Elisabeth Barrett's Blog, page 11

I'm not old, but I'm certainly not young. Not quite middle-aged, but not a sprightly teen. I'm about a third of the way through this life (if I'm lucky), so let's call what I'm in now my "tri-life." (And if thoughts of Second Life come to mind, just ignore them; I barely have enough time to keep up with my regular life, let alone spend hours with an "internet husband" online).

This year is going to be a kind of milestone year for me. I'm having two books released by a major publisher and hopefully, this is just the start. Obviously, I didn't just write these books. Most people understand that publishing through traditional channels (i.e. not self-pubbing) is slow, and it can take upwards of a year (sometimes much more!) for a book to be published once it has been submitted, and this isn't even counting the time it takes to get an agent. So I started writing a few years ago, got very lucky with an agent, got lucky again with an acquisitions editor, and got lucky a third time with the publication schedule. But I was still in my tri-life while doing this.

What's amazing to me is that I'm not alone. So many of my friends and colleagues my age are entering the most creative times of their lives right now. One of my college roommates, Leigh Bardugo, is coming out with a blockbuster YA novel this June. And another college friend, Amy Jean Porter, just released a critically-acclaimed book which showcases her fabulous artwork. There are more, so many more friends who are professional musicians and artists and novelists, that it would seriously be impossible to list them all for fear that I'd leave someone off. I'll try to make a list sometime, but all I can say is that my college class was very, very creative. Some started honing their craft early, but most started like I did; a few years out of college – maybe a bit more.

So why has creativity struck at this particular time in my life?

As I was pondering this question, I realized that it wasn't as much a question of letting it strike as it was a question of letting it just be.

I've always been creative. I've always been a writer, a musician, an artist – a craftsman – but I was so hung up on following the straight-and-narrow path to success that I kind of buried it away for a long time. Sure, I had my outlets – I sang with choruses, joined book groups, and had three kids in three-and-a-half years (which some might argue would sap the creativity out of anyone, but not me!) – but it still wasn't enough. It was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

I started my first book in 2005 believing I had to. I needed to. For me. To say I'd done it. And I knew I could do it. It took me a long time to write, mostly because I had a pretty serious day job. Then, almost immediately after I finished the first one, I started the second one.

When I told my brother about what I was doing, kind of sheepishly, I might add, his response surprised me: "What took you so long?"

And as I'm thinking about the two releases and the excitement I'm going to have at RWA Nationals this summer, and the new authors I've met and have yet to meet, and the amazing calls I have with my editors and agent, and the fact that I have one book down and three more to complete this year and I can't wait to write them, I'm thinking to myself:

Yeah. This is amazing. I love what I'm doing. I am the luckiest woman alive.

What took me so long?

Happy St. Patrick's Day, all! Are you wearing green?

I'm featured today on Romance at Random, talking with other Loveswept authors about our thoughts on spring! I looove springtime and have written about what the season means to me, as well as to the characters in Long Simmering Spring, my current WIP and the third book in the Star Harbor Series.

Please stop by to see what everyone has written. Some blurbs are downright hilarious, and others are just beautiful – a real slice of the season.

Change is afoot! Good change.

Over the next few months, I'm going to be doing quite a few blog posts, guest blogging, and wait for it – live chats! Yes! Tomorrow night (Tuesday, March 13 at 6pm Pacific / 9pm Eastern), I'm doing a live chat at Coffee Time Romance with my fellow Loveswept debut writers, Jessica Scott and Ruthie Knox. I've never done a live chat before, but I'm sure it'll be a great experience, especially because it's with two amazing women! Stop by and say hi (or just listen, if you like). I'd love to see you.

I'll have a monthly spot at Romance @ Random, and as the launch date for DEEP AUTUMN HEAT approaches, I'll be going on a full-fledged blog tour. Never been on one of those, either!

All of this is quite new and exciting and I'm pretty thrilled just to be a part of it.

