Jenyfer Matthews

Last week Dear Author posted a blog topic that got me to thinking. Basically Jane was wondering why it was that more romances didn’t deal with serious issues and when they did, why the issues weren’t always handled as thoroughly as they might be:

“A legitimate criticism of romance as serious literature is it’s often cavalier treatment of important life topics. Too often, war, separation, human indignity, are treated as plot devices, conflict mechanisms, and not given the attention and treatment those important issues deserve. How many romance books are thought provoking? How many challenge your personal concepts of right and wrong? How many portray multi hued individuals as both heroic and villianous? Surely within the umbrella of the romance genre, there is room for these books.

Now, this is not to say that I think we should be preached to. Nor am I saying that romance should be about more serious issues. What I am saying is that the lack of these types of books within the genre does not help its image as frivolous literature.

{….}

I am advocating for more romances to tackle, seriously, hard issues and morally ambiguous characters. I think there is room under the tent for them and I think that those books would lend some grativas to the genre.”

The last time I checked there were nearly 100 comments posted in response. I am responding here and my answer is:

The likelihood is not only readers but more importantly publishers who don’t want romance books that deal with serious issues.

Way back when I first started writing, I blithely sent a query on my first manuscript, a romantic suspense, to Harlequin. Little did I know then how lucky I was that I actually got a request for a full manuscript. I went back and forth a few times with the editorial assistant there with suggestions for changes before I ultimately got a rejection letter.

Undaunted, I dashed off another story. As I recall it was set in southern Louisiana – the heroine was a doctor doing pro bono work at a free clinic in a low income neighborhood and the hero was a reporter. She started running into problems when she noticed a trend of illnesses that she traced back to a factory located close to the neighborhood of the free clinic and with the help of the reporter hero was going to blow the whistle on the factory. Never mind the fact that looking back at this story now makes me cringe. When I sent this story off to Harlequin I got a speedy reply.

Too political.

Terry Odell made a comment on the Friday Feature post with Liz Jasper in which she said that she’d been tagged in a writing contest when she had her hero get drunk after a particularly stressful day and in another instance had a heroine swearing – because it’s not “heroic” behavior. As an author, I’m trying to create a character that people can relate to, with all their human flaws, but it’s this sort of feedback that curtails introducing elements that might offend one group or another.

In short, it’s not always the authors making a choice to avoid serious themes in their books. Publishers have guidelines for story lines, particularly category romance, and they tend to go with character types and story lines that they know will sell.

In the comment thread at Dear Author, Nora Roberts responded and said that she didn’t want to read romance books about “issues” and I’m sure it isn’t just me that agrees with her. I read romance for the HEA. I can handle characters with baggage / tragic pasts that they have to overcome during the course of the story (my favorite sort of story actually) but if I want to read a book about an “issue” then I’ll go find a nonfiction title. (or not)

Does a lack of serious issues make romance automatically inferior to other genres with a more serious tone? I don’t think so. It just makes them different. But I suspect that even if authors started dealing with more serious topics, critics would just find another aspect of the genre to criticize. For people who look down on romance (or sci-fi or horror or any other genre fiction) there will always be something they can find to pick on in even the best written novels.

I do agree with Jane on one thing though – if an author does introduce an “issue” into the story, whatever that issue may be, they owe it to their readers to deal with it realistically, accurately and as thoroughly as necessary.

If the flowering trees hadn’t tipped me off that spring had officially arrived in Cairo, we had our first sandstorm of the khamseen season on Saturday.

Khamseen means 50 and the season is 50 days of sandstorms. Or at least the possibility of them. Dust and dirt is a fact of life in Cairo, but the khamseen is different. It’s a hot wind out of the desert that carries sand with it. There are days when the sky turns brown with the sand, but it’s not like what you see in the movies where it’s a blizzard of sand in your face (though it can be). It’s much more insidious in fact. It’s a fine sand that hangs in the air. Even with the windows shut, it creeps in around every crack and crevice. You might not even notice it until you feel it coating the inside of your mouth. It makes your hair feel like straw and it sits on your skin like a coating of powder. Dirt comes out when you blow your nose. It simply sucks the moisture out of your pores.

