Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about onion rings, and it’s not just because I’m on my annual pre-Nationals crash diet. You see, I have a personal philosophy that helps me conquer change and try new experiences that I call the Onion Ring Theory because it was that humble band of batter that first taught me a life-changing lesson.

My mother didn’t like onions. She didn’t like a whole lot of things, to be fair, like dogs and visitors and most of my boyfriends, but she really curled her lip at “exotic” food. I know, onions aren’t exactly cracking the culinary envelope, but my mother was a fan of pedestrian meals, so onions were out of my childhood experience. Honestly, I was kind of terrified of them, based on the face she would make when onions were included in a restaurant dish.

At sixteen, I took a job as a waitress at Sweet Williams, a diner and ice cream parlor combo in the shopping center near our house in Pittsburgh. One of the most popular items on the menu was a overflowing plate of crispy, hot, golden fried onion rings that customers crooned over every time I’d set them on a table. The tangy sweet fried aroma would jolt me sometimes, making my mouth water despite my instinct to hold the offending platter at arm’s length lest one touch me. My mother’s disdainful voice in my head, I would resist the urge to reach out and snag a ring for myself. (Good thing — don’t you hate when waitresses take your food?)

Joe Consolmagno, an adorable brown-eyed fry cook, must have sensed my torture and temptation. Every time our shifts overlapped, he offered to make me a plate of Sweet Willie’s O-Rings…if I would go out with him. But it wasn’t the chance to date a cute cook, and it wasn’t how good they smelled that finally did the trick. It was the sheer amount of people who ordered them and raved. So many people loved onion rings, and just by pure volume, their opinion outweighed mine. I mean, how bad could something be if the masses adored it so?

I said yes to Joe and did the deed in the employee break room, gingerly taking the first hot bite into my mouth. No, dirty birds, not the fry boy. The onion ring. And can I just say…wow. Oh sweet keeper of all that is delicious and fattening, comforting and perfect, get me the ketchup and give me some more! At that point, I realized if that many people love something, there’s probably a damn good reason why. Thus was the birth of my Onion Ring Theory. (And, I should add, a lovely summer romance with Joe.)

Over the years, the OR Theory — aka a willingness to join the masses even though instinct is to avoid the unknown — has led to many positive changes in my life. Most recently, this attitude got me to rethink my cell phone choice. Perhaps it was time to let go of my old school flip phone with no internet service, despite the fact that the little device was so comfortable I thought of it as a natural extension of my fingers. I could make a call, take a call, find a friend, text with ease, and snap a picture without mishap. That is all I could do, but I could do it quickly and efficiently.

But…zillions of people are using their phone for so much more than talking. They can browse web sites from the supermarket, check their email from the school pick up line, and (this might have been the tipping point for me) they can twitter and tweet from anywhere on God’s green earth. Why shouldn’t I?

Well, because it seemed complicated and unnecessary. Still, all those CrackBerryheads looked like they were having a good time with that smart phone technology. How hard could it be? I mean, on the Technlogically Adept Scale of 1 to 10 (1 being an infant and 10 being Bill Gates), I’m about a 5. It would be so cool to send and receive email on our family road trip to Virginia and our week of vacationing before RWA. I could twitter about the sights that I found from cruising the internet. Plus, my conference calendar would be at my fingertips, changing as it does that last week. It was decided. I must have a BB before DC. Seriously, millions of people….onion rings….BlackBerry. How hard could it be?

Really flippin’ stupid impossible out of this effing world no onion ring is worth this kind of hell hard.

Now I don’t want to turn this into a rant about how Sprint never told me I had to change my plan to the tune of $50 a month more, or how I got a blinding headache from inputting seventy-five phone numbers into the address book because my little ol’ Katana couldn’t download and save them (don’t tell me about the software — it didn’t work and I’ll be honest, I had my technologically advanced 11 year-old assist), or how I spent hours trying to figure out a way to change the ringtone, or why I called my son every time I tried to dial my daughter….that’s not the point of this blog.

The point is…I’m learning and loving. Granted, the learning curve is steep and uncomfortable and I’m earning a place in hell for the amount of F-bombs I’ve detonated. But I’m figuring out my way around this particular challenge and once I do, I’m going to love it. I’ll tweet from Monticello and the Smithsonian like a pro; I’ll cruise web sites, get directions, and find good restaurants all from the passenger seat of the car while my husband drives and my kids kill each other play Twenty Questions. I’ll even show up here and comment during RWA when Leslie Parrish (Leslie Kelly) guest blogs in two weeks. I won’t miss it (nor should you) because I’ll have my BlackBerry.

