The Diabolical Plotting of a December Date

By Laura Spinella

Don’t you love it when your name turns up on the GBC December calendar? For as much as we ALL love the GBC, I bet you cringed a little if you saw your name on this month’s weekly reminders. Are they kidding? I’ve barely started my shopping.  There are 47 various school and social functions to attend, not to mention kids coming home from college. Holiday cards are compounded by holiday food, and don’t even start with the house that needs to be scoured before Aunt Clarabel visits. And, sweet Jesus, DO NOT let me forget to put the cushy toilet paper in the guest bathroom. Did it sound something like that in your head?

Me too.  And I send out the GBC reminders.

I could have easily rigged the calendar with a replacement name. I confess; I thought about it. I could have slipped Maria Geraci’s name in instead. Maria’s so helpful and smart. But then I remembered that in addition to being a fabulous author, she also works fulltime as a labor and delivery nurse. And suddenly it seemed, well… unfair. Barbara Claypole White crossed my mind too. Barbara’s handy with a sticky widget. Is that British? Because Barbara is… British. She once told me I could use an ARC of hers to “balance a wonky table leg.” I still laugh at that.Then I realized Barbara is 11 days out from the pub date of her stunning new novel, THE IN-BETWEEN HOUR. I know this is a fact because I was privy to an early read. Privy.  Privy’s an English word, right?   Anyway, I figured Barbara has enough on her mind between her pub date and trying to get rural North Carolina to buy into Boxing Day, December 26th. According to Barbara, most Americans think Boxing Day is England’s homage to fisticuffs via a boxing ring. Made sense to me. But she assures me this is not the case. It’s the traditional day that house servants received “boxed” gifts from their, uh… masters?  Heaven knows, with the success of Downton Abbey, all North Carolinians may catch onto Boxing Day by the end of season four. 

Desperate and short on clever, I considered a hot-potato pass to Karin Gillespie. Karin is probably one of the nicest people I know and I’m, well… not. Surely, she would have graciously picked up my slack.  Then, yesterday, I read Karin’s brilliant GBC post and realized I was in twice as much trouble as I previously thought. I couldn’t be that insightful if I was sentenced to six months in solitary with nothing but a copy of THE GOLDFINCH, legal pad, and an entire Rosetta Stone series on How to Be a Better Writer.

 I even considered getting sneaky and inviting Susan McBride over to guest blog. Of course you all remember Susan, a card-carrying GBC member for a long time. With the birth of her sweet Emily and busy days, Susan moved on from the GBC, though we’d all love to hear from her. (See us waving from the GBC, Susan!) Then I remembered what it was like to have an 18-month old around during the holidays. Okay, so I don’t exactly remember, but there is video from that era that involves me and a spirited New Year’s Eve celebration. On occasion, my kids still threaten to hand it over to child welfare.

So here you are, stuck with me.

Originally, I had an elaborate post worked out in my mind. It had something to do with envisioning yourself as a writer in another time period. Do you see yourself as a Jane Austen imprint, Harriet Beecher Stowe wannabe, Flannery O’Connor, S.E. Hinton, Alice Walker, or Sylvia Plath? Well, maybe not Sylvia Plath. We all know how that ended.  But instead of an inspired piece about authors from other generations, I succumbed. I fell victim to the calendar and Christmas cookies and one of those college kids who turned up just in time to make my upstairs look like a ratings-sweeps episode of Hoarders.

In the end, I almost opted for the default blog. I do have a new book out. It’s a credible platform from which I could drone on about PERFECT TIMING and the incredible PERFECT TIMING giveaways going on right now. But since this is a season of merriment and giving, I’ll only direct you to my Events page and the above discreetly mentioned giveaways. So from here in New England, this is my December 20^th blog. I wish you all a joyous holiday season and a Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas… That’s British, right?

  

  Laura Spinella is the award-winning author of BEAUTIUFL DISASTER and the author of PERFECT TIMING, a love story about friendship, honor and a rock star. Visit her at lauraspinella.net. 

     

My Writing Routine

A Really Bad Poem by Susan McBride

How is it done? I'm often asked

About the task

That’s my love and my livelihood.

Are you chained to your desk,

Not leaving your nest

Until your word count’s in the can?

I wish I could say,

“Hey, this is the way”

I always tell my stories.

But every book’s a new deal,

I don’t know how I’ll feel

Or what’ll crop up and annoy me.

When deadlines loom
Emails boom
And laundry piles up.

Something breaks or leaks
My husband freaks
And I wait for the repairmen.

I have author friends

More disciplined

Who write everyday like clockwork.

Some in car pool lanes

(which I think is insane)

or at Starbucks while the joe perks.

I admire the ones

Who don’t miss a beat

With second jobs and kids at their feet.

I just try to keep

My butt glued to my seat

And hope nothing gets out of hand.

But crises always arise

Things I never surmised

That throw me off my game plan.

So when I’m asked

How I do this task

I don't always have an answer.

“I don’t know,” I'll admit,

It’s a mysterious bit

Then I'll shrug and say, “It’s magic.”

***

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress, The Cougar Club, and the forthcoming The Truth About Love and Lightning (William Morrow Paperbacks, 02/13). At nearly eight months pregnant, her writing routine is pretty well shot to hell, which is good practice for after the baby comes. 

The Secret to Everything

by Susan McBride

Psst!  Wanna know a secret?  Okay, it's not my secret exactly.  But I just read several articles online about other people's secrets. One piece discussed a study that supposedly found “The Secret to a Long and Happy Life” and the other was something like “The Secret Every Frenchwoman Knows About Love.” Intriguing, yes?

Sadly, neither article exposed any true secrets at all.  The one about French women being smarter than American women about love purportedly comes down to their ability to see things in shades of gray instead of black and white.  As in, love isn’t just a matter of “do I” or “don’t I,” it’s more like, "how do I love thee?  A little?  A lot?  Somewhere in between?"  I have a feeling plenty of American women see those shades of gray when it comes to romance. If there's one thing I do know, it's that Americans often don't share the same views about anything (as becomes all too obvious during an election year). 

The other piece about living a long and happy life implied “the secret” wasn’t just one thing.  It involved being married or in a stable relationship, having fun, and doing things for other people.  Sounds like pretty logical stuff to me.

I was never a fan of that book “The Secret,” the one Oprah so highly touted.  I don’t even remember the author’s name, and I don’t care enough to look it up.  I heard oodles about it while it was sitting atop bestsellers lists to get the general concept:  that we attract both good and bad things to our lives depending on what thoughts we put out to the universe. So if you get sick or a tornado knocks down your house, you clearly are responsible because you must be putting out bad juju.  Um, seriously??? As someone who’s gone through a scary diagnosis—who’s seen family and friends, and even the children of friends, go through horrible health scares—I think that’s a load of horse hockey.

