Housekeeping with Clarabel

By Laura Spinella

I come from the before-moms-went-to-work generation, so keeping house is what my mother did.  She was damn good at it, still is at 84. At my house, on any given day, you could eat a meal off the floor of your choosing. During the deep cleaning rituals of spring and fall, this perpetual state of spotlessness reached a new threshold. They are scrubbed clean slivers of time that I remember well. It’s also something I couldn’t imitate if you threatened to dunk my head in a bucket of bleach. On those two days of the year, we’d come through the front door to a nose full of Windex, every Electrolux attachment on duty, and Mother poised on a step ladder. She wasn’t wearing pearls, but she surely wouldn’t have stood in front of an open window without makeup on or her hair done. By the time we got home, she’d worked her way to the changing of the curtains—kind of like the changing of the guard, only more formal. Years removed, the memory of that gold-tweed fabric evokes the crisp scent of fall, the same way a blooming cherry tree makes me think of bright white sheers. We had beautiful curtains (Mother sewed them all) along with Sunday roast beef dinners and a no-nonsense, “Drink some orange juice, go to school, you’ll feel better,” approach to life. It wasn’t the touchy-feely, my kids are the center of universe, attitude we often see today, but it did manage to get my sisters and me to here.

Bayport, New York, circa 1965. Cherry tree, pre-blossom.

Mother and I are not kindred spirits, which is not a problem, just the way it is. We get along fine, but it isn’t the relationship I have with my daughters. Although, on the right day, my daughters would probably tell you that we don’t see eye-to-eye on everything either. Bill O’Reilly, Nicholas Sparks novels, tiny china teacups and pantyhose are just a few of the things that I can’t get my mind around. Mother, on the other hand, takes exception to my lackadaisical politics, supersize glasses of wine, and often crass sense of humor.  Here, however, is where we sync perfectly: when I think of the way Mother kept house, I think of the way I write. Cleaning was just a broad term for every minute task that went into the maintenance of her home. She would purge and polish, refresh and review with a relentless eye. Dinner was an event, complete with an ironed tablecloth, dessert included, served precisely at 5:30 p.m. on weeknights. On summer Tuesdays the wash hung outside and on Thursdays bathrooms were scrubbed clean—period. Mother did everything she could to make her space—our space—the absolute best it could be. Admittedly, the book writing process is not Mother’s forte, why it takes so long, or why I invest insane amounts of time writing, researching, editing and rewriting. I mean, seriously, isn’t the wash piling up somewhere? But I do have an answer when she questions my all-consuming nature, a dogged insistence on my optimal performance. I remind Mother, “I’m only doing exactly what you taught me.” 

Laura Spinella is the author of the award-winning novel, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER and the upcoming novel, PERFECT TIMING. Visit her at www.lauraspinella.net. 

Too Many Cards

by Sara Rosett

A few years ago the constant question at the checkout was, “Would you like to open a ___ account?” (Fill in the blank with the store name.)

Stores wanted customers to open charge accounts. My standard answer was always, “No, thanks. I have too many cards as it is.”

I’ve noticed that the would-you-like-to-open-a-charge-account question is passé. The newest thing is the loyalty card. Now the cashier asks, “Would you like to join our club?”

You might think that the economic downturn is the reason for the switch, but it’s not. Long before we stopped charging and started saving, companies were beginning to realize that having information about customer purchasing habits could be just as valuable as being able to charge interest on unpaid credit card balances.

At first, I didn't join the loyalty clubs at the grocery store—I didn’t really want some corporate drone tracking my purchases, but I’ll admit it was the milk that got me to fill out one of those applications. Milk for less than three dollars? I couldn’t resist.

So anyway, I now have a ton of those cards. I filled out the applications to get the initial discounts and frequent military moves have insured that I have just about every card you can think of:  Safeway, Giant, CVS, Borders, Barnes & Noble, Eddie Bower, R.E.I., Winn Dixie, Wegmen's, Vons, Kroger, Staples and Office Depot, PetCo, and even Ace Hardware.

