by Christine | Life, Writing
This has been a tempestuous year. Lots of travel for conferences and reader cons, lots of doubt about my writing, lots of internal worry and change, lots of hot flashes – oy. I’ve done some editing work for friends, taken a lot of online classes, stood my ground, gave ground, and in general – lived.
Good things have happened, and new connections have been made. GUARDED STAR came out this year with Boroughs Publishing Group, and STAR CROSSED is in final edits and will be making an appearance soon. RISING STAR 
will, hopefully, make an appearance in early 2016.
Plus I’ll be going to TNEE in Atlanta in April, RWA National Conference in July, and the Emerald Coast conference in October. These will be, most likely, my only “public” appearances this coming year.
The Caine Brothers series, my paranormal romances, have been picked up by Wolfpack Publishing. I’m writing a prequel, the two (and a half) books that have already come out will be published again, and the third book (Justin’s story) will be out as well, all starting in January 2016. I have been told there are at least two more stories in this world, and maybe more, so hopefully I can get them out next year. We will see.
As well, there’s another line of books (contemporary) that I’m going to be working on, so…busy!
***
I’m writing this on Thanksgiving night. For years, we traveled to my parents’ house and I cooked (or they came up to us and…I cooked); or we traveled to Arizona and Tom’s family…and I cooked, ha. But…a few years ago, I handed the mantle of Thanksgiving Queen to my nephew’s lovely wife (something about – oh, brain surgery comes to mind), and they have been hosting ever since.
I won’t lie – 150+ miles, one way, is a long way to go for a turkey dinner. But a turkey dinner where my brother can sweep me up in a hug? A dinner where I get to sit on a couch for an hour or so, holding my dad’s hand, and talking possible TV series ideas with him? A dinner where I can give my great-niece the book I had promised to give her LAST Thanksgiving, but had neglected to send to her? (Her comment when I handed it to her? “At LAST.” lol…)
In between conversations, we watched two teams sportsing. One team was in some sort of white outfit, while the other team was in electric blue…and they were still sportsing, even after dinner. The electric blue team ended up sportsing better than the white team, and won…. please understand, that out of the ten people at this dinner, only three of us were female. None of my clan is overly sportsy, except for soccer and basketball.
But my favorite memory of the night? Holding my dad’s hand, and feeling the veins there, and knowing that in a few short years, my hand will look much the same.
Life happens, people. We lose our way, and find it again, and if we are very lucky, we have family and friends that stand with us along every step of that meandering path we’re all on.
Happy Thanksgiving weekend, my lovelies.
)O(
by Christine | Life, Observations
It didn’t used to happen. Falling, I mean. Sure, I’d walk into walls. I’d trip over absolutely nothing. Ballet dancers do that (or I did, anyway). But falling? Only when I was aiming for a triple pirouette.
But Then I Hit 40. And then 50.
Things started to change. A benign tumor was growing in my right ear. Fibroids were developing in my uterus. My center of balance started to shift. Falls became more common.
I have some doozies in my recent past. Like, right over the top of the handlebars, for instance. Or falling backward from opening the window, and landing on my tailbone. Oh, and there was the one where I was walking to the kitchen and I stepped wrong, and broke my fibula. Yeah, that was a good one. (Fast forward ten months and I did it again, at the Day Job. Sigh.)
Since then, there were the two – or maybe three – times I’ve gone sprawling, face-first, in the grocery store. (I blame the shoes I wore.) Or on the street, heading to my car. (Dark, rain, puddles, headlights.)
By now, the tumor is long gone. Ditto the uterus. I should be back to “normal” and just be walking into walls and tripping over nothing. Right? For some reason, I’m not. And that totally sucks.
Falling never ceases to be nerve wracking. Like, is this the time I totally ruin my body? Or, is my tumor back? In the other ear this time, maybe? Do I have multiple sclerosis like my mother did? Is this the time I break a hip, an elbow, both wrists? The thoughts that go through my head after a fall are agonizing, and I know I can’t be alone there.
I do balance exercises. It’s one of the reasons I started giving myself a ballet barre again. I work at balance, I swear I do.
17 at Heart
In my heart of hearts, I’m seventeen. Or maybe twenty-nine. (Oh, shut up, lol.) I have the verve and agility and balance out the wazoo that I used to have. And that remembered verve gets me in trouble. I wish it didn’t, but it does. Every. Single. Time.
My last fall happened over the weekend. I’d been meaning to do something – not sure what – and when reminded, I jumped up from the chair with verve and alacrity, and immediately tripped over the footstool. Barking my shin, my toes, bumping the coffee table which tipped over several fragile marble chess pieces (breaking two), landing on one hip and one wrist before gracefully rolling onto my back, legs to my chest, breathing slowly and taking inventory.
Two days later, my wrist is still sore. My hip has recovered, as have my toes. My shin has a nice 4 inch, barely visible scrape/bruise which is tender to the touch but otherwise unremarkable. I have survived. I live, to fall another day.
