Literally. My head is about to hit it and I’m going to have little square keypad imprints on my forehead. This week has been a whirlwind of guest blogging, twittering, facebooking and posting bulletins on Myspace. I had a release you see. MASTER OF CRAVING, book three in my Blood Sword Legacy series. I love those hot knights! But promoting them? Yikes. It’s exhausting. But here’s the kicker: I have met some really great folks. Yeah, yeah the promo brought us together, but already I can tell I’m not only going to sell a few books, but I’ve made friends. Cyber friends count! Hell, I spend more time with cyber folks I’ve never met face to face than with my family! Not only have I met new folks, but I’ve discovered not only can I help them out with a cop question or two, well, ok Officer Friendly does that, but they have some nifty info to impart as well.

It’s a win win. I used to see the internet as a colossal chain around my neck. But with blogs and Myspace and Twitter and Facebook, a whole new world I am fondly embracing has consumed me. And now, I am tired. Not tired of it all, but the energy involved in keeping up with everyone has caught up with me. Next week since I’m leaving for the WisRWA con, I didn’t schedule any guest blog appearances, but my 8 Days for 8 Knights over at my place will continue until Monday. We’re having a lot of fun and lot’s of winners of some really unique prizes. Master Your Craving tees, dog tags with my book covers, BN gift certificates, signed books, and a few other kewl things coming up. There will be two grand prizes: A $50 Visa gift card, and an Inspiration necklace and earring set by the incomparable Poppy Laurel.

http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?listing_id=24615710

My husband just shakes his head. But I look at it this way, many of the folks who hang out at my place have supported me by buying my books and spreading the word. Now? It’s time to give back. And I am a giver. So another win win. Yes? No?

Do you comment on blogs to win a prize? I do. I like autographed books, and hell, yes if someone is giving away a Kindle to a lucky commenter I’m so there! I couldn’t afford a Kindle plus all of the other prezzies, so I broke it down so lot’s of peeps could enjoy.

Do you like to go for the big prize or have the love spread around?

Oh! I almost forgot! To celebrate the release of MASTER OF CRAVING, my publisher Simon & Schuster put up A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER a short story of mine as a FREE yes FREE download! Check it out. And feel free to pass the link along.

http://www.simonandschuster.com/giveaways/karin-tabke-free-download

So tell me, what is the bestest prize you have ever won on a blog?

Oh, and I’ll be hanging today with goils over at WritersAtPlay! And of course giving away a prezzy!

Karin*

Well, book one (Charmed and Dangerous) will be out next Tuesday… and that means I am starting that process again: that crack-open-a-whole-new-story process as I start the next book, and it’s one of those things that I absolutely love. 

And absolutely hate.

The thing I love about it is that there is this story that’s been in my head for a while, now, and opening that new file on the computer is like being the very first person to open a jar of peanut butter. You know how that is… that surface is smooth and creamy and never before used and you get to be the first person who plunges a….(hmmm. I now have a whole new appreciation for why stories about virgins are so popular.) 

Anyway. I love that first moment. I have to have a title, and character and conflict (not necessarily in that order) and I have to know where to start, and the voice. I may start and discard seven or eight (or ten or twelve) attempts at a chapter, honing that voice. At this point, the story is filled with possibilities, and yet, I know the guts of it. I know what it is inside this story that would break my heart not to tell. I have to feel that compelled to spend that much time, sitting still, weaving a dream.

On the other hand, I kinda loathe beginnings.

There are just so many damned choices. How much to reveal? How much needs to be layered in? How fast can I move to the crux of the inciting incident without confusing the audience? Can I get away without telling them all of this if I show them that?  

Even when I know things, like the general premise, I’m in the process of discovering the world–not just the setting/environment, but the tone, the rules of the world, the perspective I want to convey. I’m trying to figure out in those moments how to tuck the reader in close and just tell them a damned good story that will keep them turning pages–and yet… I don’t know the story yet. There are so many choices. It’s almost too much, because there’s this smorgasbord and I have to settle on one thing: one way to tell this particular story. I need to know what kind of story it is. If you promise a comedy in the opening lines, you have to deliver. If you promise horror, same thing. So I’m thinking of all these things, which actually means…

I’m futzing. I’m too aware of my process. I am thinking too damned much, and am not quite yet in the flow of the magic. Drives me a little batshit, this thinking. Wherein I drive my friends a little batshit with the whining. “I don’t know how to write anymore! I don’t remember how to start a story! Does this work? No? How about this? Or this?” It is a simple wonder they have not sent hit men.

