Happy St. Patrick’s Day, everyone!

I’ve been feeling pretty lucky the last couple weeks…in a roundabout sort of way. Maybe more grateful and appreciative than lucky, but Thanksgiving’s half a year away, so we’ll call it luck, for seasonality.

I recently started a new day job. In a former life I was a full-time graphic designer, and for the next few months I’m going back to that, freelancing at an ad agency in downtown Boston. The opportunity came out of nowhere, literal hours after my husband and I had been talking about how we could stand to bank some extra money this year. I got offered the gig because my contact at a staffing agency had e-mailed me by mistake, then wound up realizing she had a job that just might be a good fit for me. Seemed serendipitous. So I thought, why not go for it? Good money, and though it’s full-time with a long train-and-walking commute, it’s a temporary contract, so I can leave when I want to and go back to writing as my primary vocation, which is how it’s been for the last not-quite-three-years. I’ve been awfully spoiled, after all (and awfully broke, but my job satisfaction’s been through the roof!)

So I’ve been at the new job for two weeks now, and it’s good gig. I’ll likely keep it up until summer, for the money and the new skills I’m acquiring. But man, is it ever exhausting!

Because I’m determined not to lose momentum on the books I’m working on, I’ve been getting up at five, showering and making coffee, shoving toast in my face, writing from 5:45 to 6:45, doing my hair and scooting out the door a little after seven to catch the train. Ride into the city, then walk a half hour or so to my office (the subway takes about five minutes less at rush hour, but I’d much rather get the exercise and do some story brainstorming along the way.) Stare at a screen for eight hours, walk to the train station, home around 6:45 to make dinner, eat, and pass out around nine with a book on my face. Then up again at five to do it all over.

But like I said, it’s worth it, and not just because of the money. Though I’m sacrificing a ton of unstructured time for the opportunity, it’s actually made me more productive. Or more efficient, anyhow. I may write a thousand new words on a weekday now, instead of three thousand as I’d gotten accustomed to, but I write them way quicker and make the most of my little sliver of precious writing time. And this morning I sat down and hammered out about 3,500 words, way more than I usually have in me on a Saturday morning. I’m super concentrated! Like orange juice or laundry detergent.

I appreciate the writing process in a way I haven’t the last year or so, recognizing it for the necessary luxury it is. I don’t think I ever took for granted how awesome a day job I had as an author, but now I realize that with all the more clarity. The way you appreciate a partner or friend with a new intensity when they’re away. So in a sense, though the new day job’s physically exhausting, it’s charging my projects with a fresh energy and importance. I spend so much time thinking about my characters as I’m moving pixels around on the screen, my creativity well is as full as it ever was…even if I’m not able to toss a buckle down there and haul out as many daily words as I might wish. And when I go back to full-time writing in a few months, it’ll be like summer vacation to a grade school kid. Bell ringing, binders jettisoned, locker combination forgotten, and me flailing headlong toward the nearest work-in-progress.

So anyhow, I guess I’m feeling pretty lucky! Now excuse me while I go collapse.

Wishing you all the best of luck this St. Patrick’s Day,

Meg Maguire

Happy St. Valentine’s week, all! When you’re a romance writer, it takes a certain amount of willful self-cloistering in an unheated, shuttered garret studio to forget about old Valentine’s Day. I’m a social media Luddite compared to many, but I am on Twitter, and it’s been abuzz with V-Day-themed blog posts and giveaways and book releases, to say nothing of friends sharing their plans for the holiday. And if that wasn’t reminder enough, my local NPR station (which is on about as constantly as the heat or lights in our house) runs an annual guerrilla fundraiser selling Valentine’s roses by the long-stemmed, fairly traded dozen that lasts nearly a week. It’s not a day I can forget.

Not that I want to forget it. I used to get a real kick out out of Valentine’s Day, back when I worked in an office. It’s fun to have flowers delivered; I’m girly enough that I like having my roses or new shoes or haircut complimented (oh, this old thing?) Now I work from home, which I wouldn’t trade for anything, but it leaves just little old me to admire any flowers that might show up. Plus there are no witnesses to keep me from eating an entire cardboard heart full of chocolates in a single afternoon.

But the main reason my husband and I don’t bother with Valentine’s Day is that his birthday is two days before. We always go out for a nice dinner (Indian this year, with plenty of wine) and watch a movie and get otherwise romantical, and to do that twice in one week would kind of take the shine off it, I suspect.

