Scream for #HALLOWEEN, #WIN a Rouge audiobook!

Halloween is my all-time, absolute favorite holiday.

So in honor of the occasion, I'm RE-presenting my Top Three Favorite Halloween Memories starting from least scary to... well, most silly.

And Stay tuned... your chance to WIN! is at the end~

1. The Country Fair-McCue Road.

In elem-middle grades, I went to a private school that had a Country Fair every year on Halloween. There were games, dunking booths, crafts for sale, fair food, etc.

That was all fun when I was little, but when I got closer to high school, I realized the teenagers would always take off and run around to local "haunted" sites while all the children and parents were at the fair. (Back then you got your drivers' license at 15 and I had an older brother.)

There were two sites near where we lived that had several legends around them. The first was McCue Road. It led back into the woods and started off paved, but eventually it turned to gravel. Supposedly two dead bodies drained of all their blood had been found wrapped in garbage bags back on the gravel part. Naturally, that meant there was a coven of witches doing Black Sabbath rituals that we had to investigate.

The other was a grave at this Civil War-era cemetery in Zachary, La. I don't remember the name, but the grave had bars installed across the top because the legend was it contained the corpse of a witch. One by one the bars had been removed by... teenagers... and supposedly when the last bar was gone, she'd come back and kill us all.

All sorts of stories about cars going dead and then failing to start, power windows going down and not going back up, headlights going out and not coming back on, etc., were told by kids who'd tried to steal bars off the grave.

(To me that didn't make sense because wouldn't she want to come back? So why mess with the teenagers trying to release her?)

Nothing ever happened to us on these trips, but the memory of being 13 and allowed to tag along with the cool "big kids" on those adventures is still pretty vivid. It forms the basis of my Halloween love...

2. My Hero.

In college I dated a guy who was six-foot-two, 200 pounds--big guy. He stomped around town in Size 13 Docs, was the lead guitarist in a band. Mr. Cool, right?

He was also the youngest of nine kids--good south Louisiana Catholic family--and claimed when he was out running one night he saw the Spirit of Death (a dark shadow) rise out of a gutter and go into a house in his neighborhood. The next day (he said) the man who lived in that house died of a heart attack.

My boyfriend was also a major campy-horror-movie fan. Like the super B- variety. He made me watch The Evil Dead. And the sequels. Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Piranha! (the original)...

So he and I went to this haunted house one Halloween--you know, the pretend kind where people dress up and try to scare you? Many of you have never seen me in person. I'm not so big. I'm about five-foot-four, and I weigh between 120 and 130 pounds, depending on if there are cupcakes in the house.

At one point on our haunted tour a fellow dressed as Leatherface with a chainless chainsaw ran out toward us. Immediately my giant boyfriend lifted me off the ground by my upper arms and threw me in front of him, at the guy with the chainsaw.

Me: What are you doing?!?!
Him: (panicked) They won't hurt a girl!
Me: They won't hurt anybody! It's all fake!

We all know that was a completely illogical response, btw. They always hurt the girl.

3. Trick or Treat.

We didn't celebrate Halloween at my house when I was a kid. Well, my paternal grandmother thought that was a lot of ridiculousness. So one year when my brother and I were visiting her at Halloween (we were very young), she decided to take us trick or treating around her small hometown of Liberty, Miss.

I was very much a pleaser as a child, and I just knew we weren't supposed to be doing this. Internally, I was all a-fret because "if Mom found out..."

I was also a pudgy little kid. I was never very tall and until I hit puberty, I was ... well, fat. There's just no other nice way to say it. I didn't like to sweat and I liked to eat. Two plus two equals four.

So we went to several houses, got bags filled with candy. Me: Hey, this Halloween business ain't so bad! Then my Mammaw said we had to go to one more house. It was someone she knew, but at the time, I wasn't aware of that.

My brother and I walked up to the door and knocked and "REEE!!!" An Evil Witch jumped out and released a blood-curdling screech! My brother took off like a rabbit, but I knew I'd never out-run her. I closed my eyes and started swinging my Halloween bag with all my might.

