Hi everyone, Before I delve into malaria, cholera and smallpox, let me tell you the news about The Solitary Sparrow, my historical fiction novel. My agent is submitting the book to publishers! Hopefully one of them will pick it up for publication. So keep your fingers crossed. Meanwhile I’ve been forging ahead on the sequel, A Pelican in the Wilderness -- 60,000 words so far. (As a reminder, in both novels the main character is named Meg.) In the last few weeks I’ve been thin

For those of you of a certain age, I’m sure you remember Gene Autry, the Hollywood cowboy who sang “Back in the Saddle Again. “ I thought of that song as I sat down for this morning’s writing. The trip through the frozen north (see previous blog) took it out of me and when I came back home I got sick. Then Thing One and Thing Two got sick. Then Sally the Anxious Lab got sick. All of us except my daughter had colds. Sally, on the other hand, had the worst case of dog diarrhea

I’m writing in the coffee shop today. And since it’s been awhile, I thought I’d bring you up to date on my news and adventures. First – woo hoo!, drum roll!, deep breath of happy and scary! – I HAVE AN AGENT. I signed with her in September and at her request I made some changes to The Solitary Sparrow (TSS). Her suggestions were thoughtful and right on point. She “gets it” in a way that gives me huge relief and confidence. After the developmental edits were finished, I sent t

Here in my neck of the woods in the South, there is no definable boundary between the heat of summer and the cold of winter. It’s blazing hot from May to September when we get a short respite, followed by Indian summer and heat again. In November the rains come, the temperature drops to near freezing at night, and people like me, who love the very essence of autumn and winter, start to celebrate. One advantage of the endless days of summer is the long growing season. The very

Thing Two, age 4, is angry. Her mother—my daughter—has told her "no!" and has explained why Thing Two cannot have what she wants. Much crying and whining ensues. Thing Two stamps her feet. Her mother patiently explains that she is only running up to the store for milk. She will be back soon. Thing Two will stay with me. In truth, mom is going out of her mind and wants two minutes alone. Thing Two is at the stage where she must see and hear her mother at all times. This will o

When I worked in newspapers and television, I had short deadlines. I wrote in my head as I drove back to the office and then typed the news story at warp speed. My experience taught me how to write anywhere. In a fast food restaurant. In the library. In my car waiting for band practice to end and at the horseback riding ring (back in the day when the kids were young). Nowadays, I prefer writing in a coffee shop. I find it harder to write at home—too many temptations (should I

I've had a number of jobs in my life, been married twice (that's another story) and raised two extraordinary daughters, but through good and bad, sickness, death, wars, and nutty elections, I've ALWAYS been a writer. Sometimes it's hard to write every day and, yes, I know practice makes perfect, just like playing the piano or being a world-class gymnast. When you write as often as you can, you develop a fine-tuned sense of intuition. You can hear your characters talking. You