'Tell Me Your Ghost Story' Contest

Where would a paranormal writer be without a special place in her heart for Halloween, spooky stories and chocolate, hm? :)

Fiendish little ghoul that I am, I'm holding the 2nd Annual Tell Me Your Ghost Story Contest on my website during the month of October!

Tell me the spookiest thing that's ever happened to you (or someone you know), and you could win some Halloween Godiva Chocolate (something sweet):

and a copy of the Oxford Book of Victorian Ghost Stories (something scary):


I've already gotten some pretty creepy stories! The winner will be announced on October 21, 2006 (just before Halloween!), and the story published on my website. You can read last year's winning entries here.

Go ahead, ghoulfriend... tell me your story! You know you want to. :)

The Hollywood Treatment

I stole this idea from my friend, Ellen Meister who has a really cool book out right now, entitled Secret Confessions of the Applewood PTA (it's a hilarious look at what happens when three suburban housewives conspire to bring George Clooney to their town to film a movie. Check it out.)

Anyway, the idea here is that if you had 30 seconds to pitch your novel to a Hollywood producer, what would you say, and who would you cast as your main characters?

For Dead Girls Are Easy (coming July 2007 from Avon Books, YAY!), I'd probably pitch something like:

A former Goth girl has a near-death experience, and wakes to find herself an unwilling 'ghoulfriend' to the dead.

Who would I cast? Hm... tougher call than one might think. For my smart-aleck, fashion-conscious heroine Nicki Styx, I think Zooey Deschanel would work. She's got the right attitude, gorgeous eyes, and a fashion sense all her own. (Her real-life sister, Emily Deschanel, plays the no-nonsense Temperance Brennan on Bones, so she'd be perfect for Nicki's not-so-twin sister, Kelly.)

For the lovable and sexy Dr. Joe Bascombe, the man who brought Nicki back to life (in more ways than one *g*), I'd have to choose Patrick Dempsey from Grey's Anatomy. I still have to struggle with my memories of him as Will's gay boyfriend on Will & Grace (one of my favorite shows, btw), but I can suspend disbelief long enough to see him as Joe.

And finally, (and perhaps the easiest of all), would be the irrepressible, outrageous Evan Owenby, Nicki's best friend and business partner. Who better to play the gay co-owner of a vintage clothing store called 'Handbags N' Gladrags' than Carson Kressley, America's favorite Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

So now I challenge you aspiring writers out there to do your own 'Hollywood Treatment' on your story. Who would you choose to play your main characters, and why?

Shake N' Bake

Ok, this is getting ridiculous.

As a Florida native (yes, we do exist) I'm used to searing heat, humidity you can swim through, mosquitoes the size of dragonflies, alligators in the retention ponds, hurricane season, love bugs, tropical monsoons and frequent lightning storms.

But earthquakes? This is just too much!

A 6.0 earthquake in the Gulf of Mexico rattled windows in Florida, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana last Sunday. Looking at this map, that sucker was WAAAY too close for comfort. Luckily, I didn't feel it - if I had I'd probably still be in bed with the covers over my head. Unbeknownst to me, there was a 5.2 temblor in the same location on Feb. 10th, and there are still possible aftershocks expected.

Um, can you say 'tsunami'? Though we've been assured there's no current danger of that, due to the type of quake this was (thrusting vs. shifting), we in Florida are not amused.

No offense, Mother Nature, but you can be a real bitch.

However, this whole 'earthquake in the Gulf' thing got me thinking about how we go along fat, dumb and happy most of the time - until something happens to 'shake us up'. Anything happen to you lately that made you rethink something you thought was true or constant in your own life?

Freaky Factoid Friday

Bet you can't say that three times, fast. :)

Since my writing life revolves around 'spooky' stuff, I do a lot of research into the paranormal realms. Well, to be honest, I've always done a lot of research into 'spooky' stuff - a result of too many rainy afternoons watching re-runs of the classic gothic soap opera, Dark Shadows, I suppose. (I don't regret a minute of it, Barnabas! Not a minute! :-p)

Anyway, I thought it might be fun to share some of the weird things I've learned through the years:

--According to measurements taken at the moment of death, the human soul weighs three-fourths of an ounce.

