Re-vision

Last year I had cataract surgery. It was something like a miracle. Colors were suddenly bright and vivid. The sky was really really blue. The letters on signs were sharp.

I could, literally, see the world anew.

Revisions are something like cataract surgery. They take what you've got and make it better. They clean things up, sharpen them, tone them, focus them.

They are, as I said on the Love Is An Exploding Cigar blog, a second chance at getting things right in our fictional worlds. We almost never get chances like that in the real one.

I'm doing that right now with Flynn and Sara. I'm cutting and cutting and cutting. And every now and then I add something that seems to belong, that makes things clearer (I hope) and better.

By the time I've been through the book once and have a good draft, I have a feel for pacing, for mood, for the arc of the story. It's sort of there in the synopsis stage. But there's no sense of timing. Beyond the first chapter, I have no idea how long anything is likely to take.

Now I do. And that's what I'm working on. Things are getting clearer and sharper.

The story is getting clearer. The book is getting better.

Keep your fingers crossed. I'm going to keep mine typing!

Re-Boxing

Before I find a box for the new book, I'm going to do some resizing of Flynn and Sara's box -- er, book. Turns out they are rattling around in there.

I knew the problem with this book was it feeling like a 75K book that had to be shoved into a 50-55K shape. And the biggest problem with that is it starts too slow. The build is there -- but it takes too long for them to hit their stride. So I need give them a smaller box so they have less room to flail around -- basically so they fit like this bunny in the box.

Yes, I know we were talking about ducks. But you have no idea how hard it is to find a suitable picture of a duck jammed into a box.

Anyway, I'm going to be cutting a bunch of words and seeing if I can punch up the ones left so that they get the job done.

Good comments by the editor, though I find them more helpful written down than spoken. So getting them on paper was a help (after we'd talked).

The interesting thing is going to be to see how to best trim things down -- or how to shrink the box. I used to have an editor at Silhouette who was absolutely fantastic at that. She could look at a book and say, "You can cut this . . . and this . . . and this," and be absolutely spot on.

The most amazing thing wasn't that she could see what could be cut -- but that it would work with virtually no revisions AFTER the cuts. It wasn't a matter of deleting adverbs (been there, done that). It was "this whole scene is expendable. Nice, but expendable." Oh, I wish she were here now!

Gotta get this done by June 9th. So if you don't see me a lot, that's why.

Don't forget Theo's contest! You only have until Thursday night to enter. 3 great books. Just go to my website and answer the questions in the space on the Contact Anne tab.

Also, on Friday I'm 'guest blogging' at Love Is An Exploding Cigar -- a blog by several romance authors, including Samantha Hunter who invited me after my week on eharlequin talking about "world building."

Stop by for a visit if you can. There might even be prizes!

Limits -- finding the right box

I've been thinking about my empty box (well, empty besides Hugh-in-a-towel) -- and what will go in it and how I can work with it.

Besides thinking about what's going in it, though, I'm thinking about what sort of box it should be -- big or small, plain or fancy. I'm thinking about the sides of the box, the top and bottom of the box, too. Everything about the box is significant because it creates the limits of my story -- it provides the boundaries of the book's fictional world.

Without a box, things get lost. Without limits stories don't grow. They are a product of action and reaction. And a lot of times, the reaction is a result of some part of the story hitting the side or the top or the bottom of the box. They get a reaction. They test the limits. The characters grow based on what they encounter and how they deal with it. Without limits, it's hard to get that to happen.

I found that out again when I thought I had the right box for Flynn and Sara.

I certainly had part of the box because I had a backstory for them that was given -- I had story elements against which they had to act and react because those were part of their past. It was given to them because they'd met in The Great Montana Cowboy Auction and their paths were set there.

But I put them in the wrong box. I started that book in New York City to begin with -- and that didn't work at all. There was nothing in New York for them to react to. It was the wrong box. It had no top, no bottom, no sides as far as they were concerned. It wasn't significant to them. It didn't matter to them. They weren't confined by circumstances in New York. Neither of them had a significant life in New York. Anything that happened there was somehow artificial.

It made logical sense for Sara to be in New York. But at the same time it was, frankly, out of character. And if I'd insisted on leaving it there, they would still be making that interminable walk between Sara's brownstone flat and the coffee shop where she and Flynn were going to talk because there was nothing to stop them -- there were no limits.

In fact, I am so sure now that it was the wrong place (after four months of trying to get them to go down that street) that I get a sick feeling every time I think about it. I just envision them walking and walking and walking. No limits. No story.

Fortunately for them -- and for me -- I finally found the right box.

I'm trying to do the same with this new book. I'm trying to find not just the stuff that goes in it, but the box that will limit the story. Then, if my characters decide to press the limits -- push the edges, as it were -- that will be fine. I'll like that -- because it will be energetic. Something will be happening. They can test the limits because they will exisit.

