Covers and Curses and Close My Mouth

“Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience.” - Victoria Holt

I had the audacity to tell someone the other day that I was caught up enough to do something for them that needed doing quickly... I'm an idiot. Words like that invite disaster.

Yesterday I not only received the first round of edits on my cowboy story -- and they're TOUGH because there is a particular issue that needs to be changed, and all the incidences of it fixed throughout, along with regular editing stuff -- I also received the galleys to proofread for my Christmas story at TWRP called "The Christmas Curse". I also received the cover. What do you think?

The Christmas Curse --
For Molly Scott, everything bad in her life has happened during the Christmas season, from training bras in her stocking to being jilted by her fiancé. This year is no exception.

Ten days before Christmas, she arrives at work to find her department closed down and everyone laid off. Desperate, she takes a job for a singing telegram service and, dressed as Mrs. Claus, meets the man of her dreams--who turns out to be a nightmare--in a broken down elevator. The Christmas Curse is right on track.

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Last night, a friend of DH's was here to have his computer repaired (this poor guy -- I don't know what he does, but I see him about every six months for this!). He saw me typing away on the computer and asked if I was working. I said yes. He asked "where" I worked, assuming that I telecommuted to a "real" job. Ha. I said, "I work right here. I run a website and a write. I have a novel that will be available soon." I was proud and excited to say those words.

He was thrilled. It seems his wife is publishing a book -- she's a life coach (something I found moderately amusing, considering my quiz results from a few days ago) and is publishing a non-fiction books, self-help type. He wanted to talk publishing.

Then he did it: he asked what I wrote. And suddenly, I was flustered. His wife was important, doing important stuff, writing words that would change a person's life for the better.

I moderated and said, "I write fiction."

He didn't let me get away with that. "Oh? For what age group?" He knows I homeschool, so he must have assumed I was writing for children.

I gulped, feeling unaccountably uncomfortable. I didn't want to say the words and see him close up. I didn't want to have him judge me because I wrote "those" books. Finally though, I did it. "I write romance," I said. "So, I'm writing for adults."

"Oh." He nodded. "I wonder why your husband didn't tell me you wrote a book?" And he headed to the basement.

Actually, I'm surprised my DH didn't tell him. He tells everyone. I frequently find myself blindsided by folks I barely know saying, "So, I hear you wrote a book."

Still... after this conversation, I was so angry with myself. I'm proud of writing AND reading romance. I take on people every day who look down their noses at my choice of reading material. The woman who runs my library doesn't appreciate genre fiction as a whole, and refuses to buy trade paperbacks -- says they mess up the shelves and don't last as long, but that simple decree eliminates many romances I prefer to read. So, I request them. And because I am one of their best "customers", they are somewhat obligated to buy them. I proudly purchase my romances at various stores, I love that the UBS is more than half romance novels. Usually, I hold my head up high.

So, why was I so embarrassed to say what I wrote?

It kept me awake for some time, and even now I'm frustrated. I promise to make a concerted effort to maintain pride in my chosen genre and shame on me for last night's debacle.

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In Pillar Place: Monarch P2 we have three "J" pillars, and about four more who are hanging out on their roofs. Most of them who were up there yesterday came down and ate some more. A last meal? But last night when I checked, three of them were all webbed into the box (yes, they spin webs -- the strongest stuff... it's amazing) and this a.m. they are hanging from their tails.

Hurry, little pillars, hurry. I saw geese flying south overhead last night. Summer is over. You need to follow those geese soon!

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You Are Scissors

Sharp and brilliant, you can solve almost any problem with that big brain of yours. People fear your cutting comments - and your wit is famous for being both funny and cruel. Deep down, you tend to be in the middle of an emotional storm. Your own complexity disturbs you. You are too smart for your own good. Slow down a little - or you're likely to hurt yourself. You can cut a paper person down to pieces. The only person who can ruin you is a rock person. When you fight: You find your enemy's weak point and exploit it. If someone makes you mad: You'll do everything you can to destroy their life

Are You Rock, Paper, or Scissors?

Ooh... I sound MEAN! Y'all scared yet?

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BTW, have you entered Diane's contest for your choice of an autographed book? If not, why? If yes, remember -- there's another chance (your LAST chance) to enter today.

And, have you entered the LASR contest for a free autographed book? Hurry up... today's the last day. While you're at it, take our poll.

And, Judy is giving away a $20 Amazon GC for the best caption on a picture she took. Go visit and caption the photo.

Happy Friday!

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Edited to add: From Allie -

I Need Your Votes!

Hey everyone, a little shameless promotion here: Ciar Cullen, a fellow Samhain author, is running a contest on her blog to select The Best Ebook of the Summer...and One Night in Boston is one of the choices.

Would you hop on over there and vote for me? Please? Ciar will buy and review the winning book...and a little more promo for ONIB wouldn't hurt any. Hey, if you feel like pimping the contest on your own blog, I'd love it even more :) Thanks a million.

Consider it done :-)

It Happened at the Bank...

“The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heart-felt compliment, and the countless infinitesimals of pleasurable and genial feeling” -Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Warning: weak stomached people should just stop right here. Okay? Really.

You've been warned.

So... It started innocently enough: a trip to the bank.

We stood in line, my DD and I. The teller said, "May I help you?" and we moved to the window. Then DD tugged on my shirt and said, "Do they have a bathroom?" and made a face that I recognized far too well.

I said, "Do you feel like you need to throw up?"

She nodded.

Dear God in heaven.

I turned to the teller. "Do you have a bathroom? She needs to throw up."

The woman says, "I'll need to escort her." and scrambles for her keys.

Too late.

Bleh. DD presses a hand over her mouth as if that will hold it in. She grabs my hand to help.

Nothing in the world would have helped. She spewed gallons all over herself, the floor, it splashed on the walls, on me, my shoes, my (now broken in but formerly BRAND NEW) shirt... heave. Breath. Heave again. Breath. Heave some more. Will it ever stop? And will she ever stop holding my hand under the flow??

No, I don't have a weak stomach at all, but that tested it something fierce.

The teller says she has the door to the bathroom open. Oh. Well. Thanks.

The worst part? DD had STRAWBERRIES for breakfast. Yeah. You get the picture, right?

The best part? People are very kind.

When I came out of the bathroom, one of the men in line was on his knees helping a teller clean up the mess (I felt horrible -- I should have been the one to clean it, but by the time I was done with the DD and myself, they were almost finished). One of the ladies in line said she had a shirt in her car and I could have it if I needed one. The tellers were terribly sweet and understanding.

I took DD home and put her in bed. Gram (my mom) watched her while I finished my errands. I picked up a potted chrysanthemum from the store (it was gorgeous with these neat curly petals and white with bright pink tips -- I really wanted to keep it for myself, but I resisted the temptation) and brought it to the bank. They were surprised to see me again and really grateful that I'd brought the plant.

And that made me think: wouldn't anyone have done something for these wonderful ladies who cleaned up my DD's bright pink vomit? Wouldn't you?

DH suggested that I also send a thank you card to the manager to bring the tellers service-above-the-call-of-duty to her attention. I will. It's true, isn't it, that people are quick to complain but so very slow to commend good behavior?

So, I challenge all of you: look for good behavior, great service, a nice smile, a helpful employee and then TELL THEIR MANAGER. It'll really make their day.

So... my QOTD has to be this: have you ever had anything happen in public that utterly mortified you? C'mon, share it and make me feel better. You're among friends.

Have a fantastic day!