Penumbra

I have a question for all you unpublished authors…and those of you who have been might take a fond (or not so fond) look back to before you were. Today’s topic is covers. Oh…not the art (though that is an on-going discussion and subject of much light-hearted snarkery over on Smart Bitches Trashy Books) or the titles, which is a whole new discussion. To derail thought for a moment, as I browse the titles at the local Borders or B&N, I often come away with the thought of, “OMGWTF were they thinkin’? I know my muse smokes funny shit sometimes but the editorial staff? Duuuude!” I have heard, though, that while the authors have some input, the sales and editorial staffs can and do switch things up based on some nebulous idea of what sells. That topic, however, is not the subject of this rambling musing. Today’s subject is much more personal - cover photos. And that leads me to the question.

How many of you think about the cover photo for the back cover of you first book (or your sixth)? Do you take a moment in the mirror as you get ready for something else, posing your reflection to capture your best angles? Do you lift your chin a bit to minimize that double chin? (Guilty) Tilt to the side a hair to emphasis those high cheekbones? (Guilty) Suck in your cheeks to give your profile a slimmer look? What about your hairstyle? (Or lack of one - Guilty) Or are you one of those lucky folk who could actually BE one of the models on your cover? (*growl* *mutter*)

What about background? Do you give it any thought? “Oh, I must have my personal library with all my volumes in the background”? Or your garden? The mountains, beach, or other favorite spot? Would you opt for a simpler photographer’s backdrop/drape behind you? (I mean, you want people to look at you, not what’s over your shoulder! Right?) What about props? Computer? Faithful pet(s)? Favorite drink? (I don’t think the coffee IV pole and line I use would be very attractive. ;P) Clothing? Have you considered your wardrobe? Do you want something snazzy? Or what you actually write in? (Gah - for me, a tank top and cotton sleep pants most days. Would. Not. Do.) Or would you forego the photo entirely? Is that even an option?

I have to admit, I love the poses Nora Roberts uses in her J.D. Robb persona. That black leather coat rocks! Lori G. Armstrong’s photo caught my eye, mainly because it was simple and to the point and she’s attractive. (Being old and “out of shape” has it’s drawbacks. ;P) The photos used by Sherrilyn Kenyon and Laurell K. Hamilton used to be almost interchangeable. If I remember correctly, Christine Feehan and Karen Marie Moning both had critters in their photos. Jennifer Armintrout went for background and setting in hers.

Since I have a B&N gift card from my birthday, I foresee a shopping trip in the near future. I am going to peruse the shelves of the romance shelves and makes notes - cover art, titles, and author photos. Sounds like a plan to me. After all, I want to be prepared, you know, when that letter finally comes saying that my manuscript has been accepted for publication. In the meantime, I suspect I’ll still catch myself “posing” in the mirror whenever I make a trip to the “little writer’s room.”

I’d titled this part of the site “On Being a Writer” back there in the beginning when I started. My intent was to blog occasionally about the process of writing - and all the intangibles that go into making a writer into a published author with the goal of my becoming published again - this time as a fiction writer. That hasn’t changed. Now you get to walk through the process with me. Season of The Witch is the urban paranormal romance that I’ve currently been shopping around, if on a limited basis. I thought it was really good. I thought it was ready for “prime time”. It isn’t….well, I still think it’s a good story with a different twist in the subgenre, but it’s not ready for an editor to take a serious look at it. After bitching and moaning and defending my “child”, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not as smart as I think I am when it comes to my own writing. I needed a reality check, and luckily, I got one. Thanks go to my new CP, an editor who took the time to email back and forth with me for a bit, and the gals over at the Live Journal community, smartbitchcrit, I’ve finally gotten my head wrapped around that forest I couldn’t see for the trees. So. The process begins.

