The Procrastination Zone

Friends and Colleagues . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Fri, 10 Oct 2008 14:52:00 +0000

Last weekend, my critique group (five ladies who make up the Plot Queens) rented a cabin in Silver River State Park from Friday to Sunday. The intended reason for the retreat was to get together in a relaxed atmosphere and help each other over some writing stumbling blocks sans the interruptions of friends and family and the outside world in general.

Amidst the laughter of late nights, Heather Waters, Vickie King, Kat McMahon, Laura Barone and I plotted five books and critiqued three first chapters. Productive? Absolutely. But we accomplished much more. We became reacquainted as friends.

There were no frills. I don’t think any of us did our hair or makeup. The uniform of the day was sweats, T-shirts, shorts and bare feet. Hey, when we relax, we relax! The cabin was beautiful: two bedrooms, a pullout couch, a full bath and kitchen (with a dishwasher), a dining area and a gas fireplace in the living room. Note I did not mention a phone or a TV. But the big draw, and where we spent most of our time, was a wraparound screened porch with rockers and a picnic table. We even got serenaded by our neighbors’ stab at karioke and visited by one of the characters from my books, Fluffy the armadillo.

But all that was window dressing. The real discovery was remembering what makes each of us laugh, pet names we’ve given each other, what foods we like and don’t like (and we had enough of that to feed us for weeks instead of three days and the biggest share seemed to be chocolate and chips), and how much we just enjoy each other’s company and talking writing.

My point here is that sometimes you just have to steal time for yourself with friends. It’s an invigorating process that fills an empty emotional tank and makes the rest of your life, no matter how crappy it is, seem not so bad. Family is an essential part of all our lives, but sometimes you just need to get away from the responsibilities and the day-to-day, humdrum existence of doing for everyone but yourself.

Laugh until your sides ache. Stay up until you get so silly everything makes you laugh. Eat all the things you wouldn’t normally let past your lips. Worry more about making your soul beautiful than you do about how you look on the outside. Share yourself with people who may not be able to solve your problems, but are at least willing to really listen. Go to a place where there’s no TV and phone, just people you love and who love you.

Blessings,
Elizabeth

NO ROOM FOR FLYING PIRANHAS . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 16:50:00 +0000

Here we go again . . . three hurricanes heading for Florida. I’ve decided that Mother Nature has a warped sense of humor. Since us mere mortals have figured out how to survive one hurricane at a time, she’s decided to throw them at us in multiples.

It’s not enough that the last few have given birth to hoards of mosquitoes the size of 747's with appetites like starving piranhas. It’s getting so you have to have a blood transfusion to get from the house to the car. Now, she’s gonna make sure that they have an opportunity to multiply even more with more rain and more standing water.

Since my backyard is concealed for the most part beneath large puddles of rain water, I’d thought about building an ark. If I do, you can bet that when I start gathering the animals two-by-two, there will be no room for two mosquitoes. They’re on their own.

Okay, I’m done complaining. I’ll just sit here and itch my bites and wait for the next storm forecast. In the meantime, all of you in the path of these storms, please stay safe. Don’t take chances. Keep those you love close and out of harm’s way. And please, don’t forget the animals. There are motels who allow animals, so don’t leave them behind because you’re afraid you won’t be able to get a motel room to ride out the storms.

Stay safe, secure and dry.
Blessings,
Elizabeth

DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 23:35:00 +0000

I know I said this blog would not be addressing writing concerns, but something happened on another loop I’m on that made me decide to talk about this here. So this post is for all you aspiring writers out there.

One of the posters on the aforementioned loop asked how she could get 250 words/25 lines per manuscript page and seemed quite stressed that she couldn’t manage it. Replies poured in giving her all kinds of clever ways to adjust this and that and assuring her that "their method" would work. Whether any of them did or not, I don’t know.

