Don't think Amazon is resting on its laurels, what with all the e-reader competition. Amazon announces Kindle for PC, a program that will allow PC users to download Kindle editions.
In the market for a good dictionary? Grammarphobia highlights the differences among three of the most popular versions.
Plan on participating in NaNoWriMo this year? Today's your last day to prepare. For those who don't know, National Novel Writing Month, now in it's 10th year, is a challenge to write a book in November. A whole 50,000 word book, starting with a blank page. I'm not doing it because I'm knee-deep into my wip, but I'll again use the energy of the month to see if I can propel myself toward the end by attempting to write everyday.
For those who are participating and in search of tools to help you move forward, rather than stopping to edit or revise, look into Momentum Writer. Author Kristi Holl provides some additional forward-writing tools for your review.
And, because they need donations to help underwrite the behind the scenes work, NaNoWriMo suggests that participating writers get sponsors to sign up to support NaNo's writing programs and help encourage you to meet your goal. Just as people who participate in walk-a-thons do.
Remember Miss Snark, an anonymous agent who gave unrelenting, harsh critique to those writers brave enough to submit a query to her blog? Well, Miss Snark's First Victim, has her own blog where she sponsors a monthly Secret Agent contest. Up to 50 submitters post 250 words of a completed manuscript for critique by an anonymous agent. At the end of the month, the agent, who provides a comment on each submission, is unveiled and the contest winners announced. Grand prize and runners-up receive requests for a full or partial from the agent. October's Secret Agent was Rachelle Gardner.
Oliver Barnett is a good contractor, a good Christian, and an obedient son, never in trouble, never one to rock the boat until real estate developer Samantha Cohen enters his life. Samantha, full of life, vitality, and wit, is unlike any woman he has ever known-in more ways than one. Not only is she planning to transform an historic church near downtown Pittsburgh into a restaurant/nightclub, she is Jewish and she has a less-than-innocent past.
At the same time, an old girlfriend, Paula, rekindles a long-ago relationship with him-with the enthusiastic encouragement of Oliver's domineering mother. Paula would be the safe choice, and the choice that would appease Mom, yet Oliver is drawn to Samantha because of her beauty and her exotic nature. Oliver finds himself in a most unsettling dilemma. Does he do what's right by the nice girl his mother has chosen for him, or does he do what his heart is telling him to
Check out this book trailer:
The Transformation may be one of the more literary books I've read this year. Although I enjoyed the story, I kept wanting to speed up the pace. I think this was, in part, a function of my mood when I was reading it, though. I had a "hurry-up, let's go" kind of thing going on, about circumstances outside of the book. Still, there was an interesting corollary, I think, between the pace of the story and the renovation work that was being done to the church, a central focus of the plot. Some things take time, and impatience only leaves us frustrated. We have to give ourselves over to the process, as much to the end result.
When I realized this, I settled in and began to enjoy The Transformation more.
What made this story unique was the pairing of a Jewish woman with a Christian man. What made it intriguing was was the themes of tolerance and forgiveness that ran through it, even as the central Christian character, Oliver, experienced difficulty in offering either to the woman he cared about. The Transformation was a good read.
It's amazing to me how many writers, if they are being as brutally honest as Janet, struggle with defining themselves as writers. it's like there's a host of questions rolling around in their heads, waiting to be answered by some unknown Oz.
Am I a writer...
If I'm published with a tiny, startup publishing house no one's ever heard of?
If I'm published in e-book format but not print format?
If I enjoy writing and complete my stories but have no desire to submit to an agent or editor?
If I've submitted to agents and editors but all I've ever received are rejections?
If I'm published in short story length but not novel length? (For fiction writers)
If I published one novel years and years ago, but haven't been able to get another one accepted for publication since?
If I've had articles/short stories/novels published but I've never received a penny of compensation?
Is there a difference between being a writer and an author? (I think there is, but that's a topic for another day.)
Is everyone who ever puts pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) a writer? Does being a writer have prerequisites?
Ms. Reid does say, "if you've finished", which suggests that the many people who start many things but never finish anything should possibly refrain from referring to themselves as writers. I think there should be some minimum period, or other criteria, before folks are removed from "The Writers' Roll", in consideration of the aspiring writers who are just beginning and those folks who take a bit longer than others. (Yes, I'm a bit of bleeding heart, not quite as brutal as Ms. Reid.)
Some books wash over you like waves rolling over shifting sand, uncovering blemishes hidden beneath the surface and cleansing them with a continual back and forth movement of the water, or words.
I try not to gush over books but every now and then I find one that I just can't help myself. Watch Over Me by Christa Parrish is this type of book.
Abbu and Benjamin Patil's marriage is in trouble. As different as night and day, the two are forced into a silent collusion of sorts when Benjamin finds an abandoned infant, and later, as one of just a few approved couples in the county, they assume temporary custody of the baby. Their relationship is unraveling at the edges as they attempt to parent this child, the Iraqi war vet, now police office, struggling with his demons while his vegan, hippie wife struggles with her own.
Not a character in this story is all good or all bad. Every single one, no matter how secondary, had shining qualities and also flaws big enough to swallow them whole. This was one of the few novels I've read recently where the plots twists, and especially the ending, weren't telegraphed by the writer. Reading Watch Over Me is truly taking a journey with no map, the reader forced to follow the author where she leads. The pitstops are surprising and provocative. The language is simple yet beautiful and moving.
Christa Parrish writes the kind of fiction I'd like to write. Powerful. Meaningful. Engrossing. Illuminating. Entertaining. As 2009 begins drawing to a close, Watch Over Me is definitely on my list of top reads for the year.
This wasn't even one of those weekends jam-packed with errands, stuffed with family obligations, or otherwise knowingly engaged.
This one just sort of...slipped by. Okay, we had a couple of appointments. One on Saturday and one on Sunday. But that's all.
Oh well...
No writing this weekend. Not mine anyway.
One of my critique partners is in need of a full manuscript crit within a few days for a category romance submission. Now, I can read a category in a day. But critting one takes three to four times as long. Or more.
Especially when the Yankees are in the process of winning the ALCS! (Go, Yankees!)
I did manage to improvise some sugar cookies for the boys during the game. Didn't quite have all the ingredients, like baking powder and vanilla. Nothing that a little add-water-only pancake mix (includes baking powder) and maple syrup, for flavor, couldn't solve.
So I'm heads down on this crit for a couple of days, then I'll resume work on my story.
BTW, I have a couple of new book reviews posted, Ann Christopher's Campaign for Seduction and Trisha R. Thomas' Nappily in Bloom. See the links in the left sidebar.
Check out the new Barnes & Noble e-reader, the Nook, in pictures. Also, unveiled were the Plastic Logic's Que and the dual screened Alex by Spring Design. (Anybody else waiting until these manufacturers finish tripping over each other?)
The book pricing wars just got more interesting. The American Booksellers Association has asked the U.S. Justice Department to investigate possible illegal predatory pricing policies.
"American Idol meets book acquistions". That's how publisher Jeff Gerke describes the new invitation-only contest, Marcher Lord Press Select, for Christian speculative fiction. The manuscript receiving the most votes in the final round will be published by Marcher Lord Press in its Spring 2010 release list.
There will be a secondary premise contest, open to all speculative fiction authors. The premise contest entrants receiving the top three vote totals will receive priority acquisitions reading by MLP publisher Jeff Gerke. For more information, go to www.marcherlordpress.com.
