BuyThisBook: Barbara Taylor Sissel's The Ninth Step

Barbara Taylor Sissel crafts a sure-handed, beautiful garden of a novel on ground tilled by Jodi Picoult and Anita Shreve. Firmly confronting issues of human frailty, redemption, and letting go, The Ninth Step is a story about what is, but it aches with the stories of what might have been as one man's quest for forgiveness leads him to the impossible task of forgiving himself, and the lives of the people he's wronged are drawn into a shattering spiral of events.

Barbara Taylor Sissel's vibrant voice, rich characters, and deft plotting draw the reader in and keep pages turning to the gripping, unexpected end.

Respecting the Reader

I hear a lot of novelists talking about writing to entertain themselves. While I agree that the author herself is the first audience and you can't write a good story if you're getting no enjoyment from it, I also believe that the end consumer, the readers most likely to plunk down their hard-earned money and invest their valuable time, should be the writer's most important consideration.

Yes, that sometimes means putting their tastes ahead of your own personal preferences. Sometimes, it may mean back-burnering your personal point of view on controversial topics so as not to jerk the readers out of the story and alienate them--or at least not clobbering them over the head with your agenda when you're writing the kind of story people pick up to entertain them. Always, it means being aware of the reader's emotional investment in the characters and story and not abusing it.

All of this, of course, depends on the audience you're dealing with. When I'm working on a book that's closer to a mainstream thriller than a romance, I know (from reading tons of books in the genre, along with lots of reviews, online chatter, and communications from readers themselves) that the reader expects to be kept in suspense, surprised--sometimes even horrified or challenged. It's all part of the experience, though you're generally going to hack off much of your audience if you cross certain lines (the killing of a viewpoint character the reader identifies with, a lovable/helpless pet, or child, or the use of offensive stereotypes as short-cuts.) When I'm writing for an audience that's going to be more invested in the romance or is looking for a shorter, more escapist read, I heap on the action-adventure and keep the suspense quick, punchy, and a whole lot less bloody, since these readers want and expect a quicker release from their tension. I'm also careful to quickly force the romantic leads together and keep them together, because their interaction and the tension between them is what keeps these readers coming back for more.

In my opinion, it's a matter of respect. Respect your reader, respect her time and preferences, and never, ever talk down to her--because a reader can smell condescension miles away. If you write with her in mind, she will definitely reward you...by going out and purchasing your backlist, along with the next book that you write.

Mrs. Martineau's babies (an excerpt from The Hurricane Lover)

As part of my research for The Hurricane Lover, I slogged through thousands of emails to and from Michael Brown, who was head of FEMA at the time. ("Heck of a job, Brownie!" Yeah. That guy.) A prominent figure in those pages is Craig Fugate, who was appointed by President Obama to take over FEMA in 2009. Fugate, director of Florida's Division of Emergency Management at the time, was one of the unsung heroes of Katrina. It wasn't his responsibility, but he understood the magnitude of what was happening, and more important, he cared, and he seriously stepped up. Brownie... not so much. He'd already planned to tender his resignation after the Labor day weekend.

The day after Katrina, while Fugate frantically scrambled to get ice and body bags, Brown and his secretary exchanged the following email, which was later made public through the Freedom of Information Act. This was one of many exchanges that literally brought tears to my eyes. My goal in this particular chapter was to place it in a more personal context. The character Ms. Martineau was inspired by an elderly lady I sat and talked with at a shelter in Houston.

From The Hurricane Lover:
..................................
Tuesday afternoon August 30

From: James, Tillie
To: Brown, Michael D
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:43:17 2005
Subject: U ok?
..................................
From: Brown, Michael D
To: James, Tillie
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:52:18 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

I’m not answering that question, but do have a question. Do you know of anyone who dog-sits? Bethany has backed out and Tamara is looking. If you know of any responsible kids, let me know. They can have the house to themselves Th-Su.
..................................
From: James, Tillie
To: Brown, Michael D
Sent: Wed Aug 31 05:49:23 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

No I don’t know anyone. Want me to see if my son is in town and can do it? D---- was looking for someone recently too. Maybe he knows someone.

Don’t answer my question then. Still working on project today from home. It’s crazy I hear in the office.
..............................................
From: Brown, Michael D
To: James, Tillie
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:52:18 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

Sure, if he likes dogs. Check with David, too.

