I read Neil Gaiman’s blog pretty much every day. Just the blog, not too much else, although his site is chock full o’ wonderful. One post came up recently that had me arching my eyebrows. There’s a gang of his fans that are getting tattoos of his characters. These are permanent tattoos. Like forever.

It got me thinking about why there isn’t a group of Jo Leigh fans out there with tattoos of my characters. When I stopped laughing (which took a long time) I thought about the nature of fandom, and how unique each venue seems to be.

Gaiman tattoos actually make a weird kind of sense, seeing as how he does a lot of visual work. So maybe these tats, while being an homage to Neil’s characters, are really more about the illustrator. No? Maybe?

Anyway, it seems to me as if there are fannish things for each kind of fiction – the science fiction bunch tend to draw stuff, compute stuff, play stuff, act out stuff. The literary fans seem to like to talk a lot, and write from a distance, but I don’t know of any lit fans who do much jousting or wearing of costumes (with the notable exception of characters from ThirtySomething who went as Will and Arial Durant for Halloween). Thriller fans? I’m not sure about them. I assume they don’t actually plot to take over the world, but I could be wrong.

Mystery fans? Depending on the brand, they can go anywhere from knitting something, in front of a fire, preferably, as they listen to their favorite cozy read by a British actor to learning how to light a cigarette with a pack of matches in a dark alley for those noir-lovers out there. But I do think the main thing for mystery fans is making friends with a long standing character and chuckling quietly to themselves as they mentally sneak out of a conversation with whomever they’re really with, to imagine they’re with the witty and wry gumshoe they’ve come to admire.

Then there’s the whole fanfiction thing. That’s all about sharing the wicked. Squeeing over the naughty bits. The forbidden. Somewhere in there is a streak of rebelliousness. That middle-aged housewife you’re standing behind at the grocery store? The one who kinda needs her roots done, wearing the mommy jeans? Only she knows that she’s just written this incredibly dark and disturbing Supernatural slash that’s going to singe the eyebrows off her flist.

Now comes romance. I probably know the least about romance fans. The one thing that I know for sure is that they tend to keep books. All of them. Forever. Moving them from town to town in boxes. Shelving them in every room because it makes them happy just to know they have the books.

I also know some fangirls (or fanboys, not sure about that, either) who have taken on the roll of Author Protector, sworn to destroy the words of anyone who doesn’t understand and appreciate their Beloved Scribe.

Then there are some fans who find bliss in the history, and expand that love to costumes, or at the very least reading nonfiction history books on the Regency period.

But I think there are more ways we show how we’re romance fans. Romance fans feel things so deeply, they must feel the need to express themselves in unique, wonderful ways.

My confession? I’m one of those fans who gets an incredible rush when I meet or speak to a like-minded stranger. Any mention of Hornblower, and I’m beside myself with joy. I’m also that way about Sondheim, the Durants, Carl Sagan, Jane Austen and some characters in TV shows that if I told you, you’d laugh. No matter. The connection for me is where it’s at. The chance encounter.

How does your fangirl come out?

A couple of months ago, I got to spend some quality time with two of my nieces, which was an extraordinary treat. They live in New York. I don’t. In fact, I live far, far away in a little tiny town that probably has more cows than people. Not that I have a cow, but that’s beside the point. One afternoon when my 27 year-old niece and I were talking, I realized just how much age and distance changes perspective.

It’s been a while since I was 27, but as she was lamenting the sad state of her love life, I was instantly taken back to those days I had been so like her. She’s very successful career-wise. In fact, she’s an attorney, was valedictorian of her class at NYU law school, and now works for a non-profit dealing in restorative justice. She’s beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because I adore her, she really is. Funny, kind, bright, thoughtful. Any man would be lucky to be with her, and it’s hard for me to believe there’s one worthy enough. Now that, I admit, I say with complete prejudice.

At her age, I was like that. Successful in my career, driven, bright, focused. But I constantly lamented my lack of love and was steeped in self-doubt and low self-esteem, even though I tried hard to hide that fact. Now, when I look at pictures of myself at that age, I’m amazed at what a hottie I was. Seriously, I had no idea.

