Dividing Love

Good Morning. I've been tackling a new project, part of the Regency series I've been writing for the last couple of years. However, with this book, I'm trying to introduce a new series that I WILL BE writing beginning next year.

I'm stuck. Not because I can't write. I have the words, the outline, and believe it or not, the time. I have just never encountered this particular dilemma in my real life so I have nothing to base my character on.

Let's call my character, Oprah. Oprah knows two very different men. Steadman and John. Oprah is in love with each of these men for different reasons. Here's the skinny and then I'll tell you my problem.

Steadman -- Oprah met Steadman when they were both twenty, two weeks before she was to marry Fitzhugh, an old man. She marries him because she has to. For her family. Steadman joins the Army. Oprah doesn't see him again for almost forty years, at a school reunion.When they meet, Fitzhugh is dead, Steadman is a decorated Colonel and Oprah is a billionaire. Steadman and
Oprah have a full-blown love fest for a year where everyone thinks by Christmas they'll be engaged, with a spring wedding. On Twelfth Night, when Steadman doesn't propose, Oprah gets all up in his face and storms out the door. (Steadman has amassed a small fortune from being in the Army, and also has about a billion dollar inheritance. Her family thinks he's a good catch.)

John -- So Oprah's family is related to some real gangster type people, and they put a hit out on another of Oprah's relatives, her dearest niece. So Oprah grabs the girl and flies cross country to Connecticut to hide

out on a farm. Near the ocean. Living in near seclusion, with only John, the houseman for company, Oprah and he form an attachment. And then to take it a step further, once the threat from the niece is removed, John moves back to Oprah's mansion, where they've been having a perfectly kept secret affair. (Because he's actually Black Ops and posing as the butler. Oprah entertains a lot of foreign dignitaries. John speaks fifteen languages. He's doing special time for the Foreign Office.)

However, here's the kicker -- Both Steadman and John have been called up for one last mission.

When John tells her he's going away, Oprah wants to get married. She tells him she'll go to the JP and get the licence. John says no. What would people think? He's just a butler, married to a billionaire. That's like Liz and Larry. No thanks, says John. She argues it's not like that. He doesn't want to hear it.

But John also told Oprah that Steadman is going on this same mission and she must apologize to Steadman for running away last year. What if she never sees him again? However, when she apologizes, Steadman tells her what a mistake he made for not giving her a ring, he understands what happened and why she went away, and all is forgiven. He asks her to marry him. She's so overwhelmed, she says yes.

My character is in love with two men. At the same time. And is having a dalliance with each of them. At the same time. Yes, she has a perfectly good reason for it. Perhaps even somewhat selfless (if I wrote that scene the right way), but let's call a spade a spade here. She's being a slut. And selfish. And cruel. And conceited. And all these things that women hate about other women, because those kind of women always get what they want, instead of what they deserve. You know.

Well, in this case, that isn't so. Oprah will get what she deserves and then some.

My problem is I can't find the dividing line between the love she feels for each of them. Her cousin, Constance says to her, "What are you going to do, just wait until one of them comes back? What if neither of them do? What if they both do? What are you going to do then?" Oprah says it doesn't matter if they both hate her when they return, only that they both come back alive.

Oprah loves each of them for totally different reasons. And wants to marry each of them for totally different reasons. (There's more to each backstory than I've alluded to here.) The way I've written it so far, Oprah never really reveals who she wants more. And that's where I'm stuck -- Will my readers want Oprah to choose one particular man, or will they suspend their disbelief that she can love two men equally?

Tell me --  Should I be looking for the dividing line? Can a person be in love with two people at the same time? What would you rather see as a reader -- a firm decision in love, or ambiguity until the story plays out?

Anne Gallagher (c) 2014

Stumbling Blocks

Before we start, I'd just like to say this is my 501st post. I know it may not seem like much to some, and there are people with thousands of posts, but the number impresses me just the same. I've done this 500 times. Whew.