The wave of creativity in digital publishing is building. Agent Steve Laube gives a few examples of how authors and publishers are combining digital technology with books in new and interesting ways.
If you've ever wondered about, or wanted a better understanding of, the P&L (profit and loss) analysis of a publisher, check out last week's series over at Pimp My Novel. (Be sure to read part 4. ;)
Words that flow don't make sense. Are trite or cliched. Don't add value.
But, better some words than none.
That's what I tell myself when I force myself to turn on the laptop and sit in the desk chair while a gripping new episode of Law & Order (any variation) or the next game in the Yankee's quest for a World Series ring is on TV. It's what I shout at myself after I've allowed myself the leisure of watching a favored show when the bed begins to call my name.
I talk to myself, repeating my motivational mantra.
"Some words are better than none. Some words are better..."
I saw this quote over on CJ Darlington's blog, from writer Kevin Kaiser: "Like most things worth doing, writing is an act of the will that's initially set in motion by the nudge of inspiration. The rest is hard work."
An act of will initially nudged by inspiration. Later on...?
The revision process, much less scary than it once was, will be interesting.
Sigh.
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I've published a list of October releases for Tampa Bay area authors over at the Tampa Bay Writing Examiner. "Bay Book Buzz" will be a regular monthly feature. Going forward, it will be published much closer to the beginning of each month.
No real topic today so I thought I'd share a few things that shouldn't wait until this weekend's tidbits. Like a book wars update.
Target has joined the book price wars. $8.99 on some pre-ordered titles. Read more here.
Even Sears is getting in on this war. Sears.com is offering consumers online credit toward future purchases for selected titles purchased at their own site, or Amazon, Wal-mart or Target.
I've updated by book reviews in the left sidebar, as well as my Shelfari bookshelf.
I was informed that my blog ranked 107 for Literature blogs on Wikio, a UK blog tracking site. Cool. Got the widget over in the right sidebar.
Also, in the right sidebar, now have the widget that makes it easy for readers to retweet my posts.
Last Friday, I went to my PO box and discovered a cache of books. Usually I'm excited by this, but I was a bit dismayed. Seems I signed up for more book features than I realized, so the handful of book features through the end of the year is now a handful plus a few more fingers.
Did absolutely no writing over the weekend. Felt great. The family had a little getaway in conjunction with a basketball exposure camp for Oldest One. Change of scenery was energizing and much needed, but I'm back at the keyboard this week.
Earlier this year, I signed up for the 2009 Muse Online Conference. It was last week. Missed it. Again, don't feel an ounce of bad. I have access to the workshops and will download the materials. My focus was on writing, not learning about writing, not last week. Sometimes it has to be that way. I've already signed up for the 2010 conference. Next year, I plan to be ready for the online pitches to agents and editors.
My friend, Dee Stewart, is hosting a short story contest for December issue of Christian Fiction Online Magazine on the Multicultural Fiction page. Her goal is "showcase the many manifestations of God across cultural lines and worldviews for the good of Christ". 5 to 10 short stories (as little as 250 words but no longer than 8-10 double spaced pages in 12 pt font) will be featured. Submit your short story to Dee as inline text or in Google Docs to deegospelpr at gmail dot com. The submission deadline is October 28, 2009.
Price Wars! Walmart.com and Amazon.com are battling for hardcover book readers. Both have dropped the price on their top-10 preorder titles to $9. And Walmart is offering deep discounts on their top 200 titles.
NovelJourney, a writing blog that features author interviews, will sponsor a year-long writing contest in 2010, the NovelJourney Fifteen Minutes of Fame Contest. It's for unpublished writers in categories including historical fiction, contemporary fiction, suspense, YA, romance, and science fiction/fantasy. A winning author will be featured on the blog each month, and the grand prize will be submitted to a panel of agents and editors.
Want to know what readers really think, and whether they'd turn the page? Try the no-holds-barred reader voting at Flogging the Quill, led by author Ray Rhamey. You submit 16 lines. Readers of the blog get to vote as to whether they'd turn the page, and Rhamey gives you a mini-critique. Really, aren't the first 16 lines of a story enough to tell you if you want to read on?
Don't think the traditional publishers aren't trying to figure out a new business model, or rather cash in on an existing but largely pooh-poohed slice of the old one. Just this week I learned that two Christian publishers, Thomas Nelson and B&H Publishing, offer self-publishing services, via Westbow Press and Crossbooks, respectively.
I can tell you this last announcement has kicked off a maelstrom of comment from Christian writers. In the case of Thomas Nelson, the imprint was previously a traditional imprint, leaving a host of authors previously published under that imprint a bit peeved. (My thoughts? Potentially higher quality self-published fiction with better distribution. Positioning traditional houses with an inside track to signing new authors who do well? Maybe, but probably not as much as might be implied.)
There's been so much discussion of reader preferences, traditional book vs. ebook. But, until now I've never seen anything about whether e-reading might actually be bad for us. Check out this NY Times article, "Does the Brain Like E-books?". I found Maryanne Wolf's perspective about the development of reading circuits and levels of reading particularly interesting.
Author Cindi Myers has moved her newsletter to a new blog. She gives the best publisher spotlights and market information.
Yes, even after my "rant", I'm still doing book features. For now. One yesterday and one today. Two more this month, and a handful through the end of the year. Then I'll decide how to proceed into 2010.
Until then, let me share another book that was a good read, Kathy Herman's The Last Word.
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It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Audra Jennings of The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Best-selling suspense novelist Kathy Herman has written fourteen novels, including CBA bestsellers The Real Enemy, Tested by Fire and All Things Hidden, since retiring from her family’s Christian bookstore business. Kathy and her husband, Paul, have three grown children and five grandchildren and live in Tyler, Texas.
List Price: $14.99
Format: Paperback
Number of Pages: 340
Vendor: David C. Cook (2009)
ISBN: 143476785X
ISBN-13: 9781434767851
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Police Chief Brill Jessup pored over the department’s budget for the rest of the fiscal year and couldn’t see any way she could afford to hire another patrol officer without going to the city council. She sighed. The last time she asked those tightwads for additional funds she practically had to beg.
A strange noise interrupted her thoughts. She peered through the blinds on the glass wall into the bustling detective bureau and listened intently. There it was again.
A burly man appeared in the doorway. He bumped off either side, then staggered into her office. Facedown. Hands dripping with blood, clutching his abdomen.
“What in the world …?” She jumped to her feet, frozen in place.
Detective Sean O’Toole looked up and stretched out his hand toward her, his eyes screaming with pain. He collapsed in front of her desk and hit the floor.
“Officer down!” she shouted. “I need an ambulance—now!”
She hurried around the side of her desk, grabbed the clean hand towel next to the coffeepot, and got down on her knees. She laid the towel over the bloody wound and applied pressure.
“Sean, talk to me. What happened?”
The detective’s face was ashen. “He c-came from behind … put me in a choke hold … stuck a knife in my gut … said he was coming after you—to f-finish the job.”
“You never saw his face?”
“No. Hairy arms. White guy. Navy blue short sleeves. Smelled like c-cigarettes. Deep voice.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Hallway. Watercooler.”
Sean moaned, his face pallid and contorted with pain, his eyes slits of icy blue.
“Come on, Sean, stay with me.”
Detective Captain Trent Norris burst into her office. “I’ll take it from here, Chief.”
“How did he get from the watercooler to my office without someone in the DB seeing he needed help?”
“I guess we were all focused on other things. It’s been crazy.”
