I’ve gotten to the end of Act 1, and now – well, now I’m kinda stuck. I know what I want to do next and where I want to send my characters, but it involves another time killer – research.

The first book I wrote I did tons of research and loved it. But I had tons more time. My job was different back then, and I had time to kill at work. Most of that first manuscript was written at work, in fact. But now I have a lot more responsibilities and zero time for writing. Bummer, huh?

But I face another dilemma, though I think I’ve solved the problem. I’m going to submit this to agents as a proposal while I finish it. I am writing the query now, though I am terrible at writing blurbs. So it takes me some time to get it to where I like it.  When I first started wanting to write professionally, the big trend was the “high concept” plot. You know, such-and-such meets something-or-other. I never figured out how that worked.

But now, as I put together this query letter, I realize I finally did it. This novel is totally Highlander meets Ghost Hunters with a hint of Romancing the Stone. But there’s no way I’m putting that in a query letter to an agent. Firstly, I think it implies that I cannot come up with my own ideas and have to borrow from someone else. Secondly, I just don’t think it sounds professional. I’m not even sure that’s in vogue anymore.

Then there’s the truthful approach – while I was working on a book, my life became traumatic enough that I actually wondered if the darned thing was cursed. It isn’t, of course, but there were enough coincidences that it made me ask “what if” – the questions that leads to most of my storie.

So what do I write in the query? II probably won’t go with either approach, to be honest. But that blurb writing – man, I need some serious practice.

So I decided that it was time to drum up interest by shopping it around as a proposal – three completed chapters and a synopsis. I have plenty of it written, being up to Chapter Ten, and I have a proven track record that I can finish a book and deliver on a deadline.

So I needed to do three things: polish the first three chapters (check); write a synopsis (check); and write a query letter (uhhh- no check…yet). But tonight I sat down and decided to write another scene. It was an innocent enough plan. I had the scene in my head, so I was just going to jot it down.

But then I got about halfway through the scene and realized something – I was writing in first person. The rest of what I’ve written is in third person. Easy enough to fix, right? Just go back and re-write the scene in third.

Yeah. Thing is, Evelyn, the main character, doesn’t want to be in third person anymore. She is talking to me in first person. She wants to tell her story in her voice, and boy has she found her voice.

If you listen to writers talk, you’ll hear us talk about how characters take on a life of their own and do what they want to do. Heck, I’ve mentioned it more than once here, and my kids still look at me like I’m nuts when I say stuff like that. Hey, I agree with you. It sounds crazy. How can a fictional character, who isn’t even real, have free will and do stuff to change a story?

Well, you’ve got me. All I know is Evelyn just threw a monkey wrench into my wonderful plan to shop around Cursed. Before I can write that query letter, I have to go back and re-write the whole darned book in first person. Inevitably, this will lead to more editing, which can only make the book better. But that’s not the point! I’m mad at Evelyn!

Darned fictional character. Who does she think she is, anyway?

Heck, I’d rather read than work, do chores, grocery shop… But then this darned day job thing gets in the way, and kids, and the aforementioned husband. He wants to talk to me! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? I’m sitting there minding my own business, making it perfectly clear that I am otherwise occupied, and he starts talking! Really?

So eventually I am going to need to put down the book and pick up the… well, the book. Cursed isn’t going to write itself, after all.

But for now, you must excuse me. I need to go read for awhile.

But it also signals the passing of time. It’s that passing that is making me stop and think this year. My boys are getting older, and even as we went into Christmas week I almost wanted time to stand still. With every passing Christmas, that’s one less I have to spend with them before they grow up and move away. Today I know I have fewer holidays to spend with them. Just as they’re getting interesting.

I’ve been watching myself with curiosity as this has happened this week. I never used to feel this way, but I suppose it is inevitable as I grow older. My own mortality comes into clearer focus, and I realize that life will change. There’s no stopping it.

Which is why, I now realize, I enjoy reading so much.

This occurred to me last night when I was awakened by my oldest going to bed – a full hour after I had. It finally happened that my kids have a later bedtime than I do. And as I lie there thinking about that, I realized that no matter how old I am, I can still go back into my favorite books and they will stay the same as they were the first time I read them. The answer to life, the universe and everything is still 42; Scarlet will realize her feelings for Rhett too late; and Sherlock Holmes will still be one step ahead of Watson.

