I received two interesting emails this morning.  One from a writing student who participated in a class I taught last summer, and one from Fresh Fiction, a website for book lovers.  Fresh Fiction generously reminded me I have a book coming out tomorrow . . .

EEEEEEK. . . .

Okay, I KNEW I had a book coming out in September, but somehow the summer flew by.  Between finishing Sunset Bridge, the sequel to Happiness Key and Fortunate Harbor, entertaining family and enjoying programming here at Chautauqua Institution, the reissue of Iron Lace, published originally in 1996, just crept up on me.  Now it’s about to hit bookshelves, and probably has in many places.  In a year with several reissues and two original novels, somehow Iron Lace didn’t receive the nudge from me it deserved.

The second email, from my student, was a writing question.  He wanted to know why, now that he’s got almost 45,000 words written on his novel, his enthusiasm has dwindled.  Is that normal?  What should he do?

There are stages in every novel when the writing drags.   The more you write, the more you expect it.  The solution is to keep plugging.  I told him that in my own experience, some books never catch fire as I write them.  Some are exciting to write from the first sentence to the last.  And is there a correlation between the excitement I feel as I write and the success of the book?

No.

Writers talk a lot about the “book of their heart.”  Some books are so dear that we go out on a limb and write them, even without the support of agents or publishers.  We toil away, not knowing if the novel will see the light of day, and we do it because we have to.  The book begs to be written.  We comply.

Iron Lace was such a book.  When I began Iron Lace I had already written a massive number of series romances for Silhouette and Harlequin.  I was proud of my romances, thrilled I had publishers who allowed me to work in serious themes and social issues.  I was never told “No, you can’t do that.”  I was never told, “Gosh, you need a lot more romance or sex or repartee.” I was told to write good novels about a  man and a woman falling in love.  I found that a joy.

Eventually, though, I realized my story ideas were too long, too involved, and too “unromantic” to fit easily into the romance genre.  I wanted to explore other relationships. I wanted more room to grow.  Nora Roberts once said (paraphrasing here) that writing series romance is like dancing Swan Lake in a phone booth.  No one has said it better.  But like some of my colleagues (Sandra Brown, Nora, Barbara Delinsky, Tami Hoag, Kay Hooper, and many, many more) I finally needed a real stage, because the phone booth had become too crowded.  And the first book I set in motion there to twirl unimpeded was Iron Lace.  After years of thinking about it and watching it grow and change in my head, Iron Lace, had moved south to become the book of my heart.

I would love to tell you that the experience of writing Iron Lace was painless, freeing, thrilling.  I would love to tell you that the path to publication was easy.  I can’t.  The proposal for  Iron Lace was purchased with great enthusiasm by the senior editor at a large publishing company.  She loved it, then she lost her job.  Meantime I had struggled with the novel, screamed, prayed, and wept, until I had a thousand (!) page manuscript.  Only there was no one left to read it.  My editor was not replaced; her only colleague was on maternity leave, and at best, Iron Lace was heading for a free-lancer.  It would not be published well.

After months of wrangling with whomever could be cajoled to wrangle, I bought back the novel.  Suddenly I had a thousand page manuscript to sell.  Iron Lace made the rounds.  Too long.  Too different.  Too controversial.  At last a new, upstart single title imprint from my own publisher looked it over and said, “Yes, we can do this one justice.”  Only, there was a wee problem.  I had to cut 400 pages.

400 pages?  Which part would that be?  The beginning, the middle or the end?

My husband, who had been telling me all along that I needed to make this two books, just lifted an eyebrow when I reported my new dilemma. Suddenly, with a 400 page cut staring me in the face, I could see, for the first time, how to make Iron Lace into two books, which eventually became Iron Lace and Rising Tides, available as a reissue in late October.  In fact many of the scenes I’d already cut, as well as a character who hadn’t seemed to matter, quickly found their real home.  I’d had two books all along, only I just refused to see it.

Now I had two books of my heart.  More than ten years later it’s a joy to know they are being republished for a new audience who has only recently found my books and wants more.  The two novels take place between two historic hurricanes in Louisiana, and the storms mirror the upheaval in the south during the Civil Rights era.  They were written, of course, before Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast.  For the record I lived in New Orleans while researching the novels, and while not unaware of its problems, was immersed in a love affair with the city that continues to this day.