Trent got down on the floor and swapped places with her, his palms pressed over the wound. “Hang in there, buddy. The paramedics are just down the block. They’ll be here any second. You’re going to be fine. Stay with me. Talk to me.”
Brill sprang to her feet and hurried over to the officers who crowded outside her door. “O’Toole was just stabbed by some lowlife who snuck up behind him at the water cooler. We’re looking for a white man wearing a short-sleeve, navy blue shirt, possibly bloodstained.”
She locked gazes with Sean’s partner. “Detective Rousseaux, secure the scene and make sure it’s not compromised.
“Captain Dickson, lock down the building and search every corner of every room.
“Sergeant Chavez, set up a containment for two blocks around the building.
“Sergeant Huntman, clear the route to St. Luke’s and make sure we have officers in radio cars ready to escort the ambulance. Come on, people, move it!”
The officers scrambled in all directions, and she ran out to the restroom.
She tore off paper towels until she had a stack, folded them in half and held them under the faucet, then pressed out the excess water and rushed back to her office.
She got on her knees and gently pressed the wet towels onto Sean’s forehead, all too aware he was sweating profusely and still bleeding despite the pressure Trent was keeping on the wound. “We need something to elevate his legs.”
She went over to the bookshelf and grabbed several thick books and put them under Sean’s feet, hoping he wouldn’t die of shock before the paramedics arrived.
Lord, don’t take him now. He’s young. He’s got a wife and three kids.
“Come on, buddy, talk to me.” Trent patted Sean’s cheeks. “What else do you remember about this creep?”
“Tell Jessica I love her. The kids, too. Promise me.”
“You’re not going to die,” Trent said. “The bleeding’s slowing down. Talk to me, Sean. We want whoever did this to you.”
“He’s coming after the chief. Going to kill her.”
“Who’s going to kill her?” Trent’s dark eyes shot Brill a glance. “Give us something else. You’re too sharp of a detective to have missed anything.”
“Had a mark. Top of right hand.”
“What kind of mark?”
“A tattoo. Or b-birthmark. Size of a quarter.”
Brill heard voices and heavy footsteps in the DB, and seconds later two paramedics glided through the door and asked her to stand aside with Trent.
She observed in disbelief as the pair worked to save her detective’s life, heartsick that she might have to tell his wife and children he’d been murdered on her watch—and just feet away from armed police officers.
She started to brush the hair out of her eyes and realized her hands were bloody. She shuddered with the realization that whoever thrust a knife into Sean O’Toole had threatened to finish the job when he got to her.
~~~~~~~~~
Five hours later Brill sat at the conference table in her office with Detective Captain Trent Norris, Detective Beau Jack Rousseaux, Patrol Captain Pate Dickson, and Sheriff Sam Parker trying to assess where they were in the case.
“It’s a miracle Sean made it through surgery.” Brill looked from man to man. “We could be sitting here planning his funeral.”
“He’s too stubborn to die,” Beau Jack said.
“Stubborn’s no match for a knife blade, Detective. I want this animal locked up.”
“Don’t forget he threatened to come after you,” Trent said.
“How’d he get in here, anyway?”
Pate’s face turned pink. “One of my sergeants, Tiller, reported that a white man dressed in navy blue coveralls with the Miller’s Air Conditioning logo on the pocket was standing outside the door when he arrived this morning. The guy said he was here to fix the AC. He had a toolbox and a big smile. Dark hair and mustache. Big guy. Looked fifty to fifty-five.”
“So the sergeant just keyed in the combination and let him in without checking with maintenance?” Beau Jack said. “Real smart move.”
Pate stroked his chin. “Come on, Miller’s service people are in here all the time. The sergeant let down his guard. We’ve all done it.”
“Yeah, well, my partner nearly died because Sergeant Tiller let down his guard.”
“What’s done is done,” Brill said. “It’s not like we have a precedent for this kind of thing in the Sophie Trace PD.”
Beau Jack stuck a Tootsie Pop in his mouth. “I guess we do now.”
“We definitely need to tighten security,” Trent said. “Since we have no idea who this guy is, everyone we bring into the DB to be interviewed will be suspect.”
“I can’t spend the rest of my life in fear of this nutcase coming after me,” Brill said. “I have a job to do. Trent, you take charge of tightening security. All of us need to heighten our awareness of our surroundings. Anything or anyone that doesn’t feel right, check it out.”
Sam’s white eyebrows came together. “I can’t believe y’all were that trusting. My deputies would never let unauthorized individuals into a secured area. They’re trained to follow protocol.”
“So are my officers.” Brill forced herself not to sound defensive.
“But those of you in the county sheriff’s department deal with a broader range of criminals. Until now, the Sophie Trace PD had no reason to fear an officer being attacked in a secured area.”
“I’ll cover it in each briefing,” Trent said. “From this day forward, no one gets in the secured area until he has clearance. I don’t care how inconvenient it is to check him out.”
Brill looked over at Pate. “Tell me about your search of the building.”
“No evidence was found in the building, ma’am. My officers searched every nook and cranny and checked the sinks for hair and blood. Doesn’t appear the attacker stopped to clean up.”
“How’d Chavez do with the containment?” she said.
“He contained a two-block area around city hall, checked license plates, and talked with pedestrians. That yielded one female witness who passed the suspect on the sidewalk around 10:45—just after O’Toole was stabbed. The suspect was headed down First Street at a pretty good clip. Our witness says he was overweight, average height, dressed in navy blue coveralls and a black windbreaker and carrying a gray toolbox. She said he was wearing sunglasses and did not have a mustache. She’s working with Tiller and our sketch artist. We ought to have something soon.”
“Did she see which way he went?” Trent said.
Pate shook his head. “Once he passed her, she didn’t give him a second thought until Chavez questioned her.”
“Well,” Brill said, “I’m eager to see the sketch. If this man has threatened to come after me, I’d sure like to see if I recognize him.”
~~~~~~~~~
A short time later, Brill sat at her desk and studied the artist’s sketch of the man who stabbed Sean O’Toole. Sergeant Tiller was the only one who saw the suspect’s eyes, and the female witness was the
only one who saw his mouth without the mustache. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to the face or even explain what it was about him that looked familiar.
Her cell phone vibrated, and she read the display screen.
“There you are,” she said. “I guess you got my message?”
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” Kurt Jessup said. “I’ve been following the news. I’m glad Sean pulled through. Must’ve been horrible for you.”
“I thought we were going to lose him.”
She told Kurt everything that had happened from the time Sean O’Toole staggered into her office until the paramedics took him to St. Luke’s in an ambulance—except that the assailant told O’Toole he was coming after her to “finish the job.” Why get into that over the phone?
“Sounds intense. You must be emotionally drained.”
“I don’t think it’s caught up with me yet. It was surreal washing Sean’s blood off my hands, and I had to throw away my uniform shirt. Beau Jack lent me the extra shirt he had in his locker so Emily wouldn’t have to see the mess. Does she know about the stabbing?”
“Yes, but I made sure she’s not planted in front of the TV, listening to the gory details. It’ll just trigger thoughts of the hostage ordeal, and we both know she’s not over it.”
Are any of us? Brill glanced up at the clock. “I’ll be home in forty-five minutes. Is Vanessa there yet? I can hardly wait to see her.”
“She’ll be here between seven and eight. Said not to plan on her for dinner.”
“By the time I get home, it’ll be too late to cook anything,” Brill said. “And you know what Friday night is like. If we go out, we’ll have to wait forever, and I don’t want Vanessa to come home to an empty house.”
