Blame it on whatever you want, you still have to WRITE!

Hello all!

I collect magnets. The snarkier the magnet the more likely I am to have it on my fridge.  I especially like magnets that talk about a writer's life.  I recently picked up one that says, "Write Drunk, Edit Sober." Now of COURSE I do both in a sober condition.  (I found out long ago I can't type when I'm inebriated...to say my drunk typing looks like monkey's work is an insult to monkeys.)

A few years back a friend of mine gave me a magnet that says, "I hate writing. I love having written." That's a quote from my sound bite sensei, Dorothy Parker.  I have found that quite true the last couple months. The early spring found me tapping away furiously at three separate book projects.  Now, in the last several weeks, I haven't written more than a few thousand words and I probably won't keep any of those.  Two of the three projects I want to have published by year's end.  That may not happen if I don't get my butt in gear.

Sure, I've had a lot going on.  I had hand surgery....twice.  We moved our daughter, our youngest out of town, out of state, to another city to be closer to her fiancee. Oh, and yeah, she also got engaged at 19, so there was that.  I continue to worry and pray for those in my family who are struggling with

mental illnesses, and I struggle with my own sense of purpose and self worth.  

It's when I let all of this pile up in my brain that my couch and Netflix are my solace and the very idea of writing becomes an actual, physical pain.

This summer, however, my mother and I are back on the Farmer's Market circuit, her selling her art and me selling my books. As I talk about my writing I find myself thinking about that quote from Dorothy Parker.  I love talking about the things I've written. The projects I have sitting on my desk, in my inbox, those are the things I need to write and those are the things I loathe and hide from when I get home.  I bury myself under a blanket. I run errands that really don't need doing. I actually cleaned one of the bathrooms in my house...willingly.

My lack of willpower (and that magnet) make me think of so many other talented people, some of whom are reading this blog and some of whom I've parted ways with long ago because I chose one path for my writing and they chose another and somehow that made me evil in their eyes.  There are so many talented story tellers out there who have shelved their work and moved on to simply live life and think, on occasion, about writing they once did.  (And yes, E, I'm talking about you! Finish the book!)  There are others who continue to live the writing life. They go to conferences, they meet people, they drink wine and talk about writing but they never quite finish that project. 

Why?  Why does this happen?  We writers, we have stories in us. We have the tools to take those stories from our brains and share them with the world. Why don't we do it?

Writing itself is a pain in the butt. There's no other way to put it.  Well, wait, there is. Rick Springfield, believe it or no, was once asked how he felt about writing. The person asking the question was talking about writing lyrics, but I believe Rick's response fits all writers:

Preach it, Rick.

"Writing is actually like having a lover.  Sometimes it's incredible and sometimes it can give you a headache." 

I couldn't agree more. Actually, someone needs to put THAT on a magnet for me. There are thousands of stories out there that will never be told because the act of sitting down, focusing, and then actually putting words to paper or screen is actually really, really difficult.  Some shut it out completely.  Some dabble, and put on a great show.  Some take time off and come back to it. And some, and these are the people I really admire because they succeed, very much like my friend Ilona Fridl (who will be guest blogging in the near future again as she has given the world another lovely book) who soldier on, who work every day, and who get it done.

So yeah, I had hand surgery. I moved my young daughter far away.  I got tired. I got sick.  I got worried.  I let that stand in my way.  And I can't do that anymore. I may be on the verge of a new chapter in my writing career and now is not the time to let myself be weighted down by how difficult the job is. I need to get the job done.

A Review you can use: Ricki and the Flash - Rick Springfield fans may not love me...and then again, maybe they will.

Good evening all!

I am a Rick Springfield fan.  

That's nothing new most of you know that about me.  I mean, seriously, have you read my first novel, Dream in Color?  It's all about a middle aged woman in love with a slightly more than middle aged rock star.  Yeah, do the math.  If X equals the middle aged woman being me, and Y equals the rock star being Rick Springfield, then there you go.

Anyway, with that in mind, it should surprise no one that I went to see Rick's latest foray into acting, with a supporting role in Meryl Streep's new movie, "Ricki and the Flash."

I am a Rick, Springfield fan, but I 'm not a a fan of his acting.  Sure, I loved Dr. Noah Drake.  But then he did "Hard to Hold" which, if I'm being totally honest, is a bad movie. (I've called it "Hard to Hold Down.)  A bad movie supported by excellent music and one seriously steamy love scene that's beautifully shot, but it's a bad movie.  And since "Hard to Hold" I've followed Rick's acting.  He's been in some really bad movies, and some mediocre tv shows.  He's not bad, it's just that music is his first, and strongest talent.

But I'm getting way ahead of myself.  Springfield is not the star of "Ricki and the Flash."  Meryl Streep stars in the story of a middle aged mom who has tried (and failed) to make it big as a rocker in L.A. with her band while her way upper middle class ex husband (Kevin Kline) thrives with his new wife and their three children, all of whom are now grown.

Ricki (Streep) is called back to Indiana when her daughter, Julie, falls into deep depression after her husband leaves her.  Ricki spends times living in her husband's palatial home, trying to mend fences with her adult children, but managing to break even bigger fences with Maureen, the step mother.

If I'm going to be honest, and I think I've proved I can be by the previous paragraphs, this movie is a yawner until about halfway through when someone remembers, "Hey, we have Rick Springfield in the cast maybe we should give him some lines."

