Unexpected

My latest novel, Unexpected, is now available! 

Here is the blurb from the back of the book:

Eleven years ago, Ross McConnell was devastated by the betrayal of the woman of his dreams. Time does not heal all wounds, and after more than a decade, Ross is no closer to finding love. When his well-meaning family attempts to play match maker, he concedes by creating an unrealistic list detailing his perfect mate. Perhaps he'll give love another try, if such perfection exists. . . 

Natalie Forrester is no stranger to heartache. After two failed marriages, the single mother of three is determined to make it on her own. Without a college degree, she starts at the bottom: working as a housekeeper may not be glamorous, but it's her first big step toward independence. And Natalie's most recent cleaning job is ideal--the guy is always out of town, and the pay will go a long way toward supporting her missionary son. 

And then Ross and Natalie meet . . . and meet again. And following a series of awkward encounters, Ross is shocked by his growing attraction for this woman. Natalie couldn't be further from his ideal woman, and she is firm in her determination to keep her heart closed to love. But as their tenuous friendship develops and deepens, will the unlikely pair have the courage to set aside the disappointments of the past to catch hold of a bright new future?

Writing Unexpected was a lot of fun. I asked my cute, artistic sister-in-law if I could loosely base my main female character after her, and she replied, "Why not? My life is stranger than fiction!" (Too true, that.)

I'll be posting another blog soon to describe what elements I borrowed from her, and what she is doing to help me launch Unexpected! In the meantime, you can find Unexpected at Deseret Book and Seagull Book, and Amazon, for starters. 

Happy reading! And go have some cookies and hot chocolate, while you're at it!

And then I woke up . . . and my clothes were still on, thank goodness!

You know that dream where you're with a large group of people and you realize you're naked? That's what getting a book published is like.  

This is part of an email I wrote to a friend, who had shared her thoughts with me after reading Reality Check:

Thanks for your kind comments. You read like a writer. I was hoping for that, actually. 

When I was in college I was a composition major for a time, and each week we attended a master class where our compositions were performed, followed immediately by critiques from the professors and other comp students. Since I'd already survived a lot of piano festivals, I figured I could handle the criticisms, although I knew it would be tougher. . .

So I figured I knew what I was in for while I waited for the book to come out. But I was honestly surprised by the emotional reaction I've had, now that it's on the shelves for general consumption. It's like that dream everyone has where you're in a room full of people and you realize you're naked. You're completely vulnerable, because everyone reads and writes to some extent and everyone judges. 

I know I judge what I read and what movies I watch, so fair's fair. And to be honest, people have been kind so far. I'm merely commenting on a strange and unexpected reaction I've had going through the process, one that's slightly (and surprisingly) unnerving.

I mean, imagine: people in that hypothetical dream could approach you and say, "Wow! You look great!" But they might just as easily say, "You look . . . mmm . . . okay for an old lady. Did you know you've got a big pimple on your back?" Or maybe they simply pretend they don't see you—and could that possibly be worse?

So what do you do when you have The I'm Naked in a Group of People Dream? Do you strut your stuff? Smile and act casual, as if nothing's the matter? Would you cower and run to the nearest exit? Try to wake up?

Naked or not, in it's own way, the experience of having a novel published is its own kind of "reality check." Just sayin'.

Historical Novels: Past Perfect

My thoughts, posted to the Word Wenches blog, regarding historicals:

I grew up with Margaret Evans Price's Myth's and Enchantment Tales. Before I could read I drank in the pictures: fiery gods, willowy nymphs in tunics with flowing hair. I was a kid with a pixie cut, glasses, and two missing front teeth. But I became those willowy nymphs. I needed to feel like a willowy nymph.

It got even better when I could actually read the stories that went with the pictures!

Later, I discovered Mary Stewart, Victoria Holt, and others. And I wasn't just Psyche or Andromeda anymore. I was a governess in a castle, and a sassy saloon girl, and a debutante, despite the cat-eye glasses and short hair.

And then a terrible thing happened! Middle school, high school, college, and The Classics. Don't get me wrong, they were great books and I learned a lot. But I wouldn't have picked up Lord of the Flies or Heart of Darkness out of choice. And somehow, in those school classes, it became impressed upon me that The Classics Were the Only Books Worth Reading.

And I forgot what it felt like to be a nymph or a saloon girl.

Life, good life, continued, with marriage and kids and a reading urge filled by newspapers and magazine articles.

And then, after watching Timothy Dalton, I mean Rochester, plead with Jane Eyre not to leave him, I had to read the book. I discovered Mr. Darcy way too late in life. Why had I never found Jane Austen's books before? And, hey? Aren't they classics? I say they are.

I've had a lot of reading to catch up on! And there are a lot of modern authors (Word Wenches included) whom I consider classic.

Side benefit: I'm an avid genealogist, and there is nothing I like better than to find my ancestors and have a living, breathing model of life that makes them more than a name on a page for me. I understand who they are and who I am as part of their legacy; historicals have given that to me.

I'm reading a historical right now. And my good life is even better!

Illustration of As the dragon came near, Perseus darted downward like an eagle by Margaret Evans Price, from the book Myths and Enchantment Tales, also by Margaret Evans Price. Also published under A Child's Book of Myths, and A Children's Treasury of Mythology.

. . . and Rhett Butler eyed Scarlett descending the staircase . . .

A few years back I was asked to teach a Relief Society lesson on the topic of self worth. One of the references on which I was to base the lesson was a talk by Jeffrey R. Holland, from October 2005 General Conference (url reference below). I was particularly struck by his plea to be accepting of ourselves physically, and not to obsess over the images we see in the media that create unrealistic expectations. How could I get the women who heard my lesson to see themselves differently and really appreciate themselves for who they are?

It got me thinking . . .

And then an idea struck . . .

Say what you will about romance novels (I've heard most of it already), but the genre exists for a reason. As Robert Frost once said, "Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." What would it be like if I could make the women feel like they were the heroine of a romance novel—and have someone gaze at them adoringly and wax poetic about them?

So that's exactly what I did. I wrote a line or two of romantic description about every single woman who would be there. I told the women to imagine they were the heroines of a romance, descending a grand staircase, and the hero was waiting at the bottom, really seeing them for the first time. The descriptions included references to queenly red locks that spoke of fire and passion, elfin features full of joy and mischief, the deep, soft eyes of a doe, and a "smile [that] carried the sweetness of hearth and home, with turquoise eyes that held the depths of the Caribbean within them." I tried to make them sound extra romantic.

I read each one and had the women guess who it was describing. I was surprised to discover how many of the specific descriptions I'd written applied to more than one woman!

The exercise was just supposed to be a simple object lesson, with the hope that the women would begin to see themselves differently. I was totally unprepared for the results. The reaction after class was extraordinary. I got lots of comments—most of them emotional reactions to what they'd heard about themselves and each other. Afterwards, one woman asked me if I'd noticed D (the SEVENTY-year-old with the soft eyes of a doe), when I'd said it was a description of her. "She sat up straight in her chair like she was a new woman for the rest of the lesson."

The woman with Caribbean eyes came up to me afterward, crying, because she'd never thought of herself like that before.

The other surprising result was that, to this day, I still look at D and am drawn to her beautiful brown doe eyes first. I see C and immediately think of the Caribbean. M will always be the mischievous elfin sprite to me (I found out later she's part Irish).

I hope their perspective of themselves changed that day and that they recognize the beauty found in their uniqueness. I know my perspective of them did.  

http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2005/10/to-young-women?lang=eng&query=self+worth+women