Going Home Again

I grew up in Manhattan Beach.

If I haven't been back in a while (say, six months), it changes. Businesses come and go. Houses go up. Others get torn down. And bigger houses go up where those were.

It looks a lot different than it did when I grew up there. And yet, in some ways, it doesn't change a bit.

It's a beach town. A faster-lane beach town than I remember. But still an informal, easy-going place where shoes were never really required, except if the sign said so. If our feet were tough enough to endure the heat of the pavement or the sand, well, then we went bare foot. No one really cared.

It's a town where people from all over the country -- and at this point, probably the world -- come by themselves and make new lives. They graduate from college and leave Iowa or New Jersey or Texas or New Delhi or Glasgow or Copenhagen -- and they never look back.

It was rare, when I was growing up there, to be a native. I can't imagine that's changed. It's very impermanence is a part of the permanent face of it that I remember the most.

I loved growing up there.

I'm revisiting it with Natalie and Christo. I'm wandering down to the beach at 10th Street where I used to go every day.

I'm walking out on the pier, doing a bit of body surfing, letting Christo take a surfboard out early before he heads off to be a high-powered hard-edged Presents hero. It's humanizing him. And it's giving me a mini-vacation in my head.

Anyone out there from MB? If so, speak up. Tell me what it's like for you now. Anyone visited recently? Let me know.

Christo is talking to his grandmother on the phone. I think he's saving the cat. I had no idea that was why he was doing it.

I guess if surfing doesn't make you like him, maybe the fact that he loves his grandmother will.

Thank you, Blake Snyder. I'm glad someone out there knows why I write the things I write.

Saving the Book

Serendipity plays a large role in my life. It's the coincidence of need and opportunity. And yesterday I got a taste of it again.

Last week Liz Fielding (she of the scrumptious sheikh Fayed) was telling me about a DVD she'd ordered and just received about screenwriting. The instructors were Christopher Vogler and Michael Hauge.

I'm familiar with, and use often, Chris's book, The Writer's Journey, which showed me clearly why I always tend to fall apart at step 6. I'm overwhelmed by possibilities, if you want to know the truth. But that's not what I want to talk about here. Or maybe it is, but later.

I have heard good things -- actually, spectacular things -- about Michael Hauge's workshops. Haven't had the pleasure of attending one, though.

Still, even though I don't have a screenplay in my future (as far as I know), I thought I'd look online and see what this DVD was that Liz had ordered. So I did. And it looked interesting. But what caught my eye was Blake Snyder's book Save The Cat.

It was a Twyla Tharp moment. One of those "accidents" she mentions in her book where you are simply "lucky" -- though of course you have to be prepared to be (and I was, I was -- I was actively looking at something that might help my work).

It was serendipity.

Me and the cat.

Maybe it was a Sid moment (you remember Sid, Kate Walker's Cat of Superior Breeding). Sid would say, "Of course you save the cat." No doubt about it.

Anyway, with Sid's blessing -- and Liz leading me to it, I bought Save The Cat. It arrived on Thursday. I read it cover to cover. I got up at 5 in the morning and re-read parts. I sat down with my meager Christo-and-Natalie, which the editor had just said yes to, and used Blake's "beat sheet" to get a good look at it.

The gaping holes were apparent. The bits that made sense and that I knew made sense were right where he said they'd be. I went back and looked at several of my other books -- ones I sweated over to get to the right place (that would be most of them), and discovered that, yes, those very things happened (not the same actual things, but the same emotional or developmental events) in the same place.

Every time.

And he'd handed me a pattern for it.

Yes, I know we supposedly write to "a formula" but God help me, I've never found one.

But Blake found the beats that create the rhythm that makes all kinds of stories work. Probably others have found it before him (Chris's The Hero's Journey and Joseph Campbell's Hero With a Thousand Faces spring to mind), but Blake wrote them down in a way that speaks to me.

He even made me think of ways to get past step 6 without tearing my hair out. Bless you, Blake. Christo and Natalie will be a better book because of you.

