Dazed and Confused

Writers Cramp

"Greeting cards have all been sent--
The Christmas Rush is through.
But I've still got one wish to make,
a special one for you . . . ."

Please, PLEASE, buy my new book!!!  (Out February 3rd.)

I've spent the past two days getting ready for my big "independent bookstore campaign."  I've been contacting bookstores and asking them if they'd like signed bookmarks.  So far, 19 have taken me up on the offer.  That means I've signed just about 700 bookmarks -- IN TWO DAYS. 

I'm extremely grateful to these wonderful independent bookstores for graciously taking the bookmarks, and offering to hand sell my book.  I've received some terrific feedback, too.  One manager (of an independent mystery bookstore) said Murder Is Binding was one of her best selling titles for 2008. 

Best selling?  My little book???  Think about the competition--and my book sold well for her?  Yee-ha!

Another said, "The book has done well.  We've sold 12 copies."  Now 12 copies doesn't sound like a lot -- but this is in a town I'll probably never visit.  And maybe sending some bookmarks will help sell 15 copies of Bookmarked for Death for her.

Several stores have told me they've already ordered copies and have readers eagerly awaiting the books.

Wow.  I'm really, really pleased to hear that. 

I still have a number of stores to hear from -- so I anticipate signing a few hundred more bookmarks.  And you know what?  I won't mind a bit.

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If you can, please support your local independent bookstore.  Don't know where that is?  Visit IndieBound.  Or how about one of the mystery bookstores scattered around the country (and in Canada!  I'm sending bookmarks to the Whodunit Mystery Bookstore in Winnipeg).

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas

Junk Food Heaven

Holy cow!  It's Christmas Eve and you know what that means?  JUNK FOOD TONIGHT!!!

For years the Bartlett clan (small as we are) has gotten together on Christmas Eve and indulged in stuff that's just plain fattening, definitely not good for us, and De-Lish!  This year will be no different.  

The top thing on the menu is Pink Dip.  For as long as I can remember, we've had Pink Dip at every get together.  It's easy.  Eight ounces of cream cheese, ketchup, a little minced onion, and mayo.  We don't measure anything.  Just toss the stuff in until it looks and tastes right.  Sometimes I use "horsey" sauce instead of mayo -- sometimes cocktail sauce instead of ketchup.  It's never the same and it's always good.  (With either potato chips or veggies.)

Pizza.  We usually buy it from Sam's Club just because we can heat and serve it when we want, instead of waiting for the pizza delivery guy to show.  It's the one with everything on it -- but we pick off the (icky) canned olive slices.  Sorry, Terri--but you're the only one who likes them.  (Maybe I'll put them in a little Rubbermaid container for her.)

About five years ago, I got an antipasto recipe from Taste of Home magazine.  It's all mixed up together like a salad, instead of the traditional way of serving it.  My Dad really likes it so I make it for him every year.

Shrimp with hot (horseradish) cocktail sauce.  The truth is, I'm shrimp intolerant--can't eat the stuff without barfing--but the rest of the family loves it, so it's always on the menu.

We'll also have nuts, holiday peanut M&Ms, and Christmas cookies.  Yum.

And then tomorrow, we'll do it all over again.

What's on your Christmas menu?

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Paper Weight

I confess:  I'm a big-time lover of Christmas.  I love everything about it.  The lights, the trees, the food, the music.  And I love to read just about everything about this wonderful holiday season.

I have another confession:  I cannot part with old Christmastime magazines.  I have Christmas issues of Country Living and Country Home (this one is from December 1999) that go back to the 1980s, and every year I haul them out and reread them (or at least look at the pictures).

I have issues of old (English) Country Living magazine from years gone by that my mother gave to me.  Old December issues of Better Homes and Gardens, Cottage Living, Martha Stewart Living, Mary Engelbreit's Home Companion and much, much more.  I remember the articles and still manage to enjoy them.  (I like and always reread one in the December 2000 issue of ME's Home Companion called "Have A Merry Mitzvah" (by Rachel Kornblum) about how Jewish people do good deeds at Christmastime like take their Christian colleague's shifts in hospitals, go caroling in Nursing Homes, etc.  It includes pictures of the two cutest little girls--who are probably in college by now.