The first book I wrote as an adult is, I now realize, just for me. It’s unpublishable, but I still love it. As a friend described it, it is the book of my heart. I can go back to that now and, even though I wrote it nearly ten years ago, it is the same as the day I typed it into Word.  It still makes me feel the hope, the despair, and the joy.

When I read a book, I feel it, you see. I bet many avid readers do. It’s almost like I’m there and a part of the story. And when I go back to re-read my favorite stories, I can be a part of it again. I can relive it and take myself back in time. So unlike life, which flies by a million miles and minute unnoticed until we realize it’s half over.

So today I will enjoy the holidays with my kids before they’re gone, but I’ll also pull out an old favorite and read for awhile. Because even if life sails by in a flash, there are some moments that are frozen in time and I can live them over and over. Maybe I’ll even write down a few, while I’m at it. Make my own moments frozen in time.

Chapter One

The quiet whir of the printer had always been her a victory cry. The lord of the manor had his lady, the villain had been defeated, and all was right in her fictitious little world. She was just leaning back to enjoy her traditional celebratory Snickers bar when the phone rang.

“Evelyn Grayson, where is that book?”

Eve smiled. She hadn’t even had a chance to say “hello”. “Hi, Irene. And how are you today?”

“Cut the small talk, sweetie. You promised me a manuscript by ten this morning, and it’s one o’clock. I could hold you in breach of contract.”

“You could not. The book’s not due for another two weeks. You’re just hung up on Lord Baird and want to get your jollies reading the new ending.”

“Be glad I get my jollies. And your readers, too. Those jollies are your bread and butter. Evie, what was that bang? Did you hit your head on that damned sloped ceiling again?”

“I only did that once.” But Eve’s attention was drawn to the window, where the glass still shook from impact. “Probably just a bird,” she said. “Poor thing must have flown into the window.”

A deep sigh came through the receiver. “Stupid pigeons. Anyway, worry about your window later and get me that manuscript.”

“I’m printing it now I’ll call a messenger service and send it over. You’ll have it in an hour.” Eve made her way across the room. The crash seemed bigger than a bird could make, and the red stain that dripped down the glass seemed too large. “You know, it’s your own fault for not taking it electronically like the rest of the civilized world.”

“There’s nothing like holding it in my hands. Reading in the bathtub with the steam crinkling the pages along with my -”

“Uh, verging on too much information there, editor o’mine.”

“Give me a break, I’ve read you sex scenes. Anyway, reading off a computer screen makes my head ache.”

“Then print it yoursel – oh my God.”

Eve looked down the five stories from her window, her mouth agape and her ears barely registering the voice screaming at her though the earpiece.

“What? What is it? Eve? What’s going on?”

Eve struggled to bring her attention back to the phone, but it seemed the only way to retain her freshly-devoured Snickers bar. “It wasn’t a bird.”

“What wasn’t a bird? You mean the window? What was it, then? A kid’s toy or something?”

Eve shook her head, not even thinking that Irene couldn’t see the gesture over the line. “Oh no, it was the window washer. He fell. The little trolley thingy – it’s down there with him. They fell.”

“Oh, God,” Irene breathed. “Are you sure?”

Eve swallowed hard, her head light and her stomach heavy. “I can see him from my window. On the sidewalk. He’s… down there. His legs are sticking out from under-” She lost the battle, and threw up in her garbage can.

“Eve, are you okay?”

“Would you be?” She gasped for breath. “Irene, I’ve gotta go. I’ll send a messenger in an hour.” Eve hung up before she heard Irene’s reply, and braved a look out her window once again. The police were there, and the ambulance had just arrived. No one seemed to be in much of a hurry.

Eve closed the door behind the bike messenger and went back to plotting book number two in her Scotland series. After all, a working writer can’t sit back on her laurels for too long. Two hours later, the phone rang again.  “It’s not here,” Irene said, again not letting Eve get a word of greeting out of her mouth. “Didn’t you send it yet?”

“Two hours ago. That tears it. That’s the last time I use that service. They were late last time, too.”

Irene snorted over the line. “I’m calling them. This is ridiculous.”

The line clicked closed, and Eve grinned at the phone. In all the years she’d worked with Irene Goebel, she’d never developed phone manners. Didn’t matter. The woman was one of the best editors out there, and that was worth every curt mannerism she could throw at her authors. Well, it was to Eve, anyway.

Eve threw herself back into her plotting, and just when she thought she had her first twist figured out, there was a knock on her door.

