posted online at Running With Quills April 3, 2008

Here comes da sun!

Last Friday was my wedding anniversary. As the soulmate and I boarded a train for Portland for a mini getaway, it was snowing.

Snowing, for heaven's sake! So close to April 1st it makes no nevermind.

This has been the craziest year for weather. I've seen atypical temps and weather patterns all over the nation.

But Spring has come to Seattle!!
Finally.
At last.
'Bout time.

I love the seasons in this town. Love them all. I have a genuinely tough time deciding which I like best.

Still, it's hard to beat Spring with all its flowers.

Not to mention sunshine. Man, am I grateful to see that again! I thought for sure it had forsaken our part of the world for ever and ever, amen. But it's back (if only for a short while) and everything looks so clean and bright, instead of gray and dismal. The greens are such a clear, tender hue, and the air is filled with fresh scents. My Daphne Odora (or maybe its Adora) is budding and Lordy does it smell divine. Our ancient lilac tree will be in bloom in about a month. Already I look forward to stepping outside the lower back door and simply breathing deeply.

How about your part of the world ? Has winter finally (at last. 'bout time) lost its grip? And what's your favorite season?

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posted online at Running With Quills March 20, 2008

A new cover as stand-in for my brain

My cat Mojo is a big fan of bathtubs and sinks. When he's in my tub upstairs, he often spins in circles trying to catch a glimpse of his own shadow, which I imagine he sees out of the corners of his eyes.

That's what I've been doing this week--spinning in circles, chasing my own shadow. You ever have times like that? Mine was mostly due to work. The soulmate's out of town on a job, I've had my nose seriously to the grindstone and everything else has fallen by the wayside. I sat down early Monday morning and swear I didn't look up again until Wednesday afternoon when I realized I'd forgotten to check in here and so had missed out on Christina's blog. That bummed me out, let me tell you. But then I got sucked back into the story and just came up for air a minute ago.

Only to realize it's my turn to blog. (You don't want to know the word that came out of my mouth.)

Okay, the above timetables may be a wee bit exaggerated, but it definitely felt like days had lapsed while I wasn't paying attention. So because my brain is toast, I'm posting my new cover for Cutting Loose (Coming to a bookstore near you July 29th). This is Book One of my new Sisterhood Diaries Trilogy, which features three BFFs who inherit a notoriously ugly Seattle mansion. Tell me what you think.

And I hate to look like the absentminded professor all alone. So do a weary writer a favor, would you? Share some of your own less than brilliant moments.

I'll love ya forever for it.

~Susan

 

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posted online at Running With Quills March 11, 2008

We interrupt this regularly scheduled reading. . .

...To let you know that Susan is now on MySpace. Stop by and add yourself as her friend at myspace.com/susan_andersen

Hope to see you there! ~Susan

 

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posted online at Running With Quills March 7, 2008

Elliot thinks I'm fancy

My great-nephew Elliot loves Olivia the pig books. The one he's into right now is all about opposites. And apparently my fondness for makeup is evident even to a two year old, because everytime he comes to this page, he points at fancy Olivia and says, "Susie!"

Okay, I admit it. I'm one of those women who prefers not to leave the house without lipstick. Mascara's right up there on my list, too, along with Carmex to tame my eyebrows. But hey, I don't wear pearls like Olivia. Or big red bows around my ears. (Girl, that's just tacky. Love the shoes, though) And I haven't gone topless since I was three.

Still, I'm a fool for cosmetics. I love the look, the feel, the smell... the promise. Now, I consider myself an intelligent, reasonably grounded woman. I know my limitations in the beauty department. I have zero interest in Botox and no one's putting this girl under general anesthesia to take a scalpel to my face. But for a few bucks and no blood spilled you can do amazing things with a little mineral foundation and a stick of cream blush. If makeup doesn't precisely hide a multitude of sins it at least mutes them a little.

The soulmate and BBF Mimi like to make fun of my dresser in the bathroom. And I admit, the thing's loaded with way more crap than one woman needs since I'm not always great about thinning out the rejects. But I'm an experimenter by nature and I've discovered some great stuff along the way. Jane Iredale cosmetics, especially their Sugar and Butter lip treatment. Cargo blu_ray compact of four lip glosses (seeing a trend here?) With this little beauty you can customize your lip color. I usually have oily skin but this winter it got really dry and I discovered La Roche-Posay Nutritic, which was great. It healed the dryness without leaving a greasy sheen.

So, Elliot (at the Whaletail) will probably continue seeing me in lipstick and mascara on our Friday morning walks. But how about the rest of you? If makeup bores you silly, what does shake your tambourine? What do you have a lust-on for that friends and lovers just don't get?

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posted online at Running With Quills February 21, 2008

Fresh meat! Er, that is, a guest in our abode.

Hey, y'all. Today we have a guest blogger. I'm not as yet personally familiar with Kathryn Caskie's books, but I love Regency historicals, so I'm penciling her in at the top of my Gotta Check It Out list. Kathryn is the USA Today Bestselling author of seven Regency-set historical romances. Her upcoming release for Avon Books, How to Propose to a Prince, will be in stores next Tuesday (February 26th). She lives in Virginia in a 200 year old house with her family, including two neurotic Border Collies, a Chihuahua with a Napoleon complex and two cats inclined to ignore them all.

Please join me in welcoming her. Take it away, Kathy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for inviting me to come blog on Running with Quills. You are all queens of romance in my book and I feel like a fan girl to be in your cyber presence.

Is it just an author thing, or when anyone meets a couple for the first time, does he or she feel compelled to ask "So, how did you two meet?"

