I'm back from my cruise to Alaska, which also means that I've finished the latest manuscript and turned it into my editor. Why do these seemingly unrelated things coincide in my world? Because unlike people who plan ahead, I ended up spending the first 2-1/2 days of my long-planned vacation locked in my stateroom working furiously to finish the book. Now, personally I think that sounds a lot worse than it was, since working on board the ship meant that I had access to 24-hr room service, all of my meals were prepared and served for me, and someone came in and cleaned my room twice per day. Frankly, it beat trying to finish up at home!
But now that the book is done and vacation is over, the world seems to be coming at me at approximately 397 miles per hour. Today I faced one of my longest and most intense phobias and dragged myself to the dentist (it's been embarrassingly long since my last visit) only to find out that one of the bridges installed when I was a teenager (it turned out I had no adult teeth under three of my baby molars) needs to be replaced. And I need a filling. And 2 of the wisdom teeth that my orthodontist told me I wouldn't ever get because I lacked the buds to make them grow, did indeed grow and now need to be removed. So I'm looking at about 2 months worth of steady dental work--in other words, my worst nightmare. But at least this dentist is willing to drug me into insensibility in order to keep me from screaming and running at the sight of anything made from surgical steel.
That, however, is not all that I've got going on. Oh, no. There's more. In addition to the dental torture, I'm jumping right into a proposal for a new series of books that I'm quite excited about. They'll be a complete departure from what I've been doing until now and I can't wait to branch out a bit. That needs to be finished in the next 4-6 weeks. At which point, I will begin rewriting the next of the e-books originally written for the Fantasy Fix series and finishing that just after the new year.
You might say I have a thing or two on my plate. I say, ooftah!
Monday, August 31, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
block
Wow, it's been a while nice I've posted. It's been longer since Christine posted, but since she was on deadline and is now on a cruise ship in Alaska, she's forgiven.
I have to tell you, it's been a bit of a struggle finding my groove with this blog. I don't want it to be strictly a writing blog - nobody wants to hear day after day how I write, or research, or edit, or any of the other really boring details that make up the process of writing a book. Or maybe you do, I don't know. But I can tell you I don't want to write about that every day! I live it, writing it down seems like the height of narcissism.
Not that I object to narcissism, really. Anyone who knows me will vouch for that. It's just that if I'm going to indulge in that, I'd rather it be interesting.
In any case, trying to find things to write about here has proved more difficult than I anticipated. I guess you could say I have writer's block, at least when it comes to the blog. And while I hope that clears up for me soon, I'll be honest - I'd much rather be blocked here than elsewhere!
I have to tell you, it's been a bit of a struggle finding my groove with this blog. I don't want it to be strictly a writing blog - nobody wants to hear day after day how I write, or research, or edit, or any of the other really boring details that make up the process of writing a book. Or maybe you do, I don't know. But I can tell you I don't want to write about that every day! I live it, writing it down seems like the height of narcissism.
Not that I object to narcissism, really. Anyone who knows me will vouch for that. It's just that if I'm going to indulge in that, I'd rather it be interesting.
In any case, trying to find things to write about here has proved more difficult than I anticipated. I guess you could say I have writer's block, at least when it comes to the blog. And while I hope that clears up for me soon, I'll be honest - I'd much rather be blocked here than elsewhere!
Monday, August 17, 2009
Food, glorious food!
I’ve been obsessed with food my entire life, sometimes in less than healthy ways. But in the last year or two, really since moving to the very foodie Pacific Northwest, I’ve really gotten into it in the best possible way. Good food, fresh food, eating and making it, and I’m always looking for an occasion where I can do both. Which brings me to this weekend. It was the first anniversary of my first date with my boyfriend Dave, and both of us wanted to do something at least a little special to recognize our first year together. So I got to cook!
The idea was to do a picnic. There’s a small college campus across the street from Dave’s apartment, and we were going to spread a blanket out on the grass and lay back in the sun and feed each other and be schmaltzy and romantic. So I decided to make stuffed mushrooms, bruschetta, beef carpaccio and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Oh, and chocolate dipped strawberries for desert.
I did say I was obsessed, right?
