March Madness

Today is the first Wednesday in March, which means Insecure Writer's Support Group blog hop. (Gee, I hope I am still on the list!)

I'm having a hard time getting focused. Currently on my computer there are four WIPs that at any time I could finish up and start editing, but lately all I feel capable of is existing. My energy is at an all time low and creatively my mind is all over the place.

Every story line is different, so you think I would be able to focus on either saving my action hero and his wife from the mad bomber who is chasing them, or help the poor soul I've left floundering in a morass of negative emotions due to personal angst. Perhaps I could work on my werewolves who are being encroached by humans and are looking to move to the wilds of Canada to live free, or send my alter-ego into the fray to fight against darkness and tyranny.

Or perhaps, I'll grab a bowl of cereal and sit in the recliner watching back to back episodes of "Cheaters" and wondering if my helpful hubby needs stalking, I mean watching.

Wow, I need a break.

I need to sit on the beach with my toes in the sand contemplating the tan of Joey the Cabana Boy as he brings me another virgin Strawberry Daiquiri. I need to stare into the horizon and wonder at the magnitude of our world and our place in it. But perhaps, most of all, I need peace in my life.

I have a teenage daughter going through the pains of first love, a grown son with a touch of hypochondria, and a husband so ready to retire he spends as little time in the office as he can get away with. I need something. I'm not sure what it is, but the feeling of being put upon is growing by the day. If things don't reach equilibrium soon, there might be an incident which may or may not land me on the 6:00 news.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family. Maybe this is just a mid-life crisis rearing its ugly head, but my writing is suffering and I'm looking for answers not more questions. Some days my heart feels it will explode from the effort of remaining smiling and pleasant.

But don't forget to keep an eye on the headlines - after all, I am a writer. I kill people in my head everyday. The real trick is to not do it in real life.

Spring is Teasing Me and I Don't Like It!

Yesterday it was hard to believe it was the second day of March. The sun was shining, birds were singing, gnats were swarming, and everywhere you felt the anticipation Spring always brings to our little corner of the South. The high was nearing 70, and all seemed right in the universe.

Yeah, right.

Today, again, it is cold, rainy, windy, and we are under a freeze warning for tonight. So much for Spring, Winter is not going gently into that good night. Instead, it seems bound and determined to hold on until the last possible moment, guaranteeing no early planting or easy weather.

That's right, folks, it's tornado season down here in the land of the Boiled Peanut.

I've lived through hurricanes, him-a-canes, snow-canes, and more but the thought of tornado season always fills me with dread. They strike anywhere and at anytime. It's like waiting for your mother-in-law to show up with her crazy sister to set up residence in your basement. I would rather face two Katrina's than one tornado. But that's just me.

I will sleep with one ear tuned to the weather radio, waiting for that annoying blast of the tornado siren to send us all downstairs to the laundry room (our only windowless room). Until the winds blow constantly from the south and the cold weather and snow are only distant memories, I will keep a weather eye on the horizon and stay close to shore in case of emergencies.

After all, it's only 110 more days until summer!

Chasing Away the Winter Blues

I suffer from the Winter Blues. You know, that feeling that everything will remain grey and damp forever and you stop shaving your legs because they are constantly hidden underneath wool and it's too cold to spend that much time in the shower anyway? When the Christmas decoration stay up until February just because they are colorful and give you hope that spring is a-comin'?

Or is that just me?

Once the holidays are over I often find myself staring at the sleeping Bermuda grass in my front yard while sipping my chai latte and wondering what the neighbors would do it I were to spray the whole darn thing with green paint. Then the sun sets again and I wonder how long it would take to send me over the edge if I lived in Alaska, which sends me to the Internet looking for warm vacation sites.

Don't get me wrong, I love snow as much as the next person. I love the way it snows down here. In one week you can go from ice storm and snow blizzard to shorts and flip flops. This time of year we get all four seasons in a standard ten to fifteen day rotation, and deciding on the day's attire usually requires the use of the Weather Channel and the National Weather Service website.