I love to hear stories of how someone came to be with the love of his or her life. You'd be surprised, too, at the number of time some element of someone's first meeting made its way into my books. Sure, I make it a little more dramatic and fun, but the essence of someone's story is usually at its core.

That is, until I wrote the first chapter of my February 26th release for Avon Books, How to Propose to a Prince. Made it all up. I was convinced that there was no way on God's green earth this would happen in real life. The chapter is posted on my site KathrynCaskie.com so you can read it for yourself.

In my story, Elizabeth Royle, has had prophetic dreams her entire life--but only about half come true. But when the man she knows she will marry steps straight out of her dreams and into her life, she knows for certain they are destined to marry. Never mind that he is Prince Leopold, and is in London to woo Prince Charlotte. She knows Fate is on her side.

But, you know, the chapter hadn't been posted for two days before I received an email from a woman who read the excerpt and was startled by the similarities. She said that for years before she met her now husband, she had had dreams about meeting him. She knew what the man she would marry looked like, she even saw the house where they would one day live. And here is the kicker--it turned out, when they finally did meet, that he had been dreaming of her too. They have been married for decades now.

Kind of makes you think, doesn't it?

Tell us the story of how you and your significant other met. Then, tell us what you think. Is there a special someone out there meant for of each us?

Prizes are to be had for the best stories or observations (signed books for readers, or a critique of the first ten pages of the winners manuscript for aspiring authors--add AA to start of your post if you are interested in the critique, please.)

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posted online at Running With Quills February 7, 2008

If the ski boot fits...

Sorry I haven't been around much lately. Last week was our annual ski trip and I ran around beforehand getting ready and have been chasing my tail ever since trying to catch up. I look forward to this trip every year--its four days of good friends (there are nine of us) good food (waaay too much junk food-- all that yummy stuff I ordinarily at least try to stay away from) and, of course, skiing.

We go to the Mazama Ranch House in the Methow Valley in northeastern Washington State, and at the best of times it's a six hour drive once you factor in stopping to eat, taking bathroom breaks and getting coffee. (And trust me, those last two are big factors. The standing joke is that the soulmate knows where every Starbucks is--and I know the location of every bathroom in the state). This year our area has been hit with record breaking snowfall and a pass that we usually take was closed due to a series of avalanches. So we took an alternate route and I won't bore you with what an ordeal that turned out to be. I will say, however, it took us ten hours to reach Mazama.

But like childbirth, I forgot the pain as soon as I got there. Because--I know, big surprise to those of you who know me--I'm a cross-country skiing fool.

(Here's my friend Martha and me in front of the ranch house. I'm betting she's lovin' this pic, because her shadow almost makes her look tall :)

This sport is my drug of choice. It's quiet and oh-so beautiful out on the trails. You use your own body rather than gravity to move, and that keeps you warm. But X-country also throws in some downhill action for the always fun cheap thrill.This year we mixed things up a little, too, which was fun. The ranch house is a ski-in/ski-out establishment. I love that, because you don't have to drive anywhere; you can simply throw on your skis and take off. But it also limits you to the 40 k of trails around you when there's 220 in the system. So instead of going shopping with the women after driving the guys up to Sun Mountain to do the ten mile series of trails down to Winthrop, I decided to ski with the men instead. The last mile and a half kicked my butt, but the rest was great, even my spectacular wipe-out on a U turn at the bottom of a longish hill, which resulted with me on my back with a gallon of snow up my shirt. Another day we took a long, partly riverside trail that I've only been on once. And we started from the opposite end. It was fun putting a different spin on the same old pattern and stepping out of my rut.

Give me a twenty degree sunny day with freshly groomed trails and a couple of friends to share it with and I'm a happy girl.

That's Martha's husband Gary. I loved the birch trees on this trail.

What makes you smile and feel at one with the world? Is it a person, a hobby or sport? Tell me. I love hearing about the things that give you all peace and happiness.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 30, 2008

Stella is... A Marked Man!

Susan: Okay, so she's a woman and her book title is A Marked Man. Sue me, I took literary license. But y'all didn't tune in to read me. You want to hear about this book! So without further ado, Heeeeeere's Stella.! Hey, girl. How was New Orleans last week?

Stella: Amazing–it’s always amazing. That city reminds me of a really good stew filled with the best and most unexpected ingredients.

Susan: What a luscious description. It’s obvious you love setting your stories there.

Stella: New Orleans has had more influence on me than any other city I’ve explored–including some I lived in for a long time. The moment I set foot in the French Quarter I feel I’ve arrived in the middle of a carnival, or in an old, French fairground. Not that I’m unaware of the seamy side of the city and the problems, but every city has those elements. It’s just that in New Orleans everything is more colorful, louder maybe, like looking through a kaleidoscope with sound. Nothing stays still for long yet I can sit back, watch, and soak up the whole thing. When I come away I see memories in my mind and they’re all really neon. New Orleans is drama, and drama is great story stuff.

Susan: Do you like the cover for A Marked Man? It sure looks marvelous on the stands.

Stella: I’m so pleased with this cover. There’s the seething atmosphere of the bayou country, but the human images are sensual. This is a steamy, sensual, suspenseful book. Yes, I think this is the right cover for the story.

Susan: But it’s what's between the covers that we’re really dying to hear about. So dish! Share a few sound bites about A Marked Man with us.

Stella: “Just the facts, Ma’am :)”

Susan: No, no, feel free to embellish.

