The Lipstick Chronicles

Feasting Friday

 

By Elaine Viets

This Friday, I will celebrate a favorite holiday. Many Americans know it as Black Friday, possibly the biggest holiday shopping day of the year. They’ll line up in the cold to get buy bargains the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Not me. I’ll risk frostbite in my own home. You’ll find me in front of the open fridge, eating leftovers on Feasting Friday.

No matter how good Thanksgiving dinner is, the leftovers are even better the next day. A sandwich made from cold sliced turkey topped with cranberry sauce is worth celebrating. The flavor grows richer when I reheat giblet gravy and I can pick out the icky bits without being rude. Even cold lima beans in cheese sauce taste better the second time around, with the green limas embedded in the golden cheese like jewels.

I’ve learned to appreciate fine food. I like my veggies crisp, green and steamed most of the year. But at Thanksgiving, I long for mushy green beans in Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup with crispy canned onion rings on top.

I appreciate heart-healthy whole grain artisan bread. At Thanksgiving I stuff myself with pillowy Parker House rolls.

I eat clever mandarin orange and cranberry relishes the rest of the rest. At Thanksgiving, I like my cranberries out of the can.

And if there’s any pie left, I am doubly thankful on Feasting Friday. I slather leftover pumpkin pie with whipped cream like a porn star. Forget mincemeat pie. That’s raisins with a makeover.  

Thanksgiving with family and friends is fun. I like crowding around a table extended to the last leaf and loaded with mashed potato mountains with cascades of melted butter, sweet potatoes glazed with brown sugar, and roast turkey with crisp skin. Real turkey, not processed junk that tastes like warm Kleenex.

On Thanksgiving Day, surrounded by friends and family, I am grateful for what I have. The day after Thanksgiving, I give thanks that my loved ones are safely home.

On Feasting Friday, there’s no holiday in my heart. Now it’s a celebration in my stomach. I quietly open the ziplock bags and plastic containers to get to the meat of things.

I don’t have to worry about dropping Grandma’s wineglasses or chipping the heirloom china. They’ve been washed and put away. I can’t spill anything on the white tablecloth. It’s in the laundry.

By Saturday, that green bean casserole will taste like something scraped off the side of an aquarium. The carved-up turkey carcass will look like an escapee from an autopsy.

On Feasting Friday, I relax, enjoy and reflect. I give thanks for the friends who provided this feast and their generous gift of leftovers. I’m grateful I’m not standing in a checkout line. I eat and be merry, for tomorrow I will diet.

I also remember this important Feasting Friday nutrition fact: If you eat standing up, the calories slide off.

Happy Thanksgiving, TLCers. How will you celebrate Feasting Friday? What’s your favorite leftover?

Diary of a Candidate's Wife: Part One

By Sarah

Ladies, is your husband tired of doing housework? Does he find cleaning the gutters/laundering his own shorts/picking up after himself to be unnecessary chores that he'd rather YOU do?

Hey! He could be a candidate for public office. Here's how:

Last Friday, during a very pleasant meet and greet, my husband's campaign strategist let me know in no  uncertain terms that "soon," meaning, like, "now," Charlie shouldn't be expected to be home, much less help around the house.

I sat with a smile on my face and shot mental darts at luv buns. He looked like a kid who'd just handed the principal a note from his doctor forbidding the assigning of any homework due to stress.

I thought, We'll talk about this later. That is, if there's a later by November 2010.

Some background. Charlie is my husband (so far) of 20-21 years. A great guy, no doubt about it. Everybody loves Charlie. He can not make it from one end of State Street to the other without being stopped by someone (often of the female persuasion) who knows him from somewhere. 

This is largely because he's cute, but also because he's a veteran of state government working in Montpelier, Vermont's capital of 8,000 people. It's like one big fraternity when you're a state employee in this town. Everyone knows everyone.

For the past three years, he's been a lawyer in private practice, but several years ago he was an attorney for such exciting entities as the state tax department! The department of banking, insurance, securities and health care administration! (Areas so boring they kind of lumped them in one and then stuck them in a building farthest away from the statehouse.)

Because of all the years working with town clerks, especially during his tenure at the tax department, Charlie thought it would be a good idea to run as a Democrat for secretary of state after the current secretary of state, Deb Markowitz, who happens to be very popular, decided to run for governor like the other 50 percent of the population. (Including Sarah Stewart Taylor's husband, Matt Dunne.)

When consulted (briefly) on this, I concurred because I knew he would do it anyway and if I'd said, "Are you kidding? I don't want to be no politician's wife" he would have held it over my head. Anyone married understands these ground rules.

So, with all the enthusiasm I could muster, I said, "Sure, honey. Why not?" with the faint hope that he would lose interest. He didn't. In fact, he's the only declared Democratic candidate so far and he's been campaigning, sort of, since last spring. This summer, entire weekends were lost as he visited state fairs and it's only going to get worse.

Naturally, I had hoped for a campaign that would have minimal impact on MY life which is fast slipping away with the advance of middle age. I mean, he's not gunning for US Secretary of State, for heaven's sakes. Not like he'll be negotiating MidEast peace or anything.

In Vermont, this is the office that oversees elections and professional licensing and archives, like the  state Constitution, as if that's going anywhere. But hold on your hats, there's more adventure ahead - corporations file with the secretary of state as do notaries. You don't want those seals in the hands of just anyone, do you?

This is not like running for attorney general where you vow to stamp out fraud or governor where you promise to end unemployment. The sexiest issues that I can see in the secretary of state's race are whether voters should be allowed to register on election day and if blue or green should be used to color code UCC files.

