I remember the day when it first occurred to newly published me, that at some point, I might be asked to go on a book tour.  Be still my heart.  People coming to a bookstore just to see me? Autographing?  Staying at lovely hotels?  Ordering room service?

I also remember the day when I realized that despite the honor and the benefit, book tours are also grueling affairs, often filled with empty bookstores, noisy hotel rooms, and strange meals at odd hours of the day.

They’re also, quite often, lonely.  So imagine my delight when I was asked to participate in the Authors in Motion tour with my bestselling colleagues (from left to right) Susan Mallery, Rachel Vincent, moi, Gena Showalter and Carla Neggers.   I was warned we would make 8 stops in 3 days, sign books amidst the shopping delights of Kmart and Walmart, and travel by van from Indiana to Wisconsin–heavy on Illinois.  Having done one of these in the past, I packed with enthusiasm. (more…)

Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.   And sometimes it’s strange because of fiction.  Take Wanda, for example.  Not Wanda of Happiness Key and Fortunate Harbor.   The very real Wanda of Wanda’s Pie in the Sky in Toronto.  And had I never written about a pie shop named Wanda’s Wonderful Pies, I never would have “met” her.  Life’s like that, isn’t it?

The Wanda collisions began a month ago while I was working on Sunset Bridge, and  needed the name of a new pie that “my” Wanda had just created.  The name I chose (Million Dollar Pie) turned out to be a real pie, so I couldn’t use it.  Next I googled “Pie in the Sky” to see if that had been taken, and that’s when I found the real Wanda who runs a real pie shop.  Not in the fictional Palmetto Grove, Florida, of course, but in Toronto, Canada, home of my publisher.

Since my publisher works hard for me, I decided this coincidence was too great.  Why not send all the kind people there who labor over my books some of the real Wanda’s pies.  And while the real Wanda and I were becoming acquainted and doing a little business together on the phone, I asked her for a pie recipe for YOU.  She, being the delightful person she is, agreed. 

Now, I don’t know about you, but I feel darned fortunate to have made this discovery.  She sent me her cookbook.  I sent her my books.   I bought some of her wonderful pies, and she sent me her wonderful recipe to share with you. 

If this is not the definition of serendipity, I don’t know what is.  So please enjoy the real Wanda’s gift to us.  And if you’re in Toronto, be sure to enjoy her pies, as well.  I am told, by those who’ve been lucky enough to have one, that they are scrumptious.  I plan to try this one soon.  How about you?

Lemon Meringue Pie

Makes one 10-inch (25-cm) pie (serves 8) 

        I don’t know anyone who can resist this pie. When made correctly (tricky at first to be sure), this pie is a dream come true: tart melt-in-your-mouth filling and sweet, mile-high meringue all piled into a crispy delicate crust. I like to think of lemon meringue as the Marilyn Monroe of pies: tart, blonde, voluptuous and truly unforgettable. 

Crust

¾ cup (180 mL) cold butter, cut into ½-inch (1.2-cm) pieces

2 cups (480 mL) all-purpose flour

¼ cup (60 mL) sugar

¼ tsp. (1.2 mL) salt

1/3 cup (80 mL) water

Filling

2 cups (480 mL) water

1 cup (240 mL) sugar

½ cup (120 mL) cornstarch

5 egg yolks, beaten

¼ cup (60 mL) butter

¾ cup (180 mL) fresh lemon juice

1 Tbsp. (15 mL) lemon zest

1 tsp. (5 mL) vanilla extract

Meringue

5 egg whites, room temperature

½ tsp. (2.5 mL) cream of tartar

¼ tsp. (1.2 mL) salt

½ tsp. (2.5 mL) vanilla extract

¾ cup (180 mL) sugar

For the pastry: Make sure all the ingredients are as cold as possible. Using a food processor or a pastry cutter and a large bowl, combine the butter, flour, sugar and salt. Process or cut in until the mixture resembles coarse meal and begins to clump together. Sprinkle with water, let rest for 30 seconds and then either process very briefly or cut with the pastry cutter about 15 strokes, just until the dough begins to stick together and come away from the sides of the bowl. Turn onto a lightly floured work surface and press together to form a disk. Wrap in plastic and chill for at least 20 minutes. Allow the dough to warm slightly to room temperature if it is too hard to roll. On a lightly floured board roll the disk to a thickness of 1/8 inch (.3 cm). Cut a circle about 2 inches (5cm) larger than the pie plate and transfer the pastry into the plate by folding it in half or by rolling it onto the rolling pin. Turn the pastry under leaving an edge that hangs over the plate about ½ inch (1.2 cm). Flute decoratively. Chill for 30 minutes. 

