Typos that make me giggle

Yesterday, I was typing away on the manuscript. It was a scene where the hero struggled to keep from thinking illicit thoughts about the heroine.

As you can imagine, he wasn't having much success.

The sentence I tried to type was this:

He pictured her writhing beneath him.

What I actually typed was this:

He pictured her writing beneath him.

I suppose it could be erotic if she were using one of those old-fashioned quills with the feather on the end, but generally speaking, most men aren't turned on by the thought of their lady-love pounding away on the laptop while they're pounding away on...well, we won't finish that thought.

The visual made me giggle all evening long, and I'll probably still be giggling in a few days.

I did the same thing a couple weeks ago when I kept accidentally hitting the "h" instead of the "j" on my keyboard. In my defense, they are side by side. That doesn't mean sentences like this one made a whole lot of sense:

Twenty-pound cats aren't known for being silent humpers.

Probably one of my favorite typos doesn't come from manuscripts at all, but from my years as a technical writer. I used to craft those oh-so-useful bits of help text designed to assist users confused about the software. You know what I'm talking about – the field says entry and you aren't certain what it means, so you click for more information and the help text reads enter a valid entry.

Helpful stuff, that help text.

That wasn't the typo though. The typo that made me laugh every time was the one that resulted when I tried to tell users to click the box, click the field, click here.

You guessed it – I often omitted the "c." Somewhere out there, legions of software users are probably still slobbering on their computer monitors wondering why they aren't achieving the desired results.

Do you have any favorite typos that always make you snicker? Please share.

I'll be writing beneath my husband as he licks the computer monitor and the cat humps loudly on the table.

The bitchometer, rubbing your wood, & other gifts that crack me up

We’re home from our holiday travels, and the big black garbage bag filled with Christmas booty sits in a corner of the bedroom.

It happens this way every year. The newly acquired gifts take awhile to find their way to the appropriate drawers and cupboards, and I’m ashamed to admit we’ve had years where the bag still sits there in April.

But there are always the gifts that find instant usefulness in our daily routine. It may not be the intended use, but it’s sometimes a better one.

Several years ago, my parents bought Pythagoras a keychain that beeps when you whistle. It seemed like a great gift for a guy who loses his keys six times a day, but it didn’t always respond to a whistle. It was also bulky, so it soon got relegated to the hall closet.

While the keychain wasn’t always responsive to a whistle, it was highly responsive to a certain high-pitched tone. You know that tone, ladies – the one your voice develops in moments of intense frustration?

Or as Pythagoras put it, “the bitchy voice.”

The keychain soon became known as “the bitchometer.” The bitchometer might be forgotten for months on end, but the moment Pythagoras and I were locked in a heated discussion and my voice rose a few octaves…

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

I developed a grudging respect for the bitchometer. While it annoyed me in the heat of the moment, it was a good way to keep my shrewish tendencies in check. I was almost sad when it stopped working.

Though there was no bitchometer in anyone’s stocking this year, Pythagoras got another gift with unintended comedic value. My brother and his girlfriend presented him with a lovely, hand-carved piece of wood that functions like a worry stone. You can hold it in your palm and rub your thumb in the smooth, carved divot to soothe yourself in times of stress or worry.

You see where this is going, don’t you?

The snickers started immediately.

“Wow,” Pythagoras said. “So when I’m having a hard day, I can just rub my wood.”

My mom giggled and held out her hand. “Can I see your wood?”

“The guy who made it is a real wood expert,” my brother added. “Do you know how many different ways there are to rub your wood?”

“Hang on,” I yelled, running for the camera. “Let me get a picture of you holding your wood.”

And on, and on. If you think we ran out of wood jokes in the first five minutes, you’ve never spent time with my family.

When Pythagoras and I arrived home last night after a harrowing drive home over a snowy mountain pass, I went rummaging through the black garbage bag right away.

“Here, honey,” I told him, placing it in his palm. “That was a tough drive. You should really go rub your wood to relax.”

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from me. “That’s a good idea, but I probably should have tried rubbing my wood while driving.”

How have you been enjoying the holidays? Did you get any gifts that had unintended comedic use? Please share.

I should see if my husband needs help rubbing his wood.

Ho, ho, ho! (No, I'm not summoning you)

Judging from the slower blog traffic, I'm guessing most of you are out getting a little something under the tree, or stuffing your stockings, or watching Santa's sack bulge or...hell, we could do this all day.

