Category: Uncategorized

I’ve been asked to speak quite often since I’ve been published. Groups of aspiring writers, book clubs, civic organizations — even a garden club, once, though I can kill a silk plant. I’ve long since lost count of how many speeches I’ve made. I was rather nervous the first few times, but I’ve grown more comfortable with practice. I actually enjoy talking about my career and my experiences as a writer, and my “reviews” have been very positive. It has become one of my favorite sidelines of my career.

Most frequently, I have spoken to schoolchildren — from kindergarten to senior high. It almost seemed that teachers started calling me the day after I sold my first book, asking me to speak at career days and in English classes and at assemblies. (I didn’t speak at the school pictured above; I snapped that photo of an end-of-the-term celebration during a recent road trip through Massachusetts because I thought it was a lovely school setting). I’ve had a lot of fun talking to students — depending on their age, we play word games, make up stories, talk about the importance of literacy and goal-setting, and go through the progress of a book from idea to publication.

I don’t remember all the talks I’ve made to students, but some of them stand out in my memory. Like the time I recklessly agreed to speak to all of a teacher’s English classes for the day — 6 or 7 classes, I think. That was early in my speaking days, and it gave me an all-new appreciation for teachers. Speaking that many times in one day was exhausting, and I’ve never agreed to do it since. By the end of the day, I couldn’t remember what I’d said to which class, and I was having trouble keeping up my enthusiasm. I admire the excellent and committed teachers who are as invested in their late-afternoon classes as they are in the mornings. Now, I ask that classes be combined so that I speak no more than twice in one appearance.

I was delighted to speak at an eighth-grade graduation program at my own junior high school several years ago, being introduced by one of my favorite junior high English teachers. And there was the time I spoke to an entire school — k through 12 — in a little Arkansas town called Leslie. It was a very small school, entire grades made up of less than fifty students, as I recall — and I spoke in the gym while they sat in the bleachers. It was the only time I was ever applauded for anything I did in a gymnasium (let’s just say I’ve never been athletically inclined).

I love it when the teachers have their students write thank you notes after my speeches and then forward them to me. I’ve received some delightful ones through the years — I’ll do a post soon quoting some of the more amusing and touching ones. I always try to leave time for questions after my talks, and there have been some doozies (not only from schoolchildren, I’ve gotten some, er, interesting questions from adult audiences, as well). One of my favorite questions came from an eighth grader. I had just explained that my books are published in twenty different languages in over 100 countries, when a boy’s hand shot up.

“You speak 20 different languages?” he asked in amazement.

“Well, no. I’m afraid I speak only English, though I wish I knew some other languages.”

Looking no less impressed, he shook his head. “I think it’s awesome that you can write in all those languages you don’t even speak,” he said.

Needless to say, while his teacher put her head on her desk, I immediately veered into a discussion about the career of translator.

I often wonder if any of the schoolkids I’ve spoken to remember my speeches all these years later. If they received any inspiration from my story to work hard and follow their own dreams. I hope they remember. They have certainly inspired me.

Reminder:

A few entries have come in for this month’s give-away of the hardcover, larger print copy of LOVE LESSONS. You still have until July 31 to send me your name for the drawing. Your odds are still good! Click on the “Enter to Win” tab above for details.

I do not remember a time when I didn’t want to be a published writer. From the time I was a child, all I wanted to do was to entertain readers with my stories. Even while pursuing a degree in journalism, I knew I wanted to write fiction — especially the romance stories I’d enjoyed for so long.

I found the courage to submit my first book to a publisher when I was in my mid-twenties. I’ve joked since that the manuscript was returned in the next day’s mail, along with a rejection letter. The rejection letter didn’t even have my name on it. Just, “Dear author.” Ouch.

I still had a lot to learn about writing for publication. So, I wrote and submitted another book. And received another form letter rejection.

Through hard experience, I’ve learned since that rejection is very much a part of this business. It takes a thick skin to deal with that, and with revisions, and with critics — but for those of us with the writing addiction, those drawbacks can’t deter us. I had to keep trying.

Back then, I didn’t know any other writers, and there was no internet to connect me with support groups and professional organizations. So, I went to the library and started teaching myself as much as I could learn about the business. I learned how to write a query letter, how to request “tip sheets” from the publishers regarding their submission requirements, how to target my writing toward specific lines (I didn’t even know that each line had required word counts).  And, because I’ve never been very good at marketing myself, I decided I needed an agent.

