tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-180243552024-03-05T07:45:30.694-05:00Plotting MeMusings on Writing Life & LoveAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-11062993652262507962017-12-10T18:45:00.003-05:002017-12-10T18:47:10.787-05:00This will be my last entry on the Blogger site. At least it looks that way as of now. The platform no longer works with iOS and - face it - I like to post and edit from my phone as much as anyone else. So, I'm moving my blog over to my web site at <a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/blog">www.stefanieworth.com/blog</a>. Come hang out with me there!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-64330952482628686692016-08-19T03:20:00.000-04:002016-08-19T03:51:01.884-04:00Suck It Up, ButtercupI can always count on The Universe to throw me curve balls. Well, plot twists, I guess I'd call them. Those detours not meant to deter you from your destination, but grant you a scenic view along your journey. The latest such curvy road led me to craft the vlog below. Its hashtags might be #random, #thoughtful and #selfmotivation, but what better excuse to stay up even later than usual? (Seemed like a good idea at the time....)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx6qHOoHUeW9n1cgYiEx7MyAWN31tIIU3f3-3R2zrkr-RETX8Di1ZtXLSb-B05dzc0Z-u8TT1DzrYg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Did you notice how the video tilted as it moved along? #intentional You know, curve balls, curvy road. Yea, see how I embraced that whole notion? LOL<br />
<br />
Moving forward with thanks to #thugunicorn...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wib8sF8m9HjwlAB-6kO1YcN3fbudfqFqW8MVYXoUaS1CB0hk-1Bu-fm4BkrNfkpAPeedlvUDS8xQfqZwl-vR0F8C_7_nlXM3a3Q6mUsK0TLQVwP3JckwRKrfdfYJ7qrl01_cWg/s1600/thugunicorn+081916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8wib8sF8m9HjwlAB-6kO1YcN3fbudfqFqW8MVYXoUaS1CB0hk-1Bu-fm4BkrNfkpAPeedlvUDS8xQfqZwl-vR0F8C_7_nlXM3a3Q6mUsK0TLQVwP3JckwRKrfdfYJ7qrl01_cWg/s320/thugunicorn+081916.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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...and love for Mary J. Blige. "I'm gone shine...until my heart stops."<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1w7lo7CV6Dw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1w7lo7CV6Dw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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'Til some other random moment compels me to vlog, picture me eagerly awaiting my next curve ball so I can hit it out of the park. :)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="giphy-embed" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//giphy.com/embed/1333xc9RhiyGaY" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-45683489283367509172016-02-22T22:11:00.000-05:002016-02-26T17:39:47.508-05:00Doctor, My Eyes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqEZw79pZM3A9JNPWrKsVhW7YB7A8KEs3Mm3XGTatATL6iuDl1MBKG25tn4glZhNXW_t6-IRBjhyQSlFrRegPOzgOsk1EmJ1bC1LGnXbYy3A0Ji6L-f6xbIMdgudHeUO3rCNwBQ/s1600/monster2+022216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqEZw79pZM3A9JNPWrKsVhW7YB7A8KEs3Mm3XGTatATL6iuDl1MBKG25tn4glZhNXW_t6-IRBjhyQSlFrRegPOzgOsk1EmJ1bC1LGnXbYy3A0Ji6L-f6xbIMdgudHeUO3rCNwBQ/s200/monster2+022216.jpg" width="200"></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Life is
filled with scares.</strong> Big ones, small ones, imaginary ones, and those we ignore.
Which brings me to the topic of my eyes. More specifically, my vision. </span><br>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My eyes have
been wonky for months. But in the way that women do, I made a whole list of
excuses as to why the matter was no big deal. After all, life’s been hectic.
Nobody’s got time for more problems. <a href="http://plottingme.blogspot.com/2015/10/more-than-words.html" target="_blank">My brother passed away</a> in October after a
long and courageous battle with pancreatic cancer and I had been plodding
away at a book for well over a year, taking breaks to tend to my emotional
state, take care of my kids and be with family as necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpVW9DnEPru81jXe3BLsYHsgZp8X9nhuNawhLGKe-nascRH_DHi4JWuJl-JA-BHDB7KRNTnSNtmdlP3AntNA6c_9ooKYl8d8nTaVRINDaxeMZZ7sbCrexS-3ij3TJYMxH0L3Acw/s1600/sunglasses+022216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpVW9DnEPru81jXe3BLsYHsgZp8X9nhuNawhLGKe-nascRH_DHi4JWuJl-JA-BHDB7KRNTnSNtmdlP3AntNA6c_9ooKYl8d8nTaVRINDaxeMZZ7sbCrexS-3ij3TJYMxH0L3Acw/s200/sunglasses+022216.jpg" width="200"></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So between frequent
bouts of tears and hours of staring at my laptop screen, I emerged from autumn
with bloodshot, scratchy eyes that I attributed first to a reaction to new
makeup, then to irritation from seasonal allergies and finally to a lack of
sleep. Eventually, I caved in and decided to resolve the issue with Visine.
Lots of it. And wearing my sunglasses practically all the time outdoors – even
on overcast days – because my eyes had become that photosensitive. I teased my
daughter that maybe I was turning into a vampire. Ha, ha. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLRS4xNNKxL_cyAXauMMdB0_YCD6S1ujbgIxwLndfiN74jXw1qB07TuRUfr5VKPZz7v0YQqbiFx55pH0wMxYJoi5H5HybQKlLYphXMvuVV03NkW2MWxQIRokpLb6DEPAVM9ajZQ/s1600/tree2+use+this.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMLRS4xNNKxL_cyAXauMMdB0_YCD6S1ujbgIxwLndfiN74jXw1qB07TuRUfr5VKPZz7v0YQqbiFx55pH0wMxYJoi5H5HybQKlLYphXMvuVV03NkW2MWxQIRokpLb6DEPAVM9ajZQ/s200/tree2+use+this.jpg" width="200"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I woke
up one morning a few weeks ago feeling like there were tree branches under my
eyelids trying to gouge out my eyeballs. It was that bad and not at all funny.
Hours later, when the pain refused to relent despite warm towels, Visine and
Motrin, I did what I should have done months before and made an appointment
with my ophthalmologist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Turns out, I
had something in my eye. Literally: A foreign object was embedded in my cornea.
(Insert your favorite emoji here.) So the doctor numbed my eye, took a needle
and removed it. No ouch, but much stomach churning. (Again, emoji welcome.) He
couldn’t identify it and I had no idea how it found its way past my glasses and
deep where it didn’t belong. The thought of the <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Health/EyeHealthNews/tarantula-attack-pierces-owners-eyes/story?id=9458010" target="_blank">hair-slinging tarantula</a> crossed
my mind. While he assured me that a spider wasn’t the culprit, he told me that he thought there <em>was</em> something else going on. Oh.</span></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieb3jabjJBSPmsex4hBcCL2t9uiv8S-R4U9bzKG6d89odZn8FZqLZxpzTAX2iPfUZfP6pvmTkKmFMbEIj73Vx2fl7yIrlqHM0ZJpGD1IZ5ixe4xv5I7jYGRqcHMkaYELZKpmzpwQ/s1600/spider+022216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieb3jabjJBSPmsex4hBcCL2t9uiv8S-R4U9bzKG6d89odZn8FZqLZxpzTAX2iPfUZfP6pvmTkKmFMbEIj73Vx2fl7yIrlqHM0ZJpGD1IZ5ixe4xv5I7jYGRqcHMkaYELZKpmzpwQ/s200/spider+022216.jpg" width="200"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I returned a week later to
be certain the antibiotics had worked and the cornea was healing, he confirmed
his initial suspicions and referred me to a specialist. That guy was the
funniest physician EVER, which made me feel a little better about having
<a href="http://www.webmd.com/eye-health/cornea-conditions-symptoms-treatments?page=3" target="_blank">corneal dystrophy</a>, the dot version specifically. (Here's a <a href="https://youtu.be/MVNPRRx24kI" target="_blank">video</a> for you visual people.) Turns out it’s possibly genetic, usually
shows up between 30 and 70 years old, and most people never know they have it.
It doesn’t lead to blindness and generally resolves itself – within a timeframe
ranging anywhere from six months to six years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the span
between that anguished morning of pain and the specialist’s diagnosis, I
thought for a hot second about not seeing. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What’s
it like?</i> I didn’t dwell at all on the “what if?” for myself in particular
(because I do believe in speaking things into existence, both good and bad),
but I allowed myself to visualize how a sight-challenged writer works. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Learning
braille to type, using transcription aids, trusting others to help where
necessary. It was a fascinating, but brief, exploration that let my imagination
explore someone else’s world and, in the end, give thanks for the blessing of
good medical care and the ability to pay for all these eye drops I’ll be using
until my “dots” go away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ozfjZoHffJ6PTUS8T82Ff8G36s_jx5QjfDaA2o5Is3pVcypOMbZuAox1nxpmvB5ADD0Fo5Ty-_Hj4kxuCLWEQ6BIuNuF0ZOErdazfV9LCSsHyBH-J4Me39zTiO0iGP9KGjnfxA/s1600/braille.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ozfjZoHffJ6PTUS8T82Ff8G36s_jx5QjfDaA2o5Is3pVcypOMbZuAox1nxpmvB5ADD0Fo5Ty-_Hj4kxuCLWEQ6BIuNuF0ZOErdazfV9LCSsHyBH-J4Me39zTiO0iGP9KGjnfxA/s200/braille.jpg" width="200"></a><br>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The deep and ethereal edge of this post (since I feel obligated to provide one) would be about fears of the unknown we all face at times and the powerlessness those feelings spawn. Yet, in the end we can vanquish most of the darkness around us simply by turning on a light, so to speak, and taking action: telling someone NO, walking away instead of going the h**l off, or making a long overdue phone call. We don't always get the answers we want, but many times we can get words that make us stop standing around biting our nails and move forward instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
My scare has passed, but not without granting me a much sharper appreciation
for the words I watch coming out of my keyboard every day. The incident has
made an indelible impression on my psyche. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, if you
ever encounter a character in one of my stories who’s plagued by insect hairs
or has issues with his/her vision, well, you’ll know what sparked the idea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stefanie<o:p></o:p></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><o:p></o:p></span><br>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Liner notes: I like music in a variety of
forms – old, new, hard, soft, edgy, classic – you get it. So, this<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>blog’s title is borrowed from the 1970s song
(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctor_My_Eyes" target="_blank">of the same title</a>) by Jackson Browne. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">
So much of that decade’s music was socially-conscious and world-scrutinizing.