I remember, ironically, knowing exactly where to start the first Bobbie Faye. Her voice hit me, clear as a hammer, and that beginning didn’t change much from the original rough draft:

Something wet and spongy plunked against Bobbie Faye’s face and she sprang awake, arms pin wheeling. “Damn it, Roy, you hit me with a catfish again and I’m gonna—” Whoa. Everything was dark in her cramped trailer. There was no catfish, no little brother Roy pretending innocence. Of course she’d been dreaming, because Roy was twenty-six now, not ten. Still a complete pain in the ass, though. 

She swiped at the cold rivulets of wetness running down her face. “What the fuck was that?” she muttered to no one in particular. “And why the hell am I wet?” 

And then, if I remember correctly, and God knows I suppress this as much as possible… everything was hard. As hell. I told too much, I showed too little. I fought to figure out who the hell this character was and what kind of world she lived in. I whined a lot. To everyone. My dog got tired of me, people. Seriously. That first act? Killed me. And then I finally hit the turning point at the end of act one and angels sang, rainbows popped out my ass and I knew what the hell to write. I love that turning point. It has been the same for every book… slog through act one, figure out what the hell I’m even telling and then bang, I know where I’m going.

It will take me a century to write the first half of the book. The second half? Feels like mere minutes. I’ll be so engrossed and having so much fun, you could come into this office and wallpaper over me and I don’t think I’d notice. (As long as you don’t get in the way of the Post It notes. I survive on Post It notes.)

Right now, I’m at that beginning part. Which means I’m falling in love with the characters, I’m excited to get into the heart of their story, I’m itching to get into the flow…

And I’m whining and pacing and making notes and more notes and erasing notes and whining and brainstorming and what-iffing and did I mention the whining? I have a big white board (where I usually put up a sort of general structure of the story. This is not to be confused with the “O” word, which we try very very hard not to use in this house. [outline] But is, instead, an overall “structure” to the story. Because I can live with the word “structure” that implies built-in flexibility, but I cannot even think of actually writing something from the word “outline” because it feels restrictive and as if someone is imposing something on me and YES, I know that someone would be ME, but nobody said SANITY was involved.) Meanwhile, as I am working out the “structure” of the story, I’m also jotting notes in Scrivener (which I love and has sort of taken over the whole whiteboard / notebook tasks, because I can dump everything in one place and it’s findable, lo those many months later when I’m all, “huh, I need the name of that thingie which did the thingamabob that so-and-so used on the whatsit.”)

At some point, it will happen: I will hit the sweet point, where I’ve figured out the set up and everything flows, the world falls away. After ten scripts and three books (and a couple hundred non-fiction articles and ten–yes ten–years worth of blogging), I know that sweet point will happen. Eventually. Before I die. Of pacing. And whining.

What part of a project do you love? (Any project, not just writing!) The beginning? Conceptualizing it? The first few steps where it’s all shiny and new? The middle? Where you see you’ve made progress and can see the light at the end of the tunnel? Or do you just like getting done? Seeing the whole thing, completed in front of you?

Charlie, my brother-in-law’s son, was married Saturday night to Rachel. Charlie is extended family to me, being my nephew’s cousin on the other side, and Teresa and Stuart family who rise above whenever the occasion demands. We were all delighted to be at the wedding, everyone making sure they were back from wherever they might have been in time for the sunset wedding. Naturally, at this wedding, we thought about all the recent family and close as family friend weddings we’ve been to lately.

They all fit the couples perfectly.

DJ–boater and fisherman–and Franci were married in the Keys at the sunset, stunning, and yet casual. There were fireworks and a sand castle.

Derek and Zhenia, the artists, were married at a real castle, and Derek wore his family Graham plaid.