Through the years, I've also seen a host of articles about the key to writing a bestseller, because wouldn’t we all love to learn that trick, too?  Apparently, we need to study markets and anticipate trends, or else just write the book of our heart and make it so engaging that word of mouth spreads like wildfire. Or perhaps we should just put out positive thoughts about whatever we've written and hopefully the universe will deem us worthy enough to make our books sell. Hmm.  

Where bestsellers are concerned, I've decided that it boils down to this:  nobody honestly knows "the secret" to what sells, or else every book would hit the bestsellers lists.  I know an author who was paid a squeal-worthy amount for a first novel that everyone expected to do very well. Instead, it fared modestly, and she never sold her option book. Another author I'm acquainted with wrote a book that took years to catch on; but once it did, wowza!  I have several friends who won awards galore in one genre but never broke out, only to switch genres and make a killing doing different types of books entirely.  My take:  if we're in this biz because we love to write, and we’re writing the kind of books we love to read—and someone out there is buying them—then it’s all good. But such a simplistic view is hardly buzz-worthy or exciting, I know.

I do find it fascinating, the desire to find a single answer or a shortcut to achieving our dreams. I'm not surprised by it though.We live in a society that expects swift results.  Look at how fast technology changes.  One day, your cell phone that does everything but clean your house is the hottest ticket in town, and the next day, there’s a new version that wipes the floor with the one you just got.  It’s frightening in many ways, and it makes me wish we could all just take a breath and slow down. Life isn't a race.  It's a journey, one made all the more worthwhile if we take a moment to stop and smell the roses--and, I mean, real roses, not virtual flowers.

Ultimately, I’ve come to this conclusion:  there isn’t a secret to everything. There's no single answer, as convenient as that would be. How we find love, success, and happiness isn't going to be the same for any two people. Which takes me back to that Billy Crystal movie, City Slickers (which I adore!), and the exchange between Curly and Mitch:

Curly: Do you know what the secret of life is?  [He holds up one finger] This.
Mitch: Your finger?
Curly: One thing. Just one thing. You stick to that and the rest don't mean s***.
Mitch: But, what is the "one thing?" 

Curly: That's what you have to find out.

 

Amen to that.

***

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress (a Target Recommended Read) and The Cougar Club (a Target Bookmarked Breakout Title).  Despite suffering from a severe case of pregnancy brain, she is currently finishing up The Truth About Love and Lightning, which will be out from William Morrow Paperbacks in the spring of 2013.  Visit her web site at http://SusanMcBride.com for more scoop.

The Best Christmas Gift Ever

by Susan McBride



Christmas tree hand-picked by Mom.



My family moved around a lot when I was growing up (my dad worked for IBM, aka I’ve Been Moved). So every few years, we celebrated the holidays in a different place. My mom was good about keeping up traditions so that Christmas was Christmas, no matter where we lived. Sometime after Thanksgiving, she’d pillage packing boxes marked “Xmas Stuff;” and once she got going, there was no stopping her. The scent of evergreen permeated the house as she wrapped boughs of it tied with red bows up and down the banisters. Other decorations crowded table-tops, bookcases, mantles, and the piano. Mom’s mix was eclectic: an elaborate nativity set from Italy, trees made from tuna cans, sculptural metal angels, and paper-mache snowmen with painted faces. No surface remained free of holiday cheer.

But before any counting down of days ‘til Christmas could commence, we had to do two things: (1) Bake my great-grandmother’s shortbread cookies (that had at least 150 ingredients and all had to be iced in appropriate colors), and (2) Get a fresh tree. The cookie part was almost easy compared to the tree trip. Mom had to bundle up three kids in enough layers to nearly render us immobile then we’d pack into the station wagon, bound for the nearest lot. My dad would grab the first tree he saw and say, “This looks good to me!” Only my mother’s idea of “good” was a wee bit different from his. A half hour and two dozen trees later, my mother would nod and say, “This is it!” She always liked the biggest, fattest balsam that took eons for them to tie atop the car. Once home, Dad stuck the tree in a bucket and prayed the water didn’t freeze overnight. The next day, he’d stuff it into the stand and put the lights on, and Mom would spread the skirt beneath. Ta-da! Let the tree-trimming begin!

Hanging the ornaments was a huge honkin’ deal. My mother made sure the whole family was present before she put out eggnog and placed a holiday album on the stereo. While my sibs and I unearthed equal parts hand-made doo-dads and delicate glass baubles from the tissue stuffed cavities of cardboard boxes, Nat King Cole crooned of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. I loved glass birds with clips for claws so I could stick them on the ends of branches, like they’d flown in and were just resting. I adored silver orbs that reflected every color in the rainbow. But one pair of ornaments remained the most special for years: a burlap man and woman my sister and I had named “Speed” and “Trixie,” after the characters in Speed Racer. Every Christmas, their ink faces rubbed off a little more and their yarn hair disappeared, but Molly and I couldn’t wait to place them on the tree next to one another so they could chat about the latest shenanigans of Spanky and Racer X.

Once the ornaments were up, it was tinsel time! We were tinsel-flinging fools back then. Despite Mom’s instructions to put it on one piece at a time—“like a dripping icicle”—we’d toss fistfuls at the higher branches and see what would stick. By the time we’d finished, our tree looked gaudier than the Vegas Strip.

We had our big family dinner on Christmas Eve (still do!). The menu forever seemed to echo our Thanksgiving meal: turkey, spiral ham, green bean casserole, corn casserole, cranberry mold, and fat black olives that my sister plucked off the garnish tray and stuck on each fingertip like a freaky manicure. After dinner, we opened one present from a far-away relative before we put on our coats to attend Christmas Eve service. I loved to warble with the choir on “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and sit in silent awe as the star vocalist belted out “Ave Maria” and “Oh, Holy Night.” Once home and sleepy, we’d set out cookies and milk for Santa, glance at our empty stockings, and head up to bed. Before I nodded off, I’d listen for reindeer on the rooftop (I swear, one night, I heard them!). At the crack of dawn, I’d awaken and fling on my quilted robe as the rest of the house slowly roused. My dad would bark a reminder not to go downstairs until he had his camera ready.