“I’ve got it covered, honey. I bought a baked chicken and a quart of potato salad at the grocery store. We’ve got stuff here for a green salad. That should work.”
“What would I do without you?”
Kurt laughed. “I have no idea.”
“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Brill hung up the phone and looked out the window. Through the leafy trees and beyond the ridges of hazy green foothills, the blue gray silhouette of the Great Smoky Mountains dominated the early evening sky. She sat for a moment and just enjoyed the beauty and the calm.
Lord, thank You for letting Sean pull through.
Her office phone rang, and she picked it up. “Yes, LaTeesha.”
“Captain Donovan from the Memphis PD is on line one for you.”
“Thanks.” She pushed the blinking button. “Hello, John.”
“Hey. It’s great to hear your voice. Saw you on the news last fall. I figured you’d make a name for yourself, but I didn’t think you’d go to such extreme measures.”
She smiled. “Things got pretty crazy, all right. So are you enjoying my old office?”
“Not today. I’ve got bad news … Zack Rogers was stabbed night before last. Happened in his driveway. Some worthless piece of garbage came up behind him and stuck a knife in his gut, and said to tell District Attorney Cromwell he was coming after him. I didn’t call you because the doc said Zack was going to be all right. But his heart gave out …”—John’s voice cracked—“an hour ago. No one saw it coming. His kids are still in high school, and with their mother dead … well, it’s a tragic loss. I knew you’d want to know since you and Zack were partners for so long.”
Brill felt a wave of nausea sweep over her, a decade of memories flashing through her mind in an instant.
“The thing is,” John said, “we knew Zack was being targeted because one of my detectives was stabbed last week, and the perp told him he was coming after Zack. We offered Zack protection, but you know how independent he was—bound and determined he could take care of himself.”
Brill’s heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. “John, one of my detectives was stabbed today just outside the detective bureau. The attacker told him he was coming after me, to finish the job. This can’t be a coincidence.”
There was a long moment of dead air, and she figured John was processing the implications.
“You and Zack helped put away lots of perps, Brill. And Jason Cromwell was district attorney during the time you two were partners. Did anybody ever threaten you?”
“Are you kidding? All the time. We blew it off.”
“Well, looks like one of them was dead serious. Anybody in particular stand out?”
“Sure, Bart and Sampson Rhodes. But they’re lifers and not eligible for parole. Zack and I busted them what, nine or ten years ago? If they had been serious about taking us out, they could’ve snapped their fingers and gotten it done in nine or ten minutes.”
“Maybe they’re patient,”
“Or maybe this is someone else,” Brill said. “Someone who was forced to wait a long time for the chance to get even—someone who served out his sentence. Someone who wouldn’t think of hiring a hit man, but rather delights in the systematic elimination of the people who put him away. Someone who enhances his enjoyment by first stabbing a person who is close to the intended victim and making sure that person lives long enough to tell the intended victim that he or she is next.”
“You’ve worked with the FBI profilers so long you actually sound like one.”
A very suspenseful read, The Last Word weaves two strong plots into one. Police Chief Brill Jessup must determine who is the serial attacker threatening her and her department. At the same time, she must help her daughter Vanessa come to terms with an unexpected pregnancy by one of a college professor. I liked the daily interludes at Nick's Diner where the Jessup neighbors and community members sort of reviewed the unfolding events, but it also seemed the story might have been more gripping--and shorter--without them. Still, I would recommend The Last Word.
This book was provided to me free of charge for review purposes by The B&B Media Group.
I'm not a huge fan of historical fiction, but every now and then I come across one that is fun and touching as well as truly educational. That Certain Spark is that type of historical romance.
Twin doctors Taylor and Enoch Bestman arrive in small town Gooding, Texas prepared to serve as the small town's physician and veterinarian respectively. Despite a lack of deceit or guile by the twins, the town is surprised to discover that Dr. Taylor Bestman is a woman. Immediately a portion of the men, and their families, not only refuse to accept a female doctor, but attempt to get rid of her. Except as case after case unfolds, Dr. Bestman shows that she's the best woman for the job, beginning with saving the life of Karl Van der Vort, a blacksmith and influential figure in the town.
Cathy Marie Hake weaves a sweet tale that illuminates the trials women underwent as they stepped into male-dominated professions in the early 1900's, trials not unlike those many women even today have experienced in some form. The romance that develops between Taylor and Karl comes as a surprise to them both, making it that much more delicious for the reader. Hake imbues her characters with a strong and abiding faith to carry them through their trials, and like a good author of historical romances, uses those trials to educate readers about life and circumstances in that time. That Certain Spark is an enjoyable read.
Note: This book was provided to me by Bethany House Publishers for review purposes. My review is posted both here and at Amazon.com.
Agent Nathan Bransford is running a first paragraph contest over on his blog. No, I'm not entering. But you should, if you want. Deadline is tomorrow.
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So I started a bit of rant yesterday about book blogging and how it has changed over the past three years. This is part 2, and it's long but I don't want to take up a third day with this. Continuing on...
Book bloggers blog about books they 1) buy or borrow themselves, 2) get by way of book blogging tours, or 3) feature because of personal requests/invitations from authors or others.
Book tour coordinators began by offering their services for free to authors who increasingly have responsibility for promoting their work. As this service has blossomed, however, it's no longer clear which book blog tour coordinators are still offering their services as volunteers, and which are getting paid.
I imagine communicating with the authors, publicists, and publishers, coordinating all those book distributions, managing the tour calendars, and creating tour content is a lot of work. Still, it would be nice to know, if which coordinators are receiving remuneration of any amount, and who is paying them? I do know of at least one who charges for her services, and I participate in some of her tours.)
Now too, publicists and publishers have jumped into the mix, creating their own blog tours. These days I get blog tour invitations directly from media types as well as publishing houses. This creates a huge amount of overlap in the offerings.
The beauty of book blog tours is that I get to pick which free reads I want. The downside? With publishers getting directly involved, they are now requiring book reviews, and not just on the reviewer's blog. They want reviews posted to a commercial site, like Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
Of course, this makes perfect sense. The point of book blogging is to generate sales. But telling one's blogging friends, family and acquaintances is no longer enough. Some publishers withhold any future books until they verify the review on one of these sites for the last book sent. Is this a fair trade for a free book? Maybe. I'm not so sure.
In addition, publishers are even requiring specific verbiage like "Available October 2009 at..." This, to me, removes any remaining morsel of a personal endorsement, turning book blogging thing into pure advertising.
Except the book bloggers aren't getting paid.
A few publishers offer live author chats and free online reads beyond the offered review books. That's nice if those things appeal to you. Me? Maybe the online reads, something I can enjoy at my leisure. I don't have time for author chats for every book I read.
Perhaps I was fooling myself all along. I didn't mind featuring books because I love to read. LOVE it! I read over 100 books a year. Every year. I'd go broke buying all those books.
But I have started to feel uncomfortable, given the pressure to review books for a set tour calendar, about the amount of time devoted to reading and reviewing these books. Reading is my escape. But that means I want my book reading to be fairly unencumbered.
Another downside of book blogging is that it takes away from the second part of my mission here. Talking about my writing. With increasing volume, there were times when I offered book features four out of five posts a week. Every now and then, I have to consciously pull back, as I'm doing now by not featuring any books in November and December beyond a handful--five fingers--of previous commitments. Less on books, more on writing.
A very wise woman, my mother, always told me, "You don't get something for nothing." How right she is!