Stella: Annie Duhon is a fighter who has made her own breaks. She has worked her way from high-school dropout and victim of abuse, to achieving her dream. She is the manager of Pappy’s, Toussaint’s most popular place to dance and eat.

Confidence has been hard won and it isn’t easy for her to accept the obvious interest of Max Savage, a successful plastic surgeon. Is this incredible man in her life too good to be true?

Behind the public Max is the secret Max who was twice accused of murdering women and twice acquitted for lack of evidence. Legally, he is an innocent man. And Annie might never have had reason to doubt–or fear–him if another woman wasn’t missing, feared dead, right here and now in the middle of Annie’s exciting new world.

Max is a marked man who has unwittingly attracted danger to anyone he’s cared about. Now he loves Annie, and knows with chilling certainty that he faces one last chance to unmask a killer before there’s nothing left to fight for.

Susan: This is such a fabulous book!!! I gobbled up every word and wanted more. I’ll be waiting for the next book in the Toussaint series.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 24, 2008

Susan's Addiction, As Seen on TV

I usually turn on the television when I’m eating. It doesn’t particularly matter what’s playing—it’s merely something to gaze at while I eat my breakfast, my snack, whatever. It’s a benign enough habit—until I run into an infomercial.

I’ve always considered myself a level-headed woman. But put me in front of a half hour program designed to sell me something I have absolutely no need of and I turn into a brainless idiot (a redundancy, I know—but fitting).

I’m the demographic for which infomercials are designed. I don’t know what it is about them, but I always think everything is essential, especially if makeup is involved. Whenever the soulmate catches me at it he says, in his best cop voice: “Step away from the phone and hand me that remote, nice and slow. Now, lady! Step. Away. From. The. Phone.” Then he switches the channel to golf.

It brings me down every time.

My rehabilitation is avoiding infomercials entirely. If I do come across one while channel surfing, I just keep on going. And if I can’t quite make my thumb hit those channel buttons, I force myself to analyze the product objectively. (And ooh, does that hurt, not being the analytical sort) You are not going to look like that 30 year old model with her perfect skin, I warn myself sternly. Your thighs will not look like Suzanne Sommers'. And if your high end blender gets bogged down making smoothies, what do you think the chances are that little bullet shaped thingie is going to whip up a perfect one without the usual glitches? So, I’m definitely getting better. I’ve identified my compulsion and am taking steps to avoid situations where I can indulge it.

But I’m telling ya. . . it’s one day at a time.

How about you? Any guilty pleasures that you know aren’t good for you, but you indulge anyhow? Come, on. Fess up. You can tell Mother Susan.

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posted online at Running With Quills January 10, 2008

Sure a rose is a rose. But what's the story with some of these names?

Do you ever wonder where people come up with their email addys? I do, every time I update my email list. I understand, of course, that a lot of people simply use their given name or a variation of it and leave it at that.

But others tell you something about themselves, email handles like justboycrazy, alwaysblushing, readingaddict, littleminx, blythspirit, imcheeky, gatorhater, dramamama or sixofnine.

Others give you a hint of the things people either enjoy or perhaps wish for, such as ottergal, shoecrazed (my kinda woman) nomosnow, sliverofmoon, shouldhavebeenacowboy, stargazer, stargal and starfishgal.

In regards to those last three, many of the contest entrants from both here and my webpage, which comprise much of my database, often run in themes. Since we’re romance writers around here, of course we get the entries from likeminded readers/writers such as: romancebooklover, romancechica, romancenewz, romancetreasures, romancewriter and romancereader with various numerals, initials and underscores attached (I’m not including entire addies for obvious reasons). Then there are the pixie people: pixieframe, pixiequeen, pixiedragon, pixiekitty and someone who’s just plain pixilated. On the snow front I’ve got: snostorm, snowangel, snowbear, snowbird, coupla snowflakes, a snowleopard, snowqueen, snowyowl, snowwhiteinfiniti and snowzapped.

Did I mention the ladies? Just a few out of a bunch on my list include ladybug, ladycat, ladychatalot, ladyclearskies, ladyluck, ladymacaw, ladyofmyst, ladyofthelake, ladyontherocks, ladyraidersmom and lady-fill in the name.

Some, like femchauvinist, luckybooboo, and Ladytramp, seem like oxymorons, and others I just like for my own reasons. Boobear, for instance, is one of my nicknames for my cat Boo, motherdriveninsane, because I’ve been there, bookbeyotch cuz it’s got attitude and figgy-fig and tiztazz, simply because they’re catchy and make me smile.

But the ones I really wonder about are those that are different for reasons that aren’t readily obvious to me, such as prettyinpoison, StupidNurse (don’t want that one assigned to my case if I’m ever in his/her hospital) sweetmassacre, aroseoffeathers and, oh so many more.

Have you seen an email addy that tickled your fancy or caught your attention? And, hey, since I took these largely from people who stop by this site, if you're lurking and see your e-addy on my list here, drop in and tell me what inspired your choice.

Because inquirying minds wanna know.

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posted online at Running With Quills December 13, 2007

The 3Fs--requisites for the Andersen's holiday

When I was little, I'd wake up Christmas mornings around 4 a.m, so excited I could barely breathe. I'd head straight for my parents' room, where I'd rouse them to ask, "Is it time?"

"Not yet," they'd mumble around big yawns, so I'd go back to my room and thumb through a book for awhile before heading back down the hall to give it another try.

They'd usually cave around 6 since they were only getting to sleep in five minute snatches anyhow and it was clear I wasn't going to give up. But even then I couldn't go into the living room where the tree and the presents were, because my brothers and I weren't allowed in there until Dad had built the fire. It was tradition.