Bobby and Alicia, a bit older, opted for a Vegas wedding, Chippendales, slot machines, and strip clubs for the guys, but come the moment of saying those vows, she was the traditional stunning bride.

Stacey and Kevin, the most casual of all, and yet, the vows were beautiful, as Stacey’s daughter became a part of it, and they were announced not just man and wife, but a family. T shirts. And lots of dancing, and outdoor ceremony by a fountain, and lots of good eats in the friendly bar. And, to boot, we got a bit of the Lafayette dog parade, right before Mardi Gras.

Now, Charlie and Rachel. They are attorneys. They love boats. (It’s a Davant family requisite.) Now this is great for me, since I’ve actually known the Davants longer than the in-laws and children since Vickie and Davis got together when I was about fourteen. Mr. Fred Davant was a major attorney in the Miami area then, and I was afraid of my first dinner at their house. I thought it would be stuffy and proper. There were five Davant children, and the food went around on a lazy Susan. Davis warned me to grab fast if I wanted food at all. He was right.

This wedding was at the yacht club where Fred was once commodore and Stuart will be one day. This is a very good thing for me–the Davants answer all my boating questions, and if they cannot, they know who can. One might think as I once did, yacht club! Stuffy. Maybe even pretentious. No. Rachel vowed to be with him through Florida ‘Gator losses and nights with too much Miller beer. He vowed to make coffee–and never try to talk to her until she had been up for fifteen minutes. It was funny; it was beautiful. He’s a maritime attorney while she’s a fraud attorney. They have a house and a dog already. They have a bucket list of things to do before they start a family. Pretty cool, nicely organized. It’s a Davant family tradition that all grooms must get thrown in the pool. Rachel knew this–she was ready to jump in after in, wedding dress and all. As this all occurred, the Miami rain suddenly poured down–which was fine, it hadn’t done so at Sunset–but even those not in the pool wound up wet.

A great wedding had by all.

A really nice brunch the next morning. And it’s wonderful to have these moments, to share these moments, because the sad ones will come, too. Thankfully I refer to none of the brides or grooms. But on Monday we learned about a terrible accident that had occurred to a young woman who is friends with my children. She was a passenger in a car on US1 which became involved in a terrible accident. She has survived, but in critical condition, broken and stitched–a beautiful young person who will spend months in recovery. Another girl was injured; the third, just twenty-six, died at the scene.

Traffic down here is crazy. People don’t always give pedestrian’s the right of way, I don’t think most drivers here realize that cars come with blinkers to signify turns, and there are clubs open just about around the clock, so the alcohol factor comes in frequently. I was terrified each time one of my children started driving, and yet, I know they have to drive, just as I know they have and might still move on where I can’t reach them easily. Accidents are frequent; we know that. Sometimes, they’re just fender benders. Sometime, they’re far worse. It’s always tragic to hear about bad accidents. It’s shattering to hear about them when it’s someone you know.

The really simple point of all this is–confused. Family, friends, weddings, the good times–are all precious. They need to be cherished. And God knows, we can’t live our lives paranoid of everything, we can’t walk around on eggshells, or we’ll never really live. But I think it’s important for everyone–perhaps writers more than anyone–to always make sure to embrace life. We’re quick to be too busy for events and busy. Life sometimes seems to be one giant and eternal deadline. But we never know when “too busy” will never matter anymore, because there comes that time when it just doesn’t matter how busy we were–life is, indeed, filled with final deadlines.

Late, late, late last night as I was trying my best to finish a project (I now have 23 hours to finish it), I realized that my poor beagle had chewed a spot on his tail down to the skin. It was red and raw and he wasn’t stopping the chewing for nothing. I also realized that this is what happens when you don’t pay attenion. This is flea season. My dog (dogs actually, I have 3) all have fleas. It was the middle of the night, what could I do? I had to stop him from continuing to bite that spot. So I applied an antibiotic cream, put a band-aid on the spot then wrapped it in duct tape (duck tape to some) so the band-aid wouldn’t fall off. Let’s just say that my beagle did not like this. I’m certain I saw this on MacGyver once. I had to be a frigging genius. Not long after that I went to bed. It’s not good to write when you think stuff like putting duct tape on your dog’s tail is an impressive feat.