I will redouble my balance work. I will do my best to make my pathways as clear as possible. I will do everything in my power to stop falling. But the one thing I refuse to do is pull away from my inner seventeen-year-old. I like her. I don’t want to give her up. I don’t want to have to live so cautiously that I am afraid to do anything. Because for me, that’s no way to live.
My spirit is seventeen. I’ll curb her when I need to, but I won’t squash her.
)O(
Why do older people fall…
Falling and Multiple Sclerosis…
Stop me falling…
by Christine | Cooking, Life
Who could resist making a cake with the name Chocolate Peanut Butter Fun Cake? Not I! It was Saturday, and I was hauling trash out of going through the magazines in my office, and I stumbled upon a Bon Apetit magazine from the 1950’s March of 2012. So I leafed through it, ripping out recipes that looked good, and I stumbled upon the aforementioned cake.
The photo in Bon Apetit that totally captivated me.
What got me, though, was the writing above the OH so yummy photo – “This vegan batter is generously versatile: The pastry chef uses it for wedding cakes and cupcakes, too. Funnily enough, its recipe is similar to one from the 1930s for something called a Depression cake.” ~ Nathanial Meads
Vegan. Cheap to make. I was SO in. Plus, chocolate. Hello! (As well, Father’s Day loomed the following day!) So I made the ridiculously easy batter with ingredients I always have on hand (all purpose flour, sugar, natural unsweetened cocoa powder, kosher salt, baking soda, vegetable oil, vanilla, chopped bittersweet chocolate) and made the cake.
Let me tell you, licking the spoon after the cake was in the oven was – well, heaven. Rich chocolate with bits of kosher salt? SWOON-worthy!
Peanut Butter Fun Cake, made by Moi from the recipe in Bon Apetit, March 2012. Okay, so the chocolate isn’t shaved…it still looks yummy, right?
The hardest bit to do was the peanut butter buttercream for the topping. It was involved (double boiler, anyone?) and used egg whites, so there went the vegan thing. But the oldest son LOVED licking the bowl clean after I frosted the cake.
My reaction to the cake? The cake itself was dense, chewy, lovely and rich with that hint of salt that made everything FANTASTIC. The icing was a bit much – rich and peanutty and overwhelming. But I was the only one who felt that way – the others were too busy scarfing it down. My oldest son has already decided I should make this cake for his every birthday. My husband said let’s not restrict it to birthdays, so my middle son pencilled in September (birthday month) and January (New Year’s) for the cake.
This is the very first time anything I’ve made has been scheduled for a remake, so far in advance. I guess they liked it!
What about you? Do you have any recipes that the family clamors for? Please share if you can! Oh, and if you want the recipe for the cake, go here to Bon Apetit. Enjoy – er –
bon apetit!
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
by Christine | Life, Observations
Sorry for my lack of posting. It’s been a bit of hell around here this week. Both good and bad, and don’t they always seem to go hand in hand?
Me and the Boot on vacation in Mammoth Lakes, California. August, 2011.
First off, I’m back in The Boot. Yes, that lovely fashion statement is once again a staple of my wardrobe. On Monday, I managed to step wrong and cause a hairline fracture just slightly off from the place I broke my fibula 18 months ago. When the pain didn’t go away immediately, I made an appointment with my bone doc – and back in the boot am I. For a minimum of two weeks, then we take another x-ray to see what’s what.
At least it’s not the four months like the last time.
Theater Widow
And in other good/bad news, my hubby has been hired in a theater production down in San Diego, starting early next week and running until the beginning of June. He’s excited (when I have more detail, I’ll share) and I’m so happy for him. But right now, past midnight, I’m miserable. I mean, I’m used to being the kind of Theater Widow where the hubby is gone for hours, not days. The type where I go to sleep by myself, but wake up next to him in the morning. So this is different.
Plus, right now, he’s off auditioning for other jobs that don’t even start until this one is
From L to R, Tim, Tom and Chet Ashworth. Mammoth, 2011
over; and they aren’t here in the L.A. area. Which means more being apart. Which totally sucks. Since I turned fifty – since my warranty broke, lol – we’ve grown so much closer. He’s been there with me through all the worry and adversity and we’ve come out the other side a lot stronger, together.
I’m not good at being alone, I find. I don’t eat well. I drink a little too much. I don’t write, which is a damned shame and something that I must fix. I feel very alone, which is silly since my two grown sons are just down the hall. But a part of me is missing, and I’m not at all happy about that. And he’s only been gone since Tuesday!
In the grand scheme of things, I’m slightly ashamed at my weakness. I mean, my husband isn’t serving in the military, half way around the world. He’s not in mortal danger every day. I know a lot of military wives, and I am in awe of how resilient they are. I suppose, if my husband had traveled a lot throughout our marriage, I too would be much more resilient and self-reliant and stiff-upper-lippy about it. But I’m not. Inside, I’m whiny and mopey and feeling very sorry for myself.
