So many Blaze writers (including me) were there from the beginning, and it’s hard to believe so many years have gone by. We’re having a big party on Friday afternoon, and I’m sure we’ll take tons of pictures, so I’ll try to stop by the blog that day and post some. (The hotel charges a ridiculous amount for Internet access, so I’m current using the one at the McDonalds in Times Square–crazy, huh?)

RWA always puts on a great conference. This morning’s opening session was a panel discussion with Steve Berry, Diana Gabaldon and Tess Gerritsen–a pretty stellar group, I’m sure you’ll agree. During the rest of the week we’ll have luncheon speakers Madeline Hunter and Sherrilyn Kenyon, then the hilarious Meg Cabot hosts the RITA Awards Ceremony (our version of the Oscars) on Friday night. Plus, all the Harlequin authors will get to see our editors, the executives and the amazing support staff who promote our books, design the covers and keep those great stories flying off the presses.

When we’re not in workshops or involved in discussion panels, we’re–naturally–shopping and eating. This is NYC, after all. I dropped waaayyy too much cash at Henri Bendel yesterday (if you’ve never heard of this shop, it’s the mecca of makeup and hip accessories), walked until my feet throbbed, then topped off the night with fish and chips, a Harp and my buds at an Irish pub. Doesn’t get much better than that in my world.

So, happy birthday, Blaze! We can’t wait for the next ten years!

I’m from Alabama and most of my family still lives in the Birmingham area–some without power at the moment, but all otherwise okay. My sister lived in Tuscaloosa for 4 years when she attended the university, and many in the Harlequin family live all over the South.

Here in South Carolina, we escaped largely unscathed from the deadly storms this week. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, many cities in the southeast did not.

Still, in the aftermath, so many people are volunteering to help. Either by donating to the Red Cross or any of the other generous charities, or actually rolling up their sleeves and pitching in by hand. People are jumping into cars, trucks and vans to head to the disaster sites, giving of their time and hearts to help those whose lives have changed so drastically.

It’s times like this that I remember no matter how bad the storm, a rainbow does appear.

Take care out there!

Eventually.

The flowering trees in my front yard

My neighbor's pansies

Today, it’s a balmy, sunny 68. (Though by the time you read this it’ll probably be raining. Again.) The pollen count is through the roof–the dog even comes in with yellow feet. And everywhere you look, there’s the color of spring.

In case you’re wondering, the palms are green all year around here–well, except for that crazy week in January when they were covered in snow. It was a little bizarre for this area, a once-in-a-decade kind of event. Other than flukes of nature, though, I only have to crack the front door to realize I live in South Carolina.

The palms by my front door

Which is important. Late Southern humorist Lewis Grizzard used to say he’d lived in the South his whole life– “…except for nearly three years when I was held prisoner of war in Chicago, Illinois. They have two seasons–winter and Fourth of July.”

While my experience above the Mason-Dixon wasn’t quite so traumatic, I did learn to appreciate the weather I’d been used to. I lived in St. Louis for three years. Loved the people, but winter was something that no doubt takes a lifetime to adjust to. I remember laughing at my firefighter neighbor on Halloween weekend the first fall I lived there. He was tromping around his roof, putting up his Christmas lights. I thought he was crazy. (To his defense, he didn’t actually turn them on until after Thanksgiving.)

He, however, knew what he was doing, since when I was putting up my lights the first weekend in December, it was snowing. This led me to the sage conclusion that listening to the natives was probably a wise idea.

While I’m pleased to look into my backyard now and happy to sit on my screened porch and type away, come July you northern-oriented gals can brag about balmy breezes and wonder how I can live in such oppressive humidity.

For now, though. I’m pretty comfy.

Heroes are kind of my thing. Often I identify with the male protagonist more than the female. I like computers and fast cars, so maybe its part of my wiring, but I also like creating a unique character, building an interesting backstory and finally laying out the scenes to make a compelling story. (This instinct of control has to be pure female.)

Writing allows me to explore aspects of many types of guys, gals and relationships I choose, so I’m always interested in how other readers and writers feel about specific character archetypes. The bad boy, the conservative guy, the manly man, the cowboy, the executive or the prince. Alpha? Beta? Beautiful, rugged or average looking. Rich, poor or somewhere in between. With Harlequin’s varied lines of publication, you have a choice of any and all of them.

Since I recently agreed to a new 3-book Blaze contract, and my heroes are all over the board, I thought I’d ask your opinions about heroes you remember and love. (Call it market research.)

My guys range from the second son of an English lord, to an adventurous cowboy, then a hardened cop.

Are there certain heroes that push your buttons? Is it about a type or how a type is presented? Do some authors do it better than others? Why do you think (or not think) that’s so?

By the way, Roarke from the J.D. Robb “In Death” series is my all-time favorite, though there have been dozens of favorites over the years. I’d love to hear about your memorable characters.

I’m a big fan of champagne, so I guess New Year’s Eve should be a big night for me. Generally, though, I wind up at a neighbor’s house, consuming a glass or two of the bubbly, but almost immediately after the ball drops, I’m yawning.