To this day I remember hearing nothing but a high-pitched shree and feeling all my precious candy falling around my shoulders and disappearing through the cracks in the porch. At some point, I took off running. I was not pursued because the "witch" was bent over, hyperventilating with laughter.

I remember seeing her talking to my grandmother through the driver's-side window at the car, and I crept back and got in the backseat. We had to drive a few blocks before we found my brother...

So there you go! My fave holiday memories... ***Now for the TREAT! Your chance to WIN!***

On Amazon

I'd love to hear your favorite Halloween memory.

Leave a comment, and on Monday, I'll pick ONE LUCKY commenter to WIN a copy of the Rouge audiobook!!!

Here's the description:

Romance, velvet, sequins, and murder...
 
Hale Ferrer is the rising star of the hottest cabaret in New Orleans. And her one goal is escape. Escape from the lies, from the crime, and from her growing fear that one day she'll have to earn her living in the secret back rooms, where the dancers do more than dance.
  
But she won't leave behind Teeny, the orphan-girl she promised to protect.
  
Freddie Lovel is rich, handsome, and in love with Hale, and he's ready to sweep her away with him to Paris. But her heart is captured by Beau, the poor stagehand with eyes as blue as Louisiana iris flowers.
   
Denying her fears, Hale is ready to choose love and a life with Beau, until a predator hidden in the wings launches a chain of events that could cost her everything--Teeny, their one hope of escape, and possibly even her life.

Yep! My dark and atmospheric tale set in New Orleans read by the lovely & talented Susan Eichorn Young is perfect for the season. You'll LOVE it~

So leave a comment, then get out, scare some children, eat some candy, watch a scary movie, be safe.

But most of all have a very, very

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

Throwing Socks at the Ceiling Fan

Before I was an editor, before I worked in any form of news, before I had a master's degree, before I had any credentials other than a bachelor's degree and a post-baccalaureate certification, I taught tenth-grade English.

I think every college graduate should be required to teach one year, or at least student teach one semester at a public school.

There'd be a lot less debate about funding public schools or how hard our teachers work or even how different kids are today from how they were "back then."

source

So I taught tenth grade English, and at the end of that year, my students had to take the writing portion of the LEAP exam, Louisiana's standardized testing required for graduation.

Needless to say we focused on writing heavily, and needless to say many of them were extremely nervous about being required to write on a random topic in order to graduate. Or to write. Period.

Our mantra was "writing is a craft," and I explained that meant it was something you got better at the more you did it. I'd have them write something almost every day, pass it to a neighbor for "grading," and then go back and correct it before turning it in to me for the final grade.

It was a primitive version of critique partners, and I didn't even know it.

When I started writing books, I didn't know what I wanted to write. I'd get ideas for stories that I liked, or I'd get a character in my head, and I'd chase him or her wherever s/he led, whether it was back in time or outer space or just around the block.

My first book wasn't very polished, but I think my latest shows the mantra works. You do improve with practice, getting feedback, learning from mistakes.

When he was in high school, my older brother liked lying on his bed, taking off the socks he was wearing, and then throwing them at the ceiling fan while it was spinning.

Sometimes I'd lie on the bed beside him and watch, and we'd laugh about how far they flew or dodge the falling dust bunnies, depending on how long it'd been.

source

My writing path feels that way at times. Five completed MSs later, and I still don't know which genre I prefer to write or which my readers prefer.

I'm not sure it matters as long as I just keep doing it, learning from my mistakes, improving.

I can't seem to find my point today, I'm sorry. If you've made it this far, I guess it's just keep swimming. And if you're throwing socks at the ceiling fan, remember to dodge the dust bunnies. (Yes?)

Oh, and every one of my students passed the writing portion of the LEAP. I was so proud of them. Still am.

Have a great week, reader- and writer-friends! <3

If I Could Be Anybody Else...

In honor of the release of our good bloggy friend Talli's brand new book, Watching Willow Watts (link), we've all been asked to write about who we'd like to be and why. Other than ourselves, of course.