Preheat the oven to 400° (200°C). Chill for 30 minutes. Line the crust with foil and fill with metal pie weights or beans. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes and then carefully remove the foil and continue baking for 10 to 15 minutes, until golden. Cool completely before filling.

For the filling: Bring water to boil in a large, heavy saucepan. Remove from heat and let rest for 5 minutes. Whisk the sugar and cornstarch together. Add the mixture gradually to the water in the pot, whisking until completely incorporated. Return to heat and cook over medium heat, whisking constantly until the mixture comes to a boil. Mixture will be very thick.  Add about 1 cup (240 mL) of the hot mixture to the beaten egg yolks, combining until smooth. Whisking vigorously, add the warmed yolks to the pot and continue cooking, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and stir in the butter until incorporated. Add the lemon juice, zest and vanilla, stirring until combined. Pour into the prepared crust. Cover with plastic wrap to prevent a skin from forming on the surface, and cool to room temperature.

For the meringue: Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C).Using an electric mixer beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar, salt and vanilla extract until soft peaks form. Add the sugar gradually, and beat until it forms stiff, glossy peaks. Pile onto the cooled pie, bringing the meringue all the way over to the edge of the crust to seal it completely. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes, or until golden.  Cool on a rack and serve within 6 hours to avoid a soggy crust.

What could be more fun for an author than a gift to readers to celebrate the release of a brand new book?  Thanks to my publisher, here’s a coupon for $1.50 off the price of Fortunate Harbor.  Just click on the link below and print.

The coupon is valid only for the first week on sale, June 29th through July 6th, so be sure to print it now, but use it then.   Since we can’t control what coupons your bookseller or favorite store will take, please be sure to check ahead of time to be certain they’ll honor this one.

Don’t forget, if you’d like the book ”personalized” just send a stamped, self-addressed envelope to Emilie Richards at PO Box 7052, Arlington, VA 22207, and I’ll send you a signed bookplate (up to 3) addressed to anyone you choose.

Enjoy!

Fortunate Harbor Coupon

I had such big plans.  Almost an entire month by myself at our “new” (1895) cottage just up the hill from Lake Chautauqua in Western NY.  Chautauqua Institution is a historic community, once a camp for Methodist Sunday School teachers and now a renowned cultural community with a nine week season of music, lectures, theater and much, much more.  We’ve been coming here for years to recharge for a week or two each summer, but this is the first time we’ve had the luxury of coming off season.  I planned to “open” the cottage, figure out what to keep and how to organize what was left, then write, write, write.  I thought with all this peace and quiet, I could manage perhaps as many as two rough draft chapters every three days.

In my weeks here I’ve written three chapters. 

Finding the time to write, every writers dilemma.  How can this be as difficult as I’m making it?  After all, you just sit down, turn on the computer or pull out the yellow legal pad and magic pen and away you go. 

Not.

Writing demands complete concentration.  For me, that comes at a price, usually hours at the computer before I can really sink into the book and detail what I see.  When I’m lucky enough to reach that stage, pages fly by.  If I’m interrupted during this warm-up, often I never quite reach that point where the writing flows.  I struggle over sentences, and while I usually have something to show for the effort, every word is hard won.

Sometimes, though, interruptions are more fun than the alternative.  A lot more fun.  In my weeks here I’ve watched our little house achieve some kind of order, and supervised needed repairs and changes.  I landscaped the front garden and found a helper to do some of the dirty work.  I accepted a plot in the community garden and today will finish planting my tomatoes.  I attended two concerts, met scores of wonderful people, most who generously invited me for meals or porch socializing.  I took walks and field trips, shopped at the incredible Wegman’s grocery store, and discovered that the local Dollar General has almost anything I could ever need. Who knew?