There were times when I was younger that the night was more significant and wilder, but these days I find myself grateful for friends and family, making sure my kids are safe and happy.

Still, if somebody wanted to invite me to some hot nightspot where I could wear lots of sparkles and great shoes…I’d probably be there in a heartbeat. (Though it’s possible I’m simply having a hopeful delusion courtesy of the lingering affects of Burlesque.) Do you think if I had pipes like Christina Aguilera, some hot real estate guy (played by none other than Dr. McSleezy Eric Dane) would buy me a pair of crystal-encrusted Christian Louboutin shoes?

Maybe. But my husband would no doubt be annoyed. And nobody wants that kind of bang on New Year’s.

I’d love to hear how all of you are spending the big night–party, college football bowl game, movie marathon, quiet reflection at the homestead?

Whatever you choose, everything is better when you share. (D)

How do you pick yours? Do you prefer to indulge in a fantasy? A joke? Traditional fun? An opportunity to terrorize the neighborhood kiddies? Do you do the costume thing at all?

We always have a neighborhood party, as well as a contest at my gym. (Yes, the gym. The legendary performance still held by my friend Erin as an early-80’s Olivia Newton-John a la Physical. Headband, leg warmers and all. Hilarious!)

Personally, I go with a combination fantasy and silliness. Last year, I did my version of The Little Mermaid (With hair like mine as well as my height, it wasn’t much of a stretch). I thought it was fun, and though I love crab legs and lobster, I don’t really have much desire to live my life below the sea full-time.

This year, I’m going for joke (as you can see from the photo of me in my blond Lady Gag wig). But I have to admit, the songstress superstar is a bit of fantasy for me, too. I can carry a tune. In the shower. In church. I have rhythm (If you’re throwing a party where there’s dancing, I’m so there.)

But I can’t really, you know, SING.

Celine Dion, Barbra Streisand, the amazing Glee star Lea Michelle and, of course, Gaga can belt out a tune. The break-neck pace, the travel, the pressure and your private life up for public debate are probably minor inconveniences for doing what you were apparently born for.

Being a writer is similar, in a way. In between the book signings and publisher parties, there’s a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears.

Hoping all of you have a happy and safe Halloween (as well as scoring some superior chocolate),
–Wendy

Hey, everyone! No, you didn’t go through a time warp and September isn’t nearly over. Candace Haven and I have swapped blog dates this month.

I thought I’d take up a classic debate about romance heroes. Alpha versus Beta.

For anybody who’s in the dark about the archetypes, the Alpha hero is commanding and powerful. At his extreme, he can be domineering, aggressive and controlling, but he can also be dark and sexy. A man who can handle any situation–as long as its done his way.

The Beta guy is kind and understanding. He’s the nurturer, the fixer. The heroine’s best friend as well as lover. Sometimes quiet, sometimes funny, he’s always there to lend a shoulder to lean or cry on. (Heroines can also be either type, but I thought we’d talk about the guys. More fun, yes?)

The most classic example I can give comes from a movie I hope you’ve seen (if not, get thee to Blockbuster pronto!) Big Night. Actor and writer Stanley Tucci plays Secondo (which literally means second in Italian) He and his brother, Primo, played by the amazing Tony Shalhoub, own an unsuccessful Italian restaurant in NYC in the 1950‘s. Secondo is the charming front man who wants to be a big success in America, but is a pushover for most of his customers, his competition and the ladies in his life. Primo cooks. He’s temperamental and focused. He’s fiercely protective of his kitchen and determined to serve what he knows are the best dishes, regardless of what the customer thinks he wants for dinner.

So Alpha and Beta in a nutshell.

Early in my writing career, I’d decided the Alpha guy was way too extreme for me. Anti-feminist, if you will. But done well, with the right author, the Alpha hero can work perfectly in a story, deliver a specific kind of fantasy experience and certainly be memorable.

My favorite Beta guy is what I refer to as the easygoing charmer. His main goal in life is having fun and a hot date with the heroine. He calmly rolls with every situation. No muss, no fuss.

For me, the best hero is a mix of the two. Strong on the surface, mushy underneath. Or, the other way around, carefree but a spine of steel when something he cares about is challenged.

Are all great heroes one or the other? Or is your favorite hero some of both? What authors do which kinds the best? Who do you remember from the recent and classic books you’ve read or movies you’ve watched?

Let the debate begin…

You have to admire a show about food that contains the previous warning.

Thanks to the magic of Netflix streaming seamlessly to my fabulous MacBook and my lack of a deadline, I’ve been watching a lot of TV episodes with the zeal and power of a network program exec. Sherlock Holmes staring the wonderful late Jeremy Brett. Early seasons of The Tudors and Nip Tuck.

My most recent obsession is Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations. He’s testy, sardonic, likes a good drink (or four) and loves food.

I identify with his witty writing style (demonstrated in the series through voice-overs) and find myself fascinated by the variety of places he visits.

From Japan to Chicago, Venice to Russia. He goes, sees, eats and experiences it all–as long as there’s no tourist shop nearby. He wants to know about the locals, their customs and history.

The Miami episode connected with me as a lifetime Southerner. Why are people who live or were raised above Virginia or west of Tennessee so fascinated with alligators?