She threw the deadbolt and stepped back, sensing the oncoming storm. “Well I’ll be damned!” Irene bolted into the room, a flurry of faux fur and blonde, cotton candy hair. “You are never going to believe what happened!”

“Hello to you, too. Want some coffee? I was just going to put on a pot.”

“He’s in the hospital.”

Eve took a beat to try to catch up with the conversation. It didn’t work. “What?”

“He’s in the hospital.”

“Who?”

Irene dumped her coat on the couch, and plopped onto the ottoman-slash-coffee table. “The messenger. He’s in the hospital. Got hit by a cab.”

Eve gasped. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. You manuscript is floating all over thirty-second street. And thirty-fourth, and thirty-fifth…”

“Oh for crap!” Was it wrong, she wondered, that her first thought was of her lack of copyright protection and not the condition of the poor bike messenger? He was a close second. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Who cares? Where’s my manuscript?”

“Irene!”

The editor rolled her eyes, but took it down a notch. “I think he’s fine, but I didn’t actually ask. They said he got sideswiped by a cab. He’s not dead, so we’re good, right?”

“Remind me to send him some flowers.”

Irene crossed her arms and crossed her legs, adding an impatient foot wiggle. “So? Are you going to print it?”

Eve narrowed her eyes and plopped on the couch right on top of the faux fur. “You’re kidding, right? I ran through my last print cartridge running it this afternoon.”

“Pft!” Irene tossed her hands up in the air. “So get another one. Come on, this book is overdue.”

Eve sighed and let her head fall back against the back of the couch. “Irene, you know I adore you, and you’re the best editor ever, but it’s nearly ten at night and I am not going to run out and get a new print cartridge to run that thing.”

“But it’s overdue!”

“We’ve been through this once already today, and no it’s not. Anyway, do you know how long it takes to print an entire novel?” Eve looked at Irene, who, predictable, looked clueless. “Since you make me do it every time, I’m guessing no. Trust me, we’d be here all night.”

Irene wrinkled her nose. “That can’t be true. Sandy runs manuscripts at the office all the time, and it can’t take more than an hour.”

“Sandy has a laser. I have an ancient ink jet that takes days, not to mention gallons of ink. So tomorrow is going to have to do. Unless, of course, you’d like to read it off the computer.”

This time, Irene’s sigh was so deep Eve wondered if her chest would ever settle again. “I told you, I need the whole sensory experience. I need the feel of the paper, the smell of the ink, the sound of the pages as they ruffle against one another…”

“Then it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. Afternoon, actually. I have to go get the aforementioned smelly ink.”

“See? This is just one of the reasons I keep telling you you need a boyfriend. If you had some guy hanging around here, he could go get it for you.”

Eve’s head was starting to ache. “You’ve been irritating enough today. We’re not even going there.”

Irene was silent a long moment, as if waiting for Eve to acquiesce. Eve just stared back. She wasn’t going to budge.

“Oh, all right!” Irene heaved herself off the ottoman and grabbed her coat out from under Eve, who rolled slightly to allow her to grab it. “But I’m not waiting until tomorrow afternoon to get it. Email it to Sandy first thing in the morning so she can print it.”

“Watch out, Irene, you’ll get the reputation of being reasonable.”

“Smart ass,” she said, heading for the door. But she grinned over her shoulder. “Just send it, will you?”

Eve stood up to attention and saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I’m on it right now.”

“Authors!” She pulled the door shut and Eve could hear her heals clicking down the hall. Eve headed for her computer, ready to be done with Lord Baird and his damned book.

Still, I want to wish all of you who have stuck with me through pre-publishing and publishing – and cancer and kids, too -  a wonderful holiday season. Whatever you celebrate, or even if you don’t celebrate, this is a time of year to enjoy those around us. To sit back and reflect on all we have, and how far we’ve come.

As for me, I’ve come a long, long way since I started this blog. I have two books published that I can hold in my hands, and more to come (hopefully) one day. Guys and Dogs is currently in the hands of an agent, and I hope to bring you news of its sale in the new year. Cursed is slow-going, thanks to that obnoxious thing called my life, but I hope to bring you a teaser of that soon, too. And I’m toying with pulling out my first NaNo book Courting Kismet to re-write. It would be fun to visit the classic comedy romp again.

So merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah (even if it’s coming late), happy Boxing Day, whatever. Enjoy this season, and may the new year bring great things to us all!