--Tombstones were originally put over graves not as memorials, but so the dead couldn't escape.

--The Japanese wear white after the death of a loved one, not black.

--Once a death has occurred, those of the Jewish faith will open all the windows in the house so the soul can escape.

--Neanderthals buried their dead curled in a fetal position, always facing the sunrise, as though they were being 'born again'.

--The most common word spoken by a dying person is "Mother" or "Mommy".

Freaky enough for ya? Happy Friday! LOL

Crikey.

Hard to believe.

Unbelievable, in fact.

Steve Irwin, everyone's favorite Aussie, better known as the Crocodile Hunter... gone. Death by 'freak accident', the news says. I'm not buying the 'freak accident' spin for one moment. Couldn't they have come up with a better tribute than that?

He died in a split second's worth of judgement, a hairsbreath moment of decision between man and nature... one I've seen him make on TV time and and time again. I've seen him bitten in the face by a snake, bitten on the arm by a lizard, hold a deadly scorpion in the palm of his hand, twitch his arms and legs out of the danger zone more times than I can count, smiling all the while.

This time, he quite simply didn't flinch fast enough.

The odds of being stung by a stingray while filming a documentary? Small. The odds of being stabbed directly in the heart while swimming over one? Much smaller. The odds of surviving? Infinitesimal.

Considering what Steve Irwin did for a living, it wasn't freakish at all. It was a weird, yet somehow fitting end. After all, how does a living legend want it all to end... wearing boxer shorts in his living room, Fosters in one hand and the remote in the other?

Sad for his family. Heartbreaking to those who will miss his irrepressible sense of fun and daredevil attitude. But not freakish at all. I haven't felt this sad about the death of a total stranger since Princess Diana died. Another good person, a public figure who tried to make a difference, gone before their time.

Crikey.

Pen Pals

I belong to a small writing group of extremely talented, extremely supportive women who call ourselves "The Writer's Playground" (not to be confused with another group out there who call themselves the Playground, too, but whatever *grin*). Our group began when we got our hands slapped for having too much fun on a bigger loop, so we naughty girls spun off and formed a group of our own - we even invited the 'handslapper' to join us, and she did! We joke, giggle, laugh, cry, share dream hunks and even bigger writing dreams, critique, encourage, comfort and support each other. You can see most of them in my photo gallery.

Since we formed our Playground in March of 2004, 7 of our 18 members have finaled in the Golden Heart (multiple times), there have been more RWA chapter contest wins than I can possibly count, 8 of us have signed with literary agents, and 6 of us (including me) have gone on to achieve our ultimate goal of publication.

Last year we began a new tradition: when one of us sells, the rest of us chip in for gifts: a customized 'Build-A-Bear' based on the genre of our books, a bookbag imprinted with the book cover, and/or a beautiful, personally engraved fountain pen to sign those precious contracts. Here's mine... ain't it purty?

And here, without further ado, are the newest contract signings by my Pals:

New Harlequin Blaze author Tawny Weber signing her contract for 'Double Dare', with her purple pen.
New Harlequin Historical author Stacey Lynn Reimer (a/k/a Stacey Kayne) signing her contract for 'Mustang Wild' with her green pen.
And yours truly, signing her contract with Avon HarperCollins for 'Dead Girls Are Easy' and 'Where The Ghouls Are', with my green pen (Stacey always copies me *snicker*).

Do you have any 'Pen Pals' in your life? Someone to share the ups and downs of your writing with? If you don't, find some. I was extremely lucky to find mine, and it's made the journey all the sweeter.

Day of the Dolphins

Living in Florida has its perks.

