New release: Historical fiction!

I’ve been watching the Olympics for like, 36 hours straight, so expect a lot of exclamation points as we move forward. It’s like Jeopardy. You don’t say, “This is Jeopardy.” You scream, “This. Is. JEOPARDY!”

Anyway.

If you’ve been with us for awhile, you’ll probably remember the book that began it all: Anything You Ask of Me. And now, three years later, it’s finally here.

And the world heaved a collective sigh of relief.

The short of it:

Historical fiction-American Civil War
Expect sex
Expect violence
Expect an unhealthy obsession with Jeb Stuart.

Belle. Traitor. Fearless. Spy. But not even La Belle Rebelle can outrun the war.

covernew Although her home state of Maryland hasn’t sworn allegiance to either Union or Confederacy, twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth Archer’s life is shattered. Her father has fled North, abandoning the household. The man she loved—and who married her sister instead— is killed in battle. Elizabeth’s life of parties and societal obligations dwindles down to isolation and too many empty hours; hours to mourn the man who gave her up to chase an inheritance. She meets Confederate general Jeb Stuart by chance and, in an instant, she’s the center of his attention. As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia’s cavalry division, General Stuart doesn’t ask, he orders. The attraction seems mutual and, flattered by his affection, Elizabeth agrees to spy for the Confederacy. She’s Stuart’s La Belle Rebelle, the Beautiful Rebel; the siren of the south. She’s notorious in the Union and lauded in the Confederacy. And she’s falling in love with him. Notoriety, however, is a spy’s worst enemy. Now pursued by a Federal officer tasked to stop her at any cost, Elizabeth faces the sentence of hanging if she’s convicted of treason against the Union. Devoted to a cause she doesn’t believe in and with Federal blood on her hands, Elizabeth must save herself—or die a traitor. Time is running out. And no one, not even La Belle Rebelle, can outrun the war.

It’s available as an eBook or in paperback. Are you ready? Click here.

PLUS: If you’re the first to leave a review on Amazon, you’ll win an autographed poster of the cover!

Huge book release news!

This is not a drill.

After three long years of waiting (and that’s all I’m going to say about that), my historical fiction novel, Anything You Ask of Me is finally being released in paperback on July 26, 2016!

I know.

I am equal parts excited and terrified. This was the first book I ever finished writing, so that in its own is a huge accomplishment. However, this was the first book I ever finished writing and my writing has grown since then. And I write a lot of paranormal now.

Despite my imminent panic, I’m pretty darn psyched this book will see the light of day. The main character, Elizabeth, is flawed. She makes bad decisions.

And she has to pay for them.

Here’s the blurb:

Although her home state of Maryland hasn’t sworn allegiance to either Union or Confederacy, twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth Archer’s life is shattered. Her father has fled North, abandoning the household. The man she loved―and who married her sister instead― is killed in battle. Elizabeth’s life of parties and societal obligations dwindles down to isolation and too many empty hours; hours to mourn the man who gave her up to chase an inheritance.

She meets Confederate general Jeb Stuart by chance and, in an instant, she’s the center of his attention.

As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia’s cavalry division, General Stuart doesn’t ask, he orders. The attraction seems mutual and, flattered by his affection, Elizabeth agrees to spy for the Confederacy. She’s Stuart’s La Belle Rebelle, the Beautiful Rebel; the siren of the south. She’s notorious in the Union and lauded in the Confederacy. And she’s falling in love with him.

Notoriety, however, is a spy’s worst enemy. Now pursued by a Federal officer tasked to stop her at any cost, Elizabeth faces the sentence of hanging if she’s convicted of treason against the Union. Devoted to a cause she doesn’t believe in and with Federal blood on her hands, Elizabeth must save herself―or die a traitor.

Time is running out. And no one, not even La Belle Rebelle, can outrun the war.

You can pre-order Anything You Ask of Me by clicking here. In July, we’ll have some crazy fun book release shenanigans.

Meanwhile, back in the non-writing world, The Hubs and I flexed our 5k muscles and participated in the 2nd Annual Roller Coaster Race at Kennywood Park, outside of Pittsburgh. It. Was. Amazing!

And I got a personal record! 39.24–I finished one second behind The Hubs. I ran with some pretty cool kids: The Hubs, my friend Candy (we’ve been friends for almost twenty years!!), my friend Renee, and some cool cats I met that day. We’re a darn good looking team.

