Tag: author

Grabbing the Blooms Where I can

Summer has settled into the Northeastern USA and I’m making the most of it with walks and long mornings writing on my patio.

Clematis
Clematis

My organic veggie garden is something of a hot mess as I always over plant. The green beans and cucumbers are climbing up the tomato cages, and alas, some of the tomatoes. One success I’ve had is with wavy petunias. They were neglected by (cough, cough) certain family members while I was gone for a writing event. They were crispier than bacon on a grill. But with a little shade and a lot of watering, they’re back! I’m taking such joy in seeing a garden progress over years instead of months or only two growing seasons, as we dealt with while living our Navy life.

I hope your summer (winter for our southern hemisphere readers) is off to a good start, too.

A Purr-fect Book Signing

It wasn't just me signing on Saturday
It wasn’t just me signing on Saturday

Before I ever sold one book I dreamt of how it “would be” once I’d published. I’d make the NYT bestseller list within a few months, be on Oprah (dating myself, I know), be interviewed by Charlie Rose as I’d seen him interview Robert McKee about his book STORY. And the book signings…I’d walk into independent bookstore after independent bookstore, booksellers so pleased to see me and my avid readers lined up around all of the quirky bookshelves. I’d be dressed like Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail,” a tweed skirt with cute tights.

cupboardmakerrhonda
Me with Ronda–Michelle is Camera-Shy

Enter reality–it took far longer to sell and publish than I ever thought it would. The Information Age bloomed into the Digital Revolution. Print runs are down, there are too few books and too short a time for bookseller to order my novels. That’s if said bookseller will even consider hosting a genre author. You don’t want to know the mental revenge one-liners I’ve practiced after being told “we don’t carry your kind of book.” My kind? Oops, that’s another post, or better, an op-ed like Eloisa James did.

Christmas in July Book Signings Rock!
Christmas in July Book Signings Rock!

Then enter Michelle Mioff-Haring, owner of Cupboard Maker Books in Enola, PA. A dedicated professional who is passionate about books and the romance genre, she garnered the Romantic Times (RT) bookseller of the year award in Kansas City this past May. This is where Michelle and I met. I know, I had to travel far away to find the treasure right in my own backyard. Kind of cool, though, that I met her in the Land of Oz…

Cat Nap
Cat Nap

Ronda, Michelle’s assistant, contacted me and we set up a date for me to sign my latest, NAVY ORDERS. Could I please bring copies of NAVY RULES with me, as they were only able to get NAVY ORDERS? I tingled with glee–they had done their homework and knew what I wrote. Then, when I arrived, Michelle told me she’d read my book and enjoyed it. If you’re a writer you know how rare this is. In our age of information and entertainment inundation, it’s totally understood that a bookseller doesn’t have time to read all of the authors she hosts for signings. But Michelle makes the time, as does Ronda.

I don't care if the author is allergic, I want to come out!
I don’t care if the author is allergic, I want to come out!

But wait–the best part of all of this is the bookstore! As soon as you open the door, the serenity-infused aroma of paperback and hardback books assaults you and leaves you in a warm state of reader bliss. Row upon row of neatly arranged books, by genre and author, await. Clean, neat, organized, welcoming. The shelving goes up to the ceiling…well, almost. The shelves actually go up to where there are wooden plank walk-ways for the rescue cats that reside at Cupboard Maker Books. Safe, sterile cages house the newly rescued, who graduate to wandering the tomes at will, serving sentry over centuries of story.

I want to prowl the shelves
I want to prowl the shelves

Back to the signing–I confess, I brought me knitting with me. But it never left the car–I was talking and selling books for the entire two hours, all to new readers who loved romance and many who had an affinity or bona fide connection to the U.S. Military. I spoke with a US Marine Corp vet who’d taken photos of the USS Pueblo (no link–if you don’t know, it’s worth looking up, like when your teacher told you to look up the word in the dictionary yourself). I spoke at length with an Army spouse whose husband was now retired from the military, like mine. I talked with a high school senior who is a writer and had the best questions of all–when did I know I was a writer? What keeps me going?

Back home I have rolled my writing sleeves back up so that I’ll have two Whidbey Island books for you in 2014. True confession: hoping to sign at Cupboard Maker Books again is a big incentive.

NAVY HOPE Chapter Fourteen

Navy Hope

By Geri Krotow

Copyright © 2013 by Harlequin Books S.A.

Chapter Fourteen

Val chose her words carefully. “Kind of—I mean, yes, you were. I dated other boys, went on with my life. But I always wondered…”

“I’m sorry for any hurt I caused you. I wasn’t worthy of you back then, Val.”

“We were both so young.”

She started to walk down the trail, away from where they’d embraced.