I should have done my announcement a week early.
..............................................

“I know folks think I’m outside my mind, but I won’t ever leave the house for a hurricane. I can’t leave my babies.” The old woman in Shay’s viewfinder thoughtfully stroked the little French bulldog in her lap. “If the Lord wants me home, he calls me home, and I’ll be glad to see him. I never got afraid. Not when I was a child and not last night. Was it last night?”

“Yesterday morning, Ms. Martineau,” said Shay.

“Oh, yes. Yes, the darkness makes it like black night.” The old woman nodded with her whole body. “Like a great wild animal swallowed up the sun.”

Shay was afraid to breathe, the shot was so perfect, the old woman so unbearably beautiful. From the little balcony outside the second floor bedroom, she was able to frame Ms. Martineau with a trace of wrought iron railing behind her and the massive river of slow-moving trash and branches traveling past in the shady street below. It was only ten or twelve inches deep, but in the shade of the broken oaks, it appeared as dense and unknowable as the Mississippi.

“You were saying…you weren’t afraid…” Shay prompted gently.

“Oh, no. I don’t get afraid. I always know that my mama is praying for me.”

Shay blinked back the sting that came up behind her eyes. “Me too.”

“If you see my granddaughter,” said the old woman, “you tell her I’m all right. This house is a good house. Never takes water above that third step right down there.”

“How long have you lived here?” asked Shay.

“Oh, longer than I been alive. I baked my bread and had my babies in this house. My nephew—he’s passed now—he put in the new water heater…oh, three years ago. Was it three years? Maybe it was seven. I wasn’t driving anymore. I know that. We enjoy sitting out here when the mosquitoes aren’t too bad. My great-grandchildren have a sandbox down there.”

She pointed a knobby finger toward the surface of the water that had crawled from the curb to the porch steps in the short time Shay had been sitting with her.

“I’ll stop talking now,” said Ms Martineau. “I get dry and these new teeth, they rub.”

“Thank you so much for visiting with me, ma’am. Do you have water set aside in the house, Ms. Martineau? It’s hot. You have to drink lots of water.”

“Yes, my nephew put in the new water heater last year.”

“Here, drink this.” Shay handed the old lady a water bottle she’d been hoarding all day, along with the last MRE. “I want you to stay up here and eat this tonight. Don’t go downstairs to your kitchen.”

“Well, you’re too sweet,” said Ms. Martineau. “Did you bake this yourself?”

Shay packed her camera in her tote bag, then took off the white shirt from Corbin’s closet and tied one sleeve to a scrolled frou-frou at the corner of the balcony rail.

“I’m putting this here so they’ll know someone needs help, all right, Ms. Martineau? Don’t take this down. Somebody will come along in a boat and see it. The National Guard or the police.” Shay tried not to think about the possibility that the white flag might be under water by morning. “If someone comes for you with a boat, you go with them. They’ll take you somewhere safe. Your granddaughter will know to look for you there.”

“Oh, no, honey child, I have the dogs. I can’t leave my babies.”

“Ms. Martineau…” Shay bit her bottom lip. “I’ll come back and check on the dogs.”

“Oh, would you, dear? And feed them?”

“Sure. Of course,” Shay lied, caught in one of those horrible Chinese finger puzzles where anything you say is wrong. “You stay upstairs until the boat comes. Promise?”

“All right, dear. So long as I know my babies are in good hands. If you see my granddaughter, you tell her I’m all right.”

The two exchanged a warm embrace, and as Shay made her way down through an angled stairway tiled with family photos to the front parlor that was everyone’s grandmother’s parlor in some respect, she made the conscious decision to take this sort of story with her when she left the sunshine gig. The intensely beautiful faces and voices of folks who were no one in that they were everyone. The hard core news was only a fraction of the story without Ms. Martineau’s face, soft as onion paper, alive with history.

Shay made another slow, deliberate trip up and down the stairs, with the camera on this time, knowing this history in faces, in button shoes, in old timey clothes and funeral portraits would be lost to the water within a matter of hours. The voices would last only as long as Ms. Martineau’s memory, and that was fading with the light.

The Hurricane Lover will be available on Kindle and Nook 11/11/11.