Zzzzzz.

Until Friday's conversation, I'd hung my hope on Dr. Judy Steinberg. Judy is Howard Dean's wife and, like  him, a doctor. As a former reporter who once covered a lot of election crap, I can't remember seeing her once on the trail except for election day at a Burlington hotel. I was interviewing Howard (then running for reelection as governor which, in Vermont, they do constantly) when this mouse of a woman interrupted us to say she and the kids were going to call it a night. It was 8:30. It was election day. Geesh, move up the bedtime!

But now I regard Judy with admiration bordering on worship. All along I thought she was a pill for not supporting Howie. Now I understand that while Howard was running around the state, she was not only holding down the home fort, but she was holding down a tough job. Kind of like me who, you know, has a book due in January and another in September but, hey, don't worry. I'll be fine! 'Cause you know what they say, a woman's place is in the house...and the Senate!

The good news is that I saw Deb Markowitz the other day and asked her, as a mother and someone who's run in six statewide races, whether this was true, the idea that for a year the candidate receives a Get-Out-of-Housework card. Deb shot a glance at Charlie with whom she's worked closely for almost a decade. She's no dummy.

"Well," she said politely, "Maybe not a year, but three months. August. September. October."

Okay. But come November, his soul is mine. Mine! In the meantime, anyone who wants to donate to the Charlie Merriman for Secretary of State  Get Charlie Doing the Dishes Again campaign, can click here.  And from the bottom of my heart, thank you, because every fundraising call he doesn't have to make is one more leaf from my gutter.

Sarah

OPTIMISM VERSUS PESSIMISM

Optimism versus Pessimism

By Lisa Earle McLeod 

TLC is delighted to welcome guest author Lisa Earle McLeod.

The sunny-side-uppers claim that a positive attitude is the secret to success. If only all the Eeyores of the world would start thinking more positively, we could cure disease, create world peace, and line our pockets with riches.

Yet the self-proclaimed realists assert that they're the only ones are willing to face the facts. Leave life to the Pollyannas, and they'll skip us off the edge of a cliff, clutching copies of "The Secret" to their chests, passionately chanting, "I believe I can fly, I believe I can fly."

But which side is right?

The answer is both. Or neither, depending on whether you prefer your glass half-full or half-empty.

Any cynic will tell you, ill-informed optimism deludes people into ignoring reality. Yet doom and gloom pessimism sucks people into depression and inaction, neither of which are very helpful in bad situations.

The pessimism versus optimism debate is actually a false choice. It's an either/or myth, perpetuated by people who are completely exasperated that the clueless optimists/pessimists on the other side won't see the truth.

However, the real duality we need to embrace is facts AND faith.

As in, the facts may be pretty awful AND having faith that you will ultimately prevail is one of the best ways to insure that you do.

Originally cited by Jim Collins in the classic best-seller "Good to Great," the ability to simultaneously face the brutal facts of your current situation AND hold onto the faith that you will prevail is one of the hallmarks of a great leader, and it's the secret to surviving adversity.

The nuanced differences between the facts and faith duality, and pessimism vs. optimism debate, are important.

Facts are just that, facts. However, pessimism is a negative emotion that you attach to facts. Yes, your business might be going broke, or your disease might only have a 2 percent survival rate, or your 401(k) may be worth less than it was when you were 20. But those facts don't have to dictate your response. The ability to look clear-eyed at a situation doesn't mean succumbing to despair.

That's where faith comes in.

While optimism is usually connected to certain outcomes: I'll meet Mr. Right, I'll find a new job next week, I won't have to do any more chemo, faith is less scripted.

It can be faith in God, faith in yourself or just a general feeling that the world tilts toward the greater good. It's a belief that things eventually work out OK, even if the process is messy and you don't know what OK is going to look like.

I explore the facts and faith duality in my new book, "The Triangle of Truth," which comes out in January.

One of the things I uncovered in my research is that the ability to tolerate uncertainty is what separates the people who can survive difficult situations from those who are flattened by them.

Optimism and pessimism are both based on assumptions that things will play out in certain ways. Yet people who are able to tolerate the ambiguity of uncertain outcomes are able to assimilate facts AND faith at the same time.

Embracing ambiguity is hard for us humans. The optimists and the pessimists may seem sure of their perspectives, but the truth is, nobody knows for sure how life will play out.

We never did and we never will.

Lisa Earle McLeod is a syndicated columnist, author, and keynote speaker.  Her new book The Triangle of Truth:  The Surprisingly Simple Secret to Resolving Conflicts Large and Small will be released in January  - Learn more about Lisa at - www.TriangleofTruth.com

Side note from Kathy Sweeney:  Want to help some families facing the bad economic reality with some good old fashioned generosity?  If you've been following TLC, you know about Rachel Rothenberg and her victory in the Jeopardy Teen Tournament.  Rachel is donating 20% of her winnings to charity, and we at Team Rachel are helping raise more money for our local food bank by taking orders - this week only - for the shirts we designed to celebrate our champion. For details, please e-mail me at mksweeney@mac.com or check out Kathy Reschini Sweeney on Facebook.  THANKS!  (And thanks to Lisa for sharing this space today!)

Me -- a left-wing nutcase?

LC loves Lorna Barrett and her New York Times Bestselling Booktown Mystery Series. We like her as L. L. Bartlett, too, when she writes the Jeff Resnick Mystery series. But at least one reader doesn’t like her at all.