Then there are all my favorite Christmas "annuals."  Christmas with Victoria.  Christmas with Southern Living.  Country Woman Christmas.

I have a bunch of Christmas children's books.  Naturally, The Polar Express; but then I have some that you've probably never heard.  "Emma's Christmas Wish" by Sallyann J. Murphy (and illustrated by Cary Phillips), Christmas Tree Sam by Helen D. Olds (copyright 1952--before I was even born; got it at a garage sale for a quarter); A Pussycat's Christmas by Margaret Wise Brown (illustrated by Anne Mortimer); The Christmas Robin (an English "Ladybird" book), adapted by David Hately from the Wise Robin by Noel Barr; and the extremely tacky (photographic) Merry Christmas America:  A Front Yard View of the Holidays.

At some time during the holiday season I will listen to Patrick Stewart read (an abridged version of) Dickens' A Christmas Carol (and look at the wonderful illustrated version of the book by Italian artist Roberto Innocenti.

Come Friday, I'll put all these books and magazines away until next year.  But they'll be waiting for me to take out and enjoy again, and again, and again . . . .

All I want for Christmas is . . .

It seems like every time I turn on the TV there's an infomercial on for the GT Xpress 101 -- it's a little countertop cooker thingy.  The show is hosted by "TV Personality and food expert" Cathy Mitchell.  (And there she is!)

(And just who the heck is Cathy Mitchell?)

Mind you, she's got a personality all right, and her cooking demonstration for this little - sandwich? - machine leaves my mouth watering.  I'm not kidding you, I've seen this infomercial at least 20 times, and every time I'm not only mesmerized, I'm actually tempted to buy the damn thing.  (I love it when they show the infomercial twice in a row on a Sunday morning.  Heck, there's nothing else on the tube to watch.)

Cathy and her pal Joe Farago (I feel like we're all friends by this time) show you about 20 different things you can make.  The thing comes with a cookbook with 101 recipes -- hence, the name, I guess.  As an omelet lover, this thing really appeals to me.  It heats up fast, it's easy to clean -- and you can toss in leftovers.  Doesn't a Brussels sprouts and green bean omelet appeal to you, too?

I couldn't capture pictures of the food you can cook with the GT Xpress 101, but check out a slideshow at this link.  Don't you want to just manga?  And you can see part of the infomercial here.

We got an electric sandwich maker as a wedding gift nearly 18 years ago.  I think we used it once.  (I don't eat toasted cheese sandwiches.)  So the truth is, if I got one of these things, I'd probably use it twice.  Once for the novelty -- and a second time just to prove it wasn't just a novelty.  Forty bucks (for two of them--and why would I need two?) is just too much to pay for that.  (Then again . . . garage sale season starts up again in April!)

In the meantime, I guess I'll just tune in to see Cathy and Joe several times a weekend -- until the next thing they go to sell comes around.  Then I'll watch that infomercial dozens of times, too.  

And what infomercial catches your attention?

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow--NOT!

Inevitably, about this time of year someone will lament "no White Christmas?"

I always think that person is either a recluse or has been brainwashed by one too many a chorus of the Irving Berlin song.

I live in Western New York--in a snow belt.  The words "lake-effect snow" petrify me. 

My ideal Christmas is sunny, the grass is green, and the forecast says clear skies for the foreseeable future.  It's happened more than once--and those are the Christmases I love the best.  No skidding down icy roads doing those last-minute errands or visiting friends and relatives.  No shoveling and heart attacks.

Today's forecast is for 9 inches of the stuff.

ARRRRRRGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stop!  Go away!!  HURRY SPRING!!!

PET PEEVE THURSDAY

I love cats.  Hell, I've been owned by them since I was six years old.  But sometimes, I swear, they're not cats--they're pigs!

Oh, but cats are clean!  Sure they are.  Chester sits under my husband's 200 watt light bulb every morning and takes an hour bath.  But before he gets there, he's made a mess of his breakfast placemat.  Chester, and the others, seem to have some aversion to eating out of a CLEAN BOWL.  No, they'd rather take the food OUT OF the clean bowl and put it on the floor, also bypassing the placemat that sits under the clean bowl.