Hurricane Katrina August 29, 2005 (an excerpt from The Hurricane Lover)

As Hurricane Irene moved up the coast last week, I blogged about my forthcoming novel, The Hurricane Lover, which is set during the epic hurricane season of 2005. Six years ago today, Hurricane Katrina decimated the Gulf Coast, killing almost 2000 people and leaving hundreds of thousands homeless.

As part of my research for the book, I slogged through thousands of emails to and from Michael Brown, who was head of FEMA at the time. ("Heck of a job, Brownie!" Yeah. That guy.) A prominent figure in those pages is Craig Fugate, appointed by President Obama to take over FEMA in 2009 and getting a lot of face time last week with his calmly knowledgeable presence. Fugate, director of Florida's Division of Emergency Management at the time, was one of the unsung heroes of Katrina. It wasn't his responsibility, but he understood the magnitude of what was happening, and more important, he cared, and he seriously stepped up. Brownie... not so much. He'd already planned to tender his resignation after the Labor day weekend.

The day after Katrina, while Fugate frantically hustled everything from ice to body bags, Brown and his secretary exchanged the following email, which was later made public through the Freedom of Information Act. This was one of many exchanges that literally brought tears to my eyes. My goal in this particular chapter was to place it in a more personal context. The character Ms. Martineau was inspired by an elderly lady I sat and talked with at a shelter in Houston.

An excerpt from The Hurricane Lover:

Tuesday afternoon August 30

From: James, Tillie
To: Brown, Michael D
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:43:17 2005
Subject: U ok?
..................................

From: Brown, Michael D
To: James, Tillie
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:52:18 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

I’m not answering that question, but do have a question. Do you know of anyone who dog-sits? Bethany has backed out and Tamara is looking. If you know of any responsible kids, let me know. They can have the house to themselves Th-Su.
..................................

From: James, Tillie
To: Brown, Michael D
Sent: Wed Aug 31 05:49:23 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

No I don’t know anyone. Want me to see if my son is in town and can do it? D---- was looking for someone recently too. Maybe he knows someone.

Don’t answer my question then. Still working on project today from home. It’s crazy I hear in the office.
..............................................

From: Brown, Michael D
To: James, Tillie
Sent: Tue Aug 30 22:52:18 2005
Subject: Re: U ok?

Sure, if he likes dogs. Check with David, too.

I should have done my announcement a week early.
..............................................

“I know folks think I’m outside my mind, but I won’t ever leave the house for a hurricane. I can’t leave my babies.” The old woman in Shay’s viewfinder thoughtfully stroked the little French bulldog in her lap. “If the Lord wants me home, he calls me home, and I’ll be glad to see him. I never got afraid. Not when I was a child and not last night. Was it last night?”

“Yesterday morning, Ms. Martineau,” said Shay.

“Oh, yes. Yes, the darkness makes it like black night.” The old woman nodded with her whole body. “Like a great wild animal swallowed up the sun.”

Shay was afraid to breathe, the shot was so perfect, the old woman so unbearably beautiful. From the little balcony outside the second floor bedroom, she was able to frame Ms. Martineau with a trace of wrought iron railing behind her and the massive river of slow-moving trash and branches traveling past in the shady street below. It was only ten or twelve inches deep, but in the shade of the broken oaks, it appeared as dense and unknowable as the Mississippi.

“You were saying…you weren’t afraid…” Shay prompted gently.

“Oh, no. I don’t get afraid. I always know that my mama is praying for me.”

Shay blinked back the sting that came up behind her eyes. “Me too.”

“If you see my granddaughter,” said the old woman, “you tell her I’m all right. This house is a good house. Never takes water above that third step right down there.”

“How long have you lived here?” asked Shay.

“Oh, longer than I been alive. I baked my bread and had my babies in this house. My nephew—he’s passed now—he put in the new water heater…oh, three years ago. Was it three years? Maybe it was seven. I wasn’t driving anymore. I know that. We enjoy sitting out here when the mosquitoes aren’t too bad. My great-grandchildren have a sandbox down there.”

She pointed a knobby finger toward the surface of the water that had crawled from the curb to the porch steps in the short time Shay had been sitting with her.

“I’ll stop talking now,” said Ms Martineau. “I get dry and these new teeth, they rub.”

“Thank you so much for visiting with me, ma’am. Do you have water set aside in the house, Ms. Martineau? It’s hot. You have to drink lots of water.”

“Yes, my nephew put in the new water heater last year.”