Yesterday, I was dashing around madly, driving my kids to and from school, play, and home, running errands, working, emailing, doing copious amounts of paperwork, talking with my editor, writing (or trying to), and finalizing my copyedits for DEEP AUTUMN HEAT. "I swear there aren't enough hours in the day!" I muttered, as I wolfed down my pathetic lunch of egg-and-cheese-on-toast while standing over the kitchen sink.

But wait just a minute. There is a way I can have some extra hours. Twenty-four, to be precise, because this year, there is an extra day.

Today!

As I'm sure most (if not all) of you reading this are aware, today is leap year day, the extra day added by the-powers-that-be as a corrective measure, because the Earth doesn't go around the sun in exactly 365 days. There's additional time each year, and so, to prevent everything from going out of whack, every four years, February gets a little something extra. A full day to work, play, live – do whatever.

So there's my extra time, right?

Well, sort of. As usual, I've filled the day with work, meetings, and other sundry affairs. But I plan to seize the day – to take a little bit (a few hours?) of time for myself. Because at the rate I'm going, I'm probably going to get the chance only every four years. Better grab it while I can!

What are you going to do today? 

Okay, deep breath. Now, say it with me: SQUEEEEEEEEEE

The cover for my debut novel, DEEP AUTUMN HEAT is here, and all I can say is my goodness, it is smoking hot. Sue Grimshaw and the art department at Random House just did a bang-up job. They captured everything perfectly – Sebastian Grayson, his motorcycle, and Star Harbor in the background – it is PERFECT.

I can't hold it back any longer, so here it is in all its glory (cover courtesy of Random House):

Tell me, what do you think?

So I have a few traditions for Valentine's Day. I'm not one to save all of my professions of love up for one day – I like to spread them out throughout the year – but I usually write Mr. Barrett some love prose and on some occasions, I've sung a love song (usually a jazz standard) to him. Don't cringe! I have a great voice!

This year (my debut author year!), I've decided to start a new Valentine's Day tradition — to give an anecdote from my personal life and try to relate it in some way to romance novels. The guest post I wrote for Ravencraft Realm last week on starting new relationships was a good start, but the post would have been much stronger if I'd included a personal anecdote, especially as the beginning of my relationship with Mr. B. was not as smooth as it could have been. So without further ado, here is the story of our first date:

Mr. Barrett and I had our first date on Memorial Day weekend. We decided to meet at a low-key café near to where we both lived. It's one of those places where you order at the counter and then find a seat. They give you a number and the servers bring the food to your table. Mr. B. insisted on paying (over my initial objection), and then when I thanked him, he made a joke about how he'd let me pick up the tab on our second date, and that he would pick someplace more expensive. Huh, I thought. The café was crowded and it wasn't clear where we would sit. Mr. B. then proceeded to snake a table out from another guy who had also been eyeing open tables. Awkward, I thought. But there was a cheekiness about him – a spark of humor and of deep intelligence in his soulful brown eyes, so instead of bolting at what could be perceived as rude behavior, I stayed. Over the next few hours, he told me he was a jokester. And that he'd lived in Hong Kong (where at cafés with open seating, he'd learned to grab a seat the moment a table opened up – or else he'd be stuck without one). Suddenly, his reactions made a lot more sense – things that would have made me blow him off if I hadn't stuck around to hear the explanations.

For a long time, the conversation flowed easily. And then, it didn't. I told him about my family history, and he told me in a not-so-gentle way that I was wrong about when my ancestors immigrated to the United States. Absolutely wrong! He was smug, kind of like this guy (A.J. Jacobs, if you're reading this, I love your books!).

I was shocked – how could a stranger challenge me about my own family's history? Preposterous!

But then he tempered it with more humor and more intelligence, and he was so straightforward and smart and (let's face it this is Mr. B. we're talking about) kind of adorable – that I stayed. Of course, little did he know then that the way to my heart has always been through my brain.

NB : If you're going to tell a potential love-interest that s/he is wrong, especially on your first date, I would highly recommend that you (a) be extremely intelligent; (b) be able to back up your assertions with facts; and (c) have some way to ensure that your date thinks smarts are hot.