The entire series of posts immediately brought to mind a Spotlight on Harlequin/Silhouette panel I attended at one of the RWA conferences. I can’t recall who was on the panel, but when one editor’s turn came to speak, she held up a sheet of paper, whipped out a ruler and began to dramatically measuring the margins. When she was done, she laid both down and looked at the audience and smiled. She said "I have neither the time nor the inclination to measure your margins. Don’t sweat the small stuff. Concentrate on what I need to see to buy your book–the story."

It seems that aspiring writers spend so much time worrying about the size or their margins, the number of lines per page, the type of font and size that they don’t give enough attention to the elements that will ultimately sell the book. To my knowledge, no book has ever been rejected because any of the things that I just listed were wrong.

That’s not to say that you can use an elegant, ornate script type face for the book or that you should single space the lines or print out your proposal/manuscript on colored paper. There are basic no-nos. So I’m going to list some of the do’s and don’ts of formatting a book and the reason for each, and I hope that it will relieve a lot of the tension. After all, trying to sell your first book is stressful enough without worrying about things that don’t matter all that much.

PAGE FORMATTING:
Margins – 1' to 1 1/4" is acceptable
Double-spaced – only in a synopsis is 1.5 line spacing acceptable
Both of the above measurements leaves room for editors to make notes
Headers -- the title of the book, your name and a page number must appear on EVERY page
Use your full name, especially if your last name is a common one such as Smith
Drop down approximately 1/3 of the page to start the chapter text
The text on all the other pages should begin at the top of the page
Each chapter should start on a new page

Paper, font and type size:
Use only 20 LB, white bond, 8 ½ x 11
12 point New Times Roman or Courier (Preferably Dark Courier) is acceptable or any type face with a foot (serif)
It’s proven that these type faces cause less eye strain than sans serif (footless type faces such as Arial or Helvetica). Since editors look at 100s of manuscripts a week, preventing eye strain is a huge benefit to them.

Word count:
Most publishers are no longer asking for an approximate word count. This is a word count derived from multiplying the number of words per line x the lines on the page x the number of pages. This counts a line with one word as aline with 13 or 15 words.

They are now asking for exact word count or machine word count, which is found on a drop-down menu in your word processing program. This way counts only the words in the document, no white space fill-ins IE: phantom words.

In Word, the word count can be found by clicking on "Recount" on the upper right of the tool bar.
In Word Perfect it can be found by clicking on the "Tools" drop down menu, then clicking on "Word Count/Info."

Please keep in mind that publishers and agents may have different requirements and that this is only the standard formatting.

Good luck!
Blessings,
Elizabeth

Incredible!!!!!!!!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 21:35:00 +0000

Hi everyone --

Last week my husband surprised me with a cruise to the Bahamas. I have to admit that I was not all that enthused about going. Not because I don't love cruises. I really do. But I was staring at line edits for my upcoming Silhouette Romantic Suspense, BURNING SECRETS, and at a manuscript that needed some heavy editing before I could write more. So, reluctantly, I packed the line edits in my suitcase, with all good intentions of being a good author and doing them while I was gone. (I should have known that would never happen.)

Anyway, we decide to do a couple of shore excursions. In Freeport, we chose the dolphin encounter. All I can say is it was THE most amazing experience of my life.

We all sat around a pool area about 1/4 the size of a basketball court with our feet dangling in the water. The trainer brought out two dolphins, Indie and Andre. We were warned that if we didn't show enough enthusiasm for their tricks they would get bored. So he encouraged us to react with great enthusiasm-- clapping and yelling, which we did. What the trainer didn't say was that the more enthusiastic we were, the more enthusiastic the dolphins' reactions would be.

My husband and I joined in with everyone yelling and clapping exuberantly. Evidently, we were over the top with our reaction. Both dolphins circled the pool, stopped in front of us, came out of the water, did a half gainer in mid air and came back down . . . with a resounding slap and very wet results for us. Much to the crowd's delight, a wave of water enveloped both of us.

Then, two-by-two, we all got into the pool and the dolphins came up between us so we could pet them and rub their bellies. In return, they kissed each of us to say thanks. When the trainer found out my husband and I had been married longer than anyone else there, he instructed the dolphins to deliver an anniversary kiss. That's the wonderful photo at the top of this blog.