I confess. This was hard for me! I'm too analytical. I know everybody's got their own set of problems, even if it looks like they've got it made in the shade.

We all have our unique challenges and insecurities to round out the good things in our lives, so it's best to be thankful for who we are, enjoy our blessings, and learn from our hard times.

But that's boring! And I like games, so I sat down and thought about it.

Who would I want to be... Who looked like they'd done the most interesting stuff, who had the coolest setup, who I'd like to emulate... hmm...

It was a tie.

My first choice: Frank Lloyd Wright. Remember my post about starting my very first novel? Back in 2009, when I decided I was also possessed by the spirit of FLW in the creepy Indian artifact museum during the freak hailstorm in Sedona, Az.? (link)

Me as FLW

In follow-ups, I told someone I thought it was so cool that FLW was able to live his life doing what he loved, that he got recognition in his lifetime, and that he was able to do it until he died at 91 (at his drafting table, sketching). And his creations still live on, admired and preserved...

Yep, that's what I want.

My second choice: Rosalind Russell. (The actress for you youngsters.)

I was about nine when my grandmother introduced me to the fabulous world of classic movies. She rented The Big Sleep for me, and we watched together. I was instantly hooked, and I spent the next 31 years watching, rewatching, and loving old movies.

Me as RR (that's JRM as Carey Grant)

Of all the actresses, Rosalind Russell is my favorite. At least onscreen. She was tough and sassy. She was hilarious and full of heart. Think about it. From her early films The Women to His Girl Friday, to musicals Auntie Mame and Gypsy, all the way to The Trouble With Angels. She was just fantastic.

She created unforgettable characters, worked with amazing people, and she always looked like she was having a blast doing it.

That's the other thing I want.

So there you have it. And now you all need to get Talli's new book! Take it from me, I read (and reviewed!) Talli's first book, The Hating Game (link), so I can only imagine this one's even more fun. It sure looks that way.

Here's the link to the ebook version of W3 on Amazon (link). The paperback's coming in November, but you Kindle kids, at $2.99, there's no excuse not to grab it and spend the weekend happily reading.

Have a great week-end, reader- and writer-friends! Til Monday~ <3

I Happen to Like New York

I had a friend with an apartment on Prince Street in Soho.

My last visit to NYC in the spring of 2001 was to visit him and another friend who'd moved there with her husband. She and I'd worked together at LSU.

I was also supposed to meet up with my (sorority) little sister, Tove Sundqvist. She lived in Amsterdam, but she had to be in Boston. We were going to try and get together, but ultimately it didn't work out.

Anyway, my friend John was very excited about the prospect of me moving to NYC and getting an editorial job, and he was helping me meet folks at Newsweek and Hachette.

It was very cold, and I have a picture of me freezing on top of the WTC six months before it hit the ground. It was my third trip in less than two years, but I wasn't going to move. I didn't want it badly enough, and I was married with a husband on his way to med school at the time.

I remember John took me to some way off-Broadway play where all the actors ended up completely naked at various points. I have no idea what the name of it was, but we met up with some of the cast at a little diner after. They kept going on about how much I looked like Drew Barrymore, and John was indignant. "She is not fat," he snapped.

John was from Port Allen. Same city as that little Tracy Porter kid who made the winning play for the Saints at the Superbowl. John's apartment was huge by NYC standards and his rent was only $1,400 a month because of rent control. He'd been there since the '80s. I still can't believe he gave that place up to move to Atlanta.

That night at the diner, I just remember thinking how one of my sorority sisters used to say I looked like Drew Barrymore, and I'd never taken it as an insult.

Six months later everything changed. It was Sept. 11, and I was working at the paper in Shreveport, La. I remember standing out in the newsroom with the rest of the staff watching Matt Lauer covering the nightmare. Then I went back to my office where my phone was ringing off the hook with friends demanding to know what was going on.

I just work here, I thought.