How did I not know I was a babe? How did I not see all the terrific things I had going for me? I know now it was because I was looking through a distorted window. I’m sure there must be some young people who see themselves clearly. Wait, no, I doubt that. I think that’s part of being young. We don’t see ourselves yet because we haven’t become our true selves yet. So I muddled through, just as my niece is muddling. She can’t see it yet. But the good part, for me back then and for her now, is that she knows who she wants to be. She has role models, and not just the few people out there who’ve made headlines.

A very cool (and sometimes weird if I think about it too much) thing is that she reads Blaze books. Loves them. She reads my Blazes. Eeek! I think it’s great that she does, because in today’s romance novels, particularly Blazes, I believe she can find really wonderful role models. Strong women who aren’t ashamed of their sexuality, who are out to make a difference, who learn to see themselves as deserving of love. Not just deserving, but worthy of the best. She’s reading about men who need to work at it to get their women. The heroes have to transform just as much, if not more, as the heroines.

I want her to believe that about herself. I want all the women who read Blazes to believe that about themselves. Therefore, it’s crucial to me that I write heroines and heroes of substance. Books that don’t trivialize either the sexual journey or the emotional journey. Not that they can’t be fun books, or funny books, in fact, humor and joy are important aspects of painting a picture a reader can believe in.

As I continue to write for Blaze, I feel this responsibility more and more acutely. These books, I believe, are the fundamental novels of so many, many womens’ lives. They’re not the flashy Oprah books or the one’s people write their theses about. (Although there’s nothing wrong with those). Romance novels are the bread and butter, the solid foundations. They are accessible and relatable and the ideas and values in them become part of a person’s core beliefs. I’ve seen too much proof from readers and writers to believe differently. I do not for one moment think these are trashy little books, or that they’re in some way not real books. These are the books that help create who we are. Not every book will become part of a readers’ character, but any book can.

I’m delighted to say that my editor and I have just come to agreement on five more books, and those will be coming out in 2010 and 2011. I’m excited and nervous, because I want to write women who are real, who face real dilemmas, who overcome real obstacles in a believable way. And who not only get the heroes, but who get a new perspective on who they are and their intrinsic worth. It’s a tall order, and one I’m not sure I can fulfill, but I’m going to give it my best shot.

I know for me, my life has been so informed and shaped by reading that it’s impossible to separate books from the rest of my life. Not just my current career, but every job I’ve held, every dream I’ve had, every goal I’ve fought to achieve. Books, much more than school itself, and probably just a bit less than my nuclear family, have been an enormous influence. I know that’s true for other people – lots of other people – as well. Can you even imagine a life without books? Can you picture your teenage years if you hadn’t been a reader? I’d love to know how books have influenced your lives. How they’ve changed you and how they’ve become entwined in the fabric of your days. What do you know now that you didn’t know then? Growing up with role models who strive to be the best they can be made me work harder, dare more. Is that true for you, too? I bet it is.

I need to write a post for my publisher’s Blaze blog. I have no idea what to write about. I fear that most of the things I’m really interested in would bore the shit out of most romance readers. Not that I know what most romance readers are interested in (aside from the obvious) but I tend to obsess about the following in no particular order:

Whatever I’m reading at the moment (The Silver Swan by B. Black)
Steampunk
Sondheim
my nieces and nephews
kittens I have rescued
that I live in a really weird Utah tiny town and am constantly freaked out by the politics here
Dr. Who and my nerves about 11
My LJ friends and how it’s kind of like dating in the dark, because I get to know them through mutual obsession, which, in my opinion, is the best way to meet people
That NO radio signals come in clearly in this town
Criminal Minds
CM gen fanfiction, CM slash but only H/R
X-Files slash, but only M/K
Writing Is Hard
Plotting Is Fun
Having Written Is Awesome
Why did I stop going to the pool when it felt so great?
Social Media and hub technology
Neuroscience
Neuroscience (yes, I said it twice)
The intersection of neuroscience/religion/mythology
That I have made peace with my obsessiveness and have learned to enjoy it

And yet, I have the feeling that romance readers are obsessively interested in fabulous things, many I haven’t heard of. Because romance readers read all kinds of stuff, and are open to possibilities, and tend to have welcoming hearts. So maybe this is what I’m supposed to post.