“Here, drink this.” Shay handed the old lady a water bottle she’d been hoarding all day, along with the last MRE. “I want you to stay up here and eat this tonight. Don’t go downstairs to your kitchen.”

“Well, you’re too sweet,” said Ms. Martineau. “Did you bake this yourself?”

Shay packed her camera in her tote bag, then took off the white shirt from Corbin’s closet and tied one sleeve to a scrolled frou-frou at the corner of the balcony rail.

“I’m putting this here so they’ll know someone needs help, all right, Ms. Martineau? Don’t take this down. Somebody will come along in a boat and see it. The National Guard or the police.” Shay tried not to think about the possibility that the white flag might be under water by morning. “If someone comes for you with a boat, you go with them. They’ll take you somewhere safe. Your granddaughter will know to look for you there.”

“Oh, no, honey child, I have the dogs. I can’t leave my babies.”

“Ms. Martineau…” Shay bit her bottom lip. “I’ll come back and check on the dogs.”

“Oh, would you, dear? And feed them?”

“Sure. Of course,” Shay lied, caught in one of those horrible Chinese finger puzzles where anything you say is wrong. “You stay upstairs until the boat comes. Promise?”

“All right, dear. So long as I know my babies are in good hands. If you see my granddaughter, you tell her I’m all right.”

The two exchanged a warm embrace, and as Shay made her way down through an angled stairway tiled with family photos to the front parlor that was everyone’s grandmother’s parlor in some respect, she made the conscious decision to take this sort of story with her when she left the sunshine gig. The intensely beautiful faces and voices of folks who were no one in that they were everyone. The hard core news was only a fraction of the story without Ms. Martineau’s face, soft as onion paper, alive with history.

Shay made another slow, deliberate trip up and down the stairs, with the camera on this time, knowing this history in faces, in button shoes, in old timey clothes and funeral portraits would be lost to the water within a matter of hours. The voices would last only as long as Ms. Martineau’s memory, and that was fading with the light.

From The Hurricane Lover by Joni Rodgers
Coming this fall

The Beauty or the Book? Vintage Dell paperback ad breaks it down

What's Your Story's Conflict Quotient?

Most everyone would agree that a good story starts with good conflict. This week, as I've been working on a newly-contracted (yea!) tale of romantic suspense, I've been giving a lot of thought to the fact that a truly dynamic opening--one strong enough to carry a whole novel--consists of not just a single conflict, but a layered raft of obstacles our intrepid (or not-so-intrepid) protagonist(s) must face. In the case of a dual-viewpoint (typically hero and heroine) romance, the author is doubly challenged by the necessity of setting up the all-important romantic conflict between the leads in addition to developing a workable external plot.

As I write my books' openings, I often have to go back and layer in different opportunities for conflict. You don't necessarily want to hit the reader over the head with all of them at once, but you do want to slip in hints of potential trouble on the horizon. And here's a radical thought: You don't have to actually have all of the secondary conflict threads nailed down in your mind (or synopsis) from the outset. Try throwing in a few intriguing clues and then trust you subconscious to come up with something awesome later. Most of the time, it will come through for you like a champ. (If not, this is one of those occasions brainstorming sessions with writing pals and margaritas were invented for!*)

Once you've written, edited, and back-filled by going back and layering in more good stuff your opening chapters--you will generally have to have written at least several chapters before you get to this point--I recommend looking back to your beginning and asking yourself if the following are in place:

1. An immediate, dynamic source of external conflict: This is the sea change that instigate's the lead character's journey, that immediately challenges him/her to act. Surprisingly, the first source of conflict encountered in the story is often just a prelude to the true story problem--a red herring, if you will, that misdirects the reader, then allows you to whack her over the head with a surprising, larger issue. For example, a harried single mom, upset about her boss making her late again, is rushing to pick up her child from school, feeling guilty about being the last parent to arrive (again), and vowing to do something about it, no matter what the consequences. Then, bam -- a cruel carjacker turns her whole world (and the book's plot) on its ear.

2. Character's internal conflict: In the previous example, the protagonist's struggle between work/daily survival and her need to be a good mom hint at issues to be explored (and exploited) throughout the story. As he is introduced, the hero's thoughts, too, reveal that not all is right in his world, that he is dealing with internal conflicts related to his transition from the military to civilian world. These thoughts--no more than hints as to a redefining moment in his recent past, since this is part of the story that's still percolating on my mind's back burner--are quickly interrupted as the protagonists' two worlds intersect. Or violently collide, I should say, which brings us to the next point on my checklist.

