Hello, Fresh Fiction!
As I’m writing this, Tropical Storm/Hurricane Fay is barreling towards lucky south Florida, and nobody is sure where she’s going to hit. This means that I am not writing outside at the wrought-iron table, looking at the water.
It means that I have piled that wrought-iron table, along with all the chairs, chaises, potted plants, plant stands, decorative garden objects and my husband’s green froggy ashtray into the formal living room . . . which is now not looking quite so formal. A pool net will do wonders for anybody’s décor, know what I mean?
I’ve been wrestling with hurricane shutters, making room in the garage for the cars and hitting the grocery store, gas station and ATM like every other person around here. It’s probably all a lot of overkill, but you can never be sure. And I have a friend who writes weather-related thrillers which keep me up at night, so I take these little ole hurricanes seriously.
Typical writer, though: I’m so glad that I met my revisions deadline on Friday, because now if rogue electricity streaks, say, from a window to my coffee table, through the couch, around the doorframe, down the pool net pole, past the dogs, under the cat, sets the rug on fire, misses me or my husband by a hair and then evilly zaps the computer, destroying it with an accompanying clap of theatrical thunder . . . well, at least my editor will have a cyber-copy. (How’s that for an 83 word sentence? LOL.)
And hey, if the house floods or the roof blows off, same goes.
Authors get a little neurotic about their manuscripts, as you can see, even when they live in laid back, sunny (uh, most of the time) south Florida.
Can I say that I get especially crazy about my manuscripts for the TAKE ME series? I don’t know why, but by the time I’m done with them I’m exhausted. I’ve told people the story: I tossed 200 pp. and started over when the villain stole the hero’s spot in TAKE ME IF YOU CAN. (That Liam is one talented thief.) And now, for TAKE ME TWO TIMES (to be released April of ’09) I’ve tossed 7-10 of the original chapters and rewritten a lot of the rest. Why? Well, for one thing, the cops were trying to take over, and that’s just unacceptable in a series that revolves around an agency that recovers stolen art. Move over, boys in blue, and make way for the girls in black!
These are tough women with a license to steal. They’re the high end, glamorous ‘repo men’ of the art world, and they’re armed to the teeth. If you’ve got an artifact, painting or sculpture that doesn’t belong to you . . . watch out, because they’ll be paying you a visit. And whether you’re a professional cat burglar, a captain of industry, a statesman or a pope, these art recovery agents aren’t intimidated.
They’re probably not even afraid of hurricanes. But I am! So I’m going to get back to fighting with the big accordion shutter that pulls across the sliding doors in the living room. Please keep everyone in south Florida—and the Keys—in your prayers. Thanks. All the best,