I’ve got so many cards that checking out is beginning to feel like a game of Go Fish as I shift through the plastic that fills my wallet.

But I now shop at a grocery store that doesn’t have a loyalty card. Everything is the same price—so nice!

What about you? How loyal are you? Is your wallet bulging with customer cards?

~Sara 

Sara writes mystery (Ellie Avery series) and suspense (On the Run series). As a military spouse Sara has moved around the country (frequently!) and traveled internationally, which inspired her latest travel suspense books. Publishers Weekly called Sara’s books, "satisfying," "well-executed," and "sparkling."

Visit http://www.SaraRosett.com for more information, or connect with Sara on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.

Spring Cleaning?

by

Sheila Curran

                I’ve been crushing on simplicity lately.  Mostly this is an Internet Affair, reading about other people’s efforts to purge their homes of unneeded dreck.  The best on this subject is our former girlfriend (Joshilyn Jackson)’s hilarious blog about getting her things in order and (not coincidentally) how her brain works.  I am similarly disposed.  I love the idea that I too could pare down my belongs to 126 items. 

Graham Hill appears even more minimalist (though actually only by 30 square feet per human).  

Both make similar points.  It’s easy to be consumed by your stuff. 

My brain is both obsessed and oppressed by the items in our house that require tending.  Somewhere between a curator and lion-tamer, it’s up to me to notice that the roof is leaking, the doors are creaking,  the toilets need cleaning and the pool is greening. 

I realized, on Sunday, as I wrote down the plague of tasks crowding my brain, a catalog of plebian demands that ranged from medicating the dog to replacing moth traps, that I am married, not to my husband, but to my house. 

That’s why they call us housewives!  Am I the only idiot who never noticed this perfectly obvious and not at all accidental phraseology?

Apparently not, for when I repeated my ephiphany to several women friends, they too seemed gobsmacked by the sinister accuracy of this seemingly tame term.  We hadn’t noticed.  It was as if we’d signed a contract back when we were too delirious with nesting instincts to notice what we were doing.  I can just imagine Snidely Whiplash asking, “But what did you think you were agreeing to, my child?  How much more clear can one compound word be?”

Worse than my giddy dismissal of the terms of the initial contract was my collusion in acquiring the items that now cry for dusting, ditching, folding, or mending.  I had Stockholm Syndrome except it was Ikea Infatuation.  When the Pottery Barn catalog arrived at the house, there I was, panting over it like a teenage boy with the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.  Both of my kids were dragged to Target, on safaris for Real Simple organizing bins, Shabby Chic sheets and lavender candles, all in the aim of creating a serene environment that once created, would be self-tending and permanent.

That was my mistake.  Nothing is permanent.  Entropy happens.  Towels fray, sheets tear, upholstery wears and paint smears.  It all needs redoing, and all the redoing falls to the idiot who fell for it all in the first place.  When they talk about the great circle of life, they don’t mention the revolving door of daily drudgery a.k.a “Sisyphus does dishes.” 

In other words, maintenance is a bitch.  Whether its our writing or our roof or our dog or even our children, one must give up time and the illusion of perfection to embrace the fact that no one gets out of here without a few dents and scrapes.  The old saying, in the go-go Eighties was “He who dies with the most toys wins.”  Now it’s replaced by a more Eastern outlook, “True wealth is wanting less than you have.” 

I’m all for that, except when it comes right down to it, decluttering takes time and downsizing takes might, and in the interim, I’ll have to settle for imaginary flight to a place in my mind hosting “all you can pretend, all the time.”   Which is why, I suppose, I am a writer of fiction in the first place.  I wander my roost sighing at the facts, all entropic, all the time, circling like gnats or the belfry’s lost bats, seeking containment, a reorganization, into the illusion of story where every thing is meant to be, and it will, at least on the page, remain in its place for ever and ever.

