Becoming Beauty Blog Tour

Along with Cedar Fort Publishing & Media, I'm pleased to announce Becoming Beauty's upcoming blog tour.  It will take place beginning November 9, 2014 and continue until November 26, 2014.

Information for bloggers interested in participating is available on the Cedar Fort Blog. Bloggers can sign up using the above link, or they can contact me via email, Facebook, Twitter (just click the appropriate button at the right), or by leaving a comment below.  As many bloggers as would like to participate, are encouraged to do so. More than one blogger can run the feature on the same day.

Thank you for stopping in and sharing this exciting time with me! I hope you'll take part in the blog tour, as either a blogger or a reader. Thanks!

Cover Reveal: Becoming Beauty

Like anyone else who dumps blood, sweat, and tears into a manuscript, I've been dreaming of Becoming Beauty's cover for a long time.  Not only did I hope for something that set my version of Beauty and the Beast apart from the rest, but I wanted it to reflect the journey that transformed a flawed character into a strong heroine.  The artists at Cedar Fort Publishing and Media couldn't have encapsulated this any better:

Now comes the fun of waiting until November 11th to see the real thing!  In the meantime, here's something to whet your appetite:

Bella’s time at home has been spent fobbing off her responsibilities on her siblings, weaseling new gowns out of her father, and daydreaming about the life she ought to be living as mistress of a wealthy household.  When her father returns from an extended business trip, Bella’s life is turned upside-down and she is left with no choice but to call on the mercy of the Beast.

Refusing to be cowed, even by someone as dangerous and imposing as the Beast, Bella matches barbed comment for barbed comment while scheming to escape. Her plans are derailed when she catches a glimpse of the man behind the monster, and when Jack, the Beast’s sole companion, draws her in with his inherent kindness. With unexpected determination, Bella throws herself into her new role as the Beast’s maid and finds the work both challenging and rewarding. Surprised by the capability displayed by the “pampered princess,” the Beast begins to soften toward Bella and a tenuous relationship springs up between them. 

Since her arrival, Bella has been haunted by strange visions of a woman named Rose. When she discovers a neglected bedchamber reminiscent of the one in her dreams, Bella’s curiosity is peaked. Her attempts to discover Rose’s fate and the part the Beast and Jack played in her disappearance will cost Bella more than she can imagine.  However, if she can untangle the threads of the past, she may yet earn her own happily ever after.

Thank you for your kindness and support in making Becoming Beauty a reality!

Just a Taste

I've been in the Magical Land of Editing for several weeks now. It's slowly driving me insane.

To help you understand why, let me share a few of my writerly issues that arise during the editing process:

1. There are plenty of writers who are confident in their abilities as creators, but for some reason, whenever I read something of my own that has genuine flow, it still surprises me! As my mother would say, it's as much fun as hiding your own Easter eggs when you suffer from Alzheimers. 
2. After begging author friends to tell me how they know when something is at its best and ready to publish, submit, or just email back to the editor, my perfectionist brain only recognizes that there is always something else I could do with it.  
3. Luckily, the attention deficit of a woman who has worked with small children Monday through Thursday from August to June for the last eleven years eventually overpowers the perfectionist persona and notifies me that I am done.

It's all part of the slightly mad process we call drafting.  The fun in editing is stumbling across little gems you've created all on your own.

So, to celebrate finally finishing the current edit of Becoming Beauty (I won't say *final* until it goes to press), I'm posting some of my favorite moments from various other stories that make me feel like a writer:

Sylvi Lockhart--The moment when Sylvi's perfect boyfriend shows up and throws everything into a muddle:

          “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said. 

I was sinking below the waves, watching the last bubble of air escape my lips with a pop.  “I don’t understand,” I said, picturing my perfect life crumbling before me.  I had a little money stored up in case of emergency, and I could always write more books or find another job to make ends meet, but I couldn’t replace Kevin. He was the best part of my life.  Tears pricked my eyes and I struggled to keep them at bay, remembering how much he hated women who cried.  Manipulative, he called it.  My voice wavered as I asked, “What did I do wrong?”

                “It’s not you.”  The artist in me hated those words, so unoriginal and round-about insulting.  Of course it was me, he wasn’t breaking up with the bedside table, was he?  “I just don’t love you anymore, Syl.” 

              I dissolved then, my determination to bottle up my emotions washed away in a sea of tears--the ugly kind that sneak up on you and shake you with their intensity.  “Please,” I said, disgusted to realize I was about to start groveling. Some desperate part of me had taken over, and as if I was watching someone else’s life play out, I could do nothing to stop it.  