But first, as Twyla Tharp said, I have to find the box.

The Empty Box . . . In search of a hero

Back when I was reading Twyla Tharp's book The Creative Habit, I mentioned her saying that before you could work outside the box, you had to have a box.

And that seemed, literally, like a very good idea. She gathers stuff in a box for each project that she undertakes. I've never been quite that organized. But somehow having a "heap" doesn't sound quite so good.

This time, with Flynn and Sara, I had a collage. That was helpful. And I actually managed to use quite a lot of the collage material as I was writing. But there is stuff there I never used. It is still staring reproachfully at me as I write this. I think I'm going to have to take it down. But maybe not until I get my revisions back from the ed. I might need it for focus.

In the meantime, though, while I'm filling boxes with books and papers to get them out of my office (oh, the poor attic) I think I am also going to get a new box -- an empty box.

And that's going to be my new book box.

I have no idea what I should put in it right now. I've got a few stray characters wandering around.

There are three Savas brothers left:

George, the physicist who had bolted himself in his lab and is not acting very heroic at the moment;

Demetrios, the next of Theo's brothers -- an action adventure hero on screen. Who knows what he is off-screen. He was supposed to be one of Sara's friends. But inasmuch as she ended up in Elmer rather than New York, that didn't happen. Demetrios is a distinct possibility -- because he could stop being an actor and do something interesting (though heaven knows what);

And Yiannis, the forest ranger. Somehow I don't see myself getting a forest ranger past my editor -- not as a Presents hero, anyway.

There's Peter Antonides, Elias's brother -- ex-beach bum and mechanical engineer turned inventor, turned CEO (now that Elias has gone boat building). He's got an edge to him that I might find interesting. He's certainly off-beat. I might be able to talk my editor into him.

And there's Lukas Antonides, Martha's twin. He might be a little young yet. And I haven't seen him since he went walkabout down under. A missing hero is not quite what I need.

And, of course, there's Flynn's brother Dev. Of course you haven't met him yet. But I have, and he has distinct possibilities.

And then, I have to find a heroine worth her salt to deal with him.

Right now I have one piece of inspiration in my box. And I'm definitely going to enjoy thinking about him for a while.

Got any other suggestions?

R&R and the TBR

Okay, the book is now someone else's problem, at least momentarily. And I have a life again -- at least momentarily.

So . . . besides doing what I told Christa I was going to do this weekend (it involved "deep dusting" and probably some "deep vacuuming" and a whole lot of "deep filing" as well as deep-sixing a lot of notes and assorted piles of junk that have accumulated in my office) . . . I'm going to read.

Give me suggestions! It isn't that I don't already have a TBR (to-be-read) pile. It's that I would really like to hear what you are reading and if you like it and if I should read it, too. I single-bloggedly sold at least half a dozen copies of Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit when I was nattering on about it here.

I'd like to think I might have convinced a few people that Liz Fielding's The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella was worth a read. And Loretta Chase's Not Quite A Lady.

So here's your chance . . . convince me. Tell me some good books you've read recently -- or last year or when you were a kid. Whenever. If they're memorable, I'll probably want to read them.

You don't have to talk me into it very much. Just an author and a title will do. I'm a sucker for good books. And now -- for a week or so at least -- I fully intend to READ.

I had to drive out of town today and I was gone most of the day. When I got where I was going I had an hour before I needed to be where I needed to be. Naturally I took along a book. So I began reading about Loretta Chase's mad earl in her novella in Three Weddings and a Kiss.
I thought I'd read most everything she'd written -- but I'd missed this. I'm just getting going in it, but I'm enjoying it. It's intriguing. Definitely different.

I've also got a couple of local history texts, Pamela Brook's book on How to Research Your House (thanks, Pam!) and The Home-Based Bookstore by Steven Weber, because somehow I'm going to have to get rid of some of these books!

Yes, I know it's possibly counter-productive for an author who depends on royalties to stay alive to sell used books. But I would never have written a romance if I hadn't been exposed to them through used bookstores. And I wouldn't buy new many of the writers I do buy "new" without having read them first gently used. Used bookstores are a fact of life -- and are better, in my opinion, than having books shredded and used as mulch along the nation's highways.

Anyway, polemic aside, in between deep dusting and thinking of a new story (you can suggest there, too, if you want), I'd like some great reads. Suggestions, please!!

Theo says, don't forget his contest! Check my website homepage for details.

Bye-bye Birdies

Yes, I know they're geese . . . (you can't trust 'em for a minute, can you? Turn your back and they metamorphose into something else).

No matter. They're gone.

No more Flynn. No more Sara. Or at least they're the editor's problem now.

I'm going to sleep.

The Wandering Duck

My tenth duck nearly killed me. Or I nearly killed it. I finished off nine and had my sights set on finishing ten last night -- or in the early hours of the morning.