The point of this story is that I still don’t pay attention to certain things–like me. I know, I know. We’ve talked about this before. This is a new year. I was gonna lose weight. Blah, blah, blah.  It’s the end of May, and it hasn’t happened yet. Life gets in the way! The year isn’t over–I’ll do better!!!! I swear!

Since the hours are ticking down and I MUST finish this project, I’ll keep this fairly short.  By 7 am tomorrow I’ll be on my way north to New York City. I’ve picked out a couple of professional looking outfits to wear to BEA (Book Expo America) where I’ll be signing books for the first time in my career. While in NYC I’ll have lunch with my Harlequin editor, Denise, and breakfast with my agent, Kim.  I’ll wear the make-up and the nice outfits my daughter helped me pick out.  BUT- I’ll still be FAT since I haven’t paid attention to my New Year’s resolution to take better care of myself.  Do you think that there will be certain folks who will avoid coming to my table at BEA or that my editor or agent will look at me differently because I haven’t bothered to stay in shape?  Really, should I consider getting in shape part of the business plan?  I wonder if a passing hunter would look at my beagle with his duct-taped tail and think, “Glad that mutt’s not mine.”

Do you believe that the way you look and your general, overall well-being is important when it comes to the job?  Not doing the job necessarily but getting the part–or in this case the contract?

The other day I saw a man walking his pig on a leash. A big black pig.

I can’t get this picture out of my head.

We were at my mother in law’s house for a BBQ to celebrate the engagement of a family member. It was a blast to see people we haven’t seen in a while. Then my husband and sons snuck away for few minute to go look at the house two of my sons are going to move into soon.

We drove down to the house and get out of the car when one son says, “That man is walking a pig.”

Okay, it is fair statement to say that I raised three smart ass sons. I said something pithy like, “Yeah right.” And kept walking toward the house.

Everyone else turned around. Not wanting to be left out, I hurried back to see it, and I still couldn’t believe my eyes. This dude was walking a full sized black pig on a thin little lease. The man was late twenties, bald, thick set and walking a freaking pig!

Talk about unexpected and out of context. Suddenly I am paying attention. My mind is whirling and asking a dozen random questions:

What makes a man get a pig as a pet?

Is he married, does he have a girlfriend? What if his girlfriend gave him an ultimatum—it’s the pig or me! And he picked his pig?

Does he work at home or in an outside office? Hey what if he’s a veterinarian and rescued the pig?

What does the pig do all day?

What does this guy’s mother think about her son and his pig?

What makes this guy WANT to stand out? I mean, come on, he’s out walking a pig. On some level, he wants the attention.

And of course, I really want to know what his house looks like. I mean the guy has a pig—and while pigs may have gotten a bum rap about being dirty—they DO like to roll around in mud.

This man and his pig had my sudden and full attention. Why? It goes back to being unexpected and out of context. I was going about my day, seeing all the normal stuff, first at the party where people were behaving in the usual fashion, then when we drove through the neighborhood, I saw kids riding bikes, a man mowing his yard, someone washing their car—all normal. All expected. I saw it but didn’t really pay attention.

Then I saw the man walking his pig and my reality was challenged. This was different, this didn’t make sense to me, and it didn’t fit the pattern of expected behavior. The human brain doesn’t like it when it can’t make sense of something. We are hardwired to look for patterns…and as writers; we need to screw with the expected, predictable pattern to get the reader’s attention.

In seconds, I was transfixed by the man walking his pig. If the first line of the book was, “Look at that guy, he’s walking a pig!” I’d read on. But if it was, “That dude is walking his dog.” I’d think, “So what?” or “I should go walk the dog.” Or in my case, “I should get a dog so I can walk it. Hmm, wouldn’t a German Sheppard be cool?” And I’d be out of the book, no longer caring. I don’t know that I’ll ever use a man walking his pig in one of my books, but it was a good reminder about what gets the reader’s attention.

So what’s the strangest, out of context, reality jarring thing you’ve seen lately?

Have a Safe and Happy Memorial Day!