My friend, Mary, is making me blog again. It's, mm, shall we say, been a while. June was mostly a blur of ambulances and ERs. When you're able to tell the hospital security staff thanks, but you know a better route than the one they just recommended for getting out and back in after hours, you know you're dealing with something. In this case, Rheuben's asthma. For June, we were its chew toy, but that's passed and he, and the family, are doing much better.

Part of the deal is, this is supposed to be a blog about writing historical romance, and none of the above felt very on topic. There was some writing done during that time, and some reading. Those of you who have ongoing reasons to have contact with medical professionals probably know all about the hospital bag; that lovely, handy dandy thing one keeps ready by the door in case it's hospital time again. Special bag only for hospital visits, with important stuff in it, like lists of medications, phone numbers of friends who will gladly come get you at the ER at three AM for the second time in a week and spring for mini burgers at Denny's on the way home. Clean socks (trust me, these are needed,) toothbrush, lotion, books for each family member to read.

For me, the choice is easy; historical romance. While for most of the summer, I've been reading the VC Andrews (ghostwriter only) backlist for study purposes, when I want something to read for me, historical romance is the ticket. Ever since I was eleven years old and devoured the copy of Bertrice Small's The Kadin that I'd purloined from my mother's bedside table, I knew I'd found what I wanted to read and write for the rest of my life. What's more universal than a love story? In many ways, this rough summer has been a recharge; yes, this is what I love and want to do for the rest of my life.

One might call it research in the rough side of being a romance heroine; the life or death concern for the one man in this whole world that means everything, and the joy in bringing him home. The sharing of odd moments, like both noticing that you/he's stayed in this hospital room before. The "we've been through rough stuff before and we'll get through this" squeeze of the hand when one of you isn't able to speak. How can anyone call such things unrealistic when I've lived them? This seals it; romance is real life. The grit and the angst that naturally find their way into my stories, those are real parts of romance as well. Hopefully we won't have to have a summer like that again, but neither of us would trade it; we've grown, become more us (and more him and more me) and I can honestly say it's made me a better writer as well.

This past weekend, my friend Linda (who has been to many many late night ER trips and subsequent mini burgers) and I reconnected with Mary after family responsibilities had taken time usually given to socializing, and it was like a whole retreat in an afternoon. Cold beverages, kitchen table, talking of life, loss, faith, furbabies (Mary has a new puppy, our family has Skye kitty) and of course, romance novels. Who's reading what, what wouldn't each of us touch with a ten foot pole, what's good that we've missed? What stunk up the place like week old flounder? What's coming out new? Normal and healthy talk, if you ask me. As part of which, came my promise to Mary to blog again.

I'm writing this entry at the end of another day of prepping the final manuscript of Orphans in the Storm, my English Civil War historical romance to Awe-Struck. I wrote this a couple of years ago, and now as I'm putting the final polish on Simon and Jonnet's adventure, revisiting the fabled Isle of Man and Charles II's Dutch court in exile, again, like that afternoon at Mary's, it's like a homecoming. Historical romance is my home, and I ain't moving.

Phrases you do not want to hear your handyman say:

1. That's a very aggressive snake.
2. He's rattling.
3. He's only moving this slow because it's not warm enough for him. (from me: that was slow?)

All of those come from yesterday's session with the handyman at my dad's house while getting big icky things out of the garage. Realizing that the snake on the ground, he (she?) of the rattle and fangs *was* the "metal hook" on the hinge of the paint can I had just carried in thirty seconds ago does things for ye olde blood pressure, let me tell you.

In the end, handyman and assistant handyman were able to trap snake and rehome him on a different part of the property, but "our" snake may have relatives in the basement. In either event, going in with nice bright lightbulbs next time.

What does this have to do with romance writing? Not much on the surface but every session of clearing out the house does uncover things. My father was an artist all of his adult life, so when I find some of his neatokeen art supplies (thank you, Dad, for buying the good stuff) it gives me a little creative boost. Similarly, every trip over there means new discoveries, sometimes about the man himself, sometimes about previous generations, parts of my own life I'd only seen from a child or teen's perspective, or the creative process in general. One could call it a form of archeaology. There's always something to mull over or dust off and use in a new and different way.