When you’re young, you can’t even pronounce half the lyrics you hear. Then you
grow up and understand the sentiment. Too bad there weren’t <a href="https://youtu.be/fqFUmo8VVg0" target="_blank">music videos</a> back
then. Or maybe it’s best to leave
pictures to these words up to the imagination.</span></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-17108500813139619242015-12-06T21:58:00.002-05:002015-12-06T22:01:17.148-05:00Progress update: Butterflies in DecemberWell, I'm back to work in earnest. After this very difficult autumn, winter is a welcome relief. Cold is somehow cleansing, isn't it? You know, a chill to shake the brain awake or make you appreciate the warmth you left behind. Writing is such a personal thing and for some weeks after my brother passed I wasn't sure my words would return -- how soon or how quickly. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3DZrTEC8PtCf2XhOc2avRIIt_vELyeQa9Pncdx4fqGEc1s0hCblguK1_g4blOqx860RPlBX_hO7HVLQ_bWfXNwNg9p1vWvb_Wq70Y96YELiGkGWqz9CxkO0e-6yX5g1uqtoPow/s1600/progress+update+120615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3DZrTEC8PtCf2XhOc2avRIIt_vELyeQa9Pncdx4fqGEc1s0hCblguK1_g4blOqx860RPlBX_hO7HVLQ_bWfXNwNg9p1vWvb_Wq70Y96YELiGkGWqz9CxkO0e-6yX5g1uqtoPow/s320/progress+update+120615.JPG" width="241" /></a>Every life milestone affects us differently. For some authors, writing is cathartic. I find that as well, but I took solace in writing <em>about</em> Joe and <em>for</em> him for awhile rather than drumming up imaginary scenarios for my WIP. His situation was far too real to spend time dabbling in fantasy. I thought. So returning to the work I love isn't cathartic, but it is a necessary and integral part of who I am. I guess I needed some time to be okay with that.<br />
<br />
I missed my characters and the mess I got them into. So, the story's been re-read and edited. The first half of the pages have been sticky-tagged for tweaks, and I am on to the second half of the book. Progress continues. I'm about 75 percent of the way through the book with edits. When I finish this second half, I'll re-read and tag those pages. Then I'll re-read the entire book, say a prayer and send it off to my beta reader and my editor. <br />
<br />
You can't see me shaking with nervous anticipation, but I am. Note to self: Butterflies are good, girlfriend. Butterflies are good.<br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-50143226428993387692015-11-17T00:16:00.002-05:002015-11-17T00:38:09.269-05:00New web site!<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Can you do me a favor and take a peek at my revamped web site? </span><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri";">www.stefanieworth.com</span></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgETifFsH2BFgICshz1e6W99Ezfxh2-gboUP7SEYQKDfjMXCzo8tPqp5NfG9wCK5TB8L6lzMaH9gwGK8OvVFnnqSH_0tLQCUk5rMexPRla6NZu0IWl1aNmz3Fn5ZZSmRKAKO-ig/s1600/new+web+site.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgETifFsH2BFgICshz1e6W99Ezfxh2-gboUP7SEYQKDfjMXCzo8tPqp5NfG9wCK5TB8L6lzMaH9gwGK8OvVFnnqSH_0tLQCUk5rMexPRla6NZu0IWl1aNmz3Fn5ZZSmRKAKO-ig/s320/new+web+site.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">While anything involving the internet competes for the Biggest Time
Suck trophy in this writer’s world, sometimes it’s a necessary evil. I can say
that after getting two hours of sleep last night. I’m
guesstimating I spent upwards of 20 hands-on hours over the weekend migrating my site to its new home at
Weebly. This sister is tired, but satisfied.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I updated the look and feel last year, working with Norweigan graphic
designer, Ida Jansson of <a href="http://www.amygdaladesign.net/" target="_blank">Amygdala Design</a>. For those who’ll ask why I didn’t use
a local – or at least U.S. – designer, I’ll say it’s simply because after an
exhaustive search of book covers and web sites, she had the design that spoke
to me. And in this global technology world, I never would have known she wasn’t
sitting right beside me through the whole process. It was that seamless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So, I had the look, but over time, my site’s functionality has suffered
under my personal know-how. I used to build web sites way back in the mid-90s
when the World Wide Web was gaining marketing momentum. Those skills carried me
during a time when most authors weren’t even thinking about having a site and
gave me a promotional head start.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’ve been able to depend on my own resources all these years, so the fact that Yahoo Sitebuilder was still using very old Java didn't bother me. Much. I’ll pay
for design, but not site maintenance, since I could do it myself. (#frugalista) But like
everything else, pricing and convenience have received a makeover thanks to
technology. My original web site design cost me $300 in 2008 – and took weeks
and weeks to complete. It was fun, but far less versatile than what I got for
$125 last year – in about one week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s now ditto for site creation itself. Though I’m still willing to
spend an entire weekend moving a site, it only took a weekend. I've done overhauls that took me the better part of two weeks to complete with code and all. But this move
was entirely WYSIWYG, I didn’t have to code a single item. My functionality has been
boosted 300% and I’m paying a few bucks less than I’ve paid for the past five
or six years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I also changed my e-newsletter provider from Constant Contact to
<a href="http://mailchimp.com/" target="_blank">MailChimp</a>. I was paying about $40 a month for my list of 500+ contacts.
MailChimp is free for your first 2000 contacts. I know, right? I haven’t sent
out any messages yet, but a newsletter’s coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Stop by </span><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/"><span style="color: #0563c1; font-family: "calibri";">www.stefanieworth.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
if you get a chance. Leave me a note. Sign up for my <a href="http://eepurl.com/bF-bqP" target="_blank">newsletter</a>. Buy a book.
You know, all that stuff that convinces writers we’re not really crazy for
making up stories and talking to imaginary people all day. I appreciate the
reality check. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Meanwhile, I'm getting some sleep tonight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Peace,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Stefanie<o:p></o:p></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-34305983170207011772015-10-25T16:10:00.000-04:002015-10-26T20:59:39.231-04:00More Than Words<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It has been two weeks and two days since my brother died. My mother
says his passing has left a hole in her heart. I tried to convince her that the
space he left is filled with light and love. Because if you knew Joe, you would
know how true that is – in spite of the hole.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLh7mEsot740IEz6LpxGe2JbZGtQak-IZGuJs3ed5taQpjSoFi03Z45oA6CFFV3IOxuA7wnCi1QWTGCnpUp5KLgIdkvdmBxwXRcdO-ls-9sl0ZHf_RIAVF9SzjRunpft-tN6NcQ/s1600/Joe+at+stlcc+sga+banquet+May2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLh7mEsot740IEz6LpxGe2JbZGtQak-IZGuJs3ed5taQpjSoFi03Z45oA6CFFV3IOxuA7wnCi1QWTGCnpUp5KLgIdkvdmBxwXRcdO-ls-9sl0ZHf_RIAVF9SzjRunpft-tN6NcQ/s200/Joe+at+stlcc+sga+banquet+May2015.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wrote his obituary; dredged up words from the depths of my broken
heart to illuminate the life he lived and the love he gave. I tried to capture
the vast spirit of a man who was a husband for two decades, a friend to all, a
professor who inspired struggling students to take a chance at the next level,
and a guy who exemplified a zest for living. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is gone. The funeral programs holding those words have been stored
away. His ashes are settled for safekeeping. My brothers and I have scattered
to our respective faraway places. And I am at home trying to find words to a
story that insist on playing hide-and-seek when I sit down to my keyboard.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We were blessed with 18 months to prepare for Joe's departure. Pancreatic
cancer is not a generous disease, but for my family, God granted us time to
come to grips with His will. In those up and down days of Hope vs. Setbacks, I
wrote the story I’m editing now. Deep inside I know that I channeled my anger
into Pax, my despair into Fallon, my hope into a happily-ever-after. But now
knowing the reality of my brother’s ending, I have faltered in my developing
fantasy.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj74NK-ro2kKRBcjmeynem7q9KMsaY7R50wJAVs0rBrHqQz5s4hJkaUmkI88nKt6ypW1Ibhf3FcKIF47MKywhBJXshMPHAvLtwtt8QwipOiZ3rTbcmkSlUS1-MFt-ad7AqdA7uJg/s1600/Kids+in+playhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj74NK-ro2kKRBcjmeynem7q9KMsaY7R50wJAVs0rBrHqQz5s4hJkaUmkI88nKt6ypW1Ibhf3FcKIF47MKywhBJXshMPHAvLtwtt8QwipOiZ3rTbcmkSlUS1-MFt-ad7AqdA7uJg/s320/Kids+in+playhouse.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Christmas - Early 70's</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I ask myself if I am making the most of the talent God gave me. I ask
if I’m contributing to the world in an amount equivalent to what the universe
expects. I tell myself “Yes!” and then login to my laptop. And as long as I don’t
glance out the window at the clouds, hear a certain song on the radio or
remember watching Alice In Wonderland with Joe in the weeks before he died, I
can start. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Delete a word here. Replace a phrase there. Remember to dedicate the
book to my fantasy-loving brother. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then I stumble. Falter. Forget the train of thoughts I was trying to
capture. And sometimes I cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He would not want this. Not Joe. In fact, I am sure he is rolling his
eyes, shaking his head, and insisting I move forward. If only one thought, one
word, one breath at a time. He was a great guy; driven enough to prod, yet caring
enough to understand that sisterly love makes me melt from time to time. In
those moments now and ahead, I have to believe that my little brother will reach
down to rescue me from my wallowing and nudge me back on track. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My world is filled with words. They leech from my pores onto paper when
I cannot speak them. They ring through my dreams, assault me in meetings, sway
my perspective when I least expect them. For the past two weeks, in the stealth
way words rule me, they remind my heart that the silent, hand-holding,
smile-filled moments spent with Joe outranked anything I could have ever said.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Real love is more than words. </span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I've learned anything over the past year and a half, it's that: Show your love. Live your life. Use your powers for good. My words will return to me when I least expect their magic and I am certain that the ones I write from
here on out will be graced by my brother’s spirit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">St. Louis Community College -
Florissant Valley has established the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Dr.