While Dad played Spielberg and Mom sipped coffee, my siblings and I tore through whatever Santa had brought, usually something like Tonka trucks, games, and trains for Jimmy; stilts, a slide-making kit, and a baseball mitt for Molly; a rock tumbler, dolls, and books for me. Always books. My favorite part of Christmas, once the chaos had ended (and it was always over quickly), was curling up somewhere quiet with Nancy Drew, Black Beauty, or Laura Ingalls Wilder. Bliss!

Much about the holidays has changed since my childhood as my husband and I strive to keep life—and Christmas—simple. We don’t go big on the decorations and often opt for a pint-sized tree (less muss, less fuss). I don’t bake shortbread cookies with 150 ingredients, and I’m not much for turkey. But, as long as I have a pulse, two things will never change: the pleasure of being with family (because, yes, my mom’s still big on fresh trees and decorations!) and the joy of un-wrapping a book. Honestly, was there ever a better gift?

I’d love to know if you have a favorite gift you’ve received, long ago or recently. Was it a book, an E-Z-Bake Oven, an e-reader…or something else entirely?

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress, a Target Recommended Read, and The Cougar Club, a Target Breakout Book. Visit her web site at http://susanmcbride.com/.

** This essay previously appeared elsewhere but was tweaked for its appearance today. I figure recycling is good for the environment, right? Plus, I’m on deadline and WAY behind, which makes it very hard to be clever with fresh blog posts. On top of that, I’ve got pregnancy brain like you wouldn't believe (I’m a little over 12 weeks as of this moment!)—talk about the best Christmas gift ever!

What I Wish My Crystal Ball Had Shown Me

By Susan McBride

I do some of my best thinking when I’m walking (or in the shower or just waking up in the morning).  This past Sunday—my birthday—was no different.  As I chugged around the paths without my iPod to entertain me, I started pondering all the things I wish I would have known before they’d happened.  Not that I’d want a magical black dress like the one in Little Black Dress that gives its wearers glimpses of the future—both good and bad—but it would’ve made for a lot less worrying if I’d been able to foresee just a few bits and pieces.  Perhaps I could have handled myself better in uncomfortable situations and faced uncertainty with more confidence.

So without further ado, some of the things I wish I'd known back when:

1.  I would have appreciated hearing that, after I got out of college and wrote a book a year for ten years (all of them now stored in my linen closet!), someday I would indeed be writing full-time and have my fair share of deadlines.  It would’ve saved me the trouble of dealing with naysayers who, at the oddest times—like at my grandmother’s funeral—would approach and ask, “You’re not still writing, are you?  When are you going to hang it up?”  I could have just given them the finger and walked away.  Instead, I only gave them the finger in my head, which is not quite as satisfying.

2.  It would have been rather comforting to know that it never gets easier.  Writing novels, I mean.  Every one takes something out of me, and every one begs to be written a bit differently.  So as much as I learn from finishing (and revising) each manuscript, I always feel like a rookie, starting from scratch with each subsequent book.  

3.  Right out of college, when I thought going blond was a great idea, I would have appreciated a heads-up that no, it doesn’t look good on everyone, especially when your eyebrows are a really dark brown and your also dark-brown roots grow in really fast.  I could have saved a lot of money and time on hair appointments. Although that dark roots/light hair look is pretty popular these days. I should have hung in there for a few more decades!  (Not.)

4.  When I was in my 30s and still single, I would’ve loved to see a glimpse of my future and know that I would be 41-years-old before I met Ed, my husband. Then I would have been even more amused by the whispers and speculation of nosy family members, one of whom dared to inquire, “Are you a lesbian?  ‘Cause if you are, that’s okay.” I told him thank you for that vote of support, but I wasn’t a lesbian, just a happily single woman who hadn’t met a man worth my undying commitment.

5.  While it would not have made my life easier to be forewarned that I was going to have breast cancer at 42, I sure would’ve loved to have my crystal ball show me that, nearly five years after my diagnosis, I would be happy, healthy (knock on wood!), and still complaining about deadlines ad nauseum.

6.  For most of my life, I avoided veggies. To me, Snickers was a vegetable.  I was convinced that anything green was awful-tasting, akin to eating grass.  When I was 40, I went on a get-healthy kick, and I realized vegetables are AWESOME.  I am, in fact, a broccoli addict.  So if I’d put on that magical black dress at, say, twenty-five and had a vision of myself eating mostly vegetarian in another 15 years, I don’t figure I would have believed it.

Well, since I didn’t know any of this ahead of time, I had to bumble along and figure it out for myself.  Though I guess part of what makes life so interesting is muddling through and being able to look back with perfect hindsight! 

What things in your writing life or real life do you wish a crystal ball could have shown you?  Would it have changed anything?

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress, a "Recommended Read" at Target Stores.  She has also written The Cougar Club, a Target "Bookmarked Breakout" title and one of MORE Magazine's "Books We're Buzzing About."  For more scoop, visit SusanMcBride.com or find her on Facebook.

Why Life Should Be More Like Hockey

by Susan McBride

I’ve been going to hockey games ever since my first date with Ed six years ago (that's a picture of him playing in his league's tournament last year!). I used to think of the sport the same way Carla Moss does in The Cougar Club:

“You’re equating hockey with fun?” Carla looked at Kat like she’d lost her mind. “Watching a bunch of overgrown boys pummel each other with sticks? Do any of them still have their own teeth? How does that saying go, ‘I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out’?”

Since Ed gets season tickets to the St. Louis Blues games and since he plays in a local league, I’ve witnessed an abundance of hockey since I met him. I still don’t understand the rules completely, but now I can see why so many love the sport. And the better I grasp the finesse involved, the more I realize that the world might be a much nicer place if it borrowed a few rules from ice hockey. I know, I know, that sounds bizarre, but stick with me. Listen to my suggestions, and I think you’ll see the logic, too.

First things first, dealing with other human beings can be tough as not everyone’s on the up and up. Think of life as a playground where bullies thrive on ruining everyone else’s fun and plenty of folks try to skirt the rules. I don’t believe that all adults are grown-ups any more than I believe Alexander Ovechtkin is a choir boy (he’s a forward for the Washington Senators and, last season, he earned a two game suspension for checking a Chicago player against the boards and breaking his ribs and his clavicle). Two politicians from opposing parties can’t stand within spitting distance without name-calling these days. I’ve watched parents fight over hard to come by Christmas gifts in Target.

Although at least hockey players are outfitted for the rough stuff, unlike the rest of us who don’t suit up before we get in our cars and deal with idiots on cell-phones behind the wheel who seem determined to run us off the road. Or the ladies in the supermarket who seemed to have learned cart etiquette from bumper cars and seem intent on running over our feet or banging into us. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a ref on the road or in the produce department who could blow a whistle and call a foul when appropriate?