I probably need to make a plan for these long nights. First off, eat extremely healthy and have only one glass of wine. Second, write. Third, figure out Face Time. (I have skype but the hubby’s iPad has Face Time.) Otherwise, I will waste my time in front of the TV set, watching Project Runway or NCIS reruns or something like that, when I should be doing something much more productive, like getting this book finished. And the next one. (Because I can’t sell them if they’re not finished!)
So, deep breath. I will survive. (Not too sure about the garden, though – hubby was my main garden hand. Will need to press the boys into servitude.) I’ve got RWA Chapter meetings to go to this weekend, and I’ll actually see the hubs for a few hours. Plus writing will get done. I swear it.
How’s your week been? What’s been Good? What’s been Bad?
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are all available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
by Christine | Life, Writer Wednesday, Writing
Chet Cunningham
Okay, so. On Sunday, as my last post here said, Tom (the hubs) and I went to see my Daddy and to work in his garden. Well, Tom worked in the garden. I interviewed my dad. See, there’s a lot I never knew/don’t remember/mom never told me. And now mom is gone (6 years in April), so she can’t talk to me.
So I’m interviewing my Dad, Chet Cunningham, every time I go down to see him now. About everything I can think of/dare to ask (and there are some areas I haven’t even considered broaching yet, but I’ll get there). Here it is (and here’s a picture).
Chet Cunningham, June 2011
Interview No. 1.
Me: So, Daddy. How did you become a writer?
Chet Cunningham: The stock answer is in high school, I had an essay test in English on a book I don’t remember now. I wasn’t too sure of the answer, so I wrote down everything I could remember. Got an A on the paper, and an A in the class. And I said, hey, this writing thing is easy.
Me: I had to laugh at this, because I learned in the 8th grade (history I think) that I could ACE essay tests. Who knew that’s where I got it from?
Me: What happened next?
CC: I signed up as a journalist major with Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon. But I didn’t pass the English test, so I got put into bonehead English. And the professor in charge of Journalism said, you can’t be a journalism major if you’re in bonehead English. I said to him, by the way, I’ve sold a couple of articles to the Portland Journal. He said to me, selling a couple articles doesn’t make you a journalist.
Now, the emphasis in the classes I was taking was toward working on a newspaper, but I wanted to write for magazines.
Me: What was your first writing job?
CC: A buddy of mine, Hans Running and I, had a photography business during college. A way to make some extra money. He saw that the Central Oregonian was looking for a reporter, I applied, and I got the job. I graduated, then two months later, I got drafted.
Me: That would be for the Korean War, right?
CC: Right. After I came home, I applied to Columbia University to the Master’s Program in Journalism.
Me: Wow. What was Columbia like?
CC: Fast and furious. One of my professors told all us new kids to be sure go do the tourist stuff. Go to the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the museums, see a play or two or three on Broadway, walk in Central Park. Do it while you’re here, because you may never get back. So Rosie and I did all the touristy things.
It wasn’t until later that I found out the college was reaching out to as many states as possible for students, and I was the only student who applied from Oregon. Columbia is also where I learned to never, never, never use the word “very”. It’s the weakest word in the English language.
Me: I remember you telling me that years ago. Okay, let’s skip ahead. You wanted to be a writer, and you wrote. What kind of writers’ books did you read? Any craft books?
CC: No.
Me: *totally shocked* No?
CC: No. I wasn’t brought up to read. That wasn’t how I learned the best. So I just wrote.
Me: But you wrote westerns. Your first western – you sold Bushwhackers in the Circle K in 1968.
CC: I got a grand total of $300 for it, too. I decided to learn how to write westerns – my dad by that time was reading lots of Louis L’Amour. So I read all I could, and marked them up, and wrote the book. And sold it. The editor, he said, “Well, it’s not the best book I’ve read, but I’ll buy it.”
Me Again.
So there you have it. My dad, Chet Cunningham, who’s had over 300 novels published not to mention all his non-fiction books, has never read a writing craft book. This was so illuminating to me. Why?
I’ve read many books on writing. The best ones, in my opinion, don’t tell you what to do, but just keep encouraging you to do it. The War of Art by Pressfield, for instance, or On Writing by Stephen King.
I’ve read books, taken how-to classes, learned different story structures, and all of them seem to tie me up into over-writing paralysis. For instance, I can’t even begin to use Donald Maas’ “Writing The Breakout Novel” way to write. It tangles me up in knots and I can’t do it. It’s not for me. It might work well for you, and that’s terrific.
I wrote a synopsis based on Blake Snyder’s Save The Cat, and guess what? TOO MUCH PLOT. Okay, maybe that one will work for a single title, but not a shorter novel. And then I remembered something else my dad taught me, years ago when I had just begun to write. I asked him how he structured his synopses.
He said, just tell the story in first person, present tense on the page. Don’t use too many pages, don’t tell too many little details.
Brilliant advice, Daddy.
The hands that wrote the books.
Did I mention he’s got arthritis?
~~~
Do you have any books on writing that really worked for you? How about ways of plotting? Please share!
~ Until the next time, cheers! ~
~oOo~
Demon Soul and Demon Hunt are all available for the Kindle and Kobo! Have you fallen into the Caine Brothers’ world yet?
