A Launch Party for A Cornish Affair....

Today A CORNISH AFFAIR hits the shelves and it's time to think of escaping to Cornwall and the Heroine Addicts are no exception....on our way there will be scones and clotted cream and champagne...

Running out on your wedding day never goes down well. When the pressure of her forthcoming marriage becomes too much, Jude bolts from the church, leaving a good man at the altar, her mother in a fury, and the guests with enough gossip to last a year.

Guilty and ashamed, Jude flees to Pengarrock, a crumbling cliff-top mansion in Cornwall, where she takes a job cataloguing the Trevillion family's extensive library. The house is a welcome escape for Jude, full of history and secrets, but when its new owner arrives, it's clear that Pengarrock is not beloved by everyone.

As Jude falls under the spell of the house, she learns of a family riddle stemming from a terrible tragedy centuries before, hinting at a lost treasure. And when Pengarrock is put up for sale, it seems that time is running out for the house and for Jude.




So on our escape to Cornwall to celebrate Christina is bringing Eythor Ingi so he can sing to us...

And Julie Cohen is bring Paul Bettany and his lovely jack russell (which is so cheeky since I saw him first on a Cornish Lane!!!)

And of course Julie has brought some treats for the lovely dog...

Biddy intends to nick my kayak and a bottle of wine and take Lawrence Fox on a private trip down Frenchman's Creek...

Susanna is thinking long walks so she is bringing Bertie and a pair of Wellies to go puddle splashing with him...

Bertie

Finally as my companion I'd bring Matthew MacFadyen as I based the hero of A Cornish Affair, Tristan, on him...particularly from this clip of Pride and Prejudice....

And to give us all a sense of Cornwall here's the book trailer that my daughter made for me...

What and who would you bring along to the launch party???

other women

Over the past couple of years, I've noticed something about myself. I like looking at women.

Our society is so sexist that saying that you like to look at women is opening yourself up to assumptions. Do I like looking at other women because I'm gay? Do I like looking at women because I'm comparing myself to them or because I envy them? Do I like looking at women because they're naturally more attractive than men?

None of this is true. I don't like looking at women because I'm objectifying them as things to be desired or emulated. I actually like looking at women because I'm interested in women. I'm interested in how they move, how they dress, how they make themselves happy.

I like looking at young women and seeing the risks they take with fashion. I like looking at older women who have found the clothes that they are comfortable in. I like looking at women thinking, women working, women reading, women holding hands with their partners or talking with their children or laughing with other women. I like seeing a woman, any woman, any shape or size or age or colour, walking or pushing herself or skipping down the street and taking joy in her surroundings.

Image courtesy of Sira Anamwong FreeDigitalPhotos.net

It's not just women, of course; I like watching people in general. But when I see an interesting woman, someone who is beautiful according to her own lights, it's easier for me to make that imaginative leap into her skin. For me to imagine her happiness, her worries, her wonder.

This is what I do when I'm writing, I guess, so this everyday watching and empathy and interest is practice for that. Or maybe the writing is practice for everyday.

I had a really pleasurable experience in the hairdresser the other day. I went in to have my hair cut and dyed, which is always fun, but as I was sitting there with the dye in my hair, a woman came in without an appointment. She was in her fifties, I think, though her face was unlined, fresh, without any makeup. Her hair was a long grey ponytail secured with a scrunchie.

'I haven't had it cut in years,' she said to the hairdresser who met her at the door—an impossibly, frighteningly glamorous young woman with a mane of blonde hair and skin-tight jeans. 'It was a disaster last time so I haven't dared.'

I couldn't hear all of their conversation but it was clear that the customer was reluctant to have anything done, but also very much wanted a transformation. The hairdresser coaxed her, sat her down, brushed her hair out of the scrunchie, talked about strand tests. Eventually, the customer got up, put back in her scrunchie, and said, 'I'll have to think about it.' She left.

Five minutes later she was back. 'Let's do it,' she said. Her voice was brave and slighly giddy. And while my own hair was cut, I watched that hairdresser cut that woman's hair into a glorious confection of silver.

She looked stunning. She wasn't a model, she wasn't Helen Mirren, she was herself. She stood up straighter and smiled. And I felt like applauding.

Having a Ball!

Sue Moorcroft with me and Susanna

A writer’s life can be very lonely, but occasionally Cinderella gets to go to the ball – literally!  This week I am at the RT Booklovers’ Convention in Kansas City with Susanna and we are having the most wonderful time!

It’s the 30^th Anniversary of this convention (and the RT magazine has been going for longer than that) so we attended a special ball to celebrate this achievement.  Kathryn Falk, the founder of RT, made a speech and reminded us how far romance has come during these 30 years, how things have changed and improved for romance writers, which was great to hear.  She also introduced some of the legends of romance – such as Jude Devereux, Robyn Carr, Karen Robards, Janelle Taylor, Bobbi Smith (who I’ve had the pleasure to talk to during the convention) and Mary Balogh.  I'm ever so slightly (ok, very!) starstruck, but these ladies are all so nice!