Instead of hearing that so-and-so lied about you or whispered nasty gossip behind your back, wouldn’t it be great to just throw down your gloves and start pummeling each other until there’s blood drawn or someone ends up on the ice…er, the floor? Wouldn’t it feel better just to man-up and take care of business face to face; then, once you’re finished, you get up, shake it off, and go back to the rat race?

And for times when folks are just taking the game of life too danged seriously and need to lighten up, how about a little intermission, like in hockey when the Pee Wees appear on the ice and skate around to “Peanuts” music? Maybe we should all be forced to run around the playground for five minutes with pre-school kids who haven’t realized how stressful their lives are going to get once they graduate, get jobs, get married, have kids, get fired, lose their house, et al. A couple quick games of hopscotch or a few times across the monkey bars, and perhaps we’ll remember that life should be FUN sometimes. It isn’t all about working and struggling and trying to prove ourselves. We can listen to their laughter and remind ourselves what joy and passion feel like and vow never to lose them.

See what I mean? If the real world were more like a hockey game, we might all have less angst to carry around in our over-sized purses. Just remember to dress appropriately and, if you break any rules or just plain don’t cooperate, you will be tied to the middle of the ice and flattened by the Zamboni.

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress, a tale of two sisters, one daughter, and the magical black dress that changes all their lives forever (William Morrow Paperbacks, August 23, 2011). She has also penned The Cougar Club, a mystery series, and several novels for young adults. Visit her web site at http://SusanMcBride.com for more info.

Friends and Fate and a Little Black Dress

By Susan McBride

I can hardly believe Little Black Dress is out today (hooray!!!). I poured my heart and soul into this tale of two sisters, one daughter, and a magical black dress that changes all their lives forever, so I can't wait to hear what y'all think! It’s been a full year and a half since The Cougar Club was released. Long as that sounds, those months went by in a blink. So much happened in the interim, as you’ve heard me babble about before (cat nearly died, Mom diagnosed with breast cancer, pregnancy, miscarriage, skin cancer, you name it), that I can’t imagine having had any less time. I remember panicking last fall when my publisher wanted to push LBD out three months sooner with a pale pink cover that featured a headless woman in a very puffy black cocktail dress (ack!). Since the novel has nothing to do with puffy frocks and cocktail parties—and everything to do with love and fate and magic—I was less than thrilled. I also wasn’t sure I could get everything done (um, like, finish the book and do revisions) so quickly.

Thank goodness the pub date was pushed back and the cover was revamped. Strange how things work out sometimes. My mantra this year has been “I can only do what I can do;” and it seems like, the more I take a deep breath and let the things go that I can’t control, the more things turn out right. As I told my editor the other day, I have never been so happy with a book, inside and out. I even emailed Mumtaz Mustafa, the art director who designed Little Black Dress’s cover, sending him a love note saying how much I adored it. It was so important that a particular black dress not be depicted—part of the magic of Little Black Dress is having readers imagine for themselves what this special frock looks like—and Mumtaz got it just right.

My gratitude only grew along the road to LBD’s publication. One stop was Blurb Land, a destination that always makes me anxious (for which I'm always thankful that my agents and editor help out!). Still, I knew some of the authors on my wish list--fellow Girlfriends, as a matter of fact!—and so I gathered my courage, shot off emails (that I rewrote a dozen times), and hoped for the best. Turns out, I needn’t have worried myself silly. I was bowled over by the generosity of these wonderful women. Even if I said “thank you” a million times, it wouldn’t be enough. But I’ll say it again, “Thank you, ladies!" You are something special.

There were always friends along the way, giving me pep talks when I needed them and offering a hand. One crazy-busy pal made time in her schedule to plow through fifty pages at a time as I forged my way through revisions. She reassured me that I was on the right track and nudged me when I left a question unanswered. I normally don’t let anyone see revisions until I’m done, but I’m awfully glad I did this time around. So thanks to that good buddy as well!

When I had to turn my attention toward another manuscript this spring and summer, the marketing and publicity wizards were already at work, keeping in frequent touch, letting me know what was going on with LBD and what was to come, so that I feel downright calm (I know! It’s a strange sensation!). I'm more organized than in the past and less apt to expend energy on things that don’t need doing. What a nice change!

Perhaps there’s actually something to this whole “I can only do what I can do” idea. I’m going to hold onto that thought as Little Black Dress launches and try not to get stomach aches over what's going on and whether or not readers are enjoying it. I've got another manuscript to pen and some in-town and out-of-town gigs to do, which should keep me good and busy. And I'll remind myself to breathe and smile and be grateful for all the positive stuff. Like Bridget says in Little Black Dress, “Sometimes you just have to accept the magic that comes into your life and leave it be.” Amen to that, sister.

P.S. The pearl necklace giveaway continues through 5 p.m. Eastern Time today on http://www.facebook.com/SusanMcBrideBooks so don’t miss out! One grand prize winner receives a gorgeous strand of freshwater cultured pearls like the one on the cover of Little Black Dress. Five runners-up receive copies of the book. For more info and links to booksellers, please visit http://SusanMcBride.com.

The Top Ten Things I Love About Print Books

by Susan McBride

I thought of writing about my “process,” but I’m right in the midst of using that process to muddle through the last bit of a manuscript…and I’m realizing more and more that I don’t understand at all what my process is. It’s kind of a mystery, or maybe an enigma. Or possibly a great Black Hole full of galaxies that no one has glimpsed.

So instead, I figured I’d write about why I love books. You know, the old-fashioned kind with covers and pages that flap in the breeze. I’ll do it like David Letterman’s Top Ten countdown, just to create a little suspense (a very little).

Okay (ahem!), here are my Top Ten Things I Love About Print Books:

10. They are user friendly, and I’m too old to learn about new-fangled gadgets when I can barely operate my antiquated cell phone that doesn’t even take pictures or text.

9. They make great coasters in a pinch. I highly doubt that e-readers come equipped with an optional “coaster cover.”

8. Have you ever swatted a fly with an e-reader? I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t hold up.

7. They fit so well into bookshelves, and I love to see all the colors of the spines lined up (like height together with like height, of course—my husband doesn’t call me “Monk” for nothing).

6. I grew up with them. They are like dear old friends. I still have a copy of JOHNNY TREMAIN, which was one of my favorite books in grade school. I have such fond memories of ordering from the Scholastic Book Club and doing reading contests at school, like the one where every kid got a paper kite with his/her name on it stuck to the library walls and a bow was added on the tail for each book read in a certain time frame—I still have that kite!

