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Email and the internet have become a necessity in life, especially for authors. Having an online presence is a must. Making time for writing when family, work, and promotion are in the way is tough.
Here are some interesting statistics that may cause you to reconsider how you spend your time online:
15% of Americans say they are addicted to email.
59% of those using portable devices check email as it arrives.
43% of users sleep near their email unit to hear incoming messages.
40% consider email accessibility when they plan a trip.
83% check their email once a day while on vacation.
43% check their email first thing every morning. AOL & Opinion Research Corp., study 7/26/07
More than one in twenty U.S. adults surveyed nationally said their relationships have suffered from excessive use of the Internet. 12% said they often stay online more than they would like to. 14% say it is difficult to stay offline for several days. Elias Abonjaoude, Stanford University, Impulse Control Disorders Clinic
A recent study from the Institute of Psychiatry at the University of London suggests that your IQ falls 10 points when you're fielding constant emails, text messages, and calls, the same loss you'd experience if you missed an entire night's sleep and more than double the 4-point loss you'd have after smoking marijuana. On average men fared worse than women because, researchers say, men have more difficulty multitasking. YogaJournal, p. 22, 12/2005
Now I admit, some days I just don't want to go online. I just want to sit and read a good book and pig out on donuts. But to go longer than a day, I start having withdrawal symptoms.
How is this different than the family sitting in front of the TV each evening? By working online, I am being more productive than a couch potato. At least by going online, I have more variety, and control over what I am exposed to.
However, sitting in front of the computer is not quality family time. Yet, I wouldn't consider television-watcing quality, anyway. And, I can think of worse things to be addicted to than email.
It's all about moderation. Prioritization. Discipline. That's why this blog may not get updated as often as I'd like it to. Because when all is said and done, I'd still rather spend time with Mr. JR and our family than anything I could ever find online.
Joining us today is Miss Mae, with an excerpt from her release, See No Evil, My Pretty Lady. This book has received incredible reviews and was a three-month best seller in the non-American historical line at The Wild Rose Press! Not only will you enjoy the excerpt, you've got to check out her video book preview at the end of this post.
A loud scurrying sounded from the direction of a darkened corner. Alarmed, Dorcy jumped. “What’s that?” “Rats.” Gareth moved swiftly to pick up the kerosene lamp in one hand while he grasped her elbow with the other. “I suggest we get off the floor. The stairs will be a better place to wait.” She grabbed the sherry bottle and stick of firewood. “Th—they didn’t bother me when I searched the wine racks.” Her nerves on edge, she listened closely, hearing squealings she’d missed earlier. “The light probably disturbed them for several minutes. But now they’ve become adjusted to it.” Pausing close to the top step, he reached for her firewood. “Better give me that. I might need it if one gets too bold and wants to climb this way.” “No!” She clung to the stick. No matter her odd thoughts towards him only a few moments previously, she wouldn’t allow herself to forget that he’d tried to strangle her outside his father’s house. If he made another attempt, she’d use the wood to beat him off. “Very well.” Gareth carefully set the lamp down and then shrugged out of his frock coat. “You’re trembling. Here. Take this.” He draped the garment around her shoulders and then he leaned back against the wall. “To pass time while we wait, why don’t we take this opportunity to get to know each other better?” Though appreciative at the warmth the coat offered, Dorcy steeled herself at letting down her guard. “I don’t want to talk.” He nodded toward the floor. “Hearing our voices in conversation will help to keep them from venturing this way.” She hesitated. He stood too close for her comfort. And seeing him in shirt and waistcoat did something to her senses. For the first time, she truly looked at him, paying attention to the breadth of his shoulders, and the attractive knot of the cravat tied at his collar. The brown tweed waistcoat he wore hugged his chest in a snug fit, and the white shirtsleeves outlined noticeable bulges in his arms. His gloved thumbs hooked in his trousers pockets, and though tempted to run her gaze down the length of his long legs, she turned away, grasping the railing for support. What’s going on with me? I don’t feel like myself. Slowly, she sank to sit beside the lamp, breathing erratically. Gareth shifted one foot, placing it near hers as he relaxed against the wall. With an effort, she cleared her throat. “Alice knows I’m here too. I expect her to come for me in just a few minutes."