Neat, huh? Fortunately it doesn’t happen every day. The khamseen makes even something mundane like line drying your clothes an adventure since it can be hard to tell when it will happen.

Yesterday’s sandstorm was a sneaky one. I didn’t even notice at first. There wasn’t much wind to speak of and I was inside much of the day. It wasn’t until I went out and saw the dull beige of the sky that I realized what was going on. And by that time it was too late to go back and shut the two windows I had open or take in the laundry hanging outside the line.

Guess how I spent my time when I returned? The irony is that it wouldn’t have really mattered if I had shut my windows, they are so warped and ill fitting.

It’s going to be a fun month.

My husband left for a conference only a couple of days after we returned from our trip to Siwa Oasis. In spite of the fact that he left me on my own for five days during the children’s spring break, I was looking forward to being on my own. I had big plans! I was going to eat all my favorite junk foods, watch all my favorite girl movies, and catch up on my writing as well as quilting. It’s not as if I can’t do these things when he’s around but somehow having him go away just seems…different.

Things haven’t exactly turn out as I expected. There just isn’t enough time in the day to do all the things I want to do.Not surprisingly, most of my daytime hours are taken up with child care / entertainment. And unfortunately I’m not one of those writers who can write between doing the dishes and making yet *another* snack. I need uninterrupted time, which these days only comes at night – when my mental energy is at it’s lowest point. I wrote a bit, but not nearly as much as I would have liked. (story of my life!)

I haven’t watched a single movie but I’ve more than made up for that with the junk food I’ve been eating. KFC (and most other restaurants) delivers in Cairo. The children? I’ve been getting them food at the club where my daughter takes tennis lessons three nights a week. Shame on me!

The only area I have made some progress is my sewing. I had an order for four baby quilts in my email when I got back from my trip – 2 girl, 2 boy – my choice of colors and design. I did the girl tops this weekend.

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What do you think?

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Still waiting for some inspiration on the boy quilts but in the meantime I can go ahead and layer and quilt these.What did you do this weekend?

I’m extremely pleased to have Liz Jasper, author of the 2008 EPPIE Award winning mystery Underdead, with me this week. Liz is a frequent contributor to Lady Jaided Magazine and blogs regularly at The Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers. To learn more about her Underdead mystery series, and for updates on the upcoming release of Underdead in Denial, visit her website.

Underdead

When she finds a body on her classroom floor with teeth marks in his neck, she must figure out whodunnit before her Underdead secret gets out. But she’s running out of time. The detective in charge of the case is dogging her every move, her vampire traits are evolving in new and embarrassing ways, and someone wants Jo dead…the traditional way!

Now sit back and let Liz tell us why perfect heros and heroines are b-o-r-i-n-g…

One of the temptations of a writer is to make one’s “good” characters a little too good. But the irony is no one actually likes a character who is good to the core and perfect in every way.

Imagine a stunningly beautiful heroine with shiny, golden hair that, without the slightest effort on her part, curls becomingly from the moment she awakens (with a charmingly dainty yawn) until her thick, black lashes flutter closed once again over her lovely violet eyes. She has a flawless 36-26-36 figure, drives a convertible Bentley and — lest you think wealth has spoiled her character — works hard every day running a charitable foundation to which she herself has donated millions. Her ready laughter is the musical tinkling of water running down a stream. She’s dating an equally handsome, muscular demi-god, a blond Ken to her Barbie–only he has his own money and runs his own charitable foundation. The fact that he is anatomically incorrect is only a literary device representing his manfully chivalrous restraint around our beautiful heroine, who is saving her virtue for the moment the glittering, rare, pink, two-carat diamond he has put on her left ring finger is joined next July by a platinum wedding band.

Everybody in the book loves our heroine, save one. She has one enemy, whom no one in town likes, as Ms. Evil is mean, spiteful, works for a for-profit corporation and has black hair. It is page 135 in our story and our unflappable, flaxen-haired heroine is curling ribbons on Easter baskets for the poor. It is nine-o- clock on Easter Sunday and– look! With her usual, impeccable planning, our unflappable heroine finishes the last curl on the last basket just in time to meet her fiancé for brunch. For being tardy is a rudeness to which she would never impose on another living soul.