And first it stared me in the face and said, "Nope." And then it began wandering around like a drunken sailor. And finally it said, "You do realize don't you that there are really three ducks here? Look?" And it turned itself into three ducks.

It was by this time somewhere near 3 o'clock in the morning and I was seeing triple anyway, so it might have been right or it might have been lying.

In any case. It was a very seriously in trouble duck. It reminded me of one of Michelle Styles's real ducks who run round the outside of the duck house or wherever she keeps them -- and generally causes no end of difficulties. I was also a very seriously annoyed author. You don't spend months with a bunch of ducks only to have the Very Last One thumb his nose at you (since ducks don't have thumbs, consider this figurative speech, because by then it was nearly 4 in the morning and he might have had thumbs. Who knew?).

I stomped out of the office at 5 a.m. and went to bed. I set the alarm for 8. Three hours sleep is not enough. And I had even less of an idea what to do with him -- or all three of him, because in the clear light of day, yes, he did appear to have multiplied -- so I banged my head against the wall until Anne Gracie called me up.

Anne has been a jewel during this whole duck mess. She has her own book issues (not ducks, I hasten to add) at the moment. So we commiserate a lot. She knew I was at the end of my duck. She called. We discussed the duck(s). She gave suggestions. I shot them down. Wished I was shooting the duck. She went to bed (it was 1 a.m. there). I sought the advice of half of the writers in the known world.

We all agreed that we knew exactly where the problem was. We all agreed that we knew exactly how many more chapters it would take to fit in all I wanted to fit in. We all knew it was more words than I wanted to write and more than Presents would want to publish, that's for sure.

But as we talked and I sorted out ideas, I kept coming back to the original. It was the right one. I was sure of that. I just had to figure out how to meld my three ducks back into one.

By the time I'd talked to everyone in my telephone book, I knew the answer. And I'd told it to most of them so that there are probably plenty of versions of McAllister's Duck Melding Project around now, too.

I told it often enough that I can write it in my sleep now. I hope -- because it's nearly midnight and I'm yearning for bed. I wish it would just type itself while I sleep. But I'll map it out tonight and write it up tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow night I trust that all the ducks will have flown.

one last duck

The last duck is in the process of being shaped up. So I'm afraid I don't have anything useful to say to anyone other than Flynn and Sara today.

Allow me to remind you, however, that Theo is running a 2nd Grooms contest -- the prize going to the winner of the drawing on June 1st. There will be three books as prizes -- one of mine, one of Kate Walker's and one of Liz Fielding's.

All you have to do is answer three questions and send them to me via my website (at the contact Anne tab). The questions are:
1) Who did Theo marry in The Santorini Bride?
2) Which of Liz Fielding's books won the Romantic Times Best Harlequin of 2006?
3) What is the title of Kate Walker's 50th book?

Send me your answers -- you could win 3 great books.

And if you're Dutch -- or read Dutch -- and want a complete set of the Pelican Cay trilogy in Dutch (with lovely covers), answer the questions and say you want the Dutch books and I'll give a set of those away, too.

Covers . . . wonderful covers!

Getting a cover for a book you've spent months writing is always just a little terrifying.

If they were going to put something iconographic on it, it would be okay -- then you'd just hope they weren't putting on symbols that you knew were wrong for the book.

But you wouldn't have to worry that they'd got the hero's hair color wrong or the heroine wearing vampy clothes when she's really a button-down miss or that they've put a swan and a gazebo on your cowboy book.

Don't laugh. I have a friend whose cowboy book has a swan and gazebo both.

Also sometimes you have an idea of how things should look -- who the people are -- what the scene or at least the setting is.

And sometimes the art department and editorial can read your mind. And sometimes they can't.

I'm here to tell you today that the Dutch can read my mind.

They put out the Pelican Cay books recently. And today I got copies of all three books: McGillivray's Mistress, In McGillivray's Bed, and Lessons From a Latin Lover.

Obviously some wonderful person gave some thought to the fact that these books were a series, that they all took place in the tropics and that it might be nice if they had something of the same tone.

I want to say a huge thank you to whoever it was in the Dutch office of Harlequin who thought all that out and, even better, managed to get it executed on the covers of the Pelican Cay series. They're perfect!

I am soooooo pleased.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Or as they say on the Babel Fish translation page:
Dank u zeer! (which I hope is correct)

The Eighth Duck

I'm happy to report that the eighth duck has been corralled or penned or whatever it is one does with ducks -- and with only nine and ten to sort out, I might actually get this book out of here by Monday. Here's hoping.

As soon as it's gone, I'm going to post the cover for The Boss's Wife for a Week -- Spence and Sadie's cover.

It seems like years -- literally -- since I wrote that book. When the hardbacks arrived last week, I looked at them as if someone else had written them.