One that I didn't pass on to my own kid, remembering the pure torture of that final five minutes after everyone was finally up. We did, however, build traditions of our own.

One of our favorites is the Annual Christmas Tree Slaughter. This isn't a From-the-beginning one; that's the cool thing about traditions--it's okay to be fluid. Some are around forever, some are discovered later, and all are those that simply work for you. This one came about because of a lot-bought Christmas tree that dried out so fast I truly feared it was going to spontaneously combust in its stand. From that point on, I wanted to know when our tree had been cut--and the only way to do that is to chop down your own.

So in early December we drive out to this wonderful tree farm in Orting, Washington, where we meet family and friends and whichever of their kids/grandkids are available. We all scatter to select our trees (I'm a diehard Frasier Fir girl, myself--love the shape and that blue underside) cut them down and meet up again outside the netting shed to head to a cafe for lunch. It's a day I look forward to with great anticipation.

Another is my mother's annual Ladies Party, where there are usually four generations of women sitting around eating, drinking and doing what women do best: connecting.

We have Christmas Eve for the soulmate's side of the family at our house, and his sister always makes lefsa, a Norweigian potato/whipping cream pancake-like dessert. Christmas morning it's just me and my guys. But after we open gifts the three of us go down to Doug and Mimi's and have brunch with them and their two boys (men, now). Then it's off to my mother's to celebrate with my side of the family.

Connie Brockway did a great blog once on a tablecloth that they've had guests autograph over the past twenty or so years. We don't have a tradition like that. But we have our own that revolve around the 3Fs-- family, friends and food. And as long as we have those, I'm a blessed woman.

Tell me about your traditions.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 29, 2007

Books, boobs and bones

A while ago I went to an imagining clinic to have a bone density test and my annual mammogram. I had my nose in a Susan Mallery book when the technician whose job it was to smash my breasts between two cold plates came to get me. She asked what I was reading and as I showed her the cover I half braced for that slight curl of the upper lip that is too often present when romance is mentioned.

Oh, me of little faith. It turns out she’d crossed over to the Light Side a long time ago. We talked books and although she's more a fan of historical than contemporary romance she insisted that I write down my name and backlist. She also didn't seem to feel it was necessary to completely flatten my boobs in order to get a good image. A coincidence between that relatively pain free procedure and romance, you ask?

I think not.

Next I went down the hall for my bone density test. The tech there was a Samoan guy somewhere between forty and forty-five. Married, the father of five. He was more into self-help books than fiction. Yet when he found out I was a writer he, too, insisted that I give him a list of my titles and said he was stopping by the bookstore on his way home. Oh, boy. If he actually tries one, I might have myself a convert. That’s even better than selling to a True Believer. Okay, maybe not,. But it feels like a coup all the same.

So this post is a two-fer. One part is to remind everyone (well, except for you, Louis, and you can remind your wife) to do your monthly breast exam and to think about getting a mammogram. Granted, the latter's not a lot of fun, but as someone with a shipload of breast cancer in her family I'm here to tell you: it's better to endure a few seconds of discomfort than to oh, say... die.

And of course this is about books. Reading makes the world go 'round as far as I'm concerned and in this case it took two appointments I wasn't exactly panting with anticipation to keep and turned them into opportunities for stimulating conversation.

So, I’m wondering, have the rest of you ever found yourselves in unexpected places, talking books with strangers?

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posted online at Running With Quills November 14, 2007

Sheila's got a take on Christmas that husbands don't wantcha to know

Hey, you all--I have a guest blogger this week. Please welcome Sheila Roberts--who many of you may know as Dr. Shiela from her fun articles in Romance Writers of America's RWR industry magazine. Sheila and I met oh, a hundred years or so ago at our local chapter and has she got a holiday book for you!

ON STRIKE FOR CHRISTMAS
Christmas is fast approaching and many of the women in the town of Holly are bracing for stress, overwork, and very little understanding or appreciation from the men in their lives. But then Joy Robertson, Laura Fredericks, and their knitting buddies decide to “go on strike” and give the men an opportunity to see firsthand what it takes to make the holidays merry and bright. Soon other women are joining in and husbands all over town are getting a crash course in decorating, shopping, and what to wear to see Santa, and are searching frantically for an interpreter to translate the mysteries of holiday recipes. The men may just come to appreciate the holidays after walking a mall in their wives’ high heels. But maybe the women will learn something, too.

And take it away, Sheila!!

AN OUNCE OF PROTECTION . . .
Is worth a pound of cure, so they say. That's why I thought I should go into this holiday season with A PLAN. And I'm happy to say you heard it here first. Thanks so much, Quills, for having me.

By the way, I want a hot promo pic like you ladies all have. Of course, it helps to be hot to begin with. I'm seriously considering photo-shopping my head onto Susan's body. No one would ever know until they met me in person. Then they would wonder when I put on all that weight.

Which brings me to my holiday eating plan. I thought I should eat right this year. Lots of greens. I could serve broccoli, snow peas, and green peppers to my party guests. Except that stuff is no good without dip, and I suppose an ounce of veggies to a pound of dip rather defeats the purpose of serving those veggies in the first place. And honestly, when I think of eating something green at the holidays the first thing that comes to mind is not broccoli. It's those cute little green tree-shaped spritz cookies. Or sugar cookies with green frosting. And then there's the green frosting on my holiday brownies - chocolate and mint, how can a girl resist that combination? Obviously, this is not the plan for me. I enjoy baking too much.