Most recently, there have been two other kinks in the book blogging experience. First, there has been some confusion about book giveaways. It seems these giveaways are considered sweepstakes, a la Publishers Clearing House, and therefore are governed by laws that differ by state. They may, in fact, be illegal in some. The jury is still out as to how book bloggers will deal with this. Many are simply confused. (Book bloggers, you can't require any type of purchase--don't ask for receipts--in order to be entered in the giveaway, and restrict your giveaway to U.S. residents only to simplify things.)
The problem with all these rules and regulations--the pressure to include a review of any sort along with advertising plugs, and the notion of declaring the price of these books as income--is that they take all of the FUN out of reading.
I'm not against change, or even these specific changes. As with most things that start organically, eventually enough people get involved that someone figures out a financial angle, thereby causing rules to be established. It's kind of like a stickball game out on the block that gets too big and becomes an organized league with uniforms, equipment and referees. Same game, but different.
I'm not sure what my book blogging future holds. I'll think about that during my self-imposed hiatus. Perhaps I'll continue book blogging in a much, much more selective manner. I probably won't do too many giveaways, not wanting to skirt any laws with which I'm unfamiliar and don't care to take time to better understand right now.
I still want to promote books that I enjoy. Maybe I'll just go back to highlighting books that I purchase or borrow from the library.
I've had swirling thoughts about book blogging for months now. I was going to wait until they coalesced, but the recent FTC ruling has kind of forced my hand.
My overarching question is what has happened to book blogging? (Warning: This is going to be a long post, a bit of a rant, so I've broken it into two pieces, today and tomorrow.)
When I look back over the last few years, book blogging has undergone lots of changes, some of them not so good.
Three, almost four years ago, when I started blogging, I featured books I'd purchased or borrowed from my local library and enjoyed. If I enjoyed a particular story, I figured others might too and I wanted to share my thoughts. I might reach out to an author for an interview, excited for a chance to speak to her in exchange for a free promotional opportunity.
Then, fledging book blogger organizations--and I hate to call them that, since most are "organized" by a single person simply for the love of books and a desire to help authors get the word out--sprung up. They offered free books in exchange for blog features, with or without a review.
Seemed like a fair trade. I chose the books I was interested in, the feature date and the blog content. Whether or not to post a review was my choice. I tried to read every book before the post, but often times books didn't arrive prior to the scheduled feature date, and I've always made a point of saying whether I've actually read a book in my book features. I read 90+% of the books I feature.
Sometimes, unfortunately, I just didn't care for a particular book. If I couldn't find anything good to say--an extremely rare event--I didn't review the book. Critiquing and reviewing are very different animals, in my opinion.
But then, I decided this position was a bit disingenuous. (On this point, I happen to agree with the FTC. Featuring a book on one's blog is tantamount to an endorsement.) So I became more selective about which books I would feature.
I have a soft spot for debut authors. I look for authors I've heard positive buzz about that I haven't read before, even if it's a genre I don't typically read. Finally, I have my favorites, and if you've been around my blog for a while, you know who some of them are: Francis Ray, Bettye Griffin, Camy Tang, Gwyneth Bolton, Cheryl Wyatt, Victoria Christopher Murray, Rachel Hauck, Claudia Mair Burney, Shelley Adina... The list goes on. Too many to name (and hope no one takes offense).
I also made it a point of stating if I were friendly with the author, as my circle of writer friends is growing.
So, when I featured a book, you pretty much knew 1) that I probably read it and 2) that I liked it to some degree, some more and some less.
Then, several years ago, book blogging organizations began coordinating the tour dates so there would be a big hit for the book in the blogosphere on a single day, or few selected days. They also began providing the post content, to which I typically addded a few lines of my own, by way of introduction, in order to personalize the feature.
But, somewhere along the line, book blogging started going "high tech". Sophisticated. Where there were one, maybe two, people coordinating book blogs, there were now several. The same book frequently showed up on multiple tour calendars. I started keeping a blog calendar in order to keep straight which books I'm featuring on what days for which organization. Before I knew it, I was posting book features every other day, sometimes four out of five days in a week.
I was uncomfortable with this direction. Not exactly what I wanted for my blog so I scaled back. But I'm such a bibliophile, the volume creeps up again and again, as it has in recent months. Another pruning is in order.
Still, book blogging has mostly been fun. Now, with some recent developments, not as much.
Tomorrow, "When Book Blogging Was Fun, Part II".
How has book blogging changed for you? What do you think about the recent changes?
I frequently reference Gone with the Wind and Little Women as two of my favorite reads from when I was young. I read both books many times, and if I could find the time, would readily curl up with either one today.
But I just learned that another favorite book, one that spawned a long writing career for its author, is celebrating the 30th anniversary of its release, A Woman of Substance by Barbara Taylor Bradford.
I loved this story. I read it over and over again. At the time, I was working as a sales clerk/cashier at the local Woolworths department store after school. Between school and work, I didn't have much time for trips to the library, and buying books was outside of my budget. My wages went to things for school and materials for the clothes I sewed for myself. But part of my responsibility was to tear the covers off the mass market paperbacks that were not going to be sold. The covers were sent back to the publishers as returns. I suppose the books were supposed to be destroyed, but they generally were boxed up and put out with the trash.
The manager caught me reading a coverless book during my lunch break one day and told me I could take whatever I wanted, since they were being discarded anyway. Knowing absolutely nothing about the publishing industry and how returns worked--and caring even less at that time--all I could think was about my newfound windfall of books. Woo-hoo! Every week I had a pile of new books to take home. One of the books I acquired this way was A Woman of Substance.
Determined to rise above all that she has ever known, a young and impoverished Emma Harte embarks on a journey first of survival, then of unimaginable achievement. Driven to succeed, the iron-willed Emma parlays a small shop into the world's greatest department store and an international business empire: Harte Enterprises.
Unhappily married twice, loving only the one man she can never marry, personal happiness eludes her. Harte Enterprises, the realization of her grand dreams, is her all: her heart, her soul, her life. When those closest to her threaten to destroy her empire through their greed and envy, Emma brilliantly outwits her enemies. She wreaks her devastating revenge on those who would betray her in a way only she knows how.
I loved Emma Harte. To me, she was like an updated version of Scarlett O'Hara. Determined and strong, she did what she had to do to survive, all the while looking for love and protection. I connected with Emma because, at the time, I was working hard to earn scholarships so I could go to college, the only chance I had to pay for my continued education. I knew whatever I accomplished would come through hard work and determination, as it did for Emma. Emma was inspirational. I remember that one of the then soap opera stars from General Hospital starred in a Made-for-TV version of the book. The movie was okay; the book was much better.
If I were starting my own list of "classics", which would be filled with as much commercial as literary fiction, Barbara Taylor Bradford's A Woman of Substance would definitely be on that list.
Do you have a favorite romance or women's fiction book from your teens that you would consider a classic? What connected you to that story?
This was a great writing week. I've written every day so far since last Sunday. More than 11k words.
Feels good. No, make that feels great! I wrote even on the days when I had to talk myself into sitting down in front of the laptop. But within minutes, I was always glad that I did.
Ever year, Harlequin conducts a survey based on a theme for its annual Romance Report. This year's theme is Temptation. Participate in the 2010 report survey here.
I scheduled this book for later in the month, unaware of the actual release date. Those first week sales are so important for authors, just like for movies, so I moved it up on my blog calendar. I'm reading it now and when I finish later today, I'll update this post with a review (See my review below.)