I sent a copy of Save The Cat to a friend last night. It's going on my shelf next to The Creative Habit and The Hero's Journey (except I keep pulling The Cat down to reread bits).

I see that Blake is speaking at the RWA conference in San Francisco. I wish I could hear him, but I'm not officially enrolled at the conference because I won't get to the city until Friday night. But anyone who is going, go hear him. Or buy his book. Or both.

You might not have a screenplay in you either, but good storytelling is good storytelling.

And as Sid says, You can never save too many cats.

Caught by a sheikh

It is rare that I am caught by a sheikh and can't put him down. Sheikhs are not my fantasy. Never have been. Never will be.

Except Liz Fielding's Fayed.

Fayad al Khalifa is the hero of Chosen As The Sheikh's Wife, which is Liz's contribution to 100 Arabian Nights, an anthology (with Kim Lawrence and Meredith Webber) that is out in UK now.

It may never see the light of day in the US or anywhere else except maybe Australia and New Zealand (though it might). But don't despair. I know how you can get it.

But first, let me tell you why you should.

Fayed is fantastic hero. He is strong, powerful and, of course, drop-dead gorgeous. More than that he's responsible, dutiful and determined to drag his nation into the 21st century without destroying the best of the past. He is also wounded. Deeply. Life has not been kind to him -- but he surviving.

Still the last thing he needs is an ancient knife -- a khanjar known as The Blood of Tariq -- to show up and complicate his life. Even less does he need Violet Hamilton who just happens to have it in her possession.

Violet doesn't want it in her life any more than he wants to deal with it in his -- for entirely different reasons. Oh, sure, it could maybe save her from being tossed out on the street when her home is repossessed. But there's a downside to the Blood of Tariq -- and it doesn't take Violet long to figure that out.

It would be hard to imagine two more different people -- the all-powerful Arab prince and the English working girl. And on the surface, that's true. But on the level where their hearts and souls meet, Fayed and Violet share a destiny.

If you want a little taste to whet your appetite, Liz has provided an excerpt on her website.

It hooked me. I went right out and ordered it. Fayed and Violet arrived in my mailbox right before lunch yesterday. I was planning on spending the afternoon with Christo and Natalie.

Fat chance.

Fayed swept me away. He didn't even have a camel. He just swooped in and transported me, first to London and then to his kingdom. It was a magical afternoon. My only complaint is that it wasn't long enough.

Liz's books are never long enough when they're 190 pages or so. This one, as a novella, was less than that. I wanted more.

I still want more. Liz is celebrating the publication of her 50th book this year. But I would like a hundred at least -- so I hope she's got her nose to the grindstone and her fingers on the keyboard.

Fayed and Violet were delightful and their story will live in my mind and my heart forever.

Lucky UK readers can just nip down to the local bookshop or wherever it is they buy books and get their own copies off the shelves. Or they can order it from M&B, I guess. The rest of us have to go to Book Depository and order online.

This is not such a hardship as you might think because dear dear Book Depository will ship 100 Arabian Nights post paid. So all you have to pay for is the book. It will come air mail. You should have it in a week or so.

It's definitely worth it -- even though it made my daily quota for Christo and Natalie fall behind. I'd do it again in a minute.

In fact I will do it again the next time Liz has a book out!

On the road again . . . again

After you have written 61 books (which I have, apparently) and you are embarking on the 62nd, you begin to think you've been this way before.

Maybe not quite this exact same way, but some of the memories evoked are the same even if the sights along the way are not.

When I was reading Twyla Tharp's The Creative Habit last spring I wrote several blogs -- one of which is here -- about it which, having gone back and re-read them now, make me recognize the efforts. It isn't that I wasn't aware of them before, but I think it's the ritual I am more aware of now.

There is, of course, the box. Or the collage. Or the heap of papers, books and sundry junk piled in the corner that is my treasure trove for the book. Every book has one. Or at least it has something -- some collection that I go to in order to discover the flotsam and jetsam that I will need to create the novel.