After publication, the reviews were wonderful.  Publishers Weekly called Iron Lace: “. . . intricate, seductive and a darned good read.”  The New Orleans Times-Picayune called it a “page turner.”

I hope you find it a page turner, as well.  When we write the book of our heart, that’s exactly the outcome we hope for.

Some dilemmas are so easily resolved, but it takes creativity.  Recently when my publisher “gifted” me with multiple cartons of my upcoming re-releases, I raised my hands to the heavens and shrieked.  Ask my assistant, she was there.  There is simply no place to put more books.  I already have a gazillion cartons–including my lovely Quilt Along With Emilie Richards volumes–hidden all over my house.  In closets.  Under tables.  In piles alone my office wall.  Not an inch of storage space is left.  Not anywhere.

I don’t live in a shoe.  I have a large house, purchased when the last child of my four was still home.  My husband and I both need home offices, and we’re a clergy family so entertaining comes with the territory.  At the time, a house that fit all those needs was essential, and while not the best designed house in Virginia, it suited our needs.  Which means that in addition to those already mentioned logistics, the house needed gardeners willing to do a lot of work on the back yard.  Sold.

Nowadays the son originally in residence is married and living in another state.  When our entire family gets together we usually do it  at another son’s home so we can spread out and enjoy country life.  Enthusiasm for the garden has waned as my husband and I have become busier, and to compensate, these days I’ve learned to appreciate “natural” landscaping.  After all the difference between a weed and a perennial is in the eye of the beholder.   We still need home offices and a guest room, but the most pressing need for a large house seems to be storage space.  For books.  Lots and lots of books.

How many books can one author have, you ask?  As the author of more than 60, I can say a lot!  I’m given a set number to use with each original printing.  Then when the books are re-released in a different format?  More of the same of each edition.  There are occasional “gifts” of books from my publisher when their own shelves need clearing.  Then there are foreign editions.  As lovely as they are, I have little personal use for novels in Greek, Polish or Icelandic.  The chances I will decide to take up Icelandic in my spare time is remote, at best.  I am wallowing in books.

I frequently get requests for signed copies of my novels for charity auctions or door prizes.  With exceptions for local charities, quilt groups I have a connection with and causes I personally support, I’ve stopped sending books.  Postage is expensive, and I received one too many emails on which my name wasn’t even in evidence.  If you can’t take the time to personalize a request for a freebie, you probably shouldn’t ask.

So that brings me to my newest cleaning strategy.  Facebook.   I already give away one book each month to a reader who has signed up for my email newsletter in the recent or distant past.   And while I’m woefully behind on announcing their names at my contest site, I’m still faithfully doing this.  So if you’ve signed up for my newsletter, watch your email.  If you haven’t signed up, what’s stopping you? 

But there’s a new chance to win books for the foreseeable future, as well.   This month I’ve asked my FB readers to take time to answer a question I pose, then random.org chooses a winner several days later.  Right now readers are telling us their favorite way to spend a rainy afternoon.  Thursday at midnight is the deadline to comment.  The winner receives a signed copy of Touching Stars.

Will this new strategy really clear out my office?  Ummm. . . No.  But it will make my most faithful and active readers very happy and make a little space for the many more cartons on their way.  Everybody wins and we’ll have fun doing it.

So “like” me on Facebook, sign up for my newsletter, and take your chances.  My gift to you could be your gift to me.  You could be personally responsible for keeping me from tripping over a pile of books on my way to my desk.  Do an author a favor, okay?

I’ll confess that unlike some of my colleagues, I believe in reading my reviews.  First, I’m incapable of not reading them.  That kind of self control is absolutely beyond me.  Second and more important, I know I will learn something.  I always do, even if I only learn that a particular review site is not worth my attention because the reviewers despise everyone’s books.  Usually, however, I learn a great deal more.

Most of the reviews for Fortunate Harbor have been wonderful.  Booklist, from the American Library Association, said: “Women’s-fiction favorite Richards uses wit, suspense, and the relatable and extremely touching friendships of her main characters to weave an exciting and mysterious story. . .”  Publishers Weekly called the book “A juicy, sprawling beach read with a suspenseful twist.”  Thanks, folks.  Nice to see these.