Anyway, I got this interesting little blurb from one of my critique partners last week. She said,

I'm so glad Penny and Will got to love each other from the beginning of this book. They didn't have to overcome their fear to find their way to each other, or stumble through so many personal obstacles. It's a refreshing change.

She was talking about THE LADY'S MASQUERADE and Penny and Will are the main characters.

I never thought about it quite like this before. Usually my books are character driven, and the obstacles they stumble through are interior. My characters are loaded with angst and just can't make up their minds whether or not to love the person I've put in front of them.

MASQUERADE is plot driven. That Penny and Will find their love almost from the beginning of the book was a no brainer for me. It was my first book and I didn't know any better. I had no clue how to write a story, or what it needed. That they loved each other at almost first sight seemed a good way to start.

What they have to overcome to finally be together is in the plot. Murder attempts, jealousy, misunderstandings, and an overprotective daddy. Hmmm...

Tell me -- Do you find yourself writing more character driven or plot driven books? If you write love stories, are your characters afraid of love, and their angst, or do they just jump in and see what happens?

Will You Marry Me?

Today, as you all know, is February 29th. What is commonly refered to as Leap Day.

"According to an old Irish legend, or possibly history, St Bridget struck a deal with St Patrick to allow women to propose to men – and not just the other way around – every 4 years. This is believed to have been introduced to balance the traditional roles of men and women in a similar way to how Leap Day balances the calendar."

And as I'm half Irish, you might have thought I would have taken note of this in my younger years.


"In some places, Leap Day has been known as “Bachelors’ Day” for the same reason. A man was expected to pay a penalty, such as a gown or money, if he refused a marriage proposal from a woman on Leap Day. In many European countries, especially in the upper classes of society, tradition dictates that any man who refuses a woman's proposal on February 29 has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves. The intention is that the woman can wear the gloves to hide the embarrassment of not having an engagement ring. During the middle ages there were laws governing this tradition."

Now I'm sure most of you know, I will be using this little piece of information in one of my books.

Tell me -- Is there anyone (living, dead, character from a book, movie) you would like to propose to?

Here is my choice. This would be Col. Brandon from Sense & Sensibility.

(Source of quotes  http://www.thetimenow.com)

I'm Just Not That Into You

Good Morning.

Last year, before all my falderal, I had a schedule for this blog -- Monday's were about love, Wednesday's were about writing, and Friday's were at the Piedmont Grille. I liked that schedule and I think I'm going to try and go back to it since I'm not crazy busy anymore.

So here we are on Monday, and I'm going to write about love. Or should I say my lack thereof. For long -time readers of my blog, you know I'm a single parent, and some of you may also know my ex- finally got his act together and moved back to NC to be near our daughter. What most of you don't know, however, is that my ex- has moved back into our home.

NOT to be with me. To be near our daughter. Let me repeat that -- NOT to be with me.

Right from the get-go, I made it quite clear in no uncertain terms that WE were not a couple anymore. I had no desire for us to try and work things out and we would maintain separate bedrooms. (Which, luckily I had an extra one.) So far this has worked out well.

HOWEVER, I am approaching my 50th birthday in April and I keep wondering if I'll ever fall in love again.

One of the big internet dating sites had a "free" weekend this past weekend and I toyed with the idea of online dating. No, I didn't join. I mean, seriously, what would my ad say?

SWF, 50, w/7 yr. old daughter, seeks companionship one or two days per week to meet for coffee/chat. Cannot travel, cannot date at night, cannot bring you home because my ex- lives with me. Hobbies include -- BBC adaptations of Jane Austen, writing, reading, and trying to get a grip on housework. Must be between the ages of 45-60, single/divorced, like old rock and roll, be sober, have a job, and vehicle. Looking for long term commitment with no foreseeable future.

How many men do you know would answer an ad like that? Besides the crazies.

And truth be told, I don't even know if I'm actually serious about getting into another relationship these days. I've got my career going on, The Monster is my top priority, and I've gained so much weight, well, I'm not exactly comfortable in my own skin.