I didn’t get to go to National this year, which sucks. I love the conference, the schmoozing, the laughter and seeing old friends. I have wonderful memories of RWA conferences but none so wonderful as the Reno con in ’05. That’s where I got married.

We didn’t want anything fancy, didn’t care about anything but getting hitched with family and friends to witness the unbelievable. I was 50 (good god) and I’d never been married, had never wanted to be. So this was something of a surprise. We picked Reno because my husband’s sister lived there, and we picked the conference hotel chapel because most of the people I cared about in the world would be there as well.

That day is mostly a blur to me. I do know that I sobbed my way through the entire ceremony. Not wept prettily, wiping a delicate tear. No. I sobbed so hard I could barely speak. Could not stop. So not cool.

I also remember all the people who were there to celebrate with us. Blaze babes, of course. Writing friends from before I was published or they were published. My amazing editor Birgit Davis-Todd and sometimes editor and friend Brenda Chin. We had a great cake. Jill Shalvis and Debbi Rawlins busted their butts getting the suite ready for the small party. I desperately wanted to take off my shoes.

Even though I never changed my name, that day I wanted everyone to call me Mrs. Wendelken. I was married. To my first, best and last love. At an RWA conference. So fun.

I have a lot of memories from that day, but this picture, which hangs in our living room, is one of my favorites. It was from the folks at Harlequin, and there couldn’t have been a more wonderful, personal, meaningful gift.

If you click on the picture, you can read the fabulous cover copy.

I hope all of you who went to the conference had a great time, and for those of you who couldn’t go, I hope you read something wonderful. And saw Harry Potter, which rocked.

I’m reading STIFF: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach. For fun. Just like I read FLU and TRAUMAS OF THE BRAIN and THE FORENSIC CASEBOOK.

The people in my life understand that unexpected things will come up in conversation. Sometimes those things might be considered gross. Some of them are unabashedly gross. But they’re also interesting. At least to me.

I consider all my non-fiction reading research, and it’s one of the best perks of the job. I’m pretty much useless when it comes to things like taxes or fixing the plumbing or appropriate wedding gifts, but damn, I know some neat stuff.

Not that I’ll ever use it all. When I do use it I end up having to go back to find the original reference because I have too many old Beatle’s lyrics in my brain that I invariably get some part of the facts wrong. I don’t have the kind of helpful memory (as seen on TV) either. My facts come up when it’s least convenient, not to mention least polite. I don’t believe I’ve ever had that gem of information that saved the day, or even the hour.

What I have done, however, is found a way to marry my kind of brain (all over the place and undisciplined but eager, like a puppy) with the work I do. Believe it or not, I was once a bookkeeper. Me plus numbers? Rubbish. Completely. Whoever hired me was insane, or deeply sorry. I quickly left the real world, where I felt wholly inadequate, for the make believe, and I’ve lived here ever since, quite happily.

Okay, so I’ve had to be disciplined sometimes. Like for deadlines. But only when I can’t help it. Recently, I’ve had to get up with the aid of an alarm clock. It remains very unsettling, but I go to swim aerobics and the class is early in the morning. I still haven’t managed to get to sleep at a regular time.

Somehow, I do manage to read interesting books, watch the Science Channel and Discovery and listen to podcasts by odd people and generally live as a perpetual student.

And, I’m always on the lookout for more. So, what have you read lately that blew you away? Any thing on Netflix I should look into? I’ve recently discovered Steampunk, so I’m diving into those waters, but what am I missing? I know you guys have some recs I’ll love.