There were a few stinkers, too.  One informal site called the book a “hot mess.”  Interesting choice of words since the book is not “hot” by anybody’s standards, although the weather in Florida certainly is.  Someone else said it was so “somber,” she couldn’t recommend it.  Yikes, I thought the book was funnier and lighter than my usual.

The most interesting and helpful insight was found among the many other reviews Fortunate Harbor generated.  They were, for the most part flattering, but there was a common theme.  Many reviewers commented on the length of the novel. 

Story length is an issue these days.  Publishers worry about paper costs.  Booksellers worry about shelf space.  And readers worry about their precious leisure time, which seems to be slipping away as work and family responsibilities increase.  I commiserate with all.   Interestingly the Happiness Key novels are not longer than others I’ve written, in fact they are considerably shorter than some.  But they are, for the most part, character studies.  And in taking the time to fully develop these women whom I love so much, I slowed the pace.  For some readers this made the book seem long.  For some fewer, unbearably long.

Interesting.  I’ve noticed my blogs are, by general standards, long, as well.  Were I a poet, I would write epics.  Am I capable of writing shorter works?

Good news for the haiku lovers among us.

Yes.

We had the privilege of hosting a colleague and friend of my husband for dinner this week, along with his delightful wife and daughter.  Although our cottage is chock full of toys for younger children– toys our own children played with that are now happily at home here for grandchildren and visitors–we did not have toys I thought appropriate for our eight year old guest.  So while I was shopping, I decided to buy a jigsaw puzzle for her to piece together if she got bored.

Like everything else these days, jigsaw puzzles aren’t simple.  Where once a puzzle had between 100 and 250 pieces, a fairly innocuous rural scene and several hours of guaranteed play, now puzzles range from simple pre-school varieties, through 1,000+ pieces with abstract art and holographic images, guaranteed to become entire summers of frustration and finally glory when the last piece snaps into place.  After staring bewildered at an entire shelf of puzzles at our local discount store, my husband pointed out that we had puzzles in our cupboard that had come with the house.

“But what if they’re missing pieces?”  I pointed out.   He was more practical.  “She won’t be there long enough to finish anyway.”  Sold.

As it turned out, our guest adored the Fisher Price Play Family village we’d kept all these years, and sat on the floor creating her own “Chautauqua.”  She was perfectly happy, and we dodged the possible issue of the missing piece.  Sometimes things work out just the way you hope they will.

At the same time I was sweating over the complicated issue of age-appropriate jigsaw puzzles, I was also worrying about my novel in progress, Sunset Bridge, the sequel to Happiness Key and Fortunate Harbor, already on bookshelves.  I had carefully outlined my story and pondered long and hard the backgrounds of my characters.  I had created a complicated story for the newest resident of Happiness Key, and I was now in the final chapters of the novel.  But all along, from the moment I created the background to each encounter my new character had, I knew something was wrong.  I was missing an important piece of her story.  What I had created did not fully explain some of her more extreme actions.  The story I had designed for her just wasn’t working.

I discussed the problem with a brainstorming partner and with my husband, who’s a talented plotter.  Nothing we came up with really resolved the issue.  I tried my favorite plotting device, the list of twenty possibilities.  No dice.  No matter what I changed, my heroine looked willful and unsympathetic, even foolish at times.  A piece of this puzzle was missing. 

As it turns out, the piece was so simple, I’m surprised I didn’t find it sooner.  The good news is that one day on my porch, as I was staring at my computer, the final puzzle fell into place.  Like the old puzzles in my closet, my puzzle hadn’t been whole.  Unlike them, the missing piece was waiting to be discovered.  Yes, I’ll have to do some addition and subtraction when I do my final edits to incorporate my new insights.  But now I have everything I need.  I can assemble my puzzle and the picture will finally be complete. 

