GOALS, LISTS AND PROCRASTINATION - By Kathy Ivan

Today I did something I haven't done in a really long time. I went back over some old lists where I wrote out the things I wanted to accomplish for a particular year. Yikes! You know the kind of list I'm talking about. We make them at the end of the old year or the beginning of a new year, promising ourselves we'll make things happen, finish more projects and make changes that will affect all the areas of our lives.

While I made a few things from the lists happen, but most of them never came to fruition. It makes me a little sad so much time has passed without accomplishing the things I set out to do, year after year. (By the way, you all know I'm the Queen of Procrastination, don't you?)

More than half of 2012 has passed us by and the same pattern seems to be holding true this year as in years past. I promise myself I'll be better, keep on track toward accomplishing my goals, but before I can catch my breath another couple of months has sped by. I'm stuck in a repeating loop of sameness.

Today I want to change that, set some new goals. We still have several months left in 2012 to accomplish something momentous, stupendous (or even just a little bitty thing we keep putting off).

PP Vicki Batman on Handbag Mania!

Handbag Mania (1) -

Margaret Smith of Gardiner Maine

When I have visited my sissie in Tulsa, we always-always-always went to the flea market on the state fair grounds. Mostly, the prices are excellent, and I load up on goodies, like the homemade strawberry jam that tasted like berries, not sugar. Or vintage postcards, books, etc.

One of the first times I went to the flea market, my sissie introduced me to a woman who sold Margaret Smith of Gardiner Maine handbags. I broke down and bought a nice tote and still use it today. On a second trip, I purchased a smaller one and carried it to death.

Here's a bit about Margaret Smith:

PP Elizabeth Essex - Almost a Scandal

She's always ready for adventure.

He's almost ready for love.

 

 

It’s here! The first novel in my new Reckless Brides Trilogy, ALMOST A SCANDAL is out! And I must say I’m thrilled.

This is the story of Sally Kent, a girl who grows up in a navy family and who lives, breathes and thinks about ships all day long. A girl who is, well, a lot like me. Or the me who wanted to spend my teenage years crewing on windjammer schooners off the New England coast. The me who loved the feel of the wind on my face and the blue, blue ocean spread out in front of me. The me who was filled to the brim with the possibilities of adventures.

So there’s a little piece of me closer to the surface of this heroine than in any other of the books I’ve written. And I will say that her story was so very dear to my heart, that I didn’t try to write it for a very long time, until I felt I had the skills necessary to do Sally, and the man she loves, Lieutenant David Colyear, justice.

PP girl Elizabeth Essex!

And I think I have. But you be the judge.

Here’ a little excerpt from ALMOST A SCANDAL in which Lieutenant Colyear discovers Sally’s true identity, and that the midshipman under his command is not one Richard Kent, but his older sister:

He knew.  The knowledge was there in the quiet resignation of his voice, in the pained way he closed his eyes so he might no longer have to look at her.  She told herself it was inevitable that he should know her.  But even that cold knowledge could not alleviate the searing knot of pain radiating from her chest.

She turned away so he might not see the hot wash of tears rising in her eyes.  She would not cry.  Devil take her, she was a Kent.

“It’s funny.  All day I’ve been thinking of that summer.  The summer I spent with your family at Cliff House, there in Falmouth.  I recall it was a very fine house, with a great prospect down to the sea.”

“Oh, yes.”  She could hear the bleak, frustrated attempt at humor in her voice, as she followed his improbable segue.  “I don’t think my father could abide in any house for longer than a day, if it did not have a view of the sea.”

“It was your brother Matthew’s idea to use the time to study for our lieutenancy examinations.  Ambitious, Matthew Kent was.  Still is.  Do you remember?”

“I do.”  She remembered as if it were yesterday.  She had been old enough to envy them their careers, had hung on their every word, Col and Matthew.  But especially Col.  “Everyone was home for the same fortnight.  Matthew, Dominic, Owen, Daniel, and Father.  It was the last time we were all there, together.”