But, it’s not only technology changes that have me thinking about the Onion Ring theory. In my professional life, I am also about to embark on a huge and massive change, doing what many, many other writers have done with grace and ease and success, but I haven’t attempted before. I’m changing publishers. I don’t know exactly what this means yet, as I don’t have all the details lined up and smoothed out. I can’t answer questions about my series or my books or even my new publisher yet. But the change is happening, and I’m as excited and expectant as the first time I picked up that onion ring and opened my mouth to take a bite of what I’d been missing all my life.

Risktaking is both intoxicating and frightening, and change is one big fat risk. I’m going to take it anyway, and I hope it tastes really, really good. I’ll let you know, just as soon as I figure out how to change my (onion) ringtone.

So tell me, friends….how do you feel about BlackBerrys? (Advice is welcome!) About onion rings? (Recipes are encouraged.) And, most of all, about change? (Personal philosophies will be borrowed!)

So, the year is now halfway over. Can you believe it? I’m still trying to figure out where the time went. The 4th of July holiday is almost upon us. Anyone have any fun plans?

When I realized that it’s the middle of the year, I took stock of how well I’m progressing with my New Year’s Resolutions. I really had only one official goal–to read 52 books this year. I’m definitely behind, but I’m doing better than I have the last few years, so I’m hopeful that I’ll catch up by year’s end. I’ll be picking up more new books this week and plan to finish at least two, even though I have work to do and can’t take the whole week off. *sigh*

I’m also working on my fitness goals. I’ve lost weight, and I bought a Wii Fit last week. I haven’t had any chance to use it yet, because the kids are out of school and they’re enjoying it. That’s perfectly fine with me. I’ve got another way to exercise that I enjoy. There’s a park nearby that has a stream and large, tall, old trees that shade the entire route. My daughter and I walked the dog through there one day and we decided we love it. It’s an amazing little park. It’s right in the middle of a large residential area and yet when you’re inside it, it feels like you’re miles away from the city. Rabbits hop around, lizards scamper, lots of dogs being walked. My dog, Jesse, loves it, too. (I also did some clothes shopping last week, because I’m feeling good about the weight loss. That’s always a wonderful feeling!)

I’ve also kept up with my 2008 resolution to spend more time connecting with people and less time in my cave. I’ve already enjoyed one retreat with friends this year and I have another one planned for the second half of the year. I’ve talked on the phone a lot, and made it to two local chapter meetings. It’s really been good for my muse to get out and spend time with other adults, even if it’s just over the phone. Email is convenient and I love that about it, but it’s also impersonal. I’m glad the resolution is still working out this year.

How about you? Do you feel like you’ve accomplished a lot in the first half of the year? Are you on track to reach your year-end goals?

Extra: This is a big release week for the MSW gals. Toni, Debra, Heather, and I have books hitting shelves tomorrow. Toni has Girls Just Wanna Have Guns, Deb has Everywhere She Turns, Heather has Dust to Dust, and I have Eve of Chaos. Plenty of excuses to hit the bookstore this week. Congratulations to T, D, and H! Release day is always so fun!

How tragic. We all knew Farrah was fighting a losing battle for her life. We knew after watching the gut wrenching Farrah’s Story that aired last month, she was not going to get batter, that it was just a matter of time before we lost her. I give Farrah huge props for allowing us into her life and sharing her struggle with us. I’ve always liked her, but as I watched her heroic battle I felt something more. A profound respect and admiration. She is a true heroine in my book.

May she finally rest in peace.

If you didn’t catch Farrah’s Story, I believe they are re-airing it tonight. Take two hours out of your busy day and watch it. You will be amazed.

I’m shocked and saddened by Michael Jackson’s death. He was the King of Pop. He was amazing. He was a dad, a son, and a brother. He was bigger than life. He was also such a tragic caricature of himself. I don’t want to think of him as Wacko Jacko or of the allegations he was a child molester. It’s funny, I’ve never thought of Michael as a man, but as a child. I want to remember him singing Thriller, or Billy Jean, or see that little boy who sang his heart out as the front man for The Jackson Five. I have so many Jackson Five songs on my iPod. Ben, Never Can Say Goodbye, I’ll Be There, ABC. I know the words to them all!

I’m going to remember Farrah as Charlie’s most beautiful angel, and Michael as one of Americas most cherished sons.

How about you? Do you think Farrah will be remembered for how far she came or will she always be Jill Monroe? And do you think America will think of Michael and his personal tragedies these last 10 years or will he forever be Thriller?

PS, sorry for the short post. The Bunko Babes were at my place last night, and the last of the group didn’t go home until almost 12:30. We were drinking, kibitzing, and just having some fun girl time. I’m tired, but Farrah and Michael have been on my mind.