And after I read through them, I wasn't sure someone else hadn't. I think it's because, in my head I still think of the story as being the first way I wrote it -- the way my editor couldn't deal with. So this version, while okay as far as it goes, is not the version I'd originally come up with. So it feels a little odd. In fact, I was a lot happier with it, after re-reading it, than I thought I would be.

A little distance, a little perspective -- a lot of moving on -- makes a big difference.

Speaking of which, I have the oddest feeling that Abigail -- you remember her? The beautiful blonde? -- may end up on the cutting room floor.

We'll see.

Frankly there is a lot that's going to end up on the cutting room floor as I already have 49,000 plus words -- and two chapters I haven't even counted yet!

Wandering Around Butte

Anne has buried herself under a bunch of ducks or she's herding them or something. Anyway, she said DO NOT DISTURB and I can hear her in there whacking away at the keyboard and it's more than my life is worth to DISTURB the author. She might take my happy ending away from me.

So . . . that leaves me to entertain you.

What shall we talk about today? I could tell you that Martha is painting another mural. This one is in another of the old buildings in Butte.

And if you haven't been to Butte lately, you should go. From the bustling "richest hill on earth" of the early 20th century to the depressed old mining town it became after that, it now has a new lease on life.

I, of course, put it down to Martha's influence, but she tells me that there are quite a few guys like Spence Tyack around who have taken on the old buildings and are renovating and refurbishing and restoring and generally making it a pretty amazing place.

It sure was a "happening place" a hundred years ago. It had a population of 100,000 people from so many parts of the world it would make your head spin -- all come for mining or related industries.

Anne showed me some old census records and I was astonished at the Greeks and Slavs and Finns and Chinese and Irish and Cornish and Serbs and Dalmatians and Herzegovinians and Italians. It looked like Anne's Neo-Worx counter -- and it was all in Butte, Montana in the early 1900s.

Some of that is what Martha is doing her mural on. It's a continuation of the one she did in the building Spence owns.

Next time you're passing through Montana stop in Butte for a while. Or make it a destination. A hundred years ago it was the destination of a lot of people from all over the world who were inspired to seek the American Dream.

My own folks stopped in New York City, but a couple of my great grandfather's brothers went to Butte. So did a lot of peoples' ancestors.

You can catch a glimpse of what they found there by taking a walk up Main Street, wandering around and getting a feel for the place.

While she was working on her mural, Martha and I spent some time looking at the World Museum of Mining, which commemorates the reason a lot of immigrants came to the area. She got a lot of ideas from that. She also did research at the Butte Historical Society and checked out the Dumas Brothel Museum.

One of the most fun times we had was celebrating Chinese New Year in Butte. To document and preserve the history and contribution of Asian immigrants to the area, the Mai Wah Society Museum was formed.

You can check out a great slide show of the 2006 Chinese New Year here. It will give you a feel not just for the celebration but for the town.

Enjoy!

Dunmorey

I'm trying to get all the various stuff I need in chapter eight (which is my chapter eight duck currently wallowing all over the place) into neat, sharp order with all the high points hit and all the tension maintained.

This is one wobbly duck. There's so much of it. It's not overweight really. It's just gangly. It straggles. It wanders.

It needs to be succinct. Punchy. A very fit duck. I wonder if I could get it to do calisthenics. I have spent the day chasing it around the office trying to catch it and streamline it. I have to get Sara up to speed on the castle and Flynn's life while still keeping the rest of the relationship tension going.

So far I have had a bit of luck. Not enough.

I think I need Theo to come and blog again because I'm not doing a good job at blogging while I am trying to straighten out this particular duck.

O'Mally showed up today, though. He did his part. And now he's gone off to the stables with Liam and Dev. If it stops raining maybe they'll go fishing.

Finally Flynn and Sara are alone. At least we've got some tension now. But I'm afraid he's going to give her a house tour when he'd rather be doing something else.

I think I'll leave them alone and go to bed.

Maybe by morning they'll have told me how to fix things up.

Meet O'Mally . . . and friend

I've been waiting to get to Ireland in this book because there's a dog at Dunmorey. I'm getting to the point where I can't seem to have a book without a dog. Although there is no dog in The Boss's Wife For A Week (coming in Sept/Oct) which I just got the cover for yesterday. I'll have to show you soon.

But I digress.

Anyway, there is -- at long last -- a dog in Flynn and Sara's book. His name is O'Mally. He lives at Dunmorey and eats more than everyone else there put together.

He has a little buddy in this picture who doesn't have more than a bit part in my book (he's the housekeeper's son. We're calling him Eamon, Abby -- just for you!).

O'Mally is about to become Liam's best friend.

That will be good because then Flynn and Sara can get their work done.

They are heading toward the rough emotional stuff, the hopeful, "yes, this-might-work notion," followed by the black moment, more angst, lots more angst, and then -- Flynn hopes (and so does Sara but without believing in it) -- a happily ever after.

