Life in a small town

Big city life may have its glitz and glamor, but there is something unique about a small town. People know their neighbors and often lend a helping hand without a thought to what's in it for me. There is a camaraderie of spirit. Often this closeness is referred to as your life being an open book. Everyone knows what you are doing. Perhaps the fault in all of this is no secret goes unnoticed.

My mother had a rule that lawns are to be cut on Saturday and woe be unto you if you waited to do so on the Sabbath. I can remember spending hours on the lawn tractor making sure the pasture and the yard was done by sundown as a youth. Now, married, its not exactly the same. I wonder if that comes from the difference in generations or the fact that the Blue laws have been lifted and most stores are open seven days a week. Whatever the case maybe, I still feel awkward cutting the grass on Sunday. I'm rambling so let me explain why.

Grass didn't get finished this week on Saturday. Yep, we've a bit more to do today. Oh yes, I will be helping with the little push mower that can be cantankerous at times. While all the good folk will be making their way home for that big dinner, I'll be out there doing the trim work. Husband will of course have already cut the larger portions of the yard where the trees and flowerbeds aren't. He'll have retired to the chairs in the driveway, beneath the shade of the pines, and in his hand will be a nice cold one.

When I begin cutting the country road that we reside on will be still and silent. But the roar of the motor will draw folks like the cry of a snake oil salesman. It will begin with a single car. The more I push, the more will suddenly ride by. The sound of the mower will draw their heads and they will gaze upon my face, red from exertion and then glower over at my husband who sinks lower and lower into his chair until it threatens to spill him from its seat. Then when the mower chugs off because its encountered that clump of grass too stubborn to be cut, he'll mosey over and take it from my hand, offering to do the manly thing and finish for me.

Oh, I'll protest. But, here in the south, a woman knows when to give up. I'll walk back to the kitchen and pour myself a nice, cold glass of sweet tea. Maybe I'll even place a wedge of lemon on the side, then I'll go out to the chairs and sit. The cars will dwindle. All has been made right with the world. I mean a woman can't be expected to cut a lawn properly - now can she. ( wink )

Notes from Home

It's Thursday! Time for a check in... I hope everyone is having a great day. The sun has finally come out after yet another cool down over night. But I'm sitting here listening to Kenny Chesney and Island girl. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the coconut oil and butter in the suntan lotion. This is all good because it means I will be getting some writing done. My goal for today is to get another 2k done. I did some note taking last night and I'm ready to move forward. What are your plans for today? Does it include reading?

Let me recommend Sherri Thomas and her new release Lost Memories. You can find it on Amazon and over at The Wild Rose Press. To check out more use the links below.

http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Memories-Honky-Hearts-ebook/dp/B00AU6V1G6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366897543&sr=8-1&keywords=lost+memories

What's new, you ask? Well...

I've been working on a series that is coming out beginning this summer with the wonderful folks at Turquoise Morning Press. The series is for their vintage line and entitled His Forever...
The first book is His Forever Bride. In this story the heroine has been jilted at the altar. Her two timing, almost husband stole money from a charity her family was involved with. Hoping to avoid more scandal, she flees her hometown with the help of a college roommate to take the job as a nanny for a rancher in Indigo Springs.

Poor thing, she doesn't realize that the little girl she has agreed to watch this summer is manipulating her right into the arms of her father,a lonely widower.

Here is a quick unedited excerpt from His Forever Bride due to be released in July.

“Is she asleep?” Gillian asked in awe.
His eyes drawn to the slow rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, “I believe so.” He glanced down at his daughter. “Wait right here.”
Moving to the edge of the bed, he picked up the folded quilt and drew it up over her body. He planned to lay the coverlet down across her shoulders and walk away but the wave of hair spread out across her pillow stopped him. The light caught it just right and he could see the strands shimmer with fire. Emitting a soft sigh, she turned, the light shifted to her face and the lush curl of her lips. Logan could have sworn someone sent a fist into his gut. He struggled to get his breath.
“Just like Sleeping Beauty,” Gillian sighed with contentment. “You know daddy, you could be the handsome prince and awaken her with true love’s kiss.”
His daughter’s startling statement reflected what he yearned to do. Narrowing his eyes, he looked over to the foot of the bed. She’d crawled up on the bench at the rail and propped her elbows up to cup her cheeks with her hands. “I thought I told you to wait by the door?”
“Well, you could?” She peeped, hopefully ignoring his reproach.
“No.” He replied and eased the blanket down. “Now scoot.”
She climbed down and hurried out the door with him close on her heels. Logan turned once more to look back. Sleeping Beauty, the thought of pressing his lips to hers didn’t seem so bad after all.