5. It gives me something to stick bookmarks in, and I have a lovely collection. My favorite has this line on it: “I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” It’s got a pink tail that my cats have chewed to smithereens. You can’t stick bookmarks in e-readers so far as I’m aware. With the economy the way it is, I’d really like to keep the bookmark makers in business, too.

4. The smell of a brand-new book. It’s like Christmas everyday. I used to stick my nose between the pages and take a big sniff. I don’t do that anymore (well, not often). But there’s just something about that crisp scent. It makes me happy.

3. People can see what I’m reading, and I can see what they’re reading. Like, when I’m in a doctor’s office waiting room or on an airplane. It starts conversations. It’s a great way of judging whether you’d even want to converse with someone. Plus I can show off books by friends that I’d love more readers to discover.

2. It gives me an excuse to hang out at bookstores. OMG. What bibliophile doesn't get a tingle up her spine walking through the door of a store that sports shelf after glorious shelf crammed with books? I've found some amazing titles on impulse buys (like, GARDEN SPELLS by Sarah Addison Allen while I was at Main Street Books in St. Charles, which got me hooked on all SAA's novels, and THE FRENCH GARDENER by Santa Montefiore, which I picked up at Puddn' Head Books because of its gorgeous cover and adored so I've since bought another).

And the Number One Thing I Love About Print Books….

1. I still get a HUGE thrill when I’ve got a new book coming out, and a box of them arrives in the mail via my friendly UPS man. I do a happy dance. I stack them up. I look at the front cover then at the back then at the front cover again. I don’t think I’d ever feel the same way about getting a copy on an e-reader.

So what about you guys? Are you a print book fan or an e-reader aficionado?

Susan McBride is the author of LITTLE BLACK DRESS (William Morrow Paperbacks, August 23, 2011) called "a lovely and entertaining journey into the magical side of things" by NYT bestselling author Sarah Addison Allen. Susan's other books include THE COUGAR CLUB, named a Target Bookmarked Breakout Title and a Midwest Booksellers' "Midwest Connections Pick," as well as the award-winning Debutante Dropout Mysteries (HC/Avon) and The Debs young adult books (Random House/Delacorte). For more scoop, visit SusanMcBride.com.

The Best Writing Advice Ever!

by Susan McBride

A few years back while scoping out the bargain table at a local bookstore, I found LETTERS TO A FICTION WRITER (edited by Frederick Busch). It didn’t take long for me to realize what a gem it is. I’m not much on how-to books, but I love those that inspire me, and this one sure did. I wanted to share my favorite tidbits from some of the authors showcased in LETTERS. I have a feeling you’ll be nodding your head, smiling, and enjoying these wise words every bit as much as I did. So without further ado, here we go!

Lee Abbott: “Don’t write drunk…or stoned. Get a reader. Better yet, be a reader. Write fan letters. Show up for readings and the like. Fret not about fame and fortune. Take every opportunity to write well. Rewrite. Rewrite again. Pay your bills promptly. Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Change your oil every three thousand miles.”

Richard Bausch: “Don’t compare yourself to anyone, and learn to keep from building expectations. People develop at different rates, with different results, and luck is also involved. Your only worry for yourself should be: did I work today? Be happy for the successes of your friends, because good fortune for one of us is good fortune for all of us…You will never write anything worth keeping if you allow yourself to give in to petty worries over whether you are treated as you think you deserve, or your rewards are commensurate to the work you’ve done. That will almost never be the case, and the artist who expects great rewards and complete understanding is a fool.”

Ann Beattie: “Find the time to write. Protect the time to write. Be inventive: get gorgons. Forget e-mail. Whatever it takes. Because you’ll still need more time than there is, and also it’s important to leave enough time to waste…hope for luck, wish to turn out to be photogenic, and pray that the mess that book publishing is in may eventually result in something good.”

Andres Dubus: “I learned from Hemingway to stop each day’s work in mid-sentence, while it is still going well, then to exercise the body and not to think about the story till you go to your desk the next day…then with pen in hand, I turn to the first page of the story and read all that I have written, and I revise, cutting, adding, changing words and punctuation. When I reach the unfinished sentence, I do not have to pause.”

Shelby Foote: “The dirty minds, the slow wits, the critics with their pick-brain tendencies: these people must be ignored in the creative process. Nothing but ruin can come of even considering them. A man must write for himself, and then he must accept the penalties, including the possibility of damnation. You’ve got to put it all on the line; anything less than all is hedging and your work is weakened at the wellspring, hopelessly flawed, shot through with rot. Not to mention the sapping of vitality; that’s what hurts.”

George Garrett: “Trust your original impulse. Trust the muse completely until she proves to be, beyond the shadow of a doubt, unfaithful. But after vision comes revision. That’s another thing, a bag of tricks and then some. You need to know, confidently, that during revision you can fix anything, change anything to suit yourself…the creative process is a little like taking a bath. Other people can help you do it, but they can’t do it for you…all of us would rather not have to revise anything at all. Just put it through the typewriter or into the computer, perfect and complete the first time, effortlessly. Pure inspiration. No sweat and strain and doubt. And that happens, probably will happen once or twice in your lifetime. And that will always seem to be the best time, the way it ought to be. But through the labor, sometimes hard labor, you will discover what every good writer does, that you can make a work seem to be the effortless result of pure inspiration.”

Joyce Carol Oates: “Write your heart out. Never be ashamed of your subject, and of your passion for your subject…Don’t be discouraged. Don’t cast sidelong glances and compare yourself to others among your peers. Writing is not a race. No one really ‘wins.’ The satisfaction is in the effort and rarely in the consequent rewards, if there are any. Read widely and without apology. Read what you want to read, not what someone tells you you should read. Immerse yourself in a writer you love and read everything he or she has written, including the very earliest work. Especially the very earliest work…Write for your own time, if not for your own generation exclusively. You can’t write for ‘posterity’—it doesn’t exist…don’t expect to be treated justly by the world. Don’t even expect to be treated mercifully…Don’t be ashamed of being an idealist, of being romantic and ‘yearning.’”

Megan Staffel: “The mistake people make when they think about writing has to do with the assumption of ease. In other words, because you can write, you assume that you can write fiction. But writing fiction requires the same kind of struggles that doing anything requires…it will continue to be a struggle even after you’ve done a lot of fiction writing. It’s just the nature of the process.”