After lunch, we walked down the street to a nearby park where we continued our conversation. Several hours later, long after our date should have been over, he asked me to dinner. Not wanting to push things too far, too fast, I declined and made up some excuse about prior commitments. (I went home and did my laundry). And then he walked me to my car and shook my hand goodbye, which I thought was extremely gentlemanly.

I found out later that he was right – absolutely right – about my family's history. To his credit, he wasn't as smug about being right as I thought he'd be; he simply wanted me to be right about my own history. Plus, he was still kind of adorable. And so, I let him take me out on a second date (where I did, indeed pay, although the place wasn't expensive). And a third. And ….well, you know the rest.

Now all of this begs the question – if I hadn't looked past Mr. B.'s less-than-stellar behavior on our first date to peer beneath the slightly supercilious exterior, we would not have had a second date, let alone gone on to make our own clan of little Barretts.  In a romance novel, as I mentioned in my guest post, the characters' relationship may not start out smoothly, but (thanks to the author) they are forced to stay and battle it out. But my life isn't a romance novel. I could have walked away. So what made me give him another chance? Another glance? Another look?

The spark. That je ne sais quoi that either can make a relationship, or break it. I've thought about what drew me to Mr. Barrett, despite my first impression, and both during and after the date, this is what was going through my mind: This guy is wicked smart and pretty funny. He has kind eyes and a sweet half-smile. I think there might be something more there. I want to see where this leads.

Finally, I will say that while it was absolutely Mr. Barrett's intelligence that initially sparked my interest, without a doubt it is his humor that sealed the deal. But that is another story for another Valentine's Day.

Oh, and I've never asked Mr. Barrett what he thought about me on our first date. Honestly, I don't want to know!

If you're still here, I'm going to leave you with two related questions:

Have all of your relationships started smoothly? If not, what made you stay and give someone another chance?

I'm delighted to be guest blogging at Ravencraft Realm today. My post is on relationships – more specifically, the beginnings of relationships. Also, there is tantalizing information about Lexie and Seb, the main characters of my debut novel, DEEP AUTUMN HEAT. Fascinating stuff, really, so get on over there.

All right, so a few weeks ago, I blogged about how folks around here get psychotic (my word) about kindergarten enrollment. I promised I'd report back with an update as to what Mr. Barrett and I decided to do.

(Short version): Mr. Barrett was 30th in line and so we are assured of our desired early start time.

(Long version): A week in advance, several of the families in the neighborhood began to coordinate a plan of attack. It was decided that we would all go out early, together. Or rather, all of the fathers would all go out early, together.

Per the plan, one of our friends did a drive-by at midnight.  If the line was already long, he was planning to stay and then spread the word.  However, when he arrived, there were only about 15 people were in line.  He debated staying but decided it was worth the risk to go home and get some rest.   Following the original plan, the friend returned at 3am and Mr. B showed up a few minutes later.  A couple of people had arrived in-between and our friend let them go ahead of him so that he could be hang out with Mr. B.   There were about 30 people in line ahead of them, most of whom had camped out all night (in sleeping bags).  At 3:40am, Mr. B texted another one of our friends (who had planned to show up at 5am) to encourage him to come out sooner because the line continued to grow at a brisk pace.  Our friend came at 4:30am and by the time he showed up, there were about 60 people in line.  By the time the sun rose around 7am, Mr. B said there were about 100 disheveled, unshaven people in line, desperate for coffee.  Kind of like an Occupy encampment, except with lots of iPads and laptops and without the political signs.  Once the office opened at 8am, Mr. B said it took about a minute to process each person, so he got back to the house shortly after 8:30am.

For the 40 degree weather, Mr. B said he was dressed perfectly. He was wearing thermal longjohns, a sophisticated, multi-layered ski jacket, smartwool socks, jeans and a sweater. To be honest, he looked kind of sexy – like a  European skiier. He also had a winter hat and gloves, a stadium blanket, and a comfortable, fold-up chair to sit on. I also packed him two piping-hot mugs of tea, a tray full of home-made triple-chocolate brownies and lots of trail mix. He told me I gave him too much food, but he was able to share some of the brownies with some friends.