Since we've all got pressing things to do today, I'll make this quick. I just want to thank every single one of you for the last 10 months of reading, commenting, lurking, laughing, crying, and just generally here on this blog with me. It's been an honor and a privilege and I wish all of you the best holiday season imaginable.

If you're feeling ripped off by this blog post and want something more substantial, feel free to drop by The Debutante Ball where we've been talking about family traditions this week. I'm not certain, but I'm fairly sure the family photo I posted today is the most terrifying one my parents could round up.

Be well, be merry, and I'll see you all back here on Monday!

It's hot, tasty, and easy...(insert joke here)

You know that feeling when you look at the clock and realize it's dinnertime and shake your head and say, "I got nothin'"?

I have those moments with this blog, too. I suppose I could share a small squeal over the fact that my editor, Deb Werksman, did an author roundup this morning over at the Sourcebooks Casablanca blog, and that seeing my name included thusly was one of those giddy OHMYGODITSREAL moments:

Seeing my name included just a couple spots below the great Laura Kinsale (one of the grande dames of the romance genre) was the icing on the cake.

But cake is not a suitable meal, no matter how much we might like it to be. And since I have a favorite dinner I trot out on those "I got nothin'" evenings, I figure it might make a good blog post as well.

This dish doesn't have a name, so feel free to give it one. What I like is that you make the whole thing in one pot and still manage to hit most of the food groups. Most of what's in it is stuff I keep around the house anyway, and if you don't have it, you can substitute something else and it's still good.

Here's what you need:

• Two 14oz cans of coconut milk (I sometimes use the light stuff from Trader Joes)
• A little less than a cup of uncooked rice (can be white, can be brown, whatever)
• Chicken (I usually grab a couple frozen breasts, because grabbing breasts is always satisfying)
  
• One 14oz can of black beans, drained
  
• One red or yellow pepper, diced
• A couple handfuls of cilantro, chopped
• A pinch of sugar, salt, ginger, red pepper, or whatever the hell you fell like adding

In a good sized pot, bring the coconut milk to a boil. Watch it so it doesn't boil over – this happens fast. Dump in the rice, then the chicken. The chicken is optional, and you can make the whole dish vegan if you skip it. I often use a couple whole, frozen breasts and let them simmer in the pot to cook (shredding them up at the end). Other times I chop up the frozen pieces in advance and toss them in that way. Makes no difference, and like I said, you can skip them altogether.

Toss in any spices you feel like adding. I like to add about a teaspoon of sugar and a few pinches of crushed red pepper. Reduce the heat to low, cover the whole mess, and let it simmer for about 30 minutes. Once the rice and chicken are cooked, pull the whole thing off the heat and dump in your can of black beans, your diced peppers, and your cilantro. Stir like hell (that's a Martha Stewart term) to mix it up. Taste, adjust spices if needed, and throw it in bowls.

Voila! Warm, yummy, filling, nutritious, and not terribly difficult.

Much like this blog post, right?

Do you have a favorite go-to meal when you need something simple and comforting? Please share, I like adding to my arsenal.

And on that note, I'm hungry. Who's got the cilantro?

On rereading through the lens of experience (and scrotums)

Last night, I was lurking about on Twitter when I saw the following tweet from writer Ruthanne Reid:

@ruthannereid: I kinda needed this tonight: A ski racer, singer, and author walk into a bar... http://is.gd/jbTvP #amwriting #pubtip (via @tawnafenske)

For those who don't speak Twitter-ese, she was providing a link to an old post I wrote last February 18, 2010. The timing is interesting there. I started this blog on February 1. On February 25 I got the call from my agent that Sourcebooks was offering a three-book deal for my romantic comedies.

In other words, I wrote the post a week before I knew whether there was a publishing contract on the horizon or if I'd be continuing to hurl myself at the wall for weeks, months, or even years.

It's interesting to me to reread the post with that in mind. I still like what I wrote, and since that's the case, I'm sharing it here again. I'm also posing a question for discussion in the comments, if you're so inclined – do you ever go back and read things you wrote before major life events? How does that lens of experience change the way you think of about it?

And now, I give you the post (which was known by the few readers I had at the time as "the scrotum post.")


Thursday, February 18, 2010
A ski racer, a singer, and an author walk into a bar

I write humorous fiction, so generally speaking, I try not to get too serious on this blog.

But occasionally I’ll have a point I want to make, so I’ll warn you that today’s entry may not make you laugh (unless I decide to insert the word “scrotum” at random intervals, which come to think of it, would be funny).