Which is what writers do anyway, so it sort of counts as a creative endeavor. So does speculating over what I might be "missing" by using this time to work on the house when I had three, count them, three novels in my bag, in the car, all strongly calling my name. What were the characters doing while I was away? Sure, they'll be considerate and sit on idle until I can get back but in a *good* book, characters are people to me, and when I'm not with them, I miss them. We'll be having some special time after dinner tonight. The snake is not invited.

Resurfacing

My all purpose question these days is, "can I put gesso on it?" Usually, the answer is "yes." Seeing as how I only have white gesso right now, this may mean that as soon as I get black gesso I may not be seen again for another long time. Hopefully, though, I'm back. Writing, digital art, regular art, reading about ballroom dancing (the joys of research) and what I promised myself I wouldn't do -- start brewing the idea soup for a new historical before I've finished one of the current projects. Sometimes these things happen, and I really truly am not going to start actual writing on the new project until I finish the first full draft of Endless Summer. Seeing as how the half draft is done, saved and I'm rapidly approaching the midpoint of the first full draft ::ducking floundersmack from Vicki, who will tell me I am working on my second draft and the half draft is the first draft:: that shouldn't be too long. So I am okay with starting the idea soup.

Currently stuck on Blake Lewis' "Meet Me At the End of the World," which may have some influence on the new project. Still on a pretty good run of reading historicals; not every one is a gem, but keeping a steady stream of reading helps keep a steady stream of writing.

Did not see American Idol last night, as our cable was wonky and unless is was "Only make sound every other syllable" night, I don't have that kind of patience. Watched the real life hero tinker with tv and cable box for two hours while attempting to talk to a human being at the cable place and was thankful I had a book with me.

Doing good, feeling good, would say looking good but not yet ready to attempt self portraiture with digicam. Ask me again after shampoo and makeup, but the joy of new fitted tshirts means I can get rid of the schlubby old sizes too big ones that procreate in my tshirt drawer.

Conference coming in a month, huzzah. Time to mingle with other romance writers and beg agents/editors to recognize my genius. Making mini cds with promo stuff on them, so if you hear a voice that sounds like mine saying Very Bad Words, you know I'm trying to print something new.

The point of it all is, I am here, really I am. (edited to add appropriate icon I'd forgotten I made)

How can I ignore this face?

Or the stripety stripes, the creamy underbelly or the single cream toe on a front paw? I'm trying, though, as my current office assistant, Miss Skye, still needs some time to get used to her new environment. She's had a rough life for a young kitty and needs to figure out she's in a good place at last. She's been a survivor, but now she's learning to be a pet.

Survival, I've found, is a very interesting theme for a romance as well. (Nice segue, eh?) As my Christmas reading binge included Jenna Kernan's Winter Woman, a western from Harlequin Historicals, (okay, not a Christmas book , Christmas is not even in it, but there's snow on the cover, so I'm counting it) I found myself thinking of exactly why this book worked as well for me as it did when westerns aren't my usual choice.

First off, snow. They had me right there. I loves me the white stuff. Lived for two years in Vermont, would happily go back, but I don't think I could convince the DH to come, so any returns would have to be of the weekend vacation nature. My first fan novel back when I was fanficcing ST:TNG was set on a planet where it was all winter, all the time. I had a blast.

Then there was the fact that for most of the book, it was all h/h, all the time. Isolated on the frontier, battling dangerous environs, carnivorous critters and tempermental weather with a distinct minimum of secondary characters kept me riveted. I love a good adventure and a tight focus on the main h/h relationship, and this had it in bucketsful.

I really liked the structure of the wilderness adventure leading to civilization, and that the heroine did want to go back to a more structured world. Also liked the compromise that came with the HEA.

Also liked the inclusion of a faith element, done with exactly the right touch; worked very well for me. It was part of the characters, and struggles made sense.