I've been asked since we came home what the dolphins felt like. Are they slimy? The answer is: no, they are not slimy. They feel like wet rubber. I will say that, and I didn't expect this, I found their noses hard. Having them kiss me was like being hit in the cheek with a 2x4. But it was fantastic!!!!!!!!!!

Here's hoping all your encounters are as sweet as ours was with Andre and Indie. By the way, they're twins and their mother's name is Chloe. Their father's name is Stud Muffin because it seems he really, really likes the other girl dolphins.

Blessings,

Elizabeth

The Best Laid Plans . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 16:35:00 +0000

Okay, before someone starts yelling at me again, I figured I'd better do a new blog post. I'm so bad about keeping this blog up to date (and I truly apologize for that), but my problem is trying to find something to write about that won't bore all of you into an unscheduled nap.

I'm sure you're all familiar with the saying that I started in the title of this blog post -- the best laid plans of mice and men do oft' times go astray. Well, in my circle of friends, we refer to those times as "Bertie moments." These are named for the heroine in my friend Dolores J Wilson's trilogy about Bertie Byrd, a tow truck driver who resides in a small Georgia town filled with people who intentionally or unintentionally turn her life to chaos on a daily basis.

It seems, since the advent of Dolores' books, my life has been filled with more than its share of "Bertie moments." Then again, perhaps they were there all the time, and I'm just more aware of them than before. Either way, I seem to be the center of chaotic events not of my making. For instance, in one day it took me almost 30 minutes to cash a check for $16.95 at my bank because a new teller could not get the concept that I was both Marge Smith and Elizabeth Sinclair. While she was trying to ascertain my true identity(after all $16.95 is a critically large amount), despite being told repeatedly that Elizabeth Sinclair is my pseudonym, an elderly lady drove in next to me at the drive-in teller. Upon hearing the sound of crunching metal, I turned to find she'd managed to wedge her car between the cement post, supposedly put there to keep people from doing this, and the machine that carries the deposits, etc to the teller two lanes over. It took four men about fifteen minutes to unstick her while she sat in her car and sobbed. My heart went out to her as she lived through her own "Bertie moment."

Following this adventure at the bank, and while waiting in a checkout line at the supermarket, a mother in front of me gave her 18 month old child a JAR of pickles to keep the little tyke happy while she loaded her groceries on the conveyor belt. Now, having raised three kids to adulthood, I knew immediately that this was NOT a good idea and one that could and did end in disaster. Yep. You saw it coming, too, right? Those little hands just couldn't hold onto that jar. It hit the floor with a resounding crash, and I was bathed in macerated pickles and brine. Needless to say, vinegar is not a scent I would have chosen to enhance my presence for the rest of the day.

"Bertie moments." Moments that are not perpetuated by you, but which have a way of gathering you into their arms and including you in the disastrous results.

But I digress.

So you don't think that I'm laying the blame at the feet of everyone else, I also have "Bertie moments" totally of my own making. One such moment happened recently while a friend and I made plans to attend a writers' conference on St Simons Island. Since she lives in the central part of the state, and I live closer to the coast, the plan was for her to drive to a mutual friend's house, leave her car and ride with me. The friend gave her explicit instructions on where to hide her car keys so that the friend's son could find them and move the car into the garage. It was an ingenius plan that left no room for error. Right? Wrong! You're forgetting the "Bertie moment."

I arrived shortly after she did, we hid the keys in the designated spot and moved her luggage into my car. As we drove down my friend's driveway, I spotted a young man working in the driveway with a leaf blower, and I assumed he was the friend's son (I hadn't seen him in a long time and wasn't sure what he looked like). As the old saying goes assuming makes an ass out of u and me, and I proceeded to prove it right.

I rolled down my window and yelled to the young man that we had hidden the keys on the electrical box as instructed so he could find them. He then informed me that he was NOT my friend's son. He was just there doing yard work. At which time there was nothing left for me to do but turn to my passenger and say "Well, if he wants to steal your car, he'll know where the keys are."