When not moaning about her housekeeping failures, Sheila is trying to finish  her third novel.  She is the author of Diana Lively is Falling Down and Everyone She Loved

Spring Fling: March Madness

By Lauren Baratz-Logsted

Some writers make an annual rite of doing NaNo in November. Some make New Year's Eve resolutions to start a new book the next day, much like others resolve to lose that last 10 pounds. Me, I get a little crazy in March.

The first time I engaged in my own version of March Madness was in 2004. I got an idea for a novel about a writer who, after living out in L.A. for 10-ish years, returns to Danbury, CT, to care for her ailing father. Once home, she meets a charismatic window washer who may or may not be Zorro. The book was to be a seriocomic contemporary re-visioning of The Great Gatsby. I was so in love with my own creation - the Zorro character, at least - that I whipped through the first draft in 24 days. March wasn't even over and already I had a book - the fastest in my life that I'd ever completed my stupid pet trick of writing a novel. Of course, I didn't sell or publish it right away. Instead, it remained on my hard drive for years as I went through several rounds of revisions on it. Finally, I released that book last year as Z: A Novel. 

In succeeding years, March became my go-to month for manic productivity. Last year during that month, I wrote the first draft of a middle grade novel about a Dennis the Menace type character who misundestands a conversation his family has about him, leading to disastrous - and hopefully funny - results. That book was Robbie Knightley.

I'm not much given to introspection about this quirky spring habit of mine. I mean, really, when you think about it, it makes no sense. January and February are more traditionally cold months where I live in CT. Common semse dictates that's when I should hole up and ignore the world. But March? March is when I should be outside enjoying the early warm days, the later sunsets, and cracking open the first bottles of the season of Prosecco. OK, I still do that last part, no matter what, meaning as soon as I hit Publish on this piece, well, you know where I'll be. But mostly this month will find me shackled to my computer, trying to squeeze as much creative work as I can out of my brain and my heart.

I think now, as I write this, that it isn't March at all that prompts this in me. Rather, it's the impending advent of summer. Before too many days pass - days that speed by more quickly with each year I spend on this swiftly tilting planet - summer will start rushing at me with alarming speed. Summer means my daughter being off from school. One of the nice things about having kids later is that you appreciate how little time you actually get with them living under your roof; how, before you can blink, they'll be off living on their own. So I guess I write faster in March so that maybe, maybe, when summer comes, I can work just a little less.

So how about you: Is there any month that seems to be your most productive? Or, whether writing or something else, got any March Madness indulgences to confess?

Be well. Don't forget to write.

Lauren Baratz-Logsted is the author of 31 books for adults, teens and children. You can read more about her life and books at www.laurenbaratzlogsted.com or follow her on Twitter @LaurenBaratzL

DIY Marketing

by Barbara Claypole White

Marketing is no different to excavating a plot. Keep digging through your ideas and you can unearth promotional gems. You have one goal--to build buzz.

Start with three things:

1. Communicate with your publisher. What do they plan to do and how can they help support your efforts?
2. Create a marketing budget.
3. Create a marketing plan or the less scary marketing to-do list. 

What might you include in your marketing budget?

• A website if you don’t have one. To keep costs down, I hired a grad student, and he worked tirelessly to create a unique image that reflected my writing.
• A blog tour to generate reviews. I hired TLC Book Tours and will definitely use them again. Obviously, I had no control over the reviews, but TLC tailored my tour to fit my needs.
• AuthorBuzz—the marketing service that puts you in touch with readers, book clubs, booksellers, and librarians. Not cheap, but so worthwhile.
• A book trailer.
• Author photos.
• Handouts such as bookmarks, postcards, etc., which you can give to your street team and enthusiastic friends who want to help.
• Ads on Facebook or Google.
• Giveaways.
• Thank you gifts for bookstores and book clubs.

Congratulations. Now you’re ready to create a marketing plan.