Every once-in-a-while, I’ll see an author post something like, “Oh, by the way, last week I had a book out!” and then, “I forgot all about it.” 

I can’t decide if that’s either really really healthy or really really crazy.

Because me? On release day? Trying not to just lie prone on the floor, totally overwhelmed by the feelings. And the questions. It’s like sending your spanky new first-grader to school on the VERY first day, and realizing that the school is MILES AND MILES away and there’s no way for you to get there fast if there’s an emergency and no way for you to sort of shepherd him or her around all day and make sure they make friends and play nice and don’t beat up the annoying kid with the weird hair who’s spitting on everyone from the monkey bars and there’s just NO way for you to control what everyone ELSE thinks about this kid that you love absolutely beyond measure (not that you think the child is perfect, but love isn’t about being PERFECT and you want the WHOLE WORLD to understand that and embrace your child and reassure you that MOM, WE ARE GONNA LOVE HER, TOO.)

I’m not sure how to manage that whole, “Detached, stoic author” persona.

I mean, seriously. My two sons will attest to the fact that I was a bit, ever so slightly, worried about things I could not control. Just a wee bit. Not quite enough to guarantee they would have to have therapy for the rest of their lives. And some people may note that my oldest son is a SWAT police officer and my youngest son just last week (proud mama moment) graduated from the fire department and passed his EMT and is a brand new firefighter, and point out that, hey, Toni? One of your kids is going to run around and have guns aimed at him and the other one is going to run into burning buildings for a living… how do you handle that? And I just want you to know that I have sat here contemplating if it would do any good at all to write to all of the bad guys out there (regarding my first son) and say, “Look, you’d love my son! You would! You don’t want to be a bad guy! Honest! There’s no prestige in it, it’s not gonna get you what you want, so why not retire now! You have a chance to BE somebody! somebody who doesn’t shoot at my son!” And don’t think I haven’t tried to think of excuses to send to my youngest son’s fire chief. “Dear Fire Chief: Jake cannot run into burning buildings today. He has an allergy to ash. And dying. Please let him wash the truck.” 

[True story: when my oldest son started college... yes, college... on the very first day, there was some sort of paperwork snafu because we didn't have proof of his immunizations. We'd lost some of the records during a move and that doctor's office had gone out of business, and we'd dealt with that a long time ago by me writing a note to his principal in high school, so I offered to write him a note. He thought I was joking. He said, "Mom, I'm in COLLEGE. You cannot write a note to the university, "Please let Luke attend college, I promise he won't make anyone sick today."]

[I still think it would've worked.]

Ironically, I raised really strong, determined (stubborn) young men who would go do what they wanted to go do, in spite of my mentally extrapolating every possible worst-case-scenario that might occur. And I encouraged them to do this. I wanted them to grow up to be independent men, men who could hold their own in the world, no matter what life threw at them. Men who will protect others. I’m really very proud of them both.

And it wouldn’t have happened, if I hadn’t also been the type of person who encouraged them to take risks. Try new things. (While worrying!) (Their dad, too — he is big on the encouragement.)

That’s the funny thing about being a parent–you can recognize within yourself the worry and the fear for your child, and learn how to handle it, while encouraging them to go on out there in the world and try. I knew that they needed to push their limits–and that would mean failing sometimes–if they were ever going to discover what they were capable of doing. I knew that they needed clear-sightedness, if that’s such a word–the ability to look at the tasks, the consequences, the ability to anticipate the consequences and make adjustments. Strategy, planning. Never defeat, because you’re only really defeated if you don’t try. You may not win everything, every time, but you’re not defeated, unless you give up.

And that’s just part of the thing you have to do, as a parent–encourage the kid to go out there, in spite of your worries. See them grow, see them accomplish dreams.

Same with books. You nudge them out the door, feeling like you’re just not finished with them (you are never REALLY finished with a book–it’s just time to let go). You do all that you can do, you worry, but you let it go out into the world. And you hope it makes friends and that everyone thinks it’s pretty and likes its personality, too. 

So my new baby going out next TUESDAY is GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE GUNS. Here’s the cover:

Brief Summary:

Accused of one man’s murder, Bobbie Faye’s on the run. She has to find some diamonds, figure out the motives of the dead-sexy FBI agent, and avoid her detective ex-boyfriend before the deadline arrives and the diamonds disappear…

So TUESDAY, JUNE 30th is the day I will be nudging my baby out the door, into bookstores. [And if you read this book two in the trade version, there are a lot of differences from that version to this one. I got to add in stuff that was left out during a disastrous galley phase that made both me and my editor go a little nuts. So EXTRAS! WOOT!]