I could e-mail Santa and beg him to please Fe Ex me an Acme Holiday Mouth Protector ASAP. Oh, you haven't heard of this? It's basically a giant stapler. Apply to the corners and center of your lips and your eating problem is solved. No fattening holiday goody will be able to enter your mouth and make its way on down to your hips. This handy gadget has a double advantage for people like me who make a habit of putting their feet in their mouth. It's hard to do that when you can't open your beak. But I hate pain. I barely survived getting my ears pierced.

I could do some mall walking with my girlfriends. That way we could scope out the sales while burning calories and still be able to enjoy those holiday goodies. But when you're mall walking you don't want to walk too fast. You might spill your eggnog latte. You might not see that great bargain. And who wants to be all sweaty when she finds the perfect Christmas red dress? You can't try on clothes when you're sweaty. Obviously, that plan won't work.

So, realistically, here's the plan. You might like to try it, too. I'm going to have a merry Christmas and eat according to the charge card principle: enjoy it now, pay later. And yes, I will pay, but while I'm jogging my way through January I'll have my memories of holiday eating bliss to keep me warm. Now, that's a plan.
For those of you opting for Sheila's merry Christmas to my stomach plan, here's a fun recipe from my new book that you and your girlfriends are bound to enjoy.

DAVE'S PEPPERMINT FIZZ
2 generous scoops peppermint candy ice cream
1 shot peppermint schnapps
1/2 cup club soda
Combine all ingredients in blender and blend just until smooth. Serve in a champagne flute or margarita glass and garnish with a peppermint stick. Pour in just a dab more club soda to add decorative fizz. Makes one drink.

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posted online at Running With Quills November 1, 2007

Where a dancing fool intersects with Dancing With The Stars

A while back Elizabeth G wrote a post about not being a dancer. I didn't reply because 1) it was a crazy busy week for me so I was late in seeing it and 2) no one else seemed to get off on dancing either and Oh. Man. I love to dance.

I grew up in a family of dancing fools. We may not be all that adept at it, but my mom's side of the family in particular sure did like to get down. One of my earliest memories is of family picnics at Shadow Lake with my parents and Grandpa and brothers and a boatload of aunts, uncles and cousins. We'd swim and eat and play (kids) or visit (adults) all day long. Then when the sun began to go down, we'd move to the dance hall. Lots of western Washington lakes in those days hosted one. They were a bare-bones affair, just a one-story structure with a wooden floor and a juke-box. But we'd shake a little sand on the floor, shove quarters into that box and dance until we dropped.

My folks also belonged to a dance club called the Midnighters that met once a month in local community centers. I used to love it when it was their turn to be on the set-up committee, because I'd get to help hang streamers and decorate the tables. And my dad would lead me in a fox trot around the floor at least once before we left to go home so they could get ready for the evening's festivities.

When the soulmate and I were in our twenties we went out dancing every weekend and often midweek as well. It's probably one of the reasons I've got a hearing loss today, but that's another story. Still, we actually began scaling back, then stopped going entirely when the venues started playing their music so loud you had to yell just to be heard across a tiny table.

So these days I only get to dance occasionally. But I get my kicks vicariously watching Dancing With the Stars. I've never been a fan of reality TV and I don't watch the Tuesday night episodes in which a couple is eliminated. But I love watching the actual dancing. The improvement throughout the season can be amazing and it's just plain fun to tune in to view. And some of the talent is phenomenal from day one. In fact I was stunned to learn that (Cheeta Girl) Sabrina Bryan was eliminated Tuesday, which I just now discovered as I went searching for a picture. In all honesty, I'd never heard of her before this show, but her natural ability blew me away. I sure never saw her elimination coming.

Guess maybe I oughtta be voting instead of just watching, huh?

So what kind of activities do you remember fondly from childhood? Or do you have a passion that perhaps started young that lingers to this day?

And, hey? Anybody else out there watching Dancing?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 18, 2007

Susan's First Job

When I was ten years old new people moved into the Johnson house next door. Their names were Marilyn and Butch. I thought they were SO cool. For starters they were a good decade younger than the rest of the parents on our block. Plus they had this darling little three year old daughter named Elizabeth, which was WAY neater than a dog. Everyone had a dog in my neighborhood; there weren't that many toddlers. Butch was an artist and he made me a sign for my bedroom door that had Susie spelled out in animals. And I thought Marilyn was so glamorous. But even better, she was generous with her attention. She spent time sitting on her front porch talking to me, patiently answering my questions and never once treatinig me as if I were a pesky kid, which I no doubt was.

She also gave me my first job babysitting Elizabeth. Looking back, ten seems awfully young to babysit. But I grew up in a neighborhood where you didn’t have to worry about shouldering responsibility all on your own. Most of the women on our block in that era were housewives. And there was always one available to turn to if you ran into trouble.

Good thing, too. Cuz I definitely ran into trouble with that first babysitting gig.

Elizabeth was used to me; I was always hauling her all over the neighborhood to show her off to my friends. So at first we did well together. I played with her and fed her dinner and played with her some more. And she had a fine time.

But then came bedtime. Elizabeth was accustomed to her mother putting her down for the night and did NOT take kindly to me attempting to do so in Marilyn’s place. She cried. So I picked her up and carried her around, patting her back and doing the “Shh, shh, shh” thing.

She cried some more.

So I tried singing to her.

She cried even harder. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that it was my voice. More likely, though, it was just a toddler being looked after by someone who was basically a little kid herself, and both of us feeling in over our heads. All I know for sure is that she cried and cried as if her heart was broken. And pretty soon, so did I.

