Really? September already? Ack!

Time to announce the winner of the drawing for two books from my backlist. I had a lot of entries this time, which was fun. My husband, John, just drew a winner out of a big wooden bowl he made himself!

And the winner is …

Judy Ramer!

Congratulations, Judy. I’ll get the books you requested in the mail later this week.

Details for the next drawing will be on the Enter to Win! page later today. I hope you will all enter again.

*****

Don’t forget: PROGNOSIS: ROMANCE is in stores now!

Check the Books Available Now page for more information.

Recently I’ve noticed a very cute TV ad sponsored by an insurance company featuring a father handing his daughter the keys to a car. He sees a little girl of maybe five or six behind the wheel as he gives her instructions to be careful, stay off the freeways, to keep her phone in her purse while she’s driving. As she drives away, we the viewers see a teenage girl in the drivers’ seat, but I suspect that father still sees the little one.

I remember quite clearly the first time each of our three kids drove off alone in a car. It’s a terrifying feeling standing in the driveway watching that car disappear down the road, imagining all the things that could go wrong (a storyteller’s imagination can be as much of a curse as a blessing, at times!). Yet as much as I would have loved to keep them small and dependent and close by, there came a time when each of them had to leave the nest, in increasingly larger steps.

I thought of that ad early yesterday morning when our daughter and her husband packed up their car to head back to New England after a two week visit here in Arkansas. They spent a week with his family, a little more than an hour north of here, and a week with our family. We had a lovely time visiting with them, having dinner with my husband’s mother and then my father, playing games and shopping and talking. But once again, there came a time when they had to leave. Our daughter had to be back at work in her medical residency Monday and our son-in-law is starting a new semester of graduate school. I stood in the driveway and watched their car disappear, seeing a little girl and a young boy in the front seats, imagining all the hazards that awaited them on that two-day drive …

Now our house is quiet again with our oldest daughter working in the Pacific Northwest, the second one in New England and our son attending his final year of college prior to beginning his own medical training. The doors to their bedrooms are closed and their closets hold only a few left-behind belongings. I’m so very proud of them for pursuing their own lives and careers — after all, it was our goal throughout their childhoods to get them to this point, independent and self-sufficient. And yet even now, I can look around our house and see them sprawled on the floor with their toys or curled in my lap watching TV or gathered around our table for a meal or a game. Just as the man in the commercial very clearly envisions his gap-toothed little girl when he looks at his impatient teenager, I see our kids when I picture the young adults we’ve ushered out into the world.

For all the parents who just sent a child off to college for this new semester — or the first day of kindergarten or high school or a new job or the military — here’s to you for finding the strength to let go. We can share our pride in them, even as we share the bittersweet bonding of parents whose job is almost complete.

*****

Only two more days before I draw the winner of the September 1 contest for any two books from my backlist (subject to availability – I have most, but not all, of the titles available). Quite a few entries have already come in, but there’s still time to enter! Click the Enter to Win! tab above for details.

Don’t forget my new book PROGNOSIS: ROMANCE is available in stores this week! Click the Books Available Now tab above for more information.

Every once in a while (okay, fairly often), I am unable to resist launching into what my children affectionately (I like to believe) refer to as a “mama rant.” Sometimes those rants creep into my blog — like the health lectures you’ve read here, or my bemoaning the misuse of “I” and “me.” So, fair warning … this is another “mama rant.”

I’ve mentioned that I can be somewhat fashion challenged, so shopping for clothing for myself is not my favorite thing to do. But Saturday afternoon, I decided to venture out in search of a long-sleeve purple blouse in which to have a photo taken (more on that in a later post). I drove straight to my favorite exclusive designer boutique (J. C. Penney) and found two or three purple blouses to try on. When I walked into the fitting room area, my “mama outrage” kicked in big time!

Every fitting room was filled with clothing that had been tried on and discarded. On the floor. The customers had pulled off the garments, often inside out, and tossed them haphazardly to their feet, leaving them lying there in a tangled mess when they left. Argh.

How much time does it take to slip a garment back on the hanger? Perhaps to refasten the top button so it doesn’t slide off again? To place that now-hangered garment onto the rack provided by the store for that purpose as one leaves the dressing room? Not only is this more courteous for the store employees who have to deal with an often-cranky public many hours a day to make their livings, but it’s so much more thoughtful for the other customers who will use the dressing room afterward. Or perhaps try on those same garments later. Honestly, who throws nice, new clothing in a pile on the floor, walking over them on the way out?