One of my current food obsessions, besides mushrooms, is blue cheese. Like mushrooms, it’s something I refused to touch as a child but have recently discovered I love, so I decided to combine them. Last week I was eating out and had a salad with blue cheese and candied walnuts with maple dressing, and the combination of the sweet and pungent was so good, I decided I wanted to do something similar with the mushrooms. So here’s what I did:
Took half an onion, lovingly chopped by my fella (who tells me his hands still smell like onions two days later), and tossed them in a pan with a generous pat of butter to cook. I wanted the onions to caramelize, to give me the sweetness to balance out the strength of the blue cheese. But I was impatient – we were REALLY hungry by the time we got around to cooking – so I poured in some maple syrup to help things along. Then I put in the chopped mushroom stems (also lovingly chopped by Dave), and let everything get all yummy together. Then I threw in the blue cheese so everything got all soft and gooey.
When the cheese was all melted I took the pan off the heat and let it sit for a bit while I worked on assembling the asparagus and the carpaccio, then Dave spooned it into the waiting mushroom caps (which had been sautéed in butter earlier). Then we dragged everything into the living room (we were so hungry by then, and it was so late, that the outdoor picnic was moved by unanimous vote to the living room floor), and ate.
Oh. My God, y’all. It was SO good. The blue cheese completely overpowered the onion and maple syrup, but it was hard to care. The bruschetta, which I’d made with some amazing little cherry tomatoes and some heirlooms I’d found in a local market (along with garlic, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and fresh chopped basil) was equally awe inspiring. I said to hell with cholesterol and grilled the bread rounds in the pan with olive oil, and the flavor was amazing. I don’t care at all that my arteries were hardening audibly.
The asparagus and prosciutto was good, but then I'm a sucker for prosciutto and anything. The carpaccio didn't turn out like I wanted - way too bland - so we decided to set that aside and pan sear the meat for breakfast the next morning (was better that way). I was worried the mushrooms and bruschetta and asparagus wouldn't be enough...but trust me, it was. We were both in a serious food coma after we got done, and there were plenty of leftovers to join the beef at breakfast.
Next time I make the mushrooms I’ll probably let the onion cook a lot longer to get the caramelizing I wanted, and I’d probably mix some seasoned breadcrumbs in with the blue cheese to give it a little more texture. And I think instead of putting the blue cheese in the hot pan, I’ll crumble it in a dish and then throw the hot onion mix into it there, so the cheese retains some of its structure. I won’t change anything about the bruschetta, except make more of it.
It was the perfect anniversary. Except next time, I’ll start cooking earlier. And wear looser pants.
The idea was to do a picnic. There’s a small college campus across the street from Dave’s apartment, and we were going to spread a blanket out on the grass and lay back in the sun and feed each other and be schmaltzy and romantic. So I decided to make stuffed mushrooms, bruschetta, beef carpaccio and asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. Oh, and chocolate dipped strawberries for desert.
I did say I was obsessed, right?
One of my current food obsessions, besides mushrooms, is blue cheese. Like mushrooms, it’s something I refused to touch as a child but have recently discovered I love, so I decided to combine them. Last week I was eating out and had a salad with blue cheese and candied walnuts with maple dressing, and the combination of the sweet and pungent was so good, I decided I wanted to do something similar with the mushrooms. So here’s what I did:
Took half an onion, lovingly chopped by my fella (who tells me his hands still smell like onions two days later), and tossed them in a pan with a generous pat of butter to cook. I wanted the onions to caramelize, to give me the sweetness to balance out the strength of the blue cheese. But I was impatient – we were REALLY hungry by the time we got around to cooking – so I poured in some maple syrup to help things along. Then I put in the chopped mushroom stems (also lovingly chopped by Dave), and let everything get all yummy together. Then I threw in the blue cheese so everything got all soft and gooey.
When the cheese was all melted I took the pan off the heat and let it sit for a bit while I worked on assembling the asparagus and the carpaccio, then Dave spooned it into the waiting mushroom caps (which had been sautéed in butter earlier). Then we dragged everything into the living room (we were so hungry by then, and it was so late, that the outdoor picnic was moved by unanimous vote to the living room floor), and ate.
Oh. My God, y’all. It was SO good. The blue cheese completely overpowered the onion and maple syrup, but it was hard to care. The bruschetta, which I’d made with some amazing little cherry tomatoes and some heirlooms I’d found in a local market (along with garlic, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and fresh chopped basil) was equally awe inspiring. I said to hell with cholesterol and grilled the bread rounds in the pan with olive oil, and the flavor was amazing. I don’t care at all that my arteries were hardening audibly.