It’s hard, you know, to see a piece of yourself picked to pieces. And I don’t care what you might say out loud, deep down inside, we ALL identify very personally with what we write. It is very much like a child - we give birth to the idea and the characters. We nurture the plot and count each word as a milestone along the journey we are making. By the very nature of being a writer, we hang that part of ourselves out for the world to see and we have to swallow hard, taking the lumps along with the praise. I’ve known many people who thought they wanted to be writers but when push came to shove, they couldn’t handle the rejection. It’s taken a couple of months, but I’m past the point of blind defense. I’ve been able to step back and consider what folks have said - especially since these are folks in the business. I’m ready now to take the next step.

Revision. Ouch. This isn’t just a simple rewrite - a tightening of time line or characters, a final proofreading of typos. This is a R-E-V-I-S-I-O-N. This is ripping the book in half and basically starting over on each half. But you know what? Season of The Witch is going to be a better novel for it. SoTW is going to be more commercially viable because of it. Writing is a business. The bottom line IS the bottom line. A book has to make money for a publisher. I want to be in the business of writing. I want a bottom line.

I hope you’ll stick around for the ride. Time to get back to work.

Sitting in an airport is an interesting pastime. The ubiquitous announcements roll over the piped-in soft rock and the myriad accents of the people as regular and relentless as the ocean waves.

I watch their faces as they pass me. Some are determined. Some are sad…or a tad fearful. Many are bored - so much been there, done this. I see faces that look familiar, reminding me of someone I once knew. What are the odds of me actually bumping into an acquaintance? It would take a far more accomplished mathematician than me to figure it out.

Travelers are fascinating. Striding purposely this way is the man in the Brooks Brothers suit, sporting a natty tie, starched shirt, and fresh manicure. Over there is an aging beach bum in sockless running shoes, shorts, and loud Hawaiian shirt, graying hair nominally pulled back into a ponytail, a caterpillar perched precariously on his upper lip and the mandatory earring.

A volleyball team is just clearing the security line. Two of the girls are gently volleying an optic yellow ball and one of the female TSA screeners has joined the game. I flew to Phoenix with a softball team once. That was an Adventure(tm) and I find myself hoping that they are booked on a different flight. One of them was injured and cringes in a wheelchair, her left leg in a full brace. Owww. That won’t be a comfortable trip….and yes! They are moving off down the way. A different flight….

Oh DUDE!!!! There’s an older lady on my flight (I mean, like REALLY gray-haired and OLD). She’s got a book in her lap. “Savage…something.” I can’t read the title because the author’s name….yes, you guessed it, CASSIE EDWARDS! OMGWTFBBQ! I’m about to choke on my own laughter. I. Must. Get. Up. And. Get. Away…..

Those were notes I made as I waited for my flight Monday afternoon and evening. Tampa Airport is a wonderful place for people watching. The flight to Kansas City was crowded but I snagged an aisle seat. A young woman squeezed past and plopped in the window seat and no one tried to sit in the middle. I read, rather hoping for a quiet trip, but my “row mate” became talkative and I ended up with her life story…pregnant and married at sixteen, divorced, living with another man for 12 years and four children by him until she walked into the bar he managed (she’s a hairdresser) and found him snorting a line of cocaine while one of the waitresses knelt between his legs. Uhm…yeah. The conversation went downhill from there. Luckily, she’d moved home to Kansas and was deplaning and moving on. There is a category romance in her story somewhere. Oh…did I mention that she was bipolar, too?

The KC airport was in turmoil with renovation, even given the late hour. Workmen in tool belts and flannel shirts over faded jeans tucked into work boots set up a symphony of power tool noise. Wifi was non-existent because of it. Luckily, the wait was fairly short and I was to board my next plane at the same gate. The flight home to OKC was fast and pleasant. I was first to board and snagged the bulkhead row at the front. Twice the leg room, even if it means all carryon has to be stored up top. There weren’t many on the plane and the flight crew was relaxed and jovial. We arrived early, it seemed only moments before my suitcase hit the carousel and the Iroman husband was parked at the arrival doors waiting for me.