I made a point to be extra nice to the pleasant young woman who came into the dressing room to straighten up as I was leaving (and yes, I hung the blouses I didn’t want on the rack, hangered and buttoned).  Retail is not an easy job, and I always appreciate the sales clerks who manage to be friendly and helpful, anyway.

Okay, deep breath. Rant over. One request — smile at a helpful sales clerk today.

***

Don’t forget to sign up for my September 1 give-away for two autographed books! Click the Enter to Win! tab above for details.

My husband, son and I have just returned from a week-long visit with our daughter in Washington state, so you’ll be seeing lots of pictures from the Pacific Northwest in upcoming posts. We explored Seattle, Whidbey Island, Bainbridge Island and Mt. Rainier. The weather was cool and perfect (especially compared to the 106 degrees days back here in Arkansas) and the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. We rode the ferry, crammed into my daughter’s little car for excursions, walked city streets and hiked beach and forest trails (I didn’t exactly keep up with my fit, athletic offspring, but I got to the destinations eventually). I had a fabulous time — and now I’m so far behind I’m wondering if I’ll ever catch up!

Vacations are interesting in that regard. We look forward to them all year. We save and scrimp, work like crazy to clear some time off, spend hours packing and sitting in airport terminals and/or cars, and then when it’s all over, we have the unpacking, laundry and catch-up work to do — not to mention the bills to pay. Our vacation wasn’t extravagant, since most of our favorite things to do there were free — the hiking and beach-combing and sightseeing — but it was still a disruption to our usual routines. So was it worth it?

Oh, yes. The family time alone was the most valuable part of the trip for me. As our children have grown up and gotten more involved with their own lives and careers, those times together have become more rare — and all the more precious to me. The only thing that would have made that week more perfect would have been if our other daughter and her husband could have joined us there. I’ll get to see them when they come home from New England for their own vacation next week, and I’m counting the days until we’re together, but I’ll be aware that we’ll still be missing one around the game table, even though I just spent a week with her.

Creatively, it’s good for me to get out of the house and into a new location. Ideas crop up in new and (to me) exotic locations while I people-watch and subtly (I hope) eavesdrop and mingle with friendly strangers. When I declined to make the particularly-strenuous hike with the rest of my family to a point as high on Mt. Rainier as they could climb without spikes and picks and other gear, I spent a delightful couple of hours visiting with a couple of other women who’d made the same decision. One accompanied me on a somewhat-less-demanding climb to the waterfall pictured above, and the other sat and chatted with me for an hour in the beautiful visitor center. Both of my new friends gave me ideas for upcoming scenes and cheerfully answered questions about their interesting jobs. I’ve mentioned before that it’s easy for me to become a hermit in my house and at my computer, so it’s good for me to have an excuse to get out and away from the keyboard, even if I do fall behind in doing so.

So, I’ll be working madly during the next few weeks to catch up, but whenever I start feeling stressed, I’ll have my memories and my dozens of photos to make me smile again. If I fall a little behind in my postings here, you’ll understand why.

Don’t forget that my next book, PROGNOSIS: ROMANCE, a September release from Silhouette Special Edition, will be on the shelves at the end of this month. Click on the Books Available Now tab for details.

And don’t forget to enter the contest for the next drawing on September 1. The prize will be two books of your choice from my backlist (subject to availability). All the details for how to enter are available on the Enter to Win! tab above.

Until next time, I hope you find your own moments of relaxation and pleasure, whether on vacation or in your own backyard.

For everyone with a dream, there is someone hoping to con that dreamer out of some cash. Think of the fly-by-night “modeling agencies” that crop up to tell young women how pretty they are, how famous they’ll become, if they’ll only pay the agency for photos and expenses and a signing fee. The Bernie Madoffs who prey on people’s dreams of wealth or financial security. The Nigerian scam artists and other con men who convince people to give them their banking information for an elaborate get-rich-quick scheme that only makes the cons rich. The snake oil salesmen who sell fake miracle cures to desperately ill people. Those who promise their product will keep you young, make you healthy, enlarge body parts or make you thin.You bet they’ll take your money — but the dreams are more likely to be shattered than fulfilled.