Any why do I find cat litter in places they aren't supposed to go?  Like my dining room table?  I've seen them use the box (in the laundry room), walk all the way across the house (a rambling ranch) and then expel the litter from their toes. 

I'm about ready to train them to use the toilet.  The only problem is--can I teach them to flush?

What's bugging you today?

Sticker fun!

If there were stickers around when I was a kid, I never knew about them.  In my early 20s, I was into rubber stamps.  Not like people are today, with embossing powders and doing gorgeous cards and scrapbooking.  I just liked to stamp my letters (and envelopes) to friends.  (And I used to write a LOT of letters.  Now I do e-mails.)

Back in the summer, I came across some little cat stickers that Hubby had put in my Christmas stocking some years before.  I'd never used them, but decided -- why not?  And I have a reason to use them now:  my Booktown series features a cat.  Little Miss Marple is a scene stealer, and many of my readers are cat lovers.  So when I send out a bookplate or a bookmark, I always put a cat sticker on the envelope.

Of course, the stickers Hubby gave me all those years ago are running low.  The next thing I know, I'm in Michaels and pawing through the nine gazillion stickers looking for cats.  I had hoped to find something similiar to what I'd been using.  No such luck, but I did find some nice cat stickers. 

It was difficult to stop at just one package of stickers--so I stopped at two.  The second set?  Wonderful china teacups, saucers and teapots.  Whoa!  They are so majorly cute it makes you want to puke!  Luckily, I had a coupon for 40% off, so I could get the EXPENSIVE one ($1.99) for almost half price.

Now I'm looking for more excuses to use these stickers.  I mean, really, I don't write about a tea shop (doesn't Laura Childs have that series sewn up?), so where am I going to use them?

I have no idea.  But even if I don't, I can look at them.  And if they bring me a smile, they were well worth the investment.

That's my story and I'm sticking with it.  (But if you have any ideas on where I should use them--speak up!)

No one has to lose for me to win

Years ago, a friend (and mentor) of mine gave me a tape of "Affirmations for Writers" by Lawrence Block.  When things got really depressing (like ... a ton of rejections letters in the mailbox--all arriving on one day), I would haul out that tape and listen to it for hours on end.  It was supposed to make me feel better.  I'm not sure it did.  But I kept taking the damn thing out -- and even made a copy of it because I thought I'd probably wear it out one day.

Good thing I did.  Once I decided to abandon the amateur realm, it took just over eleven years to actually sell my first novel.  During those dark nights of the soul, I'd often hear Lawrence Block's voice in the back of my mind, repeating over and over again those affirmations.

No one has to lose for me to win.

Yesterday, I received a devastating piece of news.  I had hoped to sell the paperback rights to Dead In Red.  As it turns out, that's not going to happen.  So, whatever hardback sales I have (mostly to libraries--and not that many of them) is all I'm going to get.  Mind you, my paperback for the first book in the series sold 21,000 copies.  Twenty-one thousand readers is only a drop in the bucket for authors like Stephen King and Nora Roberts, but to me--it's HUGE.

Did I want to take a saw-toothed knife to my throat and start cutting?

The books in my Jeff Resnick series are the "books of my heart" (as they are known in the romance genre).  The sad fact is ... my Lorna Barrett nom-de-plume is going to be much more successful than my own name.  It breaks my heart.  I've still got two more books already written in the Jeff Resnick series.  And sadly, if they are published, they are going to find an extremely miniscule audience.  As I mentioned, my publisher for that series targets libraries.  And the $26 hardcover price is just too much for most anyone (especially in this precarious economy) to part with.

 No one has to lose for me to win.

So on the same day it was bittersweet for me to learn that two of my Guppy pals had wonderful news to share yesterday.  My pals Merideth Cole had a wonderful review for her book Posed For Murder, and author Liz Zelvin just sold a short story to Ellery Queen magazine. 

 No one has to lose for me to win.

I'm not lying when I say I'm so very happy for them--because Lawrence Block was right:  No one has to lose for me to win.

But ... I still can't help wishing the my Jeff Resnick series had a chance to win.

