Reason #7806 I probably need therapy

Today is release day for my new book, Fiancée for Hire. It's only 99-cents all week, and can I confess something to you about it? 

I desperately, urgently want this to be my first book to hit the USA Today or New York Times bestseller list.  I've never publicly said that about any of my books for fear of jinxing myself, but I figure I'm turning 40 in a few weeks and this is my chance to put my ultimate birthday fantasy out there in the universe.

So why this book?

Here's where I have to make another confession:

Several months ago, I sent an early draft of Fiancée for Hire to my agent so she could review it before I sent it along to my editor. Amid her notes about assorted typos and character issues was the following paragraph:
 

So during the Williams Sonoma registry discussion (hilarious, btw), all of a sudden it hit me why I love this so much and love Kelli – she's totally you!!!! I feel like I'm usually good at spotting lines etc. where I hear my clients speaking in their own voice instead of the character. Certain phrases or whatever that they use. And of course this scene felt so you. But then I realized Kelli is totally you!!! All of it!! With the animals and the sex jokes etc. She just feels the most like you of any character I think you've ever written. To me at least. In a good way. :)

The moment I read that paragraph, I pushed back in my chair and sat blinking at the computer screen, too dumbfounded to do anything else. Holy shit. She's right. I wrote myself into my own damn book.

Is there a special kind of therapy for that?

Dr. Emily, my real life veterinarian (who
bears a striking physical resemblance to Kelli).

Obviously, I'm not suggesting I'm a short feisty, curly-haired veterinarian (though for the record, Kelli's physical appearance is the same as my veterinarian in real life). To the best of my knowledge, neither my vet nor I had a sad childhood growing up in foster care. 

I'm also not suggesting my perfect love match is a stoic former Marine with control issues (though for the record, I'll admit there are echos of my gentleman friend in Mac's bedroom talk – sorry, honey). 

But you know how you talk about characters having a certain "voice?" Yeah. Kelli's is mine. Or mine is hers, I'm not actually sure.

Did I mention the therapy thing?

Just to give you some examples, here's a classic Kelli monologue from the opening scene in Fiancée for Hire when Kelli gets tired of being polite to a customer trying to hit on her at her veterinary office.

Kelli jerked back, cherubic smile faltering. “I may look like a Cabbage Patch doll, but you should know I have a pump-action shotgun, a black belt in karate, and a vibrator that doubles as a jackhammer,” she replied, her voice still soft and bright. “If you’re not out of my office in ten seconds, I will demonstrate all three on you, starting from the bottom of the list and working my way up.”

Here's another excerpt of a conversation between Kelli and Mac's sister, Sheri (Kelli's best friend):

“My brother has spent his whole life making himself an emotional iceberg so his feelings don’t get in the way of his ability to protect people," Sheri said. "It’s kind of an art form with him.”

“Beats the hell out of papier-mâché,” Kelli replied, shifting a little in her lounge chair as she filed that insight away in her mental Rolodex. “Anyway, things are going well. Great, I mean. Really great. Mac is amazing.”

God, she sounded like an idiot. On the other end of the line, Sheri was quiet.

“You’re not falling in love with him, right?” she asked. “I mean, you’ve always had a thing for my brother, but I thought it was just lust, and—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, licking her lips and infusing her voice with her normal, lighthearted  perkiness. “I only do lust. Not love. That’s why I’m here, right?”

“Right.” Sheri didn’t sound convinced, but she was a good enough friend to let it drop. “Mac called last night. He sounded a little rattled. You must’ve done something to shake up his image of you as sweet, demure, and wholesome?”

Kelli laughed. “I jerked him off in his closet, then let him finger me in a restaurant.”

“That’ll do it. All that within the first forty-eight hours?”

“All that in a two-hour span. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

So there's a little taste of Kelli, which I suppose means I'm giving you a taste of me. Is this getting creepy for anyone else? I probably need to end this post now.