What more can you ask for -- a couple, a kid, a cat (hi, Sid) and a dog (let's hear it for O'Mally)?

Oh, and a short so-blond-he-looks-bald absolutely beautiful baby called Eamon.

Ireland, Here We Come!

Finally . . . you write a book set in Ireland and you really expect to get there sometime in the first half of the book.

Well, you hope to get there. Just recently I've been hoping like mad that we were going to get there at all. I had visions of calling my editor and saying, "Remember Flynn and Sara? The New York to Ireland book? Well, um, it ended up being in Montana."

Yes, I know Presents are supposed to be exotic. Think of it this way, most of the world does not live in Montana; ergo, to most of the world Montana is exotic. I hope.

But in fact we have finally made it to Ireland. And Flynn is having serious second thoughts. It's one of those "be careful what you pray for" moments. He doesn't know what Sara thinks. He's about to find out.

I wish I had another two months to write this book instead of just a few days to pull it all together. There's a lot I'd like to do in Ireland. Maybe if Dev, Flynn's brother, behaves himself, I'll consider making him a hero. Then we could do more Ireland stuff. Yes? Maybe we could even go back. That'd be nice.

I have to tell Sid, Kate's cat, though, that he will not want to go to Dunmorey, Flynn's castle. He's already threatening to build an ark if it doesn't stop raining in Lincolnshire.

The Ireland that Flynn has taken Sara and Liam to is pretty soggy. Much soggier than the Ireland we experienced. Poetic license, okay?

Since we've finally made it to Ireland, I decided a few inspirational pictures were in order. Enjoy.

Happy Mother's Day

Yes, I know Mother's Day is almost over -- and in Australia and such places, of course, it's well into Monday, halfway to Tuesday by now.

But I've been busy today -- working on parade march with the ducks (each of them is weighed down with far more plot than any of them need, so I'm whacking off plot right and left.

My friend Pam Bauer, who doesn't think I know the word plot exists, would be amazed that I think I've got too much of it. The fact that I have any would surprise her. Frankly it surprises me, too. Who'd have guessed?

And besides the plot whacking, I've been answering the phone and talking at length to each of my kids who have called to say happy mother's day. It's lovely to talk to them any time. But it's especially nice today. Nice of them to remember. Nice to enjoy the adults they've become. Nice to watch them mother -- and father -- their own young'uns. Nice to have inherited wonderful daughters-and-son-in-laws who make the family that much richer and enjoyable.

Nice to celebrate with my own mother. There is a little Greek restaurant in the neighborhood that was closed by fire a few months back. We all missed it dreadfully. We have some great little eating places within walking distance and when one of them disappears it's a sad day.

But a couple of weeks ago it re-opened -- and so tonight we got wonderful salads with gyros and pita bread and took it over to share it with my mother. It was a pleasure for all of us to share the meal and the fact that the restaurant was back. (It also meant I didn't have to cook, which is a good thing as well).

Theo just dropped in and said that we should have gone to his mother's for Greek food if we wanted any. I reminded him that his mother lives on Long Island, a bit of a trek for dinner. He says it would be worth it. Maybe next time I'm in New York, I'll look her up.

I have to go back and get the ducks marching again. One more scene to sort tonight and this chapter will be in line. Only three stragglers left. Or maybe two. Hard to say with all this plot-cutting going on. I have way more story than I need, I know that.

Don't forget the contest Theo put together. Check out the questions below. Send the answers to me at my website. You can click on the link and then click on the Contact Anne tab.

Very simple. Three great books for three little answers. As Theo would say, "A heck of a deal."

Happy Mother's Day!

Kate's Prize

Dom has been in touch with Kate and she is contributing a copy of her book, Sicilian Husband, Blackmailed Bride to our contest. Thanks so much, Kate. And thank you, Dom.

As Kate is busy with her 50th book party and Liz is up to her eyeballs in writing about the girl with the purple shoes, all the entries should come to Anne on her website at the Contact Anne tab.

Answer the three questions:

1) Who did I (Theo) marry in The Santorini Bride?
2) Which book of Liz Fielding's won the Best Harlequin Romance of 2006 from Romantic Times?
3) What is the title of Kate Walker's 50th book?

You can find the answers on their blogs if you don't know them already. And the prizes are:

• Liz Fielding's The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella
• Kate Walker's Sicilian Husband, Blackmailed Bride
• Anne McAllister's The Antonides Marriage Deal

Contest ends: May 31, 2007 Anne says to tell you that her ducks are wandering around and she's out herding them back into line. It always happens at this time of the book, she says. Please forgive her for taking the easy way out and letting me blog (it's not easy for me!).

She will be back when the ducks are cooperating.

The Grooms Contest -- part 2

Here we go again!

Max is back from his honeymoon. He says he's talked to Liz and she has agreed to let him give away a copy of The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella.