I got absolutely nothing done on Road Trip. The husband made the drive out with me as there was a glitch with the car rental. He turned around and drove home - 2700 miles in less than 72 hours. Yeah. Ironman! I did come across some things in Florida that has me considering another novel, too. Not necessarily a romance but a…well, my friend and I kept humming the X-Files theme as we talked about it. I’m also going to work on a major rewrite of Season of The Witch. I’ve gotten some outstanding advice and critiques of late. Oh…I finally have the funds available to join Romance Writers of America. That’s something I’ve put off far too long. That’s on my agenda for next week…right after I repaint my front door. Or maybe before I paint.

Yes, real life has a very nasty habit of intruding and taking time away from living in my imagination and from converting the scenes in said imagination to words that flow from fingers to keyboard, appearing on the screen and eventually on paper in the form of a book. That’s the dream. That’s the goal. Thank you for wanting to tag along for the journey.

I really meant to drop by and ruminate before starting the road trip but due to circumstances and on account of because I found myself up a creek without a paddle. Plan A quickly developed into Plan B, which also failed, and after working through the various permutations, I ended up with a plan so far down the list of possibilities that we didn’t even try to name it.

I am in Florida, about halfway through my visit and completely behind on every writing goal I set myself for this trip. I didn’t drive alone so no deep and disturbing conversations with my muse. I’m enjoying my visit so much I don’t want to slip off to put words on the screen, especially when I’m not that inspired. I really was going to work on Road Trip, the novel. I also have a creative writing assignment to create a detective who isn’t trite - in other words, an original spin on an old chestnut of a character. I have a critique from the Live Journal group smartbitchescrit for Season of The Witch, plus several chapters put up by other members to read and critique in return.

But time flies when you are having fun and I’ll admit that I’m having fun. Once I’m back home, I have a lot of work to do. SoTW is in for a serious rewrite. I got very lucky, folks. After floundering through the forest stumbling into the trees I couldn’t see, I’m finally getting some real input on my writing. The gals at SBC are all pointing in a similar direction. That tells me something. These are readers who understand the genre and who know what they want to read. Like me, they want to produce the best product they can. Competition is fierce and only going to get more so. If I want to be commercially viable, then I need to write commercially viable manuscripts. If I want to remain a hobbyist, sharing my work with a group of friends who enjoy what I write partly because they are my friends, I can continue as I’ve been doing.

I’m only middle-aged. I have a lot of stories in me yet. I can produce a lot of manuscripts in the coming years. Hell, the dreaded drama diva Cassie Edwards is in her seventies. Even if I only managed the sale of one book a year, that’s still fifteen or twenty books, minimum. So…daylight’s burning and time’s a’wasting. Head ‘em up, move ‘em out, yeehaw.

Two weeks from tonight I will be settled in for an all-too-brief visit with dear friends down in Florida. I’m taking two days in a rented Chevy Trailblazer to get there and then will be flying back. The problem with driving alone is that when I start carrying on a conversation with my Muse, I can’t just start jotting down the lightning bolts of inspiration being tossed my way. Enter my long-suffering and ever-prepared spouse. He’s loaning me his digital recorder.

There’s only one problem with recorders…I have to talk into it. Out loud. I have to put thoughts into spoken words rather than written. Am I the only one who has trouble dictating? The other half dictates at the drop of a hat. And I mean into a recording device. Dictating around this house gets blanks stares from furry critters and college-aged child alike. He does it effortlessly. I’m not sure why I have trouble taking the conversation chatting along in my head and putting into words that come out of my mouth instead of from the tips of my fingers. I’ve acted, done commercial work, given speeches. I can make up stories and tell them. (Just ask that college-aged young adult. She’ll roll her eyes and mutter, ‘Oh, pah-lease’.) But, for some reason, when I try to dictate something that I’m writing, jibberish ensues. However, I suspect that since my catnip-smoking Muse will be along for the road trip, I’ll be having lots of conversations - in my head and out loud as I will only have the radio and CD to keep me company.