But to everyone who digs V-Day, I hope you had a great one! I, alternatively, had a great Husband’s Birthday Day on Sunday, which I kicked off by baking his favorite dessert item—carrot cake. Carrot cake cupcakes, to be precise. It was my first time making carrot cake, but I found it pretty easy, if a bit intensive, clean-up-wise. Credit where credit is due—I’ve adapted the following recipe (changed some ingredients and most measurements) from the one in Dorie Greenspan’s Baking cookbook.

Carrot Cake Cupcakes

Cake batter:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. salt
1½ cups grated carrots (4–5 medium, 2–3 large)
½ cup coarsely chopped walnuts
½ cup raisins
1 cup sugar
1 stick salted butter, melted
2 eggs

Frosting:
⅓ cup cream cheese, room temperature
2 tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
1½ cups confectioners’ sugar
juice from ½ lemon (optional, but I like it)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 325°F. Grease bottoms and sides of 12 muffin tin cups, then dust bottoms with flour and shake out excess. You could probably also use muffin liners, though I didn’t try it myself.

2. Whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Set aside.

3. In another bowl, stir together carrots, walnuts, and raisins.

4. Melt butter and allow to cool slightly. Using an electric mixer, beat sugar and butter together in a large bowl on medium speed until smooth. Add eggs and beat some more. Gradually add in flour mixture, mixing on low speed until just mixed. Fold in carrots, walnuts, and raisins.

5. Dole batter evenly into muffin tins.

6. Bake 20–25 minutes, until a sharp knife inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out clean. Let cool 5 minutes, then gently run a butter knife around the sides to loosen the cake. Invert and cool.

7. For the frosting, use an electric mixer to beat cream cheese and butter together in a medium bowl until creamy. Gradually add confectioners’ sugar and continue to beat until frosting is velvety smooth. Beat in lemon juice.

8. Once cupcakes are cool, frost them. I found they tasted better when they’d cooled completely, rather than still warm from the oven—I could taste more of the cinnamon for whatever reason.

Also, if you’d rather not have a dozen cupcakes tempting you at once, cut the recipe in half, or refrigerate half the batter and frosting to bake another day. I did the latter, and the second batch was just as good as the first.

For the calorie-conscious, I fed the ingredients into my little nutrition app while I was baking, and can report that each cupcake is about 270 calories—190 for the cake and 80 for the icing. Not too bad, for birthday cake!

Neck-deep in revisions on my latest contracted Blaze, I was inspired to pen a loving musical tribute to my intrepid editor, Laura Barth, to the tune of Barry Manilow’s Mandy.

I remember my first book
So many, many weeks it took
I sent it off to Blaze
Never dreaming it would sell
Then twelve months later
A call on my cell

And then I sold my second Blaze
I drank champagne and glowed for days
I e-mailed you the doc
Hoping you’d love it
Though if you thought it sucked
I’d fix the heck out of it

Oh Laura
Well you called me from up in Toronto
With some notes for my Blaze
Oh Laura
I told you I’d get to them pronto
Yet I ignored them for days
Oh Laura

My hero is a seaplane pilot
On a tiny Bajan resort islet
I need to cut his hair
And give him some morals
Now it all seems so clear
So I shan’t bother to quarrel

Oh Laura
You came and you found all my plot holes
And my repetitive verbs
Oh Laura
You need more of my characters’ life goals
Plus cut five thousand words
Oh Laura

Another thing to fix
There’s too many phone calls
At least three I need to nix
Because the pacing it stalls

Oh Laura
Well you asked me to make it more steamy
And promised I would
Oh Laura
Then you told me some parts were unseemly
And so change them I should

Oh Laura
Well it’s making my book so much stronger
And less boring as well
Oh Laura
All my clichés you help me to conquer
And so thank you I will
Oh Laura

For those of you who don’t know already, I’ve made 2011 into a year-long experiment, twelve month-long Lents. I called it Discipline Year, each month’s challenge designed to make me either appreciate what I’ve chosen to give up, or test my commitment. Here’s what I’ve learned.

1 GYMUARY For the first experiment, I decided that each and every day I would go to the gym. It taught me that a twelve-minute walk in January in New England can sometimes feel like that train journey in Dr. Zhivago, especially given the aggro, icy winter we were dealt this year. And truth be told, I missed three days, one because of a blizzard (I made up for it shoveling snow, I reasoned) and two from…well… Gymuary also taught me going to the gym every day is an excellent way to injure one’s self, particularly when one’s self is prone to zealous, willful overexertion. As I am. But I sure did burn a lot of calories.

2 FACE-OFF FEBRUARY In February, I gave up wearing make-up for the entire month, and I didn’t cheat once! It was hard for about two days, then I realized no one except me actually notices if I’m wearing make-up or not. Easily the most liberating month of the twelve. If you’re like me and have been wearing make-up since junior high, give it a whirl. You may just surprise yourself with your own capacity to not care what anyone thinks about your face.