Oddly, though, when I did the collage for Flynn and Sara, nothing in the book turned out like the collage -- well, except for O'Mally and Liam.

Flynn changed as the book went on. Sara did, too. So did the castle. And the setting? Well, it started out in New York and never went there at all in the finished book.

Much the same thing happened to Sebastian and Neely and their box. The box is wonderful -- very impressive. And nothing much remained of the things I put on the box, either. The story took on a life of its own.

It began with the box, yes. But then it took off from there.

So starting over with Christo and Natalie, I don't expect to end up with what I start out with, either.

Just as well. It shows the characters are growing, developing their own story, finding their own way to their happily ever after.

At least I hope that's where they're going. They haven't seen fit to tell me yet.

But I'm turning up every morning -- and so far it's working.

The bus stopped!

Happily Christo and Natalie and I are no longer standing on the corner watching all the buses go by. Ours has stopped, the door has opened, and we have hopped on.

We have a story!

At least we think we do. And we're giving it a shot. It remains to be seen how long the euphoria lasts. But at least the bus hasn't passed us by. We even have something of a route map. Though I don't put a lot of stock in them as they've been known to mess me up before.

Still it's fun to be underway. Keep your fingers crossed that we have a good trip.

We get to go to Brazil for part of it. That should be exciting. Sadly I'm not going to get to go in person. Not this time.

But I have a friend who lives there, and a son who spent a year working there, and surely there must be some of you out there who would like to chime in with details I can't live without.

Christo's father is a former footballer (soccer player for the Americans among us) from Brazil. I haven't decided where he's from yet. Sao Paulo? Rio? Fortaleza? My son's friend from work was from Fortaleza so he spent time there. My friend lives outside Sao Paulo. I have another friend from Rio.

But Brazil is a big country. Suggestions, anyone?

I'm filling the box for Christo. And while I'm at it, I'm filling a couple of other boxes as well.

Remember George, the physicist who never comes out of the lab? He's on the list, believe it or not. He's actually going to get a book! He even has a heroine. Who knew!

So does Demetrios, his brother. Not the same heroine, I'm happy to report.

Three new heroes. Yikes.

So Christo and Nat and I have to get moving -- otherwise Demetrios and George will be misbehaving. Heroes don't like to stand around. If they have to wait in line for their books, they are inclined to be difficult.

Standing at the bus stop

That's what I feel like I'm doing.

Me and Christo and Natalie, all of us together -- not quite looking at each other as people at bus stops don't -- while we wait for the bus to come along and pick us up and take us where we need to go.

That would be to The End.

But first we need to have the bus show up, and then we need an open door. The bus had better show up by Monday when I intend to start C&N in earnest. The door had better materialize by then, too.

It feels odd to have a story and no way in. I usually have a first scene in mind long before I ever get to the book. And ordinarily that's good and works well -- except in the case of Flynn and Sara where it worked for about 35 pages and then not only the door vanished, but the bus did, too.

So I'm working at coming up with some scenes that will work for them -- something that will throw them right at each other -- so I can step back and let them carry on from there.

I like them both. They don't much like what they know about each other at the moment. So that's good. A little conflict never hurt anyone.

I hope.

What the Heck???

Kate Walker sent me an email yesterday with photos in it documenting the first encounter between her Maine Coon kitten (now a gorgeous teenager) Flora (aka Princess Flora Flooziebelle) meeting her first hedgehog. She's also just written the account up on her blog.

You may remember the hedgehog family who lives at the bottom of Kate's garden.

I christened them The Hecks after a series of Yorkshire villages we'd passed through the afternoon I arrived for my last visit in Sept 2006. The villages were called Great Heck and Little Heck and there may have been a Lesser Heck and even a Really Big Heck. One wonders what Heck meant in the days when villages got their names.

Anyway, the description seemed to fit the hedgehog family, who turned out for cat crunchies after dark that evening and allowed themselves to be photographed. They looked like a series of nestling Russian dolls -- albeit prickly ones.