Blame it on Texas

A lot of my books are set in Texas. I don't know why, maybe it has to do with living in Virginia. In the early 1830's when cotton and tobacco had leached the land, many farmers carved GTT into their barns or on fence post and followed the trail to Texas. I've also noted that a lot of the women I admired from my youth also came from Texas. Barbara Jordan, Lady Bird Johnson, Ann Richards, shoot even Farrah Fawcett. So maybe, there is a connection. OH, what does GTT mean - Gone to Texas, what else.

Sneak Peek.... shhhhhhh!!!

Just a few weeks ago, I was blessed to sign a contract for three books with Turquoise Morning Press. The first story is called His Forever Bride and is the story of a society darling who is humiliated in public when her husband to be is hauled away from the altar before they can say "I do". She flees the public eye to take a job as a nanny in Indigo Springs, Texas on Fairy Tail Ranch owned by widower Logan Malone. Little does she know, she has walked straight into a trap set by the ranchers six-year-old daughter, Gillian, with the help of a family friend and matchmaker.

Gillian Malone placed her cake fork beside the plate. "You always tell my daddy that you will do anything for us."

"Yes, I do. Your granddaddy and I are good friends," Celeste said.

Gillian swallowed and pressed her hands down the front of her pink dress. "Well, I need something badly, very badly."

Celeste held up a finger and waited while the waiter served them a bowl of fresh homemade ice cream. When the waiter was out of earshot, she said, "Continue."

"I'm six years old this summer, Mrs. Tate and quite without a mother. Since my father is showing no signs of bringing one home, I'd like to hire you for the job."

I hope you'll check back from time to time to see how the editorial process is going and to learn more about the characters from His Forever Bride. Just a hint, I am already working on story two - His Forever Love. Indigo Springs seems to be a hot bed for romance!

Yours, Nan

Developing a concept.

I'm kicking around an idea. No, I haven't written it on a piece of paper or shoved it into a can. Nor, have I put it on the ground to heave my foot at it. Instead, I have this idea rolling around in my head and like a bulldog with an attitude, it won't let go. So what's a writer to do when something like this happens?

Well, this writer pulls out a notebook and begins to make some preliminary notes. I've written down the title, the description as I see it now of hero/heroine. I've even gone so far as to draw the map of the town, so I'll know where the square is, the Methodist Church and the Baptist Church, beauty salon, and from what my characters are telling me they shoved the Catholic Church out on a country road. Do I know why? Er-no and yes, I'm afraid to ask. I have to let my characters dictate what they want before I start asking too many questions.

These guys have gone so far as to have me make up a mock cover. While their personalities like it. I'm not so sure it will fly. You see, my story will take place in the south. My characters think a faded wood painted like the Confederate flag should serve as a backdrop for each cover. Which brings me to my quandary, how insulted would folks be if that flag was on a cover? Yeah, yeah, I know Bo and Luke Duke had it painted on the top of their car, but would such a flag keep readers from picking up this contemporary romance?

No radical whites would be portrayed. It's just a small southern town with a southern reference. How do you feel as readers? Would the backdrop of the rebel flag be a deterrent to you reading this southern romance?

Getting into the swing of writing.

Okay, okay, the holidays have come and gone. You're in the mood to start that next great project. So you flick on the screen and stare at the beautiful, white, blank page - and wait.


and wait -


Hearing those crickets chirp yet????

It happens to all authors. We start out with huge gusto and then the muse flits around laughing and leaves. How do you combat the illusive idea?

One suggestion that comes to mind is an idea notebook. I keep a small notebook beside me or on my desk at all time. When that idea strikes, I jot down the information in my head, sort of a back of the book blurb and then continue on with my chores, or my writing. I know I'll come back to it later. I might grab a few posted notes and jot down some ideas to see if it really has merit to write. If I find myself with more than ten well noted posty notes. I'm going to be writing that story.

So then, I flick on the screen set up my manuscript and stare at that blank page, just as most of you are doing now. Remember the fear of writing fades with words sprinkled across the page. They don't have to be perfect, thing of that first draft as what a gardener thinks of compost. Its what you place the seeds of your imagination in. You don't put it down and walk off. You place it in the ground or on the page and write, then come back and cultivate the seedling into a mature story. Add a thesaurus, a bit of planning, and you just might have a first class award winning tale to send out.

So keep writing, the blank page is your oyster and the world awaits. Till next time, Nan