Sam James--In which Sam's stylish boss Vanessa takes her shopping:

Regardless of her unnatural abhorrence for upscale clothing boutiques, Sam found herself being shoved bodily into Dolce & Gabbana. The very reason she dressed as she did--clad exclusively in the middle-aged housewife section of Sears--was so she could avoid hovering salespeople bent on forcing her into “stylish” outfits.  The moment she stepped through the doors with Vanessa, a gaggle of such individuals descended upon them. 

“Take her away,” Vanessa commanded the room at large, “she’ll need everything.”  The excited buzz around them heighten, and in no time at all Sam was bustled into a dressing room where her clothes were promptly removed.  A fierce-looking woman wielding a measuring tape fell upon her and loudly called out measurements to a notebook-toting shop girl.  A moment later she looked down to find her breasts ensconced in the lacy type of boob-hoisting, cleavage-producing brassiere she had only seen on Victoria’s Secret models.  And…was that a thong??

Twelve--An Interlude between Jonas (the gardener) and Ariela (the master's eldest daughter):

               “It was extremely effective,” Ari said, putting voice to my thoughts, “but it resulted in lectures from Father and a ‘tightening of the reins’ as he put it.  As soon as he finished, we closed ranks and developed new schemes.”  Humor sparkled in her eyes, the first hint I had of the clever mind behind the lovely face.

                Throughout the conversation, I hadn’t spoken more than a few words, so taken was I with the way she spoke, and the play of emotions across her face.  I was already falling in love with her, though I was unaware of it.  Likely that’s what spurned the subsequent declaration.  “None of those men were good enough for you,” I said boldly.

               Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, probably surprised that I could form a complete sentence.  A slow smile crept over her face, curling the corners of mouth and eyes.  The effect was stunning, and ever after I passed my days dreaming up ways to elicit that smile.  

* * * * *

If you'd like to read longer segments, follows the links above to delve further into the lives of my heroines. Happy reading! And as always, thanks for stopping by!

Death by Autocorrect

It will be the ruin of us all...

Admit it, there have been plenty of times you've thought, THAT was genius! Only to return to the scene of the crime and realize autocorrect had stupidified your perfectly crafted sentence.  For writers, word craft is our bread and butter and there's nothing more frustrating than being bested by technology.  Pondering this topic brings Ellen's love of autocorrect fails comes to mind and her segment called Clumsy Thumbsy.

This of my Ellen favorites:

And this is just awesome:

As writers, we know what we want to say (most of the time) and it really doesn't help when know-it-all autocorrect comes along and fixes it. However, I reserve the right to blame things on autocorrect that it had no way of getting right.  

This is why we employ proofreaders and editors and try not to cringe when they point out our bonehead mistakes.  Like using the wrong your, you're, too, two, to, or there, their, and they're. Or just anytime autocorrect has no know idea what you're trying to say.

Let's make a pact, right here and right now! As writers, we understand the following:

• We will make dumb mistakes.
• We will accept when others correct our dumb mistakes (unless they are being plain old mean, in which case we will flambe them in literature).
• We will learn from our past mistakes, remember to click the spellcheck button at the end, proofread our tweets and status updates before posting them, and attend more closely to the little details that would otherwise detract from our amazing works.
• And if all else fails:

That's all, my lovelies!  Happy writing and thanks for stopping by!

For other gems of writing wisdom, try Wannabes Need Not Apply, Captain Obvious, Truth-Telling Fiction, or Tragically Flawed...Or Not .  Enjoy!

Pass the Pepper

Yesterday was my birthday. Wait. Let me try that again.

***Yesterday was my birthday!***

That odd feeling of coming to terms with last year's age, only to have one year added to it has once again seized me. I avoid feeling too morose about the whole thing by throwing myself a fabulous birthday party filled with crazy friends and family.

And I'm beginning to see that there's something beautiful that comes with age. I've always been a bit of a sassy character myself (more on that later), but in the last year or so, I've learned some things that have helped boost my self-confidence.  Here are my top three:

I'm actually getting cuter. No joke! All the me that is me is coming to the surface. Along with a great stylist, good taste, and my sense of humor, I'm coming to understand that slim doesn't equal happy. Happy, fun, and full of purpose equal happy.

I have what it takes to be a writer. My mom is indeed my biggest fan, but when she said: I keep forgetting that you wrote this! as we went through my first draft, something inside me shifted. I can't be an aspiring writer or a closet writer any more. It's time to shine. (Let me add that having someone say they'd like to publish said first draft doesn't hurt either. Thank you, mom and Cedar Fort.)