Joe Worth Memorial Scholarship Fund</b> in Joe's honor. We invite you to help
grow this scholarship so that it becomes the educational portal Joe would want
in order for future students to benefit from his incredible legacy. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How to contribute to the Dr. Joe
Worth Memorial Scholarship Fund at St. Louis Community College<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Mail: St. Louis Community
College Foundation, 300 South Broadway, St. Louis, MO 63102<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Phone: 314.539.5216
(credit/debit) <o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Online:
<a href="http://www.stlcc.edu/Foundation/Foundation-donation-landing.html">http://www.stlcc.edu/Foundation/Foundation-donation-landing.html</a>. (Select Dr.
Joe Worth Tribute/Memorial Scholarship.)</span></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-81166989233990186722015-09-12T22:33:00.000-04:002015-09-13T13:04:25.634-04:00Happy tears and mounting edits<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hard for me to believe that I haven’t blogged since January. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you know me – or follow my musings –
you know my life is a festival of happenings. There’s always something going
on around here that competes with or supplants my writing time. (Not my desire –
just the hours I have to execute.) Just as importantly though, I don’t consider
these real-world intrusions as negatives. Take February through August, for
example. In those months, we completed another senior year of high school and summer
of college prep in my house. Whew! Two down. One to go. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that the chaos has calmed, I have to say that I miss my middle child. Desperately. Not that I didn’t miss my oldest
just as much when he went off to college. In fact, I cried every day after he
left – each time I passed his high school on my way to work…or the grocery
store…or the movie theater…. You get the idea. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xvmlzipo5DKwO_DeRX0Z30ROuqop_tzVrxfRcUlDBk1au_w1bZb2h-awA_1HeUNrCw0vtOSvsx4OfZtbydaaA8AHEw3QFNCReifCq73KNtPwTS30zPb0BL5ROFjKcBoyvKR1eg/s1600/Move+in+day.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xvmlzipo5DKwO_DeRX0Z30ROuqop_tzVrxfRcUlDBk1au_w1bZb2h-awA_1HeUNrCw0vtOSvsx4OfZtbydaaA8AHEw3QFNCReifCq73KNtPwTS30zPb0BL5ROFjKcBoyvKR1eg/s320/Move+in+day.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This time, with this son, I miss
him in a way that’s nearly palpable. I get teary whenever I hear <a href="https://youtu.be/8TBYjEEZJr4" target="_blank">Big Sean</a> sing "I hope you learn to make it on your own. If you love yourself just know you'll never be alone... And when you get it all just remember one thing - that one man could change the world." Those lyrics ring so true. I had to pull off the road one day and cry. Really. But like I told my youngest, my happiness
for her brother outweighs the sadness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So his
going away isn’t any less difficult, just different. In the way that each child
is different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That said, sending my son off to frolic with the higher learning crowd
has added a little more than 100 minutes of non-pickup/drop-off time to my
daily schedule. (You don’t think about that while it's going on or else you'd talk yourself out of taking on the task. Or go crazy.) For years I've wished for extra
hours in my day and – BAM! – like magic, I got ‘em. To top that off, my youngest
is back in school and has freed me from her vampirish stay-up-all-night summer schedule. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So voile! I’m back to editing like the author I am. Here’s my magic to-date:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislVi84hhir044R8SdWtt2pQRksuyc_1lJ0-ucnPVt4t-F5jxuZvgcjH7rzO1J-ivJJYbPw8_mt_vuat_MVuD1NaGh2yU5y2LjkJMdT1ZZVbYZQ4U9aA7vofLenZD4jkMfYkyB8A/s1600/Aviary+Photo_130865819668536537.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Word count when I ended the story: 88,746; Revisions-in-progress word count: 37,775 (where I am today); Word count at this point in the draft: 29,351 " border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislVi84hhir044R8SdWtt2pQRksuyc_1lJ0-ucnPVt4t-F5jxuZvgcjH7rzO1J-ivJJYbPw8_mt_vuat_MVuD1NaGh2yU5y2LjkJMdT1ZZVbYZQ4U9aA7vofLenZD4jkMfYkyB8A/s400/Aviary+Photo_130865819668536537.png" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Gaging by numbers alone, my progress count would deceive me into
thinking that I’m almost halfway through revisions. HA! I’ve actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">added</i> 8,424 words to the story. (Mind
you, I cut 4,500+ words by deleting a chapter early on.) This means my actual
word count – if I submitted the story “as is” today – would be 97,170. Oh my.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">All that math made my head hurt. LOL Thus, the moral of this blog post
is that it’s time to get back to the book. While my son's out learning how to change the world, my goal is to finish editing before autumn passes me by. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">#thatisall #amediting </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks">www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-45258603529847876672015-01-17T00:28:00.000-05:002015-01-17T00:28:26.430-05:00The World I Live In
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Companies have focus groups. I have my children. We are huge lovers of
all things fantasy, sci fi and supernatural, and wage serious word wars about
the merits of earth-bending over X-Ray vision and things of that sort. For a while
now, we’ve had an ongoing discussion – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">serious</i>
discussion – around the merits of a panic room in the basement that we can
access in the event of the zombie apocalypse. The only thing we agree on so far
is that having such a room would give us a huge advantage in our escape – but only
so long as the zombies aren’t smart like the ones in I Am Legend. (((shudder)))<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThv3QDkNTP5gEBpFIGyc1twbtO1-nghyphenhyphenmDNBkXFOwdc9Dlq9kXtdXQGGrp1oX2tP-lkgwBdUrR8q4HfmN1bMSXq80KnRYiag7x27vL66puFLeL5t5Q90TJpd34AWVw2ywsXJU6g/s1600/Zombies+011615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiThv3QDkNTP5gEBpFIGyc1twbtO1-nghyphenhyphenmDNBkXFOwdc9Dlq9kXtdXQGGrp1oX2tP-lkgwBdUrR8q4HfmN1bMSXq80KnRYiag7x27vL66puFLeL5t5Q90TJpd34AWVw2ywsXJU6g/s1600/Zombies+011615.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shhh! Our potential panic room. Please<br /> don't tell the zombies where we're hiding</span></em>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tonight I asked a question I probably shouldn’t have about the
tentative powers of the heroine in my current work-in-progress. Oh, the debate that
ensued! My daughter re-wrote my story's entire Black Moment – and my son shot her
whole notion down citing an example from some anime he watches. I let them
finish before thanking them for the tangent and deciding my direction is a good
one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love our spirited conversations about things that don’t exist. I
cherish their unbridled willingness to not just think outside the box, but
concede that there is no box at all. We need the escape. Heck – <em>I </em>need the
escape. There is so much sad, bad, heart-wrenching news outside the walls of
our happy home that I approach my Facebook newsfeed with a healthy dose of
trepidation these days. They know that life is hard and unfair and some kids
live with unspeakable horrors. We are lucky, we know. The dangers we conjure
live only in our minds and on my pages. No one is harmed in the making of our “what
if’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this is the world I live in. The crazy, every day realm I share with
children who will one day blame their warped perception of possibilities on
their overly imaginative mother. I figure they’ll either forgive me or wind up
on Dr. Phil’s show. My money is on fond memories and grandchildren who appreciate
a Nana who believes in fairies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stefanie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">www.stefanieworth.com</span></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks</span></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Twitter & IG: @stefanieworth<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-43654184785836180052014-10-24T01:35:00.000-04:002014-10-24T01:35:07.015-04:00Muse Moments: Lifting my kids' playlistsHave I ever mentioned that we listen to a little bit of (almost) every kind of music in my house? Well, we do. And over the past couple of years I have to admit that I've built my 99% of my writing playlist from my kids' song discoveries. I'd never heard of the alternative groups they adore, but now not only do I know their lyrics, I've collected their tunes on my computer. When I'm ready to write I hit play, shuffle, and get carted off into my characters' worlds. <br />
<br />
So last week, my daughter plays a song that's new to me by Hozier and I have been absolutely fascinated with it ever since. So much so that I've concocted my own background story for the lyrics and allowed it to serve as my anti-villain's theme for the angst I'm putting him through. He's in a pretty bad spot - the Black Moment - so one song can't carry the whole ordeal. I added in Muse and Incubus and the guy is now out of his mind. <br />
<br />
It's been a long week at work. Forgive me, the writer, who's taking it out on the people in her pages. Imagination has its perks. Let's see what you think:<br />
<br />
Here's Hozier singing "Like Real People Do." The opening verse says:<br />
"I had a thought, dear<br /> However scary<br /> About that night<br /> The bugs and the dirt<br /> Why were you digging?<br /> What did you bury<br /> Before those hands pulled me<br /> From the earth?"<br /><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/97uHUyPL5dA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There's also "Starlight" by Muse. The lyrics that move my keyboard are pretty simple: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Our hopes and expectations<br /> Black holes and revelations"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But it's mostly the way he sings "I just wanted to hold you in my arms." </div>
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</div>
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<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/Pgum6OT_VH8/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Pgum6OT_VH8&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/Pgum6OT_VH8&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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And then lastly (for tonight) I've been stuck on "Love Hurts" by Incubus for over a month now. He sings:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Love hurts...<br /> But sometimes it's a good hurt<br /> And it feels like I'm alive.<br /> Love sings,<br /> When it transcends the bad things.<br /> Have a heart and try me,<br /> 'cause without love I won't survive."</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ki8NYsqWVRE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Now back to the tormented lover in my book who's about to lose it all. Without love, he won't survive either. Fade to black.<br />
<br />
'Til next time, find more me at <a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a> and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks">www.facebook.com/stefanieworthbooks</a>. <br />
<br />
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-79850745370441179212014-10-06T22:41:00.000-04:002014-10-06T22:41:11.839-04:00Raking words
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leaves have
invaded my yard. The heat kicks in without manually prompting the thermostat. I
tossed my grandmother’s quilt across my bed. Fall has arrived. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it just
occurred to me that I am SO ready for a change in season. </span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can’t say
I’ve been in a rut that only autumn can cure. Or that I need a blast of winter
to blow all the crap out of my life. No, I’m welcoming the change the way you
welcome clean lenses on a pair of dirty sunglasses or open curtains after a
dark night. Fresh perspectives are good. </span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So the WIP (ridiculously
close to finished for too many weeks now) also got a fresh look last week as I
spent several nights re-reading it from page 150 forward. That was about 150
pages of me trying to act like a reader, not writer or editor, immersing myself
in a stranger’s story. </span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the
record, it didn’t work. But what I accomplished was perspective. Yes, the
characters are on the right track. The upcoming moments – some heart wrenching,
some triumphant – will ring true. And like summer fading into autumn, I will
have to let this story go in order to move on to my imagination’s next season. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Picture me
gathering words onto pages like leaves raked into a pile. That’s me today.
