Week before last I attended the farewell service for one of my oldest friends and cousin, Bobby Grimes. He was scarcely six months older than me and saying good bye was particularly painful. Bobby, my younder brother Johnny, and I were like the three musketeers when we were kids. At least once a month Bobby and his family would come from the big city of Birmingham to spend the weekend at our farm in northern Alabama. Now, bear in mind that the farm wasn’t fancy by any means. We had a couple of barns, a chicken house, and a smokehouse where my mother cured hams and the like. There were pastures all around the house. Each pasture was fenced and occupied by either cows or pigs. We also had two mules and a pony (three dogs and about ten cats!). Beyond the pastures were the deep, dark woods where every manner of adventure waited. Through the woods a creek cut a path offering its own possibilities for our young imaginations. Bobby, Johnny and I had a ghost hunters club and a number of others. We roamed those pastures and woods. Splashed and waded in that creek. Disrupted the solitude of the farm animals far too often. And climbed any tree worth the trouble. We ran upon birds, snakes, rabbits, and the occasional fox. It’s nothing short of a miracle we survived!

In the middle of that big old working farm was the house.Towering trees and mature shrubs surrounded the house. In the backyard were fruit trees and momma’s huge vegetable garden. The house was two stories with a massive porch across the front and a good number of big windows. Living room, kitchen, bath and three bedrooms on the first floor (along with a back porch that had been closed in for laundry and storage purposes). Between the kitchen and the back porch was a small square hall where the doors to the upstairs and the basement could be found. Upstairs there were two more bedrooms and a smaller room where we kept books and things. Notice I only mentioned one bathroom. There was no air conditioning and the house was heated by coal or wood, whichever could be gotten the cheapest for the coming winter. We weren’t dirt poor but we were damned close. Farming was feast or feminine. You got what you got when the crops came in and you made it last until the next harvest.

We moved to that farm when I was four years old. It wasn’t fancy but it was bigger and better than the one where I was born. My mother adored pink. She persuaded my father to let her paint the house pink. She planted more shrubs that would bloom lovely pink blossoms. It was perfect (I love pink too) and in that setting was where I began to write stories. I don’t know exactly when I started but I have hand written stories as far back as age nine. By the time I was eleven my mother bought me a used Royal typewriter. I wrote many, many more stories on that old thing. I would wander the woods for inspiration. Occasionally I would dare to venture onto the second floor of the house or into the basement alone. You see, my younger brother, cousin and I were convinced that the house was haunted and the perpetrators lived on either the second floor or in the basement. My older brother was the only kid who dared sleep on the second floor. My sister and I shared a room on the first floor while younger brother took the one closest to my parent’s room.

The seemingly long winters with little to do (there were only a couple of local channels on the one family TV) fueled my need to create. The promise of spring each year, the busy summers and falls kept me inspired. And every month when my cousin Bobby would visit I would tell him about my stories. One of my favorites I wrote as a kid was called “Is This Any Way to Rob a Train.” Frank and Jesse James were bumbling knuckleheads instead of slick outlaws. There was a handsome sheriff and a pretty saloon girl. My first stories were filled with adventure and a touch of dry humor and, of course, a hint of romance.

Nearly half a century later it only seems right that I begin my newest adventure with that beginning in mind. So I took the leap and started a new journey in my career — self-publishing! I dubbed my publishing company Pink House Press in honor of my childhood in that big old pink farmhouse. With the help of awesome and savvy friends I launched a series that has been living in my heart for a while, the Jackie Mercer series. I hope you’ll check out DIRTY. Jackie Mercer is 45. She still loves mini-skirts, high heels and sexy lingerie. She is divorced with a son in law school, a feat she takes singular credit for since her no-good, cheating husband left her a decade ago to start a new family with his younger wife. Jackie put her husband through college, leaving her with no higher education and no true marketable skills to keep a roof over her head and raise a kid on her own. But she wasn’t about to be bested by the likes of her scumbag ex. So she launched a new career that required only two skills—determination and the willingness to do most anything for money. With the help and guidance of her newly retired uncle (a Houston homicide detective) she started the Mercer Agency. Ten years later Jackie has put the agency on the map in Houston. Her uncle has retired for real and she needs a new partner. Enter Derrick Dawson. Scorching hot. Sexy as hell. He wants the job and he isn’t taking no for an answer. Jackie knows Dawson is trouble—for her. A decade after the divorce she is still having bad luck with men. Allowing pure temptation to join her agency is just asking for trouble. What is a kick butt lady from Texas gonna do? Dive right in and see if she can change her luck! I love this story and it was written straight from my heart!