I wasn’t actually a happy camper as we got close to the finish line because the humidity was so oppressive, it felt like I was carrying a toddler around my neck as we ran. Then some random guy in the crowd waved his arms and yelled, “Do it for Dad!” I know he wasn’t talking to me, but it was a pretty awesome feeling.

So I did.

After the race was over, The Hubs and I changed into our Roller Coaster Ride shirts. Because I registered like, two seconds after I got the email about the race, we got the Ride free: Ride 5K worth of roller coaster track and get a medal. Game on!

Unfortunately, the weather decided at that moment that now was a great time to start the monsoon season. Have you ever ridden a roller coaster in the rain? Going like, idk, 70 miles per hour (yeah, I’m too tired to actually Google how fast the Phantom’s Revenge goes, but it seemed fast)? Yeah, it’s basically liked getting pelted in the face with marbles.

We rode it with our hands over our faces. In the pouring rain. Three times in a row.

The need for self preservation was significantly dwarfed by the need for a medal.

But, we got them! Three rides on The Phantom’s Revenge, two on the Exterminator, one on the Racer, one on the Sky Rocket. And then, just because it’s tradition, The Jack Rabbit.

And then before we left the park, I threw up on Garfield’s Nightmare: a slowing moving, 3D boat ride. Classy.

That was my third 5K race of the year, which is the total number of races I ran last year. That’s darn exciting! Next up is the Color Run! I’ll be running that on my birthday. I’ve never been that old before, so we’ll see what happens.

Happy book birthday, Meghan!

It’s a rainy day here in glorious Pennsylvania: a day that I’ve been meaning to spend writing but ended up drinking a lot of coffee and falling asleep. Yeah, go figure. Caffeine, you will never defeat me.

Today is the book birthday of one of my dearest, sweetest author friends out there: Meghan Gorecki. Although Meghan and I are united in a mutual love of the Civil War and Steve Rogers (though I admit my recent obsession for Sebastian Stan is out of control), her debut novel is about the Great Depression. I honestly know very little about this time period, other than what my Grandpa told me about his childhood (he would have been 100 this year, born in 1916). In celebration of the 2nd birthday of God’s Will–and while we wait for her next book release!–Meghan is having deals and a giveaway that you should enter, but secretly I don’t want you to enter because I want to win the prize myself.

But you should enter.

ABOUT THE BOOK: Kathy Andrews is good at goodbyes. Her mother is sent to a sanatorium, her sister, left behind in Chicago, and her father, forced to roam looking for work. So she holds close to the only one she has left, her brother Danny. When the two go to live with the Marshalls in the sleepy town of Brighton, she doesn’t let anyone past hello. Elliott Russell frowns at his aunt and uncle’s generosity–even though he and his sister are on the receiving end. He frowns, too, at the uppity city girl with a chip on her shoulder whom he can’t get out of his head. When a tragedy rips apart what tenuous existence they manage to forge, will they find the sweetest place to be is in God’s will–or will they turn their backs on faith that fails to protect against pain?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Meghan M. Gorecki is an author of inspirational fiction, a blogger, AuthorPhoto book reviewer and voracious reader. Taking her life a day at a time as God leads, she is pursuing a career in the publishing industry as an editor in training and as a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. A hopeless romantic, history and Marvel nut, she’s also a redhead (thanks to a box), who knows way too much trivia about movie musicals and the Civil War. Find her on social media and at her blog, A Northern Belle (www.northernbellemeg.com)

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

PURCHASE LINKS:

Paperback: http://bit.ly/1W8YCcY

Kindle: http://bit.ly/1ZfqlXD

Giveaway

The prize:

Contents:

Signed paperback copy of God’s Will
Leather string journal
Ghiradelli dark chocolate sea salted caramel bar
Assorted tea bags
And a vintage inspired charm-locket necklace Meghan made herself.

The Big GIVEAWAY (open to US readers only) will run through May 21st.

http://www.northernbellemeg.com/2016/05/happy-birthday-gods-will-book-birthday.html

What you have to do to enter:

Share the blog post, enter the giveaway with an option to Tweet a Msg about the giveaway! That’s it! You could win and I can be super jealous. That’s a fab prize pack.

So what are you waiting for? Go. Now.