In the meantime, let me reacquaint you with author, Cara Putnam. When Cara's debut Love Inspired Suspense novel, Double Exposure, released, she blessed me with a guest post on writing inspirational romantic suspense. Now Cara's back with her second LI novel, Trial By Fire. This time I figured I'd have Cara answer a few specific questions:
Cara, how did you choose your genre, romantic suspense?
I have loved romantic suspense since I discovered Mary Higgins Clark’s books while a teenager. I still enjoy reading her books. At that time, though, Christian publishers weren’t publishing anything remotely suspenseful. However, a few years later — okay, more like ten — when the dream of writing resurrected, Christian publishing had changed dramatically. Awesome writers like Colleen Coble, Brandilyn Collins, Dee Henderson and Wanda Dyson had created a new sub-genre — one that I could see myself writing. When I first plotted that first novel, there was no question it would be romantic suspense. I’ve also been blessed to write World War Two romance, and am excited that my next project will be a World War Two Romantic Suspense that ties together my two loves.
What themes tend to show up in your stories?
A key theme is that God never leaves us or forsakes us. Even when it looks like our dreams have died or that He can’t be found, if we look hard enough, we can always find Him. And as I look at the eight novels I’ve written, even though the characters and situations are very different, the ending theme always seems to circle back to that.
That's an important one, and oh, so true. What would you like readers to take away from this particular book, Trial By Fire?
That we can trust God with the horrible events in our lives and trust Him to bring the right balance of justice and mercy. When left to the way we would like things to turn out, we rarely get that balance right. Yet the Bible is clear that we are to seek justice AND mercy. Mercy is such a God-quality that I know I can’t do that in my own strength. It’s something that can only come from turning a situation over entirely to Him.
I certainly agree. Balance is something we must seek in all aspects of life. Let's talk about balance in the writing life. What's the most unexpected thing about life after publication you've found?
That’s a great question, Patricia. For me, the biggest surprise has been the challenge of juggling conflicting deadlines since I work with different publishers. Even when I think I’ve planned for every contingency, something unexpected comes up or a house moves faster through a level of edits than they anticipated. That can be a good thing because it means the writing was clean, but can really mess up an already tight schedule.
And it's not like you don't already have a life that's bursting at the seams!
In your bio, you refer to yourself as "attorney, wife, mom, women's ministry leader, and all around crazy woman", not to mention serving as the membership officer for American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and as adviser to the Indiana chapter. What's something that readers would be surprised to know about you?
That I have to fight not to be a gymnastics mom. Seriously. My oldest daughter is in her second year of competition and loves gymnastics. But I have to be careful that she’s doing it because she loves the sport (which she does!) and not simply because I’m a frustrated gymnast who wishes I’d had the opportunities. And days like today are a challenge because she had her first injury last weekend and today was her first day back in the gym. I’m standing there watching her and biting my lip while trying not to give off a worried-vibe as she tries the skill that almost knocked her out a few days ago. Yikes!
I totally understand. I'm trying hard not to be a sports mom. No chance I'm a frustrated athlete, but still I want my kids to compete because they want to compete.
Publication is a different type of competition. What advice would you give to aspiring authors?
Join ACFW (http://www.acfw.com). Seriously. So much of what I have learned, the relationships I have made, and the friendships built are a direct result of that organization. I don’t think you and I would have met outside of ACFW. And my life is so much richer because of meeting and working with people like you!
As is mine. I wholeheartedly second that recommendation, even for writers who are not writing Christian fiction.
Thanks so much for having me, Patricia.
Thank you, Cara
ABOUT THE BOOK
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8 (NAS)
Can a deputy prosecuting attorney and a firefighter determine who’s starting fires that target her family while exploring a relationship together?
Her mother's house was first. Then her brother's. County prosecutor Tricia Jamison is sure she's next on the arsonist's list. But who is after her family? And why does every fire throw her in Noah Brust's path?
Noah can't forgive Tricia. Her failure to protect him on the stand the previous year meant his father's reputation was ruined. Yet every time the firefighter is near her, he's drawn to her again. The vulnerability she hides under her confident veneer surprises and moves him. Torn between Tricia's safety and his own bitterness, Noah belatedly remembers the first rule of firefighting: don't get burned.
Although I enjoyed Cara's first Love Inspired Suspense, Double Exposure, I enjoyed Trial by Fire much more. This story brings back the Lincoln, WI gang, this time focusing on deputy county attorney Tricia Jameson and fire fighter Noah Brust. While Tricia does what she can to help domestic violence victims, she harbors secrets from her past that hamper her ability to do so and threaten her future. Noah is trying to get past the guilt he feels over his father's death, and his inability to protect his father's reputation, the blame for which he lays squarely at Tricia's feet.
Cara does a fabulous job of weaving several significant storylines together. She brings Tricia and Noah together but a few loose ends remain, just enough for the reader to look forward to her next book while still feeling satisfied. One of the things I liked about Trial By Fire was that these characters were both strong in their faith yet struggling in their daily lives, just as many Christians do. No one ever said Christianity would be easy even if the reward is worth it. This type of tale gives people of faith encouragement to stay strong and continue in their Christian walk.
Today's feature is Stretch Marks by Kimberley Stuart. If you've ever given birth, or maybe had an unexpected growth spurt, the title along will catch your attention. My review is at the end of this post.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Kimberly Stuart holds degrees from St. Olaf College and the University of Iowa. After teaching Spanish and English as a second language in Chicago, Minneapolis, Costa Rica, and eastern Iowa, she took a huge increase in pay to be a full-time mom. She makes her home in Des Moines, Iowa, with her husband and three young children. She is also the author of Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch.
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition (September 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0781448921
ISBN-13: 978-0781448925
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Under the Weather
Mia's nose was stuck in her own armpit. Not a lot of glamour there, but she was working toward a higher purpose.
“Think of how your organs are thanking you for thinking of them, for being considerate enough to stretch them.” Delia's voice floated from the front of the room where, Mia knew without looking, she joined the class in a binding pose that could make most grown men cry like little girls.
Mia breathed an audible breath, collecting a healthy whiff of deodorant-infused sweat. In the nose, out the nose, throat relaxed. She closed her eyes, feeling the ends of her fingers beginning to slip out of the bind. Liver, pancreas, you're welcome, she thought and felt her stomach make an uncharacteristic lurch. The radiator kicked in beside where she stood, infusing heat and a bass hum to the room. Mia focused on an unmoving spot on the floor and not on the spandexed and heaving tush of the woman on the mat in front of her.
“And now using the muscles in your core, slooowly release and come back to mountain pose.” Delia manipulated her voice and cadence to stretch like honey. On any other day, her instructor's voice sounded like a lullaby to Mia, a quiet but persistent reminder to breathe deeply and recycle paper and plastic. Today, though, Mia felt an urge to ask Delia to speak up. She wanted concrete sounds, solid sounds; the feathery intonations landing lightly around the room made her insides itch. She pulled out of the bind and stood at the top of her mat, feet planted, palms outturned.
“Feel better yet?” Frankie whispered to Mia from the mat next to her.
Mia sighed. “Not yet.”
“Let's move into our warrior sequence.” Delia modeled the correct form on her lime-green mat and the class obediently followed suit.
Four poses later Mia hadn't shaken the bug she'd hoped was just an out-of-sorts feeling to be shed with a good workout. She felt elderly, cranky. Not even downward-facing dog had brought any relief. She lay on her back during the last minutes of class, trying to melt into the floor, be the floor. The spandexed woman was snoring. This final pose, savasana, was intended to provide participants final moments to recover, to be still and let their minds quiet before reentering the chaos of the outside world. Most yoga aficionados soaked up the pose. In Mia's class she'd spotted a plump, permed woman wearing a sweatshirt that declared in stark black print “I'm just here for the savasana.”