A marketing plan can cover everything from soliciting blurbs to sending family friends buy-my-book emails. I started five months out and planned big. Since The Unfinished Garden has an unusual hook—it’s a love story about OCD—I dreamed of a fundraiser with the International OCD Foundation. But life happened, and I had to adapt. Three months out from my pub date, my mother underwent heart surgery and I became her full-time caregiver / house elf--in a four-hundred-year-old English house with iffy Internet and crap phone service. Which is why it’s important to…

Be flexible:

While I was England, I had to walk the pampered dog twice a day. Where did I walk? Through some of the real-life settings that inspired scenes in The Unfinished Garden. So, I started the TUG walking tour and posted photos to my Facebook page (when I could log on). People still talk about those pictures! Despite everything, I was managing to promote my book.

Think outside the box:

What can you do that’s different? When I approached my local librarian about an event to mark OCD Awareness Week, she was thrilled. And just recently, I booked a Barnes & Noble Valentine’s Day event to celebrate crazy love. (I piggybacked on the success of Silver Linings Playbook, another love story about mental illness.)

Schedule readings:

I booked my own readings, but decided to stay local so as not to disrupt family life. Make sure the stores can order your books—sounds stupid, but this is important—and see if your publisher will provide posters. (Mine did.) Don’t forget to share dates with the local media for their community events calendars, and invite people via Facebook and email. Also, communicate with stores ahead of time about numbers. And don’t forget to send thank you notes.

To party or not to party:

I didn’t want to combine my inaugural reading with a launch party. (After two glasses of wine, I love everyone.) However, I have three wonderful girlfriends who wanted to help with the book, so I let them throw a party. And just look at the cake they organized.

Social media:

Love it or hate it, social media will be an important part of your marketing. I was already active on Facebook, but I set up a Facebook author page and discovered I could add a free welcome page--with a link back to my website--through pagemodo. Did I mention it was free?

Write those blogs:

Yes, you do have to commit to a few blogs. But beware: Blogging can consume your writing time, so pick wisely, my friends.

Find book clubs:

Friends, libraries, and indies can help your find book clubs. My first two book club events came through an email I sent to friends saying, “Do you know of any neighborhood book clubs?” You can also use the Internet to search for local book clubs and then invite members to public readings.

Organize giveaways:

I like to give away a signed copy of TUG when I do a guest blog, and I also wanted to do a Goodreads’ giveaway. My publisher organized the latter, which was fabulous. We had around 1,500 entries for five copies. Entries translate into your novel moving onto readers’ to-be-read shelf, which is the golden egg.

Generate publicity:

The local press is a huge resource. Approach press coverage the same way you approached your agent search. Do your homework, and figure out whom you want to approach and why. Then craft a story and sell it. Concentrate on anything that is newsworthy or unusual about your book, your path to publication, or the story behind the story. For example, I successfully worked four separate angles for The Unfinished Garden:

1. Local settings.
2. Local girl makes good.
3. Healing power of gardening.
4. Real life OCD.

Obviously, the marketing iceberg can be as big as you want it to be. But remember what Captain Barbossa said in Pirates of the Caribbean, “The pirate code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules.” Let that be your marketing motto.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Barbara Claypole White is the author of The Unfinished Garden, a love story about grief, OCD, and dirt (Harlequin MIRA, 2012)

“White…conveys the condition of OCD, and how it creates havoc in one’s life and the lives of loved ones, with style and grace, never underplaying the seriousness of the disorder.” Romantic Times 4* review

“Barbara Claypole White gives us a moving story about the challenges of OCD and grief combined with the power of the human spirit to find love in the most unlikely of places.” Eye on Romance

Sage Writing Advice by Karin Gillespie

A few posts on writing that spoke to me this week, and I hope they’ll speak to you as well:

From author Leslie Stella comes a lovely rambling post about all the ups and downs in a writer’s life.

Here’s an excerpt:

“You cannot go to sleep at a reasonable hour for the same reason you cannot have a glass of wine and the idiot box: because you were a writer, you were born to be a writer, and you still want to be a writer—no, not yearn, just want, want—it’s a simple word and you have read enough crappy writing by now, including your own, to know that there is something to be said for the simple and direct and plain way of speaking; you are a writer and who is going to tell you that you are not? You are a writer; you are a writer.”