By Lorna Barrett

Last week I got a rather spiteful review on Amazon for my latest book. Okay, those of us in print should be used to lousy reviews--especially on Amazon.  

What is it about that particular online retailer that brings out the nastiness in readers? I suspect a good number of those venom-filled reviewers are frustrated writers who’ve been unable to see their work in print from a traditional publisher and want to take us down a peg. Although, to quote Dennis Miller, "That’s just my opinion, I could be wrong."

Still, what was wrong with my book that inspired this woman to leave a one-star review, commenting that my book has an incredibly weak plot full of talking points from liberal causes?

If she thinks my plot stinks – I can accept that. Goodness knows, I don’t have a PhD in plotting. But just what are these liberal causes of mine?

First off, food pantries. Heavens, what a radical concept! God forbid anyone should want to feed hungry children, the unemployed, the elderly, and the homeless. (And if you don’t believe the need exists, perhaps this recent report from The Washington Post will change your mind.) http://tinyurl.com/yahsvwl

And how about going green? Another extremist concept. Apparently, only liberal do-gooders see the point in refraining from polluting our planet, or to stop edible food (and its recyclable packaging) from ending up in the waste stream. Banishing plastic grocery bags for the reusable kind? Sheer heresy!

Gosh, ya think the FBI has a file on me? Gulp!

But let’s get back to that one star review. It’s apparently the only review she’s ever published on Amazon. (At least under that name.) If nothing else, my book brought out the passion in her. Sadly, that passion appears to be hatred, but if nothing else, I INSPIRED HER! After all, has she logged on to sing the praises of Sarah Palin’s Going Rogue? (Not as of today, at least.)

Okay: I write cozy mysteries. I also write psychological suspense under a different name, but that’s for another post. Apparently some readers (this woman among them?) think that "cozy" equals "full of fluff." And why is "murder" a perfectly acceptable subject, but helping hungry people and recycling are not? Perhaps some cozies are "light"--but they don’t have to be. And the better ones are like all good books: they make you think. Although sometimes I believe engaging brain and actually thinking is a lost art for some of our citizens, but that’s another rant.

So, what’s the name of this book of mine full of liberal thinking?

"Bookplate Special."

And by the way, it’ll debut today at #20 on the New York Times Bestsellers mass market paperback list. That pleases me, for if a lot of people read it, they might be inspired to recycle and/or donate to food pantries (they can really use it, especially at this time of year). Imagine the havoc that would cause!

I couldn’t be happier.

1-800-Evelyn David

Rhonda Dossett calls herself the "Southern half of Evelyn David." Rhonda lives in Oklahoma. Her writing partner, Marian Edelman Borden, lives in New York. Together, they’ve written two hilarious mystery novels – and never met. Today, they give TLC advice on the dog-eat-dog world of publishing.

By Rhonda Dossett   

We’re preaching to the choir when we observe that these are hard times in the publishing world. Mystery authors aren’t exempt from the "low-advance, cut the mid-list, it’s not quirky enough" syndrome that has embroiled the publishing world.

So what’s a self-respecting mystery duo to do? Look for a back-up day job.

And we’ve figured out our calling. We’re going to start a "Dear Evelyn," advice to the lovelorn column, because one thing that collaboration has taught us is the basics of a good relationship – be it marriage or partnership in murder and mayhem.

Science fiction writer Keith Laumer once wrote: "If you possibly can, write it yourself. Collaborations, like marriages, should only be undertaken if any alternative is unthinkable."

Evelyn David is the pen name of Marian Edelman Borden and Rhonda Dossett. We believe that collaborating is the only way that either of us wants to write mysteries. But we point out that we could offer a broader perspective for the lovelorn. To quickly bring you up to speed, Marian, a nonfiction writer with ten books to her credit, lives in New York.

Rhonda, the coal program director for the state of Oklahoma, lives in Muskogee. The standing joke is Marian wouldn’t know a coal mine if she fell down a shaft.

Now since only one of us (the Northern half) is married, that might suggest we shouldn’t take on the role of counselors of wedded bliss. The truth is that many of the reasons why our collaboration works are fundamentally the basics of a good marriage. There’s someone to share the joys, for sure, but as we all know, writing, like marriage, can be tough on the ego. Rejection is the norm, and collaboration means there is always someone to listen to the hyperbolic rants about the unfairness of who gets published and who doesn’t, as well as the heartfelt whispers when one of you has hit a brick wall and couldn’t compose a shopping list, let alone create a scene with dialogue.

Here’s what else we’ve learned about successful relationships.

Check the ego at the door

.

There are no diva moments in the Evelyn David world. Both of us write all characters, including the dog. That’s not to say that we don’t have our personal favorites of the core group that have appeared in both books. But we discuss each scene, then one of us says "I’ll start," and we’re off. The scene goes back and forth so many times that by the end of the book, we can’t tell who wrote what. And that’s the way it should be: it’s the voice of Evelyn David we want you to hear – not Marian and Rhonda. Can we agree that a marriage of two divas, or even one diva and one doormat, is a recipe for disaster?

Second, and maybe it should be first, we both have a similar, wicked, at times downright crazy, sense of humor.

In the writing business, even if you’re penning War and Peace, instead of cozy mysteries, you’ve got to be able to laugh at yourself, as well as at the vagaries of publishing. I think we all agree that humor is a major key to a successful marriage, or for that matter, surviving and thriving in life.

Finally, we have similar work ethics. Just do what needs to be done – and don’t worry about the credit or even if the work load, for that moment, is 50-50.