"Bertie moment."

Although while the "Bertie moments" are happening, you want to crawl into a hole and pull it in after you, in retrospect, they do bring a smile. And, after all, if I didn't have my brushes with these moments, Dolores wouldn't have much fodder (other than her own abundance of "Bertie moments") to fill her books.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: If you haven't already read them, and you're looking for a LOL read, check out Dolores' Bertie books at www.doloresjwilson.com How can you pass up books with titles like BARKING GOATS AND THE REDNECK MAFIA, BIG HAIR AND FLYING COWS and JAIL BERTIE AND THE PEANUT LADIES?

Have a great day, everyone, and may you have few "Bertie moments" coloring your life.
Blessings,
Elizabeth Sinclair

A pain in my neck . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 20:36:00 +0000

Have you ever taken your car to a mechanic for a tire change and ended up getting a new fuel pump, new brake shoes and new windshield wipers and then got home before you realized you have the same tires you went in with? Well, that’s how I felt after a recent visit to my doctor’s.

I’ve been having trouble with my neck and assumed, since I do spend way too much time at my computer, that it might be a pinched nerve or maybe something to do with the fact that I have three disintegrating disks in my neck. Since seeing a neurologist is out of the question without a referral from a GP, I went to my GP.

He immediately scheduled a battery of tests on everything from my throat to my large colon, including an MRI and a dozen or so x-rays of my neck.

Now, I’m not an anatomy specialist, but I have trouble figuring out what my large colon has to do with a pain in my neck. But who am I to argue with a medical degree? Close to $3000 later, I returned to my GP’s office for the verdict.

He sat down on that ridiculously small stool that all doctors have in their examination rooms, poured over my test results and declared me physicality fit, which seemed to be a disappointment to him. As he got up to leave, I asked about my neck. After all, that’s what had prompted me to shell out $200 for the office call to begin with. I felt it only fair that I get some kind of feedback on my original complaint for my bucks.

He looked at me as if I’d just asked him to surrender his first born to my custody and said "Oh, that’s arthritis," and promptly left. Stunned, I stared at the closed door, realizing as I did so that I had not only gotten a new fuel pump, new brake shoes and new windshield wipers, but I’d also had my system flushed and my check book cleaned out.

My question is this . . . do mechanics and doctors go to the same school for fleecing their customers?

Belssings,
Elziabeth, who still has a pain in her neck

Spring Has Sprung....

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 14:45:00 +0000

I am so glad spring has finally arrived. It's been a lousy winter. I came home with a killer head cold in December after enjoying a wonderful birthday cruise to the Caribbean with my husband and some friends. No sooner had I gotten rid of the cold than I got an upper repsiratory infection. The topper was what followed -- back-to-back bouts with a very nasty flu. All this while I was trying to meet a March 1st deadline for a book. Needlessto say, that didn't happen. The book was three weeks late. My first missed deadline in 18 years. Thank goodness for an understanding editor.

Okay. I'm done whining. My windows are wide open, and there's a balmy Florida breeze filling my office. Nothing their to whine about.

Although spring isn't the dramatic happening in Florida that it is in my home state of New York where the crocuses peek through the snow to announce Spring, it's till my favorite season. I just love seeing the earth come alive with mist of green blossoms on the trees and the grass taking on that rich, dark green hue. I love riding down the road and watching the new born calves frolicking in a field.

Maybe it's my age, but seeing the renewal of nature adds a feeling of continuity to my life that nothing else can. Even though the world looks dried up and dead, as if it will never again sustain life, it comes back full blast.

We need to adopt the ways of nature. When life looks as though it's never going to get better, we need to look toward the time of renewal when we can laugh again and revel in the joy of just being alive.

Happy Spring, my friends.
Blessings,
Elizabeth

Into The Mist release delay

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 18:20:00 +0000

Dear Readers,

Happy Easter to all! Happy Spring to those who don't observe Easter! Now that the Mother Nature has stowed winter for another year, I hope you all are enjoying warmer temperatures. After suffering through two go-rounds with the flu bug, I'm more than ready for spring and summer.