Late yesterday, my husband and I decided to treat ourselves to a nice seafood dinner at one of our many local waterfront restaurants. Life has been a bit stressful lately because of some family issues, and we felt the need to relax, unwind, breathe some of those salt air 'ions' that really do give your mood a lift. (They work - trust me.) We asked for a window seat overlooking the bay, and sat there (cold beer in hand), watching the ripples on the water, the sunset reflecting on distant high-rises, a tall white heron stalking fish along the shoreline.

And then I saw them. Three fins breaking the surface, three quick blasts of air and water marking them as a trio of dolphins, out for an early dinner in the shallows of the bay. We watched, oohing and aahing as they appeared and disappeared, breaking the surface, gray backs glistening as they dived and circled. And suddenly, I was reminded of one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS. If you haven't seen this one, you should: directed by Jodie Foster, starring Holly Hunter, Robert Downey, Jr., a young Claire Danes, and the very hunky Dylan McDermott. Holly Hunter has gone home to be with her elderly parents and completely dysfunctional extended family for the Thanksgiving holidays. Though she loves them, she finds herself very quickly going nuts, locked in a bathroom for some privacy, and talking to her teenage daughter on the phone just for the sense of normalcy and sanity it gives her. Her daughter reminds her of a scuba trip they took together where they watched an angel fish swimming peacefully beneath the sea, all silence and beauty, and tells her mom, "Remember the fish, Mom. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming."

Not only can I relate to the dysfunctional family part :), the advice was perfect. I can only do what I can do, and what other people do is, for the most part, beyond my control. I'll just keep swimming, one eye on the shore and the other on the unknown deep. Every once in a while I'll come up for air, splash around a little for good measure, then submerge myself back into the water that is my life. A life which, for the most part, is pretty darn good.

It got me wondering, though... what's your favorite way to make a splash? A night out, a day in your jammies, an afternoon at the mall? What helps you 'keep swimming'?

I Enjoy Being A Ghoul

Meet Grandma Ghoulie. :)

She was kind enough to direct my friends and neighbors into my backyard last year for my annual Halloween party, better known as 'Madame Zelda's Haunted Graveyard.' The lawn is transformed into a cemetary, the garden shed becomes a fortuneteller's hut (complete with a real Madame Zelda, thanks to one of my equally ghoulish ghoulfriends), spooky music plays and fog machines abound. It's so much fun!!!

Yes, it's true...everyone who knows me knows I have a problem... I'm a Halloween fiend. Nothing makes my evil little heart go pitter-patter more quickly than to see the first rows of skeleton heads leering at me from the store shelves; the fake tombstones looking totally out of place in the brightly lit aisles; the orange pumpkins, black spiders, purple glitter and grinning ghosts. Luckily for me, Halloween retail madness begins a little earlier every year, so I don't have to go as long between my 'spooky fixes'. :) August isn't over yet, but I'm already planning this year's party.

Here are some more highlights from last year. Don't you wish you could come?
Shh...don't wake the spirits...
I'll get you next year, my pretty! I see some serious therapy in your future...

Baby? Maybe.

What is it about biological urges, anyway?

Someone I know really wants a baby (no, not me! Been there...done that...got the t-shirt!), but I remember the urge very well. How could I not? I vividly remember the moments when my boys were placed in my arms for the first time. The sight of their tiny, scrunched-up faces, their teeny little fingers and toes, the unbelievable clench in my heart that sealed them as the loves of my life forever. Babies are wonderful. Helpless little cuddly bundles whose first smiles, first words, first steps, first everythings bring joy to your life. The diapers, the fussiness, the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the high fevers, the worry... all of that pales in comparison, and is shuffled off to the darkest depths of our minds until we have to actually deal with it. Then, like childbirth itself, we forget about all those inconveniences once they've passed.

God is very, very clever. He makes babies too adorable to resist. Life would cease to exist otherwise. We must have them. We must take care of them. We must shower them with love and affection, and they will be our perfect darlings, always and forever.

Right. How many times have you heard a childless person say, "My child will never pitch a fit in the grocery store - he/she must just be a bad parent. If only they'd talk to the child." Or, "My child will never lie to me. We'll always be able to talk honestly, about anything." How about the classic, "My child would never behave like that in school - is there anything wrong at home?".