REVIEWS:
Frost of Dark Angel Reviews gives the highest rating of excellence, five pixies, saying: "...See No Evil, My Pretty Lady is a delightful and intriguing historical mystery which will satisfy fans of historical fiction, those who read for plot, and those who enjoy character revelation and development...Author Miss Mae provides a wealth of genuine historical detail in the setting and plot, delicately interwoven and subtle. The plot has sufficient twists and turns that readers will find themselves figuratively turning pages quickly to discover the next revelation. I can’t imagine any reader who wouldn’t enjoy this book, which is attention-maintaining, intriguing, and will linger in the mind after the end. I highly recommend this book."...
Raakhee of Writers and Readers of Distinctive Fiction says: "...A gripping read that kept me hooked from the very first page. Not predictable in any way full as it is with many a twist in this plot. SEE NO EVIL, MY PRETTY LADY revels the complexity of human emotions. Although it read more like a mystery than a romance the bottom line is that it has great entertainment value. I loved every page of it!"
"Without hesitation, Miss Mae throws us into the middle of a suspenseful and thrilling saga set in the pillowing fog of Victorian London. After narrowly escaping from a ‘Jack the Ripper’ type villain, sweet and shy, Dorcy is named as a suspect in her employer’s death...Miss Mae takes us on an engaging and adventurous ride as the spirited Dorcy seeks to unravel the mystery. With its magnetic plot, vivid descriptions, three-dimensional characters, and rich dialogue, you will devour every word of See No Evil, My Pretty Lady. Miss Mae’s book is sure to be among your favorites." A Five Star Review from Amber Nagle, writer for The Calhoun Times
Well, if you're wondering whether I took my last post literally and refused to be interrupted by anything - including this blog - I wish I could say you were right. Life got in the way the last couple of weeks and now I'm behind. Imagine that.
However, I did read Tracy Anne Warren's The Husband Trap and Julia Quinn's The Lost Duke of Wyndham while I was at the beach. Both were terrific books. And yes, I was interrupted - unfortunately.
Today, I'd like to ask you to answer a brief, five-question survey on buying books. This is research for promotional purposes and something I think we all as romance writers and readers would like to know. The survey will be open through July 6th so please tell all of your readers and friends to stop by.
Have you ever read a book that was so good you couldn't put it down?
What about a book that was so good you couldn't put it down - but you HAD to?
Is there anything more frustrating?!
I recently read a book that was SOOO good - but it took me three darn days to finish it. Between work, our air conditioner going out in 100 degree heat, and a work function, I was not a happy camper.
When I sit down to read a book, I don't want to be interrupted until I read it through to the end. Do so, and you risk bodily harm. My family knows better than to interrupt me when I finally take time to sit still long enough to read. They've heard me growl more than a new dieter's stomach.
I've seriously considered taking a speed reading course. But I'm afraid I'll miss the good parts. After all, it's about enjoying the read, not getting it past you. If anyone out there has taken a speed reading course, let me know what you think.
I live for weekends with a rainy day, a good book, my quilt, and a glass of iced tea. Sigh. Wish I could do that now. I've got so many books on my to-be-read shelf, I could stay cooped up for months.
Got a book you could recommend for a rainy day? Let me know about it. I'm always on the lookout for good reads.
Over the years, I've attended many online and in-person workshops on the craft of writing romance. Some of the techniques and tips I've learned have really opened my eyes; others just didn't sink into my stubborn brain.