Dark night of the soul.  Yes, that I'm experiencing right now.

But you know what?  No one has to lose for me to win.

And why shouldn't my friends win?  I wish them all the best.  I wish them best-sellerdom.  We all have talent. We all have characters we love.

But, sadly, we can't all be winners.  Right now...I feel like a loser.

The Christmas Crunch

I'm not the only one who's feeling the Christmas crunch.  The tree is up, so are the lights, most of the shopping is done.  So why don't I feel in a particularly Christmasy mood?  It isn't the economy.  (Goodness knows, when I get my 401K report any minute now, I may regret that statement.) 

The weather?  (Sort of.)

The thought of starting the new book (with few ideas) in a couple of weeks?  (Definitely, but I'm trying not to think about it.)

So, what's with this feeling of melancholy?

I've come to the conclusion that my problem is cookies. 

I keep threatening hubby that I'm going to make some Christmas cookies.  I keep looking at recipes (the newspaper has a new recipe every night for twelve days) and pawing through magazines, but the truth is that  cookies just aren't going to happen.  I walk past the bakery department in Wegmans and stare at the cut-out cookies, the macaroons, and the almost paste cookies.  (They're ten bucks a pound, so were I inclined to bite, the cost keeps me in line.)

Mind you, we're not the kind of people to sit down and eat a bag of chips or a package of cookies.  In fact, I rarely have them in the house.  Our problem is portion size.  And the worst?  We both work on computers.  That means sitting for most of the day.  Until his knees went bad, we used to walk at the mall five days a week.  Haven't done that in almost three years.  (Could a treadmill be in my future?)

Come January 1st, we're on a diet.  I want to lose weight and hubby's knees need him to lose weight, too, so -- diet we'll do. 

Still, if I'm depressed about the IDEA of starting a diet, imagine how crabby I'll be when I'm actually on it.

Under the heading of WEIRD

Last week, while shilling my books, I had a discussion with a woman who didn't get that I wrote DEAD IN RED.  Mind you, I had a sign around my neck that said L.L. Bartlett--AUTHOR, but the book has plastered across it "A Jeff Resnick Mystery."  Somehow she couldn't grasp the concept that Jeff Resnick, a fictional character, hadn't written the book, nor why my name was on the cover, too.

*Sigh*

Fast forward.  Yesterday I had to send the cover to a reader list.  Yup, it's pretty.  And I was admiring it and . . . hey, wait a minute.  It doesn't say "A Jeff Resnick Mystery" splashed across the front.  But . . .  didn't I just see a copy that DID say "A Jeff Resnick Mystery?"

So I grabbed a copy off my bookshelf.  Yup -- it does.  But none of the artwork my publisher provided me (and Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and anywhere else online) is there a copy of the "final" artwork with the Jeff Resnick "brand" on the front.

And why did it take me six months to notice that?

Yup.  WEIRD.  (Maybe I should scan the cover, eh?)

And the nominees are . . .

It's official, DEAD IN RED and MURDER IS BINDING are both up on the Mystery Writers of America's list of books submitted for the Edgar -- which is the Mystery genre's equivalent of the Oscars.

What're the chances of my work making the short list of nominees?

Zippity do-dah.

What're the chances of me actually winning?

Can you say a cold day in hell?

First of all, MWA isn't exactly the world's most "woman-friendly" organization.  Sure, women have won the award before (in fact, I think they got so much flack about the 2007 awards that they bent over backwards to make sure there were woman winners in 2008), but they're just paying lip service to cozy mystery authors, who are looked down by those in the MWA hierarchy--and much of the (male) membership. 

Bitter?  Me?  Not in the least.  I like to think of myself as realistic.

And to tell the truth, it feels good to see my name(s) up there on the list, even though I know it was my publishers who submitted the book(s).  And in fact, I'm pretty sure my publishers know there's no chance in hell for their authors to win, either.  But we all pretend like we're on equal footing.

Awards are actually pretty meaningless. Outside the industry, does anybody really know an Edgar from a Rita, from an Agatha, from an Anthony, from a Berry (or is that Barry?), from a Pushcart, and on and on?  It's an ego thing, and I'm not above admitting I'd love to have the words "award-winning author" either in front of or behind my name.

