, write a blog, maybe take a drive out to see some family and then knock out some pages on my book. I ran up the stairs, did a couple things, grabbed the phone and my glasses, and started down the stairs, thinking about everything EXCEPT what I was actually doing.

My foot slid off a stair. I’m not sure what happened next until my the back of my left hip hit one of the stairs and I swear I saw stars.

“What’s that?” My husband yelled.

Embarrassed, but knowing he would worry, I said, “I slid on the stairs, I’m fine.” I had landed in a sitting position and stayed there. I was trying to get my breath back. Plus there was the little matter of feeling like a hot pole was stuck through my lower back hip area.

He ran up the stairs. After I little coaxing, he got me to try and stand up. It wasn’t pretty.

Sigh…I am such a klutz. The end of the long story is that I’m spending my Sunday with ice and ibuprofen. I can’t sit long enough at the computer to write, but I will tomorrow. I have too.

And that was my weekend. How was yours?