At the (pardon the pun) heart of the matter was that the h/h, once they decided they really did love each other, went all in; they'll give up what' s most important to them because their beloved is even more important than that, and in the end, they get it all. Happy sigh.

Which got me thinking, what other settings can some of these elements be used for? I've enjoyed stories set in the wilds of Australia, Africa, Asia, various islands, even the colonial frontier (physically restraining myself from making notes on one of these until I have finished a current project.) Recommendations, anyone?

Olivia, forever seventeen

My catsitting charge/officemate/cuddlebuddy, Olivia, went to Rainbow Bridge last night. She went as quietly as only she could, in her carrier on my lap in the vet's office, with her humom, Linda beside us.

It's been a hard year, and Olivia helped me get through a lot of the ick that year had to offer. She was herself right up until a couple of days before the end, and the decline on her last day was quick. We will miss her, but are forever grateful for the years we had together. Happy trails and fair winds, baby girl.

New/used laptop arrived last night; we're calling him Harvey (full name Harvey the Wonder Hamster, which was my dad's "code name" during his last year.) Harvey is a reconditioned senior gent of a laptop, a Dell Latitude, going all retro with his Windows Millenium. (extra points for anyone else who now has the Robbie Wiliams song stuck in their heads) Still trying to figure out how his internet card works and if there really is an A drive like the puter says there is, but it has Word, which is my one essential-essential, so I theoretically can take my act on the road when needed/wanted. Huzzah.

Which may have to happen, as real life has smacked me another one. Another elderly relative in hospital, sent from nursing home, so we're putting in a good deal of hospital time in the evenings until thing settle. Hopefully in the good direction.

Back in the saddle again.

Yesterday was several hours of sorting through random boxes of stuff at my Dad's house which is now my aunt's house. Stuff that needs doing. Today is the first real day of being back at the work of writing. Which is also stuff that needs doing. Writers write.

Last night, I sprawled on the bed with the notebook for one of my WIPs, reacquainting myself with the whos and whats and whens, and today was the same thing with a blank book for another project. It's an interesting sort of homecoming, going over stuff that's at once strange and familiar. There are the "I forgot about that" moments, the "hey, this is pretty good" moments and the "I can't believe I never patched *that* hole" moments. There are the moments when a turn of the page is the most perfect time machine ever created, and I'm swept from the present day into sixteenth century Amsterdam or seventeenth century England, the high seas, what have you.

The weather today has been cool (seventies) and off and on rainy -- good writing weather. True, all today's writing has been in the letter variety, but a letter to a writer friend I'll be collaborating with in the fall, so it counts. It feels natural to fall back into the rhythm of storytelling.

Also on the agenda is the big scary thing for us writer types. Submission. Completed manuscripts cannot be allowed to lounge around like an old college buddy who's been crashing on the couch for several years, leaving Cheeto crumbs between the cushions and never putting the lid back on the Diet Coke. Nope, stories, get out there and work for me; you have to finance the ones that are coming now that I have my mojo back.

Remember when Queen Elizabeth II gave her speech about her "Annus Horribilus?" The year life went down the loo, to be blunt? Our family's was this year, and much of it centered in the past month.

During one week, my husband and I visited the ER three times for his severe asthma attacks, the first one nearly fatal. To say scary is understating things by a ton. He's home now, he's doing fine, on good meds, and most importantly now a nonsmoker.

At the same time, my father went into hospital (a different hospital, in a different state, actually) for a minor procedure regarding his dialysis access. He'd had that procedure before, but this one went differently. The surgeon wanted to take out this access and put the old kind back in, and that seemed to be one thing more than my dad's body could take. He fought several conditions very hard for the past few years, but there comes a time when the body can't fight anymore, and the spirit is ready to go. Two weeks ago, it was my dad's time.

It wasn't quick, or easy, which was in keeping with him, but he wasn't in pain when he passed, and I do believe that even though he wasn't conscious, he knew when family and friends came by to tell him we loved him and that it was okay to go if he wanted to. He did, peacefully and with no pain, on June 27th. On June 26th of last year, we'd had the bad news that the doctor gave him a year at most. Dad beat him by one day. Very much in character. We love him and we will miss him, but (spirituality warning here) we do beleive we'll see him again in Heaven, so he's not as much "gone" as "away."