Well, after making one last plea – Fiancée for Hire is only 99-cents all week, and that link right there will take you to where you can buy it for your Kindle, Nook, iPad, or any other eReader on the planet. If you've already bought it for yourself, it makes a lovely (and cheap!) gift.

I promise to use a portion of the royalties for therapy.

Judging others for what's in their mouths and hands

It happened again last week. I wrapped my lips in a tight "o" around the slender shaft, sliding it back along my tongue as I gently began to suck.

Then a colleague walked through the door.

"You really shouldn't drink so much soda," he said, pointing a finger my McDonald's cup. "You've got a giant Coke in your hand every time I come here. That stuff'll kill you."

I took one last slurp from my straw and set down the cup. "How nice of you to be concerned with what goes in my mouth."

He blanched and stammered while I sat there deciding whether to explain what I'm about to explain to you.

Take a look at the cup. Notice anything special about it?

Check out the ad for the Olympics. No, the 2014 games aren't still going on in Sochi, and no, my local McDonald's isn't cycling through beverageware that's four months old. I've been using that cup for ice water since February because I like the size and shape of it. The base fits nicely in my hand, the straw is handy for sipping as I work, and it holds a lot of water so I don't need to interrupt my workday for refills (only for frequent pee breaks, which probably defeats the purpose).

So yes, I visit McDonald's infrequently enough that I'm still packing around a four-month-old cup. Also for the record, the cup originally held unsweetened iced tea, not soda. I don't actually drink soda.

But why did I feel an urge to explain any of that to anyone? Do I really care if someone judges me based on my beverage choices?

Part of me wants to roll my eyes and raise my plastic cup, sniffing with disdain as I inform you that it's none of your business if I drink Coke or vodka or motor oil during my workday, nor is it anyone's business what vessel I swill from as I do it.

But then I have to admit what I do every two months when a board meeting rolls around and it's time for the marketing team to give presentations to our board of directors. I leave the McDonald's cup in my office. I grab a plain glass from the cupboard in the break room and I sit there in my ironed blouse and grownup pencil skirt using professional words like "return on investment" and "user engagement" instead of "sweater potatoes" and "meat popsicle," and I sip from my perfectly neutral glass of ice water.

Why do I do that? Why do any of us do that, whether we're hiding a fast food cup or the cover of a smutty novel?

I think about this a lot as an author of risqué romantic comedies. Countless times I've been hired to to teach workshops on social media for authors or brought in as part of a panel of authors reading excerpts at reader events. After the speaking part is done and authors have been herded back to our book-selling stations, someone will approach my table with a sheepish look.

"I don't think I could be seen carrying around a book with a shirtless man on the cover," the reader will whisper, nodding at my books as though I've stashed packets of crack inside each. "I really liked your talk, though, and your books sound hilarious."

These are often the same people laughing their asses off as I read excerpts from the Newlywed Game scene in Making Waves or the diaper drama scene in Marine for Hire. But the thought of actually purchasing my book or being spotted with it in public? Well, that's going a little too far.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter about the lost sales. I know plenty of these folks go home and buy a book online for their eReaders, hiding it like a Penthouse magazine tucked inside Better Homes and Gardens. I also recognize that my books aren't for everyone, and I don't expect every member of the public to line up at my front door to buy one (though that would be really freakin' cool, wouldn't it?)

I guess when it comes down to it, I wish more of us cared less what other people think about our choices in beverages, books, cars, homes, hairstyles, and sex toys. I wish I cared less, honestly. Maybe that's something I ought to work on.

What are your thoughts on the way we judge each other for lifestyle choices or reading materials? Please share!

And please excuse me for a moment while I refill my McDonald's cup. The board meeting's over, right?

The week you all became booksellers

A couple weeks ago, I got some great news about my new romantic comedy Frisky Business: The book has one of the widest distributions of any book I've ever published, with copies stocked at WalMart, Barnes & Noble, Fred Meyer, Meijer, and a variety of independent bookstores around the country and in Canada. Amazing, right?