Today, though, Mia couldn't keep her eyes shut. She curled and flexed her toes, wishing Delia would crank up some Stones or Black Crowes instead of the Tibetan chimes lilting out of the stereo. Her impatience with a woman who freely quoted Mr. Rogers was beginning to worry her. Even in the hush of the room, her thoughts continued in an unruly spin, and when Delia brought everyone back to lotus, Mia glimpsed a scowl on her reflection in the mirror.
“Let's just enjoy the long, strong feeling of our bodies,” Delia said. Her eggplant yoga gear revealed taut muscles. “Our organs are thanking us for a good massage.”
Right. Organs. Mission accomplished, Mia thought, trying to concentrate on the gratitude her body owed her. But her mind crowded with images of bloody, squishy masses, pulsating or writhing in the way organs must do, and she found herself springing from her mat and bolting to the back of the studio. She threw open the door to the ladies' room and gripped the toilet bowl in a new pose, aptly christened “riotous and unexplained retching.” “Mia?” Frankie's voice was subdued, even though a postclass din was making its way through the restroom door.
Mia emerged from the stall. “I guess sun salutations weren't such a good idea.” She washed her face and hands at the sink, trying not to inhale too deeply the scent of eucalyptus rising from the soap. She watched her face in the mirror, noting the pale purple circles under eyes that persisted even with the extra sleep she'd indulged in that week. Mia smoothed her eyebrows with clammy fingers, taking care not to tug the small silver piercing, and glimpsed Frankie's concerned expression in the mirror. “Don't worry,” Mia said. “I feel much better now. Must just be a virus.”
Frankie handed over Mia's coat and a hemp bag proclaiming Save the Seals. “I'll walk you home. Let's stop at Gerry's store for soup and crackers.”
Mia made a face. “Crackers, yes. Soup, definitely not.”
Outside the studio weak February sunshine played hide-andseek with wispy cloud cover. Frankie planted her arm around Mia's waist.
Mia glanced at her friend. “I like the blue.”
Frankie turned her head to showcase the full effect. “Do you? I meant for it to be more baby blue, less sapphire, but I got distracted with this crazy woman on the Home Shopping Network and left the dye on too long.”
In the two years Mia had known her, Frankie had demonstrated a keen affection for adventurous hair coloring. Magenta (advent of spring), emerald green (popular in March), black and white stripes (reflecting doldrums after a breakup), now blue. The rainbow tendency endeared Frankie to Mia, who'd braved an extended though unsuccessful flirtation with dreadlocks during college, but otherwise had settled for a comparatively conformist 'do of patchouli-scented chestnut curls.
“How did this change go over with Frau Leiderhosen?”
Frankie whistled. “She loved it. In fact she wondered if we could have a girls' night out this weekend and take turns trading beauty secrets.”
Mia snorted, which was an unfortunate and unavoidable byproduct of her laughter. The snorts only encouraged Frankie.
“'But, Esteemed Employer,' I said, 'I can't possibly instruct the master! A mere mortal such as I? It'd be like a Chihuahua taking over the dressing room of J-Lo! Or Sophia Loren! Or Gisele Bundchen, a woman who shares with you, dear boss, an impressive German name and an uncanny sense of style!'”
“Stop it.” Mia clutched her stomach and groaned. “Yoga and laughter are off limits until further notification from my digestive tract.”
Frankie sighed. “I do feel sorry for her. I never should have shown up with a mousy blonde bob cut for the initial interview. I was so average librarian.” She shook her head as they slowed near Gerry's Grocery. “Only to turn on her the first week on the job.”
It had occurred to Mia more than once how much she could have benefited from a green-haired librarian in the small Nebraska town where she'd grown up. Not until she was well into adulthood did she realize that not all librarians were employed to scare children, like the dreaded circulation director at Cedar Ridge Municipal Branch with the spidery braid and hairy mole. Mia had cowered behind the legs of her father when he would stop in to check out an eight-track or the latest release by Louis L'Amour. The moled woman had snapped at Mia once when she'd fingered a book on a stand, announcing down her nose that the book of Mia's interest was for display only and could not be checked out. Never mind that Bird Calls of the Northeast had not exactly beckoned to eight-year-old Mia anyway, but the chastisement was enough to keep books at an arm's length for years. How different Mia's interest in reading could have been had a spitfire like Frankie been the one behind the desk! Frankie's supervisor, Ms. Nachtmusik, with her impossible surname that changed with each conversation, didn't know the gift Frankie was to her patrons.
“Hello, ladies.” Gerry looked over his glasses. He stopped pecking madly at a calculator on the front counter. “How are things with you?”
“Mia's sick, Gerry.” Frankie patted Mia on the head. “We need sick stuff.”
Gerry pushed back on his stool and stood. He clucked like an unusually tall occupant of a henhouse. “Sick, Miss Mia? Headache? Stomach? Fever?”
Mia shook her head. “Stomach, I guess. I think crackers will be enough.”
Gerry looked disgusted. “This is not your duty to decide. Miss Frankie and I will take care of the illness. Sit.” He pointed to his stool and waved at her impatiently when she didn't jump at his command. Gerry shuffled off, muttering about the tragedy of young people living in cities without their parents.
Mia slipped Frankie a rolled-up reusable shopping bag and whispered, “Make sure to steer him away from pesticides.” Frankie winked at Mia and skipped behind the man on his mission.
Mia greeted the next few patrons entering the store. She tried watching the game show on Gerry's small black-and-white, but she couldn't seem to follow the rules. I'll just lay my head here for a moment, she thought, pushing Gerry's calculator aside. “Oh, good heavenly gracious, we need to call an ambulance!” Gerry's words seeped like molasses through Mia's subconscious. She wondered who was injured and if it had anything to do with the impossible rules on that game show.
“Mia, honey, are you okay?” Frankie was tugging on her shoulder.
“Hmm?” Mia pulled her eyelids open into the glare of fluorescent lights. Her head was, indeed, on the front counter, but so was the rest of her body. She turned her head slowly to face Frankie, who had crouched down beside her and was inches from her face. “I'm lying on the conveyer belt.”
“Yes, yes, you are,” Frankie said while guiding Mia to a sitting position. She gauged her tone of voice to fit a three-year-old on Sudafed. “Gerry and I left to get some groceries and when we returned,” she enunciated, “you were lying on the counter.” She nodded up and down, up and down.
Mia shook her head. “I was really tired. I needed to sleep.” Her voice trailed off. She kept her hands on her face for a moment, fingers brushing past a stud in her right nostril and the ring in her eyebrow. Eyes open, she peeked through the cracks in her fingers. Behind Gerry, who was patting his pockets frantically for cigarettes that hadn't been there since he'd quit a decade before, stood his son, Adam. Mia tried running her fingers through her yoga-tangle of hair.
Adam cleared his throat and smiled.
Mia realized she'd dropped her hands and had commenced a creepy stare session. “Hi, Adam,” she said too loudly. “How are you?”
Adam bit his cheek in an attempt to take seriously a question coming from a woman sprawled next to a cash register. “I'm great, Mia. You?”