One month after that Tove was killed in Amsterdam after being hit by a tram while she was riding her bike. I remember getting the email from her (bio) sister Jenny telling me what had happened, and I went straight to the phone and called her.

I had no idea what time it was in Sweden, but I couldn't believe it. Somebody had hacked into her email account and was playing the most un-funny joke of all time.

But it wasn't the most un-funny joke. It was the most un-funny truth. We sat there kind of stunned, and I eventually hung up the phone. I don't really remember our conversation.

An hour later, as the email was being discovered by our other sisters, my phone started ringing off the hook again. What had happened? Had I talked to Jenny? But Tove just got married! She was going to have a baby! And she was always so healthy! It was surreal.

I had just gotten the thank-you card she'd sent me for her wedding present. I'd given her some of those giant bath-sheet towels we all loved so much. I remembered how one time she'd fallen in the shower at her dorm and hit her head and we all had to rush her to the ER for stitches. Jenny had been so scared, and we'd all joked about what a klutz she was. Another time she got a speeding ticket, and Jenny just knew she was going to get deported. Tove was larger than life.

I sat down and scribbled out some letter to Jenny that I couldn't even read through my blurry eyes. I wrote how I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't. I wrote about how badly I'd wanted to be at her wedding that summer, but with the move to Shreveport and all it had been impossible. And I hadn't saved enough money to fly to Amsterdam.

I mailed it without even proofreading. It probably made no sense.

Another month later, my first marriage ended...

Tough year.

It got better, of course, and by the end of 2002, I was surrounded by an amazing group of friends in Indy who took me in on sight and made me feel as welcome as if I'd always been here.

They still do. Those guys are amazing. Love them~

* * *

This is a repost from when I first started blogging in 2010. It seemed appropriate today, in remembrance of Sept. 11 and in light of our relocation back to Indy. Still love those guys! It feels like a quiet day, but I'll be sending my revision back as scheduled. And I plan to be around.

Til Thursday, reader- and writer-friends~ <3

In the Transition

So we moved into our new home last Friday, July 8, and in the proceeding week, we moved stacks and furniture from room to room as we painted and refinished floors, connected services, unpacked boxes. It was tiring and intense. But Saturday was the test.

My parents drove with my two daughters from south Louisiana to Indianapolis to see their new home for the first time.

I was so worried about them. We've dragged them away from friends and familiarity, and I wanted them to like their new house. I wanted them to be happy with their rooms, and I wanted them to feel like this was a good thing.

All Saturday, we arranged their rooms, hung pictures, unloaded boxes, assembled little stuffed-animal clusters in welcoming configurations.

The clock was ticking because my "conquer the road" dad had started their journey in the night--they had a good four hours on us. We had to forget sneaking off to see the new Harry Potter, and focus on nesting.

And when my mom called to say they were eleven miles away, we switched into high gear. It was like in those old Captain Kangaroo sketches where they'd speed up the film and play that funny music... remember?

Nothing prepared me for seeing my two little girls' faces for the first time after a three-week separation. We all screamed--! Then we hugged each other and jumped up and down and kissed each other and hugged each other again.

Then we all grabbed hands and ran into the house, first to my room on the downstairs floor, then up the stairs to see their rooms (more squealing), then downstairs again (and again) to the basement to see where we'd set up a television and play area...

After killing myself all day, I was instantly adrenalized. And we kept it going until after 10 p.m., when it was still vaguely daylight but definitely bedtime.

Last night, as I lay in bed reading Carrie for the first time (*snort*), my mind wandered and I began to reflect on the day and all the spontaneous emotions we experienced. Then I thought about a few characters in books I've written, and I thought about the reality of scenes and how important it is to imbue them with true emotions the reader can feel.

While I can't wait to get back to writing again, and I've dubbed this summer "the summer I missed" (it's already mid-July?), these moments of intense, true emotion have made it worthwhile. They're worth savoring and then remembering for later use.

I hope you all had a super weekend and are enjoying your summer days. I'm over here unpacking, but trying to remember the stuff that's flying past as we transition.

Til Thursday~ <3