Then I got some not-so-great news from my editor.

The sell-through for the first week wasn't so hot. Less than 20%, to be exact. There were tons of copies out there, but they weren't flying off the shelves and into people's shopping carts.

I kept that news to myself, content to tuck my tail between my legs while crossing my fingers for luck (a feat of dexterity, if I do say so myself).

But then something happened.

It started with a few Facebook and Twitter friends sharing pictures of my book in the wild. Since I adore seeing these kinds of photos, I gathered a few of my favorites and made this little collage in Photoshop:

Click to make it bigger and see all the cool locations people found Frisky Business.

That led to more readers sharing photos of Frisky Business. Apparently, the book is quite popular with pets:

One reader shared her plans to take Frisky Business with her on vacation to Greece and Italy. She's been sharing photos of the book at major landmarks along the way:

Frisky Business goes on vacation in Greece and Italy with one fabulous reader.

Then the photos really started to pour in:

Indiana, PA (WalMart)

Portland, OR (Fred Meyer)

Bastrop, TX (WalMart)

Cape Coral, FL (WalMart)

Chicago, IL (Meijer)

Northern KY (WalMart)

Rogers, AR (WalMart)

 
I offered to mail a handful of signed bookmarks to anyone willing to stuff a few inside the copies they spotted at their local stores. A number of readers took me up on it:

Saginaw, MI (Barnes & Noble)
stuffed with signed bookmarks.

Other readers got creative with sticky notes:

Hays, KS (WalMart)

Now here's where things get interesting. The more photos people shared, the more I started to see messages like this one:

So if readers were snagging last copies, that had to mean other copies had sold, right?

I checked my Author Central account at Amazon, which gives me a very, very fuzzy look at sales numbers. Sure enough, Frisky Business sold more copies in its second week than it did in the first.

But how? Surely a handful of Facebook and Twitter pals weren't moving the needle that much, were they?

Well, maybe. Here's how:

Besides the fact that this Facebook pal prompted a total stranger to buy my book, I love that the comment thread here connected two readers who didn't previously know each other, but realized they lived near one another. They proceeded to have a lengthy comment exchange about where to find my book in their local area.

So Facebook friends taking pictures of my book at their local stores were prompting bystanders to buy the book? Not only that, but total strangers were forging connections with one another over social media and helping each other to locate and purchase my book?

I wish I could say this whole thing was some brilliant marketing scheme I came up with based on calculated data and savvy strategy. It wasn't. But it wasn't dumb luck, either.

It was friendship, pure and simple. It was the joy of making genuine, honest-to-goodness connections with people on social media and the resultant urge to support someone who's become a friend.

When people ask me if authors should bother with social media, this is what I'm talking about when I grab them by the lapels, give them a hard shake, and cry "Good God, yes!"

This is how it's supposed to work, guys. Not authors screeching "buy my book!" or "like my page!" from their social media soapboxes. Just friends helping friends and supporting authors they've gotten to know.

On that note, I'd love to see more photos of Frisky Business in the wild and hear any stories you can share about prompting friends or strangers to give the book a try. Please share!

And thank you, friends. I really mean that. You guys rock.

Things I probably shouldn't confess about Frisky Business

I feel like I need to confess something about my new romantic comedy, Frisky Business. It's something that might actually annoy my editor a little bit, so if you happen to be her....um, sorry. Maybe come back next week when I describe my latest search for garage porn?

There's a complicated story behind Frisky Business. Back in 2010 when I signed a three-book contract for romantic comedies with Sourcebooks, we agreed my third book would be a story set at a make-believe Oregon winery with a divorced heroine harboring a longtime crush on her ex-husband's best friend, a recovering alcoholic who's just gotten his life back together. The story wasn't written yet when we signed the contract, but we all agreed on the overall plot and a release date sometime in late 2012.