Hilma Wolitzer: “So this is what you’ve decided to do with your life. I’ll bet your parents aren’t exactly thrilled. When they were walking the floor with you during those long colicky nights, visions of a future neurosurgeon or international banker were probably what kept them going. But instead of supporting them grandly in their old age, you’re off to work in your pajamas every day, at no one’s behest, and without a guaranteed market for your product.”

I couldn't have said it better myself. ;-) Now I’m totally inspired to put on my hot pink Hello Kitty jammie pants, settle down at the keyboard, and get ‘er done. Happy writing, everyone!

Susan McBride is the author of the forthcoming Little Black Dress (William Morrow Paperbacks, August 23, 2011) about two sisters, one daughter, and a magical black dress that changes all their lives forever. She has also written The Cougar Club, a Target Bookmarked Breakout Title and one of MORE Magazine's "February (2010) Books We're Buzzing About." For more scoop, visit SusanMcBride.com. Just for fun, view the book trailer for Little Black Dress on YouTube.

In the Beginning Were the Words

By Susan McBride

Here I sit, desperate to talk about beginnings and wondering how to start, when I think, “Eureka! I’ll share the first graphs from some of my books, and we can see if I’ve gotten any better at it.” Okay, yes, I’m a glutton for punishment. But it might be amusing; and, with all the rain we’ve had in St. Louis lately—not to mention the tornadoes—I figured amusing would be very good indeed.

Just for clarity’s sake, I’ll italicize what I cut and paste from the books. The rest is just running commentary (aka, Susan Babble).

We’ll begin with BLUE BLOOD, the first of my Debutante Dropout Mysteries for Avon (circa 2004), where I needed to set the scene for murder:

Unlucky.

That’s what she was.

Molly O’Brien pulled her T-shirt down over her head, not bothering to tuck the hem into her jeans. She squinted at her watch, barely illuminated by the faint stream of light flowing in from the hall, and she groaned when she realized it was well past midnight. God, how she wished she’d weaseled out of helping Bud Hartman close the place! He was creepy enough in broad daylight. If that didn’t bite, now she also owed the babysitter overtime.

She grabbed her purse from its hook, slammed her locker, and turned around.

Bud stood in the doorway, watching.

In all five of those mysteries, I started with a Prologue, written in the third person, while the rest of each book is in first person (seen through the eyes of my protagonist, deb ball refugee Andrea Kendricks). It was great fun getting into the head of either the murder victim—before the murder, of course—or, in this case, the prime suspect, Andy’s old friend, Molly, now a single mom working at a Hooter’s type restaurant called Jugs. Fun fact: BLUE BLOOD was originally called STABBED IN THE BACK, which was changed to DEATH AND THE DEBUTANTE DROPOUT before it sold to Avon then ended up as BLUE BLOOD, which suits it perfectly.

Let’s move ahead a few years, to my first “Debs” book with Delacorte, released in 2008:

Laura Delacroix Bell grabbed the arm-rests of her seat in a death-grip as the Southwest Airlines jet touched down at Houston’s Hobby Airport, the wheels bumping hard against the tarmac before rolling to a stop. The kid behind her let out a wail loud enough to split her eardrums, and she gritted her teeth, willing the Flight from Hell to be over with ASAP.

Ten more minutes, and I’ll be off this cattle car, she told herself, thinking that nothing would feel better than stretching to her full 5’ 9” after her cramped ride from Austin. Besides her neck getting a major crick, she’d been stuck smack in front of the crying child who’d kicked the back of her seat for nearly an hour. As if that wasn’t torture enough, all they’d fed her were two tiny bags of peanuts.

Confession: I didn’t know what I was doing when I wrote the first draft of THE DEBS, my first-ever young adult novel. The story features four privileged prep school girls in Houston, and I wasn’t quite sure how to utilize all the different points of view. In the initial draft, I started with another character entirely, but I realized with the revision that the real starting point was Laura returning from "fat camp" where she’d been exiled for the summer by her teeny-tiny über-socialite mother. Laura probably has the juiciest external conflict in the book, and by the end of Chapter One, you can’t help but know she’s bought a ticket on a train wreck. So THE DEBS was definitely a case where my original beginning was not the beginning I ended up with.

Finally, let’s skip to this year and LITTLE BLACK DRESS, my second women’s fiction book (out August 23, 2011), which starts like this:

I never meant to resurrect the dress. I had intended for it to remain out of reach so there would be no more meddling. But I awoke before dawn with tears in my eyes after another strange dream about Anna, and I knew that I had to find it.

A bruised-looking sky bled between half-drawn curtains as I dragged myself from bed and padded down the hallway in my nightgown and bare feet. I switched on the attic light and grabbed the banister to climb, my knees creaking as sharply as the wood beneath my heels. At the top of the stairs, I paused to catch my breath and loudly sneezed.

I’d forgotten how dusty it was up there and how full of things forgotten: discarded furniture, a steamer trunk stuffed with my parents’ belongings, and more boxes than I could count. It could take me days to dig through all the detritus. I wished I had listened to Bridget about getting my life sorted out months ago so there would be far less clutter. The house was full of it now. Like so much of the past, I found it harder to face than to ignore.

This beginning was the beginning I had in my head from the start, going back to when I wrote the proposal a year ago. Once I knew what the book was about—two sisters, Evie and Anna, who could not be more different, and a magical black dress that shows each her fate and changes the course of their lives forever—I saw this scene of Evie at 71, alone in the Victorian house she’d grown up in, awakening at dawn after a recurring dream and realizing she had to unearth the dress from the attic. The story shifts between two points of view: that of Evie and that of her daughter, Toni. Evie’s voice is more immediate (first person) and Toni’s is third person limited. Somehow, the combination worked, with Evie kick-starting the tale and Toni capping it off.

It’s rare when I have that clarity from the get-go. Usually, I rewrite my beginnings over and over again as I go along. Sometimes as I figure out the pieces of the puzzle—and understand better all the nuances of each character—I see a different starting point. What I’ve learned through the years is to trust my gut and to just get the freaking first draft done. I always feel like, once I know the whole story from start to finish, the fun truly begins (aka, revisions!). But—as you’ve heard me say before—the first draft is pretty much verbal vomit.

Hopefully, I’ll start vomiting copious words very soon since I’ve got a new book to write (like, now). I wonder if Office Depot sells writers’ barf bags?

P.S. As you read this, I am trying hard to keep my nose to the grindstone, sweating over the beginning of a young adult thriller, DEAD ADDRESS, for Random House/Delacorte. No doubt, I will mess with said beginning endlessly before this draft is done. Feel free to drop by my web site any time or find me on Facebook!