As we head into March, we still have at least one more snow event to come. How do I know this? Because the first lay on the ground for two days. The old wives' tale I was always told is you will receive as many snowfalls as the number of days the first lay on the ground. I know there are other tales and methods for determining this, some of which include actual science-y stuff but as for me, I'll stick with what I know.

So, with one channel on the remote tuned to the Olympics and the other the 24-hour radar site with up to the minute Doppler radar, I am off to attempt some writing. That is, unless I need to make an emergency trip to the grocery store for batteries, bread and milk.

Gotta be prepared for the next go round.

I Live Down South, and I Know How to Drive

This is a scene that was replayed all over Atlanta and the Metro area. Once again out state was unprepared for another extreme weather situation. People slept in their cars, in stores and as stations, in strangers' houses and warming centers.

The problem was, the forecast kept changing and by the time people realized the storm was coming farther north than expected, it was too late. People were already streaming out of their offices and 6 million people hit the now covered streets heading for their homes. Or at least that's what they attempted.

We don't have enough snow day to warrant the purchase of snow removal equipment. So the DOT, and the state, and the mayor of Atlanta all blame each other and remind everyone how muck better this response was compared to 2011.

I think what we should take away is this: is the weather says snow, be sure you have water, blankets, food, and a phone charger in your car. Also, don't be afraid to leave your vehicle and walk to warmth. Many people created social media sites to link up those who were stranded to those who were will to help out. Pure Southern hospitality in action, how I love my adopted home.

So I will stay inside for tonight and probably tomorrow as well. But at lease we can say we saw snow this year. It will be very interesting to see what happens on Groundhog day.

COVER REVEAL - January Frost

COMING SOON FROM KEITH PUBLISHING

JANUARY FROST

Evelyn Graham-Frost had it all, an award winning career showing her champion stallion, Snowman all over the world; wealth business partners who adore her and her daughter, and freedom from the painful memories of her past. For ten years everything has been a storybook existence. But every high has its opposite.

Looking Forward in 2014

I'm feeling cautiously optimistic for this new year. Everything seems to foretell the promise of an excellent year. Not like 2013. Never have a had a year I was so happy to see leave. The past few years haven't been all the best. I've lost family, dear friends, my sanity - all within the past four years and frankly, I'm ready for a different outcome.

To that end, I have made a promise to myself to write more, especially in my blogs. That's always the first sign my life is turning somersaults, I stop writing. Over time, I forget how much I enjoy writing, and how much I want to succeed at this venture. By the time I'm ready to stop the home grown pity party, I'll be one set of ragged flannel sweatpants away from full blown catatonia.

But not this year. This year I shall rise above the excesses of my mental health and focus on the stories. There are several rolling around upstairs. My favorite is an action romance. It's beginning to take shape and if I'm happy with this pass perhaps I will share a snippet with everyone for inspection.

I do have a new novel coming out soon. January Frost, from Keith Publishing's Hearts & Arrows line is in the home stretch. As soon as the artwork is approved and the final edits done, it will be ready. I'm very excited for this one, my first romance novel.

So, as I leave to settle in for a long winter evening of writing, I leave you with the blurb for January Frost. Stay warm everyone, and I see you again soon - I Promise!

Blurb: Evelyn Graham-Frost has everything: a fabulous boss, an award winning stallion to ride, and a daughter to bring sunshine into her days. But when a career ending fall throws everything in flux, Evelyn finds herself retreating to the one place she tried so hard to escape – her childhood home at Grey Cliffs Stables.

Going home means confronting her past with the only man she ever loved, Trey Tattinger. Ten years ago she ran away from the violence and hatred of Trey’s alcoholic father David. She gave birth to Trey’s child in secret. Now all the secrets and shame must be exposed, and Evelyn will learn that in order to go forward, sometimes you have to go back to the beginning.