Below is my list of favorite sources (not necessarily in any order):
1) Any Alicia Rasley workshop - particularly her synopsis-writing workshop and characterization workshops. Alicia has a way of getting through to me that no one else does. http://www.sff.net/people/alicia/
2) Robyn Dehart & Emily McKay's Character Plotting workshop. This workshop was a big hit at the 2004 RWA National Conference. They approach plotting in a way I have never seen before. It really opened my eyes. They will be presenting a workshop called, "Bigger than Botox," and another called, "Writing in the Pressure Cooker" with author Pam Morsi, at the RWA National Conference in San Francisco http://www.robyndehart.com/for_writers.html
4) Speaking of Myla Jackson, she and author, Delilah Devlin, give a workshop called "Plotting Bootcamp." This is a tough, labor-intensive workshop on plotting out an entire book from concept to scenes, to complete outline. Just awesome! http://www.rosescoloredglasses.com/Online%20Workshops.htm
5) Suzanne Brockmann's workshop on Deep POV. I first heard this at the 2003 RWA National Conference and had to buy the tape. If you've been living under a rock and haven't read any of Suz's books, you need to read at least one to understand. She's awesome. Her workshop on characterization is also terrific. Her workshop at the 2001 Dreamin' in Dallas conference was packed. Bought that CD, too. :) http://www.suzannebrockmann.com/
6) Author Julia Ross gave an terrific workshop at the 2002 RWA National Conference called "Great Sex." She stressed the importance of character in a sex scene. When she read a few scenes from her latest novel, with her voice... wow. You could've heard a pin drop in that room. Very moving. http://www.juliaross.net/
My client, Cindi Myers, http://www.cindimyers.com/ , starts her virtual book tour today with an eHarlequin daily read that will run through June 22nd. Her June release, A Soldier Comes Home, is faboo! If you read this book without sympathizing for the hero and heroine, you do not have a heart. It brings to light the blessings we all take for granted, while they continually sacrifice, day in and day out, to give us safety and freedom. If you think the only sacrifice they make is serving in the war, think again. You have to read this book.
Here is an excerpt and the book trailer for Cindi's new release. After reading it, make a point of visiting the following website to thank someone who is now serving our country: http://www.letssaythanks.com/Home1280.html
EXCERPT:
Chrissie ended up going out after work with Rita — not to drink, but to dinner and a movie. They chose a comedy without a lot of plot, but enough laughs to take their minds off their troubles. She arrived home late and was surprised to see lights burning in the house next door. The house had been empty for over a month now, ever since Tammy Hughes had moved across town. Though Tammy had never come out and said so, Chrissie suspected her young neighbor had moved in with the skinny private who had been a frequent visitor to the little brick house in the months preceding Tammy’s departure. Chrissie collected her mail from the box at the end of the drive, then unlocked her front door and went inside, stopping to kick off her shoes in the entryway. Her cats, Rudy and Sapphire, greeted her with pitiful yowls, tails twitching. “Yes, I know, you’re so mistreated,” Chrissie said, bending to pet them, her mind still on the house next door. She hadn’t thought of Tammy in a while. After Tammy’s husband had shipped out to Iraq, Chrissie had tried to befriend the young woman, who had seemed so lost and alone. Despite the fact that she had a child - a little boy called T.J. - Tammy had seemed like a child herself. She thought nothing of wearing her pajamas and eating only cereal and ice cream for days at a time, letting T.J. do the same. When her Honda broke down, rather than have it fixed, she left it sitting at the curb and began driving the red truck her husband had left behind. When the city had finally towed the car - after leaving numerous citations, which Tammy ignored - she had been unconcerned. “I was tired of it anyway,” she’d said. Chrissie had gone out with Tammy a few times, giving in to the younger woman’s argument that they deserved to have a little fun. They had spent one memorable evening at a bar frequented by soldiers from nearby Fort Carson. While Chrissie politely fended off the overtures of earnest young men who reminded her of Matt, Tammy drank and danced and flirted and drank some more. Chrissie had ended up pouring her into a taxi and taking her home, and got stuck with the bill for both the taxi and the babysitter. Soon after that, the private showed up. Tammy would call Chrissie sometimes and ask her to babysit. “I have a class at the community college and my regular girl canceled,” she’d plead. Chrissie suspected the only thing Tammy was studying was the private, but she’d agreed to babysit, if only for the chance to spend an evening with T.J. The dark-haired toddler with the chocolate brown eyes could melt Chrissie with a single gap-toothed smile. A happy child who loved to cuddle, T.J. had won