Side note - I sing along with the radio. Loudly. At least on certain songs. I get plot ideas and titles from songs sometimes. Someday, I’m going to write a novella entitled, “The Princess of Hollywood Boulevard.” I heard the song once, don’t remember the tune, the words, or who recorded it, but the title. Wow. Now that stuck with me.

Back on track - I wonder if being a writer has something to do with my inability to dictate. I mean, we are called “WRITER” for a reason, right? I often carry on conversations with myself, or my characters, when I’m driving alone but I usually wait until I get to a spot where I can pull off and jot down notes. Traveling for two days alone is something I haven’t done in…about twenty-five years. In college, I did it all the time traveling back and forth to school. After school, I often traveled alone. Does anyone remember the movie “Somewhere in Time” with Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour? The story was set at the Grand Hotel on Mackinaw Island, Michigan. I flew up there and stayed because that hotel was so beautiful. People were amazed that I would travel alone and enjoy it.

I live in my head a lot and I think that’s why traveling with only my imagination for a companion is something I enjoy. I’ve mentioned before that my characters are very real to me. While the story I write about one may not reveal everything there is to know, each of my characters has a long and vivid history. I know where they went to school, what classes they enjoyed, who their favorite teacher was. I don’t always fill out a formal bio sheet, but I know their favorite color, food, and what makes them laugh or groan. I only hope that I can translate that into my writing - that I can bring my characters to as much life on the typed page as they are in my imagination.

So, I am going to teach myself dictation. Since my Muse is singing a tune about a middle-aged woman taking a cross-country road trip, I suspect the darn thing will be perched in the passenger seat beguiling me with tales. I want to be able to capture the nuances and the quips at the time, rather than relying on what can be a spotty memory to jot the ideas down once I get checked into the hotel or arrive at my friends’ home.

The next questions become, what to do with this story as it evolves? Do I want to try for commercially viable? Do I want to actually post a running story here? Or perhaps just a summary? I will be posting it over on my writing LJ, but do I want to make it public or keep it friends only. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Time enough, I suppose, to contemplate the various permutations of that part of the process. I need to actually get words on paper (or on a digital recorder) first. I’m really looking forward to this trip - both to see my friends and for the inspiration of the road. *wanders off doing a bad imitation of Willie Nelson singing “On The Road Again”*

I’ll be plugged in on my trip. There will be more musings before I leave and I’ll definitely keep you posted while I’m on the road.

Actually, I want to be Lori G. Armstrong when I grow up and write “big girl books”. While Blood Ties was published in 2005, I’ve just recently discovered this book and it’s author. There are two more books in this series to read and I can’t wait to start. I originally started this book a couple of weeks ago. After reading the first chapter, I could barely put it down but life was doing it’s tap dance so I reluctantly put Blood Ties aside. I tried a time or two to read a few pages here or there as time allowed and gave up. This is not a book to be read piecemeal. This book grabs you, shakes you and sucker-punches you until you sit down and read it cover to cover.

Set in South Dakota, the main character is as raw as the north wind in January. Julie Collins is…real. She is flawed and cynical. She bleeds (and in this book, considering how many times she ends up as a punching bag, it’s a lot). Most of all, she has heart. Blood Ties is not a romance. Blood Ties is a mystery with a hard-boiled protagonist who would love to be loved…especially if her boss and best friend, Kevin, acted on the repressed sexual tension building between them.

I’ll be honest. I’m a former technical investigator. I usually have the killer ferreted out by the middle of a book. I THOUGHT I had this killer figured. I was dead wrong. Wow! Yes. Lori really IS that good.

Lori’s style is as blunt and terse as her heroine…but her descriptive writing soars like the badlands she loves so much. A native of South Dakota, Lori is attuned to the rhythm of the land and the people who inhabit it. Her innate sense of time and place is flawless. This is a writer who richly deserves so much more acclaim than she’s gotten.