So many people dream of being published authors. I understand that one completely — it was all I wanted to do from a very young age. I worked very hard to make that dream come true. Studied, read, researched, risked and survived rejections. I’ve talked before about some of the steps I took to be published, finding an agent, learning the business. I am so proud, and so eternally grateful, that I have been a Harlequin/Silhouette author for more than twenty years and more than 90 books. By buying my first book in 1986, Harlequin fulfilled my lifelong dream, and my association with them has been a joy. I’ve worked with so many wonderful, ethical professionals there who genuinely love romance stories and who work with me to make every book the best it can be — from title to cover art to editing to back cover copy to marketing. I have been truly blessed.

Yet there are many talented authors who somehow never find the right person to read their work, writers who dream of being published but grow frustrated with the challenges in reaching that goal. And are there people who are willing to cash in on those dreams? Oh, yes. Shady “agents” who charge exorbitant reading fees and expenses and never sell a book (tip — an agent makes a percentage of the author’s earnings. No sales, no money to the agent. That’s their incentive to hustle!) So-called “book doctors” who will read and edit your book for a high price, but no guarantees that you’ll ever actually be published to recoup any of that outlay, of course. And “publishers” who are really nothing more than printers. They will print anyone’s book, whether good or bad, for the right amount of money. They’re called vanity presses. They aren’t publishers.

I can’t tell you  all the stories I’ve heard of people who have given large sums of money they didn’t have to spare to “publish” their books this way. They end up with a closet full of their own bound books, which they then have to try to sell to friends, family and strangers. They don’t have the marketing resources of the legitimate publishers who pay an advance to their authors, then follow up with royalties once the advance is earned out. (Again, the legitimate publisher doesn’t make money until the books sell. The author Does Not Pay up front).

You’ve probably heard stories of authors who paid to print their own books, then caught the attention of mainstream publishers and made it big. You’ve probably also heard about people winning multi-million dollar lotteries. The odds are about the same. The vast majority of players end up with a pocketful of useless lottery tickets — or a closet full of expensive, bound books they can’t sell.

Authors do not pay to print their books. Nor should they pay for cover art or other expenses that are the reason the publishers get the largest percentage of the sales earnings. I’m not going to lie to you, it’s hard to make a living writing these days. The industry is changing so quickly, the economy is in such turmoil, and society’s habits are changing. There are very few superstars of writing. But there is still a demand for fiction and there are still readers willing to pay to be entertained and transported into the pages of a good book. It’s not easy, but it’s possible. Writing is hard work, and we expect to get paid for our work. Why should someone else make money off the author’s book when the author ends up losing money for their hours of effort? That doesn’t even make sense!

Romance Writers of America, Novelists, Inc., Mystery Writers of America and Science Fiction Writers of America have all issued statements warning authors of the many vanity presses cropping up lately. I highly recommend that you visit ninc.com and read their  brilliant statement and excellent arguments against these expensive and rarely-beneficial endeavors.

Because I know exactly how it feels to wants to be published very badly, to live with that dream for so very long, I feel especially compelled to warn others who share that aspiration about the many pitfalls awaiting them on their journey. Be careful.  Keep telling your stories and honing your craft and submitting to legitimate publishers (do your homework, find out who those legitimate businesses are). Join writers’ networking groups so you’ll be wise to the traps. And do extensive research, on-line and through author recommendations, about any publisher or agent before you sign any contracts.

Don’t let others cash in on your dreams.

Some years ago, I read a book by Jayne Ann Krentz (I can’t recall which one, as I’ve read probably a hundred books by her under her multiple pseudonyms) in which the main character was hopelessly fashion-challenged. Her shirt was always wrinkled or stained, she’d have a runner in her hose, her hair would be tumbling down or something would keep her from looking chic, sleek and put-together.

I so identified with that heroine.

My mother, bless her heart, could have been the original model for that fictional fashion disaster. Mother wore her Mary Kay make-up too thick, so there were always foundation smudges on her collars, and she clung to her blue eye-shadow until the end. She wore hose (sometimes with runs) with shorts, and was especially fond of her battered pink flats. Those of us who knew her noted those quirks with affection; the beauty of her spirit made her look perfect to us, no matter what unique combination of garments she might have put together that day. I still remember very clearly some of the, um, interesting outfits she made for me when I was growing up — like the cowgirl skirt and vest made of pink fake-leather with black braid trim (I was in high school) and the hip-hugger, bell-bottom pants made of gold  crushed velvet upholstery fabric. Even in the seventies, those were … odd. But I loved her for the effort.