I discovered that dinner parties in my tiny kitchen will have to be planned carefully and executed in stages, and while I was at it I was reminded that friends don’t care, even when the chicken takes forever to cook.  I found that early June can be cold in Western NY, and that a warm dog in a lap is almost as good as a heater–but that doesn’t mean a few baseboard units wouldn’t be a welcome addition in the future.  Nemo and I took frequent walks each day, watching the community come alive and enjoying the sun sparkling on our gorgeous blue lake.  I said hello to a hundred strangers who all said hello in return.

Sometimes the best laid plans go astray.  Mine certainly did.  What does this mean exactly?  Well, in my case, it means I’ll have to write in August when I’d hoped not to.  But that’s a price easily paid for the fun I’ve had.  I’m looking forward to sinking back into my book and reuniting with my characters. 

I had great expectations for my time here, but the reality was even better.  Sometimes it’s important to let go of expectations, to see what transpires without them.  Some of  life’s finest gifts arrive that way.  My gift this past month was making new friends and learning to appreciate this remarkable community in a whole new way.   I just bet, in the long run, Tracy, Wanda, Janya and Alice will all be better off for it when I settle in, once again, to tell their story.

Just as writing Happiness Key made me think extra hard about what makes me happy and why, writing Fortunate Harbor made me think about all the ways I’ve been fortunate in my life.  Taking a blessing inventory, if you will, is a thought-provoking discipline, and I’ve found the more I think about this, the more fortunate I feel.  In fact I have a new ritual I’m trying to incorporate in my life.   Every day I fill in this sentence:  “I am fortunate because. . .”  And even on a bad day–and don’t we all have them?–it’s surprisingly easy to do.   This is different from Pollyanna’s “glad” game.   I’m not necessarily trying to find the good in every bad situation.  I’m looking for the major themes in my life, and all the parts of it for which I can and should be grateful.

Life is filled with “lagniappe,” (a term used frequently in Louisiana)  that unexpected extra we don’t necessarily deserve, which arrives on our doorstep anyway.  Yesterday I was reminded of this, and not subtly.  I was hit over the head with it, a baseball bat moment, as you will.  Years ago, after the birth of two sons, I realized, as much as I adored them both, I also wanted and needed a daughter to help balance out the testosterone overload in our household.   After a year of discovering just how difficult it is to adopt a child of any age, gender or ethnicity, we learned of a six-year-old who was available to us, and after mountains of paperwork and a few scares along the way, our daughter arrived at midnight at the Pittsburgh airport to become our third child and the family peacemaker.

My daughter is, in every way, the child of my heart.  But both she and I have talked about how sad we are that we missed her baby years together.  What did she look like?  When did she walk, talk, giggle?  I was sorry I never had the fun of dressing a baby girl–okay, all those years of playing dolls was leading to that, right?–and that by the time she arrived, her instinctive fashion sense was so highly developed that pretty soon she was dressing “me.”   We missed the baby cuddling stage, the pattycake and eensy teensy spider.  Small things, yes, in the scheme of life.  We got so much, who could mourn too long?

Yesterday as I held my daughter’s daughter on my hip and watched the ultrasound that informed us that yes, yet another baby girl was on the way, I was reminded (baseball bat moment) how fortunate I am.  I have my wonderful daughter.  And now I have the baby girls I missed.  When my three-year-old granddaughter makes a face, I see her mother so clearly, and now I know what SHE looked like at three.   I held my granddaughter when she was an infant, cuddled her, dressed her, knitted sweaters for her, made her a quilt, played eensy teensy spider.  All those things I’d missed are mine now.  And soon will be a second time.

I am fortunate because. . .

Last year so many of you told me what made you happy, even, for some of you, in the midst of great difficulty.  This year I hope you’ll tell me the ways you feel fortunate.  Dig for them, if you will.  What have your received that you didn’t necessarily deserve or work for?  What blessings have simply appeared in your life?  How do you pass them on?