Chrissie’s heart the first time they’d met, when he’d taken her hand and earnestly introduced her to a purple stuffed bear. “This is Mr. Pringles,” he’d said. “My daddy gave him to me.” Chrissie had never met T.J.’s father. Captain Hughes. Tammy never talked about him, except once, when Chrissie had tried to broach the subject of Tammy’s frequent nights out on the town. “I’m too lonely at the house all by myself,” she said, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder, her mouth shaped into a pretty pout. “If my husband expects me to sit there all by myself until he comes home, he’s crazy.” You won’t know lonely until they tell you your husband is never coming home again, Chrissie thought, but she said nothing. After that, she stopped trying to give advice to Tammy. But she would babysit whenever she was asked, and spend hours rocking with T.J., reading to him and singing him songs. In those few hours, at least, she was able to fill the hole inside her where a husband and child belonged. She carried the mail into the kitchen, the cats following, weaving figure eights around her feet. She put the kettle on for a pot of tea, and opened a can of seafood delight for the kitties. From her kitchen window she could see the kitchen in Tammy’s house. The light was on, but the room was empty. Had Tammy split with her private and decided to come home? Or had Captain Hughes returned to his empty house? Her throat tightened at the thought. Had Tammy’s husband been part of the unit that had arrived home today? How must it have been for him, standing in the crowd of joyous families, with no one to welcome him home? The thought of that man - any man - sitting alone in that empty house after a year away brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back and did the only thing she could think of to do. She took a bottle of wine from the rack on the counter, and assembled a plate of sandwich fixings from the refrigerator. Then she put on her coat and started next door. She made it as far as her front porch before she turned around and went back into the house, to comb her hair and touch up her makeup. Not because she wanted to impress him, but because a man who had been away fighting deserved to look at a woman who had gone to a little trouble for his sake. She hurried across the strip of snow-covered grass between the two houses, cold wind nipping at her ankles and tugging at her coat. She stepped carefully up the icy walk, juggling the wine bottle and the plate of food, and knocked on the front door. She waited, the cold burning her cheeks, then knocked again, harder this time. In a few seconds, she heard heavy footsteps and the sound of a lock being turned. Then the porch light came on, and the door opened. Her first impression of him was of strength and height - muscles straining the shoulders of his dress uniform, his head bent to look down at her. He had dark hair cut close at the sides, and dark eyes that fixed on her. “Yes?” he asked, his voice gruff. She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice. “I…I saw the light and…and wanted to welcome you home.” The words sounded stilted to her ears. Would he think she was merely nosy? He continued to stare at her, looking her up and down as if she were an escaped lunatic. Or a ghost. She could feel his gaze on her, burning her. She held up the bottle of wine. “I thought you might like something to eat, or drink.” He stepped back, and opened the door wider. “Come in.” She hesitated, then decided she’d look even more foolish standing on the porch in the cold. She stepped over the threshold and he shut the door behind her. “Let me take those,” he said, relieving her of her burdens. “I’m Christine Evans,” she said. “I live next door.” She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he found two glasses and a corkscrew. “Ray Hughes,” he said. “It’s good to meet you,” She’d seen a picture of him once before, one Tammy had carried in her wallet. The picture had not done him justice. It hadn’t given a true idea of the way he filled a room with his presence. He handed her a glass of wine. “Why don’t you take off your coat,” he said. “It’s a little chilly in here.” The house was like ice. “Sorry. I hadn’t noticed.” He walked into the other room. She followed and saw him turn up the thermostat. The heat kicked on, with the burnt-dust smell of a furnace that hadn’t been used in weeks. There was no furniture in the room except a coffee table and a recliner. Chrissie stared at the chair, frowning. Tammy must have taken the other furniture when she left. Why? Hadn’t she realized how cruel she was being? But no, Tammy was not one to think of the impact of her actions. Ray sipped the wine and studied her. “How long have you lived next door?” he asked. “Three years,” she said. Since six months after Matt had died. “Then you must have known my wife.” “Yes, I knew Tammy.” She sipped the wine and avoided looking at him. Yet she couldn’t keep her gaze averted long. There was something so compelling about his face, something that drew her to study the firm line of his jaw and the jut of his nose. At the mention of Tammy’s name, his face took on a closed-off