I am going to be a bit nit-picky with her publisher. I caught more than a few typos and typesetting goofs that were a bit disconcerting in what should have been a flawless presentation. Granted, I’ve also picked up typos in books from some of the biggest publishers out there. It still makes me wince.

If you are looking for a prickly heroine with a taut, character-driven storyline and a plot that keeps you turning pages, run - don’t walk - to get a copy of Blood Ties. I’m excited that I already have the next two Julie Collins mysteries on my TBR shelf and that’s where I’m headed now - to grab the next one. I hope the husband doesn’t mind Sonic for the next few nights. I have a hot date with a couple of books! Oh…and Lori? PLEASE WRITE MORE!

I’m back online again. My host was down for a few days as they moved into larger and more homey space. Did you miss me? Considering how hit and remiss I am about ruminating here, I’d be surprised if you did.

Some time ago, I mentioned a personal challenge - to write a romance about a mature woman. I had the beginnings of a plot. Middle-aged and now retired heroine ends up with a white elephant of a mountain bed & breakfast after her husband’s death. The B&B was his idea. She wanted a condo on the beach. I even sketched out some characters - her three grown daughters, a few others. I’d made some preliminary notes and started writing down the running commentary the main character always recites in my head. Then I went to sleep one night. While I was asleep, my plot and character was hijacked. My Muse informed me quite bluntly that the “Mature Romance” I was going to write had nothing to do with a B&B and everything to do with an ill-advised road trip accompanied by a Newfoundland dog and a Siamese cat, both of whom have rather eclectic musical tastes. Don’t ask. I’m telling you, I’m checking for catnip and other substances on my Muse’s breath.

The question becomes, should I keep the on-going project restricted to my reading group? I post my works in progress (and I do mean very rough/first drafts) over on Live Journal at my “friends only” site, “That’s Another Story.” Actually, it’s Sin Sceal Eile, which is Gaelic for “that’s another story,” but people look at me funny when I tell them the name of it. I’ve been thinking about perhaps posting it openly, either there or here, so that anyone could read it. Road Trip (working title) is such a departure from my usual projects….or so it seems on the surface. *insert evil laugh here* Something to ponder and consider. As I haven’t officially started writing it, it is probably a moot question at the moment.

I’ve been good today. I haven’t diverted into a whine about good books and talented authors being shuffled to the reject pile while absolute dreck ends up not only published but publicized. You don’t have to duck. I’m not going to start now. I do plan on discussing self-publication here shortly. There is such a plethora of on demand publishing possibilities now that I have to admit I am considering it. This, however, is a topic for another day. In the interim, what do you think? Should I post the on-going draft for Road Trip here? I’m not sure how watching the bizarre intricacies of my imagination at work would be interesting…or maybe it would in the same way a train wreck is oddly compelling…or even if there would be any interest in this particular story beyond my own curiosity.

So, until we meet again, friends…happy trails.

…but you are getting one anyway. I read a book in the last twenty-four hours, from cover to cover. Picked it up at the library yesterday, read it betwixt and between, and finished it off this morning. I don’t often do that with books these day. The only books in recent memory that I’ve devoured like that is J.D. Robb’s In Death series (the Eve Dallas books). It’s not that I don’t read. I have a book with me at all times. It’s just very seldom that a book grabs my imagination to the point that I don’t want to put it down.

Jane Heller is a writer I was completely unfamiliar with. I only discovered her book, Infernal Affairs, because it was mentioned in a thread over on the Smart Bitches Love Trashy Books blog. The thread had to do with make up and makeovers in romance novels. The discussion was quite lively and delved into self-awareness, emotional makeovers versus physical ones, and debate over how shallow the hero might be if he didn’t love the heroine before she became gorgeous. In Infernal Affairs, the heroine undergoes the physical makeover. As the teaser states, “So what could be wrong with going to sleep looking like Barbara Chessner and waking up looking like Heather Locklear?” In this book, everything is wrong, especially since Barbara realizes that she misses her double chin, her flat chest, and her frizzy gray hair and sets about taking on the devil himself to get her former life back. Barbara is a 38 year old real estate agent who has put on weight, hasn’t had a sale in a year and whose husband has just announced that he wants a divorce so he can marry the blond weather girl half his age. Barbara thinks she’s asking heaven for help, but it’s hell who answers. This book is clever, funny, and I really didn’t want to put it down. Originally released in 1996, the book was released again in 2002. I highly recommend it for a bit of light, escapist reading but with deeper content hidden by the humor. I smiled often, giggled a couple of times, and even had a moment of teary *awwww* at the end. It’s been a long time since a book brought tears to my eyes.