Then, life happened. I went through a pretty lousy divorce that occupied most of my energy between the spring of 2010 and the spring of 2011. Since that was the same period in which I was writing the aforementioned third book, you can imagine the story took on a slightly darker tone. It was still romantic comedy, of course, but between the plot elements of divorce and alcoholism, and the fact that the author was struggling to feel romantic or comedic, the book was a bit more somber than Making Waves and Believe It Or Not (the first two books in that contract).

But I pressed on, and by January 2012, I'd cycled through a couple rounds of revisions with my editor and felt pretty good about the book. Then I got a call from my agent. She'd spoken at length with my editor, who had begun to feel this was not the right third book. My editor was very clear that she loved the writing and the story, and that they weren't rejecting it for editorial reasons (an important distinction when it comes to book contracts). In fact, I had the option to go ahead with the book and the release date if I wanted to. But my editor cautioned me that books with alcohol-related themes weren't selling well at all, and my agent and I discussed what low sales would mean for my career at the tail end of a three-book deal.

I agreed to go back to the drawing board and write a whole new book with whole new release date somewhere off in the distance.

I began to write again. I came up with two new story ideas, including one with a heroine working as a professional fund-raiser for a museum and wildlife sanctuary in Bend, Oregon. Fed up with wealthy jerks, she vows to date only blue-collar men, which proves inconvenient when she falls for the unlikely millionaire serving as chairman of the board of directors. I wrote the first three chapters and handed them off to my editor.

She loved the story, except for a few small details. The heroine shouldn't be a fund-raiser, the hero shouldn't be a board chairman, and the museum setting would never work. Oh, and I needed to focus on making the story "more mainstream."

In other words, change pretty much everything.

At that point, I will admit it – I kinda lost my shit. There may have been cursing and hurling of objects. I'm pretty sure wine was involved. My agent coaxed me off the ledge. "Just take a break and write something fun," she said, shoving me toward a quirky 12,00-word novella project that ended up becoming Eat, Play, Lust.

After a month or so, we regrouped. I clarified with my editor that the "museum" was more of a quirky wildlife sanctuary resembling the High Desert Museum in Bend, and we all agreed that setting would be fine as long as I steered clear of making it sound like a stuffy art gallery.

Ultimately though, everything came down to this advice from my agent: "Write the book you want to write, the way you need to write it. Just forget everything else."

So I did. I kept the proposed setting, and I kept my characters' professions. Then I added a storyline about antique stone dildos and a subplot about a lesbian relationship.

"Um, this is pretty much the opposite of mainstream," one of my critique partners pointed out when I finished. "And what's with all the weird sex euphemisms?"

I turned the book in to my editor. I was absolutely, positively certain she would hate it. I was ready. Deep down, I think even my agent was bracing herself for the contract to be terminated.

Then, my editor floored us all. "I love it," she said.

Her only change was a request to switch a minor character's name from Mark to something that sounded less like my heroine's name, Marley.

That was it? I was dumbfounded. And I will admit something right now – I thought she was messing with me. I thought she actually hated the book, and this was her way of making the whole thing go away.

So as my publication date approached these last few months, I've been bracing myself. I was prepared for scathing reviews, for readers expressing annoyance in their Amazon comments. 

Instead, I got this:

“Up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor. An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness.”
–Kirkus Reviews 

“Fenske’s fluffy, frothy novel is a confection made of colorful characters, compromising situations and cute dogs…This one’s for readers who prefer a tickled funny bone rather than a tale of woe.”
– RT Book Reviews 

 “Loaded with outrageous euphemisms for the sex act between any type of couple and repeated near intimate misses, Fenske’s latest is a clever tour de force on finding love despite being your own worst emotional enemy. Sweet and slightly oddball, this title belongs in most romance collections.”
– Library Journal 

Another Frisky Business surprise – discovering
it's being sold at Fred Meyer and Kroger around the U.S.

I know authors always act surprised and humbled by positive reviews. Hell, I've done it myself. But never before have I been so utterly, completely dumbfounded by the praise that's been heaped on Frisky Business.