#changingseasons #amwriting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-20392012562860281522014-08-26T23:30:00.000-04:002014-08-26T23:30:58.657-04:00Back to workIs anyone else wondering where Summer went? I am. Can't believe the kids go back to school next week. I, personally, could use another month now that I realize Fall is around the corner. There's no denying it: We drove to St. Louis last week to visit family and noticed that trees all along I-94 have begun to shed their green in favor of autumn hues. Already.<br />
<br />
Too short, as always, but the summer was well spent. Especially that week with family. I hadn't seen my brothers in far too long and we spent the days simply enjoying each other's company. I suppose people who see their family members all the time can take laughter around the table or debates over news stories or sitting in silence together for granted. I was good, I didn't.<br />
<br />
In fact, I didn't write a single word on my story during the entire week. Oh, I thought about it. Even opened my laptop on a few occasions, but I didn't want to immerse myself in my other world and run the risk of missing out on what was happening around me in my real world.<br />
<br />
I'm now behind on my word count and won't have the book finished in four days as planned, but hey, it was worth it. On the drive home I felt refreshed in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. I popped in a Michael Jackson CD as rain fell across I-80 and managed to untangle a web of story snares I've been wrestling with for weeks. I couldn't write the ideas down (since I was driving and all), but managed to remember all the plot solutions until we got home. They're now safe on a piece of paper covered with squares of scribbles that only mean something to me.<br />
<br />
They mean a lot to me. Because now, with about 88 pages to THE END, it's back to work.<br />
<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-19434602702693168612014-08-04T01:55:00.000-04:002014-08-04T01:55:50.785-04:00Blog in the Round
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I was very excited to be invited to
participate in Blog in the Round - 4 Questions and Pass It On by Montlake
Romance author </span><a href="http://lianespicer.blogspot.com/2014/07/im-honored-that-bestselling-multi-genre.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Liane Spicer</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">. She and I have traveled some of the same ups and downs in our
writing journey and she’s been a wonderful colleague and faraway friend in my
writing world. I’m honored that she thought of me. Liane was asked to
participate by the fabulous </span><a href="http://novelspaces.blogspot.com/search/label/Marissa%20Monteilh" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Marissa Monteilh</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">. Blog in the
Round is a great way for readers, and other authors, to get to know us better,
and it demonstrates the amazing author camaraderie and support that we have for
each other.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">So, here goes:</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">What am I working on/writing?</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></b><br />
<span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I am about 25,000 words from the end of my
latest fantasy romance that features a pretty awful villainess. I have to say
that she’s a blast to write. There’s something about her having no sense of
remorse that allows the words to flow. She’s easy to define, which makes the
heroine – her opposite – easy to define and write as well. When I finish this
WIP, I plan to take a break and write a novella or two before diving into the
WIP’s sequel.</span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span></span><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">How is my writing/work different from others in its genre?</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"></span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When I published Where Souls Collide seven
years ago, African American authors who wrote paranormal, fantasy and sci-fi,
seemed hard to find. Over the years, I’ve found that’s not really the case. We’re
out there, but more importantly (to me), I don’t want my work to be defined by
color. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My characters are diverse and their everyday problems
– from finding love, to unemployment, to the threat of divorce – are universal.
I always work around a theme of second chances because I believe every person
and every character deserves another chance to get it right. I just happen to
find that so much easier to ensure with a little supernatural intervention.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Why do I write what I do?</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"></span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My kids have heard the story of how I loved
Mio My Son (by Astrid Lindgren) over and over and over. I read it in the fourth
grade and I still remember how devastated I was by the idea of eating
subtraction soup: the more you ate, the hungrier you got! Who would think of
something like that? I guess it got my mind going because I gravitated to
stories depicting fantasy worlds. Eventually my fascination spread to my TV
viewing because Outer Limits, Twilight Zone and the Night Stalker became my
favorite shows. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Toni Morrison and, later, Anne Rice
became my favorite authors. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Not to mention that my mother was an AVID
romance reader! I’d go behind her and read as many of her paperbacks as I
could. I practically inhaled those books as a teen. It would be many years
later before I merged my two reading loves – romance and the supernatural, but once
it happened I haven’t really thought of writing anything else.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">How does my writing process work?</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"></span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I sit down and I start writing. Not true. I
sit at the computer and usually waste a good 20 or 30 minutes online. I do. But
I keep a writing journal and at the start of each month I list 4-5
writing-related goals for the month. They include a target word count, a social
network action, something related to industry memberships or craft workshops, and
web site tweaks. It’s the word count that gets me offline and on to writing. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">When I look at the clock and see how much
sleep I can get after two hours of writing (I do have a day job), I pull up my
iTunes and start my WIP’s playlist. Music is an integral part of writing for
me. My current playlist includes movie soundtrack music (from Inception, Looper
and Thor, for example), along with alternative songs from groups like Muse,
rock from Evanescence, and pop from Bruno Mars. It’s eclectic but the overall
list works together to set a desired mood while specific songs help direct the
characters’ actions. </span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> write until I either fall asleep, surpass
the word goal or the characters stop talking for the night. Then, I log my word
count and words written for the day in my journal, make a few notes for the
next day and shut off the computer. (But there are always sticky notes nearby
because the mind never stops!)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Thanks for dropping in. You can always visit
me here or on Facebook or Twitter as well. And be sure to stop by </span><a href="http://lianespicer.blogspot.com/2014/07/im-honored-that-bestselling-multi-genre.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Liane’s page</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">,
too.</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">‘Til next time, happy reading!</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Stefanie</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/"><span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">www.stefanieworth.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-12030140672561708272014-07-26T13:03:00.000-04:002014-07-26T13:03:29.445-04:00Won't let go at any price<br />
Today is the last day of the 2014 Romance Writers of America conference. Several of my romance-writing colleagues are in San Antonio, Texas, attending workshops, signings, parties and otherwise professionally commiserating. Wish I was there.<br />
<br />
Kind of.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking about re-joining RWA for the past couple of years. While my book was in limbo I didn't see the sense of it. I have my local critique group to keep me moving forward on my WIP and I didn't want to invest in a membership I didn't feel qualified to utilize. But how can I move my writing career forward if I'm not on top of industry changes and connected to the writers who are making a go at romance? It was one of those catch 22 situations for me.<br />
<br />
You see, RWA's express purpose is "to advance the professional interests of career-focused romance writers through networking and advocacy. RWA works to support the efforts of its members to earn a living, to make a full-time career out of writing romance—or a part-time one that generously supplements his/her main income."<br />
<br />
So, in a perfect storm of events -- a week that I wrote 12 pages pulling all-nighters after the day job, turning a significant plot corner in my story, and watching the RWA conference posts start to flow through my online feeds -- I traipsed over to the RWA, filled out the doggone form and just joined.<br />
<br />
Sheesh, Stefanie.<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how good it feels though. So, re-joining the Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal (FF&P) chapter was the next stop along with the Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America (GDRWA). I am really excited -- ecstatic -- about taking these next steps to move my journey forward.<br />
<br />
Next year's RWA conference is in New York from July 22-25. I'm already planning to take the time off from work. I might drive. I might fly. But I do want to be there.<br />
<br />
In between, my WIP will be finished and published and I'll be on book two of what I plan to make a series. Gotta set goals. Gotta go for them. Otherwise, what's the purpose of having a dream?<br />
<br />
As I started writing this post, "If You Leave" by The Cure was blaring from the radio. The lyrics, "...touch you once, I touch you twice, I won't let go at any price," seemed meant just for me today. Re-committing to my writing career is both easier and harder because I've touched it once or twice: I've been published. I know what it takes and I know how that feels. I'm back in and I won't let go at any price.<br />
<br />
"I always knew we'd meet again...someday."<br />
<br />
Keep believing!<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><br />
#amwritingAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-27571648324598629462014-06-19T23:52:00.003-04:002014-06-19T23:54:14.430-04:00The feeling never gets old<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnstFj19GtWxcrsbmO5U48__QVJTzE7z2LqaHe7sVzhq_18Ho85xIn5mFUfW2mG4tCZ1n6d3TKxdGvrb6GphXjQoR1XP5W3tS_s7ZnXl1bZWkgaV4FN_MQOO19iThWHGHo4UvO7A/s1600/cover_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Where Souls Collide by Stefanie Worth" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnstFj19GtWxcrsbmO5U48__QVJTzE7z2LqaHe7sVzhq_18Ho85xIn5mFUfW2mG4tCZ1n6d3TKxdGvrb6GphXjQoR1XP5W3tS_s7ZnXl1bZWkgaV4FN_MQOO19iThWHGHo4UvO7A/s1600/cover_lg.jpg" height="320" title="Where Souls Collide by Stefanie Worth" width="198" /></a>Today I peeked into Amazon to find that Where Souls Collide has eased back into the Top 100:<br />