Now. Who’s with me wanting to push her over a cliff? Raise your hand if you find yourself rooting for her dark-haired nemesis.

Though we all instinctively want our heroes and heroine to be “good”, a character without flaws is inhumanly so. Worse, they are boring. We can’t relate to someone is perfect in every way and, more the point, we don’t want to.

For it is often one’s flaws that give one character. That make one memorable. That, oddly enough, make one lovable.

Take, for example, my cat. (Stay with me, here.) For the past two weeks, I’ve had a beast of a cold. It was so horrible that I spent a couple of days in bed battling a high fever and a barking cough, slathered in menthol ointment I couldn’t smell and with a box of tissues under each arm. My cat, who is possibly the cutest cat on the planet, was there, on the bed with me. But she wasn’t cuddling close, in that fabled display of catly love one always hears about. (“It was so sweet — as I lay there sick and miserable, my darling cat somehow knew I needed her then more than ever and, purring, never left my side!”)

Not my cat. She wasn’t even in her usual day-time spot, at the foot of the bed on my side. My cat spent the entire 48 hours over on the other side, on the farthest possible corner of the bed for me. There was no purring. Most of the time I saw only the back of her. And when she did turn her furry little striped face in my direction, its sweet perfection was marred by the sort of cold glare only a cat can master. A look of co-mingled disgust and irritation that said clearly, “What are you doing in my bed? It is daytime. What about our agreement, that you work while I sleep, do you not get?”

And though I could have used some affection from the little turd, it is her innate crankiness that makes me like her so much. I entertained myself by inching closer, just to watch her crane her neck farther away to maintain the distance between us.

And, like my cat, whose sour disposition doesn’t mar the promise of her physical cuteness but makes her inexplicably more appealing, in a book, a character’s flaws pitted against their good points is often what makes them likeable.

Would you have liked Cinderella quite so much if at one point she hadn’t vented to her animal friends about how much she resented her step-family? Would Harry Potter have been as well-written a hero if he’d been universally-liked, the brightest student in his class, and happy all the time? And in Gone With The Wind, isn’t it because Scarlett O’Hara has so very many flaws burdening her character that we spend hour after hour fascinated by her, and, despite the parting words of Rhett Butler, we really do give a damn?

I happen to agree with Liz – characters with layers and complexity are more interesting to me. What do you think? Do you like perfection or are a few warts okay?

Buy this book!

Our second (and last) full day in Siwa started with a visit to Gebel El Mawta (mountain of the dead). There were two very old Egyptian tombs we went into – the paintings were amazing (alas, no photos allowed) The rest of the mountain was honeycombed with Greco-Roman tombs.

A view through a tomb at the top of the “mountain”

like this one.

Views of the remains of Old Shali fortress

A hillside riddled with Greco-Roman tombs. Amazing to me, but merely a blip in the grand scheme of Egyptian history!

Some local boys visiting Ain Shuruf Spring

Our last day away was spent on a bus as we drove back to Cairo in one shot – twelve hours!! It too had its interesting points. I was sitting there reading on my ebookwise book reader and got to chatting with an older man sitting across the aisle from me. He was so interested in my reader and the concept of ebooks that he’s planning on buying his own! Not only that, but after talking about books for a while, he confided that he’d recently read the Nora Roberts book “Birthright” and really enjoyed it. I just loaned him four more from my own collection. Always willing to do my part to woo more people to romance.

I’ve glossed over so many details of the history of the Siwa area. For a more detailed account you can visit this site.

Next month: Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. Can’t wait!!

Edited to add: In other news, my daugher’s Tamagotchi (virtual pet) got married and had a baby while we were away. Guess she’s doing something right

For the interest of anyone who is curious where exactly Siwa Oasis is in relation to Cairo, I’ve included a map. (Click on it to enlarge). It’s roughly 800km from Cairo to Siwa.