I think she's just too busy meeting her deadline to know what she's giving away or she'd have given away his book! But Anne says Lady G is really special, so whoever wins it is going to get a great read.

Dom dropped by and offered a book of Kate's. He has definitely chilled out since his wedding. Doesn't get all snarky about being called Dom anymore. I think Alice has had a good effect on him. He hasn't told me which book of Kate's he gets to give away yet, but any book by Kate Walker is pretty darn special, so whoever wins it will be lucky.

And I'm offering a copy of my sister Tallie's book, The Antonides Marriage Deal, since I figure you've already read my book. Right? Maybe you've read Tallie's too. If so, you can tell me and maybe Anne can dig up a book of hers you haven't read. And if you've read all 58 of them, she'll send you something else really special (I suggested, like, maybe George, my brother, gift-wrapped. But we'd have to get him out of the lab first).

Anyway, to win, you have to answer three questions:
1) Who did I (Theo) marry in The Santorini Bride?
2) Which book of Liz Fielding's won Romantic Times's award for "Best Harlequin Romance of 2006?"
3) What is the name of Kate Walker's 50th book?

Easy, right?

And if you don't know off the top of your head, the answers can be found on Anne's and Liz's and Kate's blogs, just like last time. So go look.

And then send your answers to Anne on her website using the Contact Anne tab. She isn't sure if Kate and Liz want to have winners, too, or if we're just going to do it from here.

Right now, let's assume we're just doing it from here. So unless you hear otherwise, don't submit your answers to Kate and Liz. They have enough to do. If they decide they want to pick winners, we'll let you know.

Contest ends May 31st.

The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella

The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella -- isn't that a great title?

Don't you want to read that book?

And, if I tell you the wonderfully warm and witty Liz Fielding wrote it, of course you will want to read it even more.

I have been looking forward the The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella ever since Liz mentioned the premise for the story -- Ellie March, freelance writer and sometime illustrator (well, she draws a lot), creates an alter ego, Lady Gabriella March, who lives an upper crust life with her three adorable children, several perfectly behaved dogs (already I know this is a fantasy!) and a wealthy husband (titled, don't you know?) who can afford to keep them all in the manner to which Ellie in fact is not at all accustomed. She's the house-sitter and cleaner in a lovely mansion, not the lady of the house.

But when very posh Milady magazine likes her submission so much they want to hire her to do a lifestyle column, Ellie finds herself saying yes. And then the house's owner comes back and he's not the old fuddy-duddy academic she'd envisioned him being. In fact Benedict Faulkner is a bonafide hunk -- although an academic one. Of sorts.

I pre-ordered Lady Gabriella as soon as she became available on amazon. She arrived yesterday afternoon. It has been all I can do not to forget Flynn and Sara (have 6+ chapters tweaked, the rest coming along) and just curl up with Ellie and Ben. Heck of a lot more fun, too. But I'm rationing myself. I read three chapters last night in the bath. I get another three chapters tonight -- as soon as I finish writing this.

So consider yourselves told -- this is a wonderful fun book (through the first three chapters). I fully expect the next three to be equally as good. And now I'm off to read.

No one is suggesting contests. Does this mean you all have enough books to read? Maybe I should give away a copy of Lady Gabriella.

Slow Plane to Egypt

Hey,
Theo here. Miss me? Of course you did.

Martha and I stopped by to show the babe to Anne and she carted him off (along with Ted) to get acquainted, and as she went out the door, she said, "By the way, you might want to write a blog today while I get some work done. And you know those contest books we sent to Egypt AIR MAIL? Well, they finally arrived."

Airmail to Egypt takes three months?

I could sail there in a leaky boat in that amount of time. Hell, I could sail there and back.

What's with the post office? Don't they understand the word Air? Or maybe it's Mail they don't understand.

Anyway, we are really sorry Mona didn't get her books before now. It's not that we didn't try. And we hope it doesn't discourage anyone else from entering contests. I asked Anne about when she was having another one, and she said, "You set one up. I'll mail the books."

So I'm going to see if Dom and Max want to have another go at it. Or maybe I'll talk to Spence. He's dropped by a couple of times when he's not out buying up real estate in the far corners of the globe.

Not sure which books we should give away for prizes. Got any ideas?

Anne was pretty excited that someone from the Bahamas turned up as the 57th country on her blog counter. She wonders if they turned up because of Pelican Cay and the McGillivrays -- or if they were lost. She says thanks for stopping by.

She hopes that someone from Fiji will come soon, too, because her next book, The Boss's Wife For A Week, spends most of that week in Fiji. I got to do some of the research for her. She sent me sailing around looking for just the right island. I found one, too. Gorgeous place. Isolated. Breath-taking. I'm taking Martha and the babe there for a little R&R.

Post comments about prize book ideas. I'll be in touch with Max and Dom and Spence and keep you posted on what we're doing. If this Irish guy, Flynn, ever gets his act together, we might let him help us. Right now he's got his hands full.