So there you have it. My true confession about my latest romantic comedy release. I feel so much better now, don't you? Perhaps we should all do a few hail marys and break out the communion wine.

Since you've read all the way to the end of this story, I feel like I should reward you somehow (or at least one of you, anyway). Share in the comments about one time YOU received praise or compliments you totally weren't expecting. I'll choose one winner next Monday, May 19, to receive a signed copy of Frisky Business. Cheers!
 

Ten things you’ll never hear me say (well ALMOST never, I swear)

1. Not tonight, dear. I have a headache.
2. Another glass of wine? No thank you, I’ll have juice.
3. Let’s be serious, folks.
4. Adding another sex scene to this book would compromise my artistic integrity.
5. I don’t really need pets in my life.
6. That dirty joke was completely inappropriate.
7. I think I’ll just wait for the movie instead of reading the book.
8. Stop groping me, I’m trying to write here.
9. I’d love to come over for dinner, just let me put on some shoes.
10. Buy my book.

Okay, that last one on the list? I hate it. I can’t stand authors who think “marketing” means beating readers over the head with your book until they fall to their knees and whip out a credit card. If you ever catch me doing that on Twitter or Facebook or in your local bookstore, you have permission to grab me by the tongue and drag me around the floor until my boobs are worn flat.

That said, I am a romantic comedy author who keeps a roof over my head with the advances and royalties from the sale of my books. I find that having a roof over my head greatly enhances my ability to produce more books (not to mention it keeps the snow out of my wineglass).

Tuesday, May 6 is release day for Frisky Business, my newest romantic comedy from Sourcebooks. Kirkus Reviews recently wrote wonderful things about the book, including "up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor. An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness."

If you like all that stuff, this book might be for you. If you don’t like that stuff, this book also makes a lovely doorstop, flyswatter, or coaster for your wineglass.

• Here’s where you’ll find it on Amazon

• Here’s where you’ll find it on Barnes & Noble

• Here’s where you’ll find it on iBookstore

• Here’s where you’ll find it on Kobo

Or you can wander into your local bookstore and ask for it. If they don’t have it in stock, try throwing yourself on the floor and pounding your fists and feet on the ground while screaming the book title until they offer to order it for you.

But even if you don’t buy the book, we’re still friends. Can I come over for dinner? I might even put on shoes if you want.

Share your bad date story, win a signed copy of Frisky Business!

Holy cow, you guys! We're a week away from the release date for Frisky Business, my new romantic comedy from Sourcebooks. Anyone want to join me in doing a happy dance on the table wearing nothing but undies and a party hat?

Next week I'll be kicking off a blog tour centered around bad dates. We’ve all had them, right? In Frisky Business, my heroine endures more than her share. After vowing not to date any more wealthy men, Marley embarks on a quest to date only blue collar guys. While the plan makes it easier for her keep her distance from Will—the quirky, unlikely millionaire she desperately doesn’t want to fall for—it sends Marley down a path of truly terrible dates.

I'll be sharing several of my own during the blog tour, but how about we get a head start on this now? While the bad date stories I'm sharing during the tour are fairly detailed, there are a few abbreviated ones worth mentioning. Among the highlights:

• Age 16: The guy who turned to me during the first five minutes of our date and asked, "do you like to get down?" I replied by detailing my musical preferences and limited experience with dancing at school functions. He gave me an exasperated look. "No," he snapped. "I mean do you like to f**k." Suffice it to say, he never found out.
• Age 23: The guy who spent much of the date ogling a woman on the other side of the bar. When I said his name to draw his attention back to our conversation, he turned his head and speared his nostril with his straw. (Note: You'll see a slight variation of this incident in Frisky Business).
• Age 37: The time my date texted me something flirtatiously filthy from across the table at the precise moment I handed my phone to his ex-wife (you can read more of that story here).

I'll be sharing a number of lengthier stories during the blog tour, so go here to scope out the dates and topics. There will be tons of exclusive excerpts and cool prize giveaways, too, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, how about we kick things off with our own prize giveaway? In the comments (or in an email message sent to tawnafenske at yahoo dot com if Blogger decides to be a dick and eat comments again) please share your own bad date story. It can be as short or as detailed as you like.