Except for the Rita, most of these awards aren't particularly beautiful.  But I admit it.  I want one.  No, two.  No, three. 

Honest, I'm not greedy, just needy. 

PET PEEVE THURSDAY

Today I welcome my fellow Writers Plot blogger and author extraordinare Kate Flora, author of the Thea Kozak mysteries and also the Joe Burgess mysteries.  Her topic has to do with cell phone etiquette.

Today's Pet Peeve:  People who don't stop talking on their cell phones while doing transactions at the bank or the grocery store.

First of all, because it is just incredibly rude to act as though the cashier/teller isn't there or isn't a human worth acknowledging. Second, because it invariably slows the transaction way down, because each time the cashier/teller asks the talker to do something, like answer a question, sign something, push a button, rerun the card, etc., the talker doesn't hear it and so doesn't act. Plus, I can imagine how it feels to be the person who is waiting on that talker and is completely ignore while being treated to a top volume barrage of whatever numb conversation the person wants to have.

I think we're in danger of losing any sense of connectedness when we can't be bothered to be civil to the people we're actually with because we're remotely connected to others.

What's bugging you today?

Remind me, why do I love living in Western New York...?

Winter has arrived in Western New York.  Snow.  Howling Winds.  And yet, I've vowed not to leave this area.  Not to travel to southern climates for winters.  To stay put.  Forever.

I must be out of my friggin' mind!

Saturday it was dry and cold.  A day later it was snowy and COLD and miserable.  And I had to go out in it to run an errand.  I HATE WINTER.

So why am I going to stay here for the rest of my life?

Well, it's home.  I guess that really says it all.  Mind you, it didn't have to be home.  My parents emmigrated to the U.S. before I was born.  Of course, their sponsor lived here, so that had a lot of do with why they originally landed here.  And the climate here was a lot different from where they came from.  (Portsmouth, England.)  Still, there was nothing really holding them to this area.  Okay, gainful employment may have had a lot to do with that.  But really ... WINTER.  (Snow, snow--and did I mention SNOW!)

Still, there are perks.  It's one of the prettiest states in the country.  (Okay, it can't hold a candle to Maine, Vermont, and parts of New Hampshire.)  It's also got the highest taxes in the country.  (Ouch!)  It's got cold winters and humid summers.

What we don't have:  Earthquakes.  Wild fires.  Tornadoes (at least not often).  Hurricanes.  Mudslides.  (Yea!)

Of course, besides my family members (and there aren't that many of us), the other reason I stay here is our family's cottage.  I love that place.  It's got the most gorgous view in the world (aside from just about all of Scotland), and it's quiet (well, at least when there aren't a lot of jet skis zooming by).  It's got swans.  It's got geese.  It's got ducks.  How come we never get sick of watching them?  And what about that silly kingfisher who likes to beat a fish to death before he eats it?  And the hummingbirds who visit each summer.  (And have dogfights.) 

Of course this time of year, there's no cottage.  Well, it's there--but it's a seasonal place.  No water.  No heat.  And remember I mentioned snow up above?  Being on the water, it gets about TEN TIMES the amount of snow we get here (and I live about 2 miles from Lake Ontario).  According to those who live there year-round, come winter it's like living on the moon.  White sky, white world, bitterly cold. 

But I think about that place, and hot summer nights, when the biting wind howls.  I look at the painting my hubby did that hangs over my computer.  It keeps me connected to that wonderful place on the coldest, darkest nights (and days) of winter.

Thinking about that little house on the water makes me yearn for warmer weather.  I start to plan the bean crop I'll plant over Memorial Day Weekend.  I think about planting the annuals in the window box (which are actually mounted to the deck, not windows).  I think about seeing the two electric palm trees across the bay that delight us every night.  I think about our neighbor's dock lights that come on at dusk.  (Aah! Two minutes later than last night (in June) and two minutes earlier every night come fall.)

Thinking about that little house gives me hope through the long, long winter.

I can't wait for spring.