“Let’s head back. There’s a lot that needs to be done before our first session at ten.” Professional Val, fearless team leader of BTS, was in charge again.

As they ran down the hill, Val explained that she’d decided to keep the schedule on a timetable more akin to that of a resort or cruise, so the vacation ambience permeated the family’s stay.

“What if they don’t come up with a plan for when they leave?” So far each family he’d worked with had, but he didn’t assume that was always the case.

“That’s okay, too. The point is, we gave them an opportunity to think about their lives away from the identity of being a Gold Star Family. Not to invalidate it in any way, but we try to help them form their own dreams and aspirations.”

“Has it ever been hard for you to let them go at the end of their week?”

“Truly? No. I don’t get as close to them as you and the other counselors do. BTS is set up so that I’m the go-to person for anything they need to facilitate their time here. But I made a point of putting all the right experts in place to handle the various aspects of the retreat. Life-mapping, journaling, motivational speakers, resumes—there are folks more trained in these things than I’ll ever be.” She slowed to a walk in front of the office. The sun was beginning to send a few rays up over the horizon, dissipating the fog they’d left in.

“As I’m sure you’ve already observed, I’m the back-up. If one of the counselors gets sick or takes vacation time, I can step in. But it’s essential that I remain a bit more detached, so that I can support the counseling team.”

“Don’t you miss using your social work skills?”

“Sometimes, but not as much as I thought I would.” A shadow crossed her face. He wanted to whisk it away and bring the sparkle back to her green eyes.

“It was a long haul, losing Chet. Not as hard as it was for Erin or my nephews, of course.” She pursed her lips. “I was burned out from social work when I went to help Erin and the boys. The wall of grief that we all had to push through—watching them go on, day after day— well, let’s just say it was enough to last me a lifetime.”

He was quiet, humbled that she’d shared so much with him, so soon.

You kissed her too soon.

Women Power!

Dr. Jill Biden and I, US Embassy, Moscow
Dr. Jill Biden and I, US Embassy, Moscow
We have a great example of what great smarts and a sincere heart can do for a person and in turn, for the rest of the world. Vice President Joe Biden’s wife, Dr. Jill Biden, is not only the Second Lady of the United States but also a teacher at Northern Virginia Community College. She holds a doctorate and is a fierce supporter of military families. She’s a military Mom and knows the sacrifices we all make on this unique path. I had the privilege of meeting her (and her husband!) yesterday and gave her a copy of SASHA’s DAD as a small token of my appreciation. It’s always great to be a writer, wonderful to be a published author, but even better when I can hand an extension of myself to someone as a gift. For whatever reason, but this was a great one!

The next time I get bummed about too long between contracts or the difficulty of pursuing a writing career while overseas, I’ll think “what would Dr. Biden do?” She’d get to work!

Swimming in Jam

Do you ever feel like you’re swimming against the tide? Okay, maybe not against the tide but instead of flying in the current of life it’s tossing you around a bit, maybe leaving a few marks?
I’ve felt like this for a while now and I can’t put my finger on when it started. When we were evacuated from Moscow this summer, due to the smoke from the peat fires? When our stay in the States turned from 4 to 6 weeks and I was out of my routine for too long? When it hit me that life is constantly moving by whether or not I “hop on?”
It really doesn’t matter what caused this type of funk. And I feel guilty even saying it’s a funk. I enjoy life. I took myself and my laptop out into the city today to write this blog–I don’t know many people who can say they took their office out for a trip. Of course, they probably make a lot more money than I do, but that’s another blog (the I’m-not-defined-by-my-royalty-statement essay). It’s 55 degrees Fahrenheit in Moscow Russia on the 15th of November and I’m out here to enjoy it, for heaven’s sake.
Maybe when I was younger I wasn’t as aware of the fragility of life, the reality that we all get older if we’re blessed to live long enough. And getting older means saying good-bye to some youthful pursuits. Self-pity and self-centeredness top my favorite things to say “so long” to.
I must say I love the confidence and sense of knowing myself that maturation brings. It’s liberating and thrilling. The younger me would be horrified to know that indeed, my body can weigh the number of pounds it does–that my figure hasn’t stayed reed-thin and my clothes choices too often fall into the “comfortable writer” category. But the younger me had no clue as to the joys of raising children, dogs, novels, marriages (just one so far, Thank God).
The younger me didn’t notice she was swimming through jam. I was spinning my wheels too quickly to even note if I hit a speed bump.
Today I feel the speed bumps and heart palpitations. But I’m not afraid of any of it–it’s okay, it’s life, and I’m happy to be here.
And that means accepting when I’m treading in thick, syrupy jam. This too shall pass.