3 MEAGER MARCH No frivolous purchases for the month of March. No problem. I missed eating out and going to the odd movie, but for a single month, it wasn’t much of a hardship.

4 NO #&$%@! APRIL For April, I put the kibosh on my potty-mouth, from “damn” and “hell” on up the line of profanity. I knew I’d fail, so I devised a penance system ahead of time, promising to donate a dollar for each swear that I let slip. All told, I ponied up fifty-seven bucks to charity. That’s not so bad, right? That’s less than two swears a day! As the culler of my many written blasphemies, my editor Laura can attest that that’s pretty impressive. For me.

5 MEAT-FREE MAY I went vegetarian for the month of May. It was the most fun of all the challenges, as I taught myself a dozen or more new recipes and really made the most of our weekly farm share box. We’ve since cut way down on our meat consumption, and hence our grocery bill and household’s carbon footprint. I could fairly easily go vegetarian full-time. Mmm, tempeh. Though I would miss my beloved scallops.

6 NO JAVA JUNE That’s right, no coffee. I did enjoy a rather spirited headache for a couple days, but I soon enough replaced the ritual of coffee with maté tea, and it wasn’t too terrible. I did cheat, though, once. I had a small cup of coffee at the movies, but it made me feel strung out and anxious after three weeks’ abstinence, so it wasn’t even an enjoyable transgression.

7 JUJUBE-FREE JULY That is to say, no candy. No extraneous sugar. If a food such as wine or fruit contained natural sugar, that was fine, but no candy, sweet drinks, pastries, or packaged food with sugar as one of its top five listed ingredients. I missed my nightly square of dark chocolate, but as with the meat and caffeine, once I got into a new habit, I found it wasn’t much of a chore. Though I did ogle an awful lot of pastries while waiting in line at the coffee shop… Bakeries took on a red-light district allure that month.

8 UP AND AT ‘EM AUGUST For August I said I’d set my alarm and rise promptly at five a.m. each morning. Well, I ended up going on vacation for nearly the entire month of August, and gave myself permission to take that time off from the Lents, as well. So, I can’t accurately report my findings, since I really didn’t fulfill this one. Not even close.

9 SWITCH OFF SEPTEMBER In September, I went without TV. Considering I don’t own one, this should’ve be easy, right? Hell no. Thanks to Hulu and Instant Watcher, I had a mean TV habit going on, and I needed to figure out other ways to enjoy my lunch hour or unwind at five aside from tuning in to my beloved crappo reality shows. Movies were acceptable, so I didn’t deprive my manfriend of our shared entertainment times, but no TV. And I did it! I wound up reading a lot more, and generally hanging out in my kitchen, listening to music and working on crossword puzzles.

10 OMMM-CTOBER For October, I’d committed to practicing yoga either at home or in a class for at least forty-five minutes each day. I failed a bit, only doing twenty or thirty minutes some days, and a few days, not at all. I’d begun to lose steam by the time October rolled around, the novelty of all this nonsense having worn off some, and that coupled with a bout of food poisoning sort of dampened my motivation. Still, I definitely felt better those days when I did make the time.

11 NOVEMBOOZE That’s right, no alcohol for the month of November. I love a glass or wine or beer when the writing day is done, but I was very pleasantly surprised to see how easily I could swap them for a mug of hot tea and still unwind just as easily. It’s the symbolism of the drink that I was really attached to, not the buzz, and it turned out a cup of just about anything was enough to trigger in my brain that it was time to relax. Though full disclosure, I did cheat and drink wine at Thanksgiving, though I’d given myself permission to, ahead of time. It was a premeditated caving, not a moment of weakness

12 DONATE DECEMBER Each day in December, I’m going through my clothes and other possessions and choosing one nice thing to give to a Salvation Army-type donation center. Actually I’m doing it every five days, grabbing five things and walking them to the drop box down the road. It was easier at first, but it is a bit more challenging now, with the month half-over. Still, feels great to be getting rid of things I don’t need and helping people who do need them, all in one go.

So, we’re now eleven and a half months into Discipline Year, and I’m truly glad I did all this nonsense. That said, I’m also not planning to do it again, not next year, at least. Sticking with my simple New Year’s resolutions instead for 2012—run ten miles without stopping for the first time ever, try one new recipe a week, read one hundred books, and land an agent. Still ambitious, just a bit less…relentless.