Meanwhile, I’m going to be over here doing a few things to keep me occupied, like basking in the LSU NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP WIN over Texas A&M  (um, that would be LONGHORNS, which I knew, thanks to Silver for catching that… I blame the morning! ugh!) last night. I’ll be exercising. Writing on the next book, which I freaking LOVE now, because I finally figured out some major stuff. Thank goodness. Reading. And randomly noting strange things, like I twittered last night:

Dear badass biker w/tattoos on the Harley. Scary skull & crossbones on helmet? Definitely tough. Red fake fur backpack with tassels? Not so much.

Soooo, my question for you is, how do you handle stress? Do worry? Or are you one of those genetic mutants who just don’t ever freak out about anything? If you had kids, how did you handle the stress? OR, as a kid, what was the most stressful thing you put your mom through?

My mother was Irish, and therefore, had a dozen expressions.

My favorite, though, was always, “Don’t be peein’ on me head and tellin’ me it’s raining.”

She didn’t actually have the accent when I was older, until the day she died, when suddenly she was speaking Gaelic again and thinking that I understood. I remember as a child wanting to learn, and the way she looked at me. “Just who in your world would you ever speak to?” There’s sense to that–she was always very sensible. She spoke with no accent, or an America “Johnny Carson” accent, as she was taught she must do at that time to become a good American. But her mother, her mother’s mother, and all the rest kept it. The sayings went around, and in my head, they’ve always got that little twist of the old country.

She knew many good sayings. Truisms, maybe.

What is, is. And that’s the way it is. Sugar coating doesn’t change anything. Most of us really want the truth, and that’s that.

Another favorite saying she had about certain people was, “Ah, but he can fall into a pile of @#$% and come up smelling like roses.”

Then, there are those to whom the weird things in the world happen, and there’s no malice involved, they just happen.

And for that group, “The banshees be pinching his behind from birth ’til death, and just playin’ they are, for he’ll have days and days o’ the like!”

Basically, this meant that would things would go bizarrely wrong for someone–but they’d live a nice long life while they were going on!

Hm. I’m afraid I’m falling into that category.

Those who know me are fully aware that organization is not my key virtue. It is a virtue that is actually totally lacking. But most the time, I stumble along. I get things done. As long as I don’t try to clean up, I can usually find what I need. Seriously, if you visit me, suggest that I do not clean while you’re there. My house is known for swallowing things, like single shoes, IPods, books, and it clearly adores eating up pieces of paper with important information. All clothing dryers, I believe, consume one sock out of a pair now and then. My house consumes just about everything. It isn’t evil–just hungry.

Do I ever win the lottery? Definitely not.

Ahha. But I was a random choice for an audit!

Which would be fine. I’m one of the few people who actually believe in taxes–although I certainly wish I had more of a say on how they were spent! II understand that we have to collect money for roads, bridges, police and firefighters and teachers (underpaid) and that there will be a time when I read that a congresswoman used tax-payer money in the tens of thousands to rent a luxury car for two weeks, and that it was legal.

I understand there are very good things, and also, there will always be those who know loopholes.

In truth and fairness, I don’t mind the concept of an audit.

Except that I’m in the midst!

And I’m reconstructing. I lost almost everything in flooding–I live in storm country. Trust me, that happens a lot down here. We don’t need hurricanes, we just need some of the never-ending rain like that going on now! While I was being cast out of New Orleans by Gustav last year, rains were bearing down upon my house on top of papers I had moved because they’d been in the realm of the leaks before. Those areas are now perfectly dry, other than . . . well, it’s pouring now. It’s summer in Miami, and we’re all being amazed by the same weather that amazes us every year. “Honestly, it wasn’t this bad last year!” But it was. Hot as hell–though, oddly enough, cooler than many places in summer, because we do get the ocean breezes. But the rain . . . well, it does seem never-ending.

And as to the rain . . . .

On that subject, my dog is eleven years old. He might have been born in Kansas and purchased in New York–we bought him on a spur of the moment thing on a business trip, go figure–but he spent his entire little Cairn terrier life in Miami where, every single summer, it rains. A lot. Huge storms. Thunder and lightning. Sometimes, for hours. Bless him. He still barks on end whenever it rains. He doesn’t hide–he goes into attack mode.

So, I’m working on reconstructing my financial year and finishing a book, and being me, I write for an hour–add for an hour–writer for an hour–and call the bank and beg them again to hurry with my records. The dog barks and barks . . . and I write for an hour, and add for an hour, and then just curse a lot because the bank hasn’t called me back.

That’s okay. No one can hear me. The dog is still barking.

I think that, sometimes, fate kind of decides to “pee” on our heads.
Oh, and it’s raining at the same time!

Heather Graham