Life Imitating Art Imitating Life

by Susan McBride

As of 2011, I've reached 12 years as a published author, and I must say my career has been anything but boring. I started out writing mystery series before trying my hand at a non-mystery young adult series. Then I was offered the chance to do a women’s fiction stand-alone, THE COUGAR CLUB, which came out last year. I loved the freedom of writing a novel that wasn’t meant to lead into a second book and then a third. It was great knowing I could leave my three forty-five-year-old “Cougars” and move on once I’d gotten them to a pretty happy place (or at least a better place than they were in when the book started). It’s funny, though, how many people thought it was the start of a series with more to come. I’m not sure if my history as a series writer caused them to assume that or if it was the ending, which leaves a few unanswered questions, mostly in the vein of, “Will she or won’t she?”

I have trouble wrapping up a story so completely that there's no room to wonder. Isn’t that what makes real life so interesting: not knowing what each day will bring? For me, it’s the same with my novels. I know the characters will live and grow beyond the time I spend with them…unless I decide to blow them all up, which I’ve yet to do (but I have been tempted).

After COUGAR, I knew I wanted to write another women’s fic book, and I had an idea about a grown-up SISTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING PANTS (well, sort of). It involved a black dress that was worn by three different women, and it fit them all, no matter that they were different sizes. And it had an indelible impact on all of their lives. Although when I presented my first one-page synopsis to my agents, they were hardly bowled over. “Um, this isn’t it,” I remember them saying. “So take that premise and try again.”

I’m not sure what happened—or how—but it was likely in the shower or on the treadmill (two of my best idea places) when I realized what LITTLE BLACK DRESS was really about: two sisters from a generation back and the magical black dress one of them buys at a vintage shop the day before her wedding. She wears it that night and has a vision of her future that doesn’t involve the man she’s about to marry. She disappears to avoid marrying the wrong guy and she doesn’t come back for years, leaving her sister behind to pick up the pieces…and to discover for herself the secret of the little black dress (which she does, in spades).

When I sent this revised synopsis back to my agents, they were excited. “Yes, this is it! More please!” they said, and so I keep thinking and dreaming and writing. Pretty soon, I had a three page summary and 50 sample pages with the POV alternating between Evie, the “responsible” sister who must deal with Anna—her younger sibling—running off and leaving her behind, and Toni, Evie’s daughter, who’s made a life for herself in St. Louis but must return to her small Missouri town when her mom has a stroke. In the process of being home again, Toni has to confront her own past and all the skeletons buried in the closets of the old Victorian. What Toni discovers about Evie and Anna--and herself--is beyond surprising.

I had no idea when I embarked upon this multigenerational tale that I would feel such an emotional pull. Normally, when I write, I’m in such a zone that I don’t feel anything but eager. I don’t cry when my characters cry. I don’t laugh when they laugh. Okay, most of the time I don’t. But with LITTLE BLACK DRESS, I found myself gut-wrenched by the emotional scenes; maybe because so much was going on in my life in 2010 as I wrote it, like putting on a breast cancer fundraiser (I’m a survivor) and having my mom show up on my doorstep a week before the event saying, “I have breast cancer.” My reaction, "You're kidding, right?" She’s doing GREAT, thank heavens, as it was caught very early but it freaked me out just the same.

As if that wasn't enough, one of our cats got deathly ill and nearly died. She spent two days in the emergency vet hospital and underwent tons of tests and a blood transfusion then required twice a day meds and weekly vet visits for two and a half months. Since our three cats are like our children, Ed and I lived on pins and needles until we knew Blue would be okay.

It’s no wonder I felt drained while working on LBD, and I recall feeling particular angst while writing a scene with Evie suffering a miscarriage. I had never been pregnant so I could only imagine the devastation at losing a baby and the toll it takes on someone mentally and physically. I was weeping as I got through it. It was only after I turned the manuscript in before Thanksgiving that I found out I was about four weeks pregnant. Oh, boy, that explained a lot! Ed and I were over the moon.

Unfortunately, I miscarried on New Year’s weekend (yeah, Happy New Year!). I had to revise the book—and tweak the miscarriage scene—barely three weeks after. It broke my heart a second time, but maybe in some way it helped me get through it. Writing is like that for me, it’s my personal therapy and maybe why my characters endure so much; because I can work through my own heartache through them.

It's strange when life imitates art when it's usually art imitating life. Although I tell myself that everything I do is purely made up, I realize pieces of me seep in, no matter how hard I try to keep myself out of it. Still, all of our experiences shape us in various ways, hopefully making us more empathetic people and better writers, too. Every hardship or devastation or brilliantly happy moment lends itself to stronger characters and a more believable story. It makes me feel good to think so anyway!

Susan McBride is the author of Little Black Dress coming out as a William Morrow trade paperback in September (yes, the date was just moved up from December!). She has also written The Cougar Club, a Target Bookmarked Breakout Title and a Midwest Connections Pick, as well as five Debutante Dropout Mysteries and several "Debs" young adult books. For more scoop, visit SusanMcBride.com.

A Bookworm's Tale

by Susan McBride

I’ve always been a bookworm. 

We moved around a lot when I was growing up so every few years we picked up stakes and went to a new place, wherever IBM sent my dad.  By the time I was thirteen, I’d lived in five different cities (four different states), and I’d been enrolled in four different schools.  It made it hard to keep friendships when we never stayed anywhere for very long.  The only thing I could count on in those days was books.

In fact, I loved books so much that I built my own library, putting pockets with cards inside the front cover.  I got a date stamp, and I made my brother and sister check books out.  To this day, they’re not big readers.  Hmm, wonder if I had anything to do with that?

When I was in fifth grade, I tried my hand at writing novels.  I have three saved in a box in the basement.  One is about two pals and a dog who solve crimes, another is an illustrated tale about a pair of nice monsters, and the third is a mystery called THE SECRET OF THE FORBIDDEN TEMPLE.  I even made a fancy cover for that one.  Inside the back flap, I listed “Other Books by Susan McBride” and made up a bunch of titles. 

I should have realized back then that I was destined to write.  But it took awhile longer for me to figure that out.  I didn’t seriously consider becoming a novelist until I was 19 and between transferring colleges.  My family was road-tripping to my grandparents’ house for Christmas, and I had an epiphany.  “I will write a book!” a little voice inside my head announced as I sat in the back seat, trying to keep a safe distance from my little brother.  I dug out a notepad and pen from my purse, and I started scribbling then and there.  What I ended up writing—a 600-page historical romance called THE THORN OF THE ROSE—was never published.  But I did send it out to various editors and agents who encouraged me to keep at it. So I did.