            “I recall it particularly.  The way you were then, how you sat together in the evenings and sang songs.  One of you played the mandolin.”

It had been she who played the mandolin.  Richard played the violin.  The damn instrument was still taking up space at the bottom of her sea chest.

            “You used to play that same song as Punch did this morning.  Dance to your Daddy.”

The damn song.  She should have known.  She should have anticipated that he heard everything with the same focus, the same acute attention that he saw.  But still, she could not give up.   “It’s a very old tune.”

“Yes,” he agreed calmly.  “All the men seemed to know the words.  It was a proper rousing send-off this morning.”

It was killing her, the waiting.  The waiting for his condemnation.  Knowing it was coming. Knowing she deserved it.  The heat piling up in the back of her throat kept her from answering.

“I remembered the song.”  He looked at her briefly then, and she could see the truth, the full understanding deep in his green eyes.  “Do you remember that evening, when we caught fireflies in your orchard?  The phosphorescent insects lighting up as the late twilight gave way to dark.  Do you remember?”

“Yes.”  The word tasted like misery, cold and ashen in her mouth.

He had instantly, with a few, precise words conjured up the soft magic of that evening.  She could smell the pungent green of the long grass they crushed beneath their feet, tromping about the overgrown orchard to capture the glowing insects in an empty jam jar. 

“And one landed in your hair, and I was obliged to brush it off, though it looked charming there, lighting up your ginger hair.  The green against the orange glow.”

The heat behind her eyes felt blinding.  It was worse, this slow, thoughtful meander into memory, than any torture he might have thought up.

“And we pelted your brother with windfalls for preaching at us so.”

            “Yes.”  The misery was pushing the hot tears into the corners of her eyes.  She dashed them away with the edge of her sleeve.  Devil take her.  She would not cry.  Not in front of Mr. Colyear.  No matter the provocation.

            It had been she—Sally.  She had been in the back garden with him, sitting on the high orchard wall with him by her side, lobbing apples at Richard for his mealymouthed prating.  They had laughed and laughed, and she had felt special to be allowed within the sacred circle of the young naval men.  She had been proud of her arm, as if a young man like Col would notice such a thing in a girl.

And Richard had run away to the house, and left them alone in the orchard together, she and Col, that long-ago evening.  And she had sworn he might have kissed her, but at the last moment she had shied away, and laughed and thrown more sticks to cover her awkwardness.

The knowledge was there in his eyes.  In the dark, uncompromising certainty of his gaze.  In the way his mouth flattened into a tense line, the smile banished along with the warmth of the memory.

“Just so.  Just as I thought.”  He nodded briefly, but the warmth faded out of his eyes. He began to shake his head back and forth in maddened disbelief. 

“You might have told me, Kent.  You might have spared me the-”  Something in his voice was off, rusted like a sword left too long in a sheath.  The sound of betrayal.  “You might have told Captain McAlden.  You ought to have.  But damn your eyes, you ought not to have done it at all.”

            But she had.  She had done it quite purposefully.  And she would do anything to keep it from being undone.  “Sir, please.”  She had to make him understand.    “I had no choice.  I had to come. I felt as if I should suffocate if I had to spend another day ashore. You have to understand.  You of all people-”

            “You of all people, who was raised by Captain Alexander Kent, ought to understand the seriousness, the utter hell and be-damned gall of what you have done.”

            He was right.  She had known the chance she had taken.  But she was a Kent. She had recklessness bred into her bones. Calculating risk came as easily as trimming a sail or riding the crest of a wave into the shore. As easy as breathing. And it had been worth it.  The feeling she had gotten this morning, when she had been aloft—she’d never felt so perfectly right, so happy and useful, in her life.  She had only to convince him.

There they are, Sally and Col, stuck together on HMS Audacious for the length of their voyage. And in such proximity, sparks will fly, and tempers and passions alike will ignite.

She’s always ready for adventure, he’s almost ready for love.