<br />
<em>Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #223,655 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store) #94 in Kindle Store; Kindle eBooks; Literature & Fiction; African American; Mystery, Thriller & Suspense</em> <br />
<br />
It's just the inspiration I need as I'm facing an unmet word count goal and the need to go to sleep because I have to work in the morning. So, forgive me if I set my sights on the prize and get back to writing.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Where-Souls-Collide-Stefanie-Worth-ebook/dp/B003WUYPVU/ref=zg_bs_6190464011_86" target="_blank">Where Souls Collide on Amazon</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/where_souls_collide.html" target="_blank">Book trailer, excerpt and reviews</a> for Where Souls CollideAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-31802514004060177172014-05-16T01:19:00.001-04:002014-05-16T01:19:24.421-04:00Being BackIn the weeks since my last post, my brother was diagnosed with cancer and I stopped writing. Some people can charge through life's curves by setting their keyboards afire. Not me. I admit. This kind of thing brings me to a screeching halt. <br />
<br />
In the early weeks I actually felt guilty about even wanting to put my God-given talents to use on fiction. Surely I had better things to do with my time and talent. I guilted myself into a few fits and starts; days when I'd say, "Your WIP is calling..." or "Your characters miss you..." or "You're not waiting on some magical checkered flag to rev your engine are you?..." But really, my family and I needed each other desperately for those first 21 days or so. <br />
<br />
Then I began to see glimmers of a new normal: I slept through the night and actually felt rested the next morning. I went a whole day without bursting into tears. (Though my heart still trembles out of nowhere several times a day...) My brother met a fellow cancer warrior who lifted his spirits and quieted ours. And then I knew that I could return to my back-burnered pages.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bBb_PCUTw5McYzPoOaYWkpmNhwvHtHMIxL46DETl2uIxJcXZnC3k_APgDq67Pvvmq3VjGxgc-JRRJiVFSKNzjIOcUjB9tWz8Eap73bZe2U2xysbm9rbYo6TANqPknQxIBkS68A/s1600/WnWcover+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bBb_PCUTw5McYzPoOaYWkpmNhwvHtHMIxL46DETl2uIxJcXZnC3k_APgDq67Pvvmq3VjGxgc-JRRJiVFSKNzjIOcUjB9tWz8Eap73bZe2U2xysbm9rbYo6TANqPknQxIBkS68A/s1600/WnWcover+cropped.jpg" height="320" width="199" /></a></div>
Can I admit that I had no idea where I was in my story when I went back? It's like leaving any book midway through and picking it up after a month. I had to backtrack, refresh, re-introduce myself to the people in those pages. Once I'd forgiven myself for attending to my life, the words began to flow.<br />
<br />
This book itself has had more than its share of ups and downs. Originally slated for publication in 2011 (then re-scheduled a time or two), I wrote the bulk of the first draft while I was going through my divorce. I should have brought the manuscript to a screeching halt while I gathered my wits, but I didn't. I forged ahead. <br />
<br />
When the edits came from my wonderful editor Monica Harris (God rest her soul), Dorchester went into bankruptcy and the rights to my unpublished book went into limbo. It would be two years before the company and my contract found a new home when Amazon bought my former publisher and I became a Montlake Romance author. <br />
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During that time, I reluctantly started another book. Monica passed away, my oldest son went off to grad school, I settled into singledom, and realized my original story now belonged to an author with a new mindset. My beautiful cover deserves to sandwich some pages. So late in 2013, I started that story -- The Wicked and the Wonderful -- again, in earnest. And then the cancer curve came. <br />
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Yesterday, I re-read the scene I left off on six weeks ago. After some editing (which I usually don't do while I'm writing), I even scribbled the first few paragraphs of the next scene on the back of a marked-up page. And today, I'm writing this post. <br />
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I feel okay. I'm doing okay. <br />
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I won't bother typing in yesterday's changes. I'll put those pages into the draft binder with the rest of the manuscript's pages and move on to the next square in my plot chart. I'm looking forward to the villain and the heroine meeting up ahead. I hear their words and I have found my smile. <br />
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Being back is good.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-48982186842271057352014-03-06T20:24:00.000-05:002014-03-06T20:27:07.498-05:00World Book DayIn honor of <a href="http://www.worldbookday.com/" target="_blank">World Book Day</a>, I decided to go around the house snapping photos of all our books (except the ones on my nightstand, which you saw <a href="http://www.plottingme.blogspot.com/2014/02/picture-of-day-books-on-nightstand.html" target="_blank">here</a>.) Not that I was surprised, well, ok, I was surprised by all the books we have stacked up, laying around, read and unread, loved and forgotten.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5quf5MdL8qhs3M__R2Tz7OPE4Rf-OQiMeoChZoAgPD9Y1rTBiGsGh2zguGXsb3KAT-QvOmAcfIe3Flb1hgmhy4A1A99Um5k_Fr1a2fxyIi3tEx93rdBeBtCump5XGFtfqXFevUQ/s1600/bookshelf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5quf5MdL8qhs3M__R2Tz7OPE4Rf-OQiMeoChZoAgPD9Y1rTBiGsGh2zguGXsb3KAT-QvOmAcfIe3Flb1hgmhy4A1A99Um5k_Fr1a2fxyIi3tEx93rdBeBtCump5XGFtfqXFevUQ/s1600/bookshelf.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
The books on the shelves in my office are actually deceiving because they're stacked three rows deep. The collection of an unknown number of mass market paperbacks with broken spines and yellowed pages, that's the shelf that houses books I swear I don't remember. Like you'll see Taltos by Anne Rice there. That story I recall fondly. Waiting by Frank M. Robinson is well-thumbed but...I guess it's been a long time.<br />
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(That crown on top of The Thorn Birds, oh, that's from my reign as Miss Black Teenage World of Missouri. Another story for another blog...)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wPewJyM567f6JzeaZMy6JTH32IKpVCXTnmz7974UhgQgS7EIOJenuzjb4XgQVESJMzn2CQWVuuo3rmwSxoMSLoWQcQ7JTIwmD-v_NWKki4D8kLlfOfVoO59-vBuXplvUbWWr4g/s1600/IMG_1063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wPewJyM567f6JzeaZMy6JTH32IKpVCXTnmz7974UhgQgS7EIOJenuzjb4XgQVESJMzn2CQWVuuo3rmwSxoMSLoWQcQ7JTIwmD-v_NWKki4D8kLlfOfVoO59-vBuXplvUbWWr4g/s1600/IMG_1063.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then let's see, there are shelves in the hallway that house a range of books. There's one holding the "baby" books that my daughter kicked out of her room last year. Yes, that made me sad (*sniff*) because she booted them to make room for her teen fantasy picks like the Evermore series and books that add angst to a tween life that doesn't need one more word of drama. (Oh, the humanity!)<br />
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There are books on those baby shelves, however, that came from my parents' house. Titles like Oliver by Syd Hoff and A Bargain for Frances by Russell and Lillian Hoban were mine when I was little. (Frances was a favorite.) In fact, me and the kids spent over an hour last week thumbing through all the titles from Barney and Big Bird on up. We have so many books crammed in there! The shelf beside the baby shelf houses series like Narnia and Harry Potter.<br />
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Mind you, each of my kids has his/her own bookshelves in their rooms. While the girl is drawn to angst, the boy gravitated to Eragon and Hunger Games. <br />
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I grew up in a house full of books and I have faithfully continued that tradition. There is another shelf in the hallway with books from home. I have The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (in two volumes) and I wonder if my father has ever noticed it's missing...<br />
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You can see The Tommyknockers (*teeth chatter*) hanging out on the second shelf there and on top of the book shelf are books written by my writing friends in the early days of this author's venture into publishing.<br />
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So, one that note, I have to make one special mention. I think it's pretty cool that I always wanted to be a writer and that I grew up to be an award-winning journalist and an author. <br />
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As much as I've written about it over the years, I'm not sure how many people know the story of me walking into a Borders bookstore one sunny afternoon in downtown Detroit and seeing a book by <a href="http://www.phyllisbourne.com/" target="_blank">Phyllis Bourne</a> called A Moment on the Lips. I picked it up, took note of the cover and the publisher: Dorchester, it said. <br />
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I bought the book and sent off my manuscript to that publisher's new African American romance line. And guess what? They offered me a contract for Where Souls Collide! The book that inspired my submission was Phyllis' first book, too, and a couple of years later, we would both pen novellas for The Holiday Inn anthology. Pretty cool, huh? <br />
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Indeed, all the years of reading and writing collided that day and I have enjoyed every moment of this adventure in words.<br />
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Happy World Book Day!<br />
<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-3787984040229283982014-03-06T10:59:00.001-05:002014-03-06T10:59:50.159-05:00Write. Now.Dear WIP,<div><br></div><div>I'm out in the community repping for the 9-5 this morning and all I can think about is you...</div><div><br></div><div>The playlist that draws me in with its sultry strains of Linkin Park, Gia, Likki Li and anything Inception...</div><div><br></div><div>That scene where she discovers what's really going on...</div><div><br></div><div>The moments he wonders how on earth he lost her...</div><div><br></div><div>And my villainness on the war path.</div><div><br></div><div>Yes, in this space of day where the crowds have lulled and I'm left to my deepest, dark thoughts, I dream of you, WIP and the surprises you have in store for me tonight. ;)</div><div><br></div><div>Forever yours,</div><div>Stef</div><div><br></div><div>www.stefanieworth.com<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOI4W3f0Aq1cUSVBFVhMbixyYcjBATxI1vj2J4rwZhsnc3O_qiGXFwk_deJ0KUqTEXUSXdF0rUTmFFhi1WvmPIB-7p2GNGXMTr5FsTTiDXXs2hQ5I5Hd31qMd0R9n5iTvhnboYA/s640/blogger-image-1830597654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkOI4W3f0Aq1cUSVBFVhMbixyYcjBATxI1vj2J4rwZhsnc3O_qiGXFwk_deJ0KUqTEXUSXdF0rUTmFFhi1WvmPIB-7p2GNGXMTr5FsTTiDXXs2hQ5I5Hd31qMd0R9n5iTvhnboYA/s640/blogger-image-1830597654.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-59838112704214072692014-02-22T20:21:00.000-05:002014-02-23T02:08:08.219-05:00Love your heartYou may or may not know that February is American Heart Month. You also might not know that heart disease is the #1 killer of Americans. It is also the #1 killer of women -- killing more women than all forms of cancer combined.<br />