I don’t remember now where Marilyn and Butch went for the evening, but I remember that Mom wasn’t home, either, and that I didn’t even want to call in the big dogs in the form of my dad and grandpa. This was a girl issue.

So I called Mrs. Yoder, our neighbor on the other side. I sobbed the whole sorry story into the phone, and bless her heart, she came right over. I think it took her all of two minutes to calm down Elizabeth, who promptly fell into exhausted slumber. Then she mopped up my face, had me blow my nose and settled me on the couch, where I fell asleep as well minutes after she left to go home.

I babysat Elizabeth over the next several years and we never again had that kind of melt-down. When I was sixteen, I got my first job where I had to actually report tax earnings. It was with a neighborhood doctor and I’m happy to report I had no meltdowns there, either.

First jobs can be exciting, fun, harrowing, terrifying. Which was yours? And is there an adult from your childhood whom you remember with particular fondness?

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posted online at Running With Quills October 4, 2007

How Susan ended up with a bad case of tub trauma

I'm a bath person. The soul mate likes showers. For years we had one bathroom, which he, I and our son managed to work around just fine. Yet I dreamed of not having to get up in the middle of the night to traipse from the bedroom, across the landing, down the stairs, through the dining room, through the kitchen, through the front part of the living room, across the hallway and into the bathroom just to answer nature's call. So several years ago we added a dormer to the south side of our Arts and Crafts house to match the one on the north side, and I finally--finally!!--got my very own bathroom. With an old-fashioned claw foot tub that I bought in an antique store and a toilet seat that never goes up unless it's to clean the thing.

Heaven.

The project took nearly three months to construct and the last thing to go in was my tub. The minute our plumber left, I drew myself a bath, grabbed a book, and climbed in.

I'd been lounging there for maybe five minutes when I felt this sort of THUMP against my right shoulder blade. I shot upright, looked around and thought what was that--an earthquake tremor? But nothing else happened, so I relaxed back in my lovely, hot, chest-deep water again.

Then a minute later there was an ominous rumble. I was just thinking "Oh, this can't be good," when the entire bathtub started tipping over onto its side.

Heart thundering, I leaped out in a wave of water to find the front and back claw feet on the right had fallen off. Luckily they tumbled onto their sides and caught the tub at about a 45 degree angle before it could rip all my newly installed plumbing out of the newly tiled floor.

When my husband got home that night he got the three-hundred pound cast iron tub back upright with block and tackle. He ran steel straps from claw foot to claw foot to keep them from ever falling off again, but I insisted that he not only leave the blocks underneath for support, but stay in the room while I took my first post-cataclysmic bath, just to make sure it didn't toss me out on my naked butt again.

Little by little, over the years, he snuck the blocks out from under the tub, but it took about thirty months before I let him remove the last one. That was three or four years ago and. . .so far, so good.

How about you? Bath or shower person? And have you ever had what's supposed to be an inanimate object turn frisky on you?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 20, 2007

Susan Stumbles on the Epicurian Trail

My belief in myself as an adventuresome eater took a hit Sunday afternoon. I always thought I was pretty open to trying new epicurian delights, to at least tasting foods from other cultures that might not strike me as very appealing. After all, I'm a guest in the country in which that food is considered a delicacy.

But then I got to talking to my friend Ritha at a get together last weekend. And it turns out that I'm way more white bread than I ever believed. What a blow to my ego.

Ritha is from Ecuador. She's lived in Seattle for probably fifteen years, but she still has family she goes home to visit on a regular basis. One of her sisters there is a travel agent. Sister's boss requested she take part in a new adventure tour so she'd be able to describe it to their clients from the strength of experience. Sister agreed and invited Ritha and one of their brothers to accompany her.

They went down a jungle river in long canoe-type boats. There were piranhas in the stiller sections of the water and caimen, which are small alligator type reptiles. Okay, already this doesn't sound like my cup of tea because I'm no longer a rough-it kind of woman and that type of wildlife? I must confess, not so fond of it. But it was a couple of the things Ritha ate that really drove home just how adventurous I truly am NOT. White bread, white bread, white bread. Shaking my head here. My whole image of myself has been turned on its ear.

Ritha ate a larvae that had burrowed into a coconut. The good news is that it was coconut flavored. The bad news is. . . well, d0 I really need to spell it out? (My son the chef 's reaction was a little different from mine. He said, "No kidding? Fly or bee?" because apparently one is supposed to be tastier than the other) She also ate lemon ants. Now, those I could probably manage, if they were dipped in chocolate. But fresh from a leaf that was just plucked off a tree? Nope. Not gonna happen.

So, it's official. I'm a wuss. A dull, bland stick in the mud. I've eaten head-cheese and really questionable sausage in Germany. I've eaten blood pudding and haggis in Scotland. But I'm probably never going to eat live bugs.

How about you? What's the most off-the-wall thing you've eaten?

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posted online at Running With Quills September 06, 2007

Desperately Seeking Susan...'s Tunes

Boz Scaggs: Come On Home...Kris Delmhorst: Strange Conversations...John Mayer: I’m Gonna Find Another You...Janis Joplin: Piece of My Heart

I love music. I mean Really. Love. Music. But we’ve all been burned buying CDs on the strength of a song or two that we adored—only to have it turn out those were the only songs we liked on the album. Then there’s the additional problem for me of getting tired of hearing the same voice song after song, even on albums where I love most every tune.