From there, it's been all the things that happen after a death in the family, and of course it had to happen during the hot and humid season. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I had heat exhaustion more than once, likely one time climbing into heat stroke, but the weather seems to have shifted, so looks like that's not a problem for a while yet.


What the family has now is the finding of the new normal. We have his house to clean out and sell, need to find a new place for my Aunt Lola, who I am proud to call as much a friend as a relative, and get her closer to us. Rheuben and I are also looking at possibly finding a different apartment, so start saving those cardboard boxes, everyone. Looks like we're going to get a crash course in downsizing, moving more than one household and all the stuff that goes along with that.

I haven't felt much like blogging lately, though I have been doing lots and lots of reading, and getting the writing in where I can. I'm looking forward to getting back to a regular writing schedule, and hopefully that will include a return to more regular blogging.

In the meantime, hop over to www.myspace.com/indiasherwood and meet my alter ego. I'm letting her handle the time travel writing. She also apparently does more reading than I do, or at least is better at keeping track of it.

Another month, another entry...

I really don't mean to be this quiet, but the current projects are eating me whole, I'm off to the Long Island Romance Writer's Luncheon this coming Friday (not tomorrow, the next week) and if anyone out there knows how to use playlists on an RCA Pearl mp3 player, I will lurve you forever and ever and think of you fondly in my dotage, which should be arriving any minute now.

I'm a little on the stompy side lately. DH finally got his week's vacation, and got smacked with exhaustion, gout and a cold. Yep, all at once. He's edging on feeling human, and it's near the end of the week. Hopefully he'll be up to the daytrip we've planned for Saturday.

Also stompy is the fact that I had to take a couple of days to refill the creative well. Those of you who know me well know that I want to work all the time, and taking time out to read, play Sims2, fiddle with playlists (see above) or watch TV, which do fill the creative well and are good and needed, annoy me because I want to be doing something. Doing something meaning output.

The past year was hectic and beyond with real life stuff and the last month or so, I finally, finally got back on track with production, ideas sprouting left and right, and it felt good. I mean goooood. Really good. So when I gave an extra big creativity push, feuled by stress of basically being the only family member not on vacation this week, of course things are going to hit a wall. It's temporary, and I'll be raring to go again in a day or so, grumbling about having to step away from the computer for things like food, hygiene, worship, family, the house being on fire, etc.

That said, five random things I haven't said in response to message board threads:

1. What on earth is wrong with romances having a happy ending? Isn't that like having cops in police procedurals?
2. Do I get stoned if I say I like my romance heroines young and beautiful?
3. Age differences in romance don't bother me. Really. Maybe it's because I have friends with successful marriages who have age differences, sometimes big ones, or maybe it's because it's historically plausible, or maybe it's because I don't, all right? ::passes out free Godivas::
4. Xnay with the egencyray for a while, please. I like it better when it isn't the only choice out there.
5. I want Marsha Canham back, too, but if she's busy, I'll step in. Really. Publishers, I have manuscripts.

Sometimes I think I should change the name of this blog to "I'm still here, really." I am trying to be better about blogging here, seriously.

Currently far under the weather with an icky cold. As in have grossed out the husband at least once when I only managed to grab a small piece of tissue before a monster sneeze that slimed things. I count the minutes until the next Sudafed (hey, it's about time, yippee!) and my blood type would show as Ricola if a sample were taken at this exact moment.

Thankfully, I have a very understanding husband who knows that yes, buying a new historical romance novel is part of absolutely neccessary cold supplies. Because though I could build a small house (or at least a comfortably roomy tool shed, which I would use to store more books) from my tbr pile, it is not that book and the reading is always about the "that book."

Right now, that book is Claiming the Courtesan by newcomer Anna Campbell. No, not me, but yes, it is somewhat of a vicarious thrill to see the same first name as mine on a cover. I can put my thumb over the "ampbell" and pretend they managed to squeeze the rest of my name in there. If that sounds weird, I blame the Sudafed.