I selected Denise Marcil in New York after reading an article she had written for aspiring writers. She sounded like someone I would like. I mailed her a query letter, telling her about the latest story I’d written and asking her to represent me. She saw something promising in my writing, and she agreed to sign me. I was so naive then that I had no idea how hard it is to get an agent, how atypical it was for me to sign with the first one I contacted. I was very lucky that she happened to be a reputable and well-respected professional; there are many unscrupulous and less than competent “agents” out there trying to cash in on the big dreams of others.

Denise and I began our partnership in June of 1985. We’ve been together ever since — another rarity in this business in which most authors work with several agents during their careers. Denise taught me so much about the publishing business. I know she was exasperated at times with my total lack of education about the industry. She suggested I join a writers’ group, which led to my becoming a member of a local club and Romance Writers of America, both of which led to friendships I maintain to this day. And she was the one who called me to tell me of my first sale to Harlequin in 1986.

My agent has been my advocate, my adviser, my sounding board — and most of all, my friend. We’ve seen each other rarely during our long association, but we’ve talked often and easily. She celebrates every sale with me. She sent flowers after the birth of my son in 1988, and helped rearrange all my deadlines when my daughter was in ICU in 2000. She fought for me when I was plagiarized. She grieved with me when I lost my mother.

It’s been an interesting and sometimes frustrating journey. I’m very lucky to have had her on my side. I hope we celebrate many more milestones together.

Enter to win!

There have been no entries as of yet in this month’s contest. Is everyone waiting until the end of the month to enter? I’ll draw the winner on August 1 — and if you’re the only entry, you’ll be guaranteed to win! So click the “Enter to Win” tab above for directions on how to submit your name.

I’ve mentioned before that I live on a ten-acre lot in a semi-rural setting. The neighbors across the street raise miniature horses, the ones behind me raise cows. I enjoy sitting outside in the early evenings to watch the ponies and listen to the frogs and crickets rejoice as the hot summer days begin to cool. I keep a hummingbird feeder near my patio, and I get a kick out of watching the feisty hummers and the downy woodpeckers who love to steal the nectar. (The downy in the photo above was annoyed with me because I wanted to clean and refill the feeder. He was waiting impatiently when I brought it back out, much to the irritation of the hummingbirds who do their best to scare him away).

The downy woodpeckers, several larger woodpeckers, and mockingbirds eat the suet from a feeder hanging from a white ash tree at the end of the patio, from which also dangles a bird feeder that attracts several varieties of birds, and a thistle feeder that draws goldfinches and house finches. We have a lot of mockingbirds; the babies hop around our patio making shrill demands for food. We used to have a few bird houses in which bluebirds and sparrows raised several generations of offspring, but the tornado that hit our house in ’05 destroyed them all and we haven’t gotten around to replacing them yet.

Our patio has briefly entertained raccoons and opossums, box turtles and the occasional snake, and I always have to stop whatever I’m doing and watch them. There’s just something fascinating to me about watching wildlife.

After dinner yesterday, I looked out my kitchen window and saw a fat skunk waddling across the back of the property. This isn’t new for us; last year, I saw one skunk so often I even named it “Pepe.” It grew so comfortable with us that it wandered across the patio as I sat outside a couple of times. I can’t say I was as comfortable with Pepe. Every time s/he came that close to me, I froze and was afraid to move a muscle until it moved back out into the yard and pasture. So when I saw the skunk through the window yesterday, I merely smiled and said, “Why, hello, Pepe.” And then I noticed the two cute little balls of fur toddling behind it. This Pepe is a mommy. I grabbed my camera but they ducked into a drainage pipe before I could get a clear photo. I’ll try again if they show up this evening, though my husband is hoping they’ll move on.

As day fades into evening, two huge owls glide overhead to perch in the trees close to the patio.  I think they’re barred owls, but it’s always dusk when they show up, so I have a hard time seeing details. They fly absolutely silently, so it’s always a bit startling when they swoop down in front of us in search of whatever prey they’re finding in our yard and pasture. They don’t seem to be at all wary of us as we sit in our wrought iron rockers and watch them. The sheer size of them is impressive, and I love seeing them silhouetted against the night sky. I snapped a photo last night, but I wasn’t using a tripod, so the image is a bit blurred.

