I’m so thrilled to be blogging here today and regularly in the coming months.  I have been writing for a while usually for Harlequin Desire, occasionally for Kensington Brava and once in 2004 I wrote a Blaze.  Now I’m back under contract for two new books for Blaze and I couldn’t be happier!

I’m not sure when they will come out but they are a sort of duet of books.  The heroines are the link as they co-own a bakery called Sweet Dreams.  I’m a bit of a foodie addict.  I mean I like food and can eat like nobody’s business but I also really love watching other people cook (Food Network!), listening to other people talk about food and trying new dishes.  My son and husband valiantly tried lettuce wrapped halibut a few months ago but requested we go back to something more familiar.  However we did discover we love radishes sauteed in butter with peas–success!

Food is so tied to who I am that I honestly can’t think of my past or my family without thinking of food.  What about you?  Are you a foodie like me or is it something else that is your passion?

Katherine

At least I'm in the same room with the board, right?

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.

There’s a new love in my life. Go figure. I go for forty-something years (not like I’m revealing some state secret here — if you’ve been to my website no one out there is mistaking me for a twenty-something) and then wham…I’m in love. I just never knew I could feel this way. That I could appreciate and truly enjoy all the subtleties. I’d given it the old college try numerous times and it just never struck a chord with me. I often thought that perhaps there was simply something wrong with me because there were people everywhere that got it. But I really didn’t sweat it. It just wasn’t my thing. And then a couple of months ago that all changed.

I now love coffee. I’ve always loved the smell but couldn’t abide the taste…until now. I can’t do the straight-up-put-hair-on-your-chest black cuppa, but I do love a nice strong cup with a dash of sugar and some cream or simply a healthy splash of Bailey’s Hazelnut creamer in there. And now I’m having fun with it. Yesterday at the grocery I did three small containers of freshground — a decaf so I can have a cup in the evening, a nice freshly ground Columbian, and something called “Foglifter” that smelled yummy.

My friends and family are all dumbfounded — “You want a cup of what?” But I like the idea of expanding my horizons, even if it’s something as mundane as coffee.

Have you recently discovered a food, drink, or activity that you really enjoy that was simply never part of your life before?

Oh, and on a kind of discordant note but in the same category of something to drink — now that it’s getting hot (going to be 90 her in Hotlanta today), might I recommend a glass full of ice, plain seltzer and a generous splash of cranberry juice, with or without a squeeze of lime/lemon? Yummy and refreshing.

Unfortunately, the only thing on my mind at the moment (besides meeting my deadline) is disaster victims.

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!

The thing I’ve noticed lately is just how many movies I’ve never seen. Well, it’s actually been more as if the realization smacked me upside the head. It seems as though I’ve been involved in lots of conversations where people are discussing different movies and I’ve never seen them.

I’m starting a list of recommended films. Here’s what I’ve got so far:
There Will Be Blood
Tender Mercies
Cat Ballou
Sunset Boulevard
Life is a House
Meet Joe Black
Being There
Gattica

Last week I saw The Big Heat with Glenn Ford filmed in the 50′s. It was great!! Excellent writing and the actors really delivered. Anyone else seen it?

Tonight I’m treating myself to Get Low with Bill Murray and Jeff Bridges.

So, I’m looking to add to my list to bring myself up to movie speed. What would you recommend?

If there’s one thing Blaze readers know about, it’s yummy men, and once upon a time I was lucky to meet a legendary one–Cary Grant.  I not only got to meet him, I got to spend time in a coat closet with him! Yes, a coat closet.  Here’s how it all went down:  During the summer between my junior and senior years of college, I got a part-time job with TWA in passenger relations at JFK airport.  I worked in the domestic terminal assisting arriving and departing passengers and was basically a walking information counter.  Our uniforms were tres spiffy–designed by Ralph Lauren, no less!–and the job was an absolute blast.  Part of our job (which was really a perk, if you ask me) was escorting VIP’s. And that’s where I met Cary Grant.