Happy book birthday, Meghan!! Much love!

GWPBsale2

So, there’s some good news, and some bad news…

Remember on Family Guy when Stewie started his own business and gave Brian his first employee review? He did a “compliment sandwich” you know, to soften the blow of a bad review?

Note: I have not had a bad book review on With me Now. My sole review has been positive.

Anyway, let’s start with something positive! On August 22/23, 2015, I’ll be in my favorite place, Gettysburg. Here you’ll be able to find me:

Running the Hard Cider 5k
Drinking at the Gettysburg Brewfest at the Lutheran Theological Seminary
Traversing the battlefield with my BFF Sara and her hubs, Jai, and my hubs, The Hubs

What you will not find me doing, which is the bad news portion of the blog post, is having my book release party for Anything You Ask of Me. Unfortunately, the release date for it has been pushed back to a date. I don’t know what date. But a date. The publisher just told me this week, so I’ll keep you posted on the new release date, new release party, etc. So, yeah, that’s a huge bummer because we’ve been sitting here together, for a long time, waiting to rock out to Anything You Ask of Me.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

So, in the other portion of the compliment sandwich, is that Evernight Publishing, the awesome publisher who’s handling With Me Now, has upped the game and getting me set up for a signing. SO, this means, hurry on down to Gettysburg the weekend of August 22/23/24 and I’ll be cavorting about town: drinking, running 5ks, and signing books. I’m going to try and get some promotional material for Anything You Ask of Me and have that for you guys as well. Or, for Sara and Jai and The Hubs, if no one else can show up. Stay tuned for pictures of me taking selfies on a ghost tour, carrying an Anything You Ask of Me t-shirt and carrying a With Me Now tote bag. Hipsta’ please.

In other news, yesterday was the 4th of July (we briefly raised a glass of tea to my British heritage and called it “Treason Day”) and our house, per the usual, celebrated our Independence. I jogged because I have to up my running game from “no running” to “runner.” I was completely bummed at having to cancel my release party and a book signing, but the run helped. Look how pale I am. I’m literally reflecting the light. I am, however, very patriotic in red, white, and blue.

The Rowdy Boys, now 3 and 5 for those keeping score, have never been to see fireworks. This is due to the fact my children are inherently introverted and find no enjoyment doing fun things like dressing up for Halloween, trick or treating, Easter Egg hunts, fireworks, etc. This year, however, The Hubs and I put our collective feet down and hustled them off to the part for fireworks.

We arrived approximately two hours early. This was in part due to the fact that we had nothing else to do and also because the time listed was 4:30 to 10. So there’s that.

We scoped out a good spot, put down our towels, and kicked off our shows, ready to listen to the band (side note: there was no band, just random singers, but I feel taking the opportunity to cite a Monkees song is a good opportunity indeed). The Rowdy Boys then proceeded to steal a bat and a Frisbee from two separate families. Well, they didn’t mean to; the actual ownership of all the bats, Frisbees, balls, two random Lacrosse sticks, and a hockey stick was pretty vague. Anyway. We wrangled them in.

Older Child actually really enjoyed the fireworks (he’s very into tanks right now). I was excited because normally he’s horrified by loud noises.

Younger Child fell asleep.

So, that’s been my week. This coming weekend? Family reunion. Next week? The 4th anniversary of my 29th birthday (drink ’em if you got ’em, friends), the next week Wedding Extravaganza. Not mine, obvs, but my friend Rachel, who I’ve known since she was born (I’m five years older). Things will be busy.

In the meantime, I’m focusing on writing paranormal right now. I’m nervous on the historical front, mainly because of all this recent backlash about the Confederate Flag and, honestly, it’s not a fun time to be a reenactor on either side of the field. We’ll see what happens.

Oh, and remember: we’re still having that awesome little contest here on The Rambling Jour: if you read/review With Me Now by the end of July, you’ll be entered in a random contest to win a random gift. I have three things you can pick from. Be very excited.

Please enter. My mother doesn’t need to win AGAIN.

So, this happened: News, updates, and let’s all go to the lobby

For reasons I can’t explain, the song “Let’s all go to the lobby! And grab ourselves a snack!” has been in my head this afternoon. Possibly this is due to the fact I feel anytime is a good time to proceed to the lobby and grab a snack. These days, since I’m in a wedding in July (and we all remember what happened last time I was in a wedding…if you’re just now tuning in, see here and here) so I’m not in Diet Mode. And Diet Mode means I’m working out 7 days a week and my snacks are carrot sticks. I’m excited. I’m now 130 pounds of coiled steel.