Our second day started with the drive from Marsa Matrouh to Siwa, which takes about 4 hours. This is pretty much what the scenery looked like:

Here’s Mr. Matthews standing in the middle of nowhere. What the picture doesn’t capture is the buffeting wind that was sweeping across this broad flat expanse – bringing mouthfuls of grit with it. I could have tied a rope on my youngest and used him for a kite. I hopped out to stretch my legs and take his picture then promptly got back on the bus!

After arriving in the town of Siwa and checking in at our hotel, our first outing was to the Temple of the Oracle, the place where Alexander the Great was allegedly told that he was to be the king of Egypt.

A village girl, coming out to sell trinkets to people on our bus

A glance down a side street in Siwa. I love the Vodafone sign in such a rural and rustic place. I do have to say that I had excellent cell phone reception nearly the entire time!

It was unusually hot for this time of year, reaching near 104F most days. It was an exceptionally dry heat, but there is only so much of that sort of baking in the sun a person can take before they need to cool down. Fortunately our hotel had its own “spring”

I have no idea if this was an actual spring – there are several in the area – but the water was near frigid. I prefer my pool water temperature to be closer to bath water, but even I took a dip after a day spent walking around in the heat of the desert. A one time splash in that water was enough to numb my outer layer. After that I basked in the sun to dry off – an enterprise that took about 10 minutes. Did I mention how dry it was?

One more day of pictures to share and then Liz Jasper will be here over the weekend as my Friday Feature. Where has the week gone?

First a little information about Siwa:

The oasis of Siwa is more than the gateway to the Great Sand Sea. This once sleepy frontier town, less than 50 kilometers from the border of Libya, has a rich cultural history. Siwa is home to Egypt’s only native Berber population as well as the famed Temple of the Oracle. Alexander the Great traveled here and obtained the confirmation he sought: the priests of the Oracle addressed him as deity and established his right to rule Egypt. Famous for its olives and dates, Siwa was once an important stop on the Caravan Route. But to protect the oasis from hostile invaders the Siwans built the Fortress of Shali in the 12th century and for hundreds of years no one went in. And while Siwa first appeared on an Egyptian map in the 26th dynasty, it was likely settled long before that. Flints found in the area suggest that Siwa was inhabited during the Paleolithic and Neolithic eras when the barren desert was a lush savannah.

We left Cairo for the Siwa Oasis, located in north central Egypt, bright and early on Thursday morning. This was a tour organized by the university where my husband works so there were about 50 of us on a huge bus, driving time two days. There are worse ways to travel in Egypt, believe me!

I took my first picture of the trip at a rest stop about an 1 1/2 hours outside of Cairo. (Note: clicking on any picture will make it larger)

I love taking pictures of goofy signs and how on earth could I resist the irony of this one – of a coffee with a name like this in such a conservative country? Sole Agent of Latin Lover in Egypt, indeed!

Our first real stop was at the Al Alamein War Memorial. I am no WWII history buff but apparently Al Alamein was the site of a huge battle in which the allies were able to defeat the Germans, ending German hopes of occupying Egypt, controlling access to the Suez Canal and gaining access to Middle East oil fields. An important turning point in the war in North Africa.

For a while I read the headstones, the names and ages of the soldiers killed, the inscriptions added by the family they left behind, but I soon had to stop. It was incredibly poignant to see the number of headstones – so many young men, life ended too soon, interred in this remote and dusty foreign place so far from home, some unidentified. The number of headstones here represents those they actually found – there were apparently tens of thousands killed whose bodies were never recovered.

We then drove a few more hours to Marsa Matrouh, a city on the North Coast, arriving late afternoon. Our hotel sat on the edge of the Mediterranean. It was almost impossible to look away from the vivid aquas and blues of the water there – and equally impossible to capture the colors with my camera at that time of the day. I suspect we’ll go back at some point, just to spend the weekend on the beach. The children did not get their fill of beach time during our short stay there.

Stay tuned…tomorrow I will post more pictures taken in and around the Siwa area….

Looks like Mona kept you entertained while I was away. Congratulations, Chris Power, you won the St. Patrick’s Day mug!I’ve only been gone since Thursday but it feels like much much longer. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t fret about my lack of internet access even once while I was away – that’s really saying something because I’m a total addict otherwise.