Every year after I graduated college, I penned a new manuscript.  I had at least ten done before I signed a book contract after winning a writing contest.  A small press published AND THEN SHE WAS GONE and OVERKILL, and I started doing the mystery circuit, meeting lots of other authors (many of whom became good friends).  I signed with a New York agent who got me a three-book deal with Avon for my Debutante Dropout Mysteries, starting with BLUE BLOOD in 2004 and ending with TOO PRETTY TO DIE in 2008.  That agent and I amicably parted ways about the time my second mystery came out in 2005, but I found the perfect match with another agency (I'm still with 'em, and I love them to pieces!).

In 2006, around the time my third mystery hit bookshelves, one of my agents lunched with a Random House editor who was looking for an author to write about debutantes in the South, kind of like GOSSIP GIRL with a drawl.  That’s when I devised THE DEBS, the debut of my young adult series that features four Houston prep school seniors during their debutante season.  (And, yes, debutantes still exist!  Even though I’ve gotten emails asking, “Didn’t debs go the way of the dinosaur?”)  The second of my Debs tales, LOVE, LIES, AND TEXAS DIPS, came out in 2009, and a third, GLOVES OFF, is (sadly) in publishing limbo!  Why didn't I make them vampire debutantes?  Yeesh.

My first stab at women's fiction, THE COUGAR CLUB (HarperCollins, February 2010), allowed me to write about a subject near and dear to my heart:  being a woman over 40 in a society that’s totally freaked out by aging (well, by aging women).  I married a younger man, and I didn’t chase him (and I don’t wear animal print), and I’ve met lots of other “accidental Cougars” since the book came out.  It’s been fun spreading the news that forty isn’t fatal.  Hopefully, I’ll get to revisit Carla, Elise, and Kat—my three Cougars—again!

But right now, I’m revising LITTLE BLACK DRESS, which is something entirely different.  It’s the story of two sisters and a daughter and a magical black dress that changes all their lives forever.  A pair of alternating viewpoints unravel the story, ultimately marrying the past and the present (and revealing a deep dark secret along the way).  One of my resolutions for 2011:  to find the perfect LBD to wear at book signings!

I’ve got two more books due this year: another women’s fiction title (yet to be determined) and a young adult thriller.  So even though my writing career took a good decade to get rolling, I’ve worked nonstop for the past 12 years, and it's been an amazing thing, getting to do what I love for a living.

My advice to aspiring authors:  read a lot, write a lot, and learn your craft.  Sometimes things don’t happen right off the bat for a reason.  Just keep putting words on paper and keep the faith!

Susan McBride is the author of The Cougar Club, named a Target Bookmarked Breakout Title and a Midwest Booksellers Association “Midwest Connections” Pick. She has also penned the award-winning Debutante Dropout Mysteries, including Blue Blood and Too Pretty to Die. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri, with her husband. Visit her web site at SusanMcBride.com.

**I’d love to give away a signed copy of THE COUGAR CLUB today!  If you’re interested, leave a comment, and I’ll draw the winner on Thursday morning.  Just part of the parade of GBC holiday giveaways!  Ah, I love this blog!

I Heart Amy Bloom

by Susan McBride

Amy Bloom is an award-winning novelist and short story writer (among other things). Do I know her? No, I’ve never had the pleasure. Have I read her work? Sadly, I can’t say that I have as of yet, although I’ve added her novel, Away, to my “must get” list.

Regardless, I wanna be like Amy and here’s why.

A recent Amazon ad showed a couple relaxing on the beach with Kindles in hand. The camera focused on the woman’s screen, and it revealed the page of a book. Most of us couldn’t even see what it said, but some clever person figured out that it was from Amy Bloom’s short story collection, Where the God of Love Hangs Out.

Once that became known, the media descended. When asked about her “appearance” in a Kindle TV ad, she remarked, “I feel very grateful for whoever it was who said, ‘Hey, how about a page from an Amy Bloom story.’”

What she said next in that same interview is what made me decide, “Ms. Bloom, you rock.” In response to being asked if the Kindle brouhaha would increase sales of her book, she answered:

"You never know. It probably won't do me any harm. On the other hand, the other way to look at it is who cares? I've done my job as a writer. I've written the best work I know how. And I'm appreciative of the people who read it and care about the work—and that's pretty much the end of that. Anything else that happens is sometimes nice, and sometimes not so nice, but not really directly relevant."

Now do you see why I heart her?

I want to be that writer who doesn’t worry about promotion, Twitter, Facebook, and getting on Oprah. (Is anyone else relieved it’s her last season? Maybe then well-intentioned but clueless family members will stop asking me, “When is Oprah having you on?”).

I crave indifference to both good reviews and bad and the ability to sincerely and confidently state, “I wrote the best damned book I could. What happens next is up to God/Fate, Readers/Booksellers, and/or The Easter Bunny."

I yearn to sigh happily when I’ve typed “The End” (okay, I don’t really ever type “The End,” but it sounds better), close that chapter of my writing life, and move on to the next deadline without worrying about a million tiny things, like, will my mother-in-law enjoy it, will it get reviewed by someone who likes women’s fiction and not by a devoted fan of Amish Vampire YA Dystopian Cozies, and will people judge it by the words inside instead of by its cover? (Speaking of covers, you already heard me whine about cover issues with The Cougar Club so I’m hoping to avoid the same fate with Little Black Dress, although I'm not holding my breath and my cover fairy seems to be on an extended vacation.  Damn her.)

When I sit down at my keyboard to tell a story, it is truly a passion. It isn’t always easy, but it’s what I love. So much is involved with being a published author these days, way beyond the storytelling. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m in this for the words and for the high I get when a tale that’s existed only in my head for months and months is suddenly out there for anyone to read (even folks unrelated to me who buy copies from bookstores in places I’ve never been).

I will turn in Little Black Dress tomorrow and, when I do, like Amy Bloom, I'll be thinking, "I’ve truly done the best job that I can."

And I hope that it’s enough.

Susan McBride is looking forward to sleeping in, watching mindless TV, and eating plenty of chocolate while recovering from deadline-itis. LITTLE BLACK DRESS, her tale of two sisters, a daughter, and a magical little black dress that changes all of their lives, has been moved up in the schedule and will be available from HarperCollins/Avon in mid-May of 2011.  Visit her at SusanMcBride.com.

P.S.  Happy Birthday to Ellen Meister!!!