"Romance" vs. "romantic elements"

I heard the news this week that RWA (Romance Writers of America) is tightening its membership qualifications and has deleted the category of "novels with strong romantic elements" in its contests. I wonder if they are no longer accepting members who write novels with strong romantic elements as opposed to the conventional romance genres (historical, paranormal, etc.) In which case, do I have to turn in my "Pro" pin and membership card?

My books deal with what happens after the "happily ever after" requirements of a romantic novel: After the champagne has been drunk, the bridal gown packed away and the real stuff of living commences. And, they take place twenty-thirty years after the "happy ever after"  (HEA) ending requirement that leaves readers free to imagine decades of wedded bliss.

There is romance, of course. I can't picture a story without some element of romance because it is so much a part of life. In "Angels Unaware," Kat's happy ever after didn't work out as she'd dreamed, but when a new love comes along, she is stronger and more sure of herself--and able to embrace it.

In "The Lunch Club,"  each of the four women is touched by romance. Jane Anne is as in love with Larry as she was the day she married him. Beth and Dan have their problems, but love prevails. Harriet and Melody, both widows, find new loves when they thought romance was in their past, not their future. But the romance is secondary to the main plot. 

I'm aiming for more romance in my WIP. Marcie and Adam are attracted to each other, but each has a reason not to believe it will work out. Of course, we know it will. And they will achieve the HEA that RWA requires of its authors.

I don't know if it will be strong enough to pass muster. But I have to write the books that are in my head. So, no Alpha Males and Saucy, Sexy Heroines will take shape on my computer. Just characters who have been there, done that, and are wiser for the experience.

 

Trimming and pruning

Picked the last of the blueberries and now the figs are coming on strong. I sent some of each home with our youngest when he left after the weekend. We've been freezing the berries and I've been eating the figs as fast as they ripen. Don't you just love summer?

It's been a season of changes as far as our landscaping goes. First, the power company came and trimmed some trees in our back yard. Their idea of triming and mine don't go hand-in-hand; I would say they were cut in half, straight down the middle.

Then a humongous limb fell off the sweet gum in the front yard. We decided to have the tree removed before more limbs--or the tree itself--fell on the house. The front yard looks woefully bare, but I will not miss stepping on a sweet gum ball while in my bare feet on my way to get the newspaper in the mornings.

After that, we noticed one of the trees in the back that had been trimmed was dying. We called the power company and their rep said it wasn't stress from the cutting, as we had thought, but bugs. He said they'd take it down anyway. I don't think he was just being nice; I think he looked at the height of the tree and the distance from the power line and thought "Better now than after it falls and takes out the line."

I'v'e been doing some trimming and pruning of my own on my WIP after getting responses from my beta readers, and now my chapter-by-chapter comments from my critique group. The landscape of the book is taking on a different look as I lop pages off here and prune paragraphs there.

Like our yard, it looks better without the deadwood and easier to navigate without the prickly little errors scattered about.

Or I might go back to snail mail

My Tuesday blog on Wednesday--story of my week so far.

What has eaten up my time? For one thing, you may notice the pictures on my pages have been removed, except for the ones I took with my very own camera. Seems it's not a good idea to grab pictures from Google images as they could be copyrighted. Yep, someone might see it and say, "Hey that's my picture you used without permission" and sue me for a gazillion bucks. Which I don't have. So I went back and hit delete,  blog by blog.

Then I look at my list of submissions and realized that I hadn't heard back from several sent three months ago. I don't mean I expected an immediate answer, as that would be unrealistic, but most publishers and agents have an automatic response that tells you they received your query letter. I blame my computer. For some reason, gmail doesn't send to everybody I write to. Oh, it says "e-mail sent" but too many people have sworn up and down they never got the message. I have a list of those and make sure I use another service when I need to reach them.

So I re-sent via Yahoo! and have yet to get a response, automatic or otherwise. Someone told me once that this service doesn't allow for long e-mails or attachments. I don't know if this is true or not, but I have to assume some kind of glitch.

It takes months to get a reply under the best of circumstances, so this is frustrating to say the least. My next best bet is to a) use my husband's computer as he claims he doesn't have this problem or b) fire up my old laptop which can't do much, but can send e-mails to people who otherwise doen't receive them.

The down side is that if these people did receive my queries that my re-sending them  will result in annoying the receiver to the point of automatic rejection.

It's a chance I have to take.

Oh, the picture has nothing to do with the subject. The kitties are, from top, Smokey, Harry (Heironymous) and Bonnie Blue. 

   

Scaredy Cat

I read with horror about the riders stranded 35 feet above the ground at Carowinds when a ride malfunctioned.

"I would have died of fright," I told my husband. This may or may not be literally true, but I am terrified of heights. I don't mean mildly frightened; I mean "my body won't move" terrified.

Then I realized I would never have gotten on the ride in the first place.


I can't remember exactly when this fear began, but I recall when I knew for sure it had taken over. A few summers ago I was paralyzed at Grandfather Mountain when the rest of my group crossed the swinging bridge as if it were a footpath across the beach. I could get just so far and then my feet refused to budge--except in retreat.

I believe everyone has a secret (or not-so-secret) fear. So do our characters, and part of the fun of writing is getting them to overcome it.