You’ve got to take the long view, that it all evens out in the end. We think it's fair to say that premise works in a good marriage too.

In this "dog eat dog" publishing world (and yes, there’s an adorable dog in our books), you’ve got to think outside the box and be ready with an alternative plan should the publishing world go south. So here we go! Today, here at Lipstick Chronicles, we're debuting our new sideline.

Got a relationship question? Need some advice on your love life? We'll provide the answers along with a mystery to read while you work it out. Call 1-800-Evelyn David. All major credit cards accepted.

　

Tell Me How It Ends!

Tell Me How it Ends!

By Kathy Sweeney, who can't stand suspense

Truth time.  How many of you have sneaked a peek at the ending of a book before you actually finished reading it?  I'm coming clean.  I don't do it all the time, but, for example, about two and a half hours into the last Harry Potter book, I couldn't stand it any more.  I had to find out if Harry lived.  So I looked.  Then I enjoyed the rest of the book.

Can't handle suspenseful movies either - I have to wait until someone else has seen it, then bully them into telling me the ending.  Otherwise, I'm way too tense to consider the movie entertainment.  My son and I almost came to blows over "Fight Club" - the little shite wouldn't tell me the ending.  So I endured, and I STILL don't get it.  I hate that.  Did the personalities integrate?  Is a real person dead?  I know some people just love that kind of thing.  It gives me a rash.

I know I'm missing out - there are tons of people who just love a good, thrilling plot.  But I'm one of the ones who goes to the fortune teller at the Renaissance Faire, even though I know it's like having coffee with The Mentalist.

Perhaps that's why I was so furious to hear about the "Expert" recommendation this week that women postpone regular Mammograms from age 40 to age 50.  Are you kidding me with this?  Early detection saves lives.  Plain and simple fact.  No mammogram - no early detection - and get this - they are also saying self-exams aren't really worth it either.  What? WHAT?  Let's break this down.  This is about money.  They aren't saying mammograms for younger women are a waste of time - they are saying there are better ways to spend the money, because risk increases with age.  Here's a tip - how 'bout if you let me decide how to spend my own money?  That's the bottom line here - this is a way for insurance companies to avoid paying for the tests.  

Here's another tip - no one gets a Mammogram for kicks.  You never see someone win Wimbledon or an Olympic gold medal and say: "Screw Disney - I'm getting a mammogram!" 

Wonder why?  Maybe because they hurt like hell, especially if one's lunar cycle is unpredictable and the two happen to coincide.  Maybe because the suspense is not the fun kind.  It's more like the "Will I vomit now or later?" kind.  You sit in a room with a goofy open gown and look at the other women.  Then you all think the same thing: which one of us will become a warrior today?  That's how prevalent this disease is.  For a statistically significant number of my sisters, mothers, daughter, and friends, the fight is a certainty.  We can't control it. One of the few things we can control is that coveted early diagnosis. We may not know the ending, but we know we've got a dramatically better shot at a good one the earlier we catch the bastards.

I could make a joke about prescribing Viagra only for men with prostate issues, on certain meds, and who can answer the following question in the negative: "Does all that booze/weed in your system have anything to do with the fact that your Johnson doesn't behave like it's 17 any more? " Oops.

Our friend Susan (Rachel's Mom - one of our backbloggers) has a comforting take on this need to know the ending stuff.  She just passed her ordination exam - Mazeltov!  She reminds me all the time that, at least from a theological standpoint, we know the ending.  We know that even if our life story is a roller coaster, we have a happy ending.  That's what keeps many of us sane.

In the interim, though - I want answers.  I want to know what happens next.  To the limited extent I can, I want to facilitate the good stuff.  So if I ask you to tell me how a movie or a book ends - just tell me.  And if you try to stand in the way when I'm trying to get answers for myself - or my kids or my friends - you best bring back up.

How about you?  Feel free to skip the mammogram discussion - but I had to put it out there.  Have you ever read the end of a book before you were finished?  Hate finales with a twist (Bobby in the shower, anyone?  Dead people?) or endings with no endings? (You know that Rhett came back to Scarlett, right?  And not because of that travesty of a follow up book.  Just because I know.)

One more thing - funding Mammograms is more important now than ever.  You don't need to discuss it with me, but please don't forget to click on the Breast Cancer link up there on the left.

Out To Lunch

Out To Lunch

by Nancy     

While recovering from back surgery, my husband was wonderfully helpful taking care of me, but . . .  this week I was suddenly hungry for some Girl Time. So, with the doc's permission, I rushed out to lunch with girl friends three times since Sunday!  Oh, joy!

There's a long tradition of ladies who lunch, of course. In the past, "lunching" was for housewives who had help in the house--women who didn't hold jobs, enjoyed a cocktail a noontime, who didn't have to be anywhere in particular in the afternoon.  In my case, it's often lunch with other writers, though. We're among the last women free to get out for a long lunch now and then.

Truman Capote famously lunched with gossipy Park Avenue society ladies who were furious when he revealed all their dirty secrets in a blisteringly good story. "What did they expect?" he reportedly said after he was blackballed by his former lunchmates. "I'm a writer, and I use everything. Did those people think I was there just to entertain them?"

 

Fortunately, most of the writers I lunch with understand that all conversational topics are up for grabs.

Here's Carol Burnett performing the Sondheim song (with apologies to Elaine Stritch, because I just like Carol better.  So sue me.)

Nowadays, if you see a bunch of women out to lunch on a weekday, chances are they're all in business suits, networking like mad. Or maybe (like my daughter's newfound circle of pals) they're new moms out together with their toddlers. Or they're like my mother and her retired friends--enjoying their book club or card club luncheon and laughing up a storm.