Boycott November

Today is the first Wednesday of the month, which means it's Insecure Writer's Support Group!

This is November, which for most writers means NaNoWriteMo. Personally I have refused to participate. I have too much going on in my outside life to focus on an additional 50,000 words. January Frost is in copy edits, I have three major projects going on at work, and the days are getting day earlier. Taking on another work in progress doesn't fill me with excitement. On the contrary, I feel dread.

I confess I am not the best at time management.. I have shiny penny syndrome. Everything distracts me when I'm not in the zone. That's why when I write I have to listen to something I know well enough for it to become background noise. Otherwise I don't writer, I day dream.

My lack of attention is the one thing about myself I dislike intently. It affects every area of my life, personal and professional. I won't take the medications. I did that to my son and I wish I hadn't. He told me when the Ritalin wore off it was like a bone snapping in his body. With my low tolerance for pain that's an issue.

So, my insecurity for this month is my lack of time management and attention to task. In the time I have written two books, some of my friends have pushed out four or five. Sure we don't all write in the same genre but it makes me wonder, am I any good at this?

That said, I will plug through my copy edits, and work out a few scenes in a work in progress I already have. If in the process of taking care of these obligations I manage to hit 50,000 words of editing, then I will consider that my NaNo project. And... there's always next year.

Don't forget my new romance, January Frost, will be out this winter from Keith Publishing.  Below is a sneak peek:

Evelyn Graham-Frost had it all: a job she loved, a daughter she adored, and a life far away from the pain and bitterness of her childhood. Then in the flash of an eye, everything disappears when a career-ending fall from her world champion show horse, Grey Cliffs’ Snowman, lands Evelyn on the ground and jobless.

When the offer to return to her childhood   home as the new trainer at Grey Cliffs presents itself, she is torn between the life she’s built, and the love of the man she ran away from ten years previous. Going back means giving her daughter a chance to connect with the father she’s never met, but it also means facing again the horror of what happened that long ago evening.

Unsure if those old demons will help with the healing her body and soul are going through, it may take some convincing before Evelyn realizes the only path into her future lies straight though the shadows in the past. 

JUNE, TWO YEARS AGO

My only clear memory of the accident itself is overwhelming pain.  I remember every detail of my preparations for that ride.  It was a brilliant mid-summer day. The sky was clear, deep blue with high, light clouds, but rain was forecast for later in the day. The temperature was cool in the morning, but heated up as the sun climbed higher into the sky. I remember arriving at the complex that morning, spending extra time getting my massive stallion Grey Cliffs’ Snowman, or ‘Manny’ ready for his divisions, and thinking about the promises I made to my daughter Davy, and my business partner Sebastian to make this show season our last. Manny had been ready as a farm stud for a while and it was his commercial viability that set the tone for the rest of our barn family.  As long as I needed to jump and run away, Snowman would take me.

When the storm front arrived, the rain was intense, clouds carrying lightning, accompanied by hail and buckets of water.  By the time Manny and I were on the course, the ground was a combination of ankle deep mud and shallow rivers. Once we were committed, I spent a great deal of time encouraging Manny as we worked our way through the sludge with the constant rain fogging my goggles and making it harder to see. We were approaching the fifteenth jump, an in-and-out ditch, then out again and through a corridor lined with hedge and finally over a flat top wooden bench with flowers and distractions galore.  Underneath my seat, the energy gathered in Manny’s legs as he prepared himself for the down and away slope of the jump.  But right when the massive grey stallion was ready to leap over the split rail four-foot-high jump, the ground under his hooves gave way, throwing him off balance.

