Category: Ruminations and Crackpot Theories

Observations on life in general.

Researching for Romance

A few months ago, at my very first booksigning, a woman kept hounding me about research. “Romance authors don’t do research,” she insisted.

I was offended. Such preconceived notions are part of why the romance genre continues to be disrespected.  I am here to tell you: Romance authors do research.

For my werewolf books: I researched country music performers, Toby Keith in particular. (The link will take you to the blog I wrote about part of that.) I also researched early American history and the country’s relationship with France during the French Revolution–it’s all the backstory of my werewolf pack.

For my baseball books: my husband and I had season tickets to the local Triple A baseball team for three seasons. We rarely missed a game. I followed player (and their wives!) blogs, interviewed players, and talked to the people running the stadium. I learned some of the rules of International League Baseball. I research what cities have teams. My husband and I researched cities that should have teams, based on certain criteria. My husband and I visit Cooperstown, NY (Baseball Hall of Fame) every summer.

For all my books: I research marriage laws in whatever state I’m writing about. I research floral, fauna, parks, highways, airports, etc. (The state of Montana is very generous with their free roadmaps.)

Early drafts of my books are filled with >>research this<< from times when I’m writing without Internet access.

Other author friends research such riveting topics as modern ranching, orchard husbandry, the Secret Service, how to be a chanteuse, professional bull riding, vineyards, and Scottish history. Books on my shelves include such fascinating titles as: Deadly Doses: a Writer’s Guide to Poisons; Practical Homicide Investigation; The Naming of America; two The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbooks; The History of Underwear; and 1001 Ways to Be Romantic.

I once had a contest judge suggested I rename the setting of my story because people might confuse it with the salad dressing. Except reality is Thousand Islands Dressing was invented and named for the Thousand Islands region of the New York/Canada border.

Another contest judge informed me I was wrong about laser ID numbers on diamonds–because diamonds are the hardest known substance. Except my former brother-in-law worked in the Diamond District of New York City and he’s the one who told me about laser identification of diamonds.

Research? Just because data isn’t info-dumped into the story doesn’t mean there the topic hasn’t been researched.

 

Summer Programs

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I went to sleep-away summer camp a couple of times. For a week.

I went to Girl Scout day camp once. That, too, was for a week.

My husband went to sleep-away camp for years, 6 weeks at a stretch. But he grew up in the Bronx, and I grew up in the middle of no where. I didn’t need summer camp.

When I was in elementary school, the town in which I lived had a pool (converted frog pond). Every Tuesday and Thursday (unless it was raining) in July and early August a school bus picked us up to take us to The Pool. It was a daylong event. There was a concessions stand. There were arts & crafts. There was swimming. Two full weeks were given over to swimming lessons. Looking back at it, I guess The Pool was a summer program.

But The Pool was only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The other days of the week were spent:

  • trying to write novels on an ancient Remington Rand cast iron manual typewriter
  •  picking wild whatever-berry-was-in-season
  • building forts
  • playing with my cousins (who lived next door) along with a slew of other neighborhood kids

No one drove us anywhere (my mom didn’t drive).

We caught frogs by day and lightning bugs by night. There were boxes of old clothes for dress up. Trees for climbing. We had bicycles without helmets, croquet sets, and badminton rackets (using the hedge dividing my aunt and uncle’s driveway from my parents’ as a net). We did somersaults and tried to do back flips and cartwheels on the soft grass of our yards. There was a mountain behind the houses to explore. Massive games of hide-and-go-seek and Wolf at night, and Annie-Annie-Over in the day. We lay on our backs and stared at the clouds or the stars. We didn’t need summer programs.

We were expected to amuse ourselves. We managed.

I sometimes wonder if we aren’t raising a generation of people who are incapable of amusing themselves. Play dates, summer programs all summer long, with no downtime to curl up with a book or teach yourself to play guitar. Or day dream. Are we annihilating the imaginations of our youth?

 

Laughter and Romance Writers

I belong to my local chapter of Romance Writers of America. We meet monthly at a local library. Sometimes, the “big” room isn’t available for our day-long meeting, so our sessions are split–mornings in a smaller meeting room, afternoons in the big room.

This happened a few months ago. As we were leaving the smaller room, I noticed a group of women sitting at a table outside the smaller room. “Are you ladies waiting to get into this room?” I asked.

“Yes,” several of them replied.

I stuck my head in the door and told the stragglers the next group was waiting to get in there.

“What group are you?” one of the ladies asked.

“We’re the Central New York Romance Writers,” I replied.

“You certainly laugh a lot. What was so funny?”

“Love is funny. Life is funny. Romance goes for the happy ending!” I replied.

According to RWA (and we are the last word in romance fiction) a novel must have two elements to be considered a romance: a central love story and an emotionally satisfying and optimistic ending.

I read an article in Publisher’s Weekly  not too long ago:  “When did happiness fall out of fashion?” The author of the article concluded with, “Books with happy endings are a gift of hope.”

Isn’t that a wonderful thing?

Happiness Happens month starts on August 1. I’m going to start my list a little early: Happiness Happens when one of the books I write gives someone hope.

 

 

Slice of Life Sundae!

Today is National Ice Cream Day.

I will admit, I am an ice cream addict. I stopped bothering with scoops and bowls years ago. I simply sit with the carton and my spoon.

Over the years, I’ve had a lot of favorite flavors.

  • Heavenly Hash was probably the first “grown-up” ice cream I loved.
  • Lady Borden used to make Tin Roof Swirl (fudge ripple with peanuts), and when I had a bad day at then-current-day-job, a quart of that would be lunch.
  • Fell in love with Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.
  • My daughter was gestated on Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie (which probably explains why she loathes chocolate).
  • Panda Paws and Moose Tracks have become recent favorites.
  • My local supermarket chain, Wegmans (one of the America’s top 10 employers, according to Forbes), has an amazing Peanut Butter Sundae: a lightly flavored peanut butter ice cream with peanut better cups, fudge swirl, and peanut butter swirls.
  • Byrne, a local dairy, makes Midnight Madness, which I discovered quite by accident. Creamy Chocolate Ice Cream with Chocolate Fudge Swirl & White Chocolate Chunks. How can you go wrong?
  • Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Caramel Fudge is a new favorite.

What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?

Patio – Writing Garden Update

I am officially on vacation. My vacation plans for this year are to sit on my patio, stare at my writing garden and write.

Unfortunately, my plans didn’t come together quite the way I envisioned.

For starters, the patio extension still isn’t complete. Even after I told the Vanishing Landscaper I needed it done by vacation time.

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And the writing garden still looks mostly like a mud hole where a pool used to be.

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But I do have new patio furniture, and today I purchased plastic wine glasses for patio use. A couple of weeks ago, I purchased three solar lights for the area. I found citronella candles in the basement. I’m ready.

I’ll make do–because it’s summer and warm and sunny and my current work-in-progress is flowing almost faster than I can type it. But the patio – writing garden fantasy persists.