The clock is ticking

December is kind of a freefall month.  Everything kind of gets sucks into the Christmas vacuum and nothing else gets done.  (You should see that pile of laundry waiting to get washed.) 

Already in the back of my mind, the next book is lurking.  I need to get going on it on January 2nd and no messing about.  This thing has got to be done.  And with a lot more diligence than the last couple of books.  Why?  Well, I'm hoping to sell that other series.  If I do -- God, I'll probably go stark raving mad, because then I'll have even more deadlines.

That said, I haven't got a clue what the next book is about.  Okay, I lied.  I have three sentences that tell me what the next book is about.  But I don't know anything other than the facts (about three) stated on those sentences.  Three sentences does not an 80,000 word book make. 

So even though I'm not actively writing (I'm still revising the other ms., thank you), I'm already getting nervous and fretful.  What if I forgot how to write a book since October?  What if I can't pull it off again?  What the hell was I thinking when I put those three sentences together and my editor went for it?

Oy.

Christmas Cards

A lot of people think that sending Christmas cards is a PITA.  I disagree.  I love to send Christmas cards and I love to receive them, too.

Those of you who were reading this blog last year might remember I posted a different vintage Christmas card every day from December 1st through New Year's.  I bought a bunch of new-to-me vintage cards this summer -- put them somewhere safe, and now I can't find them.  So I couldn't repeat that.  And, truthfully, not many people tuned in to see my wonderful, beautiful, terrific, cards.  : (

The days of me buying expensive cards (or anything else--except books and music) are over, so I usually buy my cards after Christmas during the 50-75% off sales, and if you hit the stores early, you can get some nice ones.  But I also need to send cards that are long enough to toss in a bookmark.  (Hey, I get more bang for my buck that way.)  So this year I had to buy some cards BEFORE Christmas.  (Blasphemy.)

I'm looking forward to pulling my list together and doing my cards.  Sometimes I include a Christmas letter to a few old friends, but mostly I just scribble (and if you saw my handwriting, you'd agree) a few lines.  I like to hear from my pals, and I must be one of the few people who actually enjoys receiving those holiday letters filled with news.  Last year I participated in a "card exchange" with strangers from one of the cozy mystery lists I read.  I got a couple of letters from people I didn't know--filled with news about even more people I didn't know.  One was written by the family's adorable little dog--and included a picture.  I loved it!  (I wear bangs so that people can't see the words SUCKER that's written on my forehead.)

I keep a lot of the cards I receive, too.  One of my favorite cards came from my Grandfather.  He died back in the 1980s.  Every year I pull out that card and hang it.  I look at the words he wrote and lament the fact I barely knew him.  But he wrote "love Grandpa" and I have no doubt he did love me.  It never fails to move me to tears.

Christmas cards are one of my favorite things about the holiday season.  How about you?

PET PEEVE THURSDAY

Today I welcome my chum, mystery author Sheila Connolly.  She writes the Orchard Mystery Series, and who also writes the Glassblowing mystery series under the name Sarah Atwell.  Sheila's peeve is holiday catalogs.

CATALOGS
For a nation that is aware of "green" issues, we waste a whole lot of paper on catalogs, particularly in this season.  The holiday gift catalogs started arriving just after Labor Day, and they haven't stopped. 
 
I'll confess that when I was young, my sister and I eagerly anticipated the annual F.A.O. Schwarz catalog, and would pore over it, circling the things we really, REALLY wanted.  Since my generous grandmother lived in New York City, within walking distance of the home store, we actually had a chance of getting some of the goodies.
 
But that was then, and this is now.  I know the Internet has had a major impact on how we shop and how we buy.  I'm as guilty as anyone, as I troll websites and compare prices for almost any major purchase, and quite a few minor ones (like, who has the best price on my favorite kind of bubble bath, which costs under $3 a bottle).  And I'll admit that I enjoy looking at the pretty, pricey catalogs, especially the ones from museums like the Smithsonian and the Metropolitan.  There are so many beautiful things that I never knew existed, and of course, once I've seen them, I start coveting them.
 
But in today's precarious economy, that's not a good thing.  Sellers understandably are trying to seduce buyers with glossy photos, but if the buyers have no money, they feel frustrated and angry.  I want that Pretty Thing!  And I can't have it!  Not good for morale.
 