Anyway.

So, this just happened: I signed with an agent! YES!! Last month, I signed with TZLA Literary Agency, with the awesome Rossano Trentin. I’m thrilled that he will be handling Since April because that book so near and dear to my heart. I’m still trying to put my muse back together after that one (shout out to my girl Lindsey: sistas!!). So, good things are in the works for Since April. There’s a lot in the pipeline (side note: I’m throwing up in my mouths as I type that, because my crappy manager and my crappy previous job used to say that at our sales meeting every week but it seared into my brain) right now and I’m excited. And terrified. But mostly excited. Upcoming blog spoiler alert: It’ll be the one where I beg you to come to my book release party.

In other news, part of the reason I’ve been silent (stop laughing, sometimes I’m a quiet person) of late is because I spent two weeks traveling for business. It was work and it was exciting. Diet Mode and I did not get along fabulously well during the two weeks I was away. But look at this tasty little delight I was introduced to: Snappy’s Salads. Evidently, you can only find Snappy’s Salads in the Dallas area. Frankly, I’m willing to go back to Dallas for Snappy’s Salads and Edoko Sushi alone. The salad to the left is the half Bam Bam. No onions. Edemame instead.

The deliciousness cannot be adequately explained.

We got lost….well, basically anytime we left the hotel, and literally the only way I found my way from the hotel to the office or the airport to the office was using Snappy’s Salads. Not that the office didn’t have a legit address, but I didn’t actually know the address. So, Snappy’s was not only my go to place for lunch, but also a beacon guiding me down the eight lane Dallas highways. That’s how kids from Western Pennsylvania roll.

Update wise, I still haven’t settled on a new writing project and just keep bouncing back and forth between about three projects and flirting with another on the side. I need to stop being so indecisive and just stop wandering around the room and actually write. I’ve set myself a goal of getting mass quantities of writing done before the end of July when I trade in my slack time for my “no time to stop at pee” time. Namely:

Summer Safari (zoo shenanigans!)
One Direction concert (mad lusting after Harry Styles; #sorrynotsorry)
Book Release Party Extravaganza starring me (panic at the vineyard!)
Maine Warrior Salute (supporting our troops and getting dirty in the process!)

And then it’s September and a girl’s thought’s turn to the dreaded annual New Year’s Eve post where I set myself up for failure. Yeah!

Well, now that it’s near midnight, I’m hungry and need a snack. No. Bueno. Time to go count out some carrot sticks. If you need me, I’ll be weeping over the vegetable crisper and trying to avoid the enticing gaze of cheese (it’s been a loooong diet, kids).

I’m much less glamorous and far more hobo

I’ve been working in the coal mines of Day Job the past few weeks and have been a mere shell of my normal, vivacious, sarcastic self. Things have calmed down. I’m probably not calm (case in point, last night I dyed my hair purple) but I’m focused enough to sit and stay in place long enough to write.

I tell you what, I’m the unhappiest writer right now. This happened after I finished writing Anything You Ask of Me: I hate writing. I’m not creative; I just want to sit and eat ice cream and watch RuPaul’s Drag Race (may the best woman win!). I finished Since April and I basically want nothing to do with creativity. My girl Lindsey (author extraordinaire and writing partner-in-crime) says this is my muse saying: hey. I’m tired. My muse and I apparently have similar personality traits this month because, I too, am tired.

Confession: I wrote some fan fiction. And no, I’m not fessing up to what it’s about.

Here’s my somewhat official (aka as official as it’s going to get until the spring thaw and I climb down from Mount Doom, heading into the real world) author picture. This is how I would like to think Writer Heather is. Pale, yes. Approachable. Maybe a wee bit of crazy in the eyes. But all around sweet and nice and fun and a really cool gal. I’d like to think this is the look I’ll be pulling off at my book release party (perhaps less pale). This is the confident woman who wrote a book and is preparing to peddle it to the nations (shameless self promotion: you can preorder at Amazon by clicking here)! I’ll autograph your book! I’ll take selfies with you! I’m probably not as cool as I think I am, but I play well with others.