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As writers, we spend an awful lot of time with "butts in chair, fingers on keyboard" -- as we should to meet word count goals and publishing deadlines. But you should also love your heart enough to get up 2-3 times an hour and walk around. Go get a glass of water (and drink it!). March in place for 60 seconds. Run up and down the stairs a couple of times.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/sitting/expert-answers/faq-20058005" target="_blank">Study</a> after <a href="http://www.juststand.org/tabid/816/default.aspx" target="_blank">study</a> continues to show that too much sitting has a negative effect on your health. I totally understand the importance of finishing that next scene. I've also seen the devastation of heart disease up close. And to know that <strong>80 percent of all heart disease is preventable </strong>gives me all the more reason to get you off your butt today.<br />
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This red-lipped kissy face is for you and the 1100 women we lose to heart disease every day. Every day. <br />
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Love yourself. Love your heart.<br />
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I <a href="http://www.goredforwomen.org/" target="_blank">Go Red</a> for my grandmother, my grandfather and myself. Who do you fight heart disease for?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-7240461094286578802014-02-20T00:12:00.003-05:002014-02-22T20:12:08.133-05:00Word TeasePhoto excerpt from page 43 of Where Souls Collide. <br />
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Sure, he wants her. But will he win her. . .<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-37851979442541155532014-02-15T22:18:00.001-05:002014-02-15T22:18:53.051-05:00PICTURE OF THE DAY: Books on the nightstandSweet dreams?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiydtRYuy8HalqlfVKIVB7JUvZshAQ1p1NemK5GQbJc_8Xldgdk40jZLTZwb_XBtbvBEvW6PYoSQJlccHmGfKky0jS0pTeAThkQgzOWSbyGhQkjf-jp7PKDQiyGw0IWk639U5eQ/s1600/POTD+021514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiydtRYuy8HalqlfVKIVB7JUvZshAQ1p1NemK5GQbJc_8Xldgdk40jZLTZwb_XBtbvBEvW6PYoSQJlccHmGfKky0jS0pTeAThkQgzOWSbyGhQkjf-jp7PKDQiyGw0IWk639U5eQ/s1600/POTD+021514.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a><br />
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I have to-be-read piles all over the house: magazines in a basket under the window, research articles in my office, books by genre on the hallway bookshelves, an assortment of reading stuff in the family room, and (of course) the ever-present list in my head. <br />
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But this is the short stack on my nightstand -- part research, part pleasure, part test of nerves.<br />
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What's in your to-be-read pile?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiydtRYuy8HalqlfVKIVB7JUvZshAQ1p1NemK5GQbJc_8Xldgdk40jZLTZwb_XBtbvBEvW6PYoSQJlccHmGfKky0jS0pTeAThkQgzOWSbyGhQkjf-jp7PKDQiyGw0IWk639U5eQ/s1600/POTD+021514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiydtRYuy8HalqlfVKIVB7JUvZshAQ1p1NemK5GQbJc_8Xldgdk40jZLTZwb_XBtbvBEvW6PYoSQJlccHmGfKky0jS0pTeAThkQgzOWSbyGhQkjf-jp7PKDQiyGw0IWk639U5eQ/s1600/POTD+021514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiydtRYuy8HalqlfVKIVB7JUvZshAQ1p1NemK5GQbJc_8Xldgdk40jZLTZwb_XBtbvBEvW6PYoSQJlccHmGfKky0jS0pTeAThkQgzOWSbyGhQkjf-jp7PKDQiyGw0IWk639U5eQ/s1600/POTD+021514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTSTr7BxZlFarvBpT8f1v1BW9TVuP_Hzn5HHCmh1rgKwEZMv3eBUXZUSI_KjDNnpBS0prQBV-jh4_5yvAvFCou3GxFGEi_9hHj1FfqbbbxfHMlR0scJHrxZ3OViiB_6e-jcU5Og/s1600/computer+keyboard+021414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTSTr7BxZlFarvBpT8f1v1BW9TVuP_Hzn5HHCmh1rgKwEZMv3eBUXZUSI_KjDNnpBS0prQBV-jh4_5yvAvFCou3GxFGEi_9hHj1FfqbbbxfHMlR0scJHrxZ3OViiB_6e-jcU5Og/s1600/computer+keyboard+021414.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a>I could say that's the approach I took because I was tired or I knew we had a big day at work today and I needed to shut down early. But truth is, I think the two characters in this scene were talking at me so much I could only quiet them by translating their conversation via keyboard -- with a quickness.<br />
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By not troubling myself with facial expressions, smells, gestures, sounds, setting, etc., I forced myself to get every word right in establishing the purpose of that scene and moving the plot forward. What they said to each other is crucial to the story. And because I pared down the writing to nothing but dialogue, they said what mattered in a way that will make it easy for me to go back and fill in the supporting cast of facial expressions, smells, gestures, sounds, setting, etc. <br />
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I have to say that I like this bare bones approach. Every now and then (I confess), I've lost my writer's way along the road to creating a crisp night, or a steamy love scene. I finish what the characters are doing and lose the precious phrase between them that turned the action from right to left, from predictable to..."didn't see that coming!"<br />
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But not last night. Even as I re-read the scene, I know what they were doing because I chose active, vivid words that relay their pain and disappointment, their discovery and surprise. <br />
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It made me think of a movie I LOVE. Have you ever seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0376541/?ref_=nv_sr_2" target="_blank">Closer</a> with Julia Roberts, Clive Owen, Jude Law, and Natalie Portman? (Oscar-nominated, thank you.) That flick is a study in dialogue for me. I watched it over and over again when it was out years ago, and each time I felt compelled to rewind if I missed a single sentence. What they said mattered, word after word. <br />
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Which is how a book should be written.<br />
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It shouldn't be a string of 80,000 words, but a melody of 80,000 acoustic notes, so that when you say them aloud and the reader plays them through his/her brain, they ring authentic and emotional. <br />
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And when you miss a word -- the right word or turn of phrase -- the attentive reader knows that the conversation is out of key. <br />
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Whether or not I'll write tonight's scene as pure dialogue remains to be seen. It's early for me to hunker down. But already, I hear the heroine's voice pleading at me to not miss a single note -- uh, word. Seems she has more tunes via story to tell.<br />
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<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Photos via Microsoft Clipart)</span></em>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-45507201087367329612014-02-04T22:14:00.002-05:002014-02-04T22:18:47.290-05:00Send me wishesYou've probably seen that meme floating around the internet about how being a writer is like having hundreds (or thousands!) of tabs open in your browser. A little too accurate for me today, summed up like so:<br />
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<strong>Send Me Wishes</strong><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Must. Write. Now. </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">'Cause scribbles in my head don't count. </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">But I'm distracted by</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">the waiting stairclimber, </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">impending snow, </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">sleepless children, </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">fictional kisses,</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">sad news,</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">t</span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">he dishwasher's humming, </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">a Diet Coke crave, </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">open windows in my brain </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">that let everything in. </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Woosaa... </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">(repeat) </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Okay.</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/amwriting">#amwriting</a></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Well,</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">trying.</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">So about those wishes...</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Must. Write. Now.</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Stefanie</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">2.4.14</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-83845166769142152292014-01-02T14:06:00.001-05:002014-01-02T14:07:12.916-05:00No resolutions, just perspective<div class="_1x1">
<div class="userContentWrapper">
<div class="_wk">
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed" id="id_52c5b1f6644509142941875">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">I heard the promo for Ed Gordon's radio show the other day. The one where Stephanie Mills remarks, "How can you have all those people around you and you <em><strong>die</strong></em>?" (in reference to Whitney Houston).</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2X8hl9Jj2feZZ6cHSf1bPkkfl-6G_DW8ZN7etqZF6hHwm5P2_slH4Qxr3gTysxy75xgp8eV0J02yFXVUs2eL3rRcj6W0I8GoAjD_BMD3NG7XhE8tMo-BJAR9zlDA71QAKCE5Pw/s1600/New+Year+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2X8hl9Jj2feZZ6cHSf1bPkkfl-6G_DW8ZN7etqZF6hHwm5P2_slH4Qxr3gTysxy75xgp8eV0J02yFXVUs2eL3rRcj6W0I8GoAjD_BMD3NG7XhE8tMo-BJAR9zlDA71QAKCE5Pw/s320/New+Year+2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking forward to a fantasy-filled 2014!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span> </div>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">It got me thinking: You know, it's not about the size of your entourage, posse, clique, fan base or group of followers. It's about who makes up your sister-girl circle, fellas, friends, "fam," etc. Let's face it, some peo<span class="text_exposed_show">ple care more about what you do than the <em><strong>you</strong></em> in what you do. </span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span> </div>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">So my wish for all of us in 2014 is that we surround ourselves with truth - people who lift us toward light with love. Let's just work to be better each day and rise above our own expectations. When we fall, get over it and get up. Never stop believing that we are divinely equipped and inspired to achieve our dreams. </span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span> </div>