3. Inter-character conflict: If you're writing a romance, there has to be some "repelling force" keeping these two characters from getting all too cozy all too quickly. It needs to be both strong and believable, seemingly an insurmountable issue, while (in the case of a romance) still allowing the reader to see through to--or at least get a tiny glimpse of--each character's core goodness/worthiness of love. To have the emotional depth and resonance for a truly first-class story, the issue separating the two protagonists must be sufficiently serious that it could never be resolved by something so simple as a twenty-minute conversation, so sitcom-style misunderstandings need not apply! Initially, however, the writer may very well begin with the characters' attraction or even slight irritation before leading to the reasons this relationship could never. Possibly. Work. (Even though the experienced romance reader knows it eventually will, it's the how of it that keeps her reading.)

For those of you not writing romance, inter-character conflict is still equally important to set up. If the members of team working together to solve a crime or commit a caper or work toward whatever story goal is necessitated by the plot all get along perfectly and are never challenged by each other's personalities, you'll have a flat, lifeless, and ultimately unrealistic story. Think about any workplace, a sports team, even a family working together to support a common goal. There are always going to be internal pressures. If there weren't, we wouldn't be human, after all. And we sure as heck would not be interesting.

Conflict may be only one of the elements you have to balance carefully in your story's opening, but it is certainly among the most crucial. Does anyone else have any tips, comments, or questions on the layering of conflict to share?


*Yes, I do realize I have (gasp) ended the sentence with a preposition to keep it from sounding stilted. If this troubles you, please apply additional margaritas until you get over it. You may be wrapped a little too tightly to allow any great plotting ideas to sneak in. There. I did it again. Just because (wait for it) I wanted to.

Perhaps this is a good time to announce my forthcoming novel: The Hurricane Lover

Hunker down, East Coast! We on the Gulf Coast feel your pain. A hurricane is an incredible experience. Scary, fascinating, beautiful, terrible and (pardon the pun) mind-blowing.

When Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, my husband and I were among the volunteers who helped care for evacuees arriving at mass shelters in Houston. As I carried water to the long lines, a weary New Orleans police officer said to me, "This is a great day for news people and con artists." I was instantly smacked by the story hammer, and that initial inspiration evolved as I wrote, revised and did serious deep-dive research between ghost projects over the next five years.

Set on the Gulf Coast during the epic hurricane season of 2005, The Hurricane Lover is a tale of two cities, two families, and two people who find each other in a storm. A firebrand environmentalist from New Orleans and the whip-smart, self-determined daughter of a Houston oil baron come together to track a con artist who's using hurricanes as a cover for identity theft and murder. Hurricane Katrina is the perfect storm for the perfect crime. In her wake are twisted sisters Ophelia and Rita. The summer goes down in history for its mega-storms, oppressive heat, disaster management goat screw and polarized politics. The stormy relationship and complicated Southern families at the heart of The Hurricane Lover make it personal.

I set out to write a fast-paced, character-driven story with a strong atmosphere (think Lisa Unger/ Michael Crichton love child raised on the Gulf Coast by James Sallis) woven with the fascinating science of these real life mega-storms, along with actual email (made public through the US Freedom of Information Act) to and from FEMA director Michael "Heck of a job, Brownie!" Brown, President George Bush and others involved in the abysmal government response to Hurricane Katrina. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when Hurricane Ike decimated Galveston and Houston in 2008. At the height of the storm, I couldn't resist; I had to go outside. It's nothing I could have imagined - or written about - without experiencing it.

The Hurricane Lover is a grand experiment for me. After three novels and several nonfiction bestsellers with Big 6 publishers, I'm doing this novel as an indie ebook that will transition to a traditional print deal. I'm convinced that hybrid publishing is the way forward for career authors, with upsides for us, our agents, publishers and - most important - readers.

Now, if I could just decide on which of these two covers to use! (Let me know what you think.)

Look for The Hurricane Lover on Nook and Kindle November 1, 2011.

Perhaps this is a good time to announce my forthcoming novel: The Hurricane Lover

Hunker down, East Coast! We on the Gulf Coast feel your pain. A hurricane is an incredible experience. Scary, fascinating, beautiful, terrible and (pardon the pun) mind-blowing.

When Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, my husband and I were among the volunteers who helped care for evacuees arriving at mass shelters in Houston. As I carried water to the long lines, a weary New Orleans police officer said to me, "This is a great day for news people and con artists." I was instantly smacked by the story hammer, and that initial inspiration evolved as I wrote, revised and did serious deep-dive research between ghost projects over the next five years.

Set on the Gulf Coast during the epic hurricane season of 2005, The Hurricane Lover is a tale of two cities, two families, and two people who find each other in a storm. A firebrand environmentalist from New Orleans and the whip-smart, self-determined daughter of a Houston oil baron come together to track a con artist who's using hurricanes as a cover for identity theft and murder. Hurricane Katrina is the perfect storm for the perfect crime. In her wake are twisted sisters Ophelia and Rita. The summer goes down in history for its mega-storms, oppressive heat, disaster management goat screw and polarized politics. The stormy relationship and complicated Southern families at the heart of The Hurricane Lover make it personal.

I set out to write a fast-paced, character-driven story with a strong atmosphere (think Lisa Unger/ Michael Crichton love child raised on the Gulf Coast by James Sallis) woven with the fascinating science of these real life mega-storms, along with actual email (made public through the US Freedom of Information Act) to and from FEMA director Michael "Heck of a job, Brownie!" Brown, President George Bush and others involved in the abysmal government response to Hurricane Katrina. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when Hurricane Ike decimated Galveston and Houston in 2008. At the height of the storm, I couldn't resist; I had to go outside. It's nothing I could have imagined - or written about - without experiencing it.

The Hurricane Lover is a grand experiment for me. After three novels and several nonfiction bestsellers with Big 6 publishers, I'm doing this novel as an indie ebook that will transition to a traditional print deal. I'm convinced that hybrid publishing is the way forward for career authors, with upsides for us, our agents, publishers and - most important - readers.

Now, if I could just decide on which of these two covers to use! (Let me know what you think.)

Look for The Hurricane Lover on Nook and Kindle November 1, 2011.

The Secret Sisters (aka "The Dirty Dirty Dildo Sex Book")

The Secret Sisters was my fifth book, originally pubbed in hardcover by HarperCollins in 2005 and now available on Kindle with added bonus content, including reading recommendations from my own fabulous sisters. It's a bit of a departure from my previous work. I've always been a happy and optimistic person by nature - and I still am - but this novel definitely leans more toward tragedy than comedy. It's darker, more erotic, and more message-driven than anything else I've ever written.

An agoraphobic (Pia) is taken by a con artist. A party girl (Lily) goes to jail for vehicular homicide. A bereaved mother (Beth) is forced to confront the fact that her cherubic child was actually a little pain in the patootie. Each of the sisters has constructed a private prison for herself. They each serve hard time searching for redemption.

My prime directive is always to tell a great story, but deeply saddened by what I saw happening in the world after 9-11, I wanted to tell a deeper, more thought-provoking tale. Pia's story is a parable about what we sacrifice when we embrace fear as a lifestyle. It's about the art of manipulation, the craft of seduction, and the blissful but dangerous state of denial, but this book is also about empowerment and accountability.

Every character in every novel I write is on a quest for peace, and I'm humbly grateful to all the readers who've opened their hearts and minds, engaged the page, and journeyed with me. This book taught me not to take that good will for granted. A lot of people found The Secret Sisters offensive, partly because of the lefty politics, but more because of the graphic sexual content. (Note to self: When using sex as a metaphor, prepare to be horsewhipped, and refer to this post on sex as a literary device. And when feeling low, refer to this lovely review from Armchair Interviews.)

My original title for this book was The Prodigal Wife. I wish I'd been stronger when pressured to change it. Or maybe I should have gone with Gary's title suggestion: The Dirty Dirty Dildo Sex Book. A lot of people couldn't see any further than that. And knowing what I now know as a writer, I understand why. The book says exactly what I wanted to say, but it made a lot of people uncomfortable. (Personally, I'm uncomfortable with unnecessary wars and the torture of illegally held prisoners. Guess we all have our little hangups, huh.)

Do I regret it? No. Would I do it again? Given the chance, absolutely. But in the publishing industry, you don't always get another chance. That was a tough lesson to learn.