As for me, I enjoy watching fashion shows like What Not to Wear on TV, even though I know I’d probably be a candidate for a makeover. I never know quite what to wear to any particular event, which means I’ve been known to show up over- or under-dressed on more than one occasion. I tend to find a style that works (ish) for me, and wear variations of that style in different (dark) colors nearly every day until my daughters finally convince me it’s time for a change. It doesn’t help that I’m … well, thrifty. I bee-line for the clearance racks at Kohl’s or Penney’s and I’m always delighted to find something that fits — for 60 percent off! My motto is “never pay full price!” (Unless it’s for books, of course — and even for those, I usually pull out my Books a Million discount card.)

When I was in junior high, I was awed by a girl named Maurey who always came to school looking so fashionable and chic. She made it look effortless — her collar cocked just so, cuffs turned back, just the right jewelry or shoes or hair accessories. I remember trying to imitate her, and knowing even then that I was completely missing the mark. I was the Jayne heroine with the tumbled down hair or the run in the hose (or I was dressed in a pink leatherette cowgirl skirt or gold crushed velvet bell bottoms).

Now there are other people I know who always look just right, who “get it” when it comes to fashion. And yet …

Some of my favorite people have been the ones who are known for their questionable styles. The ones who make you smile just to think about them. The ones to whom there are a lot more important things in life than the latest arbitrary fashion “rules”, the most popular designer labels or the “right” look. The ones whose beauty radiates from the inside … like my amazing mother, who had so many friends from every walk of life.

So, the next time you see me, whatever I’m wearing, you’ll know that I tried to look nice that day. That I probably bought the outfit on sale. Sometimes it even works — the right look in the right place at the right time. Whew.

But what I hope you notice first is my smile. A smile is always in style.

Don’t forget — THE DOCTOR’S UNDOING is in stores now! And be sure to click the Enter to Win! tab above for details about the prize drawing on September 1.

I am not exactly a grammar purist. In casual conversation, I’ve been known to dangle participles and mix tenses and pronouns with the best of them. I leave prepositions hanging at the end of sentences, and even use incomplete sentences for the sake of free-flowing conversations. Though I tend to use somewhat more formal grammar in my writing, I sometimes employ partial sentences for dramatic effect. I allow my characters to speak informally so their speech sounds believable when read aloud. As for “Southernisms” — well, suffice it to say I love my “y’alls” and “fixing tos” when I’m among my Southern friends and family.

Yet, there are grammatical errors that clang in my ears even in casual conversation. “I seen that movie yesterday.” “I seen lots of flip-flops on the beach.” Ack! Is it really so much more difficult to say, “I saw?” Obviously, that’s one of my peeves.

My other grammatical button is more insidious, especially because it seems to be gaining in usage, even among people who should know better. I’ve heard it from professors and television pundits, from other writers and people on the street. And the sad thing is, they think they’re being formally correct by using the phrase.

Spot the error in this sentence:  My uncle gave some money to my sister and I.

While watching Friday Night Lights last week, I heard Tammy, a lead character who is also a school principal, say to someone, “Would you please leave Becky and I alone for a few minutes?” Again — ack!

It’s a very simple rule. If you remove the name of the other person, would you then say “I” or “me?” In this case, as in the former, it would be “me.” Not “I.”

I blame it on all those mothers and teachers (myself included) who constantly corrected our kids when they asked, “Can Suzy and me jump into this fountain?” “May Suzy and I,” we would reply automatically — before saying no.

We didn’t mean it was alway to be used that way. Now people seem to believe the use of the word “me” is never correct when combined with another name. I’m beginning to wonder if that grammatical rule has gone the way of other obsolete traditions — like the one about never ending a sentence with a preposition.

As I said, I make plenty of conversational gaffes, myself, so I don’t judge those who do the same. These are just my grammatical pet peeves. What, if any, are yours?

And now, y’all, I’m fixing to go make some dinner for my family and me.

(By the way, don’t get me started on those non-Southerners who use y’all as a singular pronoun in their writing. It’s ALWAYS plural — please forgive the shouting, that’s another pet peeve for another post.)

Don’t forget to click the Enter to Win! tab for details about the September 1 drawing. Entries are already coming in, but you still have a great chance to win two titles of your choice from my backlist!