I'll pick a winner on Monday, May 5 – the day before release day for Frisky Business – and that person will receive a signed copy of the book.

Not in the mood to share or to wait? I've heard through the grapevine the book is already appearing in bookstores around the country, and many folks who pre-ordered  have already received theirs. Here's a roundup of buy links:

• Buy the book from Amazon

• Buy the book from Barnes & Noble

• Buy the book from iBookstore

• Buy the book from Kobo

So what's YOUR best bad date story? Please take off the party hat, get down from the table, put your clothes back on, and share!

Win it before you can buy it! I'm giving away 5 free ARCs for Frisky Business (my May 2014 romantic comedy)

There are a few things in my book contracts that baffle me.

Okay, that's a lie. Pretty much everything besides my name and the line that says "sign here" is a mystery to me, which is why I'm grateful to have an agent who makes sure I never scrawl my signature on a form pledging to donate my boobs to medical science upon the sale of Turkish rights for my first two novels.

Incidentally, in case you've ever wondered what the Turkish versions of Making Waves and Believe it or Not look like (and who hasn't?) here you go.

But this is actually not the point of this blog post. Wait, what was the point?

Right. The fact that I don't understand my book contracts. For instance, I know it says somewhere in there that they'll send me a whole big bunch (I think that's the correct terminology) of advance reading copies (ARCs, if you want to sound cool) for each of my books. Even so, I'm always a little mystified when they show up.

In case you've never seen an ARC, they pretty much look like real books. However, if you look closely, you'll see lingo that specifies they're not for resale and that they're intended for review purposes. If you look even more closely, you'll see typos scattered throughout the manuscript because I have the tendency not to notice things like that until the eleventh hour. It's something my editor finds utterly charming about me, and by "charming," I mean there's a strong possibility she'd like to punch me in the throat.

Nevertheless, I have a bunch of ARCs for my newest romantic comedy Frisky Business. They are currently covering up a hole I made in the desk when I knocked over a big penis-shaped candle. Now I haven't read my contract closely, but I suspect that's not how I'm supposed to use my ARCs. I should probably give them away, don't you think?

I have to tell you, I'm kind of excited about this book, which is releasing May 6 from Sourcebooks. Yesterday, Kirkus Reviews (one of the most reputable review publications in the book biz) posted a killer write-up on Frisky Business. Lookie here:

Kirkus Reviews

Swearing off rich men after a demoralizing breakup, Marley Cartman moves to Bend, Ore., for a brand-new start and immediately meets Will: jeans-clad, seemingly unemployed and...horrifyingly wealthy.

 The second Marley meets the scruffy animal shelter volunteer, it’s clear there’s an attraction, and when they wind up sharing a scorching kiss, she thinks there might be something worth pursuing…until the next day, when she discovers that "Will" is William Barclay V, a wealthy town benefactor and chairman of the board of the wildlife sanctuary where’s she’s just started working and which has a very strict policy against staff fraternizing with supervisors and board members. Besides, Will has major trust issues thanks to a disastrous marriage, and Marley has a few secrets that she knows will push his buttons. Forsaking the man who makes her toes curl, she embarks on a plan to date normal men with average bank accounts—with highly amusing results—until the moment Will’s and Marley's pasts collide to devastating effect. In this quirky comedy, up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor.

An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness.

Doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart? It warms mine, and I'm not even entirely sure where my cockles are.

Here's what I do know though: having a bunch of reviews on Amazon and Barnes & Noble can make or break a book for an author. It's particularly important to get those reviews up on release day or immediately thereafter (though not before, since those sites won't allow you to review a book that doesn't exist yet. Go figure).

Anyway, here's what I want to do: I've got five extra ARCs for Frisky Business. If you're willing to leave a review on Amazon or B&N on release day, tell me so in the comments. Bonus points if you're willing to do both. I'll draw five names on Monday, April 14, and will mail them out to you the next day.