There are talks, workshops and “mixers” galore with drinks, nibbles (such as chocolate fountains!) and giveaways.  My suitcase will be groaning when I go home and my head is more or less spinning the whole time, but I am very glad I came.  The best thing about this convention though is that there are so many enthusiastic readers here and it’s great fun chatting to them, whether it’s in the lift/elevator, in the queue for lunch or at a party.

I don’t often get to play dress-up, but at the ball I really did feel like Cinderella in my (fake) tiara and evening gloves.  Then I had to turn into more of an evil step-sister for the Freaky Friday party – Goth-rella perhaps?  But it was just as much fun and everyone joined in.

As for the fabled cover models (yes, I attended the Cover Model Party), well, they’re really nice guys.  The fact that some of them have longer hair than me is a bit weird, and I would have preferred not to see them in tights (!?!), but they seem to enjoy what they do and who can blame them?  What’s that I hear?  You want photos?  Ok, then, here’s one I took the other day :-)

CJ Hollenbach

Hope your week has been as good as mine! 

Things

Three Things I Never Thought I'd Do As A Mum

Eat as much fast food as we do.  Actually, it's not really the food, it's the Drive Through delivery system.  On a bad day of tantrums and bad tempers (and that's just mine) the combination of a soothing drive, someone else cooking, food he likes, and not having to toddler wrangle in a crowded cafe is sheer bliss.  The pulling funny faces in the mirrors at each other is kinda fun, too.  I am starting to come to terms with the fact that I might just have to get used to doing this a couple of times a month.  And saying, "no love, they don't do beans and sausages here" each time.

Shout.  I still think I do too much of this, but it's getting better.  It started when he fought free of my grip and went running off, gleefully giggling, down the middle of the road.  The only thing that stopped him in his tracks was a banshee bellow, delivered at my full (and not inconsiderable) volume.  I'm getting better at picking my moments, but for a while after that, every time he did the opposite of what was asked, I saw him in my mind's eye running out in front of a bus.  A friend calls this The Fear.

Love This Much, This Fast.  There's a saying in adoption: "fake it until you make it".  It's about demonstrating and modelling loving behaviour in advance of feeling the love, accepting that it can take time to form a bond and feel that strong attachment.  I haven't had to do much faking.  Sometimes it feels like he's forcing my heart to grow, to fit him inside.

Four Things I Hoped I Would (And Do)
Embrace The Mess.  There are stickers on my loo seat.  Breakfast cereal behind my sofa cushions.  Ball pit balls everywhere.  Crumbs everywhere he can get to, and everywhere I could swear he can't.  It's hard to get in the shower sometimes, because of the legions of bath toys.  I never get to tidy or dust our bedroom (although his is spotless!)  There are books upon books upon every surface.  I am now adept not only at laying my hands on every kitchen utensil and pan without having to look at them (which I could do before) but also setting my feet between the building blocks, bouncy balls, toy phones, toy steering wheels, bobbins, soft toys and sundry ribbons and string that migrate onto the kitchen floor, also without looking (which is a new skill).  I love this.  All of it.

Get Outside.  In all weathers.  The trick is to make sure you're wearing wipe clean clothing, too, because at some point he's going to find the mud – even in a drought – and at some point he's going to want to ride on your shoulders.  One day we came home with mud, cracker crumbs, snot AND leaves in my hair*.  Result.

Paint.  I'm not arty, but I always loved playing with paint and crayons, and I didn't my lack of artiness to mean he didn't get to play this way.  Although it takes more time to prep and clean up than he spends doing it, it's worth it.  See above.

Love This Much, This Hard.  It hurts.  It takes my breath away.  It terrifies me so much I wake up wondering how I'll manage when he leaves home (!).  It's sheer joy and unadulterated euphoria.  It's perfect and real and wonderful.  And forever.

*Yes, I could wear a hat.  But only for about five minutes before it becomes a game...

Writing with Room Service

© Orlando Florin Rosu | Dreamstime.com Used by Permission

Let me say, first off, I love my family. And the smartest thing I ever did, hands down, was have my children. But the thing is, I have always written best in total solitude—and solitude is not an easy thing to come by, when you have a family.

Which is fine. I don't believe in ivory towers, and on most days I can find enough hours while the kids are off at school, or after everyone's asleep, to get some writing done. It's just that every now and then, I grow nostalgic for the days when I could just get lost within the writing of a book—when I could sleep and eat and bathe (or not) in rhythm with the writing, staying up till 3 or 4 a.m. if words were flowing well, because there wasn't any need to wake at 6 and get the household on the go.

It's pure nostalgia. I'm not yearning to return to those days. While they were productive, they were also Very Lonely, and I'm happy with my life as it is now. But in the middle of the writing of The Firebird, I stumbled on a compromise that lets me have the best of both worlds, really: I lock myself into a hotel room for a weekend.