I hope everyone has a safe, healthy, happy holiday season, and a great start to the new year! See you in 2012!

xoxo,
Meg

Hey, everyone! Happy… Dear God, mid-November? When did that happen?

I know it’s a bit premature, but I’ve been thinking about goals for the new year. Goals have been on my mind all through 2011, since I’ve been doing all those ridiculous monthly Lent experiments, and while I don’t want to do anything as intensive and constant as Discipline Year again any time soon, I am still very much pro-goal. So what to aim for, in 2012? Some aims are obvious; write and sell as many books as I can. Stay healthy. Learn when to step away from the keyboard. And between July (no sugar) and this month, alcohol-free Novembooze, I’m eager to keep eliminating sugar from my diet (if anyone else shares that mission, I can’t recommend this lecture enough as motivation). But here are some more measurable, targeted goals I’ve been kicking around:

1. Read more. I’d like to read one hundred books in 2012. That’s two a week, and I know to some of you voracious types, that’s laughable. You could read a hundred books by April, I bet! But in the past few years, since becoming a writer, my fiction-reading skills have taken a battering. Every book I open up turns into a lesson. Not drudgery, not homework, but I’m so semi-consciously preoccupied with seeing how other authors put their words and stories together, it takes me ages to read, now. I’d love to relearn how to read quickly, nuts to turning the act into a learning experience. So, a hundred books in a year. That’s my first goal.

2. Cook new things. My vegetarian month, Meat-Free May, and our participation in a farm-share program (we get a box of fresh, local, seasonal vegetables every week) have reminded how much fun it is to try new recipes. I’d like to try a new recipe once a week in the new year, to keep my modest culinary repertoire expanding…and to make grocery shopping a bit more adventurous.

3. Run ten miles. I used to hate running. But in the last decade it’s gone from torture to chore to routine to something I even look forward to, some days. But I’ve yet to run farther than five and a half miles without stopping, and most days I go about three. I’d love to be able to say I ran ten miles, even just once, just to know I can do it. I’m going to aim to reach that goal by my birthday (May 2), with a little help from a renewed YMCA membership once the weather here turns inhospitable. Which could be any second now. [checks watch]

4. Land an agent. I really need to get off my butt and do this! It’s a scary goal, because of all the ones I’ve listed, it’s the one whose success is ultimately out of my hands. I can try and try and try, but I could still fall short. But that’s a stupid reason to not try, so come January, I’m an author on a mission!

So those are my goals. I think 2012 is going to be an exciting year! I’ll be attending my first Romantic Times Booklovers’ Convention in April, and those folks actually just nominated Caught on Camera for an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, for best series debut. Pretty cool. So cool, in fact, let’s do a contest! Tell me a goal you have in mind for the new year, and I’ll pick a commenter at random to win a paperback copy of Caught on Camera (or if you’ve already read it and you’re patient, I promise I’ll mail you a copy of my next Blaze, once it’s published). I’ll even make the contest international, so go ahead—tell me what you hope to accomplish in 2012! I’ll pick a winner on Sunday, around noon, EST, and announce it here in the comments.

Take care! Can’t wait to hear what your goals are.

Meg

That is to say, for us folks above the equator now settling into our hemisphere’s cooler months, thank goodness for the cold-weather clothes that camouflage seasonal overindulgence. Oh yeah, I’m starting early this year.

I’m an avid baker (of the fool-proof cookie, bread, and pie variety, not the delicate pastry or tidily iced cakes variety) and I’m thrilled it’s finally cold enough to fire up the oven…without also having to fire up the air conditioner. For the past week I’ve been on a banana bread kick, so I thought I’d share my super easy recipe with everyone. This recipe makes two loaves, for a total of 20 generous slices (or 40 more restrained ones). Takes about 15 minutes of prep work, and 50 minutes of baking time.

You’ll need:

1 rounded cup sugar
1 stick butter, softened
super-ripe bananas, 4 small or 3 large
2 eggs (cage-free organic if you want to go to heaven)
½ cup whole milk (or if you’re like me and never have milk in the house, mix 2:1 half-and-half plus water)
1 tsp. vanilla extract (or lemon extract, and swap the chocolate chips for slivered almonds—nom)
2½ cups all-purpose flour
1½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
12 oz. package chocolate chips (optional, really, but delicious—also try cranberries, blueberries, raisins, nuts, etc.)

1. Move the rack to the low position and preheat your oven to 350°. Grease the bottoms of 2 loaf pans.

2. In a large mixing bowl, mix the sugar and butter until smooth. I do it with a fork, but you could use an electric beater, too.