When was the last time you went out to lunch with a pal? With no particular agenda but friendship? If you're like me, your closest buds are online now, and getting together with them to break bread--or maybe a veggie wrap--doesn't happen very often.

My primary criteria for a good lunch spot is one that doesn't mind if we linger at the table. I like a little ambiance, too.--A nice view or a quiet corner where no truant teenagers are bumping past the table and cussing like they're auditioning for a comedy club gig. I don't like the manager coming around, either, interrupting our conversation to ask if "everything's okay." (Do we look like women who wouldn't speak up if we were dissatisfied?) Also, I'm willing to pay a reasonable amount for food more upscale than my usual turkey sandwich on the George Foreman grill. Since two of my regular lunch companions are vegetarians, Burger King is out.  (Frankly, I will veto all fast food nowadays, including the infamous Food Court. The thought of all those germs on the tables that aren't wiped with anything more than a blackened rag once a day does more to kill my appetite than a frozen patty of mystery meat slapped on a grill and squished with a spatula until it's dry as a sliver of hoof shaving.) I want a nice meal. I like a cushy booth better than a table with chairs, too. Most of all, I want stimulating conversation.

The lunch talk this week was:

A lot about--you guessed it---Sarah Palin.  Actually, I wish I had Palin's ego. She clearly believes that she's absolutely correct about everything, which is sorta admirable. (I'm a writer, which automatically means I doubt everything about myself. Author Paranoia makes you a better writer, but self confidence is not our strongest quality.) Today we could bitch about Palin here--yes, I know we could do that easily--but perhaps the challenge is finding something she's doing right. You must admit, she has a (mostly) clear message some people want to hear. She may be stupendously unqualified and remarkably tawdry (engaging a teenaged boy in a media shouting match) but she knows how to turn a buzz phrase, doesn't she? And somebody's putting together a very smart book tour.

 

Now, excuse me while I go take something to settle my stomach.

With other pals, we talked about where to get a pair of shoes that fit our feet, don't cripple us or look like we want to join a rugby team, but also don't look like a product endorsed by AARP. Honestly, decent shoes for women are impossible these days.

Inevitably when you get more than two middle-aged women together, the talk turns to cosmetic surgery.  Most of my friends are appalled, but we all know somebody who'd like a boob job or tummy tuck. Or one of those quick lifts.  Not any of us, though.  At least, we're not admitting to it. That tummy tuck is tempting, though . . . .

What we try not to talk about--at my age--is our health. Because we're all developing issues now--mostly minor, yet exasperating--and we'd like to talk about them, but dammit, health issues are BORING. And friends don't let friends bore each other.

Have you been out to lunch with a friend lately? Because I hate to think this is a dying tradition. There's no substitute for a long, relaxed lunch with people who know you best, who still love you despite your occasional failings, who enjoy your triumph, buck you up when you need it, who listen and share, too.

I think this should be Ask a Friend to Lunch Week. If you can't do that, grab a turkey sandwich and sit down here at TLC to dish today.

My question is, what would Truman Capote have to say about Sarah Palin?  Or--if you don't want to talk about her, and health issues are--ahem--off the table, here's an article about but how to look younger without plastic surgery:  http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/homestyle/11/16/is.10.ways.look.younger/index.html 

Clawing My Way to the Top

By Elaine Viets

There are police dogs, drug-sniffing dogs, and service dogs.

But the words "cat" and "service" are rarely linked. Bookstore cats are the only felines I know with jobs. On tour, I almost always sign at an independent bookshop that has a cat.

Some bookstore cats ignore me. Others spread a pound of hair on my clothes. I try to appear grateful for this home-grown gift.

One bookstore cat sank her claws into my black pants. I pasted on a smile and pretended that I loved having my favorite pants snagged. No author wants to tick off the bookstore owner’s best friend. At that signing early in my career, I sold five paperbacks, including a pity sale from the store owner.

The royalties didn’t even cover the cost of the catnip mouse I bought the bribe the beast.

On a recent signing trip for "The Fashion Hound Murders," I met yet another bookstore cat. Index, known as Dexxie, works at Piece of Mind Books in Edwardsville, Illinois. Piece of Mind is owned by Andi Allen.

I didn’t know if Index would slight me, shred me or shed on me.

Dexxie has thick brown-and-black fur. She’s a sort of tweed cat. At age four, Dexxie is generously proportioned. If she were a novel, Dexxie would be a hearty Harry Potter mystery rather than a slender M.C. Beaton book.

When I arrived at the bookstore, Andi was waiting in the parking lot. We ran downstairs to the store auditorium.

No cat. Good. My new black pants were safe. I wouldn’t get a free coat of cat hair at this signing. Dexxie was ignoring me.

Piece of Mind was as packed as Dexxie after dinner, a gratifying sight for an author who’d traveled nearly a thousand miles.

Andi had set out a table, a stack of books, and a cup of water for me.

I started talking at seven o’clock. Still no Dexxie. I figured she didn’t work nights.

Five minutes into my speech, the cat strolled over to the table and sat under it. The audience perked up. "Look at the cat," they said.

I mentioned the poor abused dogs rescued by the Humane Society of Missouri. Dexxie howled sadly.

The audience said, "Aw."

Dexxie hopped up on the table and flopped over on her back, paws in the air. 

The audience said, "Oooh."

Dexxie tried to drink my glass of water. Andi said, "No!" The cat ignored her. Andi took away the water.