Once I work my way through my stack of “To Be Read”, including the latest Eve Dallas book, Strangers In Death, and the three Lori G. Armstrong books that arrived in today’s mail. *happy dances* I will definitely start adding Heller’s other books to my list. Lori is another writer I’m not familiar with but after exchanging some comments, I’m looking forward to getting acquainted with her style. Her books are classified as mysteries and as soon as I rip through Strangers, I’m going to start on the first of her Julie Collins, PI books - Blood Ties. I’ll let you know what I think when I’m done with it. I won’t review the Eve Dallas book as I readily admit I am a fangirl.

And speaking of LaNora (Nora Roberts aka J.D. Robb), the historic hotel in downtown Boonsboro, Maryland that she was renovating into a romantic B&B burned down this morning. Fire Destroys Hotel Owned By Nora Roberts and Maryland Fire Damages 7 Buildings. It’s sad that a historic building plus the time, effort and dreams that went into it’s renovations have gone up in smoke, quite literally.

I’m planning on spending my weekend reading. What about the rest of you?

As children, we looked at our parents and swore they didn’t *do* it. As parents, we look at our children and swear we don’t want to know if they *are* doing it. *It* - the great amorphous bugaboo that polite company doesn’t discuss. Sex and sexuality.

I remember when romance novels were dismissed as “bodice rippers” - mostly historical, with manly-man heroes thumping their chests and having their way with mostly dim-witted, over-endowed virgins. The euphemisms for sex and body parts made me giggle even at the time. I eventually quit reading them and moved on to other genres. Back in those dark ages, overt sexuality was confined to the graphic novels of the era and you could only find those in rather dodgey bookstores. Imagine my surprise when I picked up a “modern” romance some years later. My eyes were definitely opened. The publishing industry had finally caught up to the Sexual Revolution. I do have a point buried in these remembrances, by the way.

Why, with all the in-your-face cursing and pages and pages of fairly graphic (and mostly technically correct) sex scenes, do writers and publishers shy away from mature sexuality? Okay, I’ve tended to write my heroines as youngish, ie. thirtyish. I’m halfway between fifty and sixty. I’ll admit I don’t contort as well as I used to, but I came to maturity in the age of bra burning and free love (before the advent of AIDS). I fought the norm and didn’t marry until I was thirty. I still don’t consider myself a “normal” wife and mother. I’m not shocked by sexuality. I may not have personally partaken, but I have enough “been there, done that, yawn” in my past that I tend to skip all but the best-written love scenes.

Why do younger people get freaked out that we more mature individuals might actually have a satisfying sex life, much less ANY sort of sex life? There are more Boomers than GenX. I can’t believe that I am the only woman who gets bored by the trials and tribulations of “young love.” Why are the sexually mature (hell, mature period - they’re lucky if their name and sex is mentioned in the same paragraph!) characters relegated to the role of villainess or aunt/mother/boss/neighbor/secondary character? Why can’t a woman in her fifties be the heroine? Why can’t she be sexy and find her HEA with the hero?