Martha says hi. Ted says, woof. The babe is asleep, thank God.

cheers,
Theo

When the Garden Grows . . .

I've given Abigail another day to twiddle her thumbs while I keep tweaking Flynn and Sara and, on breaks, read bits and pieces of Fran Sorin's Digging Deep.

I've found a lot of the things she talks about in terms of planning a garden are rather like putting stuff in the box that Twyla Tharp mentions in The Creative Habit. It's finding pictures, textures, shapes, blends that evoke a response in me or in the story I want to tell.

But in this case, it's like choosing the plants and flowers and trees I find appealing. Something about them touches a chord in me, evokes a memory, calls forth a feeling.

When I began Flynn and Sara, I had some plants already there in my garden because they'd been in an earlier book. But then I had to go about finding other pieces that belonged with them, too.

Why they belonged together was rarely clear to me when I started. It was probably some instinctual sense that went with the story I didn't even understand. But I had to plant them. I had to see how they would go together.

And now the garden has grown. The flowers are up, the plants are in full leaf. The trees are providing shade and contrast. And now I see how it all comes together.

I had no idea when I got Flynn that he was an earl, that he had a castle, that he had father issues. I knew he had a son. That was something he didn't know. I knew Sara had changed her mind about what she thought was most important in life. I knew she needed to defend herself from being hurt again. I didn't realize she knew how to make a home. Or that that was what Flynn so badly needed. But when everything came together, that's what grew. Their lives complemented each other. They contrasted with each other. And together they created a story that echoes Flynn's and Sara's love.

But when I started, I had no idea what would happen. I just had to plant. And trust. And then see the connections, find the resonances. Maybe transplant a little bit. (I'll stop now before I mis the metaphor any worse).

Anyway, it's great fun going back now and finding out how the garden has grown, discovering the theme I never knew was there.

When I find a theme you know I'm near the end -- or that I'm hallucinating. Keep your fingers crossed.

Birthday Girl

Mitch and I (and Gunnar and Micah and The Prof) want to extend birthday greetings today to our very dear friend Kate Walker.

I've made many friends in the time I've been writing, and all of them have enriched my life in many and varied ways. I could spend lots of blogs celebrating them, and it's not a bad idea. I think I'll have to do that.

So let me begin with Kate.

She has been writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon almost exactly as long as I have. I think our first books came out within a few months of each other -- and she's celebrating the publication of her 50th book next month.

I didn't know Kate personally until Barbara McMahon got the Mills & Boon authors' loop going. It was a cut-and-paste effort that Barbara put together every evening from emails we sent to her during the day. It was our first online effort at communication with each other (pretty much to the dismay of our publisher who, at the time, frowned on authors spending a lot of time communicating with each other when their time could be more profitably (literally) spent writing books).

But there were other advantages to doing it -- we got to meet friends and, in some cases, virtual soulmates -- other women who sat in their offices and wrote books about imaginary people all day. We weren't all alike by any means, but we often had a lot in common. And we talked via email and asked and answered questions.

It was when I asked a question about castles in England that I began to get to know Kate. I was querying not for a book, but for one of my sons who was intrigued by castles. And Kate, who had a son just a bit older (a year and a day, in fact) knew the answer. She had a lot to say about good castles to visit. She even suggested that if the son in question came to England, she'd see that he got to them.

As it happened, the son didn't get there, but his parents did. And Kate and her husband invited us to come stay a few days with them. I'm sure they wondered what they were getting into. I mean, we'd met online, but never in person (except a 'hello, how are you?' at an authors' day in London five years before). So it was with a certain amount of anxious "um, is this a good idea?" that we turned up at the local railway station to be met by Kate and her husband.

The question, Is this a good idea? lasted perhaps 30 seconds. Maybe less. And by the time we'd had a cup of tea in a local hotel, it was clear that it was a Very Good Idea indeed. Kate and I had tons to talk about. We finished each other's sentences.

And the husbands? They didn't finish each other's sentences. They talked right over the top of each other. They talked and talked and talked. They both taught university level English courses. They didn't talk to anyone who understood their passions all year long. Now they had found each other. They never shut up.

Over the past six years, Kate and her husband and The Prof and I have met up in various parts of the world. We have not only done London and Sydney and Auckland together, we have done Millom and Hurst Green and Bole. We have prowled the cemeteries of Aighton, Bailey and Chaigley. We have trundled up and down Lincoln's Steep Hill. We have eaten amazing fishy delights (well, Kate and I have) in Coogee Beach and have had one of the best Thai meals I've ever eaten in, believe it or not, Millom.