I can't put my finger on it.  I like Meryl Streep, I love Kevin Kline and Maimie Gummer, as Julie, says all the right words with all the right inflections and yet everything seems flat and disjointed.  Given that Diablo Cody ("JUNO") wrote the screenplay and Jonathan Demme ("SILENCE OF THE LAMBS") directed, this surprised me. flat, boring, blah.

And then...and then something happens.  Ricki goes back to L.A., dispirited and down on herself and

convinced she's the worst mother to ever live.  (She is, sort of.  I mean, come on.  She's a disaster in leggings.)  And then there's this incandescent conversation/argument between Ricki and Greg (Springfield) about parenting and how your kids hate you and...well, you've seen most of that scene because they put it in the trailer.

Springfield saves this movie.  I am a fan, but I never thought I'd say this about his acting, but Rick Springfield saves this movie from being a waste of time.  From the moment he gives the speech about being a parent, everything livens up. Yes, there's a love scene, and some touching moments and some legitimately good rock and roll, and I pretty much love everything that happens in the Salt Well (the bar where Ricki and her band play).  

Oh sure, the second half of the movie reads like a complete John Hughes rip off.  (If you see the film you'll know what I mean.  There's a big "Pretty in Pink" vibe going on here.)  But at that point you're sold. The good news is other than Springfield and Streep, the other characters get very little to say in the rest of the movie.  And there's some good, old fashioned rock and roll.

Yes, Streep played and sang and yes, she's decent.

But the bigger surprise here is Rick Springfield made this movie and thanks to his efforts, I'm giving this one a 3.5 stars out of 5.  Decent escape from the summer heat. 

Sneak Peak Saturday: Dream in Color

Good afternoon!

It's been some time since I've released a bit of my very first novel, Dream in Color, so I thought, since it's summer and much of the novel takes place in the summer, this would be a great time to share. And what better place to start than right at the beginning?

For those of you not aware, Dream is a sort of take on the Cinderella fairy tale, only our Cinderella is a single woman in her late 30's who has a crush on an aging, retired, teen idol.  

If you've ever had a crush on a celebrity, this is the book for you!

Enjoy!

            “Good morning beautiful, beautiful, Ramona.”

              Ramona keeps her eyes closed.  This is her favorite part of the day, when Jesse wakes her.  She curls her toes between the satin sheets and waits for him to touch her.

            “I brought you something special this morning.”

            Eyes still closed, Ramona stretches her arms over her head and sinks deeper into the pile of goose down pillows.  “What did you bring me?”

            “See if you can tell.”  He passes something beneath her nose. Ramona closes her eyes tightly, fighting the urge to peak and ruin the surprise.  No easy feat, because she loves Jesse’s cooking and something smells too tempting to resist.  He hasn’t touched her, but it’s all part of their ritual, a ritual they’d started the first morning after they were married.

            “Hmm.  Bacon?”

            “Not even close.”

            She sniffs a little.  “I don’t know.  Bring it closer.”

            “I’ll give you a hint.  It’s always been your favorite.” 

            The smell grows stronger and Ramona lets herself sink into the lazy loveliness of it all.  Jesse waves the plate of wonderful smells closer now, and something wet touches her cheek.

            “I’m not sure, Jesse.  What is it?”

            “It’s deep fried cheese curds my love.  Your favorite.  And it’s seven forty three on a snowy, blowy Monday morning. If you’re supposed to be at work at eight, and you’re still in bed, you’re probably going to be late.”

            Ramona Simms snapped one eye open and then another.  Gone was Jesse Alexander, former teen pop star, her Prince Charming, her ultimate dream date.  In his place was Leo, her eleven-year-old poodle/bulldog mutt, licking her face as the clock radio blared the morning weather report and, worst of all, the time.  She squinted at the blurry red numbers while slapping her hand on the nightstand vainly searching for her glasses.  The numbers on the clock confirmed her worst fears.

            “Shit!” She flung back the tattered quilt on her bed, shoving Leo off her in the process.  “Leo, I’m

late, again!  Celia’s going to be seriously pissed this time!”  She staggered to the kitchen and let Leo out the back door.

            Her next stop was the bathroom, where she evaluated her reflection in the mirror.  “Aren’t I a vision?”  She yanked three silvery strands of hair away from her shoulder length brunette locks.  “It may be time for hair color.  Unless I can pass these off as blonde highlights?”  Grinning at the thought, Ramona jerked a brush through her hair and brushed her teeth.  “That’s going to have to do this morning.” She gave the air a sniff.  “Eww. Deodorant isn’t going to be enough today.  Must have perfume!”

 She rummaged in the vanity drawer in vain for something resembling perfume.  “Oh screw it!”  She ran back to her bedroom and dragged the first dress that came to her hand out of the closet.

            Simultaneously kicking off her ratty sweat shorts and pulling on a blue dress that hadn’t been in style for more than ten years, and hadn’t fit her properly in five, Ramona caught a glance of herself in the full-length mirror. “Cellulite.  Never leave home without it.”  She flung the shorts off the end of her toes and flung her hair out of her eyes. “Well, there’s not much I can do about that now, is there?  I’m over thirty-five, I’m overweight, and I’m going to be over late if I don’t get a move on.”  She gave her control top pantyhose a short, ferocious yank and let the skirt drop past her waist.  It got stuck around her hips, of course. Ramona wiggled her size sixteen rear at the mirror and the skirt fell into place.

