Mad Cow Running, and Other Tales of the South
Last night I asked my sister what I should blog about today. She said, "Blog about me. I'm always an interesting blog topic."
And she's modest too.
But enough about her.
And on to me. I'm in Arkansas, making my annual trip to visit to my friend Julie Linker. As of this moment, I have not
- shot anything;
- seen a scorpion;
- gone night fishing;
- eaten catfish and hush puppies;
- or shared moonshine with a redneck.
But give me time—I still have a couple weeks here.
Julie and I have babysat a mad cow though. Yesterday, Gary (Julie's husband) was at a friend's house helping him move some cows into a different pasture. Julie, her daughter, and I decided to join them, not to herd but to sit by the pool and read. We have our priorities straight.
Except we got put on mad cow duty. One of the steers was supremely pissed to be penned away and was doing its best to get out. Gary and his friend went out to buy fence reinforcing materials, instructing us to keep an eye on the cow.
After the men left, I turned to Julie. "So we're supposed to watch to make sure the cow doesn't escape?"
"Yes." She calmly flipped the page of her book.
I listened to the cow furiously kicking the barn door. "And what are we supposed to do if it does?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to run."
Fortunately, it didn't escape until after our watch.
Next...
Julie and I are headed to Orlando this week for the RWA National conference, which means we've been plotting our wardrobe over the past few days. Somehow, she decided I'm going to wear a silver sequined dress to the Rita Awards (the romance industry's equivalent to the Oscar Awards). Picture the shortest, most blinding dress you can and you'll have an accurate image of the dress. If you're going, you won't be able to miss me. I'll be the walking disco ball—walking because the dress is too tight to sit in.
In other news...
Those of you who follow me on Twitter know I've been painting. If you aren't following me on TWITTER, shame on you.
Anyway, yeah—watercolors. I'm not sure what possessed me. I haven't painted in a coon's age, since I was knee high to a tick. (I'm in the South and have to say things like that or I'll have my Visa revoked.) I love it. Today I should be writing, but I'm tempted to take my paints to the café instead of my laptop.
Don't worry. I'm not giving up the day job. McLovin and I are headed to work right now. A girl cannot live by paint alone. At least not this girl.
Interview with...
Margo Candela!
(Cue shrill whistles and confetti.)
Wait—who is Margo? you wonder. Margo is my friend. That should be enough reason to go out and buy her latest novel, GOODBYE TO ALL THAT. But I know some of you (cough—Bradley) and you're going to need more than that. So I asked Margo to stop by and do a little Q&A session.
Raquel Azorian has learned to play the Hollywood game while keeping her skirt length to her knees and her pantyhose run free. All she needs is for her boss to sign her promotion memo. Instead of putting pen to paper, he suffers a very public meltdown that puts not only his future in Hollywood, but also Raquel’s on the line.
It’s not just Raquel’s professional life that’s a mess, her whole family is in turmoil. Raquel is forced to become the intermediary—all while trying to figure out how to save her job and not derail her office romance with the man of her dreams.
When the chaos of juggling so many lives reaches a breaking point, Raquel realizes she’s going to have to choose—success at work or happiness at home. Whatever choice she makes, Raquel knows it going to cost her, but part of her is still pulling for her very own Hollywood ending.
I have to admit I haven't read GOODBYE TO ALL THAT yet—it just came out last week. But I have read Margo's other books and I loved them. I imagine GOODBYE TO ALL THAT will be even better. The reviews are certainly great. Here's what Publisher's Weekly said:
"Margo Candela combines a cunning wit with a deep understanding of the office politics specific to the entertainment industry to create a frantic atmosphere and a near breathless momentum as the story barrels toward an ending that's anything but your focus grouped happy fade-out."
So without further ado...
Oh—in case you're having a low IQ day, the questions are from me, the responses are from Margo.
Now without further ado...
Who were you in your past lives?
I’d have to assume I was some lowly scullery maid who lived in a feudal castle in either the 14th or 15th century. It’s the only way I can explain my sincere dislike for housework and antiques. Compared to that, the life I have now is fabulous. This, of course, means my next life will suck big time.
If you could eat one food all the time, what would it be?
Bread, but only really, really good bread. And instead of making me chubby and sluggish, bread would give me ab definition and a bubble butt. Honestly, there’s nothing better than good bread. I’ve gone out to dinner and have ended up eating mostly bread. I’m always game to end a meal with bread pudding, too. My lust for bread is the main reason I won’t let myself learn how to bake it. That would be a very bad idea. I’d never leave my house except to buy flour.
If you could write about anything, what would it be?
What I really want to do is write a novel from a first person male perspective. I keep bugging my editor about it, but she always tells me “Not yet.” My main goal in life is to turn that “Not yet” into “How soon can you get that novel to me?” I’m slowly wearing her down and I expect that eventually she’ll give in just to shut me up.