3. Add the peeled bananas, eggs, milk, and vanilla, and mix thoroughly.

4. Stir in the flour, salt, baking soda, and chocolate chips (not too thoroughly).

5. Split the batter between the 2 loaf pans and bake for 50 minutes, or until a toothpick or kebab skewer (or the tip of a sharp steak knife, if you, like me, don’t own toothpicks or kebab skewers) stuck in the center comes out clean.

6. Let cool 5 minutes. Run a butter knife along the sides of the pans, to loosen the loaves. Gently turn out the loaves and let them cool under a clean cloth for 30 minutes, then store any extra bread you don’t gorge yourself on in an air-tight container or plastic bag.

Enjoy! And happy fall.

Meg

Vacation, wooo!

I’m typing this from my hotel room in Victoria, British Columbia, where the manfriend and I are spending three days of our otherwise Oregon-based vacation. Bonus: they overbooked the economy rooms so we got upgraded to the luxury suite for no extra charge! BLAM!

As a quick and long-awaited aside, I racked up a wholly-worth-it exorbitant roaming charge on my phone, taking a call from the most terrifying-slash-exciting area code there is: 416. Just as I’d been hoping for for the last couple months, it was my intrepid editor, Laura, calling from Toronto to offer a contract for my latest Blaze proposal! To say this was exciting is a gross understatement. To say it was a relief, coming thirteen long months and a few manuscripts that didn’t hit the mark, is laughably inadequate. When the call came through we were driving around the boonies near Sooke, southeast of Victoria, and my phone decided to cut out in the middle of the call, but I heard enough to keep breathing. I sold my second Blaze! I’m not a fluke!

Back to travel news. We’ve been enjoying most of the three-week trip in the Cascades region of Oregon, where my husband spent his childhood and formative years (not that he isn’t still forming). We passed our first day in Portland, staying with my sister-in-law, and got lost in the wonderful Powell’s bookstore for a few hours before retiring to her house to watch a truly abysmal film on TV that would explode any romance novel afficionado’s sense of all that is right and good: Stayin’ Alive, the 1983 sequel to Saturday Night Fever. I love me a cheesy, dance-centric movie, but I defy anyone to watch that one and explain its moral to me. Befuddling.

It’s been an adventurous visit so far. Between lazy jigsaw puzzling days and delicious family meals, we’ve gone on a half dozen hikes, including two overnight camping trips. Having grown up in Maine, I’m blown away that there are forests you can camp in without dying of massive blood loss to the mosquitos and blackflies in the night. What a concept! The first backpacking excursion took us four miles into the cedar-tastic Middle Santiam Wilderness, where we made camp at Pyramid Creek. Lovely falling asleep to the sound of the river. We had to wade through a far more formidable river to reach the inner trails, and on the way out, the water was so deep and cold my legs seized up halfway to the far bank. The manfriend had to wade back out and lead me the rest of the way. Very intrepid.

Back at my in-laws place, my stepdad-in-law taught me how to cast for flyfishing, which I spent two hours practicing, sans fly, in their driveway. Relaxing, the way that darts are relaxing. He’s a tough sensei, but he said I’d taken it to it better than expected. Maybe one day he’ll deign to take me to an actual river!

We’re greatly enjoying our side trip in Victoria…very romantic after two weeks of crashing at my in-laws’. We drove up through Washington and took the ferry, a pleasant and scenic hour and a half. Victoria reminds me a bit of one of my favorites places in the world, Wellington, New Zealand—sunny, bustling port city, only with spruces instead of palms. Bonus, this bird-nerd has been treated to multiple sightings of one of her favorite species—guillemots. We’re going to drive out and explore more of Vancouver Island tomorrow. Luckily few people have asked where we’re visiting from, and those who have didn’t seem to hold our Bostonian status against us. You never know. Hockey fans are passionate.

Off in search of a drink now; have to celebrate the new sale, of course. Hope wherever you are, life is treating you well!

Meg

I wanted to be clever, I really did. But the truth is, it’s ninety degrees out this week, I just got through an intense labor with my alter ego’s latest book, and I’ve got less than two weeks before I’m officially on vacation. My brain has checked out. Way out. So instead of a sparkling new post, I thought I’d share some gently recycled wisdom from the Super Lucky #1 Fun Blog (apologies if you’re one of the three people who follow it). But without further ado, eleven things Top Model taught me about writing…

*  *  *

This also works for Project Runway, Top Chef, and plenty of other creative contest-based reality shows. I’m talking about writer-as-contender. Whether you’re after a contest final, a contract, an agent, or a good review, they way you pursue the coveted and finite prizes of this industry matters. Here’s what shows like Top Model have taught me:

1. Everyone has an off week. Even the stand-out talent on any of those weekly whittle-down shows gets a lousy critique or two. As long as the judges know you’ve got potential and want to see more, one missed target isn’t enough to sink you.