Please tell me about your fondest childhood memory! One commenter will win a copy of Dirty!

On Saturday, to celebrate Memorial Day weekend, and to honor the memory of those who died in service, my husband and I went to the Midway Museum in San Diego. The Midway is an amazing aircraft carrier that was commissioned for duty in 1945 until it was decommissioned in 1992, and eventually ended up in San Diego.

The whole concept of taking off and landing a plane on a ship—by tail hook—is so freaking awesome! We toured the entire ship, seeing so many incredible things. I really wish I’d taken my camera. In any case, after about three and a half hours, we were exhausted. So we walking along the hanger deck (I think), and talking about the amazing things we’d seen including the airplanes, flight deck control, Admiral and Captain’s quarters, the brig…I stopped, my attention caught by a sight that brought a lump to my throat.

I saw three different uniformed servicemen demonstrating various weapons. The first serviceman was on one knee next to a little boy of about six, showing him some kind of weapon. He let the boy try something, then looked the boy in the eye and answered each question.

Today’s hero recognizing tomorrow’s hero.

A little further down another serviceman was showing another piece of equipment to a young boy. That boy’s eyes were huge in his face as he listened raptly to the serviceman. The boy was so proud and intent, he practically grew before my eyes.

Today’s hero inspiring tomorrow’s hero.

A little further back in a secured area another serviceman was guiding an older boy on how to hold a weapon, carefully demonstrating, and then letting him do it with instruction. That boy stood straight and proud and followed instructions precisely.

Today’s hero teaching tomorrow’s hero.

While I loved touring the entire ship, these are the images that will remain with me. Those servicemen treated each child as important enough to be tomorrow’s hero.

And a reminder, tomorrow SINFUL MAGIC goes on sale! Romance Reviews Today gave Sinful Magic A perfect Ten. The actual review will go up on June first, but here’s a clip:

SINFUL MAGIC is the fourth novel in this scorching series, but can be read as a stand alone. It is a must read for fans of paranormal romance. A different take on supernatural creatures, Jennifer Lyon rewrites the rules of paranormal and takes readers away from the constant vampire and shifter novel lining the shelves. A Perfect 10 in every way, I loved SINFUL MAGIC and cannot wait for the next book in the series.

And last, I’m over on the Romantic Times website under the Everything Paranormal section talking about writing The Artistic Hero. Link here if you’d like to take a look.

Hope everyone who has Monday off is enjoying it!

Congrats to this week’s MSW winners!!

The winner of the RT Convention registration tote bag is Trish;! Please email Sylvia at sylvia@sylviaday.com and she’ll get the bag off in the mail to you.

Darcy O, commenter #34 is the winner of the $15 online bookstore gift card! Congrats Darcy, and email Lori/Lorelei –info@loriarmstrong.com.

The winner of the $25 Amazon gift card is #45 tammitbates – just email Rocki at roxannestc@cfl.rr.com with your email information to get your prize!

Thanks to all of our fabulous, fun, and fantastic MSW community for the comments and support!

It’s me, Karin. Yeah, I know, you’re probably scratching your head and asking, “Karin who?”