The legendary Cary Grant

He and his wife Barbara were catching the afternoon flight to LA and my assignment (along with a senior passenger relations rep) was to escort the couple from the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club to their first class seats onboard the 747 (a tough job, but hey, someone had to do it!).  Now, company policy was that we weren’t supposed to ask celebs for their autographs, and I’d managed to refrain up to that point, not asking Cher, Ryan O’Neal, Farrah Fawcett, Muhammad Ali, Raquel Welsh or Peter Falk to name a few, but really–Cary Freakin’ Grant??  How many chances does one get to meet him?  What am I, made of stone?

So there I am, in the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club, and OMG, there’s Cary Grant.  Wearing those trademark black glasses, his silver hair perfect, wearing a white dress shirt and light gray trousers, looking utterly perfect and oozing class and debonair charm.  His wife is stunning and wearing some gorgeous dark blue ensemble that undoubtedly cost more than my car (this was back when people actually dressed up to travel, especially in first class), but really who cares about what she’s wearing when Cary Freakin’ Grant is standing there?!

The other passenger relations rep chats up Mrs. Grant, leaving me to chat up the legend himself.  And naturally, I’m completely professional.  I nearly faint and breathlessly gush, “Ohmygosh, Mr. Grant, I am your hugest fan.  Arsenic and Old Lace is one of my favorite movies of ALL TIME.  Do you think I could possibly have your autograph?”  Smooth–I’m telling you, I was reaaaalllly smooth.

He leans closer to me and says IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!, “Well all right, but I don’t want to give it to everyone.  Let’s go in the coat closet.”

Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace

Since there isn’t a person on the planet who would argue with that logic, into the coat closet we went.  Now you must understand that this being the fancy schmancy Ambassador Club, the coat closet is a walk-in and a pretty good size–kind of long and skinny, probably about 8’X12’ so it’s not like we’re crammed into something the size of a Porta Potty (darn!).  Being the walking info counter I am, I carry a clipboard with a printout of the day’s flight information.  I quickly turn the paper over and present it to him with my pen, all while gawking at him in my most professional manner.  The conversation goes like this:

Carey Freakin’ Grant–What’s your name?

Most Professional Me: Jacquie

(He writes To Jackie then signs his name and hands me the clipboard).

MPM–Thank you so much, Mr. Grant.  But, um, you spelled my name wrong. (well, I had to say SOMETHING to keep the conversation going!)

CFG (looking startled)–Really? (takes clipboard back and says IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!)–How do you spell your name?

I spell it for him, slowly as to drag out our closet time together (why didn’t I think to say my name was Jacqueline??)  As I do, he crosses out Jackie and spells it correctly, then for emphasis adds a couple exclamation points.

CFG–(IN THAT VOICE WITH THAT ACCENT!) Why do you spell your name like that?

MPM–there was an actress my mom liked who spelled it that way**.

** (note–I’m 99% sure this is what I said, certainly it’s what I wanted to say, but I may have forgotten how to speak English, so there’s a chance I merely blubbered and drooled on his shoe—which was a perfectly shined black leather Oxford, btw).

Me and Cary in the coat closet. Yup, that's us. Really. I mean it.

While we were in the coat closet, we collected his garment bag.  Then with CFG’s garment filled with CFG’s clothes folded over my arm, I escorted him from the fancy schmancy Ambassador club to his first class seat (his wife followed with the other rep).  We made small talk, he was incredibly charming, and I could have listened to him talk for hours.  I still have that autograph, along with the others I collected during my time at TWA–Brooke Shields, Timothy Hutton, Dustin Hoffman to name a few.  All of whom were delightful and charming.

But none of them were Cary Freakin’ Grant.

Cary and his wife Barbara. Photo taken around the time I met him.

So–have you ever met a celebrity?  Were you calm, cool, and professional like me (cough, cough), or did you blubber, drool and gawk?  Is there a celeb you’d love to meet?  If you met him/her what would say?

Since many of you are stuck in the frozen tundra that seems to have overtaken virtually everywhere this winter, I thought I’d share a little hope that spring is indeed coming.

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.

And I’m not talking about a road race. I’m talking runaway bride here. I’ve always been fascinated by the concept — the idea that something could hit you so hard, that you’d simply beat feet and run. In my March Blaze, IN THE LINE OF FIRE, that’s precisely what happens to Andi Mitchell. Panic follows fast and furious in the wake of an epiphany and Andi simply runs. Lucky for her, Major Colton Sawyer is there to help her with her getaway.