Pythagoras has been involved in ski racing since he was a wee tot, so he loves the Olympics. Yesterday was the women’s downhill, and as many expected, American Lindsey Vonn won gold.

While Pythagoras is thrilled, he noted that several of Vonn’s competitors routinely beat her on the World Cup circuit. There’s no question Vonn is incredibly talented (scrotum), but that doesn’t mean the German racer who finished eighth yesterday won’t kick her butt again next week.

To the outside world, ski racing seems simple – if you’re the fastest, you win. Period. The clock doesn’t lie.

But there are other factors to consider. Yesterday, Vonn chose to race on men’s skis, and as it turned out, the terrain on the course was rough – perfect conditions for that equipment. (scrotum) But had she chosen different skis or a different wax, or had a competitor not gotten behind on a turn, things could have ended differently.

It wouldn’t have been a reflection of Vonn’s talent either way – just the circumstances. Though winning proves Vonn is indeed a tremendous athlete, not winning doesn’t mean the others aren’t every bit as good.

Here’s another example: a friend of mine loves American Idol, so sometimes I watch if there’s wine involved. Last night, the judges whittled the field from 50 to 24, and the blogosphere is abuzz with speculation that so-and-so didn’t make it because the producers limit the number of singers with a certain hair color, skin color, or vocal style.

While there’s no doubt the final 24 contestants will make many singing missteps along the way (scrotum), the decisions at this stage aren’t just about who’s the best singer. With a room full of similarly-talented singers to choose from, the judges are most certainly considering factors that have nothing to do with vocal skill.

What does this have to do with writing? I’m getting there. (scrotum)

Over the years, I’ve critiqued work for a number of unpublished writers. Sometimes I’ve found myself thinking, “she’s so good, why isn’t she published yet?” Likewise, I’ve seen plenty of authors beat themselves up over rejections from agents or editors or critique partners. “If I were better,” they tell themselves, “I’d be published by now.”

But it doesn’t always work that way. While it’s true that authors who achieve publication tend to be talented, that doesn’t mean the ones who aren’t there yet aren’t every bit as talented. Someone else’s success doesn’t diminish your talent.

This is something I have to remind myself as well. A few years ago, I sold my first book to Silhouette Bombshell and had already cashed the check and written two follow-up books when the line was cancelled. None of my books hit the shelves. Convinced I needed an agent, I wrote a new book and began querying. Four amazing agents offered representation, one of whom described my book as “an easy sale.”

But guess what? The book didn’t sell. And none of the feedback from editors said the writing wasn’t good enough. In one case, we were told the publishing house already had something too similar. In another case, the editor just didn’t like the subject.

I’m not making excuses here (scrotum). Believe me, there’s room for improvement in my writing, and I work hard at that every day. But I also know that if a writer doesn’t get published quickly, it’s not necessarily because he or she isn’t talented. Surely I must have some talent to secure a previous book deal and the interest of multiple agents, but for whatever reason, I’m not published. Yet.

Luckily, I now have the most amazing agent on the planet, Michelle Wolfson, who remains confident we’re almost there. I believe it too, so I try not to take rejections personally.

I thought of this last night as I watched a sobbing American Idol hopeful receive his rejection news. “You did nothing wrong,” the judges insisted. And he really hadn’t. But they still picked 12 other male vocalists over him. Yes, the others were talented, but their selection doesn’t mean the other guy is less talented.

The most important thing an author can have isn’t talent or a good agent. It’s perseverance. It’s the ability to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and say “just because someone else won this time doesn’t mean I won’t win next time.”

Scrotum.

On shelf space, book placement, & touching strangers

I have something new to add to my ever-growing list of geeky things authors do.

Yesterday I went to Barnes & Noble. I browsed the new releases and the clearance table, pretending to have a mission beyond what was really drawing me to the other side of the store.

I wanted to see where my books will sit.
I located the spot on the romance aisle where “Tawna Fenske” falls between “Christine Feehan” and “Amy J. Fetzer.” I dusted the shelf and caressed it lovingly, drawing raised eyebrows from two bookstore patrons and a leer from the greasy-haired guy in velour pants.

Then I went exploring.

When my amazing agent first mentioned the possibility Sourcebooks might publish my books, I did a little dance. Then I put my clothes back on and drove to the bookstore where I went searching for Sourcebooks titles.