As Sir Sidney, Flora's big brother, tends to give hedgehogs a wide berth, and Dylan (aka Dyl the Vil) has nothing good to say about them (not surprising as Dyl rarely has much good to say about most folks, except electricians with big hands -- and Bridget Coady who is His Favorite Person In The World), it was a surprise to see Flora and her new friend.

Apparently she wasn't quite sure what this new amazing creature was -- especially because it was Eating Her Food!

So she got closer, tentatively touched it with a paw, edged a bit closer with her nose (ouch!) and finally just decided it wasn't worth bothering with.

Rolling around on the ground and basking in the sun was far preferable.

It's an amazing world, as Flora is discovering. Glad to see you and Littlest Heck are becoming pals, Flora.

Enjoy your new friend!

The Name Game

I ended up writing about names today over on Tote Bags 'n' Blogs.

It was a topic in the forefront of my mind this past week because I was still aware of Natalie and Christo and how they came to have their names (two of my cousin's grandkids sport those names as a matter of fact, and I thought the name Christo suited my hero, and my cousin's descriptions of Natalie made me think she'd definitely be A Force!)

But after that, I kept thinking because my friend Anne Gracie bullied me into writing up two more ideas for books because she kept saying, "What if --" and "I like that. I think you could get more out of this if you only -- " and so pretty soon, there I was, looking for more names.

They were heroine names because I already had heroes -- two of the Savas brothers, Demetrios and George -- and I needed heroes equally as strong as the men in question.

And, as luck would have it, I got both women's names wrong the first time around. Adriana is right -- but her nickname I thought would be Addie. Turns out it's Annie. She won't answer to Addie. Interesting.

Even weirder is Sylvie -- but I think I owe that to Liz Fielding. She had a Sylvie not long ago and I could see the picture of her Sylvie as being rather like George's heroine. But my fingers knew better. They've been typing Sophy ever chance they get. No question now but that she's a Sophy.

Makes me wonder what my fingers know that I don't.

And the winner is . . .

Kate Walker!

I suspect Gunnar of being bribed, but he insists that I am the one who put the treats on the names. He's only the eater.

And Kate's name was the one on the slip of paper he gobbled his first treat off of.

So, Kate, you are the winner of the signed copy of Tess Gerritsen's The Mephisto Club -- and a definite departure from your normal reading fare it will be.

I'll post it on Monday. Gunnar hopes you enjoy it. And of course, so do I.

Thanks to everyone who participated this week. I appreciate the discussion.

I spent part of the afternoon at the movies enjoying Indiana Jones -- and the other part with the three ideas for future books I sent my editor yesterday.

We are going to discuss them on Monday. So I need to be prepared. It's not often I juggle three book ideas in my head at once. It's not often I even have enough plot to talk about one of them. Let's hope I do on Monday.

So the next guy up might be Christo -- or it might not.

I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, on Sunday I'm going to be blogging over at Tote Bags 'n' Blogs, so drop in and say hi. I'll come back and make a live link when I've put up my post.

I was wrong!

A closer look at my trade-sized foreign edition has convinced me I erred. It isn't Dutch (it didn't look quite like Dutch somehow, but I knew it wasn't German).

It's Afrikaans.

It was printed in Natal. That's the give-away. At least I think it is. Maybe it's Dutch as spoken in South Africa. I can sort of read it. A little. Very little.

Anyway, I'm thrilled as not all my books get translated into Afrikaans. I hope some readers will enjoy Spence and Sadie's jaunt to Fiji in Afrikaans -- or whatever languages it gets translated into.

I'll be back as soon as Gunnar has determined the winner of Tess Gerritsen's The Mephisto Club.

He's just had breakfast and can't be counted on to do justice to a number of treats so soon after (unlike Mitch and Micah who will snarf them down with nary a qualm). Gunnar is, um, fastidious. And inclined to be grouchy when I impose on him.

So . . . stay tuned.

Oh, and a Japanese edition of The Santorini Bride appeared late yesterday afternoon.