It was a fabulous trip – in spite of the fact that I under-packed for myself and ended up wearing the same things a couple of times, in spite of the 12 hour return bus trip with two antsy kids in tow, and in spite of the mountain of laundry I now have to do (my husband and kids had plenty of clothes with them!) Keep checking back because I’ll be posting pictures soon.

After I cleared out my inbox, I cruised around some of my usual blog haunts and found a wonderful surprise. Shelley Munro awarded me an Excellent Blog Award over the weekend. I was incredibly pleased and touched since I feel like I’m just muddling along most of the time. It’s nice to know that someone is actually enjoying my ramblings!

Now it’s my turn. The Rules: By accepting this Excellent Blog Award, you agree to award it to 10 more people whose blogs you find Excellent Award worthy. You can give it to as many people as you want but please award at least 10. You deserve this! Feel free to recognize blogs that have already received this award.

This is a bit tough for me because I actually actively try to NOT look at too many blogs. I’m easily distractible and could easily spend all my time cruising around looking at other people’s blogs rather than doing any writing of my own. But here are some of the blogs I visit regularly (in addition to Shelley’s of course!) in no particular order:

Postcards from Cairo
15 Minute Lunch
Yarnstorm
Paperback Writer
Killer Fiction
Smart Bitches
Argh Ink
Dear Author
Anny Cook’s Blog
Nathan Bransford

Does anyone have any favorite blogs they’d like to tempt me with? I’m all ears…

I’m pleased to welcome to Cerridwen author Mona Risk to my blog this weekend. Mona had a very unique inspiration for her first novel To Love A Hero:

It all started ten years ago. In a different life, I was Director of the Analytical Division of an environmental company. I supervised a staff of chemists performing analytical tests and I worked on various government contracts. A monotonous predictable life that suddenly changed when I won a contract to refurbish a military laboratory in Belarus.

I traveled fifteen times to Minsk, capital of Belarus, and was well received by everyone. I worked with colonels and generals, chemists and engineers, and even journalists. I was invited to theirs homes and became friend with their wives. During the inauguration of the lab we were featured on their national TV. Needless to say, I fell in love with the country.

Five years later, I took an early retirement to write my first book, To Love a Hero. Through my novel, a fictional story about an American chemist and a Belarussian officer, I lived again my fantastic trips to Belarus. My story highlights the hospitality and warmth of the gorgeous and gallant Belarussians officers who sing, toast with vodka and make a woman feel like a goddess.

Keep an eye out for Mona’s next book French Peril which has just been accepted by Cerridwen
Press!

And as an added bonus, post a comment and you could win a St. Patrick’s Day Mug! Check back on Monday to see who won!

“Mona Risk writes heroes with heart, heroines with spunk in stories and settings that are simply unforgettable!” – Roxanne St. Claire

Praise for To Love a Hero:

“Author Risk has presented an interesting tale of passion and politics.”

Literary Nymphs

“To Love a Hero has a complex plot. There are twists and turns that the reader will not expect. Mona Risk is a talented author. She knows how to weave intrigue and romance into her story. The characters are well-developed. Sergei and Cecile play well together. Roussov is the perfect antagonist. Fans of romance and suspense will enjoy To Love a Hero.”

ReviewYourBook.com

Blurb:

Raised in boarding schools, Cecile buried her loneliness under long hours of study and work. On the rebound of a broken engagement, she is determined to excel in her first international contract, the refurbishment of an environmental laboratory in Belarus.

BUT… In Belarus, a Russian country dominated by male chauvinism and intrigues, Cecile finds more chemistry than she bargains for.

Admired by men and adored by women, Major General Sergei is a true hero in his country. The widowed Sergei has pledged to clean his country of the pollution left by the Chernobyl disaster.

BUT… With a glass of vodka in his hand and the lovely Cecile nestled in his arms, Sergei has more on his mind than patriotic duty and nuclear pollution, and Cecile soon learns that chemicals are not the only things that generate heat.

Can she betray his trust to save his career? Would her love cost him everything he values?

To Love a Hero

by

Mona Risk

Available from Cerridwen Press

Excerpt:

Cecile surveyed the elegant place. A mirrored sphere flickered with silver glints over the small dance floor at the end of the room. On a raised podium, a gorgeous singer with long golden hair sang while swaying to soft piano music played by a tuxedo-clad man.