However.

Let’s discuss how I actually look when I write. My muse likes to think we write in a huge, write room with a floor length window, overlooking…something…with a warm breeze blowing in and gauzy curtains blowing against a heavy wooden desk. The only thing on the desk is my laptop, a mug of tea, and a lava lamp. For reasons. I’m impeccably dressed.

This sounds great, but here’s the reality of it: I sit under a down comforter, with my hair pulled back, and I frown a lot. The Hubs took this picture when I wasn’t paying attention and, frankly, I think I look like a chicken hawk. No makeup. Possibly no pants. That is the face of a writer that is not impressed. Not. Impressed.

And I’m perpetually cold, which explains the blanket. Look, my book release party is in August and I’m willing to bet I’ll still be sporting a hoodie. That’s how I roll (more on the book release party to come).

Anyway, so, right now I’m sporting that face as I work towards “other things.” Right now, these other things are:

Keep submitting Since April to agents/publishers
Stop getting bummed out every time Since April is rejected
Narrow down the next writing project

For the possible writing projects, we have our two favorite contenders: a historical or a contemporary. Two, contemporary projects actually, to choose from: weird or weirder. Meh. For now I’m going to bounce between all three and see what sticks. Like cooking pasta, right? Slap it up against the wall and see if it sticks: if so, it’s done? No, no, I’ve never done it. I once heavily suggested we try it at a charity event, but we ended up eating a bunch instead. Again, this is how I roll. Obviously, like a boss.

Finishing my novel and partying like it’s 2012

Happy New Year!! What’s up 2015?

So, this happened: I finished my next historical novel, Since April! The stats are in:

Finished at 9:05am 12/29/2014
371 pages
108,080 words (pattern power!!)
According to Word, my total writing time was 21373 minutes. Which….is horrifying.

Since April has firmly established itself has my longest novel yet. There was a lot of plot to jam into it, let me tell you. I’m casting the suspicious side-eye at an editing time of 21,373 minutes, though, for one specific reason: Pinterest. It’s a slippery slope with Pinterest. I go from “Oh, I need to hit up Pinterest really fast just to look up the type of shoes women wore in 1912” which then turns into, “Hey, look, a recipe for cinnamon crumble cake with homemade vanilla glaze” which then turns into “I totally want to dye my hair that color…where are the bobby pins?” Then, four hours later, I remember I’m writing a novel.

My hair color is currently burgundy, FYI.

Now I’ve moved on to the weird, purgatory place between novels: I don’t want to start anything new because I really need to edit Since April. But I’m not doing that either because I really want to start something new. I seriously don’t know how to function those first few days after finishing a book. I’ve been wandering around for months plot plot plot plot and complaining to anyone who’ll listen “Look, I really need to finish this because I have too many other ideas to get started on.” And now I’m done. And now I’m promptly lost. Oh, familiar characters. I’m just not ready to move on.

But, I’ve edited 83 pages which means…..there’s still a hell of a lot of pages left to go. At least my semicolon abuse is better with this novel. It’s only taken me three.

Meanwhile, I’m late to the party named 2012. What’s up, 2012? The reason for this is that somehow, I’ve just now discovered the boy band One Direction. Let’s not get into the details of how it took me like, three years and four albums to figure this out; the important thing is that now I’m onboard with this whole Directioner thing and think Harry Styles is the snazziest thing since sliced bread. My God, that man and his tight black pants.

Here’s how it went down:

One Direction was on Graham Norton. I said, “Hmm, that “Night Changes” song is pretty catchy.”
One Direction is available on iTunes. I said, “Hey, look, “Night Changes” is only $1.29. And “What Makes You Beautiful” is only $0.69 and I really like the number 69″ (as in 1969, you perverts).
One Direction is on YouTube. I said, “Hey, I’m going to watch the video for “Night Changes” and see what it’s all about.”
Chaos.

Next thing you know, I’m downloading the entire album “FOUR” which is freaking awesome and you should totally get it and then….look, the last thing I remember is putting my credit card number into my cell phone and boom. I’m going to the One Direction concert this summer.

What the…..

I relayed this information to my BFF Sara, who said, “Aren’t you worried about being the oldest person there?”

ACK!!! SARA!!! I’m not OLD!!