There are two parts of writing that are pure, unadulterated awesome:

The second is when you’re done. When it’s sent, and it’s complete and you can breathe even though you have no idea how your editor is going to feel about it, or if you’re going to have to do a ton of revisions.

The first is before you’ve written a word. When the book is still in your head. Because that’s when it’s perfect. The only time it’s perfect, at least in my experience.

When the idea shows up and takes hold, it’s not just a mental exercise, it’s physical. There are flutters and flushes and it’s very similar to that moment when you know the guy you’ve been wanting wants you. Chemicals are released and I’m talking about the good chemicals.

And just as with romance, there’s a whole first stage of love. Ideas pop in the car, in the shower, when you’re driving or on the phone with your accountant. It’s a free-for-all in your brain and synapses are firing like crazy. Not all of the ideas are good ones, but some of them rock. Some of them feel as though they will change the world as we know it. Yeah, yeah, but that’s what it feels like. Intoxicating. Addicting. Sadly, unsustainable.

For me, even though I can’t be in that state forever, the idea stage has to be really powerful. Say, falling in love with the man you’re going to marry and live with for 50 years powerful, versus having a crush on TV star.

The crush won’t see me through to the end. Not even if the crush is pretty and shiny and you’re reasonably sure if you actually met, you’d really like each other. The crush will, if you’re lucky, take you through to the middle. Which then sags. Even worse, going to the computer every morning becomes like a punishment for unknown terrible crimes.

True love, however, will get you to the end with a modicum of sanity. Pleasure, even. Just like romance, a strong, passionate story idea won’t always be roses. It will require effort and work. But if the idea is the one, there will be days that thrill, whole chapters that make your heart beat fast and give you goosebumps.

And while true love ideas make the work easier, they don’t guarantee success. The book may tank. You may get a boatload of revisions.

It’s still a gift. One that keeps me coming back for more. One that makes me incredibly grateful that I don’t have to be monogamous with my book ideas. I can fall in love over and over again, and each time true love strikes, it’s like the first time.

Do you find that kind of rush in your professional life? What about in your reading life?

So I’m wasting time surfing the internet and I read this article from somewhere on some site that’s quasi-scientific that says people have celebrities in their dreams from time to time. Madonna, for example. Or the President. That someone out there is actually doing a research project on it, asking people to write in if they have ever dreamed of a celebrity.

What I concurred, although it wasn’t so stated was that this is a rare-ish occurrence. You wouldn’t know by me. My dreams, when I remember them, which is most of the time now, are chock full of movie stars. I mean they don’t leave me alone.

Just the other night, it was Cameron Diaz. Why? Who the hell knows. I don’t recall reading or seeing anything that featured Ms. Diaz, but she was not only there, she was ready to dance. In a fabulous costume that sparkled and had feathers. Behind her, a team of background dancers were also gaily festooned, and everyone was nervous. Especially me, as I, it turns out, was the choreographer.

In front of her, behind the curtain, was a gigantic audience as if for the Oscars or Tonys or something equally stellar.

It was almost time. The orchestra began, and I stepped into the wings, nervous as hell. For good reason. The band played and all the dancers, including Cameron, just sort of aimlessly milled around.

I was as good a choreographer in my dreams as I would be in real life.

So that one went into the nightmare category, although not the most horrible of its kind.

Some of the better dreams have starred George Clooney (no explanation necessary) although in his many appearances we’ve never been more than friends. Clive Owen, Steve McQueen…oh, just way more than I can list here.

However, I’ve only dreamed a novel once. That’s it. Once. And it was a better dream than a book. Water is my medium, it turns out. Showers. I get great ideas in the shower. It would be baths, but I don’t have a tub.

I admit, I really do like having such special guest stars. For the most part, they’ve been nice and I wake up happy.

Are your dreams filled with movie stars? How about characters from books? If you do have guest celebrities, is it a rare thing, or are you running a neighborhood cinema, like I am?

PS – I’m out of town, naturally, but should be back this afternoon. So please do comment, and I promise I’ll be here later to respond!