She stomped through the living room back into the kitchen and jerked open the door. Leo skittered in, shaking snowflakes off his curly brown coat. “Leo, I gotta run.  You sure you’re done outside?”  She gave her dog a stern look.  “I don’t want the house stinking when I get home.” 

            Leo, named after Ramona’s favorite Jesse Alexander song, gave her a solemn, brown-eyed look that melted her heart every time.  As much as the furry, lumpy dog’s furious flatulence annoyed her, she adored him.  He was really her one true love, farts and all. 

            “I’m going to Mom’s for dinner tonight.”  Ramona smiled when Leo licked his nose with his ample tongue and whined.  “So you won’t be coming with me?”  Ramona rubbed Leo’s broad head, setting in motion several rolls of fur-covered skin.  “Be good.”

            She grabbed her coat and boots out of the front closet, and paused, as she did every day, in front of the autographed picture sitting on the piano.  “Well Jesse, I’m off for another glamorous day at work.” She touched the smiling face with her index finger.  “Unless you’re standing next to my car, in which case I’ll be jetting off someplace with you.”

            One last touch to the picture and she whipped through the kitchen, grabbing the keys that hung on the hook next to the door.  Jesse Alexander was not standing in her driveway, so, resigned to another day of life as a normal person, Ramona slammed the rusty door of her longsuffering Ford Tempo and turned up the car stereo, the first strains of “Leo” crackling out of the protesting speakers as the windshield wipers creaked in protest against the blustery, snow-laden wind.

            As she drove slowly on the tree-lined roads of Cobia, Wisconsin, Ramona reminded herself that the town itself wasn’t so bad.  What started out as a booming submarine-building city on Lake Michigan during World War II mellowed nicely into a collection of  thirty-thousand souls, all fighting the inevitable march towards becoming a sleepy tourist town for harried executives from Chicago.  Forever frozen in the 1940’s, downtown Cobia looked more like a movie set and less like place where actual people lived real lives every day.  Maybe because of the aura of the past that clung to Cobia, the whole town seemed far smaller than most cities of the same size.  Ramona didn’t mind the feeling that everyone knew her business.  She had no business to know.

No, it was the job.  Ramona tried to keep her mind off L.M.I., where she’d worked for nearly a decade, tapping out data entry numbers like some frantic distress signal to anyone bored enough to approach her tiny, corner cubicle. She parked her rusted vehicle in the only parking space left, the one furthest from the door. In spite of the snow, as she walked toward the building, Ramona’s pace grew slower and more measured, as if even her feet were dreading another day at L. M. I. International.

            “Who the hell moved my headset?”  Bonnie, the long time receptionist, had a phone voice that sounded like smooth jazz, but that’s where the charm ended.  Her regular voice matched her worn out, cigarette smoking, teased hair persona much better, and she wasn’t nearly as polite to the office personnel as she was on the phone.  “If that headset isn’t on my desk in ten seconds I swear I will find out who took it and I will take great pleasure in drowning them in packing peanuts back in shipping!”  She looked up at Ramona.  “Hey there Sunshine.  Good of you to join us today.  And if you’re planning on taking the tour to your desk, might I suggest taking the roundabout way, through production and past the restrooms?  I told Celia it was your time of the month and you were probably in one of the restrooms not feeling well.”  Bonnie looked Ramona up and down.  “And that shouldn’t be a hard fib to pull off since you look like hell.”

            Ramona shook the last snowflakes off her coat and hung it in the front closet.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.  I overslept and I’m parked in outer Siberia.”

            Bonnie raised an over-plucked eyebrow at her.  “And yet, you’re not looking pissed.  Which means something good happened to you last night.  Get lucky?”

            Ramona looked over her shoulder in case her supervisor was near. Celia Yasher was a cold woman, eternally clad in severe business suits with a hairstyle and personality to match. Worse for Ramona, Celia seemed to have a perverse delight in scolding her, especially, for any minor infraction. 

            Certain the hall was clear, Ramona leaned over the counter. “I got ‘Reflections in Blue.’”

            “You didn’t!”  Bonnie softened and looked impressed.  “That disk was like forty bucks or something, right?”

            “Yeah, it went to fifty, and I’ll be eating ramen noodles for a week, but I don’t care. It’s Jesse’s last recording before he retired. I just had to have it.”

            “You are the girl who makes eBay go ‘round.  Aha!” Bonnie uncovered her headset from a pile of FedEx envelopes.  “It figures.  I’m gone one afternoon and that temp shoves my headset in the mailers.”  She squashed it down over her hopelessly stiff bouffant. “Doll, if you’re not his truest fan, then I don’t know who is.”  Bonnie let loose a smoky cough.  “I always liked that Jesse Alexander.  He was an easy one to look at.”

            Short clicks on the resilient tile announced the arrival of Celia to the office, and Ramona skittered around the receptionist’s desk.  “I totally agree.”  She grinned at Bonnie before slipping down the hall to the poolroom.

            The “poolroom” was a large warehouse-sized room filled with endless cubicles from which rose the rhythmic sound of clacking as rows and rows of data entry specialists, secretaries, and filing clerks tracked every item shipped to and from L.M.I.  Ramona’s cube was in the farthest corner, a space cut off from the rest of the pool by a support column, and mostly unheated, but Ramona rarely complained.  Very few people passed by her desk, and even fewer bothered her.  Her job as the Quality Control Records Clerk was dull and uninspiring, but it did nothing to invade her eight-hour-long daydreams of Jesse.  Just the way Ramona liked it.