The drinks came. They clinked their glasses, mingling the cheers and nazhtrovias.

Cecile struggled to concentrate on the conversation. Not an easy task with the general sitting so close beside her.

“It’s a pleasure to have you with us. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Minsk,” the general said, his gaze warming her cheeks like a soft caress.

“I’m sure we will. You have welcomed us with incredible hospitality. We appreciate your kindness,” she replied with a smile.

Elena asked through her husband if Cecile’s fall on the escalator had left any lasting bruises.

No lasting bruise but it was a fall Cecile wouldn’t forget as long as she lived. She smiled at Nicolai’s wife. “Thank you for your concern. The general caught me just in time. I felt better right away.” Oh my God. What had she said? She hoped no one thought she enjoyed being in his arms.

Cecile glanced around furtively. While the others drank and talked, the general’s lips curled to one side. He hadn’t missed the possible double meaning.

Another wave of heat spread over her throat. Dang, there was definitely a lasting bruise on her senses. She took off her jacket and smoothed her skirt. As dinner was served, she fiddled with a lump of bread and avoided his penetrating gaze. She ate little, preferring the potato pancakes to the greasy meat. With the strong presence beside her, a different hunger built in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly thirsty, she gulped her beer and forced herself to participate in the general conversation.

Nicolai stood and tugged at his wife’s hand. “Please, excuse us. I want to dance with Elena. We don’t often enjoy the luxury of such expensive places.”

John followed suit and pulled Tania to her feet. “Come on. Let me shake my old legs.”

Cecile remained at her place. She took a piece of bread and balled it between her fingers. No one had mentioned dancing as part of this evening. She felt the general’s gaze on her. No please. Don’t ask. She was here to work. Only to work.

The general stood and extended an open palm “May I have the honor?” She placed her hand in his and steadied her wobbly knees.

He swept her away from their table, toward the dance floor. He wrapped an arm around her waist, branding her with his touch. Blazing heat penetrated through the silk of her blouse. They mingled with the crowd, gliding around. Cecile floated on a cloud. She was back in his arms. And not by accident, this time. At first, they moved slowly to the music, then he brought her closer and her body recognized with pleasure the rock-hard chest. He tightened his hold. She almost groaned, her senses focused on the taut biceps pressing on her side. “Crassiva,” he whispered in her ear.

“Pardon?”

“You’re so lovely, Cecile. Crassiva means pretty.”

“General, please. I’m here on business.”

“I’m not about to forget it. But can’t you relax and enjoy the evening, the soft music?”

“I am enjoying myself. Really, your hospitality is amazing.”

“Our hospitality?” He shook his head. “Cecile can’t you stop being the Program Manager for a few hours? I’m trying to talk to you, to the beautiful woman I’m dancing with. Is it an unforgivable mistake?” His breath fanned her earlobe. She had trouble making sense of his words. Was it the result of the morning’s vodka, the beer she drank a moment ago, or the strong arms holding her pressed against his muscled chest? “Tonight we should have fun. Tomorrow we will work.” He smiled at her, such a beguiling smile that she sighed. Her legs turned into jelly and her insides melted into delicious, hot syrup.

“Tomorrow?” she repeated in a whisper. Tonight she wanted to have fun, to forget Rob, her project and the many obstacles waiting for her. Her hand slipped from his shoulder and curled around his neck.

“Yes. Tonight we celebrate, we drink and we dance.” The charm and sultry sexiness in his voice held her motionless. His finger traced a line along her forehead, circled her cheek and swept over her lips in a gentle caress. She guessed he expected her to raise her business flag, to hide behind the contract and their professional relationship.

For the life of her, Cecile couldn’t pull back. She wanted to feel—just one more time—the strength of powerful arms holding her against the shelter of his solid chest. Linking her fingers around his neck, she leaned against the muscled torso and relaxed, secure in his embrace.