Eva Cassidy: Dark End Of The Street...Otis Redding: These Arms of Mine...Vince Gill: The Reason Why...Bobby "Blue" Bland: St. James Infirmary

That is why, in my little piece of the world, I’m known for my medleys. I started putting them together back in the Dark Ages when the world still listened to cassette tapes. I transfered songs I liked from my cassettes to a blank tape. They have long since disintegrated and these days I use CDs and am the self-proclaimed Queen of iTunes. (Well, okay, I heard the soul mate tell his sister that's who I am, but close enough). I love the freedom of downloading just the songs I really want, particularly at 99 cents a pop instead of paying eighteen bucks for a bunch of tunes I don't want.

Paolo Nutini: Last Request...Kid Rock & Sheryl Crow: I Put Your Picture Away...Dire Straits: Brothers In Arms...Steely Dan: My Old School

I am currently up to my 22nd medley and working on number 23. My tastes are eclectic; I like everything from blues to rock and roll, country to classical, alternative to Fifties style R&B. Jazz is cool…as long as it's not the atonal type that sounds as if 6 musicians are jamming to 6 different songs. And I’m always, but always, on the lookout for a new artist or song. I collect them from all over, for while I use songs from my own collection (yes I do still buy some entire CDs) I've also discovered new talent listening to friends’ music or to what is being played in places of business. I’m not shy about asking, "Who IS that?" (Just ask the tattoo artist who was doing my permanent eyeliner to Andrea Bocelli’s Time To Say Goodbye CD). I can often run the title to ground from mere bits and pieces of a tune. Not always, of course. I still regret being so cocksure that a song playing on my car's satellite radio was Mark Knopfler singing something with the refrain Don’t Blame the Monkey that I didn’t bother to tape it on my digital recorder because I just assumed it'd be a piece of cake to track down. Now of course I can't find it. Does anybody know the song I’m talking about?

And that’s really what this blog is about. I’m appealing to everyone for more ideas to add to the Susan Andersen medley collection. Tell me some of your favorites. Music is as subjective as reading tastes, but I don’t mind taking the time to listen to a 30 second sample on iTunes. That’s one of the beauties of that place. It gives you a chance to determine if this song or that one is your cuppa Joe.

Billy Vera and the Beaters: At This Moment....America: Ride On...Stevie Ray Vaughan: Ain’t Gone ‘N’ Give Up On Love...Harry James: Harlem Nocturn

So I've listed just a few of the songs that I like. What are some of yours?

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posted online at Running With Quills August 9, 2007

Susan Asks: Is Harry Potter too heavy?

I've been a Harry Potter fan for years. But this newest one, J.K. Rowlings latest, greatest, and last? It's still sitting on my coffee table where it's been for two or three weeks now. The problem isn't that I don't want to read it. The problem is how to do so without giving myself a hernia.

I'm a big bath reader--I'll stay in my clawfoot tub, letting a little of the cooling water out and adding more hot, until I'm a prune. But I picked up the newest H P and immediately set it down again. The thing is a 759 page hardback. It must weigh six pounds. I have arthritis in my thumbs--holding up a book that size unsupported is just too achy-breaky these days.

I'm leaving tonight for a week at the beach, though, and young Harry is going with me. Somehow, I'll figure out a way to read him while on vacation. Maybe sitting at a table with a fruity drink sporting an umbrella in front of me. Maybe with a pillow that I can use to prop Harry up in my lap.

One way or the other I'm reading that book, cuz I'm just wild about Harry. I'd be a lot wilder about him, however, if he came in two slimmer editions.

Is this just me? Am I getting old? (Say it isn't so!) Or is Harry just too darn heavy for comfort?

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posted online at Running With Quills July 26, 2007

Girlfriends

As a writer, I spend a lot of time alone--and usually that's okay, because left to my own devices, I can be a bit of a loner. But like most women, I’ve got a secret weapon to pull me into the social stream--my girlfriends.

Girlfriends hold you up when you're down. They make you laugh and hug you, hold your hand, or just sit quietly by your side when you cry. And, hey, who else will talk you into buying those shoes/clothes/you-name-it that you really want but are rationalizing yourself out of?

I have a few separate circles of women friends with the occasional intermix or crossover. I have my long-time friends that I’ve known forever and with whom I can pick up a conversation like no time at all has passed even if it's been a while since we've seen each other. I have writer friends that in the beginning I had only a vocation in common but with whom I’ve forged lasting friendships. My closest writer-chick circle is comprised of several of us who started out at roughly the same time. We grew up in the industry together and although we’re spread out over several states and two continents (so only see each other periodically) we talk frequently either online or by phone. I also have two event-specific groups comprised of women I rarely see outside those events but who fill the time we spend together with so much laughter and comraderie that I always come away feeling refreshed and smiling.

But my dearest friend is Mimi. She and I met through my oldest brother, who worked with her husband Doug. We might have remained simply friendly acquaintances had she and Doug not bought a house on our block. Our husbands hit it off as well and we started getting together occasionally...then more often...then darn near every Saturday night until the kids got to that age where their events start taking up your every waking hour. And during those barbeques, shopping trips, card games, and endless conversations, she became my best friend. We share a history that spans thirty years and encompasses husbands, kids and pets, books and food, joys and sorrows. She was there for me when my dad and my sister-in-law died. I was there for her when she went into labor with her second son. In fact, I thought for sure I was going to deliver him because she was too stubborn to go to the hospital until Doug got there to take her. Yeah, yeah, this is the pot calling the kettle black. But honest-to-God, she was on the phone lying to the doctor, telling him her contractions were ten minutes apart, while I--who'd been timing them --was yelling in the background, “Five minutes! They’re FIVE MINUTES APART!”