My hotel of choice is the Royal York, in downtown Toronto, but it also works in a Holiday Inn, or a Motel 6, or whatever you've got near you (not too near, mind—you don't want to be so far away that you'll waste all your writing time travelling there and back, but you don't want to be so close that people will feel they can call you back home for "emergencies").

I leave home on a Friday night, having stocked up the fridge and made sure my husband and kids have enough DVDs and video games to keep them all entertained, and I pay for an extra half day so that once I've checked into my room I don't have to come out again till Sunday suppertime.

And for the time in between, I just write. 

I can't do it too often, of course. All that room service doesn't come cheap. But it's well worth the effort of saving and planning, to just feel that wonderful feeling of total immersion—no TV, no Internet, nothing to pull you away from the book. And no dishes to wash.

My Canadian publishers, Simon & Schuster, were so intrigued when they found out that I did this, that they even made a short video trailer about it, which I'm sharing here. (Full disclosure: my hotel room doesn't look that neat when I've spent a day in it, really, and I'm much more likely to order a salad from room service than chocolate cake, but the cameraman liked the cake better).


For someone like me, who can sometimes spend two weeks just writing one chapter, a four-and-a-half-chapter weekend's a Very Big Deal. And I'm home for the hugs from my kids Sunday night, and to take them to school Monday morning. The best of both worlds.

How do you balance work and your family and time for yourself? 

(Come back Thursday, to find out what Julie's been up to...) 

When Two Worlds Collide

Sometimes two things together are greater than the sum of their parts. 

I have found that this happens in my writing more and more these days. I have two ideas which are completely unrelated and one day they find each other in my brain and…

There is a shiny new idea, pulsating with life and possibility. Silver and glinting. Tentacles of plot points reaching for completion.

Supposedly I am not the only one this happens to:

Two-idea notion

“What usually works for me is to take two idea-sources and combine them. As with a metaphor, the tension between the two ideas leads to interesting possibilities. It’s a way of drawing surprising answers out of your unconscious mind.” – Orson Scott Card

Here are some of my ideas that collided to make something new:

Stone circles + angry teen girl

Grumpy teddy bear + and a story at midnight

An assassin + never growing old

A divorce lawyer + A Christmas Carol

And my most recent collision… a songwriter + ????, well you’ll have to wait until I’ve written it

Now I’m wondering what I could create if I mixed up my ideas. Would they create something even greater or will they flop around deflated and flaccid?

What has happened when your ideas have collided?

Inspired by Books

Have any of the books you’ve read made you dream of doing something in particular?  Or have you ever been inspired by a book to do something in real life?  I have.

Book cover courtesy of Wikipedia

I can’t remember when I first read The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, but I know I loved it even more than A Little Princess and Little Lord Fauntleroy, both of which I’d enjoyed.  It wasn’t so much the story of spoiled Mary and her transformation into a happy, loving little girl that caught my imagination, however, but the garden itself.  The image of a secret garden, enclosed by tall brick walls and covered in trailing roses stuck in my mind.  A creaking iron gate, a pond, an intelligent little robin hopping round the place, gravel paths and a riot of flowers ...  I wanted that garden!  And I still do.

My husband and I recently moved to the countryside and the house we’ve bought has a large garden.  Not a walled one or even one full of flowers – most of the flower beds contained nothing but ugly bushes of one sort or another – but a garden nonetheless.  And now I am determined to transform it into the secret garden of my dreams.

This may take years – in fact, there’s no doubt about that, it will – and I’ll have to do most of the work myself, with a little help from my DH as we can’t afford to get in a garden designer and a team of landscape gardeners.  But I don’t mind because it’s going to be fun.  It’s going to be a challenge.  And I will learn as I go along.

A couple of weeks ago I made a start.  Not on the garden itself, but on the learning part.  I had a lesson in brick-laying.  My daughters thought I’d gone mad, but in order to have a secret garden I need brick walls obviously and I want to build them myself.  Ok, so one lesson probably won’t be enough for me to build an entire wall straight away, but I figured I could start by building raised flower beds at least.  How hard can it be to lay bricks in a rectangle?  (Sort of like Lego, but bigger, right?)  Then I can grow things like vegetables without having to bend over too much for the dreaded weeding.

I really enjoyed the lesson and although I was clumsy and felt like I was the slowest brick-layer in the history of mankind, I managed to build a little wall.  (We were indoors practising, thankfully, as the weather outside was freezing!)  I even managed to do the pointing and I learned to always use a spirit level to lay the bricks evenly.  I can do this!  And I’m even more determined now I’ve tried.

Patience isn’t one of my greatest virtues, but if I start now and build say 5 metres of wall every year for the next 20 years, I might have my secret garden.  And in the meantime, I can create the flowerbeds and paths inside it.  Now doesn’t that sound great?  Oh, and if any of you feel like coming over to help, it might not take quite so long and you can enjoy the tranquillity of my secret garden too :-)