Knowing what I know now, everytime I hear someone say "I want a baby", I resist the urge to point out that the baby will be a toddler one day. That baby will go from clinging to your neck to screaming his/her head off every time he/she is denied, delayed, or simply feels like, well... screaming his/her head off. That cute little toddler will become a pre-teen, rolling his/her eyes every time you open your mouth. That pre-teen will become a bona-fide teenager, and you will go from being the center of your child's universe to being the stupidest person on the planet. If you're lucky (and I am), you'll survive it all, and the day will come when you look up and see this responsible, mature young person who can actually bring themselves, once again, to say, "I love you, Mom."

You want a baby? Might as well cut to the chase and say, "I want a teenager."

Doesn't have quite the same effect, though, does it? :-)

Whine Time. Not.

This is one of my favorite t-shirts.

Kinda says it all, doesn't it? I'm not big on whining... never have been. It's not that I'm unsympathetic -- I know how to pat somebody's head or hold somebody's hand when they need it, and most of the time I don't mind a bit. That's what friends are for, aren't they? But some people take it to extremes, and that's when my sympathy tends to wane.

I'm willing to bet that we all know someone who's always having a crisis of some kind; someone who's so focused on themselves that they can't see the forest for the trees; someone who isn't happy unless they're miserable.

There are plenty of real reasons to whine, cry, get depressed and need a shoulder to lean on. We all have problems - some more than others, and some more often than others. It isn't good to hold them in, and it's a real blessing to have someone there when you need them.

But whining for whining's sake is a very unattractive quality. Do you or someone you love have a life threatening disease? Has someone you love died? Catch your significant other cheating on you? If not, maybe life ain't so bad.

I prefer to think about all the things I have to be thankful for... I like to imagine my glass half full instead of half empty, because I'd always rather have a little wine than listen to one. :-)

How about you?

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?

Does it really matter?

Guests for dinner mean that I have to cook and clean instead of writing on my current work-in-progress, IF YOU GOT IT, HAUNT IT. I'd much rather be writing about the continuing adventures of Nicki Styx instead of being a domestic diva for a day, because... well, let's face it...

Make Believe Mondays

My friend and American Title II finalist, Debra Parmley, does a feature on her blog once a week she calls 'Make Believe Mondays'. She interviews different authors about the uses of creativity, imagination and dreams in their writing. Isn't that a clever idea?

Anyway, this week she was sweet enough to feature yours truly. You can read the interview on her website.

Thanks, Debra!

Shaken, Not Stirred

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 You scored as James Bond, Agent 007. James Bond is MI6's best agent, a suave, sophisticated super spy with charm, cunning, and a license's to kill. He doesn't care about rules or regulations and somewhat amoral. He does care about saving humanity though, as well as the beautiful women who fill his world. Bond has expensive tastes, a wide knowledge of many subjects, and his usually armed with a clever gadget and an appropriate one-liner.

Oh. My.

I love my husband. I really do. In fact, I've been known to... dare I say it? Gush. Fourteen years of marriage, three kids, the house in suburbia and all that jazz. I look forward every evening to the time he comes home after work, but I could never live up to the tips from this article from Housekeeping Monthly in 1955, entitled 'The Good Wife's Guide':

'Prepare the children. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. At the time of his arrival, minimize all noise.'
Prepare the children and keep them quiet? As in tie them to their chairs, slick back their hair and stuff socks in their mouths?

Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner without you, even if he stays out all night. Never question his actions or ask questions about where he's been.
Yeah, right. That'll happen.

Be cheerful and interesting. His boring day may need a lift and it's your duty to provide it.
Lift this, buddy. (It's called a vacuum.)

Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
Only if you truly enjoy hearing about stocks, financial planning, interest rates, and the crisis in Iraq. Oh, and let's not forget germaphobia, the benefits of exercise, wheat grass and obscure vitamins that nobody's ever heard of, and the value of alway wearing clean underwear. (I'm serious.)

