Things I am NOT ready to reveal about my next book:
The title. This book has had several working titles and I am not excited about any of them. I’m hoping for inspiration soon.
The cover. With every book I write, there comes a point in the project when I think to myself something like, “Oh, crap. This one’s going to need a cover, too.” I know all books need covers but I’m only thinking about the story when I start one. Eventually, I have to let myself think about the work. And covers are work.
The blurb. I have a first draft description of the book, which is earlier than I usually achieve this step. But I’m hoping for feedback from test readers before I commit to the current text.
The release date. I’m guessing August but that’s tentative.
Things I AM ready to reveal about my next book:
The subtitle. This book will be the first of four in a series called Coffee and Donuts.
The heroine. The story is told in first person by Alexa Fenley. Alexa was not raised in the church, and I believe that makes her my first convert. She is at times far braver than I would be.
The guy. No surprise there’s a guy. It is a love story after all. Oh wait, that’s not a surprise either.
Four random quotes. The following are out-of-context things that Alexa says in the book.
“I’m not a squealer. There are a lot of secret thoughts jumping around in my head right now but none of them have to do with how pretty those animals are.”
“I only decided you might not be an ax murderer.”
“These hallways are confusing. I thought I could find my way faster if I just walked around the building.”
“You get to ask me my favorite leaf but what you do for lunch is too boring?”
Monday, April 20, 2015
Saturday, March 14, 2015
A Book I'm NOT Going to Write
It happened. For a lot of reasons that mostly boiled down to wishful thinking, I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.
I didn’t believe it when I got the summons. I didn’t believe it when I called the number provided and learned that I was just inside the cutoff of people who actually had to show up. I didn’t believe it when I sat in the room of nearly two hundred people and was told that only two trials needed juries. I started to believe it when I was the last person seated on the second jury.
And you better believe there was a whole truckload of internal grumbling about it.
I know. It’s very un-American of me to be annoyed at the inconvenience of dropping everything else (and figuring out how it would get picked up) for the three days I had to be at the courthouse, not knowing each day if I would need to be there the next. I talked to some family about the events later – when it was legal for me to do so – and I conceded that it was at least somewhat interesting to have this new experience.
That’s when the teasing began. Everyone said that now that I knew what jury duty was like, that was how the characters were going to meet in my next book. There were ridiculous jokes about passing love notes in the jury box and that #4 would forever be someone’s pet name. The word sequester was laced with so much innuendo I may never again be able to hear it without sexual undertones. (Thanks for that, guys.) One of my sisters defended me by saying that I would ignore those suggestions because I write cute books. Though she doesn’t use cute as a compliment.
Once the talk died down my mind went where it always goes, to the happy place where I’m telling myself a story. I had to at least consider the courthouse. People could meet there.
The story immediately took a dark turn. I envisioned that the juror fell not for another juror but for the defendant. She planted a bomb in the courtroom and it somehow took out everyone except herself and the object of her affection because that’s how that sort of thing usually goes down in fiction. They went on a wild run from the law. I thought it best to try to work it so that the reader wouldn’t know until the very end whether the defendant was a guilty man pleased with his escape or an innocent man playing along because he was terrified of the psycho juror.
But I’m not going to write that book (and not because it’s probably been done a few dozen times) or several other ideas that I’ve thrown out since. I have more ideas than I have time to write so I only start on the projects that interest me the most. Unfortunately for some people, those are usually the cutest ideas. I spend a lot of time with my characters and I need to enjoy their company. I would not enjoy spending months trying to get inside the head of someone willing to commit murder. I don’t think I’d even enjoy the few hours it would take to read it.
I plan to continue to write books where people only die of natural causes, if they die at all, and no one has to set foot in a courtroom for any reason. I’ve been to the courthouse and no matter how you use the word, cute just doesn’t describe it.
I didn’t believe it when I got the summons. I didn’t believe it when I called the number provided and learned that I was just inside the cutoff of people who actually had to show up. I didn’t believe it when I sat in the room of nearly two hundred people and was told that only two trials needed juries. I started to believe it when I was the last person seated on the second jury.
And you better believe there was a whole truckload of internal grumbling about it.
I know. It’s very un-American of me to be annoyed at the inconvenience of dropping everything else (and figuring out how it would get picked up) for the three days I had to be at the courthouse, not knowing each day if I would need to be there the next. I talked to some family about the events later – when it was legal for me to do so – and I conceded that it was at least somewhat interesting to have this new experience.
That’s when the teasing began. Everyone said that now that I knew what jury duty was like, that was how the characters were going to meet in my next book. There were ridiculous jokes about passing love notes in the jury box and that #4 would forever be someone’s pet name. The word sequester was laced with so much innuendo I may never again be able to hear it without sexual undertones. (Thanks for that, guys.) One of my sisters defended me by saying that I would ignore those suggestions because I write cute books. Though she doesn’t use cute as a compliment.
Once the talk died down my mind went where it always goes, to the happy place where I’m telling myself a story. I had to at least consider the courthouse. People could meet there.