            Just ahead of Celia, Ramona dashed to her desk and tossed her lunch bag into the bottom drawer.  With practiced accuracy, she slipped her feet out of the battered sneakers she wore to work and into the pinching pumps she kept under her desk for those multiple moments in the day when Celia, the office cop, inspected each and every clicking clacking cubicle for company policy outlaws.

            “Good morning, Ramona.  Just getting in?”

            Ramona looked up from her stack of shipping orders and gave her supervisor a look of vacant innocence.  “I’ve been here for ten minutes, Celia.  Got in at eight on the dot, like always.  Just not feeling well,” she lowered her voice, “it’s that time, you know, and the ladies room is out of personal items. So I went back to the production rest room.”

            “Out of personal items?  That cleaning crew!  That’s it!  I will be calling their manager today and I’ll have three new companies tour the place by the end of the week.”

            “Oh, wait Celia, maybe the machine was just jammed or something.  You don’t have to-”

            Celia turned icy eyes on her.  “You really shouldn’t defend shoddy workmanship, Ramona. If we are willing to accept substandard workmanship in others, then it’s not a long fall to substandard performances on our own part.  Wouldn’t you agree, Ramona?”

            Ramona cringed at the way Celia dragged out her name.  “I’m just saying that before you go firing anyone, maybe you should double check.  I could have made a mistake, or the machine could be jammed or something.”  She swallowed and tried to look pathetic and weak.  “I’m not feeling at all well today.”

            “Fine, I will check the machine myself.” Celia sniffed and looked hard at Ramona’s outfit. “What are we wearing today?” Celia raised a sharp, drawn-in eyebrow at her.

            Ramona’s shoulders tensed.  Every morning the same question, the same inspection, the same erosion of self-esteem spewed from Celia’s mouth and covered Ramona like hot, sticky lava. “I can’t speak for you, but let’s see, I’m wearing uncomfortable shoes, circulation-stifling pantyhose, itchy skirt, and lung crushing foundation garments. Do I pass muster?”

            “You know,” Celia poked a long, well-manicured nail at her, “that smart mouth has no place here.  It’s bad for morale.”

            “Well, you’re the expert on being bad for morale.” Ramona started shuffling papers and looking generally busy.

            Celia blinked, analyzing Ramona‘s comment but apparently did not find the insult. “Filing needs the Bio-West order by noon.”

            “Filing shall have the Bio-West order by noon.  I have it right here.”  Ramona held up a thick stack of flimsy green shipping orders.  “It’s my first order of business.”

            “It should be.”  Celia’s eyes, restrained by enormous horn-rimmed glasses, stopped their search as they fell on the small personal CD player on Ramona’s desk.  “We’re still listening to our own music, I see.”

            Ramona sighed.  Celia was never quite satisfied until she’d sucked every bit joy from the person to whom she was speaking.  “Yes, Celia, we are.  You know it helps me concentrate, and I don’t disturb a soul.”

            “I don’t like it.”  Celia sniffed the air as if sensing another infraction in a cubicle far, far away.  “It doesn’t look professional.”

            Ramona looked around her tiny space and shook her head.  “Well, besides you and the guy from shipping who drops off the shipping orders, who sees me?”

            “Just don’t ever let Mr. Anderson catch you with them on.” Celia brushed her hands against each other, as if washing them of all guilt for such a transgression.  “Just because you’ve been an employee here longer than any of the other girls in this department, that doesn’t guarantee you any special treatment from him.”

            “I wouldn’t think of it.” Ramona kept a pleasant look on her face, praying Celia would leave. Sniffing one more time, Celia left the cubicle without another word.  Ramona reached into her bottom drawer where she kept her CD’s, and thumbed through the collection. 

            “Did Vampira draw any blood this morning?”

            Ramona looked up and into the plain, honest face of Neil Horton.  Neil, like Ramona, had grown up in Cobia and now worked as head of the accounting department for L.M.I.  He was the perfect stereotype for his position, from his thinning, dull brown hair to his long, narrow nose to the squinty, near-sighted way he studied anyone to whom he spoke.  The joke around the office was that no one needed a weatherman.  Anyone who wanted to know what the weather was going to be just had to see what Neil Horton was wearing.  If it was a bland button-down oxford shirt, it was a warm day.  If he had a sweater vest over the oxford, it was a touch chilly.  If Neil wore a cardigan sweater, it was a brutally cold day. The closer he got to his fortieth birthday, the more predictable his wardrobe was.

            High school pals, Ramona and Neil had gone to separate colleges, and had lost touch as Neil started his career with L.M.I. and Ramona attempted a life away from Cobia.  It was Neil who got her a job when she came back home and it was Neil who stopped by her workstation every day with a smile and a candy bar.  It was a friendship that Ramona simultaneously treasured and took for granted.

            “You know, whenever she drops by, it’s the only time I ever admit maybe my mother was right.”  Ramona pulled an industrial sized bottle of hand lotion out of her middle desk drawer and began her morning ritual of limbering her fingers for another brutal day on the computer. Taking good care of her hands was the only carry-over habit from her years, in the very distant past, of chasing a career as a musician.

            “How’s that?”  Neil perched on the edge of her desk.

“If I’d gotten an accounting degree, you’d be my supervisor, I would be in an office where the heat and air conditioning actually reach the desks, and I wouldn’t have to squeeze my ever widening rear end into these ridiculous clothes. I could wear jeans and comfortable shoes just like all the guys in your office do.”