He whirled around and danced them to the darkest corner of the dance floor. His lips slid from her temple to her closed eyelids, brushed her cheek and rested for a fleeting second achingly close to her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited and yearned for his kiss. But he pressed his cheek on top of her head and held her tightly. She swallowed a frustrated groan as she listened to the comforting thump of his heart and hung on his neck, almost forgetting to dance.

After a couple of dances, she thought she recognized an old classical music. “Is it by any chance Strangers in the Night?”

“I don’t know the name in English but it’s your Frank Sinatra’s famous song. Do you like it?”

“Well it’s kind of old.”

“Maybe old but special for us now. We are still strangers tonight. I’ll sing it for you in Russian.” Cecile forgot the goal of her trip and the illustrious identity of her companion as he hummed the classic melody with words she didn’t understand but felt deep in her heart.

Buy this Book!

There are pretty much two types of writers: plotters and pantsters. The first type is self explanatory: plotters plot. They know exactly what they are going to do throughout their whole book and probably even have flow charts and note cards to keep everything on course.

Pantsters just fly by the seat of their pants – they get a germ of an idea and then sit down and write, letting the characters lead them this way and that.

I am sort of halfway between myself. I usually have the major plot points in mind when I start but the rest? Pantster all the way. I have a tatty notebook that I occasionally scribble things in, but the rest I make up as I go along.

Turns out that’s what I do when I’m quilting too.

Obviously there is a certain amount of planning involved when you make a quilt – you have to pick fabrics and a pattern before you start. (Unless you are making a crazy quilt, but I digress) And then comes the actual quilting – securing all the layers together with decorative stitching.

Yesterday I sat down at my sewing machine with a quilt top that I’d whipped together a couple of weekends ago. Normally I hand quilt, but I have a fancy machine that I bought a few years ago with the idea that I’d learn to machine quilt. I finally decided that I’d procrastinated that lesson long enough so I off I went.

Turns out I’m a pantster machine quilter.

I didn’t mark the quilt top with my motif. I just sat down and doodled. It’s not perfect but it’s not terrible. Unfortunately, editing in this case isn’t as easy as it is with writing – I’d have to rip all that stitching out if I decided I was unhappy with it.

If only I hadn’t run out of thread before I finished. Guess there’s something to be said for planning things out after all!

I’m going out of town with my family for a few days to visit the Siwa Oasis. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the area so I’m looking forward to it. We’ll be returning to Cairo on Sunday night. I’ll be preparing Easter baskets ahead of time, to preserve that illusion of the Easter Bunny visiting while we are away.

Since I’ll be away, I’ll be posting my Friday Feature a day early. Mona Risk will be here over the weekend with her book To Love a Hero. I hope you’ll stop by and take a look.

Have a wonderful weekend! Happy Spring! Happy Easter!

Congratulations, Janet H, you won yourself a copy of All The Way Home! Drop me an email and I’ll get that to you. The instant gratification of e-books is a wonderful thing!

Back in January, I mentioned that I had found and planted a tulip kit that I purchased in the airport in Amsterdam last summer. It had started to sprout on its own in the dark, cold corner of my bedroom. Once I remembered it, I planted it as instructed and then placed it in the darkest, coldest place I could think of: my refrigerator.

Turns out that wasn’t a brilliant place to pick because not only did my daughter mistake it for food and sample one of the decorative rocks, but the bulbs stalled. In fact, the soil started to grow mold. So, just before my trip to Dubai at the end of February, I took the bowl out of the fridge and put it in a cupboard at the top of the wardrobe in my children’s room, where I promptly forgot all about it.

(I was running the heater in my own room to encourage our laundry to dry)

Earlier this week, I was looking at a blog called Yarnstorm, home of an English domestic goddess, and saw the pictures she’d posted of some lovely bulbs she had grown and suddenly remembered my own. I ran to check on them, sure they would be as I left them only parched from lack of water and this is what I found:

Clearly my best strategy with plants is neglect. I didn’t water my tomato plants as much as I should have and yet I have a nice crop of cherry tomatoes coming in. Even my poinsettia are still going strong.

Guess my distracted, multi-tasking, drop-the-ball mommy brain is good for something after all.

And now to write. I only have three days before my kids get out of school for a two week Easter holiday. Think I’ll get much writing done during that time? Me either.