2. The judges want to be wowed. Most judges—and indeed editors, agents, contest entry readers, reviewers—don’t get off on ripping people apart. A toxic few may, which is unfortunate, but the professionals don’t, I promise you. They’d far rather be delighted than disappointed.

3. Be yourself. This comes up constantly on those creative shows—know who you are and play to your strengths. Don’t try be someone else, even if you love their work, and don’t just go through the motions of what you think a writer does. Don’t just pose. A genuine weirdo is infinitely more charismatic than a soulless imitator.

4. Be a pro. Be humble, but not self-deprecating to a point where people cringe. Believe in your work, but not to a point where you’re telling the judges they don’t know what they’re talking about. Always be gracious, sincere, and attentive, but unafraid to admit politely that you disagree.

5. Be emotional. You know all those boring, wooden, flat, cold girls who get sent home at the start of any Top Model cycle? Don’t confuse strength and poise with bottling emotions. Self-control is good. Repression is not. Unless you want to deliver stiff, lifeless, forced work, don’t be afraid to feel.

6. But don’t be a psycho. Like a shaken soda, intense sensations like anger, jealousy, distrust, and betrayal need to be allowed to settle before they’re uncapped. Nothing undermines professionalism quicker than a reactionary outburst, fight-picking, retaliation, or passive-aggressive gossip or sabotage.

7. Be a good housemate. Your fellow writers are many things; your peers, your friends, your colleagues, your competition, your connections, your future collaborators. Friendships are invaluable in this brutal business, but respect professionalism. If you’re tempted to gossip or blow off some steam, never take it for granted that no one else is listening. Snark isn’t the same as wit, and as good as it might feel in the moment, it doesn’t flatter you. If you’re tempted to vent online, ask yourself, “Would I put this in a public post?” It’s the interwebs, people. The cameras are always rolling. Never forget—the reunion show’s got clips.

8. Accept defeat gracefully. If you get voted off (a contest loss, a rejection, a shitty review) take it like a pro. If appropriate, thank the judges for their time and interest, and exit with a smile. Last impressions count, too, so leave a pleasant taste in their mouths. It’s okay if you’re faking it for the sake of dignity—grace doesn’t have to feel good.

9. Triumph just as gracefully. If your fellow contestants are heartbroken, don’t do a touchdown dance at the podium. Own and celebrate your happiness, but again—dignity.

10. Tabloids are a bitch. On the grand scale of a national reality show, no matter how popular a contestant is, for every ten fans, every ten flattering gossipy blog posts about them, there will be a certain percentage of cruel ones. The same goes for reviews. No one—no author or genre or book or voice or plot—can please everyone. Not even close. And not your job. And sad as it is, some people are naturally, toxically contrary, and will make it a point to hate things that others praise. They don’t matter—dodge them like turds on a hot sidewalk. For the rest, know yourself and what you’re feeling, and if you’re going to click on an editor or agent’s e-mail or a review link, do so when you know you’re in a frame of mind to handle it, good news or bad.

11. The show ends, but the job doesn’t. No triumphant high or sting of defeat lasts forever. Take heart if you struggled and came up short, because one set-back is just that—one set-back. You didn’t final in the Golden Heart, but a year from now, who’ll care? You still get to write, and isn’t that what you love? What’s that you say? You won the Golden Heart? Well, bask in that excitement and take your bows, savor but don’t wallow, because the glow is joyous but fleeting. Careers grow or fizzle well after the show’s finale airs. When the newness and attention of a triumph wanes, what you do, alone in front of your keyboard, is what really matters. So make damn sure you love it.

As some of you may know, in 2011 I’m undertaking what I’ve been calling Discipline Year, sort of a year of twelve Lents, giving up something different every month. It’s now June, the month during which I was supposed to give up coffee…

Yeah, about that.

Not back-pedaling too badly, I swear, but given what a crazy-go-nuts writing month June was promising to be, I decided to swap June and July. This is not the time for caffeine withdrawal. And hence, it’s instead now Jujube-Free June, the month of no sugar!