New and improved Red Room could be a great opportunity for midlist authors going indie

I love the idea of Red Room, and I've tried to participate as both reader and writer over the years, but candidly, I've been frustrated (as both a reader and writer) by the cumbersome site and opposite-of-user-friendly blogging platform.

This week Red Room announced their first redesign since the launch of the site, which promises a "much better-looking, more secure, faster, and easier to use" Red Room, and I'm eager to give it a try. Founder Ivory Madison did an astonishing thing creating all this out of thin air, and if the redesign lives up to her vision, it could be a fantastic opportunity for midlist authors going indie. Plus I instantly want to have coffee with a woman who lists "radical feminist politico and torch singer at the Plush Room" on her CV.

Check out the new Red Room via this crash course from senior editor Huntington Sharp.

Buy (the Heck Out of) This Book: Christie Craig's Don't Mess With Texas

One of the nicest, most supportive, and outright funniest writers I know is Christie Craig, who's become a go-to author for those looking for a fast paced, frothy, sexy romance that will leave you laughing off the day's stresses. If you're in the mood for a romp and have enjoyed authors such as Janet Evanovich, Jennifer Cruisie, and Rachel Gibson, I highly recommend my good friend Christie's latest, Don't Mess with Texas (Grand Central, $5.99).

Or if you need a better reason, do it to support an author whose state government has zero sense of fun. You see, TX DOT, the Texas Department of Transportation, which turns out to have trademarked the phrase "Don't Mess with Texas" for an anti-litter slogan years back, has filed suit against Ms. Craig, Hatchette Publishing, and even Barnes and Noble, because they fear the (oh, the horror!) naughty bits will weaken their brand. Interestingly, I've learned there are dozens of songs (not only country, but--cue another gasp--rap), books, and products that have also made use of this phrase, which most would agree has become more of a Texas pride thing than anything to do with trash collection (or "trashy" romance, for that matter. But apparently, in this case, TXDot's felt compelled to send a message by filing suit on the book's release date (rather than, say, sending a cease and desist letter earlier or making note of the fact that book and song titles are not normally held to infringe by the courts.)

I want to send a message myself. That you don't mess with Texas romance authors, especially one of the nicest in the business. That you don't let numerous male artists and authors slide, then go after a woman writing books for women. That you don't use prudery as an excuse when you're really exploiting the sexiness quotient of this story to get out the message that you're serious about defending against trademark infringements.

Those are just a few of the reasons I'm buying myself a copy of Christie Craig's Don't Mess with Texas. But mostly I'm buying it 'cause I'm in the mood for a fun read!

To read about the lawsuit, check out this eye-rolling coverage from HoustonPress.com. And the comments are pretty interesting, too!

Update: Great news! A Texas judge rules sales of Christie Craig's #DON'TMESSWITHTEXAS can't be blocked. bit.ly/nDYgic

The Drought Busting Writer

Here in hot, hot Texas, there's been a lot of talk lately about the critical drought that's devastating the area. We sit here stewing over dying yards and crops, horrendous power and water bills, and the unhappy knowledge that there's not a damned thing that we can do about it.

It's horrible feeling so helpless, as any writer who's ever faced a publishing drought can tell you. Watching your carefully-tended career wither as you listen to what sometimes feels like an endless stream of accomplishments from others (as people tend to celebrate their successes and bury their disappointments) can lead to envy and depression, not to mention a serious bout of career re-examination as savings dwindle down to debt.

Yet over and over again, I've seen writers (present company definitely not excluded!) revive their seemingly-desiccated careers after months or years, even a decade or more--long after the point at which most "rational" human beings (a.k.a. those not incurably addicted to this roller coaster thrill ride) have moved on to more reasonable career paths.) Amazingly, many of these once-shunned writers suddenly find themselves the proverbial belles of the ball, their long dammed up creativity bursting from the floodgates.

What, pray tell, are their secrets? Here are a few commonalities I've seen:

1. Refusing to give in to the soul-crushing temptation to equate their value with their luck. Not that (I assure you) periods of bleak hopelessness won't happen, but the successful drought buster will find solace in her writing, rather than turning her back on a process she once loved.