But then……yeah, the last concert I went to was N Sync. When I was 18. And when I was 18, I was willing to have “floor seats” which actually means you’re standing the whole concert so you can see above all the people standing up in front of you. 32 is actually a long way from 18 (still not old) and, look, I’m cheap. I love Harry Styles as much as the next person (maybe a little more because I have the “ghosts of boy bands past” to guide me in fan girling), but I’m not dropping six hundred bucks to stand and watch a concert and then complain because my head hurts, I can’t hear, and how in the heck did I manage to hurt my back? No. I purchased reasonably priced tickets where I can blend in with all the other old people, but not so high up that I’m going to need a Dramamine. More on that to come.

And now back to editing Since April. Yay. I’m so thrilled to go massacre more commas.

Awkward and charming scheduled a book release party!

Poised and elegant weren’t available that weekend.

Somewhere in that dreamy middle ground between “what should I have for lunch?” and “oh look, only thirty-three years left to go until I can retire” lies my book release. Book release! Ah, what better stage to showcase my awkwardness and ability to trip over a completely flat, clear floor, but at party to celebrate my book!

So, here we are in November. November. I’ve been working so hard at Day Job that my brain is mush. An example of this was observed this week when I was chatting with my friend, Susie, at work about her lap top at home. She was talking about password protection and locks for her personal files and said, “I mean, you never know who’s looking in the window. Grass man. Yeti. Sasquatch.”

I giggled. “Yeah, you never know when Randy might want to get on your computer.”

She looked at me. “Huh?”

“Grass man. Your husband, right? Is that because he works on the farm?”

“I’m talking about Big Foot.”

Oooooooooh.

Yeah. It was that kind of week. If I was a Sim, I’d be wandering around with a red diamond over my head, stomping my foot and refusing to put clothes on.

In lieu of elegance, I’ll be bringing charm and a vintage 60s dress to my official book release party: August 23rd, 2015 in Gettysburg. Be there! It’s going to be awesome.

Well, it’s going to be awesome once I figure out what one actually does at a book release party. I have visions of me sitting at a table, surrounded by stacks of books and a fresh pack of Sharpies; the only people with me being The Hubs and my mother. No public. No party. Just me and the fam.

So, I did what anyone living in 2014 would do: I checked Pinterest. A lot of what I found were related to book release parties as in, “The new Harry Potter book just came out and I’ve spent 47 hours dressed as a house elf!” or cupcakes with Hunger Games related frosting and sugar sculptures. This is not what I’m going for, although, blue and gray Civil War festive cupcakes has a certain deliciousness factor to it. Bayonet bars? Hardtack hard punch?

Yes.

I took a break from debating the really difficult questions (should I make cookies for the party? Would the public eat cookies from a cute, yet clumsy, author in go-go boots?) and rocked it at Harpers Ferry with my guys of the Baltimore Light Artillery. You know, I want my guys at the book release party. Awesome Mark and Awesome Jeff? Hell yeah! If you won’t buy a book from me, maybe from them? Equally charming, but also roguish, rakish, and full of southern charm?

Yes. My guys will be there. Shock on, gentlemen. 😉

The release party: booked. Cover art: finished. Now I just need to schedule book signings. Guest blogs. Reviews. Debate ordering bookmarks, bags, t-shirts, mugs, pens, socks, umbrellas, whatever. Figure out what all I’m supposed to do at a release party, other than be charming and try not to spill food on myself. Do I do these kind of things at the party? Not the spilling things part (I do that with horrific frequency), but the “swag” part. Do I have to do a reading (answer: no)? Do we just hang out? Do we eat? Can we drink?

More to come on that.

On the writing front, I’m still plodding along through my historical novel, with two contemporaries waiting in the batter’s box. Yeah, it’s obviously late and I’m falling back to baseball terms from my childhood obsession with the Cleveland Indians (what’s up 1997?). Historically, November is the month I write the least, thanks to my inability to focus on National Novel Writing Month and my usual attention span of a flea. No doubt I’ll bring a notebook with me to the release party, just in case things get dull and I need something to do. Not that I plan to still be writing this same novel. But you know. Just in case.