I know this prospect terrifies some, but I’m fortunate in that I’m much more of a salt fiend than a sugar junkie. I take my coffee bitter, I don’t drink juice or soda (even the diet stuff can make you crave sweets), and the only slightly dessert-ish thing we keep stocked are huge bars of 70% dark chocolate from Trader Joe’s. I do miss that chocolate, though, especially on warm days like this when I know how perfectly pre-softened each melty square would be…

Whoa, I went somewhere just then. Pardon me, I’m back now. So I’m doing fine on the temptation front. Sure, I literally, honest-to-God had a dream about sneakily eating a cupcake last night, but I swear I’m not suffering. It is summer, however, and our seaside New England tourist town must have the highest per capita number of ice cream joints of anywhere ever in all of history in the infinite universe. Regular, soft serve, custard, sorbet, gelato, King Cones, Dippin’ Dots…we got your fix. Come to Salem for the schlocky witch trinkets, but stay for a generous scoop on every corner. Those do make me a bit wistful, a bit spiteful toward the fortunate, sticky-fingered toddlers who bumble across my town’s cobblestones, mocking me with their dribbling cones of pure summer awesome.

But all this is bearable. Why? Because in the two weeks since ditching the sugar, I’ve also ditched five pounds. Whoa now. Granted, I got back into my wussy little weight-lifting and calisthenics routine last month, but the scale didn’t budge until June 2. Now I’m suddenly having to turn my “maybe I’ll contract a stomach virus and get back into these size sixes someday” drawer into my “I’ll probably chub out over Christmas and should save these as contingency pants” drawer. Bonus.

I’m a really crappy amateur nutritionist, so I can’t say for sure why dropping the sugar could have this dramatic a change on one’s weight, but I know I’m not the only one who’s had these sorts of results. My suspicion is that blood sugar plays a huge role. I know blood sugar, low or high, contributes greatly to our energy dips and cravings for simple-carb-loaded foods. And more than the mere absence of sugar, I know that the reason I’ve lost five pounds is that I’m generally eating less and not snacking at all, yet not missing the extra calories. Weird. Weird and delightful.

Now before you all shout, “It’s not healthy to not eat fruit, dummy!” let me explain what I mean by “no sugar”. I fashioned my rules thusly: no item that has sugar (or corn syrup, fructose, etc.) listed in its first five ingredients, and no item that contains more than five grams of sugar per serving, unless it’s a piece of fruit. And juice doesn’t count—gotta be a nice fibery piece of whole fruit.

So most desserts are out, clearly. A few other culprits surprised and disappointed me, as well, such as barbecue sauce and marinades. On the plus side, I learned to make my own faux masala simmer sauce to replace the stuff I usually rely on (way cheaper and healthier) and I found my roast actually tastes better with just salt and pepper and paprika.

Some other things I’ve discovered: it’s really hard to find nutrition facts about specific beers, but although many are high in carbohydrates (up to twenty grams a bottle) relatively few of those carbs come from sugar…unless it’s a malty brew. I feared terribly that wine would be off limits (I’m a writer, so that’s like taking my wrists away) but I found that as long you stick with dry reds, you’re only looking at one to three grams of natural sugar per glass. Cheers to that.

This experiment, like all the others this year, is about nothing other than challenging myself, and ending the month with a new appreciation of the treats and privileges I take for granted. Losing weight has merely been a side effect of June’s challenge, but I have to say, I’m tempted to stick with the no sugar rule for good…barring birthday cake and the odd ice cream cone. Ooh, mint chocolate chip.

Oh and of course, if I manage to sell my elusive second Blaze, there will be a bottle of ten-dollar champagne, sugar be damned, and I will drink it entirely by myself over the span of eight hours, very likely while watching reality television. Because my classiness takes no month off.

There is no doubt that I’m the new girl. At Blaze, I’m nearly positive I’m the latest author to sign, and still I’m a newbie on the writing side of Romancelandia in general. Three years ago I hadn’t yet realized that the movies playing in my head were stories trying to burst from my skull and splatter across my screen, not until July of 2008. But I’m nothing if not eager, and somehow or other I ended up here after a self-designed crash course in fiction writing, and with the help and advice of hundreds of kind strangers (hi, NEC!)

But let’s get one thing straight—I have no clue what I’m doing. I still feel very much like a student of this world, and thank goodness there are so many patient, generous authors and editors who DO know what they’re doing (and how), willing to grab me by the shoulders, turn me a few degrees and give me a gentle push in the right direction.

Often these kind acquaintances explain things to me, such as “What’s a sexy hook?” They very politely don’t question how I managed to sell to Blaze without really grasping this most basic and integral of concepts, they just take a moment to explain it in their own words, and after perhaps thirty translations from thirty different sources, one of them will finally click for me. They explain to my naive butt that there are certain outside industry folks I’d be better off avoiding, lest I step on any toes in my quest to appear engaged and active in the digital RomantiSphere. When I explain a new book idea, they ask questions so obvious I hadn’t pondered them, such as, “So…what’s the conflict then?” With knowing good humor they share their own second-sale struggles (apparently not such a rare hurdle at all). They field my epic-length e-mails fraught with frustration and insecurity with more patience and wisdom than is strictly human (thanks, Samantha!)