What excited me that day is the same thing that excited me yesterday, which is this:

Those spiffy little spots on the fancy displays don’t happen by accident. I’ve always known this, but just to confirm, I grabbed a Barnes and Noble employee. He seemed alarmed by both the grabbing and the fact that I was photographing books instead of reading them, but was kind enough to answer my questions.

“How do you decide which books go on these displays instead of just putting them on the regular shelves?” I asked.

Eyeing my hand on his sleeve, he shrugged. “Those decisions are made at the corporate level in New York.”

“It’s not random?”

He laughed. “No.”

“So you’re saying publishers pay you guys to put certain books in the pimp spots?”

“Well, I didn’t actually say pimp, but yeah – pretty much.”

For a debut author like me, it’s exciting to know I’m in the hands of a publisher willing to shell out bucks for primo placement. Sourcebooks publishes only a fraction of the romance titles some of the bigger houses crank out each month, but from what I’ve seen, they pour a lot into promoting the books they do release.

While I’ve been channeling all my personal marketing efforts into blogs and Twitter and Facebook, I know there’s a huge segment of the book buying public I can’t possibly touch this way (though if touching them another way is the key to selling books, I’m game).

A lot of readers – particularly romance readers – make book buying decisions based on what catches their eye as they’re strolling the store. A primo spot on the shelves might just make a difference in whether someone’s willing to take a chance on a new author like me or skip right past me in favor of picking up a new aphrodisiac cookbook.

How does book placement impact your book buying decisions? Are you a bookstore browser who grabs things that catch your eye, or do you stay focused on whatever you set out to find in the first place? Please share, I’m really curious.

I’m also giving serious thought to that whole touching thing. Is groping customers a legitimate way for an author to market her books? If so, I'm willing to give it a shot.

Peeing in front of spouses, agents and readers

After nearly 13 years, the exact wording of my marriage vows is fuzzy in my mind. However, I’m fairly certain they didn’t contain the phrase, “I shall not pee in front of you.”

Nevertheless, it’s been a marital law that stood the test of time long after rules about drinking out of milk cartons and not going to bed angry have fallen by the wayside.

Modesty isn’t the issue. It has more to do with a desire not to kill the romance with bodily functions best performed behind the privacy of a closed door.

It’s something that crossed my mind yesterday when I commented on Twitter that I was slashing a scene from LET IT BREATHE. The scene wasn’t terrible, but it slowed the pace and just wasn’t as strong as I thought it could be.

A few Twitter followers suggested I add a deleted scenes section to my website. It’s not a bad idea, and I don’t judge authors who do it any more than I judge pals who piddle bravely before their spouses.

But I’m refraining from both, for pretty much the same reasons. The way people perceive my writing is important to me, and I’m guarded about what I’ll throw out there for public consumption. While I have critique partners I’ll allow to view the “warts and all” versions of my writing, I’m not willing to put that out there for my agent, editor, or even blog readers to see.

I know that might seem strange considering how often I share embarrassing stories about my inept behavior, but there’s a line there for me. I’m confident my tales of hurking in my underwear or licking the floor at the doctor’s office or waxing off my eyebrow represent my writing skills well.

Maybe not my social skills, but the writing is something I'm proud of.

When it comes to offering up writing to my agent, editor, or just about anyone else whose opinion I treasure, I want to keep the romance alive. While I'm sure everyone is aware I occasionally produce crap, that doesn't mean I want them to see it.

Er, metaphorically speaking.

Do you have strict rules about who’s allowed to see your “warts and all” writing? Is there a certain level of polish you require before putting something out there? Please share.

And, um…please don’t feel you need to share your bathroom habits. Really, I'm OK without knowing that.

Go away

As a marketing geek in my other life, I try to be conscious of the saturation point – the moment at which the consumer considers lighting his TV on fire if he hears one more ad about a product.

I try to be aware of that in my author life as well. In the interest of making sure you don't get sick of me just yet, I'm not writing a real blog post today. Instead, I'm sending you to two places you can find such creatures if you so desire.

First up, pay a visit to The Novel Road where Douglas Morrison is devoting the entire month to interviewing authors from different genres. The guests so far have included Brian Haig, Robin Becker, Ken McClure, Peter Ginna, Kennedy Foster, Gary Corby, Sean Ferrell, Brian Russell, Joan Wolf, and now...well, moi. I'm honored just to be included in such an amazing lineup, and encourage you to check out all the other interviews as well as mine.