Doggedly determined to finish, I kept talking. Dexxie hoisted her back leg over her head, and cleaned a body part usually seen in public only on Tijuana stages.

The audience laughed.

Index finished her bath and jumped off the table.

"She’s so cute," the audience said. They were talking about the cat, not me.

I’d been upstaged by a feline ham. Actors know not to work with pets or children, but I found out this truth the hard way.

Dexxie has been perfecting her act for two years now at Piece of Mind. She applied for the job. "Initially, I looked at the cage of kittens at the shelter, but was not impressed with any of them," Andi said. "About that time I felt a tapping on my shin bone. It was Index, then called Catty, in the bottom cage. She was telling me I needed to look down. That she was the ideal bookstore cat. She told me to ignore the brats, I needed a mature cat."

Index the scene-stealing cat sold some 90 books for me. When she posed for this picture, she sold still more books, bringing the total to 102 this month.

Andi, could I rent your cat for my May tour? Together, Dexxie and I could claw our way to the top.

*****

THE WINNERS in the Elaine Viets Facebook "Where’s My Book" Contest.

(1) Favorite photo of children:

Alan Portman and Queen Molly photographed the princesses, Merav and Yael, with all my mysteries and a non-fiction book. Yael uses her "Killer Cuts" book mark. Alan and Molly were not worried about exposing their daughters to my murderous influence. I’ve met the princesses in person and they behave like angels.

(2) Favorite animal photo:

Karen Grace of St. Louis, Missouri, won with pictures of her cats Biff and Cookie.

What? Animals can too read.

(3) Favorite cutting edge photo:

Storyteller Mary Garrett gets her hair cut while reading "Killer Cuts." A hair-raising ending.

Check out their pictures on the Elaine Viets Facebook page at http://tinyurl.com/yehxre3

Our winners will receive a free copy of "The Fashion Hound Murders."

NOTE: The photo of Dexxie and me was taken by Carol Filipow Pigg.

Quivering at Quiverfull

By Sarah

Every once in a while humanity rides off the rails. The so-called Quiverfull movement is one of those moments.

To be honest, I never knew having a bunch of kids (think the Duggars, 20, whatever and counting) was a political movement. Sure, I'd grown up with large Catholic families, some with 13 kids like my neighbor Chris McVeigh. They looked like fun and, according to Chris, it was fun growing up with a bunch of brothers and sisters, though maybe not so much for his mom. 

But the Quiverfull movement is something else entirely and it would scare the hell out of me if it didn't fire my jets. 

The invented word, Quiverfull, comes from Psalm 127: 3, 4, 5 - a few paragraphs likening a family of many children (sons, especially) to a quiver full of arrows which, last I checked, are pretty damned painful. In fact, Quiverfull adores military metaphors. Bearing an "army," as in "army of God," is the foundation of this belief that children are a blessing (no dispute there) and that humans should never attempt to control how many God gives them (big dispute there.) 

Not only is birth control banned, but so are the quaint Catholic-approved rhythm method and artificial insemination. Can't have a baby? Too bad. God's will. Wanna stop. Ditto. In a display of mind-boggling ignorance, the Quiverfull types claim God "opens and closes" a woman's womb depending on how many children He wishes her to have. Nope. Not even close. Go back to class. 

The problem with society, according to these people, is that sex has been separated from procreation. And while that might seem old fashioned, it's the conservative fundamentalist youth - not their great grandparents - who are leading the charge, right down to forbidding a kiss on the lips before marriage. 

In the Quiverfull movement, fathers loom larger than ever. One Newsweek article quoted a follower noting that his twelve year old daughter "will stay under my covering until I turn her over in marriage to a God-honoring young man."

Thanks, dad.

Perhaps it goes without saying that Quiverfull women are expected to be subservient to their fathers and husbands in all matters. And now we're getting to the rub. See, this goes beyond having lots of kids. This is about recreating a patriarchal society - and future patriarchal voters to select patriarchal politicians. This is about forming the American Taliban.

Why is it that so many cultures  - like the Taliban - get off on oppressing women? Whether men insist we  walk five paces behind, forbid us from exposing our upper arms or pursuing advanced degrees or even enjoying sex, it seems the highest priorities among backward people is to insure the servitude of humans with double X chromosomes.

And this movement is backward. It is one hundred percent anti-women and it is geared toward swaying the political landscape. In fact, it started in response not to feminism, but to the growing acceptance of feminist principles - women in the workplace, equal pay, safe and effective birth control, legal abortion and quality childcare...Reason. Sorry, nothing about forming small armies, just women fighting for control over their destinies and the lives of their children.

The Quiverfull leaders also like to quote statistics about declining population rates in Western Europe and the rising population in so-called developing countries as justification for their pro-life advocacy. Tell me how this is not racist.

I don't know what you do about people like this. Accept them, I guess. Deal. Until they run for office - as they will - then it'll be a problem.

It would be fine if their decisions wouldn't have lasting impact, but they will. If the 20 Duggar children have 20 kids each, that's 422 for Thanksgiving (counting spouses and the original Duggar parents) in one generation. When Jim Bob and Michelle are great-grandparents, if their grandchildren continue to procreate at the same rate they will give birth to 8,000 offspring. Eight thousand. The population of my town, Montpelier, Vermont.

The world's population is at 6.7 billion right now. Imagine if half of us each had 20 kids. Imagine that those children grew up and banned birth control, prohibited advanced education for women and amassed armies aimed at destroying all who disagreed.

Quivering yet?