Where is this post going? I actually have no idea. The theme of the past few weeks for me has been Don’t Overthink It, and I may as well apply it to this while I’m at it. I’ve been struggling (sometimes admirably and with dignity, other times buried to the ankles in snotty tissues) to come up with a second winning Blaze premise / concept / hook / idea. It’s been ten months since my first sale, and the overachiever in me says that’s far too long a time to have passed before I’ve made a second. Was it all a fluke, my first sale? It sure felt like a fluke. Will I ever be able to do it again? A roller coaster of self-confidence ensues as I come up with an idea, suspect it’s brilliant, then plan and plot the life from it as I obsessively strive to make the proposal “right”, make it perfect, make a second sale so I can know for sure if I belong here or not.

Oh, trying. The enemy of creation. For me, anyhow. And when I say trying, I mean over-analyzing the idea I’m fixated on, using every trick and technique I can think of to make sure it’s the “right” story. It’s born of wanting something so badly, you squeeze the breath from it lest it has a chance to escape from you. And no wonder my proposals have been missing their marks—by the time this 70% pantser has forced herself to meticulously plot every chapter of her proposal (lest it not be perfect, every possible editorial question pre-addressed) all the mystery has left it, all the what-ifs that usually come to me as I’m tagging along on the hero and heroine’s journey already answered, but answered analytically, not intuitively.

I got to hang out with Brenda (Senior Blaze Editor) at the New England Chapter (mah peeps) of the Romance Writers of America’s annual conference last month, and my GOD was that helpful. My editor Laura had kindly passed along the latest of my over-labored proposals for Brenda to check out, and she rather frankly informed me that reading the synopsis’s latest fourteen-page iteration had been nothing short of painful. Well that did not shock or offend me. Writing it had been at least twice as torturous! I just wanted it be “right” so badly…cue the strangly hands.

She said scrap it, and run with another idea I’d tossed out in an earlier brainstorming session. She explained the Blaze line’s essential “hook” concept in a way that made it click into place for me in a totally new way (nothing short of a Helen Keller “water” moment). Perhaps most importantly, she gave me permission to accept that I write and plot in a certain way, one that may equal a pretty sparse synopsis to start off but yields organic, not contrived, story developments as the chapters are actually typed up. She explained how everyone writes in their own distinct style, and just as there’s no perfectly “right” story, there’s no “right” process either. Only the one that’s right for a given author. Sounds so obvious, right? Well the obvious tends to go fuzzy when you’re clinging white-knuckled to your belief that you’ve got to be perfect.

So, that was just over two weeks ago. I’ve spent the time since strictly NOT overthinking my current proposal. Just two weeks of walking and scheming and not allowing myself to worry too far beyond how the hero and heroine should meet and become tangled up in one another’s lives. I wrote the first three chapters in about a week, simply along for the ride as my characters took over the action. I wrote an eight-page synopsis, feeling I needed to at least guess at what might happen between their meeting and the black moment…then I scrapped it and wrote it in two pages, unanswered questions be damned. Then this morning, after the breathless final spell-check, I hit Send on the sucker.

It may be another miss. It may have potential. It may be a masterpiece of staggering Blaze-y genius! Well, perhaps not. Only my brilliant editor and a week or two of nail-biting will yield the answer to that mystery. But this time at least I handed something over with life still pulsing in it, and even if it gets handed back to me, another miss, I’ll be left with something that felt fun and natural and easy for the first time since my stakes got raised, since this second sale took on life-or-death proportions in my head.

Anyhow, just wanted to share all that. Since fumbling my way into this field, I’ve found it unspeakably helpful when authors are honest and upfront about their own struggles and set-backs. So if there’s somebody out there striving to publish, I hope this post won’t darken your hopes, its message landing with an ugly plop—”Even a published author still struggles to get it right? What hope is there for me?” No no no. Instead take away that our challenges are not so different. We’re not so different. Not so different, in fact, that you might just find yourself in my shoes in a week or a month or a year, a very fortunate new-kid sharing your own pitfalls en route to Publishedopolis. My best advice is: do your homework, and know your line as much as you can…then pack all that away in a cupboard and write a story that excites you. That’s why we all started writing, and I now know that’s the only thing that will keep me writing.

Leave the overthinking and all its headaches to the reviewers, and just write.