I like to think of myself as courageous. I suppose most people do. But deep down, I know I’m really sort of a wimp about certain things. I have little fear of snakes, but spiders make me run screaming in terror. My children were killing spiders for me as soon as they were old enough to hold a fly-swatter.  I’m not particularly afraid to fly, but I don’t like being in those fast boats that lift up at the front when they take off in the water — so no boat riding with my brothers! I love cats, but strange dogs running toward me can have me climbing on my husband’s shoulders. I have no fear of public speaking, even enjoy it, but I sometimes get nervous at social gatherings that require mingling and small talk. Going to the doctor isn’t my favorite pastime, yet I tolerate most medical procedures pretty well — but I’m a nervous wreck when I go to the dentist’s office, even for a routine cleaning.

I suppose one of my biggest fears is having anything done to my eyes. Putting eye drops in my eyes requires three grown men and a team of horses (okay, maybe a slight exaggeration. My husband can get them in eventually, though he’s been known to snap at me in exasperation to stop flinching away at the last moment). I’ve never even tried contact lenses, though I’ve worn glasses most of my life. It’s ironic that I have a chronic problem with infections and styes on my right eye that often have to be treated rather aggressively with drops, ointments and — gulp! — lancing and draining. I wrote recently about a particularly nasty infection I suffered a couple of months ago. That led to a chalazion that had to be lanced and drained yesterday.

I was truly going to be brave this time. I know it’s an uncomfortable procedure, but not terribly painful. The deadening shots in and under the eyelid aren’t fun, but they’re fairly quick and they do the job as far as blocking sensation. My ophthalmologist is the nicest man in the whole world, and I always feel guilty for whimpering or flinching with him because it seems to upset him so badly to think he might be causing pain. So I sat up like a big girl for the shots — and then, as always, the world started to spin and I had to be laid back in the chair with a fan on my face. Sigh. He finished the job quickly, propping my eye open with some sort of instrument, then cutting and scraping and swabbing and whatever as gently and swiftly as he could — while apologizing every minute or so for having to do so. I came home with a patch on my eye for a few hours and only a little pain when the deadening wore off. Today my eye looks so much better than it did before the procedure and I’m glad to have that ugly lump gone. So why does my body react so dramatically when my head knows better?

Fear keeps us from doing a lot of things in life. Fear of pain, fear of consequences, fear of embarrassment, fear of failure. Fear has its place in our lives — as my kind ophthalmologist pointed out, it’s only natural to be afraid when someone comes at your eye with a needle and a knife. But it can also be a terrible hindrance to leading a full and rewarding life. Maybe I wasn’t the bravest patient poor Dr. Paddock saw yesterday, but I came through just fine, and I’m glad I had the really-minor procedure done. Soon it will be time to schedule routine mammogram and colonoscopy — neither of which are fun, but definitely worth the effort. There are other things on my to-do list that make me nervous, but that I know will pay off in the long run if I just make myself try.

As Edward Rickenbacker said, “Courage is doing what you’re afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you’re scared.” So maybe I’m not such a terrible coward, after all? Because I know exactly what it’s like to be scared!

What fears are holding you back from something you really want or need to do?

….

There was no winner for this month’s drawing. See what I mean about how you can’t win if you don’t enter?

I’m doing something new for the next two months. There will be no drawing on August 1 due to deadlines and vacation and other summer scheduling. Instead, I’ll have a drawing September 1. The prize will be any two books the winner chooses from my backlist (subject to availability, of course). Click on the Enter to Win! tab above for more details.

And don’t forget: THE DOCTOR’S UNDOING, my newest Silhouette Special Edition, is in stores now!

Anyone who knows me either in person or through this blog is aware that I am not a fan of hot weather. The past couple of weeks in Arkansas have been sweltering, with temperatures hovering in the upper nineties and heat index readings in the hundreds. As much as I enjoy going on nature walks, or attending Arkansas Travelers baseball games or just sitting outside on the patio, all of that has to wait until a break in this heat! At least I’ve gotten a lot of writing done, sitting in my air conditioned den with a glass of iced tea and admiring nature from inside the glass doors.

For those of you also looking for ways to escape the summer heat, here are a few suggestions:

Find a shady spot by a cool lake. The photo above was taken at a popular shore-fishing spot on Lake Conway here in central Arkansas. Imagine sitting there with a cold drink and a nice breeze coming off the water. Ah.