He said it was no big deal (ha!) and that he'd do it again. I was like, "well, you're in luck, because we have two more kids to enroll…."

All in all, a success. I'm a bit embarassed that we had to go through this rigmarole, but I'm glad we did it and it's over. Until next year.

Twitter. Facebook. Goodreads. Website.

More of my life is now being lived online. I spend maybe 2-3 hours a day blogging, interacting with interesting folks, coordinating writing schedules, and generally updating/maintaining my online presence. Now to some of you, this may sound like a lot of time, and to others it may sound like a little. I'd consider myself somewhere in the middle of the pack in terms of technological expertise. I'm never the first one to own the latest electronic device, but I am certainly aware they exist. Nor am I the first to start using a cool new site, but I find out eventually, and if it's something of interest to me, I make an effort to get up to speed. That being said, I think in terms of online time, I spend less time than others in my age/demographic do. Part of that has to do with my work and family schedule (busy, busy, busy), but part of that just has to do with who I am.

When I talk to someone, I want to see their expressions. I want to see their reactions. And I want to see their body language. Online, you just can't do that. So much can get lost in translation. And emoticons just don't do it for me.

What is becoming increasingly clear is that while I used to completely and utterly separate the two – online and offline lives – now the lines have blurred slightly. Only slightly, because many folks I know have a clear integration of online/offline lives and I don't have that. At least, not yet. I still have quite a bit of separation – my family is absolutely offline. So, for the most part, are my friends, although I have really begun to connect with so many people online. Even my offline interactions are enriched by strong online presences (Roguers, I'm talking about you). But more and more, I'm integrating my author presence online, and with it, comes the desire to connect – with other writers and of course, with readers. It's a fascinating evolution and I'm looking forward to seeing how it develops.

So kindergarten packets were available this week from our local elementary school. Being the dutiful mother I am, I went the day the packets were released to get one for my oldest child. I filled out the preliminary paperwork and chatted up the administrator (a lovely, older woman). Now, after this, my kid wasn't registered. Oh, no. On January 30 at 8am, the office begins accepting registration forms, and here's the kicker: there's an early session and a late session and it's first-come, first-serve. First session starts at 9am, and second session starts at 10:35am. The kids have a staggered half-day of school, with some overlap. Each group of kids gets the same length of time with the teachers, but there's more individual attention than just having the kids all start at one time.

I should note our district is quite large, so this was what they had to do to accommodate all the kids. By 3rd grade, everyone starts "early" and there's no staggering. I also need to note that once you are assigned an early slot or a late slot, you keep the same slot for the next three years. If you want to change it, you have to petition the school in a specialized process. Complicated, no?

For working parents, it's seen as very desirable to get the earlier slot. After all, what are you going to do with your kid for a couple of hours in the morning if you're supposed to be at work? But I've heard from friends and neighbors that the competition to get an early slot is fierce, and parents are now camping out overnight to ensure their kid gets the early start time that they want.

Before I left after picking up the packet, I turned back to the administrator.

"Tell me about the registration insanity," I said.

She just gave me a look. "What do you want to know?" she asked warily.

I laid it on the line. "I've heard that parents get really psychotic about registration."

She laughed ruefully. "Yes. They are, indeed, psychotic about it. Your word," she quickly added. "If you don't care about start time, don't show up on the 30th."

"And if I do care?"

"Show up early."

"How early?"

"Last year, 5am would have been all right."

I let out a long sigh. "See, I'm not a psychotic helicopter mom, but I work, and I have two other kids coming down the line and there will be overlap so when my next youngest starts school, the older one will have to be in an early slot. I feel like I'm being forced into being someone I'm not – someone who's psychotic about this. This isn't me. I swear."

"I know," she said sympathetically. "You're not alone. Just come early."

She made me feel a bit better, but not much.

Mr. Barrett and I haven't quite decided what we're going to do, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be standing outside the office wicked early on January 30th. I'll write another post after the madness is over.