            “Well, we’d welcome you, that’s for sure.  And your rear end is just fine.”

            A rare awkward silence hung between them as Ramona looked at him in surprise. 

            “I mean, I mean you’d be fine in whatever you wanted to wear.”  Neil ran a hand through his perfectly straight hair and blushed beneath the wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his long, bony nose.

            “Well, thanks Neil.”

            “Oh, hey, here you go.  Thought I’d bring you a snack.”  He handed her a Kit-Kat bar, her favorite.

            “Neil.  Thanks.”  She smiled at him and set the candy bar next to her keyboard.  “It’s nice to know I’ve got you anyway.”

            “Of course you do...have me.  As a friend, I mean.” He pushed up his glasses on his nose, something he did whenever embarrassed.

            “Well, I gotta get at it.”  Ramona put away the hand lotion and reached for her headphones. Chatting with Neil was nice, but she did have work to do. “That’ll taste good when I finish the Bio-West shipping order.  Celia will have me in a headlock if I don’t get these to Filing by noon.”

            “Okay, I’m going to let you get to work, then.  See you at lunch?”

            “If Celia doesn’t somehow find a way to make me work through it.”

            Neil gave her a wave and left the tiny space.  Now alone and facing a full day of flying fingered data entry, Ramona put on her headphones, selected Jesse Alexander’s third album to kick off her day, and turned up the volume.

Sneak Peak Sunday: Dream in Color

Good afternoon!

Yesterday I was out at the Waukesha Farmer's Market signing and selling books.  Seeing everything I've put in print in the last five years was really something.  As authors, we write and then shelve what we write and move on to the next thing.  Sometimes just putting everything on a single table and saying, yes I wrote that.  In my case it's been four novels, two humor books and two novellas, in five years.  That doesn't include "Missing in Manitowoc" which is finished but not yet out, nor does it include "Love is Eternal" which is the final in my three novella series, which is also almost finished.

The last five years have been a crazy whirlwind and I found myself yesterday sort of paging through some of the books, thinking about how I wrote them, how I fell in love with the heroes, and fought battles with the heroines.  I was taken back to that very first novel, the one that got me published and gave me the confidence to go forward and make a name for myself and tell my stories to everyone out there:  Dream in Color.

Dream in Color is the book everyone should read if they've ever had a crush on a celebrity.  I know who my celebrity crush is...at least the one I was thinking of when I wrote this.  I hear from other people at signings and they tell me about this crush or that.  It's a universal thing, falling in love with someone so completely out of reach, you carry that feeling in your heart forever.

Every author has a fondness for the first book they publish because it's the first.  I'm no different.  So today I'm going back five years and sharing a bit of this with you.  Enjoy!

“The first thing I have to do is lose some weight.” Ramona studied her reflection in the mirror the next morning.  Leo watched her, tipping his head to one side so the skin hanging over his furry eyes would shift and he could better see Ramona twist this way and that way while still clinging to the bath towel that covered her.

            “What are you looking at, Leo?”  Ramona dressed quickly and self-consciously in front of her dog.  Something about the way Leo looked at her made her wonder if dogs really did have a sense of humor.  “Yes, I’m going to lose some weight, and so are you.  No more late night pizzas for us.”

            Leo pawed in disapproval at the towel now on the floor.

            “Of course I have to lose weight.  Jesse Alexander would never, ever love a chubby chunk like me.  But I’ve got four months to be beautiful.  Or at least thinner.”  Ramona puffed her usual amount of powder foundation on her face and then looked at herself with a very critical eye.  “I’m going to start wearing more makeup, too.”  She picked up a tube of mascara and twisted off the top, crusty from years of disuse.  She eyed up the stiff bristles of the black brush.  Behind her, Jesse howled something about finding a lost love.

            “You sing it, Jesse. Pretty soon, you’ll be singing live for me!”  She tossed out the old bottle and checked the clock.  “I’ve got time to stop at the store for new mascara.”

            Ramona grabbed her keys and blew one kiss to Leo and one to Jesse’s picture on her desk.  “And neither one of you will recognize little old me when I’m done.”

            Ramona arrived at work, still with enough time to apply the dozen different cosmetic products that she had squirreled in her purse.  As she left the restroom feeling like a new woman, Virgil bumped into her.

            “Oh, excuse me, ma’am.  I’m sorry.”

            “Virgil.  You doofus.”

            Virgil looked up and squinted at her.  “Ramona?”

            “Who else?”

            Not taking his eyes from her, Virgil reached out a hand to her shoulder.  “Are you still sick?”

            “No.  Why?”

            “You’ve got some black lines around your eyes.  And your face is flushed.”

            “Virgil, I’m wearing makeup.”  Ramona frowned at him.  “I’ve decided to make myself more presentable.”

            “Oh.”  Virgil followed her to her cubicle, a confused look gracing his face.  “But, um, why?”

            Ramona turned excited eyes to him.  “Tell me if I’m crazy or not, okay?  Last night I was on the internet and I went to this Official Jesse Alexander website.”  Ramona fairly bounced in her ergonomically correct office chair.  “I’m looking at the site, and there’s a list of tour dates.  He’s doing a bunch of fairs and festivals and stuff, all over the place, in the Midwest.  So I’m thinking, hey, I didn’t take any vacation time last year, maybe it’s time I did. I’ll take my three weeks and go to as many shows as I can.”