Is it true that you rent a storage unit to house all your ballet flats?
My ballet flat addiction is (barely) under control. As of last week, I still have enough room in my closet for all of them. Maybe I’ll line them all up and take a picture and, just maybe, that’ll help me see that I truly have a problem. Doubt it! I’d probably end up framing the picture and hanging it in my office. I really love my ballet flats. As far as I’m concerned, they’re the perfect shoe for just about any occasion.
Pancakes or French toast, and what time of day do you most love to eat them?
Both! But with contingencies. I’ll only have French toast, no powdered sugar, if it’s on a brunch menu at a restaurant. And pancakes can only be eaten for dinner and at home. I make very good buttermilk pancakes, but I’ve recently branched out to waffles with limited successes. Waffles are the redheaded step child to French toast and pancakes in my life. Good thing I have a sincere affection for redheads.
What superpower do you have/want to have?
What I want is the gold watch from that movie, The Girl, The Gold Watch & Everything. I saw it as a kid and I thought it was the coolest thing ever, the movie and the watch. It would be my ideal super power situation since I physically wouldn’t have to change myself or be on call all the time with superpowers that just wouldn’t quit. When needed, I’d just whip out that watch and stop time. Mostly I’d use it for good and the rest of the time to beat red light camera tickets.
Josie and the Flashbacks
The past couple weeks I’ve been thinking about flashbacks. I recently did a critique on a manuscript where the entire second chapter was a flashback. It was really well written, so it almost worked—almost being the key word there. As a reader, I wanted to skip that chapter and get on to the next one, which continued the present-time story. The flashback just got in the way.
So I’ve been pondering why, and when, flashbacks should be used. I know some authors are vehemently opposed. I’m not sure being so rigid about anything is a good idea—it closes you off to possibilities.
In all pondering, I came up with one rule as far as flashbacks are concerned: they shouldn't interrupt the flow of the story. And they need to have a definite purpose, very specific and honed.*
Buy it, especially if you like Desperate Housewives, women’s fiction, excellent writing and storytelling, children, asshole men, or diverting literature.
A good example of a flashback done well was in a book I just read: Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives by Josie Brown. Last weekend I talked with Josie about that scene. She added it as an afterthought, because she thought her heroine’s conflict/motivation needed a little shoring up, so that the reader felt the doubts the heroine (Lyssa) has about her marriage. As a flashback, it's woven in very cleverly:
To be honest with you, our union has been fragile since day one.
He told me so himself, five years into our marriage, as we lolled, naked, late one night in our new backyard hot tub, our inhibitions loose by the roiling steam, a pitcher of frozen margaritas, and the knowledge that Tanner, then three, was fast asleep.
“Are you in love with me?” I asked casually. I guess I was anticipating a declaration of undying devotion.
Instead he paused—only a second, but even that was too long for a woman who is always waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her.
“Yeah, sure. I love you.”
It packs a punch, doesn't it? In a few lines, you...
- get that the foundation of Lyssa’s marriage is shaky in such an ambiguous way that you aren’t sure what she should do;
- and find out that her husband obviously hasn’t done anything worthy of her taking action about.
Lyssa's doubt about it all is more like a small niggle in the back of her—and your—mind. It sets up the future conflict without getting lost in the past.
Do you have feelings about flashbacks, one way or another? Do you like reading them, or do they get in your way? Do you wish I'd written a more frivolous post?**
* I know—that's two rules. I'd fix what I have written, but I'm too lazy at the moment.
** I can't always be frivolous. I have a serious side too. Okay, maybe I don't so much, but I like to put my glasses on and pretend.
Good Intentions
I started out today with good intentions. This morning I was going to write a blog post on one of the craft topics suggested last week* so I had time to polish it later, but that plan went awry really quickly. To my defense, I was out of town, still celebrating the Fourth of July (translation: boozing it up with friends over an extended weekend).
Ahem.
So I'll write a crafty post next week. Maybe I'll even answer a hodge-podge of different questions. This week, however, I need your help. So get your cape, lasso, and whatever other accoutrements you may need to come to my rescue.
Are you ready? Are you sitting down?**
Basically, I need something to work on. I'm in this holding pattern where I'm waiting for green lights on different projects, or feedback on stuff I've turned in. For the past week, I've had nothing to do—nothing to write.
In short, I am going insane.
I don't think I can go another week without starting work on something—I'm just not sure what it should be. Give me suggestions. What do you guys think? (I mean, other than me writing a decent blog post for a change.)
Maybe I want to work on a young adult story. Thoughts?
For you writers: what are you working on? For you readers: what do you want to read? Tell me. I'm all ears.
* Thanks for the suggestions, Jen.
** Because my dilemma may bowl you over, and I don't want you to hurt yourself.