Last February, while The Prof, sadly, had to teach, the other three of us, accompanied by Nancy the cat slayer, went to Ireland. We visited garden centers and castles and had tea every 5o kilometers whether we needed it or not. We navigated narrow country lanes in pitch black rain storms and downed Guinnesses in memorable Irish pubs. We slogged through rain to see donkeys who never appeared, we did research on Irish country houses and closed a restaurant with Abby Green and Jimmy Nesbitt. We made memories that will last all of us a lifetime.

That's what friends are for -- Being there. In person. On the phone. In an email.

That's Kate.

She writes brilliant, emotional books that are, to me, like drinking whiskey neat. They are so concentrated, so vivid, so intense that I don't know how she does it. I get exhausted just reading them. I couldn't begin to write them (I'd be an emotional wreck). But Kate does it because she must -- and because she can. And every one of them is a gift to readers everywhere.

Sometime next month I get to write a piece in celebration of Kate's 50th book on her blog. So I will have to save a few things to say there. But in the meantime, let me just say, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KATE! You are a dear and wonderful friend."

Birthday Boy

It's Mitch's birthday.

He's four. Years.

If you knew him, you would be forgiven for wondering if it was years or months that he was celebrating, because maturity is not the name of the game where Mitch is concerned.

He is, shall we say, one of those dogs who has never lost touch with his inner puppy. He is as rambunctious and full of pep at four years as he was at four months.

He came home at the age of three months -- a serendipitous dog whom we were not expecting. After having lost three goldens (ages 14, 13, and 11) in the space of 9 months, we were not quite dogless (Gunnar was here. Gunnar was bereft) and we were looking for another rescue dog, preferably a golden.

We'd got Jake five years before through a golden retriever rescue program, and he was such a spectacular dog we thought we'd go that way again. Jake was Gunnar's special buddy and while we knew we couldn't replace Jake, we did want to try to find Gunnar a new brother he'd enjoy. Finding a golden close to his age (six) seemed a good idea.

But the golden retriever rescue program didn't have any dogs they thought -- or we thought -- were suitable. So I rang the breeder from whom we got our first golden. He hadn't been a puppy, either, when we got him. He'd needed a new home at age three. So we were quite equipped to deal with older dogs (after all, Jake had been eight). We weren't looking for a puppy. We'd been there, done that with Gunnar.

There seemed a chance of a dog in Minnesota, so I went to visit my friend Anne Frasier for the weekend, hoping to meet the dog. But while Anne and I had a good time we never managed to connect with the golden-in-need-of-a-home, and as I was leaving, dogless, Anne said, "We need to find you a dog. I feel guilty that we didn't find you a dog." (Yes, Anne, you really said that).

And I said, "No hurry. The right dog will come along. Maybe he'll find us."

The next morning he did.

A breeder in Minnesota (!) who was the daughter of a breeder in Iowa, couldn't keep the dog she'd intended to keep out of her most recent litter. She called her mother, her mother talked to a friend, the friend talked to her vet. Her vet is our vet. He called us. Would we be interested in a three month old golden retriever puppy?

Puppy? It took about a minute. Maybe less. There is something about a dog that finds you that means he's supposed to be your dog. Yes, we said. We would.

It turned out he was living only a few miles from us. It turned out that the 'friend' was someone we already knew. She didn't know we were looking for a dog, but when she found out, she called the breeder and told her that if we took him, he'd have a wonderful home. (Thanks, Peg!)

We went to see him half an hour later. He was tiny. He still isn't that big a dog. Leggy, yes, bouncy, yes. But he still looks like a teenager even now. At 3 months he looked slightly bigger than one of those balls of fluff that goldens are when they are babies. He was just getting interested in exploring. He was just ready for a new home, a big brother, the wide wide world.

He came home with us that afternoon.

Gunnar was appalled. And at the same time, he was interested in what this strange little four-footed creature would do. The strange little four-footed creature adored Gunnar. He followed Gunnar everywhere. Gunnar rolled his eyes, and put up with it.

He still puts up with it. His 'little' brother is now a bit taller than he is, though no heavier. His 'little' brother still follows him around, does what Gunnar does, even to the point of out-bouncing Gunnar when they are getting ready to go for a walk. This is something we should not have allowed him to learn. Who knew?

He was called Mitch when we got him. But he was a purebred who needed to be registered. His registration name is Jake's Mitchell McAllister, because we wouldn't have him if it hadn't been for Jake. He's a wonderful dog, sweet-natured and forever happy to snuggle and be friends. He will chase balls and bring them back for hours. He will run and jump and find every puddle for miles.

He had a literary bent and wrote two books before he was six months old (then he got a life and stopped writing all together). But The Excellent Adventures of Mitchell McAllister and The Further Adventures of Mitchell McAllister have been distributed on three continents. He says
he may write his memoirs one day, but right now he's too busy having fun.

We're having fun, too. And our lives are definitely richer for Mitch being part of them.

Happy birthday, Mitch!

Digging Deep

I was going to turn over the blog to Abigail today. She's sitting here, tw