            Virgil toyed with the Jesse Alexander paperweight that held down the morning’s latest shipping orders. “You didn’t take a vacation last year?”

            “Where would I go? Can you see me on vacation with Eileen and Russell?  Please.  Dinner with them is bad enough.  Can you see it?  Singing songs as we drive across country to-”

            “Ramona!”  Virgil looked as surprised by his sharp interruption as she was.  “What about your sick time?”

            “From last year?  Apparently, that’s gone.  I guess Celia’s been docking me a half day for the days I show up ten minutes late.  Wish I’d known that, I would’ve taken the whole half-day.  So anyway, I’m sitting there, thinking-”

            “Ramona, when is your anniversary date?  With the company?” 

            This time Ramona stopped her prattling and stared at her friend. “Next week.”  She flipped her calendar.  “January 29th.  I’ll have been here ten amazing years.  And I thought maybe I’d ask Celia if I could take last year’s vacation as well as this year’s all this summer because of the tour and all, but she’ll definitely say no to that, I barely have to even ask her, and I know that’s what her answer will-”

            “I’m sorry, Ramona, I don’t mean to keep interrupting you, but there’s something you should know.”

            “And that is?”

            Virgil cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses as he looked around the cubicle.  “When L.M.I. International was sold the last time, the new owners changed the benefits packages for the new employees, but not for the ones who have been here longer than five years.”

            “Okay, that’s fascinating, Virgil.  But what has that got do to with the tour schedule?”  Ramona fought the urge to wave her hands in front of his face to bring his focus back on her story.

            “You’ve been here ten years, which means you get to roll over any unused vacation time dating back five years.” Virgil cleared his throat.  “Plus, since you started prior to the sale, you get an extra two weeks’ time from the company once you hit ten years.  You see, under the old package employees got to roll time year after year for five years if they wanted to.  One of the reasons the company almost went under was because the entire shipping department decided to take off the last quarter of 1997.”

            Ramona’s vision blurred.  “How much time did you say I had?”

            “Well, three weeks of your time last year, plus the five weeks this year.  And tell me, did you use all your time from the last five years?”

            “I don’t think so...not in the last five years. I haven’t done more than take a day here or there.” Ramona slumped in her chair, rocking forward to lean her spinning head in her hands.  “That means...that means...do you know what that means?”  She looked up at him, excitement feverish in her eyes. “What does this mean, Virgil?”

            “It means you have somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen weeks coming to you.” Virgil set the paperweight down again and stood up.  “It’s a simple figure of math, really.  You just add your weeks of vacation together over the period of five years. That’s three weeks a year, plus the bonus two weeks. ”

            Joy shot through her like a bolt of electricity and Ramona kissed Virgil impetuously on the lips. She wrapped her arms around him, joy steeling her joints against his surprised struggle.  Finally, after sucking the life out of him, Ramona let Virgil crumple against the desk.

            “Virgil, I love you for telling me this!”

            “Um, oh, I love you, too, Ramona.”  Virgil dabbed at his broad forehead with his handkerchief.  “I-I mean, you’re welcome, of course.”

            “I have to go talk to Celia about getting all this time off.”  Ramona smoothed her blouse and patted her hair before stepping out of her cubicle.  Her hands trembled as she began to choose her words carefully.

            “Ramona?”  He didn’t move from his spot on the desk. 

            “Yeah?”

            “What was the crazy thing you were going to tell me?”

            Ramona gave him a smile the exuded more confidence than she’d ever felt before.  “I’m going to marry Jesse Alexander.” 

            “Oh…I…see.” The pained look on Virgil’s face did not even register in her ecstatic mind as Ramona hustled to Celia’s office.

            Ramona paused outside her supervisor’s office and ran over what she would say several times.  Finally, squaring her shoulders, she went in.

            Every time Ramona entered Celia Yasher’s office, she thought of her waitress job in college when she was required to get hamburger patties out of the walk-in freezer.  Celia’s office reflected her personality in a way Ramona never thought possible in a room.  Every corner was sharp, every pencil sharper.

            “Celia?” Ramona hardly recognized the anemic sound as her own voice.

            Celia did not look up.  Ramona cleared her throat and swallowed.  “Celia?”  This time, her voice held more weight to it.  “I’ve come to request vacation time.”

            “Good to see you’ve recovered from your headache, Ramona.” Celia still didn’t look up but she did reach for a three-ring binder labeled ‘Vacations’.

            “Celia, the thing is, I didn’t take any vacation time last year, and I’ll be getting five weeks of time this year, once I pass my anniversary date.  I was told I could put all that together. As well as the weeks from the past five years.”

            Now Celia raised her gaze to Ramona. “My, my.  Been busy checking have we?”

            Ramona felt uncomfortable under the cat’s eye stare, but plowed on.  “I want to take that all at once.”

            Celia didn’t blink at the request.  Her painted face remained still.  “I see.  And when do you think you’d like to take all this time off?”

            “I’d like to leave the week before Memorial Day weekend.  The way I figure it, with Memorial Day and the Fourth of July holiday weekends, I’d be able to take the entire summer off. I’d come back right after Labor Day.  That’s not even really the whole amount of time I have coming.”

            “Well, that’s quite a chunk of time, isn’t it?” Celia’s stare never wavered, although her voice held a note of contemptuous humor.  “May I ask what big plans you have for such an amount of time?”