A good friend, a great pair of shoes, a new dress, and/or chocolate can cure most ills. There is a whole load of crap just waiting to rain down on us every day. It's our job to create a safe haven and happy circumstances that will keep us moving forward with a smile instead of shlumping along with a frown.

Now back to my inborn sassiness, (though perhaps the whole tenor of this post betrays a certain amount of that). At My First Ever Writing Conference, I met the lovely and talented Melanie Jacobson. She's authored a number of LDS Contemporary Fiction novels for young adults. As she signed my newly purchased copy of Not My Type, she paid me the nicest compliment: I know you'll love Pepper, because you have the same sassy Pepper demeanor!

It made my day! Especially now that I finally carved out a week to plow through Not My Type, and came to know the ins and outs of Pepper Spicer.  She's not only sassy, but holds her own in the face of snarky boys and bosses with questionable ethics. Pepper refuses to wallow in the depths of despair after being dumped on what is practically her wedding day. Instead, she embraces her dreams and works to make them a reality in both her personal and professional life.

So yes, if someone who hardly knows me can see a healthy amount of Pepper sass in me, I'll take it! And keep working to help others recognize it as well. (Like snarky boys, for instance.)

* * * * *

Thanks for stopping in! I've been writing/editing so much that I barely have time for blogging these days. Follow the links above to learn more about Melanie, my vow to not be an aspiring anything or a closet writer, and fun things I learned at My First Ever Writing Conference. Thanks again!

Magic in the Making

This week has been a bit of a trial. It did not start with Monday, as you might imagine, but started with Tuesday when I sent a text to my niece, Amy, who was babysitting my brother's daughter. The conversation went like this:

Me: Are you on your own with the chipmunk today? Because maybe I'll come visit this afternoon. 

Amy: I am for the next few hours. They canceled their trip because Granddad had a heart attack...They're on their way back now.

Me: WHAT?

And that was how I learned that my dad had had a heart attack. The man turned 70 in February, for Pete's sake, so it's not unheard of, but like everything else heart attacks are things that happen to “other people.” At least that's what my dad said. 

“Older people?” I corrected him. 

“Other older people,” he agreed, with a slight eye roll.

True enough. When a seventy-year-old gardens, bikes, walks, and occasionally runs, fixes anything that needs fixing in his own home and the seven rental units he owns (not to mention the odd fix-it project of any of his six children), and still finds time to visit, serve, and uplift others, that's not the type of person you expect to become seriously ill. And neither does he.

But, when you have a penchant for cookies dunked in anything (yes, water will do) and any type of salty bagged crunchable item, some health issues are understandable. Especially if you've reached your seventies without encountering many before then.

In true dad fashion, he's still cracking jokes about taking his handy-dandy cutters to the numerous wires hooking him to a roomful of machines on Day 1 (to which the nurse chuckled and counseled him not to do so or the entire occupancy of the nurse's station would flock in like a pack of mother birds) or how it felt like While You Were Sleeping where everyone kept visiting when he was napping on Day 2.

If I have a quirky sense of humor, this is indeed the man to blame. And let's go ahead and blame him for my sweet tooth while we're at it. Amy had a story to tell about that too.  Apparently, when the grandkids would stay with them in the summer, he'd wake them up for late night snacktime after my mom had retired for the night. When I asked him if he really did that his reply was an exuberant, “Well, of course I did!” The man has no shame.

Anyway, we love him and are exceedingly glad that he is recuperating so quickly. After being admitted on Tuesday, he was released after Thursday.  He was too good-natured to whine about it, but we all know he'd rather recover at home than in a hospital.

As a family, we have been overwhelmed with the outpouring of love, support, and faith on his behalf. We are truly astounded. And we are seeing what others might call magic or good fortune and which we recognize as daily miracles.

For more about my amazing dad and some of the lessons he taught me, revisit Plot Twist! and as always, thanks for stopping by!

Diva Depressed

Even divas have their off days. In fact, being a diva ensures that you'll have some especially bad days. After all, the higher you soar, the further you fall.

When we met diva Vanessa Sumers--connoisseur of fine shoes, handbags, and obedient minions--all was running smoothly in her universe. However, like everyone, she has more than a few skeletons in her closet, including the family she left behind in the pursuit of greatness.

We rejoin her after she has learned of her stepmother's death. Returning to her hometown for the memorial services, she must face demons from her past and reunite with those who will always hold a special place in Vanessa's heart.