2. Reaching out for the support of fellow writers. It's only natural to want to hole up when you're feeling wounded, but the successful drought buster forces herself to keep right on networking, often investing some of her down time in volunteering to help others in the form of mentoring, judging contest, leading workshops, and taking on leadership roles in writing groups. Letting other writers know you're hungry (notice I didn't say desperate) for new opportunities can lead to some amazing connections. I've made a pair of sales in recent years thanks to helpful and generous recommendations by my own fellow writers. These boons aren't acts of pity; they still must be earned through hard work and good writing, but when someone turns you on to a possibility, don't be too proud to act on it...and remember them later when you have the chance to do another deserving writer a good turn.

3. Keeping a sharp eye on the marketplace and one's nose in a book. When things are feeling lean, I study recent deals and bestseller trends most carefully. I read what's hot and hopping, in a variety of genres. Trends tend to cross genre lines, and every now and then you'll be surprised to find one that jump starts your imagination and gets you thinking in directions you otherwise would not have dreamed of.

4. Giving yourself permission to take risks. Sometimes, feeling as though you have absolutely nothing to lose frees you to take intelligent risks with your writing that you never would have if you'd felt pressured to "stay the course" and keep your previous fan base/publisher happy. By intelligent, I mean those that capitalize on your strengths or allow you to develop surprising new muscles. You might try your hand at non-fiction or experiment with a new form (poetry? playwriting? screenwriting? How freeing new possibilities can be!) or genre. You might choose to take your work directly to the audience via self or independent online publication.

You might remember how to play again, and find your work, your passion in the process. You might even open up the spillways and rain down resurrection on a career less persistent souls would have given up for dead.

Photo: Resurrection fern from Florida Forest Plants.

Laura Harrington: Why Read?

Laura Harrington is tracking copies of her debut novel Alice Bliss via an ingenious summer promotion, Where's Alice Bliss? (more on that below), but she took a moment from her busy schedule to answer the question at the heart of what we do: Why read?

On the first day of every playwriting class I have ever taught I tell my students that I will share the secret of how to be a good writer. They sit forward in their seats. Read, I tell them. Read like your writing depends on it.

We have all heard this before. Many of us have said this before. But this week I’ve read two books that illustrated this point for me in a delightful way.

I read A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano and so loved the writing, the story, the depth and ambition of this book that I didn’t want it to end. When it did, I craved more good writing. The next book of brand new fiction on the pile was going to be interesting, even fun, but did not promise that kind of depth.

So I picked up Fools of Fortune by William Trevor, a book that shattered me in two hundred and seven pages. A book so finely wrought that I will immediately turn back to page one and begin again for both the pleasure of the writing and the desire to discover the mystery of the “how” of Trevor’s writing. How did he do what he did so beautifully and compellingly, so simply and so succinctly? I’m not sure there is a wasted syllable in this book.

Francine Prose wrote an exceptional introduction to the little Penguin volume I have in my hands. An introduction so exquisite in and of itself that I have read it twice already, and will probably give it another go before I have unpacked all of its insights.

Why read? Because if we’re lucky one writer will lead us to another writer and another as our desire for and understanding of good, even great writing grows and deepens. Why read? For the magic of holding a universe in our hands, between the covers of a book; a fictional world so real it can break our hearts, a world so compelling that we do not want to leave it.

Francine Prose quotes Trevor in her introduction, from an interview that appeared in the Paris Review in 1989. I will leave you with Trevor’s words and thoughts about time. You will need to read Fools of Fortune to experience his unparallelled skill with time and memory. In the meantime, William Trevor has inspired me, intrigued me, and given me much to aspire to.

“A huge amount of what I write about is internal, a drifting back into childhood based on a small event or moment. By isolating an encounter and then isolating an incident in the past you try to build up an actual life, and you cannot build up a life without using time in that sense … [Time] both heals and destroys, depending on the nature of the wound; it actually reveals the character. There is either bitterness or recovery: neither can take place without time. Time is the most interesting thing to write about besides people – everything I write about has to do with it. Time is like air; it is there always, changing people and forming character. Memory also forms character—the way you remember things makes you who you are.”

Where’s Alice Bliss? is a campaign to send copies of the novel Alice Bliss to as many countries and U.S. states as possible. Through bookcrossing.com, copies of Alice Bliss will be registered and tracked as they travel around the world, passing from one reader to the next.

Keep up with Laura Harrington and follow Alice's adventures via the Where's Alice Bliss blog and on twitter.