Sarah

NaNoNoNoNoNoMo

NaNoNoNoNoNoMo

By Harley

This month William—yes, our William, or that William, or that *!@# William, as I now think of him—talked me into NaNoWriMo.  It sounds like a new flavor of Haagen-Dasz, doesn’t it? Or an active volcano?

Don’t I wish.

NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. Where participants—and any idiot can join, William, it’s not like we’re special—vow to write 50,000 words by November 30. Which is about 170 manuscript pages.

“Make no mistake,” the NaNoWriMo website says. “You will be writing a lot of crap.”

I’ve got that part down.

After taking the plunge (why? why?) I was a day late, because William didn’t begin haranguing me until he’d gotten a head start, and also, it took me a day just to read the NaNoWriMo website. My strategy then became to not think FIFTY THOUSAND WORDS. Because I’m no Nora Roberts. Or James Patterson. (Not that James Patterson is James Patterson.) I kept that “You will be writing a lot of crap” motto close to my heart and eked out 800 words by November 3. 800 different words, I might add, as you’re not supposed to write one word over and over fifty thousand times. But there’s no rule (aside from the rule of good writing) that prevents me from saying something is “very, very” and “really really” whatever it is. I do that very, very often.

Another rule: you must write a novel from scratch. No recycled prose. Some authors cheat, but I was raised by nuns, so I closed the file on my real novel-in-progress, started a new document, named it The Khan Man and just continued with where I’d left off. Chapter One begins mid-sentence and doesn’t even pretend to be a first chapter. William was all excited about me writing a Star Trek novel, but it’s not a Trekkie kind of Khan Man, it’s a Genghis kind of Khan Man, and that’s all I’m saying about that, because I know there are people out there trolling Dumpsters and blogs and even paper shredders for ideas to steal. And if, 18 months hence, the publishing world is overrun with novels featuring 11^th century Mongols, I’ll know who to blame, William.

Another NaNoWriMo motto I mutter feverishly is “Fix it in December.” Nancie-the-Gun-Tart has money on me being unable to resist futzing. Sure, I’ve futzed, but my rule of revision is I can’t make it shorter. Still, rewriting is not time-efficient. The Word Count gods demand fresh paragraphs. So I’ve stopped reading what I’ve written. That’s right. I’ve no idea what’s in those 56 pages. And so if I die this month, and someone (William) tries to read my novel, I’ll just . . . die. Thus, I forbid it. If I go, all three computers, plus flash drive, are to be thrown onto the funeral pyre.

So here goes. Current word count:12,203. But it’s not my fault! I’ve been preparing to teach a seminar this weekend in Nebraska, and now my kids only have school half days this week and then NO SCHOOL next week, and Thanksgiving’s at my house and my sister’s wedding’s in Wisconsin, and what demented mind picked November for this?

The only way to pull it off is to throw grocery lists into my novel, along with my Thanksgiving Squash Soufflé Recipe, William’s home phone number, notes to my kids’ teachers, and drafts of the text for my Christmas cards, which need to get to the printer.

Why, just by cutting and pasting this blog into The Khan Man and calling it Chapter Twelve, I’ve bumped my word count up to 12,838.

Next week: I bump off William and steal his novel.

Happy Monday!

Harley

Rachel is our Jeopardy Teen Tournament Champion!

RACHEL IS OUR JEOPARDY TEEN TOURNAMENT CHAMPION!

By Kathy Sweeney, who can finally tell the tale!

Well, the fat lady (that's me) can finally sing!

Our very own Rachel Rothenberg is your 2009 Jeopardy Teen Tournament Champion!  Can you believe the total fabulosity of this achievement?   Over ten THOUSAND teens took the online test.  About a thousand were invited to audition in regional qualifiers all over the country.  And fifteen made the cut.  Fifteen teenagers - smart as hell - gathered at the Sony Studios on a sunny week in August and spent two days filming two week's worth of games.

The kids were amazing - most of them were very nice.  Parents too.  A coupla grandparents?  Not so much.  In fact, one advised me that, given Rachel's performance in the first round, my Terrible Towel would come in handy as a 'crying towel' in the semi-finals against their grandchild.  Oh yes.  As my son said: apparently they didn't see what happened to the Tennessee Titans.  Did we, Pittsburghers and proud of it, respond in kind?  No we did not.  This is only because Rachel's mother, Susan, had me on a very short leash with the threat that we'd get Rachel disqualified.  

We think her early loss helped.  Tom tagged her the "Cinderella Story" after the first round, and there she was at the end, a former greenskeeper about to become...the Masters Champion.

If you watched the whole tournament, you know that the boys dominated the first two rounds.  Rachel was the only girl in the finals.  Both Will Dantzler and Aiden Mehigan were smart, great kids - gentlemen both.  But - and forgive me for saying it out loud - when you combined Rachel's brainpower with our new strategy of "Buzz First, think later" - a method previously dominated by the boys - she was unstoppable.  We've known Rachel since she was about 4 years old, and even all of us at the watch parties were stunned as she pulled one answer after another out of her, uh, cerebral cortex.

Here is a photo from the first viewing party of Rachel, Kate and their friends - most from Pittsburgh's public school for the Creative and Performing Arts (CAPA) - which has also been named a blue ribbon school. Another example of how something - in this case public education - can work if you get the right people in the same place.  I have to share one inside scoop though - it wasn't her love of reading or great education that won that final Jeopardy question - Rachel said she could hear the voice giving that speech and knew it was FDR.  How?  Walt Disney World, people.  It's either Hall of Presidents or American Adventure.  Either way, I believe this should qualify all trips to WDW as valid school absence excuses.  Just saying.