“Fantastic,” she said and swung her legs to the side of her perch. Gerry rushed forward to offer her his arm, Adam close behind. Mia held up her hands in protest. “I'm fine, really,” she said. “Just a little tired, apparently.” She walked slowly to the front door and turned to wave. “Thanks, Gerry. You're a great host. Adam, good to see you. Frankie, are you ready?” She opened the door without waiting for a response and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Gerry pushed away Frankie's twenty-dollar bill and handed her the sack of sick stuff as she fell in behind her friend. They walked five minutes in silence. Dusk was long gone, the sun having set early in the February evening. Mia was from the Midwest and didn't much mind Chicago winters; Frankie, however, hailed from Southern California and moaned every few steps as wind from the lake found its way through coats and mittens and headed straight for skin.
“I will never know why we have chosen this misery.” Frankie held Mia at the crook of her arm like a geriatric patient. Mia felt too exhausted to protest. At the foot of the stairs leading to her apartment building, she stopped. She watched a dapper older gentleman with mocha skin descend the steps and allow his eyes to fall on her.
“Hey, Silas,” she said.
“Evening, girls,” Silas said. He dropped his keys in the side pocket of his suit and tipped his hat, a soft brown fedora trimmed in striped black ribbon. He cocked his head slightly and narrowed his gaze at Mia. “Girl, you don't look so hot.” Silas furrowed his brow and looked at Frankie. “What's the story, Francesca?”
“We're not sure,” Frankie said. “But don't worry. I'm taking her straight upstairs before she can toss her cookies again.”
Silas took a nimble step back, sidestepping puddles in his retreat. “Honey, I'm sorry. Ain't no fun getting sick.”
“Thanks,” Mia said. She handed him a box of Lorna Doones from her stash of groceries. “Brought your favorites. Goodness knows I won't be needing a visit with Miss Lorna this evening,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the thought.
Silas clucked and shook his head. “Your mama raised you right, girl. I thank God for you, Mia, and I know my dear Bonnie is happy to look down from glory and see me so well taken care of.” He patted her gloved hand. “I couldn't ask for a better neighbor. You get better now, you hear?”
The girls took the steps slowly. When they reached the front door and waited for Mia to fish keys out of her bag, Frankie cleared her throat.
“So, um, what was that business at Gerry's all about?”
Mia shook her head. She dug deeper in her purse. “This is one bizarre virus. I don't even remember making the decision to go to sleep.”
“Yes, right. I didn't mean the counter episode. I meant the eye-lock with Gerry's son.”
“Found them,” Mia said and pushed her key into the lock. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Hair-fixing, googly-eye thing with Fig Leaf.” Mia tried to look disapproving. “You and your nicknames. I like the name Adam. I cringe to think of what you call me behind my back.” “Hmm,” Frankie said. “Today would be a toss-up between Vomitronica and Queen of Feigned Emotional Distancing.”
“I'm not feigning anything, for those of us who've read too much Jane Austen,” Mia said. She led the way into the lobby elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor. The door closed with a shudder and Mia shrugged. “It's really nothing.”
Frankie crossed her arms and positioned her finger above the emergency stop button.
“All right.” Mia sighed. “When I first moved to my apartment, I was momentarily single and also in need of a neighborhood grocery. I found Gerry's, and Adam was always there with his perfect smile and impeccable Persian manners.” She sighed and watched the numbers light up on their ascent.
“Oh, my gosh. This is so Rear Window.”
“Isn't that the one where the woman is paralyzed?”
“No,” Frankie said with labored patience. “That's An Affair to Remember. I'm hinting less at paralysis, more at love at first sight.”
Mia rolled her eyes as the elevator door opened. “I noticed him, he noticed me, we flirted, and then I was no longer single.” Mia stepped into the hallway. “It was nothing. Seriously. As you might remember, I'm happily in love with another man. End of story.” She led the way to her apartment door. “Sorry to disappoint. I was recovering from an episode, remember.”
“Exactly!” Frankie was triumphant. “Your defenses were down, you were caught off guard and didn't have time to censor what was and wasn't socially appropriate--”
“Shh. He might be home.” Mia paused at her apartment door and ignored Frankie's dramatic jab of her finger down her throat.
“That would be so unusual,” Frankie said, sotto voce. “You can't mean he would be eating your food and smashing organic potato chips under his rear as he watches Baywatch reruns on your couch?”
Mia called into the room, “Anybody here?”
Frankie muttered, “Because we wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else.”
Mia pinched Frankie's arm when she heard rustling in the living room. “Lars?”
He stepped into the entryway, blond hair tousled, mouth opened in a wide yawn. “Hey, babe,” he said around his yawn. “Hey, Frankie.”
“Hi, Lars,” Frankie said sweetly. Mia avoided eye contact with her friend and instead pulled her arms around Lars and gave him her cheek to kiss.
“Don't exchange any of my germs,” she said. “I think I'm sick.”
Lars stepped back, nudging Mia out of the embrace. “Really?” He wrinkled his nose. “Like puking sick?”
Mia unbuttoned her coat. Frankie tugged her friend's arms out of the sleeves and unwrapped her from a bulky crocheted scarf. “Like, totally puking sick,” she said, watching Lars for any recognition of her mocking tone. None detected, she rambled on. “She, like, ralphed after yoga and then at Gerry's she totally fell asleep under the scanner.”
Lars had turned and was heading for the fridge. Mia shot a pleading look at Frankie, who sighed and nodded a momentary truce.
“You should have called and told me you were going to the store. We're almost out of soy milk,” he said, nose in the fridge. “And I ate the last Carob Joy after lunch.”
Mia filled a glass with water. Lars had piled his dishes in the sink, and it occurred to her to thank him, as this was a marked improvement from finding them all over the apartment, crusty, molding, and sometimes neglected until they smelled of rot. Determined not to conjure up any more detail of those images and too tired to explain to Frankie later why dirty dishes piled in the sink was a step upward, she sipped her water and shuffled toward the bedroom.
“Thanks, Frankie, for taking care of me,” she said. “I owe you. But I can't think about it right now, okay?”
Frankie followed her into the bedroom. She turned the covers down as Mia undressed and placed a saucer of crackers on the bedside table. “You take care of yourself, do you hear me?” For a woman with blue hair, Frankie could command the maternal authority of Olivia Walton when summoned. “Call me tomorrow morning. Or before if you need me. Not that Lars isn't the nurturing, restorative type …”
Mia moaned. She lowered herself into bed and curled up into a fetal position.
“All right, all right.” Frankie spoke softly. She turned out the light. “Sleep well, Mimi.” She waited a moment for an answer from under the down comforter but Mia was already drifting toward sleep.
A gentle breeze wrapping around you, hinting with each touch of Christ's love. That's how I would describe Stretch Marks by Kimberly Stuart. This mother-daughter relationship story centers on Mia, the liberal, vegan, environmentally-aware daughter of Babs, a conservative, politically incorrect cruise ship activities director. Mia and Babs don't get along so well. Haven't for a long time. Now, Mia, whose relationship with live-in boyfriend, Lars, is unsure, finds herself pregnant. Then, Babs shows up for an extended visit.
Kimberly Stuart does an excellent job of documenting the twists and turns of a first, although rather uneventful, pregnancy. She tells the tale in such a way that those nine months just fly by. The fun and heart of the story lies is in the give-and-take between Mia and Babs. As they navigate Mia's pregnancy, they also cleanse and heal the wounds on their relationship.
The story's tone and pacing made me think of another heart-warming women's fiction story with traces of what might be called "chick-lit" that I read a couple of years back, Sandra Byrd's Let Them Eat Cake. Read them both. You'll enjoy them.