Cough. But I wander away from the point. Sometimes you're lucky enough to find a friend who hits on all cylinders for you--who gets your humor and roots for your successes and commiserates with your failures. Who shares meals and comfort with equal generosity and who loves you simply for the person you are, warts and all. That's what I got with Mimi.

Who is special in your life? I'd love to hear.

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posted online at Running With Quills June 12, 2007

Susan wants to know: What would you save?

A friend of mine was looking at my Spain photo album a couple of weeks ago and said that she wants me to be her photographer on her next trip. She added that she and her family hardly ever take pictures.

"You're kidding me," I said incredulously. "My photo albums would be the first thing I'd grab in a fire."

Actually they'd probably tie for third. First would be the Soul Mate. (that's my favorite picture of him with the I've-said-something- outrageous smile he gets) The second would be Boo and Mojo. Then I'd haul patootie for my office to scoop up the flash drive containing my book-in- progress and scoop as many of my photo albums from the bookshelves as I could manage. (and believe me, there are a LOT of them)

I'd be sad to lose the locket my dad gave my mom for her eighteenth birthday, which she then gave to me the day I got married, as one day I hope to give it to my son's bride. I'd miss the old silk fan I have on my mantel. My father brought it back from China during WWII. And I've collected a lot of other vintage odds and ends over the years that have meaning for me. But that's just stuff.

My photo albums are a visual history of my life. They show me, my family, my friends, when we were young. They show my son, my nieces, my nephews, from birth to present, and are the only visuals I have of my father or my husband's parents, who are gone now. They chronicle the pets I've had, the changes my home, my garden has gone through, and remind me of special moments with people near and dear to me. There have been many evenings, particularly in the winter when the nights are long, when I've made a cup of tea and hauled out a random stack of albums to immerse myself in memories.

So my albums tie for first place when it comes to the material things that I would save were my house to catch fire. What would you save?

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posted online at Running With Quills June 28, 2007

Susan's turn at bat with the RWQ Reader Quiz

First of all, I'd like to thank Jayne for the format. Yes, I ripped it off. Never reinvent the wheel if you don't have to, I always say. :) Secondly, a big thanks to the blog participants for such wonderful questions.

PIA and LIZELLE both wanted to know which Quill title I would like to see made into a film and who I think should star in it.

ANSWER: I'm with Jayne: I can't come up with a good answer to this question. I did a satellite radio tour a couple of years ago and that was always the question that stopped me dead. I started making up a cast to avoid dead air time or the sound of me scrambling to pull more out of my blank mind than um, oh, ah, but it simply isn't part of my process to think this way. That may be because I'm not very visual. My characters are these amorphous beings scratching at the back of my mind. A funny thing, though. While they don't play through my mental screens with movie clarity, I know exactly what they look like. And usually it's not any actor someone suggests. :)

KATE wanted to know if most romance novelists marry their ideals.

ANSWER: I met my future husband when I was sixteen and married him several years later. We raised each other, so I think there was a combination of luck that we grew in the same direction, hard work making it work and just plain stubbornness. But, yes. He is my soul mate. And most days he's also my hero.

KARENDE wanted to know how to find an agent.

ANSWER: I'd second Jayne's suggestion is to join Romance Writers of America. But since that won't work for you, there used to be a book called Literary Agents of North America, which I referenced back in the day. It listed agents by the type of books they represent.

RANURGIS wanted to know if there were others in my family who were creative types.

ANSWER: I'm the only one in my family in a creative-based job, but I'm related to so many talented people.

DEE from AUSTRALIA wanted to know if I felt I had grown as an author.

ANSWER: I've definitely grown as a writer. I've always had a "voice" (at least since I've been published) but I think my readers no longer have to slog through so much detritus to get to the heart of what I'm trying to say. I tended to overwrite in my earlier books. I'd both show and tell, which is redundant. I credit Micki Nuding, my editor at Avon, with teaching me to cut out the 'tell' portion. That tightened up my pacing and made my narrative more concise.

MARCIE wanted to know if my non-writing friends understand my frustrations or joys when I talk about my stories.

ANSWER: I hadn't really thought about this, but I rarely talk about my writing with my closest non-writing friends. Occasionally I do. . .but not often.

MICHELLE wanted to know how I keep myself from doing too much research.

ANSWER: Each book is a different situation, but I do most of my research as I go. I know other writers who literally spend months in their research, but I'm not one of them.

DFENDER wanted to know the three people I'd most love to have to a dinner party.

ANSWER: That would be my cousin Colleen, my best friend Mimi, and another longtime friend Martha. Deb, I imagine you had famous figures in mind with this question, but I'm an introvert. I'm not particularly shy, but I'm most comfortable with my family and a small circle of friends. I can't imagine trying to come up with small talk with a legend.

DARLA wanted to know if there was one thing I could change in my writing career what would it be and why?

ANSWER: I would not have hired my first agent. Also, as I'm a slow writer, I would have listened to my editor when she told me to set aside the historical I was writing long enough to build my career in contemporary romance, which was what my first book had just been published in.

BRANDY wanted to know if there is a book I wish I hadn't written.

ANSWER: No. I have three books that will never be published for very good reason, not the least of which is the way I shamelessly stole from other authors' voices. And not merely one, mind you--I was a virtual psych ward full of voices before I developed my own. But as I didn't find RWA until my second book was about to be published, I was on my own. And each of those books was a tool that taught me my craft.

KAREN wanted to know what my dream job would have been if I hadn't become a writer.