In themeantime, I'm frantically trying to finish ANGEL UNAWARE for Medallion Press which was due March 1st. Needless to say, thanks to ill health and other unforeseen problems, it's late. The good news is that I'm closing in on the end.

PLEASE NOTE:

For those of you who have ordered INTO THE MIST or are waiting for it to be released, there is going to be a delay.

The printer who prints Medallion's book had a fire in the plant last week. As such, it has delayed the printing of the March books. INTO THE MIST has been rescheduled as an April release and will be available not later than April 15th.

Both Medallion Press and I are very sorry for this delay and any inconvenience this my cause you. Thank you for your patience and your continued support.

Happy reading!

Elizabeth

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 22:15:00 +0000

Please understand, I love my husband dearly. He’s a good, kind, understanding, supportive, loving man and has been for all the forty six years of our married life together. He loves our children, is kind to our dogs, and good to his fellow man.

He does however, have one fault that drives me up the wall.

Unfortunately, he only hears what he’s interested in hearing. He has an astounding ability to concentrate on one thing to the point of not hearing or acknowledging the world around him. He claims he developed it during his growing up years when he chose to block out his mother. I believe him because no one could have developed this talent to this degree of perfection without years of practice.

He’s been known to start thinking about a project he’s working on and miss his exit off the Interstate. Not by one exit or two or three, but by almost one-hundred miles. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been talking to him, conveying something of importance, only to have him tell me a few days later that I never told him that. Infuriating, to say the very least.

Just such an incident happened last week. While watching one of our favorite TV shows, I waited patiently for a commercial, as is my normal practice because talking to him during a show is a lot like having a conversation with a stuffed bear. When the commercial finally came on, a very in-depth reenactment of how one tiny pink bunny was able to light up an entire city when the generators failed, he stared at the TV as though they were imparting the secret to world peace. Stupidly, I ignored his fixed expression and told him that I’d sold another book.

He grunted in response, said “Way to go, honey.” I therefore assumed that my words had penetrated the attention of a grown man mesmerized by this tiny, pastel rodent beating a drum. My mistake.

Lat night, I made the same announcement to my daughter on the phone. When I hung up, he glared at me and asked why I hadn’t told him first. I, in turn, told him I did tell him the same day I made the sale. That’s when the blank looks came over him and I got the old mantra “No you didn’t.”

One would think after forty six years I would have found the secret to communicating with the man I married. Not so. I spend most of my life feeling like that strange little man who travels around the globe saying “Can you hear me now?”

Until next time…

Blessings,
Elizabeth

Why NOT to get a wedding cake from Walmart . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 17:21:00 +0000

Permit me to have a small rant here:

To the left is a photo of the wedding cake Walmart delivered to my grandson's August wedding reception. The projected cost of this "leaning tower of cake and icing" was $150.00.

Some background: When my husband and I were asked to pick up the wedding cake on Friday night at 5 PM (The wedding was Saturday at 1.), we went to my daughter's local Walmart and asked for the cake. We were told, after a 30 minute search, that the cake was nowhere to be found.

When we told my stressed-out daughter, she saw red and called the store, who assured her, amid profuse apologies, that they would have a cake for her by 9 am Saturday morning. Come Saturday morning, my daughter and her hubby went to pick up the cake and found the ASSISTANT STORE MANAGER (not the baker) frantically mixing icing and making an attempt to decorate the cake. Again, she was assured that the cake would be at the reception on time. The picture to the right was what was delivered.

Note the robin's egg blue coloring. The cake was supposed to be all white on the two bottom layers with a BABY BLUE (note the color of the blue in the tablecloth) bride's cake. As to the leaning part, a friend told me, amid gales of laughter, that she had never seen a cake lean in so many directions and not fall over. The not falling over part was in question all day as the top piece continued to slide and teeter on the edge until it was finally removed for the bride and groom to cut the cake. I think that because the top leans left and the bottom leans right it may have equalized things and defied gravity.