Maybe it is a physical fear, like heights or water or open spaces.

It could be a fear of dogs, cats, bats or rats.

Maybe they're afraid of non-physical things such as speaking in public, being embarrassed or humilated.

Maybe they're afraid some sordid event in their past will be revealed.

How does this work into the story? Can the hero or heroine face his or her fear and conquer it? What would motivate them? Love for another person? A lost treasure that, if found, will change her life? An inner need?

In "Angels Unaware," Kat was afraid of being on her own.

In "The Lunch Club," Harriet, Jane Anne, Beth and Melody all fear an uncertain future when the "Golden Years" turn out to be fools gold.

What are your characters afraid of?

Getting to Know You

How well do we really know anybody? I confess I am frequently surprised when someone I feel I know well does something out of character: a normally optimistic person suddenly bursts into tears over a trifle; a thrifty woman splurges on a dress she knows she will only wear one time...

My reaction is to find out why--maybe to offer a shoulder to cry on in the first instance, and congratulations, if they are in order, in the second.

At the RWA chapter meeting (Carolinas Romance Writers) last Saturday, we did a writing exercise after lunch with the purpose of seeing how well we really knew our character. Frankly, I was less than enthusiastic, but I got out my pen and borrowed a sheet of notebook paper from my neighbor.

The assignment was to write a monologue expressing our character's emotions after a traumatic event. This was my response:

He just left. Paid the bill and said he wasn't coming back. I didn't believe him at first, but Stan didn't play jokes. I guess I kept hoping he'd meet us at the house. The kids really took it hard when the night wore on and they realized their dad had really gone. Blamed themselves and still do--God, they still hurt so much, even two years later. But they never had a chance to say goodbye. At least I had that.

I am willing to admit the piece doesn't really explore Marcie's emotions except for her concern for her kids. But that concern is a big part of the story as Marcie moves on and looks back to see her twins still stuck somewhere between anger and grief.

And it isn't true the twins didn't have a chance to say goodbye, so I don't know why I wrote that. They had a chance and refused it. And their anger includes their mother, who took Stan back after the divorce. Of course, she had a good reason....even if none of her family and friends accept it.

No, this isn't from one of my published books. It's from my new work in progress, tentatively titled "The Appointment." More about that later.

As for "A Question of Boundaries" (thanks for asking!) it is still awaiting judgment. I'm hoping to find a home for it somewhere. Please keep your fingers crossed.

Moving Day

The hot weather reminds me of when we moved from Pennsylvania to North Carolina  some 35 years ago with three kids, a dog, a cat and a bird in a cage. It was hot then, too--105 degrees as we unpacked the van and tried to decide where to put things.

I wanted to go back home, but we'd made the decision and had to stick by it. I've never regretted it.

Many people move in the summer because they want their kids to get settled before school starts. And this month, all over the world United Methodist pastors and their families are moving to new appointments. For those who don't know, our pastors are appointed, not chosen, and their tenure lasts about four years. We were fortunate to have ours for eight, but the time has come to say goodbye and welcome a new face in the pulpit.

It's hard to leave familiarity behind and begin the process of making new friends, new memories. I am reminded of a story I will share, updated for a more modern audience:

A man stops at a gas station just outside of town. In the car are a woman and two children. He pumps his gas and goes inside the convenience store to pay.

"We're moving here," he says to the propietor. "My company transferred me and we're not very impressed so far with what we've seen. We were wondering what the people are  like."

"What were they like were you came from?"

The man sighs, takes his change. "Nosy, rude and insufferable."

"I'm sorry, but you'll probably find the people here are about the same."

A week later, another family stops. Seeing the U-Haul hitched behind the car, the gas station owner asks, "Moving in?"

"Yes," says the man across the counter. "We think it's a pretty town and I feel lucky to have found work here. What are the people like?"

"What were they like where you came from?"

"They were great folks," the man says, handing over his credit card. "Friendly, generous and caring."

The owner swipes the card and hands it back. "I believe you'll find the same kind of people here," he says.

I've moved enough in my lifetime to know that people are really the same no matter where you go. It's the attitude you bring with you that makes all the difference.

When is Enough?

Now that Release Day for "The Lunch Club" is only two days away I am wondering how much more excitement my friends and family can take. I have Tweeted the news, put it on Facebook and e-mailed everyone on my list. I even had number one son create a book trailer for me and told everyone I knew about it. I can imagine them saying, "Enough already with the book! So you wrote a book--what else is new?"

I know you have to be your own publicist and blow your own horn and all that. But how much is enough?

With my first book, "Angels Unaware," I went all out: ordered business cards and mugs, gave books away to clubs and libraries, and generally did anything I could think of to draw attention to the novel. Although I sold very well locally, I actually barely broke even.

Rookie mistake.

There is a line between acting as your own publicist and becoming an annoying pest that people begin to avoid. I am reminded of the New Yorker cartoon where two men are talking at a cocktail party. One says to the other, "But enough about me. Let me tell you about my book."

I am hoping that the readers who liked "Angels" will be willing to take a chance on its successor without my having to plead with them to buy it. But I do have to let them know it's available.

So--when is enough? Do any of you having trouble walking this fine line? How much horn-blowing can you do before people start covering their ears?