Oh, and if you're too busy to hassle with all that but you still want the book, Frisky Business is available for pre-order on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Probably some other places, too. I should check my contract, huh?

P.S. Sometimes Blogger decides to be an asshole and eat comments (particularly from people using smartphones). If that happens to you, feel free to email me at tawnafenske at yahoo dot com and I'll still count your entry.

On dead pets, romance, and the upside of uncertainty

Saturday afternoon, we said goodbye to our 16-year-old cat, Ivy. She spent her final moments on earth rolling in a big pile of catnip, purring her big, drooly, toothless purr, and thrusting her butt at us for scratches.

Ivy is now raising hell in kitty heaven.

All things considered, that's how I'd like to enjoy my last living moments.

I've gone through the aging process with a lot of pets over the years. More than once, I've had to ask the tough question of whether it's time to say goodbye to a furry companion. More than once, some well-meaning acquaintance has given me a look of intense compassion and declared, "you'll know when it's time."

You know what? I haven't. Not usually, anyway. The last two times I've made the decision to bid farewell to an elderly pet, I questioned my choice up to the last minute. I think this is the kindest most merciful thing right now, but I'm really not sure.

While I've never regretted the decision, it's come with a lot more uncertainty than those friends insisted I'd feel.

There's a quote often attributed to Voltaire that says, "Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd."

It reminds me of my early days when I began writing fiction and rushed into those first books with the zealous certainty of a horny ram let loose in a pasture of ewes in heat. As I made mistakes and learned from them, my pace slowed considerably. Now, with half-a-dozen published books under my belt, I can sometimes find myself paralyzed with uncertainty. What happens next? Does my heroine visit her grandmother or dance naked on the bar at a karaoke club? Or maybe she and grandma both dance naked on the bar?

While I occasionally annoy myself with all that second-guessing, it's empowering to know I've honed my craft enough to grasp the importance of small gestures, characterizations, and decisions. Those little details can be crucial to the big picture of a novel.

As a romance author, I'm a sucker for any book that explores love and marriage. As a slightly jaded divorcee engaged to an amazing man who's also a bit jaded by divorce, I'm a sucker for any book that explores those subjects beyond the level of two people who meet, boink, fall in love, and get married (not necessarily in that order).

On of my favorite books of all times is Elizabeth Gilbert's non-fiction title Committed. Here's the interesting thing about that book: if you search "Elizabeth Gilbert + Committed," you'll discover two versions. One is subtitled "A skeptic makes peace with marriage." The other, simply, "A love story." Same book, different marketing spin.

But in either case, there's a section where Elizabeth Gilbert describes the words spoken between a mother and daughter in the dressing room before the daughter's wedding. Gripped by a case of last minute jitters, the daughter asks her mother if all brides are this terrified before walking down the aisle. "No, dear," the mother replies. "Only the ones who are actually thinking."

Whether we're talking about the demise of my beloved pets, the path of my romantic comedy novels, or the plans for my upcoming nuptials (which, come to think of it, are three odd things to discuss in the same breath) I can say for certain that the only certain thing at all is that I'm quite uncertain most of the time.

But perhaps that's not a bad thing. Age and life experience and a whole lotta mistakes along the way have taught me a few things over the years. I won't always make the right decisions. I won't always know the best path to take. Sometimes I will screw up so abysmally that no amount of unscrewing, rescrewing, unscrewing, rescrewing, more screwing, harder screwing...wait, what was I saying?

Right. I'm going to screw up. That's one of the only things I'm certain of in life. At the risk of sounding like a pessimist, you're going to screw up, too. The upside of recognizing it is that we learn to move a bit more cautiously. We learn to work harder and smarter. We learn the value of balancing our uncertainty with the fervent desire to get it right. Though we know sometimes we won't succeed, we hope like hell we often will.