Let me add here that while it was happening, there were a lot of very angry people.

Looking back on it now, it was a minor flaw and the only flaw in what was otherwise a beauitful wedding. In years to come, it will be the one thing we'll all look back on and get a good laugh from. Oh, by the way, when asked, the store manager told her "I can't give you any satisfactory answer as to why the assistant store manager decorated the cake." But he told her the cake was free.

However, that does not change my initial warning -- DO NOT ORDER A WEDDING CAKE AT WALMART!

Blessings to all,

Elizabeth

Writers and writing.....

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Sun, 24 Jun 2007 15:45:00 +0000

Hi Everyone!

I just got back from doing a week-long writing seminar on St Simons Island, GA for the Southeastern Writers Association. It should have been work, but I have to admit, it was more like a wonderful, relaxing vacation. The conference was held at Epworth By The Sea, a Methodist camp, which was more like a small city than a camp. The entire grounds were festooned with ancient live oaks dripping in silvery Spanish moss, there was a small lagoon where dolphins came to put on a show for us daily, and I got to share it with my best friend, Vicki Hinze.

Even more attractive than the setting were the people attending the conference. What a diverse group with amazing talents and so very eager to learn. As a teacher of writing, it is very gratifying to see that kind of dedication to their craft and their overwhelming need to absorb everything they could, then put it to use. I was blown away.

Part of the layout of out-buildings is a place called "Miss Ellie's," which is a quaint, small building used for social events -- receptions, book signings, etc. Miss Ellie's has a big front porch, just like the ones that graced many old southern antebellum mansions. But, to our delight, it also has rocking chairs. I love rocking chairs, as does Vicki, so we spent many hours sitting there, rocking and talking. Eventually, people began to look for us there to talk writing. What a refreshing time for me, and Vicki. We could go on and on about our favorite subject and weren't met with that deer-in-the-headlights look our hubbies and non-writing friends adopts after a few minutes. But best of all, we got to share our knowledge with all these writers.

Beyond the setting and the camaraderie was the intense curriculum of study set up for the attendees. There were expert speakers on all aspects of writing: screenwriting, non-fiction, poetry, fiction, humor, and even limericks. Classes went from 8:30 to 4:30 every day. On Wednesday, they had "open mike night." The students voluntarily read what they'd created during the week. All I can say is it was amazing. The talent and creativity the students exhibited could only be described as purely inspirational. On Thursday, they held awards night. The students who had entered their work for evaluation by the speakers in their genre were rewarded by being chosen best in their category. What a delight to see the people we had come to know and admire all week receive recognition for their talent.

When it came time to leave on Friday, we both, though eager to get home, hated to leave. If you're looking for a conference that will send you home champing at the bit to write and a warm feeling about yourself and your fellow writers, I highly recommend you try this one. It's held every year in June. Check out their website at http://www.southeasternwriters.com/ Believe me you won't be sorry and Vicki and I may be there to chat with you on Miss Ellie's front porch.

Happy reading!
Elizabeth

Everybody into the pool!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 12:09:00 +0000

Well, I'm out of here in a few minutes. My dear friend Vicki Hinze and I are doing a week-long seminar on the nuts and bolts of fiction writing for the Southeastern Writers. We get to spend a whole week on beautiful St Simons Island, GA. The best part is (other than not having to cook for five days) our workshops are first thing in the morning, and we get the rest of the day to kick back, relax and do what we want. That would include visiting the lagoon where the dolphins put on quite a show or just walking beneath the huge, ancient oaks dripping in Spanish moss. Chances are, however, that you'll find us sitting in the rocking chairs on Miss Ellie's front porch and talking writing to people who don't look at us with that deer-caught-in-the-headlights stare that we get from non-writers.