That's not the only reason, though. At the conference a couple of weeks ago, editors and agents all raved about this book, citing the return of the big historical (oh be still my heart, please please please) and one of my target editors even regretted passing on it. This of course has me intrigued.

My other toy getting me through this is Pearl, my new mp3 player. She's an RCA Pearl (hence the name) and after a couple of hiccups, I think I have her figured out. At the moment, she has a rather eclectic playlist, including James Blunt, Alanis Morissette, Elton John (and selections from his Aida) Mary Chapin Carpenter, and the Bee Gees, among others. I have not yet begun to fill her, though I am still trying to figure out how to get the two songs I downloaded from Yahoo Jukebox into her. I am going bananas without having Evanescence's "My Immortal" and Charlie Robison's "El Cerrito Place" availiable to me at all times.

A conference recap should go here, but my brain is too befuddled, so I will save that for a new post and crawl back under a blankey with a good book.

Me again! I am alive, really. I am also alive at Unusual Historicals

My introduction went up on January 12th and I'll start with actual posts soon. I already feel right at home there.

First review for "Never Too Late" is in at The Romance Studio, and they like me, they really like me!

I have an early morning date with my laptop to make up for no writing on the weekend, but we did get to interview potential caregivers for my dad. If all goes according to plan, we may be able to get him back in his home as early as February.

Still no snow, but a good review can distract me from that, no problem.

Francesca, one of my cat-sitting charges. This photo, taken by her mum, Marilyn, reminds me of a Mucha image. No idea why. Gotta love the expression. It ties in with the Bad Cat calendar I'm using this year for my day-by-day, so I figured she was appropriate to post here today.

Again, a whole month gone by. Yikes. Can't believe it's another year already. Though I have to admit, having all these neat new Blogger toys will likely entice me to post with my former frequency. Hopefully, there will be lots to report.

This was a good New Year's weekend. Slept through the actual midnight moment, then spent the afternoon of the first at my friend Michele's house at her annual potluck/book swap thing. Very relaxing, except for the moment of white hot panic when I remembered that I will be speaking at Michele's book club next month. Erp. Room full of people who read my book. Another guest, who is a romance reader, mentioned that she's probably the only regular romance reader in the group. Guess that means My Outcast Heart is the very first romance novel most of them have read. I'm going to consider it an honor. Maybe some will want to read more, maybe some won't, but at least they'll have been exposed.

Wow, has it really been nearly a month?

[IMG]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v72/Unzadi/Olivia.jpg[/IMG]

Olivia kitty says if I'd put her in charge of my blog, this would not happen. She's probably right. Cats can often be furry day planners, and I think they have a lot to teach us (okay, me) about punctuality.

Once again, real life chewed me up and spit me back out. Not always fun, but we get through it.

A big step in getting through it has been reclaiming my home office. Like a garden gone to seed, it had long since gone to storage. It didn't get that way overnight, so it's going to take a while to get it back to what it should be, but I've staked my claim with laptop and Mrs. Tea (albeit sitting atop my Caboodle makeup case until I can figure out how to get the miniscule power cord to reach a normal outlet) and with a small change in schedule, I've carved out some time to get my groove back.

Of course there are still vestiges of crud that need to be dealt with, but all in good time. I have the small tinned candle I got from last year's Let Your Imagination Take Flight conference on my desk, and the new rule is that if the candle is lit, I am writing. Doesn't have to be good, doesn't have to be usable, doesn't even have to have anything to do with the manuscript I'm currently creating, but it does have to be written. Discipline first, then content will follow.

So far this week, I've managed to fill several pages with notes on old Highlander episodes and what I think is going on in songs off a recently rediscovered CD. Let me tell you, this office is archealogy central at the moment. Kind of funny to look at things that once held my interest, but no longer do, as I revise stories that will be rereleased this spring -- but then again, I need who I was to be who I am.

That, my dears, is the deep thought for the day.