And to celebrate, I’m giving away two copies of ALMOST A SCANDAL, along with other goodies, to two random commenters! Stop by and leave a comment with your email address for your chance to win!

 

Find Almost a Scandal at:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/almost-a-scandal-elizabeth-essex/1110919103?ean=9781250003799

Cherished Memories

Today my daughter turns 14! My baby girl? She can't be. It can't possibly have been 14 years ago that I drove to the hospital with my father for my very organized c-section. After all, I remember everything about that day like it was yesterday.

My husband and I already had our eldest daughter - we were total helicopter parents too. We worried over her, how she was going to handle having a new sister, being separated from me while I was in the hospital (I'd never left her - she was 18 months old) - all sorts of things. To make it easier, my husband stayed with her and my father drove me to the hospital. Once daughter 1 was in bed for nap, my husband would come to the hospital in time to be there for daughter 2. But he ran late... so late that my father was growing paler and paler with every second. He was not hospital operating room material - but I knew he would go with me if my husband didn't make it. When the nurse handed my father scrubs and told him where to change, he straightened his shoulders, patted my shoulder, and told me he'd be right back.

Ten minutes later I was in the operating room and my husband, not my father, joined me. Five minutes after that we were both happily crying a little as our second child, a beautiful baby girl with a full head of hair and reassuringly functioning lungs announced herself to the delivery room.

I remember everything about that day like it was yesterday - not 14 years ago!

It's hard to accept that my baby now plays the viola with skill, reads like she's racing to the next one, loves all things giraffes, and cooking and cleaning (I have no idea where she got her love of cleaning?).

There are memories that are so vivid that I feel like I've been transported back in time, engaging all my senses. And I cherish them, holding on tight so that they don't dim.

I know I'm not alone so share! What's one of your favorite, most vivid, memories?

Thanks for letting me share mine with you. And Happy Birthday Baby Girl! I'm so proud of the amazing young woman you are! You are a gift to everyone that knows you!

Bring on the cake and champagne! The PP is one year old!!!

Happy Anniversary to the

Plotting Princesses!

On July 28, 2011, we launched our first post.

We've grown many followers here and on Facebook.

We've hosted many authors and

written some intriguing posts.

And had tons of fun!

Thank you to all who have made this possible.

Party on!



TIME FOR SOME TEASERS - by Kathy Ivan

Well, here it is late July and lots of romance authors are swarming Anaheim as I write this post. The Romance Writers of America's annual convention is taking place this week. Industry professionals, published and aspiring romance writers all together under one roof. It gives a whole new meaning to "Magic Kingdom."

For those of us who didn't make the trek out to Nationals, I think its time to share some snippets of our current stories with our readers. You don't have to be a Princess to post up to ten (10) lines from your current story. Give your fellow romance aficionados' a glimpse of where the muse is taking you.

In the comment section, give your name, the genre of the story, its working title, and NO MORE THAN ten (10) lines. Just a brief moment of magic to whet our appetites for more.

I'll start us off below.

Get to Know: Mindy Hardwick & Weaving Magic

A big PP welcome to Mindy Hardwick! Let's get the inside scoop:

How did you get from your day job to writing romance?  I took a leap of faith and trusted a net would appear.  I was a middle and high school teacher, and although I enjoyed my students, I kept feeling not quite satisfied. I went back to school for an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults, and afterwards, left teaching to write. I published freelance articles for about seven years before my books published.

What are your three favorite books of all time?

1. A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett
2. The Missing Piece by Shel Silverstein
3. Homecoming and Dicey’s Song by Cynthia Voigt

Mindy Hardwick

Morning, afternoon, or evening person?  Morning

Music--with or without? What kind?  Without

First or third POV?  First

How's tricks? Do you juggle multiple projects? Lots of multiple projects! Right now, I’m working on drafting the third story in a contemporary romance novella series, drafting a children’s chapter book, and brainstorming for a contemporary romance.

What's harder: beginning, middle, or the end? Middle