                I lost my seat. My forward momentum did not change or slow down when he did. I was launched out of the saddle and over Manny’s head. I had fallen before, many times.  But this went wrong. When Manny clipped his front legs against the rail, he threw up his head. It connected with my left arm and I could hear the bone snap. The sudden noise, so close to his ears, startled the big grey stallion, who then flinched. I hit the ground with my right leg underneath me. Before I reacted, the off-balanced horse landed on my legs, causing the stress fractures and small breaks from the initial fall to worsen.  Finally my head snapped back, smacking the ground with enough force to crack my helmet into several pieces. After that moment, I can’t remember much of the coming weeks.

People ran around screaming for an emergency stretcher, while I did the only thing my body would allow given the circumstances: I passed out. Apparently my fall created a lot of activity with horse and human ambulances having to slog through waist-deep mud to our position. Manny was physically fine, just a few small cuts, but emotionally he was a wreck. Those hurts would take a long time to heal; in the grey baby’s eyes the fall was his fault. I wasn’t as lucky. A traumatic brain injury would make it three weeks before I woke up, and when I did it was to discover a lot of things changed while I was away.

My next conscious memory was wondering if I wanted to wake up or go back to sleep. Deciding I probably needed to wake up and check on Manny, I began the arduous task of opening my eyes and using my voice to speak. Slow and cautious, I pried my lids open. I was in an intensive care unit, tubes and wires connecting me to a bizarre combination of quietly beeping machines. Under my nose, tubes carrying oxygen breezed around my nostrils. My left wrist was in a small cast as well as my right leg all the way up to my mid-thigh. I felt like an abused rag doll, and my head pounded with every beat of my heart.

Noise in the corner drew my attention as someone shifted in the hospital chair. Someone else was in the room.  My head was well bandaged and my senses were overly drugged. The lights in the room were low, curtains pulled and the blinds closed, but I discerned the shape of a person sitting in a chair close besides the railing. Before I could adjust to the shock of waking up, the door opened and a nurse entered.

Right behind her was my friend and partner, Sebastian Faeroe.  Bas was oblivious to my opening eyes. He concentrated on trying to convince the young nurse to have dinner with him. I had to chuckle below my breath. Bas was constantly picking up women. It’s easy when you have billions in the bank. But he always came home alone to me, Davy, and our third business partner Karl. The women were all part of his public façade.

“Just dinner,” he was saying. “I know the best little café, right down the street. We could chat, get to know each other and then you can be back at work in no time. Come on, you have to eat, so why not with me?”

The nurse shook her head but the response was not very convincing to her or to me. “The hospital has a policy against dating patients or their families or spouses.”

“Well, that makes it perfect!” The smile on Bas’ face went from ear to ear. “I’m not family or spouse.”

“Aren’t you the father of her daughter?” I heard the waiver in her tone. It was just a matter of time before she fell for Bas and/or his money. Of course, he was very good looking in addition to filthy rich.

I watched the nurse as she took my vital signs and made notations. Every so often she glanced over the clipboard at Bas. Wavy dark blonde hair with deep green eyes, Bas worked out every day in addition to eating only organic foods. His accent hinted of the finest boarding schools in Switzerland and his clothes were hand tailored by the same store that had outfitted Faeroe men for three generations. Old money and a casual elegance all rolled into one glamorous package, it was no wonder so many women fell for his charm. I certainly had.

Bas chuckled. “I plead the no comment to that accusation. Evie and I are friends, and business partners. I refuse to assist speculation as to the details of our relationship.”

“Well,” the nurse mused. “I suppose one dinner wouldn’t be against regulations.”

“Excellent!” Bas always got his way.

The other visitor in my room laughed, with that polished silver voice I recognized so well. “Bas, do you ever stop playing the horn dog?” Lady Rachel Tattinger asked.

“Why would I want to stop?”

Through half-open eyes I studied my boss . Sebastian Faeroe was a multi-billionaire from the south of Spain. He preferred to keep most details of his private life as hidden as possible. I worked for him, riding and training his horses for almost ten years, and along with our other business partner  Karl Bittner no one knew more about Bas than I did. All three of us had learned to keep each other’s secrets well.

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