And then this happened: My novel’s cover art is HERE

Sometimes I think the notion of “being a published author” hasn’t firmly settled in my brain yet, you know, somewhere between the official name of a Civil War Napoleon (Model 1857 Light Gun 12 pound Howitzer) and the lyrics to the song “Cows with Guns” (We will run free with the buffalo or diiiiiiiiiie). Yet this is actually happening. This time next year, you can come see me at a bookstore or at a battlefield and hang out with me. Buy my book. Tell me how much you too love Evan Peters as Lobster Boy on American Horror Story: Freak Show and see absolutely nothing wrong with his lobster like hands and impish grin. What’s up, Jimmy Darling?

But I digress.

Here it is: the finalized cover art for Anything You Ask of Me! I am so in love with it, to the point it leaves me speechless. Speechless is the Sasquatch of my personality: it’s the thing of rumors or sketchy stories no one actually believes. But this is fantastic. Go ahead and judge my book by its cover: it’s awesome.

I’d buy it.

When I first saw it, I made this bizarre little noise in my throat (I’m congested, okay, I sound like Roz from Monster’s Inc. on the phone) that sounded something like, “Eeeeiiiiiiiigh” and pushed the phone so far into The Hubs face that he couldn’t actually see the picture, but as an all around good guy said, “Well, that’s awesome!” Now I’ve recovered enough to post it on Facebook (it’s not real until it’s on Facebook) and blog about it. It’s real now, guys. Cover, release date: totally real.

So, with that in mind, it’s time to buckle down and really figure out my book tour plan. Thing. Thus far, my plan has been something like this:

Sign books in places.

That’s a legit start, right? That’s like, determining your thesis before actually writing your paper. This much I remember from my Communications Skills classes I had to take in college. I’ve been in contact with someone/somewhere about a possible release party (more to come on that later), so that’s pretty exciting. I’m not really sure what one does at a release party. So far my plan is to have food and talk a lot. And wear my go go boots because, yes, that is happening. Do we serve snacks? Do I bring free bookmarks and/or pens to giveaway? Do I feel comfortable giving away pens and not keeping them for myself? Questions to ponder.

Speaking of pens, this happened at Target in State College last weekend: I decided to treat myself with a new binder, college ruled paper and pen pack (because other than drinking a bottle of wine, that’s the literary way to treat yourself). I like one, possibly two types of pens. I had both in my purse. I could not find them. I spent like, fifteen minutes in the pen/paper aisle trying to find a suitable replacement, which yes, I probably would have done anyway. There was a girl there who was….maybe in high school (I’m so bad guessing ages), also picking out pens. Her dad looked at her and said, “It’s just a pen.” She said, “No, Dad, I need the pen.” I said, “I totally feel your pain.” And, no, I didn’t find the pens I wanted but I got two anyway. I’m expanding my horizons.

So, all I need is a book signing plan, places to sign books, and a heap of confidence in place prior to August 4, 2015. Less than a year. Let’s do this.

I’m going to buy a great pen for my first signing. Just you wait.

Oh, and click here for my novel’s page at Knox Robinson Publishing’s site. Buy it and I’ll sign it. I’ll write something scandalous and then we’ll laugh and laugh and laugh. See, my signings will be rad. I’m going to put my hair in a bouffant and that, on its own, is rad.

On taking happy pills and writing fiction

And, I’m back.

So, when we last left The Rambling Jour, I was causing trouble in Monocacy and charming the fine gentlemen of the Shocker Mess. Prior to that, however, I had a wee bit of health issues. Spoilers: I’m fine now.

Before being fine, I was having heart palpitations and chest pain. I attributed this to the fact that I sit at a desk, hunched over paperwork all day long, and I hold a lot of tension in my chest. The heart palpitations were more of a concern, because my heart would just start to race and pound really, really hard. And really, really fast.

So I went to the doctor.

Things first started to go wrong for the doctor’s appointment when I a) left work twenty minutes late because a meeting ran long, b) hit an insane amount of traffic, which resulted in it taking me an hour and twenty minutes to get to the doctor. I literally arrived at the appointment the second it was supposed to start. Needless to say, I was a bit on edge.

Then the doctor was running late.

Fine, fine, whatever. I’d brought a notebook and a pen with me (because I never move twenty feet without bringing a notebook and a pen with me) and started working on my novel. My current historical novel (sorry Random Contemporary II, but historical novel is winning out on word count at this moment in time) deals a lot with addiction, post traumatic stress disorder, and panic attacks. Sitting in a small, stuffy exam room was giving me a panic attack. It was akin to Chekov’s Gun: using everything around me, introducing something small and forcing it into a story line and making it work! No plot device left behind! Experience it–write about it–make it work! In between thinking my heart was going to bounce right out of my chest, I felt like A Real Author. Living the dream! Using my emotion and slapping it down on paper!