Excerpt from Vanessa Stmers:

The pastor gripped her hand in welcome, his face full of condolences as he drew her into the chapel.  Relief washed over Vanessa as she realized he didn’t know her.  She spotted a free section on the back row, and attempting to blend into the crowd, she scanned the room for familiar faces.

                “Nessa!” A voice called out as strong arms pulled her into a tight embrace.  “I can’t believe you’re here!  It’s so good to see you!”  Her stepbrother buried her in a bear hug. 

                Vanessa, surprised, returned his hug somewhat stiffly.

                “Peter,” she attempted a smile, her face tight with the effort.

                Unaffected by her uneasiness, Peter grinned.  Shadows of the little boy were evident in the man’s face; the same bright blue eyes that had charmed and incited mischief in his youth, and the ever-boyish grin. He’d become quite handsome.

                “It’s good to see you too,” Vanessa managed at last.

                “You look amazing, sis,” he said, squeezing her arm in a friendly way.  “You always were a stunner.  And we always knew you’d make it big.  Definitely got all the brains in the family,” he declared.  

                “Thanks, Peter,” she said, feeling awkward. She opened her mouth to force a more congenial reply but Peter’s gaze was drawn to the front of the chapel. 

                “Sorry, Nessa. Gotta run.  Looks like they’re about to begin.  You want to come sit with Dad?”

                She shook her head in response; she certainly wasn’t ready for that. 

                He patted her arm, treating her to a sad smile before turning away.

Still taken aback from the run-in with her estranged younger brother, Vanessa made her way down the row and took a seat by the wall.  The services began as someone settled into the seat beside her.         

Vanessa’s gaze was fixed on her father, somberly following his wife’s casket as it entered.  He took a seat by Peter on the stand, his eyes downcast. Roland Sumers had never been a handsome man, but the steel gray hair and the lines creasing his face gave him a distinguished look.  Like her hometown, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him, how she’d felt cheated out of the only parent who cared about her, until that moment.  As if an inner barrier had burst, her heartstrings pulled taut in her chest and tears rushed down her cheeks.

A handkerchief appeared before her.  Wordlessly, she accepted it, dabbing at her face so as to cause the least amount of damage to her make-up.  When she’d recovered her composure, she turned to offer a quiet thank you.  The words died on her lips as she met familiar dark brown eyes set in a deeply tanned face. 

“Matthew?” 

His lips curved into a smile.  “Good to see you again, Vanessa.”

The service was underway, so there was no time for else and Vanessa was so thoroughly tongue-tied she wouldn't have been able to formulate complete sentences.  Sitting perfectly still—to all appearances attending to the pastor—her mind dwelt on the man beside her. 

Vanessa had considered the possibility of running into a former flame.  But in her wildest imaginings she had never considered seeing her brother’s best friend, Matthew. When she’d left home Matty Johannsen had been a gangly teen.  All ears and long limbs, he’d been in that awkward ape-like state between boy and man.  His only attractive feature had been the big brown eyes fringed by long lashes.  Those beautiful eyes provided a glimpse into a singularly unique soul: equal parts amiability, wisdom, and humor. 

Matty had been Vanessa’s favorite among Peter’s friends—a group of boys who had typically made her feel stodgy and straight-laced.  Matty hadn’t been like that.  Instead, he’d smile that too-wide, too-many-teeth grin and bombard her with tales of his latest hare-brained schemes and pepper her with questions about her dreams and ambitions.  She would feign disinterest, but something about the odd-looking youngster fed her attention-starved soul.  Matthew had been more like a brother than Peter and some part of her mind persisted in seeing him as nothing more than the skinny too-tall teenager of days gone by.  She couldn’t have imagined he’d turn out like this.

Vanessa covertly looked him over as the pastor droned on. He was extremely tall, she noted, but where he’d been scarecrow-thin as a teenager, he’d developed a broad-shouldered muscular physique as a man which was only accentuated by the suit he wore.

Under the carefully applied make-up, Vanessa felt her face flush all the way up to the roots of her carefully coiffed hair. How could she think this way about Matthew? 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew's lips twitch, as if he found something amusing.  With a feeling of irritation blossoming in her chest, her lips drew into a severe line and she fixed her gaze back on the pastor.  Matty Johannsen, attractive as he might have become, would not be permitted to laugh at her. Ignoring him for the remainder of the service, Vanessa folded her arms and sat ramrod straight in her seat.

 * * * * *

I'm quite fond of Vanessa. She's the type who stomps her little Prada heel and demands a story of her own. And she did. Read more about Vanessa's adventures in Dealing With Divas, Hostile Makeover, and Finding Myself in Literature. Thanks for stopping by!