If you have ever lived in or spent considerable time in the coastal South, you would be aware that gators are not something you hope to see, or something interesting to point and stare at. They’re something you run from. Fast. While dialing on your cell phone and hoping to reach a big, brave guy named Zeke who’ll come with his even bigger shotgun and shoot the thing.

In fact, the true southerner litmus test is a negative answer to the following question…Have you ever paid to see a gator?

Bourdain, a staunch New Yorker, does–at least indirectly. Though he has the sense to go frog hunting instead of gator hunting. (Brave of him–not just because of the gators lurking in the glades–since the fishing on his show seems to always, hilariously go badly.)

He rolls with it, as he does everything. I’ve seen him eat everything from guinea pigs and raw baby seal eyeball (two separate dishes) to perfectly made baguettes, freshly picked fruit, filet mignon and caviar, plus a few frogs in between. (Oh, did I mention the frog hunting in Miami went so well, they deep fried several dozen?)

As horrified as you might be by the icky (sorry, no other word comes to mind), he reminds his viewers that these proteins are what people around the world have lived on for centuries. What they have to eat to survive. For many of them the supermarket is a concept as foreign and unlikely as Darth Vader sitting down next to you at your local Applebee’s.

What what I really take away from the series is that as different as we are in background, we’re–oddly enough–in the same profession, with the same struggles and obstacles.

While in Vegas–his first, somewhat reluctant trip–Tony’s looking for his Muse as intently as any fiction author ever has. He stares morosely at the computer screen. Types a sentence, leans back, sips beer (I prefer Diet Coke, but to each his own), types another few words, then sighs. Nothing. He picks up his cell phone, hoping somebody, anybody will call and distract him.

Later he’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by sheets of yellow legal paper and notes scribbled on the hotel pads. With nothing apparently making sense and deadline looming, he orders room service–the ENTIRE, freakin’ menu, mind you! (Apparently writing about food provides you with an unlimited food budget.) Full, he’s still struggling when, like a perfectly roasted pig falling out of the sky, a friend calls with a distraction–let’s go out. Tony’s out of that room like a shot from a pistol, and I thought, This guy is a WRITER.

He’s part of the exclusive club that includes people who use words to entertain and the people who like to read–where would any writer be without an audience, after all? I like that he’s somehow merged the medium of TV with the power of clever words, and I like that he distracts me from my own deadlines, even while he reminds me I have the best job in the world. That Muse is a flighty chick sometimes, but when she’s captured she really can make magic.

The conference is being held at the Swan and Dolphin Resort in Disney World. (This was the backup location after the Opryland Hotel wound up six feet underwater with the terrible spring floods in Nashville.)

Yesterday (Thursday), my roomie–Jacquie D’Alessandro–and I got up and went for a power walk around the lake, then we had breakfast at Kouzzina’s (Iron Chef Cat Cora’s place on the Boardwalk). Yum!

Fueled with eggs and feeling righteous for exercising, we headed to the Harlequin Suite for a social hour with other authors and editors. Jacquie then headed off to the keynote luncheon, featuring bestselling author and total romance goddess Nora Roberts, and I met Harlequin editors Marsha Zinberg, Adrienne Macintosh and Stacy Boyd, plus my fellow NASCAR authors for lunch. With this being the final publication year for the NASCAR books, we did a lot of reminiscing and talking about our future projects. With everyone so busy during the year, it’s nice to catch up with all that’s been going on lately.

From there, I headed back to my room to do a bit of work, then Jacquie and I met with reviewers from The Romance Dish (check out their fabulous site at www.theromancedish.com). The gals were lots of fun–as always–and we were honored with a drive-by chat with Virginia Henley.

Afterwards, Jacquie and I met our other roommate–Jennifer St. Giles aka J.L. Saint for a sushi dinner. Yum again.

Whew! I’m off to bed and looking forward to workshops and hanging out with fellow writers again tomorrow. I’m being awarded with my 25-book pin from Harlequin on Friday night, which is pretty surreal. It’s hard to believe I’ve written that many words! The Blaze Babes gather for lunch on Saturday, so that should be a blast.

Take care,
Wendy

P.S. Sorry to be posting late. I had Internet connection issues at the hotel.

There was a time that summer was nirvana–no school, sleeping in, relaxed schedule, beach trips and barbecues.

But, at the moment, living in the great state of South Carolina is hell.

It’s been over 100 degrees everyday for nearly two weeks (not counting the humidity, which drives the temp up to 110-115). Last weekend I got into my car to go out of town–at 8:30 am, mind you–and the temp gage read a scorching 86. The dog has taken to napping in a basket in the laundry room–the coolest and darkest place in the house. No fool, he. Even one of my geraniums, which generally love the summer heat, has turned brown and pathetic.

Maybe my skin is thinner than it used to be. Maybe those extra pounds insulate me too well. Maybe there’s something to this global warming crisis. Hmm…

You know summer sucks when you hope for a hurricane just to get some relief from the smothering heat. Clearly, the only sensible solution is lots of air-conditioning, an icy cold drink and a good book.

Read on and stay cool,
Wendy