July 4, 2008
The RWA convention is in San Francisco this year. Close enough to drive to every day, though thanks to the generous offer of another Red Sage author I get to bunk in the Marriott instead of fighting traffic. Since I'm only a lowbie General Member, I didn't have much of a chance at decent pitch appointments with the editors and agents, and wasn't very psyched about going. Not until last night, when appointment cancellations started rolling in and some great spots opened up. Woo hoo! Time to shop for business clothes (what author has a closet of business clothes? certainly not this one) and work on pitches. I just know that the time has come for Crying Stones and The Inner Demon to stop languishing in slush piles.
I had lots of newbie questions about the RWA, and the other Red Sage authors were very helpful in setting me straight. Here's a list of seven things an eager attendee should be sure to do.
Item one: Use your REAL name when introducing yourself at your pitches, even if that's not what's on your name tag.
Item two: Dress business to business casual, except for the RITAs where the dress code is more like a fancy dinner on a cruise.
Item three: Check in on Tuesday and then hang out in the bar where you can meet interesting people. Wednesday checkin is a nightmare.
Item four: Lurk by the appointments table. You can pick up more pitch appointments than the 1 agent/1 editor allowed by the online registration.
Item five: Smile at everybody. One of them might be a future sale.
Item six: Get business cards printed up. Hand them out liberally. But don't put info like a SSN on them (duh).
Item seven: Go to the Spotlights
sessions. Great place to hear what publishers are currently looking for, and get immediate answers to your questions.
February 12, 2008
There's not much romance to be had in a crowded restaurant. Stay at home on VDay and have a candlelit interlude with your sweetie. I recommend your favorite takeout and one of these movies:
A&E's Pride and Prejudice (ok, more like a movie marathon)
The Last of the Mohicans
House of Flying Daggers
Before Sunset
Shakespeare in Love
Shrek
Gone in 60 Seconds
Dirty Dancing
Romancing the Stone
Chocolat
Shaun of the Dead (romance and zombies. how can you top that?)
This was the first time in decades that I had absolutely no alcohol for the new year. Reason? My house was invaded by teenage girls, most of whom needed a ride home after the celebrations. Since yours truly was the designated driver, I got to be a teetotaler. I did escape to my favorite neighbors' house for a Coke, but somehow that just didn't satisfy my craving for champagne bubbles.
New Year's Resolution: make up for lost opportunities on December 31, 2008.
Here's my naughty 2007 Holiday Gift Guide for those looking for a certain genre of gift:
USB-powered humping dogs
Weenie Babies
Willy cloner (Can go the chocolate or the latex route)
The ultimate XXX pirate movie (would be better with Johnny Depp, but you can't have everything)
Critical parts pasta (gets bigger when cooked)
Any further suggestions welcome.
When a Red Sage editor recently asked for quotes about living abroad and how it affects writing, it brought to mind the worst French faux pas I ever made, shortly after I moved to the Riviera. I had noticed that the longer English words often have similar meanings in French if pronounced with a Gallic flair. This got me into trouble on my father-in-law's 60th birthday. Eating organic is very important to him, so I wanted to make sure there weren't any preservatives in the fruit tart I was buying him. Not knowing the word for preservatives, I used the English word with a French pronunciation, and asked the person behind the counter: "Est-ce qu'il y a des preservatifs dans cette tarte?" When the woman collapsed to the floor in laughter and everyone else in the store stared at me, I slunk away and went home to ask my husband what I'd just said. He explained that the translation of my question was: "Are there condoms in this tart?"
Hey, there's a PC game out for romance lovers! Well, one-night-stand lovers anyway. In The Witcher, you get to play a monster-slaying mutant dude with a heart of gold. Whenever your sword arm gets tired of hacking and slashing and you want a little down time, you can head to a tavern to gamble or pick fights with the patrons. Or you can look for ladies interested in getting to know you muuuch better (there are a surprising number of them). Your scenes of conquest are all tastefully done, and the whole game is very entertaining. The story is so good is draws you into the world. Just like a good novel.
A word of warning, though: the game is censored in the Puritan U.S. I bought an import copy. The American version doesn't remove the gore from the fight scenes, only the occasional naked breast. What does this say about our priorities?
What is with my 17-year-old? I offered my family a cultural experience this evening and served fried spam for dinner. Everybody should have it once (and only once) in their life. Otherwise how can you truly understand why the most detested form of email has been named after it? Why Monty Python has featured it in song and story? So I lovingly prepared this meal, and my middle child REFUSED TO EAT IT. What? How can this be? That's like a Scottish child refusing to taste haggis. It's iconic. It's a part of the domestic culture. All I was asking was that she take one bite and then spit it out, as if she were tasting a fine wine. Yet she said no.
I should probably disclose that her daddy wasn't there, either. Since he's French, he just wouldn't be able to understand the cultural significance.
I realize most readers of erotic or fantasy romances don't listen to the Maximum PC podcast, but last month they should have. The magazine ran a contest for a Dream Date with Dave, one of their editors. Since the podcast has 99.9% male listeners, the submissions for the date were: the entire staff of Pregnancy Magazine, a guy who wrote a song with somewhat off-key harmonies but an endearing earnestness, and a former programmer mom who submitted her daughter (with the daughter's permission). The latter entry was, of course, me. Now my daughter gets to visit the Max PC offices, eat a free lunch, and best of all, maybe she'll bring home some free hardware!!! I could really use a new gaming mouse. Hear that, guys?
Hey fans, feel free to send me a poke on facebook or an email. The address: r.ellen.ferare@gmail.com. Be warned that I only add people as friends who make the effort to correspond first.
Our empty house didn't stay empty for long. We have a new Aussie now, eight weeks old and amazingly cute. Like all toddlers, if you don't keep a close eye on him he'll get into trouble. This puppy may not drink the chemicals under the sink, but he does like to steal underwear from the dirty laundry and give it a good chew. We've found a whole new meaning for the term "crotchless panties".
Ever longed for peace and quiet and then found the ringing silence to be too much once you have it? Exchange students are gone, my kids are back in school, and our old Australian Shepherd just died of bone cancer. With the hubby on the road most of the time, this house is as silent as the grave. I'm one of those people who hates to work with music on unless I need it to block out noisy neighbors. (Now that's a rant I'll save for another time - the rampant disregard for others, be it through loud music you can hear two blocks away, shouted conversations in the street at 2 a.m., or dogs allowed to bark round the clock). But this week I've been cranking up the music to erase the silence. It doesn't fill the heart, but it helps.
First book hit the streets - well, the warehouses - today. Amazon is being slow and is still pre-order, but Barnes and Noble has gone live for orders. (Amazon has been a pain with this process. The cover has been sent to them four times by the publisher and it still isn't on the site.)
We'd be breaking out the champagne, except we're still hosting young kids from other countries. Currently it's a 13-year-old from Japan, and I'd rather not explain to her what we're celebrating. Her parents might not quite understand...
We're a multicultural household this month. After a decade of no visits from any of our friends overseas, everybody we know in France is sending their kids to stay with us this summer. It's fun and a good way to brush up on my French, but pretending to enjoy cooking and housework grows old very quickly when you're a non-Martha Stewart curmudgeon like me. Not to mention the constant sightseeing duty. On the plus side, my girls enjoy getting home cooked meals all the time, which they aren't accustomed to receiving.