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll look refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking.
Um... gee. Thanks for the 15 minutes to rest, even if it's just for his benefit.

We women have sure come a long way, baby! I'm far from being the perfect spouse, and so is he. Luckily, I love him anyway. And luckily, he loves me, too, even if I forget to put a ribbon in my hair.

Let No Man Write My Epitaph

I'll write it myself:

*tee-hee* Ok, so I'm a little weird! Is that such a surprise? I don't have a cover yet, so I'm making do!

Whew!

I got back late yesterday from a whirlwind week in Atlanta, where I attended the 2006 RWA conference. Not only did I get to hang out with my writing buddies (check out the pictures), I attended some wonderful seminars, some fabulous parties, and managed to squeeze in a viewing of the Beluga whales and giant Whale sharks at the Atlanta Aquarium. NORA ROBERTS (can you say 'Gack!') did a fabulous job as Master of Ceremonies at the Golden Heart/Rita awards ceremony, keynote speaker MEG CABOT kept everyone in stitches as she told the story of her Hollywood premiere of THE PRINCESS DIARIES and CHRISTINA DODD inspired and entertained us all.

It was fun, informative, nerve-wracking, and did I mention... fun? Two of my favorite highlights of the trip were swapping ghost stories with my wonderful agents, Annelise Robey and Christina Hogrebe, and when I found myself seated next to the incredibly kind and gracious SUSAN ELIZABETH PHILLIPS at the Avon dinner. (I did a triple take when I saw her name on the placecard next to mine, then spent the evening trying not to drop grilled salmon down my decolletage, hoping desperately that there was no spinach salad between my teeth.) I met quite a few published authors - so many I've lost count - but Julianne MacLean, Margo Maguire and Monica Burns stand out in my memory for being so kind to a newbie like me. I made new friends in Sylvia Day, Sophie Jordan and Anna Campbell, and saw old ones like Janice Lynn, Ann Voss Peterson and Kathleen Long.

I know I'm forgetting to mention many of the people I chatted and drank with :), but my mind is still a-whirl. I never wanted it to end, and can't wait until next year!

I Yam What I Yam...

So I’m off to a big writer’s conference. Seminars, schmoozing and sensory overload… if you’ve ever been to one, you understand. If you haven’t – well, if you want to write, you must; if you don’t want to write, there’s no point, so you can stop right here.

At any rate, this one is a biggie for me.

Five years ago I went to my first writer’s conference in the wonderfully iconic Southern city of New Orleans. *sigh* (I adore N’Awlins - even now, after Hurricane Katrina has laid waste to large parts of it. The Garden District… the above-ground cemeteries… the quirky residents and ridiculous, far-too-drunken tourists… the food… the upbeat, yet undeniably morbid atmosphere… ah, but I digress.) I went to that conference knowing NOBODY. Knowing NOTHING. Except that I had an urge to write. It wasn’t enough to hear, “Oh, Terri – that article you wrote for the corporate newsletter was so good! That letter you wrote to the editor was exactly what I was thinking! Is that really how you spell ‘idiosyncrasies’? I had no idea!” I wanted to write something people would read. Would enjoy. Would think about after they closed the book and stuck it on a shelf somewhere.

And now, five years later, I’m going as a published author. Okay, a pre-published author, if you must stickle the point. (From one stickler to another, go ahead--it makes us feel better :) ).

I’ll be meeting people I previously had no access to: big name authors, literary agents, booksellers from chain stores like Borders and Barnes & Noble, sales reps from big publishing houses, public relations people, etc. I’ll be talking about ‘positioning’, marketing, future projects, trends, numbers, reviews, covers, and all that jazz. In between all this I plan on having some serious fun with the people I’ve met and giggled with over the years, both at conferences like this one and over the Internet. (The Writer’s Playground rules, ya’ll!!)