Maybe by next year we will smarten up and save a few trees.  Or I'll have to see if catalogs make good mulch.

What's bugging you today?

Bad teeth

Lately Whoopi Goldberg has been telling The View audience about her dental problems.  She has gum disease.  Why?  Even with great insurance, she neglected her teeth.  She didn't brush or floss enough.  She's in BIG dental trouble.

You'd think I would've learned my lesson.  I mean, we let the roof go, patching it for about six years, before we figured we could afford to have it fixed.  It ended up costing us almost double.

So when I lost my dental insurance three years ago, I was in the same mindset.  Until last week.  Then suddenly, not only did I have a loose crown, but a toothache.  (Okay and I had lost a quarter of a tooth, but since it didn't hurt (and still doesn't), I figured I could wait until it did.)

So, yesterday I went to my new dentist.  She's just down the road from me, with a nice office, and extremely nice office staff.  (And she's nice, too!)  But she didn't have good news for me. 

I felt like a very bad girl.  Okay, I know I should brush more -- and I have with my new toothpaste (see last week's blog), but I'm not a faithful flosser, mainly because my crowns are so tight, the stuff shreds and then I have little strings stuck between my teeth and it drives me NUTS.

But now I have a real problem (gingivitis), the loose crown, a cracked filling, the 3/4 tooth, and a tooth that is so far gone it can't be filled.  To crown or extract--that is the question.

I sure hope there's a really BIG royalty check somewhere in my future.

Trotting Out Holiday Favorites

On a recent visit to my local bookstore, I wandered through the mystery section to see what was new (and did they have copies of my book(s) and those of my friends).  On all the cap ends were holiday mysteries.  Lots of them.  Whoa! 

A quick look at the copyright dates proved that these were NOT new books getting preferential treatement, but that the bookstore was trotting out seasonal backlists to satisfy readers' desire to get in the holiday spirit with a little touch of murder.

Some bigger-name authors get their holiday books re-released every year with "new-improved" editions, with extras.  (Can you think of a better thing?  New editions--something every collector will want and NEED!) Ka-ching, ka-ching!

I told another writer friend that we needed to write holiday books that could be trotted out every year.  Unfortunately, it's usually the publisher--not the author--who decides these things.

Still, I do have a holiday story I can trot out every year.  Okay, it's available year-round, and I rarely trot.  It's titled:  "We're So Sorry, Uncle Albert."  I wanted to explore the relationship between the have and have nots within a family unit. What would it take to goad family members to even consider bumping off a “loved one?” And what are the possibilities of getting away with such a crime?  And it's set during the holiday season.

You can find it on Amazon (click on the link over there on the right side), and for only 49 cents. 

Such a deal!

Will I ever write a novel set at Christmas?  Well . . . maybe.  I do have one in the closet that takes place around Thanksgiving -- and the epilogue takes place on Christmas Eve.  Another of my unsold manuscripts takes place Halloween week and ends--you got it--at Christmastime!

Neither of them are truly holiday oriented, so it looks like it'll be a while (if ever) before any of my backlist gets trotted out for the holidays.

(But one never knows.)

Quick--hand me a tissue!

I do not have a cold.  That said, I've had a stuffy nose for a week now.  Is it allergies?  Is it a sinus infection?  I don't know.  All I know is I've gone through two boxes of tissues, a tube of chap stick, a lot of Vick's vap-o-rub (I stick it under my nose), and used my neti pot at least 20 times. 

According to Hubby, every time I sneeze, it takes a year off his life.  Okay, they are kind of loud-but often I don't know they're coming and the next thing you know, out comes a sneeze that came right up from my toes and builds a head of steam on the way.

Of course, nights are worse than the days.  Most of the day I'm okay.  In fact, I don't blow my nose for hours on end.  And though I sound all nasal, I can breathe perfectly well.  But the minute I lie down.  STUFFED.

I've upped my vitamin C.  I've been eating homemade chicken (and turkey) soup.  I'm working at getting rid of this creeping crud.  It's just taking toooo long. 

Anybody got a home remedy that would help?