The asparagus and prosciutto was good, but then I'm a sucker for prosciutto and anything. The carpaccio didn't turn out like I wanted - way too bland - so we decided to set that aside and pan sear the meat for breakfast the next morning (was better that way). I was worried the mushrooms and bruschetta and asparagus wouldn't be enough...but trust me, it was. We were both in a serious food coma after we got done, and there were plenty of leftovers to join the beef at breakfast.
Next time I make the mushrooms I’ll probably let the onion cook a lot longer to get the caramelizing I wanted, and I’d probably mix some seasoned breadcrumbs in with the blue cheese to give it a little more texture. And I think instead of putting the blue cheese in the hot pan, I’ll crumble it in a dish and then throw the hot onion mix into it there, so the cheese retains some of its structure. I won’t change anything about the bruschetta, except make more of it.
It was the perfect anniversary. Except next time, I’ll start cooking earlier. And wear looser pants.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
feast or famine
For the last six months I haven’t had one good story idea. Not one. To be fair, I’d just finished polishing a manuscript for submission (the editor at the Big NY House to which I sent it has now had it for 49 days, not that I’m counting) and was gearing up to do a lot of promoting for the July release of Secrets Volume 27, so I did have other things occupying my mind.
But an artist doesn’t quit painting just because he finished the one he was working on. He picks up his brushes and starts anew with a blank canvas, and a writer must do the same. The problem was, my whole mind was a blank canvas, and trying to pull an original idea out of it just not working. There is nothing more frustrating to a writer (at least to this writer) then not knowing what to write.
Then lo, lightning struck. A story idea I’ve been kicking around for a very long time finally slid into place, and after four years (yes, four years!) of not knowing where to go with it or how to make it work I suddenly knew exactly what to do. And the floodgates opened.
And not just for that story. When that little thing, whatever it is, clicked open in my head and let in the juju, it invited unrelated juju to the party as well. So now, in addition to that project, I have four others jockeying for position in my head. Two that are related to the current one, and two that are completely separate. And every single one of them wants to be written right fucking now.
(Incidentally, I used to hear writers talk about how the people in their stories would harass them, or nag them, or not let them do what they wanted to do with the story, as if these were actual people instead of made up characters. And I used to think, “Jeez, you must be nutso – they’re made up people! They can’t nag you, or make you write the story their way, because they don’t exist!” Yeah, I was completely wrong about that. I imagine that this is a little like what multiple personality disorder must be like, except the people in my head don’t actually push me out of the way. They just nag and harass and refuse to let me write the story the way I want to write it.)
Having all that going on is great! It’s fantastic, knowing that when I’m done with this project there are four more ready to go. It gives me a sense of security, and relief that I won’'t have to face that blank canvas again (at least for a while), but the problem is that I can’t write more than one book at a time. Oh, I can think about more than one, but I won’t be able to start writing any of the other stories in my head until the one I’m currently working on is finished.
But that doesn’t mean the people in those stories are satisfied to wait until I’m ready to talk to them – quite the contrary. They want to be heard, they want their story told, and they’re not shy about letting me know. The notebook I keep in my purse is getting crowded with my little scribbles about characterization, plot, research…so much so that when I go back later to look at them I’m having a hard time telling which notes are for which book. So I’m going to Office Max today to get four notebooks to carry around – one for each story.
I’m going to have to start carrying the big purse.
But an artist doesn’t quit painting just because he finished the one he was working on. He picks up his brushes and starts anew with a blank canvas, and a writer must do the same. The problem was, my whole mind was a blank canvas, and trying to pull an original idea out of it just not working. There is nothing more frustrating to a writer (at least to this writer) then not knowing what to write.
Then lo, lightning struck. A story idea I’ve been kicking around for a very long time finally slid into place, and after four years (yes, four years!) of not knowing where to go with it or how to make it work I suddenly knew exactly what to do. And the floodgates opened.
And not just for that story. When that little thing, whatever it is, clicked open in my head and let in the juju, it invited unrelated juju to the party as well. So now, in addition to that project, I have four others jockeying for position in my head. Two that are related to the current one, and two that are completely separate. And every single one of them wants to be written right fucking now.
(Incidentally, I used to hear writers talk about how the people in their stories would harass them, or nag them, or not let them do what they wanted to do with the story, as if these were actual people instead of made up characters. And I used to think, “Jeez, you must be nutso – they’re made up people! They can’t nag you, or make you write the story their way, because they don’t exist!” Yeah, I was completely wrong about that. I imagine that this is a little like what multiple personality disorder must be like, except the people in my head don’t actually push me out of the way. They just nag and harass and refuse to let me write the story the way I want to write it.)