            I really shouldn’t tell her. Ramona inhaled and held her breath, preparing herself for the next wave of mockery.  “Jesse Alexander is going on tour of most of the Midwest, and I want to see all the shows.  There are going to be forty shows, and I may even get to meet him in person.”  As she said the words aloud, she wondered if they sounded as hopeful and pathetic to Celia as they did to her own ears. 

            They did.

            “Well, isn’t that quite the fantasy for someone your age?  I suppose, being single, you have nothing else better to do.”  Celia glanced at her garish wedding ring for emphasis.  “Still, you should focus on someone a little more, shall we say, attainable.  You know that for a woman your age, it’s more likely that you’ll be hit by lightening than get married now. And to some rock star person, too.”

            “Then I guess I’ll steer clear of thunderstorms, won’t I?”  Ramona bit her lower lip, swallowing her sharper words.  “How about it, Celia?  Do I get the time off or not?”

            Celia gave her a dried up little smile.  “I’m going to have to deny your request.”

            “What, just like that?  All of it?”  Ramona swallowed back the disappointment that welled in her.

            “All of it. I’m sorry, Ramona, but summer is just not a good time for you to take any time off.  Shipping is going to be busy. You know that.  And there’s no room in the budget to hire a temp while you’re off on this wild goose chase of yours.”

            “So what’s the point of saving up all this vacation time if I never get to use it?”

            “You needn’t get snippy with me.  No one forced you to stay at your desk when you had vacation time coming.”

            “You can’t tell me no one forced me to stay at my desk, Celia Yasher.  You know full well you denied me the few times I did ask for time off.”

            “I understand you’re disappointed, Ramona, but as your supervisor, I have to tell you that I do not have to tolerate your disrespectful tone.”

            Ramona took a deep breath and unclenched her fists.  “Fine.  In another week I’ll have earned five weeks’ time. I’d like to take that.”

            “Certainly, provided it’s not during June, July, August, or September.” 

            Ramona clenched her fists again as she watched Celia wrestle with the smirk that threatened to emerge on her face.  “So I get no vacation time at all, no matter how much in advance I ask for it, and no matter how little an amount of time I ask for.  Is that pretty much how it is?”

            “No not at all, dear.  Of course you can use your vacation time.  As I look on the calendar, I can spare you for a week in October.  Will that work with your plans?”

            Ramona had no words to give the rage that pounded in her chest.  Her nails embedded themselves into her palms.

            Celia’s tone was syrupy thick.  “Are you not feeling well, Ramona?  You look flushed.”

            “Actually, Celia, I am feeling a bit ill.  I think I’m going to go home a little early if that’s okay.”

            “I suppose.  Of course, the time will be charged against your vacation time since you have no sick time left.”

            “Of course.”  Ramona pulled the office door shut and brushed past Minnie without focusing on anything.

            “Ramona?  Ramona, are you okay?”  Minnie huffed to keep up.  “You look funny.”  She reached Ramona’s cubicle as Ramona turned off her computer.  “Are you okay, girl?  What did that old bat say to you?”

            Ramona squared her shoulders and smiled at Minnie.  “I’m just fine, Minnie.  I’m perfect.  I’m feeling a tiny bit under the weather, that’s all.  I’m going home.  Of course, this will count against my vacation time, but since I have almost seven hundred hours of vacation, I can spare it, I suppose.  Have a good night, Minnie.”

            Ramona walked to the front and out the door without another word to anyone.  Once inside her car, Ramona rested her head on the steering wheel and let the sobs roll out of her in waves.

            “Ramona, are you okay?”

            Ramona raised her tear-stained face to see Virgil tapping her car window.  “Virgil,” she groaned.

            “Ramona, please roll down the window.” His watery gray eyes pleaded with her. “Minnie just told me.  What can I do to help?”

            Ramona sighed and lowered the window down an inch. “Nothing.  I’m fine.  My headache came back from yesterday, so I’m going to go home.”  She put her key in the ignition and fired up her car.  As she pulled out of her parking spot, she saw Virgil, looking very, very sad.  “Virgil.  I’m fine.  I’m going home to lie down or something.”

            The sun was still bright as Ramona drove down Waldo Boulevard.  Feeling a little better escaping L.M.I., Ramona decided to go for a walk along the breakwater on the lake.  She pulled into the marina parking lot, ignoring the storm clouds threatened on the horizon.  Ramona grabbed her digital music player from her glove compartment and started out to the lighthouse.

            The wind off the lake cut at her cheeks, stinging her face and tearing up her eyes.  She didn’t care.  The lighthouse was her goal, a point of safety from the angry cloud of noise surrounding her.

            Tugging at her collar and adjusting the headphones, Ramona never looked down as she made her way over the oft-walked uneven rocks to her favorite perch.  She turned up the volume of the music and shut out the last of the disapproving voices that tried to reach her. Her mind was free to dream.

            Ramona’s spot at the lighthouse was little more than a broken section of concrete piled up on the far side of the deck.  As a child, she dangled her feet over the dark, icy water, delighted when frigid fingers dampened her toes.  An adult now, she curled her legs under her, but still watched the water with dark fascination.

            She turned the volume up once more, leaned back on the concrete, and closed her eyes.  The throbbing from the headphones soothed her aching head, cleansed her angry thoughts, and transported her from her misery.

            Jesse sits down next to her.  His long hair whips in the wind, just hiding his eyes from her. He crosses his arms, holding his black coat closer to him.  Sitting at the very edge of the walkway, he dangles one foot over the black water of Lake Michigan.