I still love it. I love the don’t-look-down writing, the camaraderie of going nuts with other writers, and I owe NaNo a lot, since both Let’s Dish and Another Time Around both started as NaNo novels.  But then my kids started growing up.

November is a wonderful month. It starts out slowly as fall creeps in. Everything is getting crisp and there’s nothing better than sitting at the coffee house at night and writing. This year the book is even going well, and I got in about 10K before life got interesting.

One of the other things that happen in November is the State Special Olympics Bowling Tournament. Not only do I want to see my kid participate, but since it’s in town, I volunteer at the dinner. So no writing got done that weekend.

The other two seem to be getting involved in more, too. My lovely geek squad are busy with Math Counts, Scouts, National History Day… the list seems endless. Mom, being the main taxi driver, doesn’t get a lot done when I need to be shuttling the young-uns.

Then this year I thought I needed a little more Christmas spirit, and decided to “Tree”. And I love it! I haven’t been able to really sing in years, and it feels so good to stand up there and really belt it out. But it takes time. After taking the laptop to rehearsal a couple of times, I realized it wasn’t the best environment for writing.

And it’s November in the States, which means Thanksgiving and decorating for Christmas. And we’re not even discussing trying to maintain a full-time job in all this.

Yes, I’d love some cheese with my whine.  I’m partial to the really stinky strong ones.

So this weekend, I am planning to work on the book. I have scenes in my head, I know what my characters are doing, but I need to carve out the time to let them do it. Will I hit 50K before the end of November? Don’t hold your breath. Will I finish the book? Heck, yeah.

But NaNo and me? We’re just not working out anymore. So I think it’s time I broke it off, take the pressure off, and write when I can write. I thank you for everything, but it’s over. At least until the kids get older.

But then one day I was driving in the car and there was nothing worth listening to on the radio. Little did I know what an impact crappy radio would have on my current work in progress. I popped in the first CD I could find, which happened to be a mix I recorded eons ago. I’d forgotten what was even on the thing, but soon found out I had a lot of Billy Joel, some Beatles (Blackbird always makes me cry), Blondie, Concrete Blond – my normal eclectic mix of everything from soup to nuts. And then a song came on I hadn’t heard in years. I’d forgotten about it, but the second it came on, I was transfixed.  The singer’s voice was smooth as velvet and his face came to me the moment I heard him sing.

Hal Ketchum.

Half of you are wondering who the hell I’m talking about, half of you are questioning my sanity, and the third half of you (heh) are swooning as hard as I am.

Suddenly  had a new hero.  He wasn’t goofy at all, but this completely implacable guy who could take anything my heroine (the crazy writer Evelyn Grayson – and she’s full of writer crazy) could throw at him with a grin and, eventually, affection.

I hesitate to share my placeholder images with you, because I like the reader to come up with their own picture for my characters. Heck, normally by chapter three, the character has changed in my mind’s eye, anyway. But not this guy. This guy is staying Hal in my head. Not that I know anything about the real Hal; heck, I don’t even own one of his albums. But the face, the voice – it’s all sticking. And the character who formed around him… all I can say is wow.

I like my male characters, don’t get me wrong. Kevin always makes me grin, Max made me want to hug him, David makes me want to go out and watch NewsRadio and Kids In the Hall (I mean who besides me bases a hero off Dave Foley?), but Hal makes me want to fall in love. I am obsessed with this guy, to the point when I think of him, I get a silly grin. Really. Me? An almost 40-something mother of three has totally got a crush. On a fictional character.

So Dr. Simon Oliver/Nathan is no more. As of this morning, my hero has a new name, a new background – hell, he’s a whole new guy. And his name? Hal, of course. Hal Buchanan. For now, anyway. He might change. But his character won’t. He’s as clear as day in my mind’s eye, and good God he’s a sexy Southern gentleman who just happens to chase ghosts for a living.

Oh, and the picture above? My new desktop picture. And yes, I grin silly every time I turn on my computer.

So tell me – ever had a crush on a fictional character?

At the moment, I’ve decided I need a sex scene. A no-strings-attached kind of sex scene, which breaks the rules, so to speak. But since they hero and heroine will get their HEA, is it really cheating? And since I probably won’t actually let them do it…

I don’t know why I like ripping the rug out from under my characters just when they’re about to get busy. And since I use that phrase, a lot of people are suggesting I actually use a rug. Huh. We’ll have to see how that works its way in.