I’ve seen movies and read a couple of stories in the newspapers but I’ve never actually known anyone who was a runaway bride. Heck, I’ve never even known anyone who knew someone who knew someone else who was a runaway bride. It would be kind of freaky to know someone who’d bailed out on their wedding. It’d be equally freaky to show up as a guest at a wedding that wound up not happening.

Okay, so anyone out there ever been in that boat — you either knew a runaway bride or you showed up for a wedding but the bride or groom didn’t? Inquiring minds want to know.

Here in New England, the deep snows are finally melting and there are small but unmistakable signs that Spring is almost here…like the mad, chaotic frenzy that is The Prom. Although the big event is still two months away, the local Facebook pages are literally sizzling with everything prom-related. Being a fairly inefficient and clueless mom, I was completely unprepared for the commitment I was making when I agreed to help my daughter prepare for her first prom.

I’m dating myself here, but it’s been exactly 30 years since I went shopping for my first prom gown with my mom. I distinctly remember traipsing through the only mall within 50 miles, looking for that perfect dress. Back then, the perfect gown was a Prairie-styled, Gunne Sax gown by Jessica McClintock. The one I wanted was made of calico printed in a sweet, tiny-floral pattern, with sheer puff sleeves and ruffled wrists. Sadly, my mom refused to pay $180 for the dress of my dreams, insisting she could make me a much prettier gown for a fraction of the cost. I remember lying on my bed in tears while my dad patiently explained that my dress would be hand-made, not home-made. It would be beautiful. I was sure that I was going to be the laughingstock of the prom; the only one without a modern dress. In the end, the white-eyelet and satin dress my mother made was simple and sweet and completely beautiful.

Flash forward to today and the prom dresses are glamorous designs with red carpet appeal. Plunging bodices and bare backs, deeply slit skirts and slinky, shimmering fabric with beaded embellishments. I am completely stunned at the idea of my teenaged daughter wearing something so overtly sexy, but if I express my dismay, I’ll be seen as outdated and clueless about current fashion.

So I’ll remember the excitement of my own prom, and do my best not to seem too out of touch with the world my daughter is growing up in.

March is here! March is here! Well okay, so it’s not really here. It’s almost here. But in theworld of publishing, March books are hitting the shelves already. And in the marvelous world of Harlequin Blaze, subscribers have already gotten my March Blaze, In Good Hands by Kathy Lyons. And, to make this month extra knuckle-biting, my latest Jade Lee book, Wicked Seduction hits the shelves too. Now, I have to say, I love Wicked Seduction because I’ve wanted to do a pirate comes home book forever! And the hero is extra yummy (he even got an RT KISS award). But this is a Blaze blog, so I’ll tell you about In Good Hands. And lest you think I’m all about shameless promotion, I’m gonna talk about the reason I wrote the book.

So…why did I write In Good Hands? Because I know this woman. She had a lucrative career as an Orthopaedist. Well respected, did a ton of research, and…well, that research led her into the wild, weird world of energy healing. After decades of more research, she ended up leaving her practice to devote her considerable brain to energy healing work. In her words, Western medicine doesn’t get the whole picture. In some ways, it doesn’t even get close.

Far from being a condemnation of modern medicine, her example gives me great hope. We need more people like her in medical fields, constantly exploring wherever their research takes them. Even if it’s into energy healing. So, since this woman is my inspiration, I ended up writing a book based on that concept.

Now, don’t be afraid. I don’t go deep into medicine or the energy aspects that (incidentally) I have been studying for about a decade. In Good Hands is a romance story and a Blaze. My heroine is a doctor turned energy healer and my hero has a big problem that western medicine hasn’t helped: very high blood pressure. They wander through a variety of different energy healing traditions in search for a cure with hilarious results. It’s funny and it’s hot, and I had a blast writing it!

So, everyone, tell if you’ve experimented in the wacky world of the woo woo! One lucky commentor will get a copy of In Good Hands. (Or a copy of Wicked Seduction if you prefer!) And, btw, if you want to learn more about In Good Hands, here’s a link to my website. And for those who like pirates coming home, here’s the link for Wicked Seduction.