            “Ramona, come with me.  I’ll take you away from everything.”

            “I want to, Jesse.  I do.”

            “Then do it. What’s here for you?  Leave with me.” Jesse taps his foot against hers and grins.

            “You have no idea how bad I want to go away with you.”

            “Well, I’m flattered lady, but first you’d better get off your ass before you get washed out into the lake!”

            Startled, Ramona opened her eyes and looked up into the face of one very unhappy marina employee.  The large, gruff looking man tapped her on the shoulder and pulled the earpiece away from her head again.

            “Lady, there’s a storm out there.  What the hell are you doing sleeping here?”

            Ramona stood up but hunched herself to the smallest form possible in front of him.  “I’m terribly sorry.  I-I had no idea the weather was rough.”

            “Don’t be sorry, lady.  Just don’t be out here when it’s starting to storm like that.”  He pointed to the brilliant flashes of lightening that broke the sky in half.  Icy sleet whipped around them. “Weird winter storm. I never like lightning in the winter.  It’s not safe out here.  Come on.”

            Ramona followed him like an obedient child for a few steps, and then stopped as a crack of thunder opened a plan up to her. “No!  I’m not taking this anymore.  I’m going to live my life my way!”

            “Listen, lady, if it was up to me, you could sit out here all night, and we’d just fish you out of the marina in the morning.  But the boss has a thing about bodies near the yachts, so you haveta get out of here.”

            “Not that.”  She pulled away from him.  “I gotta go.”  She ran down the pier, not listening as the man swore into the wind.

            Once back at her house, Ramona aimed straight for the stereo.  She cranked the volume level to the red zone and selected a song. Glasses rattled in the cupboard and she tore layers of clothing off and sang along.

EVERYTHING IS ON SALE!

GOOD AFTERNOON!

I've decided to lower my e-book prices for a while so more of you can enjoy my books for less!  Not all the pricing has completely uploaded, but it should in the next 12-24 hours.

So, if you want to read one of my "Rock Harbor Chronicles"  books  (Formerly my "wicked Women" series), or either of the Elsie W. books, and you buy your e-books on Amazon, CLICK HERE to check out the new prices!

If you have a Nook and you get your e-books from Barnes and Noble, CLICK HERE for novels by Sarah J. Bradley and for the Elsie W. books, CLICK HERE to check out the new prices!

Now, if you read your books on any device other than a kindle or a nook, then you're still in luck!
CLICK HERE for Sarah J. Bradley novels .  For the Elsie W. books CLICK HERE to check out the new pricing!

I know that's a ton of info, but I'm really excited about lowering the prices on my books because it means one thing:  We are now just a short time away from seeing a new book!

Oh, and yes, Rick Springfield fans, all new pricing also applies to "Dream in Color," all of the sites.  YAY!

This is honestly the lowest price I'm going to be offering for the rest of the year, and it will be for a limited time.  How long that limited time is, I have no idea.  I'm not that organized!

Remember, if you read my books, or any books by an independent author, please leave a positive review.  (If you hated the book, however, feel free to NOT leave a review!  LOL!)  
Reviews and word of mouth are still the best, and sometimes the only, way an author can continue to do what they are doing.  It's not just so I can sit at my desk and spin yarns.  It's so this planet, our culture, can continue to hear stories from voices that have not been pigeonholed by big publishing.  

As they used to say in those great Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler adds:

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

Promotion Alert! Discounted e-books just for you!

Good morning!

So I'm trying something new.  I've delved full on into the Kool-Aid Amazon is serving and I've gone exclusively Amazon with my books for the next few months.  I've heard from other authors that this works for them, so I'm trying it.  The upside to being exclusive to Amazon is I get to offer specials and discounts on Amazon for my Kindle readers.

This coming week I'm doing what they call a Kindle Countdown.  For those of you who don't know this is a sort of graduated discount over a short period of time for Kindle books.  In this case, starting Monday, July 21, I've put my first novel, Dream in Color (my homage to Rick Springfield fans, or to anyone who ever had a crush on a rock/pop star), and my most recent novel, A Hero's Spark (a romantic suspense involving bar fights, cutting, theft, betrayal, sex, politics, and Waffle House) on Kindle Countdown.

What does this mean for you?  Well, it means you get one or both of these books for even LESS than the usual $2.99!  Starting Monday, you could get them for as low as $0.99!  

I'm really, excited to be able to do this for my readers because while I love getting paid to do something I love to do, I'm a storyteller.  For me, it's all about you reading and being entertained by my stories.

Which brings me to a point I've been trying to make on Face Book for the last several weeks:  Reviews on Amazon.  It's kind of a big deal for us indie/e-pubbed/unknown authors.  If you've read a book by someone who ISN'T on the New York Times best selling list, and you liked it, please, please leave a review!  Word of mouth is the best form of marketing we indie authors have, so we have to depend on you, our readers, to make it possible for us to keep writing and telling the stories traditional publishing houses aren't interested in offering.  It doesn't have to be in depth.  (I know some people don't leave reviews because they aren't sure what to write.)  

Here's all you have to do, and you can do this for every book you read:  four or five stars, first of all.  Then, "I really enjoyed this book."

That short sentence can boost an indie author to great heights, you have no idea.  So please, on behalf of all indie/e-pubbed/unknown authors everywhere, I'm asking, please write a review!


And I'll thank you for all these authors, too!  

Meanwhile, this week, check out my novels on Kindle Countdown!