Having all that going on is great! It’s fantastic, knowing that when I’m done with this project there are four more ready to go. It gives me a sense of security, and relief that I won’'t have to face that blank canvas again (at least for a while), but the problem is that I can’t write more than one book at a time. Oh, I can think about more than one, but I won’t be able to start writing any of the other stories in my head until the one I’m currently working on is finished.
But that doesn’t mean the people in those stories are satisfied to wait until I’m ready to talk to them – quite the contrary. They want to be heard, they want their story told, and they’re not shy about letting me know. The notebook I keep in my purse is getting crowded with my little scribbles about characterization, plot, research…so much so that when I go back later to look at them I’m having a hard time telling which notes are for which book. So I’m going to Office Max today to get four notebooks to carry around – one for each story.
I’m going to have to start carrying the big purse.
Friday, August 7, 2009
anti-gravity and feelin' good
Every Tuesday and Thursday I take an exercise class on my lunch hour - my company houses a gym in our office facility, so this is quite convenient. The class is called Triple G - Guns, Guts and Glutes. So you can surmise that we do a lot of arm exercises, a lot of ab exercises, and a lot of ass exercises (it was briefly called Triple A, for Arms, Abs and Ass, but the powers that be were worried someone might take offense. Yeah, I don't get it either).
Anyway, every Tuesday and Thursday I’m in the Triple G class sweating my curling, crunching, lunging self half to death. Really, I sweat more during this class then when I go horseback riding - hell, I sweat more than the horse! And in every class I do two things: 1) vow to catch our perky blond instructor in the parking lot unawares and show her just how much stronger this class has made me, and 2) I feel myself up.
I didn't set OUT to molest myself, you understand - it just sort of happened. See, during the crunching porting of class we're supposed to put our fingertips behind our ears, with elbows out, and crunch. Standard crunch position, right? Well, no matter how hard I try not to, I always end up yanking on my neck in that configuration. Which is not good, so rather than grab the back of my head I crunch with my hands down. And since the crunches are rendered less effective if one is reaching while crunching (and if I'm going to put myself through this hell I want the damn effect), I fold my hands across my upper chest to keep them from inadvertently adding momentum.
So there I am one day, hands folded across my chest, crunching away, and I noticed something - my boobs feel really...full. Like, awesomely full. I'm wearing a sports bra, of course, because gravity is wreaking enough havoc on the girls - I don't need to add to it by bouncing around like some kind of hippie. But instead of squishing everything flat, as most sports bras do, this bra seems to squish everything from the side. And this combined with the crunching motion – the muscles in my upper chest and abs tightening as I curl up - is doing something that all my other sports bras have never done; giving me both superior support and superior cleavage.
I just have to tell y'all...that makes me so happy. I hardly even notice the crunching anymore, I’m so busy marveling at how fantastic my boobs feel in this bra. They feel tight and firm and YOUNG and not at all like they feel when I’m lying on my back without this bra on (did I mention gravity is not kind?). And every once in a while I sneak a peek down at them while crunching away, because they look as awesome as they feel.
Yeah, it’s a little weird. But hey, nobody else is appreciating them in this state, so I might as well!
Anyway, every Tuesday and Thursday I’m in the Triple G class sweating my curling, crunching, lunging self half to death. Really, I sweat more during this class then when I go horseback riding - hell, I sweat more than the horse! And in every class I do two things: 1) vow to catch our perky blond instructor in the parking lot unawares and show her just how much stronger this class has made me, and 2) I feel myself up.
I didn't set OUT to molest myself, you understand - it just sort of happened. See, during the crunching porting of class we're supposed to put our fingertips behind our ears, with elbows out, and crunch. Standard crunch position, right? Well, no matter how hard I try not to, I always end up yanking on my neck in that configuration. Which is not good, so rather than grab the back of my head I crunch with my hands down. And since the crunches are rendered less effective if one is reaching while crunching (and if I'm going to put myself through this hell I want the damn effect), I fold my hands across my upper chest to keep them from inadvertently adding momentum.
So there I am one day, hands folded across my chest, crunching away, and I noticed something - my boobs feel really...full. Like, awesomely full. I'm wearing a sports bra, of course, because gravity is wreaking enough havoc on the girls - I don't need to add to it by bouncing around like some kind of hippie. But instead of squishing everything flat, as most sports bras do, this bra seems to squish everything from the side. And this combined with the crunching motion – the muscles in my upper chest and abs tightening as I curl up - is doing something that all my other sports bras have never done; giving me both superior support and superior cleavage.