Enjoy the World Cup games on TV. I have to confess to being somewhat of a soccer novice, but I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the games, despite the U.S. team’s heartbreaking loss to Ghana. As I write this, the Netherlands and Slovakia are fighting for a place in the next round. I’m thoroughly impressed by the athleticism of the players — and amused by their theatrics. I find it funny that they will writhe on the ground in simulated agony when barely touched in an attempt to draw a penalty, yet when they’re really hurt — broken ribs, split lips, slashed legs or bloody noses — they’ll suck it up and keep playing. I can see why football (as the rest of the world calls it) is so popular all around the planet.

Sno-cones! Every year, as soon as the thermometer begins to rise, I start craving a cup of finely shaved ice flavored with syrup. Vendors in brightly-colored trailer-stands begin to appear in area parking lots, and I always have a hard time driving past without stopping. I had my first sno-cone of the season yesterday and it was delicious. The most difficult part is trying to decide between the dozens of flavors displayed on the menu.

Games. I love playing games with my family. Scrabble, Apples to Apples, Yahtzee, Phase 10, Uno, Canasta Caliente (Kerry and I turn that into a full-contact card game! No one else will play with us). My daughter and son-in-law introduced us to a new game during their Christmas visit — Settlers of Catan. That was a lot of fun. I can’t wait until they come home from Massachusetts for a visit in August and we can gather around the kitchen table again for an evening of board games and laughter.

Enjoy a good book. A blazing summer day is the perfect time to find a shady spot or a cool corner and escape into fantasy. Of course, cold winter days are also good for that. Let’s face it, any time is the right time for a good story.

Speaking of which — you were expecting this plug, right? — my new Silhouette Special Edition, THE DOCTOR’S UNDOING, will be available in stores in the coming week. This is the third book in the Doctors in Training series — Ron and Haley’s story — but if you missed the first two, don’t worry. Each book stands alone.

Wherever you are, whatever your weather, I hope you enjoy this last week of June.

Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited.

All rights reserved.

One of the fun questions I’m often asked when I speak to schoolchildren is, Do you draw the covers for your books?

I wish I were that talented an artist!

So, how do the artists hired by Harlequin/Silhouette know what to depict on the covers? They don’t have time to read the books first — often the cover art is in process before the book is even completed. So, the author has to somehow convey to the artist enough information that the cover fits the story, which isn’t easy. Usually, I find it less stressful to write the scene than to try to describe it.

For each category book, the author fills out an “art fact sheet.” We give a brief synopsis of the story, describe the characters as best we can envision them, and then suggest three scenes that might make a good cover. We tell the artist what the characters are wearing, what’s the mood and setting of the scene, any little details that bring our story to life. And I’m often amazed at how well the artist translates our words into pictures! I don’t see the covers until I receive my books because with the tight schedule of producing category romances there is little time for pre-approval on the author’s part. It’s always exciting for me to open the box from the publisher and see those new covers. No, the people on the books don’t always look exactly the way I imagined them, but even with as many covers as I’ve had, I’ve rarely been disappointed by the results.

Maybe sometimes there are picky little details I would change, being the control freak I am. For example, the cover above is for my July release, THE DOCTOR’S UNDOING. The hero’s white coat on the cover is too long for a medical student — med students wear thigh-length coats; after they graduate they switch to the knee-length coats he’s wearing in the drawing. My daughter will certainly point that out to me when she sees this cover — so I’ve preemptively let her know I’m aware of it. But that’s not really important. I was very pleased when I received my copies of the book and saw the cover; the people look very much as I pictured Ron and Haley and the setting really conveys the hospital atmosphere of the story.  I think it’s a great cover — and I hope you enjoy the book!

I must confess to a more serious quibble about one cover I had several years ago. The book was set in the South, as so many of my stories are, and the artist wanted to convey a Southern feel, so magnolia blossoms were used as a border. Unfortunately, the magnolia blossoms on the cover were growing on a vine! Obviously, the artist was not from the South. And yes, I heard from a few readers asking what I was thinking putting “magnolia vines” on the cover. I thought you might find it interesting to know the process of cover art for category romances — and how such glitches occasionally occur. (I still can’t explain how a friend ended up with a three-handed heroine on one of her covers many years ago, but that’s a different story — and a different publisher.) Yet somehow, with such little information, most covers are excellent and amazingly fitting for the stories they accompany.

I have to applaud the very talented artists employed by Harlequin/Silhouette for such consistently excellent artwork.