Second on the agenda is my regular weekly post at The Debutante Ball where we've been blogging about rejection all week. My post is up today, but I should also tell you that you DO NOT WANT TO MISS Saturday's guest post by Laurie Halse Anderson on the subject of rejection. I got a sneak peek, and it's seriously one of the most brilliant pieces I've ever read on this topic.

So there you go. Come back Monday and I'm sure I'll find something else to blather about. Have a great weekend!

Waiting for that sweet release

The publishing industry moves at the pace of a drunk snail crawling through Vaseline, so celebrating small milestones can help you keep your sanity.

That’s assuming you had any to start with.

Yesterday I heard from Sourcebooks about my official release date. Though they’ve said from the start that MAKING WAVES will be an August release, I never had an exact day to mark on my calendar.

Add to that the fact that several authors I know had their release dates change along the way – my agency sistah Kiersten White learned last June that the scheduled September release of PARANORMALCY was switching to August. Two authors blogging with me at The Debutante Ball (a group blog chronicling the debut year of five authors from different genres) have had their release dates changed, with Eleanor Brown’s THE WEIRD SISTERS recently moving from February to January, and Sarah Jio’s THE VIOLETS OF MARCH switching from August to May.

And though those examples might suggest it’s more common for a release date to move to an earlier slot, I’ve heard the opposite is true – that you’re more likely to get bumped a couple months later than originally planned.

On top of all that, there will always be part of me that remembers my first book deal – the one that disappeared when Harlequin/Silhouette cancelled the Bombshell line one month prior to my scheduled debut of February 2007 (go here if you don’t know the story).

All that buildup is my great big caveat to announcing that MAKING WAVES is officially scheduled to hit shelves August 2, 2011.

Part of me is doing a happy dance over having a date to mark on the calendar.

Part of me is gun-shy about the whole thing. Experience has taught me things can change. That it’s more likely they will change than won’t.

But the happy dance part is winning, and frankly, always has. That right there is the single biggest factor I can point to for any successes I have – the fact that even in the face of the most brutal rejections and heartbreaking setbacks, I never seem to lose faith. Even when logic has screamed at me that another disappointment was inevitable, a silly, hopeful part of me always hung in there expecting the best.

I’m not suggesting a moving release date is anything like a rejection. It’s not that big a deal, and if a publisher decides to make a switch, there’s typically a strategic reason behind it. I’m only pointing out that there are a million little uncertainties in publishing, and a million ways the pessimist inside you will insist you shouldn’t pin your hopes on anything.

But what fun would that be to never kick back and enjoy the fantasy something great is going to happen? You can’t let fear of disappointment keep you from enjoying the possibility you won’t be disappointed. That much I know.

Are you a pessimist or an optimist by nature? Do you allow yourself to celebrate little milestones even when overwhelming evidence suggests a less desirable outcome is likely? Please share.

My inner-optimist and I will be busy re-hanging the calendar on the wall.

Three tips for writing when you want to hurl

I woke up feeling sick this morning. No, it’s not from overindulging during yesterday’s brewery tour (though it’s possible twelve pounds of tater tots was not the best dinner choice).

A stomach bug has been going around the office, and though I haven’t consulted the schedule, I have a hunch it’s my turn.

Writing is challenging under the best of circumstances, but attempting it when you feel like hurking into the potted plant on your desk is an especially unpleasant endeavor. I’m by no means a medical professional, but here are three things that help me muscle through when I’m not feeling my best.

Do the grunt work. If your brain is fried from fever but you can’t bear the thought of not opening your manuscript, focus on the inane tasks you’ve been procrastinating. Research the name of that disease your hero contracts in chapter six, or edit that scene you wrote fast and furious and now can’t stand reading because every third word is an adverb or “that.” Even if your creativity is taking a day off, you don’t have to.

Channel the ick. Will your book have a scene where a character isn’t feeling her best? Consider tackling it while you can relate. Getting into the right mindset to write a bad breakup scene or the death of a character is a whole lot easier when your head feels like you’ve been slamming it in the car door all night.

Give yourself a break. I know how it is when you’re on deadline or when you really don’t want to lose traction in your manuscript. But sometimes it’s OK to take a day off and snuggle under the blankets with a barf bucket and a good book. Reading is one of the best things a writer can do to hone his or her skills, so consider it self-improvement if that makes you feel better.

What are your tricks for muddling through when your muddler has fever and chills? Please share.

Speaking of sharing, I’d better get to the office. Gotta keep passing this bug around.