Also this from an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray Love:

“It’s okay to recognize that you took a wrong turn, and to begin anew. It’s okay to write a book that gets bad reviews. It’s okay to write a book that no one reads. The idea is just to focus on how you want to spend your life. My intention is to spend my entire life doing this, so any one piece of it isn’t that important when you think of it in the long scale.”

And finally this quote about telling the truth:

You will never make a good impression on other people until you stop thinking about what sort of impression you are making. Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it... Give up yourself, and you will find your real self.” 
― C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

It’s all a journey isn’t it? And a lovely one at that. Enjoy and try not to get too frustrated with the bumps. It’s merely part of the wonder. 

Friday Is Outdoor Office Day by Megan Crane

My husband draws.  I write.

(We're sitting under one of his paintings in this picture, in fact, in a newly-reopened speakeasy in downtown Los Angeles.)


What this means--among other things, like very intense debates over "proper" time travel-- is that we spend a lot of time far, far away.

In our heads.

Slumped over our desks, panicked and over-caffeinated, brutal deadlines hanging above us and laughing maniacally...

(Oh yeah.  Deadlines laugh.  Loudly.)

It also means that we don't have proper work weeks.  We try.  I rant on about boundaries and free time and refilling the well ( which sometimes means traipsing about glorious Ireland, of course), but if something's due, it's due.  And that means we sit there until it's done.  All night.  All weekend.  To the exclusion of everything else, and I do mean everything.

That's a lot of sitting in one place, no matter the traveling we might do in our imaginations.  And the funny thing about sitting that long?  Day in and day out, focused that intently on stories inside our heads?  We go a little crazy.  We breathe less and worry more.  We crumple in on ourselves, stress leading to stress, until it's a self-fulfilling prophecy of panic and deadlines and more panic and more deadlines...

And by "we" I mostly mean "me."  Especially the "not breathing" part.

Recently, we decided we had to be a bit more proactive in our attempts to clear our heads.  It gets crowded in there, after so many years of so many stories, so many deadlines, so many long nights and blurry weekends spent writing and drawing and pushing our own envelopes just that little bit further on project after project.

So we instituted Outdoor Office Day.  Once a week we lace up our hiking shoes and we... go outside.

We're lucky.  We live in southern California and this is our backyard.

(Well.  If you consider an hour's drive to a state park in northern Malibu your backyard, which, frankly, I like to do.)

We've been teaching ourselves how to breathe again.

How to play.

How to jump for joy in a grassy expanse without another soul in sight, only mountains and the sea and a blue sky above.

We've been learning how to focus on the beauty in a perfect view, in a hard climb up a steep hill, in the wonder of a pretty morning spent far, far away from our office.

We've been learning that happiness is cultivated as much as encountered, and I'll tell you that I've worked out more story problems while not thinking about them somewhere outdoors than I ever have spending fifteen hours a day procrastinating on social media.








(Ahem.  NOT THAT I WOULD EVER DO THAT.)




So my writing advice to you is this: go outside.  It doesn't matter how long, or in what weather.  It doesn't have to be during the work week if you have a boss who wouldn't take too kindly to that idea.  Take a walk in the rain without caring how wet you get or how long it takes to splash around around out there.  Give yourself permission to get muddy.  Bundle up and move around out there in all that snow.  Make a snow angel or two.  Throw a snowball.  Better yet, start a snowball fight.

Move and breathe and play and marvel.  Let the world remind you why you wanted to create things in the first place.  It's amazing how much better things seem when you've spent a few hours physically far away instead of just mentally elsewhere.

Just go outside.  I promise, it's the best work you can do.

Megan Crane and Jeff Johnson 

have told hundreds of stories through books and comics and animated television and movies, possess a personal library to rival most bookstores, and have somehow ended up with entirely too many domestic animals.

He lives in the moment.  She stresses over every last detail in advance.  Together, they get on the correct flight at the correct time, but then they enjoy the journey.  A lot.  

You can find out more about her at www.megancrane.com or www.caitlincrews.com, and more about him at johnsonverse.deviantart.com