To help you along, I’ve printed post-it notes with the words” I Am Fortunate Because. . .” at the top.  These are perfect to use every day.  Fill in the blank, then stick the post-it where you’ll see it, and be reminded of your good fortune throughout the day.

The first twenty-five people who comment here and tell us the ways they’re fortunate, will receive a post-it note pack, along with a signed bookplate.  You’ll also be entered in my next big giveaway in July.  So stay tuned for those details.  You’ll only be entered once, so be certain you can receive email from me so we can communicate with the fortunate twenty-five to get mailing addresses.

I am fortunate because. . .   How about you?

I’m glad I have a chance to write this post today.  After all, it’s pouring down rain outside, and I could be outside cleaning leaves from gutters, or repairing street lamps, or walking my silly beagle again.  Instead, Nemo is curled up in his basket at my feet, for which I am also glad, since Nemo thinks splashing in the rain is as much fun as chasing rabbits or baying at absolutely nothing in the middle of the night, just because he can.

And, of course, I’m also absolutely triple glad that yesterday, when I opened my computer, all the edits I had worked on until 11:00 the previous night had simply disappeared off my hard drive (where they’d probably never landed in the first place) and I had to spend the day reconstructing everything I had done instead of moving on to the five million other pressing projects I have in place. 

You might ask why?  Well, that’s a tough one.  But after wrinkling my pert little nose a time or two, I came up with something.  I learned a LOT about my brand new computer yesterday as I searched through the detritus of files I’d moved to it.  For instance, how would I have known that I had six files detailing the correct way to do a tracheotomy, had I not lost eight hours of work to the Computer Gods?  Now, just in case I ever need to do emergency surgery on a friend or neighbor, I can run home, start my computer, and know just where to look.

I also discovered there are “hidden” files on my computer.  We might ask ourselves why Microsoft feels it needs to hide anything on OUR computers, but I’m glad I don’t have to.  I’m afraid it would be a lot like asking BP why they have hidden the fact there’s an oil plume way down in the ocean that is not, as they want us to believe, unrelated to the massive amounts of BP oil spilling into our beloved Gulf of Mexico from an ill-equipped and monitored oil platform.  There again, I am glad I don’t have to hear that response.  Glad, glad, glad.

As a child, Pollyanna was one of my favorite movies.  I loved everything about it.  The setting, the acting, the story.  I ached for the unloved little girl who played the “Glad” game to deal with a difficult life.  Pollyanna could find that proverbial silver lining in everything.  She was brave, insightful, cute as a button, and able to change the way an entire town thought about life.  Not bad for a freckle-faced orphan.

The Glad Game was very different from the real game I watched being played around me.   Most people I knew were much more adept at finding things NOT to be glad about.  The dark cloud was the meterological event to concentrate on.  I fell in line, as did most of us, concentrating far too often on the things that were wrong with a nearly perfect day, or wishing a book had made it to a higher slot on a bestseller list, and not noting that I should be GLAD a book of mine had made it to any list at all.

There’s a popular movement that insists each of us should visualize what “can be,” and concentrate to make it happen.  We are supposed to do this consistently, with energy and  a significant commitment of time, and if we work at it hard enough, we will achieve our goals.  I’m all for having goals.  I’m all for working on them.  But maybe what most of us need even more is to be glad about the things we already have, to count our blessings, because isn’t there the possibility that if we don’t, when we reach that long sought goal, we won’t even notice?  We’ll just screw up our faces, tense our muscles, and start concentrating on the next one.

Finding and appreciating the ways we are fortunate.  Sound familiar?  Clearly it’s on my mind.  After all Fortunate Harbor’s coming out soon,  and what’s it about if not this?

As for me?  I’m glad I was able to reconstruct those missing edits in only one day.  I really am glad I learned some things about my new computer and operating system as I tried to bring them back.  I’m glad I mentioned my dismay on Facebook and got such lovely support and suggestions.  I’m glad I discovered that the editor who had sent them to me in the first place was not only willing to help, but approachable, warmly sympathetic, and quick to respond. 