Unless you live in Pittsburgh, you may not have heard a wonderful part of this story.  Rachel is donating 20% of her winnings to charity - our local community food bank, and her church, 6th Presbyterian Church in Squirrel Hill. We've been collecting donations for the Pittsburgh Community Food Bank  at all the watch parties too.  When people would ask 'what can we bring to the party?' the answer was a donation, rather than the usual Pittsburgh response, which would be beer or chips and dip.

We designed cups and T-shirts - all made here in Pittsburgh - the shirts came from Commonwealth Press.  We yelled and whistled and cheered and sang.  City of Champions, baby.

The feeling of blessings and good will from the pride and generosity bathed the last two weeks in a kind of glow.  I wish I could describe it - but it was about more than just watching her, against the odds, winning the WHOLE FREAKING THING.  As we gathered each night, radiating love and excitement and friendship, we were part of something bigger than answers and questions, or a few minutes on TV.  I got so many great messages from many of my TLC friends, and all of the book tarts- we were all part of something that celebrated something good. No war talk.  No politics.  No humans killing other humans.  Just joy.

If the clue were: "A once in a lifetime experience" the question would be: "What is Team Rachel?"

Everybody's Doing It

Everybody’s Doing It

By Guest Blogger Ramona DeFelice Long

I wish this post could reveal some dirty little secret about the publishing industry that would send everybody off tittering and twittering, but sorry. My topic isn’t very dirty (sorry, Margie), and it really isn’t all that much of a secret. But, if you are an author--aspiring, established or accomplished—and you want to increase your odds of success in a field that’s as competitive as it is creative, read on.

What’s the big non-dirty, non-secret secret? Hiring an independent editor.

Lots of writers get other people to read their works in progress—spouses, friends, relatives, fellow writers, critique groups.  This feedback may stroke your ego or destroy it (depending on your mother), and it may help you produce work on time and sharpen your writing skills. 

This is all good.  Authors need love, too, and I’m an advocate for engaging yourself in the writing community. I personally belong to a very tough critique group. (We have printed standards. There’s a three-month trial period. New members are voted in, unanimously. We fire anyone who blows off critiquing responsibility.) 

So, with all of these available resources, why hire a professional?

That question just answered itself. Your friends, relatives and even your fellow writers are not professional editors. And, face it, they are not always unbiased. And, while it’s a no-no to write in a query “My grandma/BFF/writer’s group thinks my book is fabulous!” it’s a plus if you can say, “I worked with an independent editor on this story.” That tells an agent or publisher that you are committed to the craft, and that, in a competitive business, you want to give yourself an edge.

From a business POV, it’s a savvy career move. From an artist’s POV, it’s working to make your story the best that it can be. That’s what I do. As an independent editor, I work with authors to make stories the best that they can be.

This makes sense, I hope, but what about that little voice in your head saying, “But shouldn’t I be able to edit myself?” and “Isn’t it expensive?” and “How do I choose the right editor?”

Let’s talk to those little voices one by one.

1.    “If I’m a good writer, shouldn’t I be able to edit myself?”

Yes. And no.  Some lucky writers naturally sail on, recognizing highlights and flaws. But most writers struggle at various points. That’s why writer’s conferences are filled with How-To sessions. But even if you know what to or what not to do, you may not be sure you’ve effectively done it.  Is your beginning enough of a hook? Have you delayed too long in dropping the body? Is your subtle, mysterious voice really suffering from talking head syndrome? 

What about when you’ve worked and re-worked and re-re-worked, and you just can’t see the work anymore? That’s when you need a pair of fresh, professional eyes to read your story, and tell you what is and is not working. 

2.     “Doesn’t getting a book privately edited cost a lot of money?” 

Not necessarily. And think about this: This is an investment in your writing, just like attending a conference, where you may be one of hundreds of writers in workshops or panel discussions. Now think about having someone read every word and every page of your work in progress, and give you detailed, personal feedback on it. Is that money well invested?

3.    “What if I’ve only got part of a novel?” 

Getting an editor to read the beginning of a novel (a partial) is a very wise move. If it’s not engaging, or if there are big flaws, you find out early on. 

If you have a working draft, an editor will address the plusses and minuses of plot, setting, theme, voice and character. If your manuscript is in final draft form, it can be polished before sending it out.

4.    “What if I don’t agree with an independent editor’s advice?”

All published stories are edited. As an author, you will have to defend, change, cut, rewrite, rethink, redo. This is part of the gig. The more you do it, the less painful becomes the process.  But, always, it’s your story. Your name is on it. If you disagree with advice, back up your argument and explain why. That gets you thinking about your story. Which is always good.

5.    “How do I choose an independent editor?”

Two words: Research and Word of Mouth. (I know, that’s not 2 words.)  Google “hiring a freelance editor” and read testimonials. Read the acknowledgements on books you like. Ask around. I can’t name names, because I guarantee confidentiality to my clients, but if anyone wants to speak up, I won’t stop you.

6.    And finally, the big kahuna: “Doesn’t it show I’m weak as a writer to hire help?”

No, it does not. We’ve already established that most writers get help. If you hire a pro, you’re just trying to get the best help for the job.

Plus, read the title. It’s the truth. 

I know from experience that writers want to believe in their stories. They want to make them work, and they want them to be memorable. They want to share them. That’s why they are writing. My job is to help that process. For me, it’s a lot of fun. That’s why I do it.

For more information, please check out my blog: Ramona Long