Has this happened to you?  Perhaps not with a novel, but with another creative project?  Or perhaps most important of all, in your daily life when you realized that something you refused or were unable to see had to be retrieved and placed correctly in order to complete a moment or even a stage of your life.  Have you ever discovered a missing something that puts everything back together for you?  I hope so.  Because nothing beats that moment of revelation.  The moment when a puzzle is finally complete, when the last piece clicks into place, makes all the waiting worthwhile.

Back in late June I blogged about all the wonderful things I did that month instead of writing.  This was my first stint at our funky old cottage in Chautauqua, New York, and between plumbers and carpenters, cleaning and weeding out, and yes, meeting and enjoying the company of neighbors, I ended up with far fewer chapters than I’d expected.  Instead, I went home refreshed and plunged right into the story.  When you take time to fill the well, the water is clear and pure and the most arid of ideas suddenly blossoms.

In June I also did something utterly crazy.  Despite a million things to do in my “new” house and yard, I took on a community garden plot.  It was there.  It was offered to me.  I love to garden.  Crazy or not, I said yes.  Then I saw it.  Because it had been someone else’s the year before, someoe who had decided at the last minute not to pursue it, the weeds were knee high.  My heart sank.  So many weeds, so little time.  Somehow, I got them out, a few at a time as I walked by each morning with Nemo.   Then it was time to plant.

I was planning to be gone for five weeks.  What grows without tending for five weeks?  I would plant and drive away.  The organizer of the garden said she would do light watering and weeding while I was away, but would that be enough?  No time for a fence, either.  Would the plot survive rabbits, drought and anything else I wasn’t there to shoo away?

Call me an optimist, but I planted tomatoes, basil, cucumbers, zucchini, cilantro, rosemary, parsley, beans, hot peppers, and sweet peppers.  In order to plant the tomatoes, I had to dig holes several feet deep so I could sink cages around them.  I did battle with numerous rocks.  No hope for this garden, I was sure, but I’d come this far.  No point in stopping now.

On Saturday we arrived back at the cottage, and drove over to see the garden.  I’ve never been more surprised.  The garden is huge.  I harvested three perfect cucumbers.  There are dozens of hot peppers.  The beans are on their way.  Tomatoes?  I’m hopeful, but there’s enough basil to make pints of pesto sauce, and even the cilantro is growing.  We’ll be eating from the garden for the rest of the summer. 

Life can be like this, and certainly novels can be.  We till the ground, then we plant the seeds.  And sometimes we leave our hard work behind, letting the fates and a few good friends nurture what we have begun.  When we come back, the harvest is beyond our expectations.  The craziest ideas sometimes bear fruit. 

I have a new “series” idea in progress now.  I’m laying the groundwork and planting the seeds.  And I’m hopeful that someday when I come back to it, I will have a rich harvest for all of us to enjoy.  More than ever, I trust the process.  And when I forget to?  I’ll remember my garden plot.

I’m already planning what I’ll grow next year.

If you hang out with me on my Facebook reader page, then you know that yesterday I was in New York filming a promotional video with the delightful authorKatie Fforde, who writes romantic comedies and lives in–gasp–the Cotswolds of England.  In my next life I plan to live in the Cotswolds, too.  I’ve already put in my order.

The video was for German television channel ZDF, and Katie and I are the two authors whose novels have been chosen for Sunday night movies for that station.  Five of mine are now a reality, and two of Katie’s.  Ironically, Katie who lives in the UK is having her novels filmed in upstate NY.  I, who live in the US and have a summer cottage in NY, am having my novels filmed in New Zealand.  Katie and I assume this is because ZDF wants us to have the pleasures of visiting faraway places when we are invited to visit the sets.

I visited New Zealand this past winter and blogged extensively about the trip.  Katie is in the states now watching her movie being made, and so the sharp minds at ZDF saw a great promo opportunity.  Katie and I would meet in Manhattan and discuss our books on camera for the ZDF website.  What fun.  Once it’s posted, I’ll let you know.

Just a few minutes into our meeting Katie and I felt like old friends.  I was amazed at how similar we are in so many ways.  Did ZDF look for certain qualities when they were reviewing authors and their novels?  Coincidence?  Most likely, but after awhile we just marvelled that we work in such similar ways and have similar outlooks.  When she mentioned that she played “Spider Patience” when she needed to regroup during her writing day, I stopped the interview.  “Don’t tell me that’s the same thing as Spider Solitaire.  We can’t have that in common, too.”