What areas of your life do you forge ahead with confidence and certainty? Which areas call for a bit less self-assurance? Has it changed as you've gotten older? Please share.

I'll be honoring Ivy's memory by rolling in catnip and waiting for someone to scratch my butt.

Are you where you're supposed to be right now?

The first thing I said when my gentleman friend proposed in September was "yes."

OK, technically it was "hell, yes," followed by a combination of shrieking, sobbing, and laughing that sounded like the bellow of a water buffalo dragged behind a tractor.

In any case, the second thing I said was, "I'm not wearing shoes for this wedding."

Beyond expressing my fondness for naked feet, it was my way of conveying my desire for a simple, no-frills ceremony. Lucky for me, he shared my vision, if not my abhorrence for footwear.

My engagement ring, one of many not-so-traditional
aspects of our upcoming wedding. 

A few weeks later, I made the mistake of venturing into a bridal shop. Despite my explanation that I sought a simple, short, non-froofy, non-traditional dress, the attendant proceeded to thrust a mountain of tulle and lace at me until I fled the shop in terror. "Wait!" she called, clinging to my leg and scrambling to drag me back inside. "At least take this free wedding planning guide so you know how to get ready for your big day."

I brought it home and tossed it on the counter, not giving it much thought until I found my gentleman friend skimming it a few days later.

"Did you see this suggested timeline for wedding tasks?" he asked.

"Not unless it's on a page with pictures of food or naked people."

He grinned. "With only eleven months to go, we should have already booked a caterer, hired a florist, gotten your hair and nails done, and packed for our honeymoon."

He might have been exaggerating, but not by much. Since this will be a tuxedo-free, florist-free, caterer-free affair with attendants who still have a bedtime, we weren't terribly alarmed by the industry-prescribed schedule. As the date of our September nuptials has drawn nearer, we've taken to reminding each other of pressing tasks.

"Nine months to go," I declared in December. "Shouldn't we go pick up my bridal bouquet?"

"Eight months left," he announced in January. "We should probably be on our way to the airport for the honeymoon."

"Seven months left," I said in February. "Where's that top tier of the wedding cake we're supposed to pull from the freezer on our first anniversary?"

While the humor of it amuses me, it also reminds me of a slightly less amusing aspect of the publishing world. In the ten or so years since I first tried my hand at writing fiction, not a month has gone buy that I haven't heard the niggling little voice in the back of my head. The writers among you will know that voice, though yours may be somewhat less prone to dirty talk than mine.

"You've been writing a long time," the voice will his in my ear. "You should have landed a book deal by now." 

"Three months until your novel comes out and you still don't have a marketing plan?"

"You've published half-a-dozen books. Shouldn't you have hit the New York Times bestseller list by now?"

The voice has dogged me for decades, and not just when it comes to my writing career. In nearly every aspect of my life, stress can send me stumbling down the coulda-shoulda-woulda path of self-doubt and unhealthy comparison.

"You should have a much bigger retirement account by now."

"You've been doing yoga six years and still can't do side-crow without toppling onto your neighbor's mat?"

"By this point in your career, shouldn't you have a team of nude cabana boys to refill your wine and massage your feet while you write?"

Fortunately, I've gotten better at locating the source of the voice and giving her a good, solid bitch-slap.

"I'm making my own path," I tell her. "I have my own rules, my own timelines, my own damn route to success and happiness."

It's a reminder I imagine most of us need from time to time when we find ourselves fretting about what should have happened in our lives by now. When the imaginary clock ticks frantically for whatever milestone we believe we've failed to achieve.

It's a constant struggle to silence the voice, whether I'm plotting a book or plotting my life.

Maybe not when planning a wedding, though.

"I'm glad we don't have to wear shoes for the wedding," announced my eight-year-old maid of honor and soon-to-be-step-daughter. "Are we going to wear underwear?"

"That depends," I said. "Are we going to be doing cartwheels?"

"Of course we are," she told me. "It's a wedding. Aren't you supposed to do cartwheels at weddings?"

Exactly.