<div class="text_exposed_root text_exposed">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Here's to you and yours, me and mine in 2014: Happy New Year!</span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-62637792664465221532013-12-22T23:48:00.000-05:002013-12-22T23:48:09.669-05:00Kindle edition of The Holiday Inn on sale for $.99!It's the holidays, so why not help folks out with their book gift list? The Holiday Inn and Holiday Brides are available for just $.99 for the Kindle editions. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-D22Ozi9SsCeTb9sD8-yQz_M9vN8Gd-r0lAAjFTUqe7Qr8AveEWzrXKzGdiTeFm9sytl-BVBHtSw_OWOfuTFs1uCD5O7R_MdPnBHf9PrYM9KlwsEOhDUJngvE5eRmzdhiwtESA/s1600/Holiday+Brides_small_150dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-D22Ozi9SsCeTb9sD8-yQz_M9vN8Gd-r0lAAjFTUqe7Qr8AveEWzrXKzGdiTeFm9sytl-BVBHtSw_OWOfuTFs1uCD5O7R_MdPnBHf9PrYM9KlwsEOhDUJngvE5eRmzdhiwtESA/s200/Holiday+Brides_small_150dpi.jpg" width="123" /></a><br />
And look! As of 11:43, Holiday Brides is: <br />
<br />
<strong>Amazon Best Sellers Rank:</strong> #1,586 Paid in Kindle Store (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_dp_ts_b_1">See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store</a>)
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<li class="zg_hrsr_item"><span class="zg_hrsr_rank">#6</span> <span class="zg_hrsr_ladder">in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_1_1">Kindle Store</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/154606011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_1_2">Kindle eBooks</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157028011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_1_3">Literature & Fiction</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157054011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_1_4">Genre Fiction</a> > <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157056011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_1_5_last">Anthologies</a></b></span> </li>
<li class="zg_hrsr_item"><span class="zg_hrsr_rank">#6</span> <span class="zg_hrsr_ladder">in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_2_1">Kindle Store</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/154606011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_2_2">Kindle eBooks</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157028011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_2_3">Literature & Fiction</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157087011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_2_4">Short Stories</a> > <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/7588884011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_2_5_last">United States</a></b></span> </li>
<li class="zg_hrsr_item"><span class="zg_hrsr_rank">#7</span> <span class="zg_hrsr_ladder">in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_3_1">Kindle Store</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/154606011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_3_2">Kindle eBooks</a> > <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/157028011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_3_3">Literature & Fiction</a> > <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/bestsellers/digital-text/7588742011/ref=pd_zg_hrsr_kstore_3_4_last">Anthologies & Literature Collections</a></b></span> </li>
</ul>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">I'm trying to get The Holiday Inn up there, too. Woot, woot!</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"></span></b> </div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Reviews for </span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">The Holiday
Inn<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVA-IrTKnuye7IyRTwJm-DnG5-nhBhw1Zn0Bgf3uOCQqXZN8fJM0E9YvH6n075nT8Bvnmn0-Lq6wJeYVohtjkI5MrtLJyO-27m6tPvMPctq3rqfx87VOoYWihAYEvpf_eNKNv2ZA/s1600/HolidayInnCover_2x2_150dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVA-IrTKnuye7IyRTwJm-DnG5-nhBhw1Zn0Bgf3uOCQqXZN8fJM0E9YvH6n075nT8Bvnmn0-Lq6wJeYVohtjkI5MrtLJyO-27m6tPvMPctq3rqfx87VOoYWihAYEvpf_eNKNv2ZA/s200/HolidayInnCover_2x2_150dpi.jpg" width="123" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Top Pick<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">“<span class="italic">THE HOLIDAY INN</span> contains an expertly crafted trio of
stories guaranteed to bring on your holiday spirit. Each of these novellas is
smooth as a sip of eggnog and just as delicious. [. . .] I highly recommend
this book. Each story is equally good and definitely above the norm
quality-wise for holiday novellas. Sit back and enjoy it with the holiday
libation of your choice!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">-- A Romance Reader at
Heart<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">5 Stars<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">“Stefanie
Worth has penned another exceptional paranormal short story, ‘Can You Believe.’
Fallon and Naymond Terry are approaching their one year anniversary but things
aren't really working. [. . .] However, the story is not that simple. Worth
injects another woman, 'glimpse' into the future, along with money, sex and
power. The characters are believable and tug at your heart. The magic from the
'glimpse' may be enough the change the course of this fluttering relationship
while offering a dramatic ending to a brilliantly romantic holiday story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">--Deltareviewer for Real
Page Turners (reviewing “Can You Believe”)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">5 Stars<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Finding
Love A Second Time Around<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">“Holiday
Inn is the collaboration of three very talented writers, Farrah Rochon,
Stephanie Worth and Phyllis Bourne Williams. [. . .] .Holiday Inn is excellent.
Each story was refreshing, funny, romantic, and realistic. Each couple was
faced with dilemmas that are constantly being asked. I found myself rooting for
each couple as they struggled emotionally to hold on to each other. This is the
perfect holiday story for anyone who loves and believes in happily ever after. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">--Priscilla C. Johnson,
APOOO BookClub<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">4 Stars HOT<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">“In
these three holiday stories relationships are examined, repaired and enhanced
with the magical backdrop of a winter retreat. The situations feel real,
the characters are well developed and the stories will draw you in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">--Romantic Times Reviews<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="mytext1"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">“With a nod to It’s A
Wonderful Life, these three whimsical second chances uses the magic of the
HOLIDAY INN to rekindle lost dreams and mend broken relationships. The
three couples are developed enough so that their differences seem real, which
in turn makes each pair’s scenario plausible. Well written, fans will
enjoy spending time at the enchanting Holiday Inn (even without Bing).”</span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN;">--Harriet Klausner<o:p></o:p></span></i></strong></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: normal; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></strong><strong><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">B<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">I
like that all three stories end with the people still working on what they need
to in order to overcome what divided them. Marriages are constant work and
while I’d love to think that long term behavior changes can happen overnight,
the image of these couples continuing to resolve the problems they’ve admitted
to makes more sense. And I do get the feeling with all of them that they will
continue to do whatever it takes to save the love they still feel for each
other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt;">And
so, brava ladies for a job well done. Each story garners a B from me and the
collection as a whole is one I can recommend for people looking for a Christmas
anthology by three fine authors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Bell MT","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">--
Jayne, DearAuthor.com<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="zg_hrsr_item">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17816575811750622788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18024355.post-43399154517175980582013-12-02T23:34:00.001-05:002013-12-03T00:07:24.877-05:00Christmas with the one who got awayI spent some time hanging out over at Coffee Time Romance today for the December Book Brew talking about my stories and giving away books. I posted an excerpt from my novella Heavensent.com in the Holiday Brides anthology that's actually one of my favorite scenes in the story.<br />
<br />
If you've never felt the way Brenna and Evan feel in this slice of life, can I say you're missing out? lol Of course, you're free to disagree. Either way, enjoy.<br />
<br />
Stefanie<br />
<a href="http://www.stefanieworth.com/">www.stefanieworth.com</a><br />
<br />
***<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US"><em>Christmas
scene from Heavensent.com</em></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Sorority
sisters made great surrogate families – until they all wanted to play the
mother. Holidays especially seemed to inspire gushing bouts of maternal
instinct among Brenna’s peers and most of it revolved around her Quest for a <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Man.</st1:place></st1:state><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Did
it matter that she’d maintained her weight, gotten promoted at work, or had
money in the bank (unlike the shop-happy contingent)? Not much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“A
little more meat on your bones and maybe you could get somebody’s attention.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Come
out of that office once in a while and you could get somebody’s attention.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hit
a couple of these sales with us and you could find clothes that look like you
want to get somebody’s attention.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The
well-meaning critiques sounded so similar that the women’s voices blended to
monotone inside Brenna’s skull. Right now, they hit her head and her heart in
time to a driving beat thudding from one “mother’s” living room stereo. They
were all seated in the kitchen, gathered around the table finishing up
Christmas dinner preparations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">In
the absence of male affection, sister love was cool. It kept craziness at bay
that would surely develop after too much tell-all reality TV. It prevented
occasions for gathering from becoming I’m-all-alone-eating-ice-cream pity
fests. And today its collective spirit distracted Brenna from tallying all the
more moments she hadn’t heard from Evan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The
room fell quiet as a slow song entered the musical mix. The women sprinkled
cinnamon, buttered rolls, passed out plates in silence broken only by
occasional humming or the clattering of forks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Don’t
you all get dry on me,” the hostess admonished her guests.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Where’s
that wine?” the stuffing-spooner asked. “Bet Brenna needs a glass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Just
one,” she replied, knowing a single round would calm her nerves, but two would
put her to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Who
is it this time?” The sister stirring gravy asked what they all assumed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Nobody.”