Before I go, I promised Mary Stella, another good friend, that I'd tell you about what Lily has been doing recently. Lily had a visit from her BIG sister (and I do mean big), Lulu, a few weeks back and shocked me when she immediately recognized her sibling. Watching their antics for the rest of the day was like watching my kids at play when they were little. They raced around, fought over toys, wrestled in the dirt and then . . . they discovered our hot tub.

For the remainder of the day, they were in and out of the hot tub and dripping water all over everyone. But they had a blast. So much so that my husband decided Lily needed her own pool. So we went to Walmart and got her a hard-sided kiddie pool.

Since we got the pool, after Lily goes out in the morning to do her . . . business, she doesn't want to leave it long enough to come in and eat. I've had to start serving her breakfast on the back deck. So now Lily gets up each morning, has her dip in the pool and dines alfresco. Seems a dog's life isn't that tough after all.

I don't know if it's all that water or not, but she's growing by leaps and bounds. I sometimes have to remind myself that she's only 6 months old. However, as fast as she's growing, she still hasn't grown into her enormous feet. I'm hoping to have some pictures to share with you soon.

Ripley, our other furry child, has really taken to her new sister, but sometimes we have to separate them to give Ripley a break. After all, you can stand those "young whipper snappers" chewing on your ears for just so long before it gets old.

Happy reading!
Blessings,
Elizabeth

What goes around comes around......

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 18:43:00 +0000

I know I've been absent from here for a while, and I apologize. I'm on deadline for my next book and finding time to procrastinate or to do any writing that isn't part of the book is difficult.

Lots of exciting things have been going on. First . . . I will soon have a copy of my cover for the upcoming sequel to my award-winning MIRACLE IN THE MIST. It's called INTO THE MIST and will be released in March 2008 from Medallion Press. I'll have it up on my website as soon as it comes through. Okay, that's enough business.

Second . . . I'd heard from my mother for years that what goes around comes around and when she passed away, my husband took up the mantra. Over the years I have seen both of them proven right. My most recent brush with it all started when my husband hired two Cuban fellas to help him with work around the house. They came over from Cuba on a raft made of car inner tubes and lost their water and food the first day at sea. How they made it here is something that only God can tell you.

One of them, Luis, speaks no English and the other, Geraldo (Jerry), speaks very broken English. When Jerry met a lady at church, he decided he wanted to write her a poem, which he did . . . in Spanish, then translated it exactly into English. An exact translation transposed words and sentence structure and as a result, the poem make no sense, so he asked my husband to ask me if I would correct it for him.

When my husband asked me, I was deep into working on my book, but grudgingly agreed to stop and do the poem. The chore, as I first saw it, took hours to move words around and reconstruct sentences. But as I worked on it, I saw what a beautiful sentiment it held. In essence, he compared her to an angel. When I’d finished I asked him if he wanted me to print it out. He said yes, so I did it on paper decorated with a red rose down one side that I had hanging around. He was delighted.

Two weeks later, he gave me a totally unexpected gift. That's a picture of her. I named her Miss Lily, and she's an AKC registered Golden Retriever who is the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I've wanted a Goldie for over 25 years, but couldn’t afford one. Jerry rents property from a woman who raises them. She gave him a puppy and he gave her to me as a thank you. He also named her, unbeknownst to me, Lily. Destiny? Who knows? What I do know is that I have a friend in Jerry and a wonderful new companion.

My book may be late because of the time I took to help a nice young man when he needed it, but somehow, it doesn't matter. And every time I look at Lily, I'll remember a young man who wanted so desperately to tell someone how much he loved her.

What goes around comes around.
Blessings and happy reading!
Elizabeth

Dogs and cats and owls . . . oh my!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 17:26:00 +0000

If you hang around here much, you'll find that I'm an animal lover -- all kinds: furry, feathery, hairy, with beaks, without beaks...... Well, you get the idea. I recently had my husband, Bob, put a birdfeeder outside my office window because birds and squirrels were stopping by and looking at me as if I were a monster because I wasn't providing them with a source of food. I'm probably the only woman on this street who dashes outside because she hears the distinctive call of a snow owl.