I just have to tell y'all...that makes me so happy. I hardly even notice the crunching anymore, I’m so busy marveling at how fantastic my boobs feel in this bra. They feel tight and firm and YOUNG and not at all like they feel when I’m lying on my back without this bra on (did I mention gravity is not kind?). And every once in a while I sneak a peek down at them while crunching away, because they look as awesome as they feel.
Yeah, it’s a little weird. But hey, nobody else is appreciating them in this state, so I might as well!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Have I Mentioned I'm a Mutant?
Yes, I have finally crawled out from under the rock where I was forced to hide during our recent heatwave. As Hannah mentioned, I don't do well in the heat. Which I think was her diplomatic way of saying that I become a whining, fire-breathing, tantrum-throwing dragon-sloth hybrid life form. But thankfully, once the heat drops below about 83, the evil spell is broken and I can regain my humanity. At least for a while.
During the height of the heatwave, I even deserted my beloved pillow-top bed for the inexpensive extra-firm mattress in the guest room just so that I could sleep in the A/C. So you can imagine my relief when the temperatures dropped to the point when I could go back to my own beloved bed. The problem is that for the first couple of nights there, I slept really poorly. I can't figure out why, but there you go. And the end result was me feeling almost like I was getting sick yesterday--headache, nausea, fatigue, muscle aches, etc. In the end it was Hannah who finally insisted that maybe I should break down and take a Tylenol PM at bed time last night, just to ensure a good night's sleep.
Actually, because she knows me so well, Hannah insisted I take 1/2 of a Tylenol PM. She knows that if I take a whole pill, I will sleep for about a day and a half; and if, for some insane reason, I take an entire dose, I'll practically slip into a coma. I just don't process medications very efficiently, you might say.
So Hannah very sweetly divided a pill for me and left in on my nightstand. When I was ready for sleep, I took my allotted amount and turned off the light. An hour later, I was still wide awake--or so I thought--and I made the decision that I must need to take the other half-pill. Clearly, I was already hallucinating.
The dogs managed to drag me out of bed at around 8:30 with their usually evil tactics--Merlin stood next to my bed and shook his head over and over to make his metal tags rattle, while Levi burrowed his head under my blanket and licked my toes incessantly. I made it as far as the living room sofa where I promptly passed out again. Fast forward to 12:00 PM when I opened my eyes, saw the time, and literally forced myself into a sitting position, bracing my arms next to me to prevent my still sleepy body from tumbling right back down again.
I need to leave for my riding lesson in another 10 or 15 minutes. I think I might stop at the coffee shop on the way to the barn for something caffeinated. You know, so I don't drop off in the saddle.
Cause I'm a mutant.
During the height of the heatwave, I even deserted my beloved pillow-top bed for the inexpensive extra-firm mattress in the guest room just so that I could sleep in the A/C. So you can imagine my relief when the temperatures dropped to the point when I could go back to my own beloved bed. The problem is that for the first couple of nights there, I slept really poorly. I can't figure out why, but there you go. And the end result was me feeling almost like I was getting sick yesterday--headache, nausea, fatigue, muscle aches, etc. In the end it was Hannah who finally insisted that maybe I should break down and take a Tylenol PM at bed time last night, just to ensure a good night's sleep.
Actually, because she knows me so well, Hannah insisted I take 1/2 of a Tylenol PM. She knows that if I take a whole pill, I will sleep for about a day and a half; and if, for some insane reason, I take an entire dose, I'll practically slip into a coma. I just don't process medications very efficiently, you might say.
So Hannah very sweetly divided a pill for me and left in on my nightstand. When I was ready for sleep, I took my allotted amount and turned off the light. An hour later, I was still wide awake--or so I thought--and I made the decision that I must need to take the other half-pill. Clearly, I was already hallucinating.
The dogs managed to drag me out of bed at around 8:30 with their usually evil tactics--Merlin stood next to my bed and shook his head over and over to make his metal tags rattle, while Levi burrowed his head under my blanket and licked my toes incessantly. I made it as far as the living room sofa where I promptly passed out again. Fast forward to 12:00 PM when I opened my eyes, saw the time, and literally forced myself into a sitting position, bracing my arms next to me to prevent my still sleepy body from tumbling right back down again.
I need to leave for my riding lesson in another 10 or 15 minutes. I think I might stop at the coffee shop on the way to the barn for something caffeinated. You know, so I don't drop off in the saddle.
Cause I'm a mutant.
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