That’s ok, go ahead, release your sarcasm, embrace it.  I deserve it.  I mean, when was the last time we sat down and just talked?   Just the two of us, one-on-one, face-to-face, me relaxed, smiling, sipping my coffee, you, happy and chatty, telling me all about your day, grateful that I haven’t put you on hold, said, excuse me, I need to answer the door, or skipped over your email or not returned your three dozen voicemails?

Oh and that fb message?  Yeah, well, I figured after two months you had assumed I must have deleted it by mistake.  And those chapters you sent me months ago and asked me to turn around because you wanted to send the proposal to your agent before she left for the entire month of May?  Oops.

Dear, Oldest and Dearest Friends, I love you. You are my rocks, my go-to girls, my calm in the storm of this crazy business. Yes, I know I have an odd way of showing it.  I should have responded to the email where you asked if I was freakin’ still alive?!  Actually, I should have called.  Oh, and to my bestie, all of that work you do for me because you are just that wonderful?  I’ve been meaning to send you flowers and Godiva chocolate, but, you see, I suck and haven’t.

Dear, Hubby, I’m really sorry, I haven’t looked at those chapters you have been asking me to look at for two months now.  I know I told you I would do it first thing after I wrapped up my revisions.  And, well, yes, they have been done for seven weeks now, and I meant to take a look, but, well, what can I say, I suck.  I love you. I promise I will get to them as soon as I’m done writing this blog. Really. Cross my heart and hope to die…

Dear, BLOOD LAW, I’m really sorry I haven’t pimped you the way you deserve to be pimped.  I know, I know, I did a crazy blog blitz with ENEMY LOVER, and yes, I did have those cool L.O.S.T. mugs made, and yes, you’re right, I had bookmarks made for ENEMY LOVER too.  I’m sorry I didn’t do the same for you, I’ve been busy.  Would it mean anything to you if I told you, that out of all of my books you are the most controversial and kick-ass, and that as I wrote you, I felt emancipated?  I can’t say that to the other books.  Only to you.  xo

Dear, Yahoo Loops, I’m really sorry I have been MIA. If I were honest, I’d tell you I’m just wrung out and plain old tired.  That my job is sucking the life out of me, and that I have very little left at the end of the day.  I try to pop in and say, hello, or answer pertinent questions or lend a quick helping hand, but I know that isn’t enough most of the time.  I promise to do better.

Dear, Accumulated Email, I’m really sorry you have been waiting so long to be returned.  You must have a complex by now.  I’ll pay for therapy. In the mean time, I promise I’ll try harder to return you. 

Dear, Readers, I vacillate over words, characters, plot, pace and settings. I write until the wee hours of most nights. Then rewrite, and rewrite again. I live on coffee, chocolate and your demand for more of my books.  Yeah, my life is crazy. I get tired, worn out and sometimes just want to walk away from the laptop, but I always come back.  My love affair with romance will always bring me back.  Like an addict who loves their drug, I say, screw rehab. I love the high, the thrill, and even the crash that comes after because once I crash, then I can get my next fix and do it all over again, and I live for this shit.

Dear, Friends and Family, thank you for putting up with my lousy behavior. Thank you for still loving and supporting me despite my lack of involvement in your lives these past months.  I could not do it without you because as much as I love the thrill of my job, it would mean nothing without you all in my life. So, I guess we’re kind of stuck with each other.

In closing, I invite you to tell me where you have slacked lately and your plans to remedy it.  I mostly want to know this because it might make me feel a little better knowing I’m not the only slacker friend and or family member out there. 

xoxo

Karin*

PS, to my Marine Recruit son, Will, I love you, baby! We’re on the downside of that gigantic mountain you just climbed! Stay strong, stay focused, and keep kicking ass.  Ooh rah!

Writer as God

Last week, I turned in the revisions of IF I SHOULD DIE, minus the ending. The last sixty pages just weren’t working. I’d attempted to write the ending a multitude of times, but as I got into it, something stopped me.

The set-up was contrived. The characters were being stupid. I forgot a character over here. I killed the wrong guy.

Nothing was coming together the way I thought it would.