Yes, I have a genuine Harry Potter Hedwig living in my backyard. Someday, I hope to get a picture of her. If that day comes, I will post it here. She's beautiful and quite tame. I can approach within six feet without spooking her. I won't go closer because along with a gorgeous white covering of feathers, she also has a set of talons that would put the fear of God into anyone.

That beautiful, furry little girl (okay, so she's a pudge from eating snacks with Bob) in the picture is our furry child, Ripley. She's a smooth-coated collie mix and is about 3 years old and has more energy in her body than God should ever put in one animal. From the day we brought her home as a tiny ball of fur, she has been true to her nature and herded us everywhere. That should have been a clue that she would take over, become the center of our attention and the love of our life.

Until about eight months ago, we had a Beagle named Sammi Girl. One day, Sammi got sick and walked off into the woods. We haven't seen her since. Bob found Sammi shortly after 9/11, sitting by the side of the road next to her buddy, a Siamese cat, which had been killed by a car. Yes, some heartless human had abandoned them both. Bob brought Sammi home, and she became one of the most affectionate, devoted pets we've ever had.

Well, I guess I've blathered on long enough about my pets. I should be packing for a cruise Bob and I are going on Saturday anyway. Do you all hate packing as much as I do? Am I packing too much? Not enough?

Stay warm all you northerners.
Blessings and happy reading!
Elizabeth

Things To Think About . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth Sinclair) — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 17:26:00 +0000

CAUTION: GOOF-OFF ZONE – NO PHYSICAL WORK ALLOWED
ONE RULE: PUT YOUR FEET UP AND RELAX

Every writer needs a time and place to put work aside and procrastinate, to think about important things, to mull over world peace, to study their belly buttons, to lament the extra pounds they added to their hips over the holidays, to decide on which frozen dinner to thaw or to think about how they can talk their husband into hiring a full time cook, laundress and housekeeper. I’m happy to provide such a place for my friends, readers, and complete strangers. The more, the merrier.

Speaking of housework . . . . As time goes on and those of you who don’t know me, get to know me better, you’ll find that I hate housework, and after 45 years of cooking three meals a day for my family, have come to also hate cooking. (The thing I make best now are reservations.) I know there are those of you out there who love cooking and don’t mind following a humming machine mindlessly around a carpet or washing a dog’s nose prints off the sliding glass doors. I respect you for your choices. I just don’t share them.

My husband recently told me that he heard on a talk radio station that women who do housework live longer. If that were true, my mother should have lived to the ripe old age of 789. She was a superior housekeeper . . . beyond compare. I grew up in a house where meals hit the dining room table at precisely 7, 12 and 5 everyday and you could eat off the floors. (In all fairness, you could eat off mine, too. You are however, risking ptomaine poisoning.) For many years after I married my husband, I tried to emulate her. And I did for a long, long time. This is not an easy task with three children and a husband who don’t know the meaning of "pick it up and put it away" or "wipe it up after you spill it"or "why not put your dirty clothes in the hamper so we can all enjoy the new bedroom carpeting that used the money earmarked for my vacation in Hawaii?"

Recently, I decided that I’d had enough of the Super Mom syndrom. It occurred to me that as long as my husband gets to eat, whether or not I spend 4 hours in the kitchen preparing it is not going to affect his appetite. He enjoys pre-cooked chicken as much as he ever did the chicken I slaved over. I also discovered that, if I buy him two dozen pairs of underwear, I will only have to wash clothes every other week instead of twice a week. And, since he put the dirty clothes on the floor, it’s something he must enjoy seeing and far be it from me to deprive him of his little pleasures in life.

I’m not sure that the above is of any interest to anyone but me, but if it is, feel free to chime in and add to the discussion. I will try to return here at least once a week, but right now I’m on deadline for my next Silhouette Romantic Suspense, JUDGEMENT IN FIRE, so I may not make it back here on a regular basis, but feel free to talk amongst yourselves while I’m gone.

As always,
Blessings and Happy Reading!
Elizabeth