I love taking day trips or vacations to lakes and mountains where I can watch the wildlife. Birds and deer and chipmunks in the woods, turtles and otters and beavers in the water — even snakes, as long as they’re a safe distance away. On long, cross-country drives, I’ve glimpsed elk and black bears and eagles, among many other species. I entertain myself on the rather boring drive from here to Memphis by counting the hawks I spot during the two and a half hour drive  (my record is 61). My dream vacation is an Alaska cruise so I can see the wildlife and especially whales!

I’m content to have only two full-time pets, our cat, Izzie and the turtle, Elizabeth, but God has filled the world with animal friends for me to enjoy. What are your favorite animals to watch?

The winner of the June drawing for an autographed copy of the Harlequin sixtieth anniversary anthology, FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, including a novella by me, ALWAYS THE GROOMSMAN,  is (drum roll, please) … Allison Walton of Ohio.

Congratulations, Allison! I’ll get that in the mail to you ASAP.

For details of the July drawing (the prize is a hardcover, larger print edition of THE BRIDESMAID’S GIFTS), please click the “Enter to Win” tab above.

Happy 4th of July weekend to all my U.S. readers — and a safe, pleasant weekend to all my readers worldwide.

It’s Monday again, and I have a long list of things to accomplish this week. Deadlines, business responsibilities, housework. The usual routines of day-to-day living. Yet I spent my weekend revisiting the past. I had lunch with a dear friend from childhood whom I haven’t seen in too long. I learned that another school friend was recently killed in an accident. I had an unexpected call from another old friend from high school, and touched base with a few more on-line. Was “friended” by a couple of relatives I haven’t seen in a few years, so caught up with them, as well. And the deaths of several famous, iconic figures from my youth figured prominently in the national news reports. Nostalgia.

My mother-in-law will be 88 in August. Though she isn’t as active as she once was, her health is still relatively good and her mind as sharp as ever. She tells us stories all the time about when she was a child, a teenager, a young mother. Get her to talking about playing basketball in high school (she was 5’11”), and her eyes light up with the spark of competition. She can still remember specific games and plays, and still gets indignant over bad calls and unsportsmanlike conduct of other players. She still remembers what she wore to certain parties, still describes in detail the lunches her mother sent with her to her little school in rural northeast Arkansas. She says she feels like the same person she was seventy years ago; she looks in the mirror at times and wonders who is that old woman looking back at her?

I saw the signs of aging in my long-time friend — and I’m sure she saw the differences in me — but I understand what my mother-in-law means. The years rolled away as I chatted with my friend over lunch. We’ve spent the better part of the past thirty years in separate states, raising our families, pursuing different careers and life goals, and yet those memories of our youth made time irrelevant. We spoke of my late mother, and I saw the love in her eyes for the woman who’d been such an important part of her life, too. We talked about her mother, who is in failing health and has already left this world in some ways, and she knew I remembered the vibrant, funny, busy and talented woman her mother was before the years took their toll. We both remembered our lost schoolmate, whom neither of us had seen in some time, as the boy with the thick blond hair and mischievous blue eyes, and I know we shared thoughts of other classmates already gone, though our focus was primarily on the present.

I struggle to keep up with technological advances (I’ve mentioned that before in this blog), but I enjoy learning new tricks. At a meeting last week, a speaker showed us how to make video montages of photos and music (all copyright clear, of course!) to promote our books or however we might use the skill. To practice, I came home and made a computer slide show of some family photos, using special effects and transitions and  Chris Daughtry’s “Home” in the background (copyright protected, so I won’t share it with anyone but my own family). I’m still very much an amateur, of course, but I was quite proud of the end result, and I had to share it with my girls, who live so far away from me now. Yet we have all those shared experiences bonding us together, making us feel closer. The miles that separate us can’t break that bond. The photos are merely cues to the memories we carry in our minds and hearts.

While relatively rare in real life, amnesia is a tried-and-true fictional device for a reason. Our memories define us. They make us who we are. If we wake up without the recollection of our past, are we even the same people? How different would we be if  our actions weren’t guided by the conditioned responses of previous experience?

This is a theme I’m exploring in a current project — one that isn’t even sold yet, and that I’ll tell you more about later. It’s a very different type of story for me, and quite a challenge to write. We need those challenges to keep our future fresh and exciting — but it’s nice to revisit the past sometimes, as well —  especially the happiest times.

Last call for entries!

I will be drawing this Wednesday, July 1, for the winner of the autographed Harlequin novella anthology, featuring stories by bestselling authors Candace Camp, Allison Leigh and me! To enter, send me an email at gina.w@live.com — for more details, click the tab above marked “Enter to Win.” Good luck!