Hell. I started Faerie Fate with the heroine on her fiftieth birthday, but when she’s ripped back in time, she’s put into the twenty-year-old body of the *her* who once was. That was part of the set up for conflict between her and the hero. Her “old” brain and sensibilities hadn’t embraced her “hawt new bod”. I do believe that I’ve just given myself a challenge. The Devil You Don’t Know has hit writer’s block territory. Season of The Witch will likely undergo a major rewrite before resubmission for publication, based on the suggestions from an editor. I realize that National Novel Writing Month is still eight months away (and I may have to succumb to the temptation before then), but I think I shall have to create a mature heroine, one who is “all that and more” when it comes to brains, sass, and sex. I want to look The Squick Factor in the eye and spit. Now all I need is a good plot, a sexy hero and a heroine who, despite her sagging T&A, laughs at the face in the mirror, snaps her fingers at the ing’enue and informs the girl archly, “Honey, I was seducing men when you were still in diapers.”

I’ll keep you posted.

I really should stay away from “Smart Bitches Love Trashy Books” blog when I’m ruminating about topics to write about here. This entry was originally going to discuss cover art and titles, with an emphasis on who should decide what sells. But Sarah and Candy over on SBTB have stirred up another intriguing discussion. From plagiarism to piracy, should there be shades of gray? (or grey…I’ve never quite understood why the different spellings…*pauses to look it up in the dictionary*…ah ha, it appears to be that old US/UK thing like center or centre. I went to Centre College of Kentucky, by the way, and ALWAYS had to correct others’ spelling of it.) Why yes, I am easily side-tracked, why do you ask?

So anyway…I’m not going to rehash the discussion going on over there. If you wander in here and are interested, they are linked on my blogroll. Go check them out. As I mentioned, I’m easily sidetracked. Thinking about right and wrong, black and white, I started to wonder when the world started to go gray.

When I was growing up, my dad was a huge fan of Zane Grey. Westerns were, in my opinion, the first formulaic genre. Heroes wore white hats. Villians wore black. There were no bad guys with a heart of gold who redeemed themselves in the end, married the school marm and they both lived Happily Ever After. The HEA’s became the province of the romance novel. Even now, well into the first decade of the 21st century, romance novels STILL need that HEA ending. There is a new category for more grittier women’s fiction, especially when there’s a touch of the paranormal, appearing in publishing circles. Urban is the word I’m hearing - in my case, Urban Paranormal. While romance (and sex) are part of the story, the heroine has changed, evolving into someone more sure of herself and her talents, and the endings aren’t always happy. I’m glad that Sade (Season of The Witch) now has a description (in fact, a great deal of my writing falls into this subgenre). Now that I’m starting to actively market that book, I’m glad to know what to call it.

Without presenting a history lecture here, times have changed. The white-hatted hero devolved into that bad boy with the gold insides and he started wearing a gray hat. Writers and their protagonists weren’t the only ones changing. Society was changing - sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Books and movies began to celebrate the anti-hero. S/he walked the fine line on the edges of society. Concurrently, computers and the internet began to evolve from frozen underground storage rooms on college campuses and in government buildings to boxes sitting on desktops everywhere. I remember my first computer - a Compac portable. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portable_computer  It’s a complete dinosaur now but while I was following the husband around during his US Army days, it worked beautifully. My daughter played crude (by today’s standards of video games) games and educational programs on it. There is a whole eGeneration that has grown up with computers - and with the anti-hero. And with something for nothing. So here we are back to those blasted shades of gray again.

Writers have one source of income - royalties from their books. I remember when I sold Military Jargon. I received ten cents from each book sold. The year I got a check for $90, I thought I’d hit big time - 900 copies sold that year. That little booklet, a dictionary of military terms for families and new military members, went through numerous reprints. The small press publisher finally went out of business and my life was busy enough with husband, child, and other career that I let it gather dust. What’s the point of this ramble? I don’t care if you are Nora Roberts or other big-name writer, or a writer who just got her first book on the shelf, there are no shades of gray when it comes to piracy. What worries me is the question, “When did it become okay?”

And on that rather unfulfilling note, I have a chapter of my current project that keeps tapping on my Muse’s shoulder. Perhaps I’ll revisit this subject another time….