Am I glad my edits disappeared?  Not on your life.  But I am glad, truly glad, that these days I’m teaching myself to find small positives in the midst of larger disappointments.  And, of course, I’m glad this was, in the scheme of things, a very minor event.  Those major events?  Well, I’m glad to say I’ll have something to work on for the rest of my life.

You may notice some subtle changes in the look of this blog.  We have switched the platform to WordPress, and now it’s even easier to comment than it was in the past, so why not give it a try?.  Just click on the red “comment” and you’ll see a place to add your own (and to read others) directly below the post.  Also be sure to set any bookmarks or feeds to the new address here: www.emilierichards.com/blog.  

While you’re commenting, why not tell us about a time when you found something to be glad about in a difficult situation?  These are the stories that feed our souls.

It’s time to make a confession.  Remember Helen Henry in Wedding Ring?  That’s right, Helen, the grandmother who had just the teensiest problem with throwing out things she loved.  Problem was, Helen loved everything that couldn’t talk back to her.  Old papers.  Furniture.  Dishes.  Seed catalogs.  Broken appliances–after all somebody ought to be able to fix them, yes?  So many of you wrote to say you had a Helen in your life.  Some of you wrote to say you were Helen.  And did I understand?

You bet I do.

I will confess that like Helen, I have just the teensiest problem tossing junk.  Invariably, once I screw up my courage and pull out the black plastic bags, I find the very next week that some discarded item was essential to my well being, or my accountant’s records, or the ultimate survival of all earth’s species.  Yes, throwing out anything is an issue for me.  And now, thanks to a stagnant real estate market and a lucky break, I have an entire cottage of someone else’s rejects to explore and debate and most likely, not to throw away too soon. 

This past week my husband and I traveled north to clean and declutter the summer cottage near Lake Chautauqua we bought last fall, just as it was being put to bed for the winter.  This was our first chance to actually spend a few nights here–and I will continue my stay to write for the next two and a half weeks, interrupted only by my fabulous neighbors and the friends I’ve already made.  I look forward to the solitude and the togetherness.  Life is good.

Still, there ought to be a rule that people like me are never presented with all this remarkable “clutter.”  Because in every object in this cottage, I see a story.  And abandon a story?  Are you kidding?  After days of debate we now have an attic full of forgotten tales, and the cottage looks fairly presentable for a lady who’s 115 years old.  I’m sure that eventually I’ll go upstairs and say, “no reason to keep this,” or “isn’t there a flea market nearby?”  But not yet.

How do we tell the trash from the treasure in our lives?  I realized on the second day of hauling and considering, item by item, that this is the theme of my newest novel, Fortunate Harbor, to be released at the end of this month.  The same women you met and enjoyed in Happiness Key–plus one–are faced with decisions about what to throw out in their lives, what to retrieve, what to value, and what to be wary of.  They learn the ways they’re truly fortunate, and the importance of harboring those people, possessions and values that really matter. (Now you understand the title, right?)

I feel so fortunate to be here, to have this funky old cottage filled with trash and treasure, to be writing the last novel of a three book series with characters I’ve grown to love and themes I enjoy exploring.  I feel safe here in this unique New York community, harbored, you might say, by tradition and long acquaintance.

I’m learning that it’s easy to get busy, easy to forget or ignore how many things we have to be grateful for, and how many ways we are taken care of and protected by people we know.  I’m learning that when I start to pay attention, even when life is far from perfect, I am surrounded by the people and small treasures that matter most to me.

Is that true for you, as well?  That even in the midst of sorrow or difficulties, there are people who harbor you and blessings you are fortunate to have?  We’d love to hear about them in your comments here.

Now I have an attic filled with potential, a tiny pile of garbage at my curb–some of which other residents have already spirited away–and old friends to revisit in real time and on paper.  Last night’s downpour did not carry off the best of the ancient wicker we assembled on the porches.  The temperature has not dropped low enough to make me wish the house were insulated, and what mice and squirrels made nests in our walls and attic over the winter have apparently gone to open their summer homes, as well.  I hope life is always this simple and dear, and that even when it’s not, when presented with trash, I am patient enough to find the unseen treasure waiting to be discovered.