look. “Did you say your name was Christine? So people call you Chrissie?” “Some people.” She hugged one arm across her chest. Tammy had called her that. “You were Tammy’s friend,” he said. She nodded. She had tried to be Tammy’s friend, but her brand of friendship was not what the young woman had wanted. He drained the wine glass, then rolled the stem back and forth in his fingers. “She wrote me about you.” “She did?” The words - and the chill in his voice - startled her. “What did she say?” “She said the two of you went out together. That you were single and a lot of fun.” His voice was clipped, louder than it had been. “We went out a couple of times.” Despite the heater, the air in the house was colder than ever. Chrissie forced herself to stand still, to not act afraid. Ray glared at her, a white line of muscle standing out along his jaw. “Instead of staying home with our son the way she should have, she was out running around with you. You probably introduced her to the guy she ran off with.” “No. I had nothing to do with that.” She shook her head. He hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered. She jumped, her heart racing, and set her own glass on the counter. Her hands were shaking so badly, she had to clench them into fists to keep them still. “Get out,” he said. “I don’t need you screwing up my life anymore than you already have.” She opened her mouth to argue, to explain she had nothing to do with Tammy’s defection. But one look in his eyes told her he was in no mood to listen. She pulled her coat more tightly around her and walked past him to the door. Once outside, she broke into a run. Only when she was safely in her own house, the door locked and bolted behind her, did she realize tears were streaming down her cheeks. She walked to the sink and filled a glass with water, then took a long drink, waiting for her pounding heart to slow. She tried to tell herself Ray’s outburst didn’t mean anything. Of course he was upset; he needed someone to blame and she was handy. But his words still stung. She’d wanted this man, more than any she’d met in a long time, to like her. She’d felt the pull of attraction to him the moment he opened the door and stood, towering over her yet still vulnerable. The feeling had scared her, but she’d been determined not to run from it. Not this time. After three years, she was ready to move past the hurt. To allow herself to fall in love again. The idea was as thrilling as it was frightening. And for a few minutes there, she’d held out hope that Ray Hughes would be the one. The man who would help her move past the fear and hurt into something wonderful. A man who hated her now, before he even knew her. On the scale of things, most would say it was a minor loss, but it hurt all the same. She looked out the kitchen window, toward his now darkened house. Was he sitting there in the dark, brooding? Did he regret anything he’d said? Was there any way for the two of them to reach across the misconceptions and try again?
Be sure to follow Cindi as she tours the internet promoting her book. You can find her itinerary at http://www.cindimyers.com/ or www.booktour.com/author/cindi_myers . Cindi will be giving away autographed copies of her book throughout the tour so the more times you stop in, the better your chances to win!
Want a virtual book tour of your own? Email me at info@savvysa.com
This past weekend, I participated in Relay for Life, a fundraising event sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Cancer survivors from the area were honored at the event, among them a four-year-old little girl and a 80+ woman.
What amazed me about all of the survivors was their positive outlook. One female, high school survivor was playing football with the guys and twirling JROTC rifles with others. She was all over the place. Another was a middle school teacher that had more pep and encouragement in her at 4am than anyone else on the field.
As I walked around the track for one of my one-hour sessions, I wondered about their happily ever after vs. happily ever after in romance novels. We expect the couples in romance novels to live happily with each other forever. But what if their happily ever after ends in a future book in the series? Would you, as a reader, feel cheated? Or would you have more sympathy for the hero/heroine left behind? If the author portrayed their life as happy until death parted them, how could you argue that they didn't get a happily ever after? Would that ruin the guaranteed HEA that romance novels are supposed to deliver?
I guess this past weekend reminded me that we have to make the most of each day. To make the most of our time with our loved ones. We have to live in the moment and realize that no matter how tired, frustrated or angry we are, we are lucky to have our family and friends. We are lucky to be alive.
I am a virtual assistant for authors with a particular interest in book promotion. A wannabe romance author with big dreams of one day buying front-row season tickets for the San Antonio Spurs. I love live music, a good romance novel, going to the movies, watching the Spurs play, and staring at a shirtless Tom Jane.