When the doctor came in, we had a delightful, albeit rambling, chat.

And then I had an EKG.

And then a second EKG.

And then a third EKG.

And then the doctor came in and said, “Well, I don’t think you’re having a heart attack. But based on the results of the EKG, I have to send you to the ER. I’m so convinced though that it’s not a heart attack that I’m going to let you drive to the ER instead of calling the ambulance.”

Um.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll call ahead.”

Um…..

Okay, so what started out as some heart palpitations turned into “well, we can give you anxiety medication but let’s do an EKG first” which then turned into “I don’t think you’re having a heart attack.” I’m surprised that I stayed as calm as I did, but I drove myself to the ER, handed the keys of my vintage 2003 Chevy to the valet parking attendant (“Don’t worry, we validate.”), and strolled into the ER like I owned the place.

What up, bitches?

And let me tell you what. When you show up at the ER with chest pain, they just waltz you right into triage and give you a room. No waiting. No intake. Just “take off your clothes and put this gown on, opening in the back.”

I got yelled at for accidentally putting the opening in the front. Whatever. Chest pain, remember?

They hooked me up to a heart monitor, popped in an IV, and starting asking me all these supposedly pertinent questions:

When was your last period?
Are you having chest pain?
Are you anxious?

I just looked at the nurse when she asked if I was anxious. Finally I said, “Perhaps a little.”

She entered something into the computer. “I guess that was a silly question.”

Yeah.

So, then I had a chest x-ray. Then they drew blood. Three more medical personnel asked when my last period was. Finally, an absurdly young doctor came in and said, “I don’t think you’re having a heart attack.”

Well, this is excellent news.

“I think you’re just anxious.”

This goes without saying.

“We’ll just monitor you for a bit and run some tests. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Two hours of watching Walker: Texas Ranger and working on my novel, weaving my horrible chest pain/palpitation symptoms into the main character’s own panic attacks, he finally came back in and said, “Well, I think we’re wasting your time. Your tests are fine. You might as well go home.”

Fantastic! So, I said, “How can you tell the difference between a panic attack and a heart attack?”

“You can’t. That’s why they pay me the big bucks. You come in and we’ll tell you and, if you come in too much, we’ll call you crazy.”

Thanks a lot, asshole.

So I went home. And then I went to Monocacy. And I didn’t die. Then, I went back to the doctor and saw a different doctor who said, “I think you have an issue with anxiety.”

Yes. Yes I do.

Now I’m heavily medicated. Well, maybe not heavily medicated. But I’m medicated enough that I’m no longer overwhelmed, stressed, panicked, or slumping around with chest pain. Meanwhile, though, the doctor said, “Just to rule out everything, though, let’s do some blood work and a holter monitor test.”

Damn it.

This kid makes holter monitor tests glamorous. Low rise jeans. Always attractive sports bra. Heck ya, that’s how a kid on happy pills rolls: Facebook ready, just living the dream.

I hadn’t had heart palpitations since I started my meds. Until, you know, I was wearing the holter monitor and having every heartbeat recorded. Then I had two. So that was nice.

The good news is, the results of the blood work and the monitor came back fine. I’m just this much over the line separating normal and crazy. I haven’t been this laid back in years.

And I’m using every feeling, every twitch, and every flutter for my novel.

Granted, in 1912 we weren’t aware of PTSD and the effects of stress on people. World War I gave us shell shock. But the feelings are there. I know those feelings and I can use it in my novel to better describe what the main character, Ava, is going through. My med-pocolypse will be financially expensive (don’t even get me started), but invaluable for enriching my writing. Right? Right.

I’m about 165 pages into my novel–which actually has a title, Since April–so it looks like it’s actually happening. Exciting! Now, if I could only find time to work on it. That’s the one set back to the so-called happy pills: about an hour later, I’m asleep. Of course, that could also be old age setting in. I just recently celebrated the third anniversary of my 29th birthday. So…yeah. Old age, heart palpitations, varicose veins, and asleep before 9pm.

Totally hot.