Brenna hoped her answer would catch them off guard and convince them to leave
her alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Quit
lying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Brenna
huffed and spilled the truth. “I lost my job Tuesday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Her
Mother Hen hostess abandoned the ham she was carving and scurried to Brenna’s
side. “Girl, how come you didn’t tell anybody?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Shocked.
Embarrassed. Pissed the heck off.” Brenna laughed. “What am I going to do
without a job to wake up for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">One
by one, the other sorority sisters came to comfort Brenna, surrounding her in a
circle of sympathy and hugs, offering ideas – serious and not – for ways to
spend her time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Sleep
in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Shop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Try
relaxing for a change.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“What’s
that?” Brenna pretended to tremble uncontrollably. “Must have work.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Get
a life.” Her sorority sister mocked her motions, hurting Brenna with her words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em>I used to say that to Evan all the time. Wonder if I offended him,
too.</em> <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Not
wanting to be caught brooding, she quipped with a smile, “You’re right. I can
do much better than hanging out with the likes of you all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Laughter
exploded throughout the spacious kitchen, bouncing from face to face, ricocheting
off the copper pots and pans strung from a ceiling rack, until the joy settled
around Brenna’s spirit with soft giggles and shaking heads. It elicited her
gratitude for good friends and lured her girlfriend’s husband out of his
upstairs confinement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh,
goodness!” He rolled his eyes and circled the table with his eyes. “You all are
drinking before dinner? We’re never gonna eat, are we? I might as well go get a
burger before I starve.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Joining
in the fading laughter with a gentle snicker of his own, he stretched his neck
around the table tops and counters, examining the imminent feast. “You all did
good! Let me get a little piece of that ham.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">He
followed his wife to the kitchen’s center island. She carved him a thin slice,
stood on her tiptoes and placed the ham on his tongue as if it were a gourmet
delicacy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Um,”
he murmured, licking his lips and winking an eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Um.
Brenna remembered having the same reaction to Evan when he kissed her. Um. She
fanned a hand in front of her face as if waving away the heat. “Hey, you two. Put
your fast behinds on pause for another four or five hours. We don’t want to see
all that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hater,”
he teased, patting his wife on the bottom and backing out of the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Ten
minutes,” she told him. “Tell your boy, too. I know he’s coming.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">She
turned her head from her husband to Brenna. “Got you a little company.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The
doorbell rang like it was cued. To Brenna’s shock, dismay, and hidden relief, Evan
stepped through the back door wowing the women with his charm and cologne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">She
felt both perturbed and possessive; wishing she could punish him with silence
for ignoring her all week, yet wanting to claim him as her own to keep her
single sorority sisters off him. He slipped off his leather jacket and handed
it to “his boy,” revealing a pair of relaxed fit designer jeans – loose in the
thigh, tighter in the butt – a dark plaid button front shirt open at the neck,
and those doggone Timberland boots, this pair in black. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><em>Bet he tastes better than the food</em></span><span lang="EN-US">,
thought Brenna, biting back a grin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“You
look familiar. Do I know you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Brenna
shook her head. “I have one of those faces, the kind that makes you think you
know somebody, but you don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“My
mistake.” Evan stared into her eyes, speaking words no one in the room could
hear but her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Happens,”
Brenna answered with a shrug. “You’re forgiven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The
hostess eyed them suspiciously. “What’s going on here? Did you all go to prom together?
Date in college? Or did you meet in a bar and have a one night stand? It’s
something like that, isn’t it?” she joked. “Well. It’s time to wipe the slate
and get to the table before the food gets cold. Let’s eat. You can pretend like
you don’t know each other later.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">They
continued the charade through the entire meal. Seated next to each other, they made
sure to bump elbows when passing dishes from one side of the table to the other
and their feet rested beside each other’s beneath the table, barely touching. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">The
proximity kept Brenna preoccupied with adult-themed thoughts of Evan all
evening. She couldn’t brush his hand without wishing it was holding her. If it
wasn’t for the fact that he’d disappeared on her for three days, she’d invite
him back to her house for an encore. But hormones won out the first time (and
got her into this tangle). Tonight she’d use her head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Dinner
and dessert finished, the group moved from the dining table to the lower level
recreation area. Laughter and loud conversation flowed with the drinks. New
guests, unknown to Brenna, began to arrive. Some making the stop their second
or third holiday visit, others coming just for the good times they knew were waiting.
Brenna was glad for the growing crowd; it helped shield her and Evan from her
many mothers in the room. She smiled at their protectiveness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Is
that for me?” Evan leaned and whispered in her ear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">She
tingled, but told the truth. “Not hardly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I
deserve that. Surprised you’re talking to me at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Surprise
is the key. If I knew you’d be here, I probably wouldn’t have come.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“If
I’d known we were going to wind up having sex the other day, I wouldn’t have
taken you home.” He smiled as if the statement was funny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><em>Sex? That’s all? No wonder he hasn’t called since.</em><u> <o:p></o:p></u></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well,
I know not to let you in my house anymore, don’t I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Not
if you can’t control yourself.” He laughed a little louder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">People
probably thought they were really connecting in that dark corner of the room.
But Brenna was beginning to feel that the tryst had changed the way Evan looked
at her as a person. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t called – or apologized. He
didn’t think she deserved any better treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">This
man had witnessed her overwrought, out-of-character behavior and replaced her
sensible side with that perception. Brenna searched for her most controlled
tone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I
thought you could handle me waiving my ninety-day rule.” She shook her head.
“You weren’t ready though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Please,
girl.” He furrowed his brow and studied her face. “What do you mean I wasn’t
ready?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em>He’s thinking performance issues.</em> She
giggled. <em>That was hardly the problem.<o:p></o:p></em></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“All
I'm saying is that I’m still Brenna. Treat me the way you have for the past three
years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Really?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hm. Okay. If you say so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em>So what did I just say?</em> Brenna worried. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Evan
looked totally perplexed. “Most girls want more after you sleep with them – not
the same--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well,
you can call --”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Hey,
no problem.” Evan shrugged, totally misinterpreting her point. “If you’re
saying we’re still cool, same as before, that’s alright with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Did
she just give him permission to do something she didn’t want him to do? Had she
managed to chase off the polite, thoughtful Evan who always listened to her
work rants, took her to lunch, and escorted her home on the worst day of her
professional life? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">One
thing felt certain: She’d probably ensured she wouldn’t be getting that “sorry
I didn’t call” apology she wanted so badly. That would mean he cared, and she
just convinced him he didn’t need to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">She
checked her watch. “Wow, it’s almost eleven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“You
ready to go?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Her
hopes brightened. Maybe she hadn’t totally botched a start with Evan. “Yeah.
I’ve been here all day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Evan
walked to the bar and set his glass down. “I’m going to hang out for a while
longer, but go ahead and grab your coat. I’ll walk you to your car.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Oh,
sure. Thanks,” Brenna said, feeling incredibly silly. She began weaving through
the crowd toward the stairs, her sedan, and the safety of misunderstanding. After
all, nothing had changed and that was cool, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">She
gathered her winter wear from the hall closet and wished her hostess and
sorority sisters Merry Christmas while Evan went outside to start her car. When
they returned to the party downstairs, Brenna stood in the doorway peering
through the steamed glass of the storm door, watching Evan clear a dusting of
snow from her windshield and headlights. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US"><em>So, if he could be yours, would you want him that way?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">He
ran up the walk. She stepped outside as he shook flakes from his coat and
stomped his feet. “All set.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Thanks,
Evan.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">They
stood staring at each other like awkward teenagers. Falling snow swirled in the
glow of the porch lights. Their shine gave Evan a godlike quality against the
royal blue night. Her insides twisted and tingled. She shifted from one foot to
the other. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Cold?”
he asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<em>Very, very hot.</em> She just smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“The
car should be warm by now.” He hesitated. “Drive safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“I
will. You, too.” Her feet were freezing. She turned toward her car, then looked
back at Evan. “Call me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">Brenna sped up her walk.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US">He
took too long to answer. “Based on what we said and
everything, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN-US">“Well,
you take care then, Evan Shephard,” she snapped, stepping into the car and
slamming the door. “I don’t know what got into me anyway; making love to you,
waiting for you to call, letting my mind wander to ‘us.’ What in the world got
into me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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