I suppose I should have realized this book would be the hardest book yet. More than five years ago, my first book was published and I thought that surely, writing would be easier.

After my seventh book nearly killed me, I thought surely, it will get easier.

I remember chatting with my mentor and friend Mariah Stewart, lamenting the fact that (at the time) she had twenty-some books published and it was “so easy” for her. She laughed at me and said, “Honey, it doesn’t get easier.” In fact, she continued, it gets harder, because you’re always striving to write a better book. Writing a book equal to the last is, in fact, slipping, because readers will continue to expect more.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing—but it does add pressure.

The writing itself isn’t the problem. I think I’m a stronger writer—my manuscripts are cleaner, I don’t make some of the amateur mistakes I used to. But it takes me longer to write each book. I can no longer write beginning to end without pause. I see the mistakes right after I make them; I stop, backtrack, rewrite, repeat as necessary. And even then, when I’m done, I rewrite the entire book.

IF I SHOULD DIE is a very linear story. While there were lots of things going on, there was a definitely catalyst, and everything came from that. But as secrets of the small town of Spruce Lake, NY were revealed, I found the story was far more complex than I thought. And because of that, the ending was difficult to write. I had to tie up a lot of loose ends, make sure the climax was both exciting and realistic, and that the motivations of the characters held up to the end. Meaning, their actions and reactions had to be consistent based on who they were. The villain in particular.

Each ending I began (but didn’t finish) was headed toward a conclusion that didn’t make sense—to me OR to my characters. So I’d back-track and rework and start in a different direction. A character would die, then I’d realize they couldn’t die! Or it didn’t make sense, and then they’d be resurrected for the next go-around. A different person would die. Or live. Or be severely injured. Or kidnapped. But none of it was working and I was desperate. I’m just not cut out to play God with my characters. I’m just the voice, telling their story.

I finally gave up control and let my sub-conscious figure it out: I went to bed thinking about the book and where and why I was stuck. And I woke up with the solution.

This kind of problem solving has worked for me in the past, both in my writing career and in my previous career, but I hesitate to rely on it. Maybe I fear that if I count on dream solutions I will become lazy and complacent and not think things through. Whatever the reason, it usually works when I’m completely stuck and see no way out.

What amazed me this time was the solution was there all along, I was just too stubborn to see it. In fact, I’d rejected the solution long ago because I thought getting all the characters in one place was contrived. But on the contrary, it was the only possible outcome for the set-up. It made sense.

At least, I hope it does … I’m waiting to hear back from my editor who hasn’t read the ending yet to let me know if it all works. :/

Here’s the back cover copy from IF I SHOULD DIE, book three of the Lucy Kincaid series, which will be out 11.22.11

A TRIP TO THE DARK SIDE

Aspiring FBI agent Lucy Kincaid and her P.I. boyfriend, Sean Rogan, are headed to the Adirondack Mountains for a pleasant romantic getaway, when they detour to help out troubled friends, owners of a new resort who are battling malicious vandals. After Lucy and Sean pursue an arsonist into an abandoned mine shaft, Lucy stumbles upon an even more heinous crime—and the perfectly posed remains of its victim.

The only thing more disturbing than the woman’s corpse is its sudden disappearance. While the local police remain skeptical, Lucy is dead certain there’s a connection between the sabotage and the murder—one that the less-than-neighborly citizens of Spruce Lake seem to have a stake in keeping hidden. When a cold-blooded sniper targets Sean and Lucy, FBI agent Noah Armstrong enters the fray to ensure more bodies don’t hit the ground. Now three outsiders race to untangle a violent conspiracy before they end up like the rest of Spruce Lake’s secrets: dead and buried.

And I’m thrilled to announce that I have a title for Lucy Kincaid #4, which will be out next May: SILENCED.

My question today: what an assumption you’ve had about your writing, your kids, your life that has changed? For me, I thought writing would get easier the more books I’d written; that is so, so, SO far from the truth. What about you?