It is, indeed.   After all, with so much attention to relationships and romance in our novels and solitaire on our computers,  Katie and I could both be dubbed the Queen of Hearts.

However, our  mutual admiration of Spider Solitaire (bless Bill Gates) did bring up one difference between us.  Katie is quite capable of putting a game on her computer and going back to it whenever she needs the break.  Emilie is SO not capable.  If I start a game, I almost always have to finish it right that moment.  And I play to win.  So this means, well, playing is not a tiny break, it’s a vacation.  Emilie needs a little more Katie in her soul.

Still, this obsessive streak in my psychological makeup has served me well.  Somehow, despite all the other attractions and obligations of my life, I’ve managed to turn out a number of books.  Part of this is my inability to stop writing when a story is finally careening to conclusion, usually in the last third of the novel.  By then, everything’s set up, and I’m anxious to keep moving.  At last I can reveal those surprises for which I’ve so carefully laid the groundwork.  And while I’m an inveterate outliner, and have a strong idea how my book will end, there’s always that little voice that says “But maybe it won’t turn out like that after all.”  And of course, Little Voice is sometimes quite right.  

Right now I’m nearing the end of Sunset Bridge, the final novel in the Happiness Key trilogy.  I’m in that final third, and I’m going strong.  But PR trips, and the beginning of vacation at our summer place, will wreak havoc with any writing schedule.  We have family galore who’ve signed up to visit us.  We have lectures and concerts and hours relaxing on the porch to look forward to.  Will the book be finished in time, even with all those interruptions?

You bet it will.  For the same reasons I must finish a game of Spider Solitaire before I move on to something else, I must finish Sunset Bridge.  I find myself looking forward to those hours at the computer no matter what else is going on.  Will I sacrifice everything else?  Wave away friends and forget those long walks along the lake?  No chance.  Because when a book is going well, I can write any time and any place. 

So picture me at my laptop computer in August, during the hottest part of the afternoon or during the hours just before midnight when the world is quiet and everyone else has gone to bed.  But don’t feel sorry for me.  I’ll have the best possible company.  Tracy, Wanda, Alice, Janya and Maggie will be right there with me.  After all Sunset Bridge is their story.  They’re as anxious to find out what happens as I am.

I’ll confess profanity rarely bothers me. Maybe my tolerance comes from my father, who was an army staff sergeant during World War II and didn’t always remember to temper his speech later after I made my appearance. Or maybe I’m less bothered because on the radical streets of Berkeley, California, where my husband did his graduate education, profanity was a form of proletariat poetry. In neither case were these expletives heavily laden with anger. Profanity was just another form of expression.

Now, when profanity annoys me, annoyance is usually on one of two levels. First, that my favorite entertainers are substituting that hackles-raising “F” word for pauses or phrases they can’t seem to recall. That word-of-all-words has become an aging comedian’s, “you know,” or “uh huh,” or “am I right?” and as such I’m bored by the lack of vocabulary and creativity.  I cringe even more when profanity is a symptom of rage, and everyone in earshot is infected.

While I tolerate four letter words better than some of my readers, who are vocal about their dislike, I much prefer five letter words. Some of life’s very best can be summed up in five letters. Shade, books, music, happy, smile, lucky, faith, puppy, lover, quilt, buddy, kitty, youth, birth, and start as well as begin.

Want to play along? Just click on comment above on the right and tell us your favorite five letter words. Today is a good day to relax.  Since this is summer, your day is either sunny, rainy or balmy, but whatever it is, it’s entirely yours. You’ll note, of course, as you think of your favorite words, that some of them have more than five letters. And some, like love and life, will be four letter words forever.

There is power in words of every length–and power is a five letter word, too. A novelist’s mission is to use the words of any length that say the most with the most precision and linger the longest. Words can change the world. Words and world. Five letters. Wasn’t that my point? P-O-I-N-T.

Having taken a Mexican appetizers class with my lovely daughter-in-law, I was not surprised to discover a tortilla press and keeper among my birthday presents this month.  Both of us had been fascinated by the process of making sopes, small freshly made tortillas with the edges turned up, then filled.  Now I had my own tortilla press and a bag of masa to make them.  It was time to try this at home.