The story immediately took a dark turn. I envisioned that the juror fell not for another juror but for the defendant. She planted a bomb in the courtroom and it somehow took out everyone except herself and the object of her affection because that’s how that sort of thing usually goes down in fiction. They went on a wild run from the law. I thought it best to try to work it so that the reader wouldn’t know until the very end whether the defendant was a guilty man pleased with his escape or an innocent man playing along because he was terrified of the psycho juror.
But I’m not going to write that book (and not because it’s probably been done a few dozen times) or several other ideas that I’ve thrown out since. I have more ideas than I have time to write so I only start on the projects that interest me the most. Unfortunately for some people, those are usually the cutest ideas. I spend a lot of time with my characters and I need to enjoy their company. I would not enjoy spending months trying to get inside the head of someone willing to commit murder. I don’t think I’d even enjoy the few hours it would take to read it.
I plan to continue to write books where people only die of natural causes, if they die at all, and no one has to set foot in a courtroom for any reason. I’ve been to the courthouse and no matter how you use the word, cute just doesn’t describe it.
Saturday, February 7, 2015
In Honor of the Mushy Holiday
I’m pretty sure I know what my husband is getting me for Valentine’s Day this year. It’ll be the same thing he’s gotten me every year since I’ve known him.
Nothing.
He never gives me flowers either. Instead, he laughs with people about that time I told the kids they were not allowed to “bring nature into the house.”
I’m mentioning this because I have a point that has nothing to do with trying to make my husband look bad. He’s giving me nothing because he knows I want nothing. I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, which is not to suggest that I think there’s anything wrong with it. It just isn’t my thing. I’ve never considered myself a particularly romantic person.
And yet I write love stories.
I was recently pondering this potentially incongruous idea. It caused me to review some of the gifts and gestures that my characters have used to win each other over. I have written some of the stereotypical things like flowers and jewelry. There was also a spider ornament and a plastic monkey, some fighting over glitter, and I even tried to use a pile of rocks as a sweet gesture.
Am I in the wrong line of work?
I don’t think so. I think I’m mushier than I realized. There is a love letter in one of my books,Andrew's Key, that brings me to this conclusion. Some people might argue that Charlie spoils it somewhat by explicitly stating that he wrote the letter because he thought Rebecca liked letters. I disagree. That is precisely what makes it romantic. Writing a love letter to someone who thinks love letters are lame would not be a winning overture.
True romance is finding out what the other person likes and trying to do just that. Some things have become synonymous with romance because a lot of women like them. That means my future characters will likely find themselves on the receiving end of traditional gifts. But I hope I will also find more surprising ways to melt some hearts.
If I can come up with a character who believes flaming batons are the coolest thing ever then it will totally make sense for her to swoon if a guy learns to twirl one for her. Okay, maybe not swoon but at least believe he has her happiness in mind. A romantic gesture is anything that says I know you and I appreciate what makes you different from anyone else.
Hey, you know what? I bet I’m getting something for Valentine’s Day after all. It won’t be wrapped and it will look a lot like the things my husband does every other day of the year. Guess who is not only mushy, but also very blessed.
Nothing.
He never gives me flowers either. Instead, he laughs with people about that time I told the kids they were not allowed to “bring nature into the house.”
I’m mentioning this because I have a point that has nothing to do with trying to make my husband look bad. He’s giving me nothing because he knows I want nothing. I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day, which is not to suggest that I think there’s anything wrong with it. It just isn’t my thing. I’ve never considered myself a particularly romantic person.
And yet I write love stories.
I was recently pondering this potentially incongruous idea. It caused me to review some of the gifts and gestures that my characters have used to win each other over. I have written some of the stereotypical things like flowers and jewelry. There was also a spider ornament and a plastic monkey, some fighting over glitter, and I even tried to use a pile of rocks as a sweet gesture.
Am I in the wrong line of work?
I don’t think so. I think I’m mushier than I realized. There is a love letter in one of my books,Andrew's Key, that brings me to this conclusion. Some people might argue that Charlie spoils it somewhat by explicitly stating that he wrote the letter because he thought Rebecca liked letters. I disagree. That is precisely what makes it romantic. Writing a love letter to someone who thinks love letters are lame would not be a winning overture.
True romance is finding out what the other person likes and trying to do just that. Some things have become synonymous with romance because a lot of women like them. That means my future characters will likely find themselves on the receiving end of traditional gifts. But I hope I will also find more surprising ways to melt some hearts.
If I can come up with a character who believes flaming batons are the coolest thing ever then it will totally make sense for her to swoon if a guy learns to twirl one for her. Okay, maybe not swoon but at least believe he has her happiness in mind. A romantic gesture is anything that says I know you and I appreciate what makes you different from anyone else.
Hey, you know what? I bet I’m getting something for Valentine’s Day after all. It won’t be wrapped and it will look a lot like the things my husband does every other day of the year. Guess who is not only mushy, but also very blessed.
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