Anyway, I’ve planned my wardrobe to the N’th degree. I’ve made my lists and checked them twice. My shoes are cute and my files are organized… my house will (hopefully) not get blown away by a summer hurricane* while I’m gone and my animals won’t starve.

*Note to teenager: NO PARTIES!

Wish me luck. I’ll need it.

You Might Be A Floridian If...

• "Down South" means Key West.
• "Panhandling" means going to Pensacola
• You think no one over 70 should be allowed to drive.
• Flip-flops are everyday wear.
• Shoes are for business meetings and church.
• No, wait, flip-flops are good for church too, unless it's Easter or Christmas.
• Sweet tea can be served at any meal.
• An alligator once walked through your neighborhood.
• You smirk when a game show's "Grand Prize" is a trip or cruise to Florida.
• All the local festivals are named after a fruit, a reptile or a pirate.
• A mountain is any hill 100 feet above sea level.
• You know the four seasons really are: almost summer, summer, not summer but really hot, and Christmas.
• Anything under 95 is just warm.
• You've hosted a hurricane party.
• You understand the futility of exterminating cockroaches.
• You understand why it's better to have a friend with a boat than to have a boat yourself.

And The Award Goes To...

Me! :)

The Internet is a fascinating place. I've made many wonderful friends there, some of who I'll never meet in person, but like very much anyway. One of those people is Belos, a like-minded 'Gothic*' individual who does some wonderful work with graphics. Belos was kind enough to both devise and award me with this:


Cool, isn't it? No, I'm not a vampire, nor do I write about them (although Anne Rice's Lestat does make my evil little heart go pitter-patter), but I do write about the dark side of life, which is where the 'Gothic*' part comes in.

Let me explain. I am not a Goth... I do not mope about in corners wearing heavy black eyeliner and holding forth about the beauty of spiders and the existentialism that is death (oh my, I think I've just pissed off an entire subculture), but I do have a lifelong fascination for writers like Edgar Allen Poe, Emily Dickinson (Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me...); I adored old Dark Shadows re-runs, The Twilight Zone, The Addams Family, The Munsters and Creature Feature; and I'm sorry, but Elvira is just a genius of campy darkness. :)

I do wear black a lot (it's flattering). I like a little chill to run up my spine (anyone seen 'The Tingler' with Vincent Price? Ah... that's what I'm talking about). As long as nobody emerges from the shadows with a butcher knife and a hockey mask, I'm good. :)

So I take an award like this seriously, and I appreciate it. Thanks, Belos.

And if anybody needs some cool 'gothic' graphics, go check out his site at http://www.gothic-iowegian.com/index.html .

Does The Squeaky Wheel Really Get The Grease?

I have a dear friend who believes the answer to that question is absolutely, 100%, “Yes”. Never accept less than the best, he claims, and never hesitate to make a stink if you don’t get it. In fact, make a stink beforehand, and you’ll get treated even better.

For example: He and his wife love to travel, and because they can afford it, they stay only in 4 to 5 star hotels (must be nice, hm?). Nonetheless, no matter how swanky the surroundings, my friend’s standard practice upon checking into any hotel is to inspect the room he’s been given before signing the register. His wife will quietly take a seat in the lobby and wait for the inevitable result of this inspection, which is that my friend will return to the registration desk and demand a better room. No rooms near the elevator or the ice machine for him; no noisy a/c units or crappy views. Nuh-uh. No sir.

The kicker? He usually gets an upgrade. He expects it – nay, he demands it - and 9 times out of 10 he gets what he wants.

Me? I can’t do it. I’m too nice. The room would have to be filthy or the a/c broken before I’d complain, and then I’d do it in the nicest way possible. Does this attitude sometimes mean I’m taken advantage of? Probably. Occasionally. But most of the time, I smile, they smile, and I get what I want anyway. See, I’m a big believer in the old adage, “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.”

And I’d rather be ‘done to’ nicely, thank you. I think most people do.

What about you? Do you make a stink whenever you feel a stink needs to be made in order to get your way? Does the end really justify the means?