Last night the same daughter-in-law and I went to work, but not without some trepidation on my part.  Very few recipes call for using corn tortillas as “wraps.”  The grocery store version is usually tough, and even when heated correctly, not terribly tasty.  I’d had fresh tortillas in Guatemala, but didn’t remember using them for anything except bread at dinner.  Still, I was determined to try.  So I set out bowls of slaw, lettuce, chopped cilantro, heirloom tomatoes, green pepper, cheese and black beans I’d simmered with onion, garlic and adobo seasoning from Penzey’s–my new favorite store.  I added salsa, hot sauce and fresh lime, then made Mexican rice from Allrecipes.com, just in case that was the only edible thing on the table, and hoped for the best.

Then we made the tortillas.

How could I have doubted?  The tortillas were like nothing I’d ever had before.  Fragrant, earthy, pliable and thin enough to easily wrap around any variety of fillings.  We followed the advice of Gwyneth Paltrow from an article in Vogue about her new cookbook,  sipping wine as we worked, and keeping the cooking simple and enjoyable.  Making the tortillas was such fun, and eating them?  That much better.  The entire evening was memorable.  We have a new favorite meal at our house, and my daughter-in-law’s putting a tortilla press on her Christmas list.

Almost everything is better when it’s made from scratch.  Vegetables fresh from the garden as opposed to the supermarket freezer?  Better.  Bread fresh from the oven?  Better.  Homemade ice cream from farmer’s market peaches and thick natural cream?  Can’t get better.

Books are the same.  Beginnings, fresh starts, are always key.  Nothing rewarmed or packaged.  Start from scratch.  Yes, you can use ideas that have been done before–because haven’t they all?–but your job is to go back to the very essence.  What exactly intrigues you?  What element set your wheels spinning?  Start at the core.  To make a memorable taco or burrito?  Begin with the tried and true corn tortilla, then make it yours with your own innovations, attention to detail.  Joy.

Joy is important to cooking.  Mine ebbed after years of serving meals to children with little desire to try anything new.   Now that their appetites are more interesting, and they’re not at my dinner table very often, I can cook what pleases me and my appreciative husband and friends.   The joy–can’t you tell?–is back.

Writing is the same.  If you don’t feel a surge of interest, if you aren’t curious where an idea is going to take you, the idea isn’t right for you.  It may be a perfectly great idea, but someone else needs it.  Set it free and find the one that makes your heart beat a little faster, the one that sets your mind whirling.  The one that brings you joy.

Ideas are everywhere, but start from scratch.  Distill each appealing one to its essence.  A corn tortilla is nothing more than masa and water.  Yet it’s the beginning of something truly magnificent.  Follow that humble example, and you’ll never go wrong.

I remember the days before Facebook.  Yes, I’m that old.  I remember when I pondered questions of great importance and wished I had someone to turn to for answers.  No email, no Facebook, no Twitter.

Wish no more. 

Recently I received an email from an unhappy reader.   She had a discount coupon for Fortunate Harbor, but she couldn’t find it at her local booksellers.   Surprised, I decided to post about this on my Facebook page and see if anyone else had experienced a problem, because my own trip to Books-A-Million had turned up an interesting conundrum.  While they had one copy of both Happiness Key and Fortunate Harbor, the books were shelved differently, one in romance and one in fiction/literature.

Odd and interesting.  A reader would have to be well-informed, highly motivated, and willing to stand in line for help to find both books.  (more…)

Today I’m blogging at Fresh Fiction about friendship and friendship novels.   Why did I decide to write the Happiness Key series?  Can the theme of friendship carry a trilogy?  Come visit the Fresh Fiction website and find out. 

Oh, and while you’re there?  I’m also running a contest on their website.  One lucky reader will win a deluxe gift basket of white citrus products from Bath and Body Works, as well as autographed copies of Fortunate Harbor and Happiness Key.  Plus there’s a book each for the second and third runner-ups.   No questions to answer, just sign up.  Lots of other author contests there, as well, so enjoy.  I’d love to see one of my blog followers win this lovely gift.