But with spring right around the corner, and the (almost) promise of returning to the beach in RI again this summer, my thoughts have turned to the men I met on vacation last year. The guy on the beach, the guy in the fish department at Stop & Shop, and the chef at the restaurant where we ate like 6 times. (There are no men in NC that attract me. NONE.)

I've been in this "love limbo" for about 6 years now. It's not fun. And as the clock ticks closer to my big birthday I have to wonder if I'll ever fall in love again. I mean, I'm not looking to get married. I've remained free from the nuptial noose for this long, why bother. One in two marriages end in divorce anyway. Why be a statistic.

But the thought of remaining for the rest of my life without another someone to kiss good-night really has me bothered. The thought of never having sex again is kind of disturbing. (Then again, it has been 5 years, what's a few decades more. Sorry, that might have been a little too much information. But you know, this is my reality.)

The things I miss about men are subtle -- a shared joke, a mid-day call just to check in, bringing home a gallon of milk without me asking, help with the dishes. But that kind of stuff takes years to achieve. And I'm feeling like I don't have too many years left, before the looks completely fade, and the arthritis really sets in.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy being single. I'm too independent and too set in my ways, I think, to really have what I might have wanted back in my 20's. But a nice lunch every now and again would be great. A walk through a museum or a night out at the theatre would be swell.

(And for those of you who say or think I should give my ex- another chance -- hush your mouth. THAT will NEVER EVER happen. I may have forgiven him, but I will never forget what he did to me and our daughter. There is no trust or respect left in that relationship.)

So tell me -- Do you think love after 50 is possible? Or am I more likely to get hit by lightning at 12,000 feet in an airplane?

The Millionaire Matchmaker

Good Morning My Darlings. Have you ever been fixed up? Have you ever had well meaning friends, business colleagues, your Aunt Grace say to you -- "I know the perfect man for you. You have just got to meet him!"

Ugh. Yes, I'm sure we've all been there. How'd it go? Did you take them up on the offer? If so, how'd it turn out?

I've been fixed up on many occasions. Always to disastrous results. Now, mind you, all parties involved knew what we were getting into. Sometimes it was a blind fix up, other times it involved double dating. Where, during some part of the night, I would drag my friend in the ladies room and ask, "How could you possibly think that man and I had something in common?"

Now, I don't doubt the sincerity of these people, they truly believe they know us better than we think we know ourselves and according to them we are so blind to know what we want, we'll take a look at someone who would not be on our radar at all.

Yeah. I know my own mind. I know what I'm looking for in a man. My list of prerequisites is pretty long.

The other night I was trolling through cable tv (the bane of my existance -- 92 channels and not a thing to watch) when I came upon the show The Millionaire Matchmaker. I had never seen it before, although had heard of it and decided to watch just to see how a millionaire went about finding a date.

Well, it's the usual tv trope, interview the guy, find out what he wants in a woman, interview the girls (notice that's plural), have a big meet-and-greet where the matchmaker introduces each man to about 15 girls the matchmaker thinks he'd like to meet, and see who he picks.

O.M.G. Can I just say this show is almost as bad as The Bachelor/ette series.

Now on this particular episode, one of the men was a real jerk. Wanted a woman who would basically give up her life and dreams and goals to fulfill his every desire. Yeah, I'm not kidding. He wanted a June Cleaver sort, although he wanted her to look exactly like Jessica Simpson. (his words, not mine.) So the matchmaker found him 15 women who fit his list (his list was longer than mine, and extremely detailed).

And it got me thinking. One of the things the matchmaker kept telling him was he had to let go of his list. He had to think outside the box because he probably wouldn't meet the "woman of his fantasies". And I agreed. This man wanted several things that to me, just weren't possible. But he insisted. He would not give up his list. He wanted a woman who --

had a 36 - 40D bust size (no bigger, no smaller)
would bear him twin girls (huh? how can you think that that's what you'd get?)
would give up whatever it was she was doing and live with him (her family, her life, her career)
was a great cook (like a professional chef kind of cook)
was a church going woman (which is important, however he demanded that she be of his faith only or convert)
had long blond hair (but not dyed)
had a devastating smile (but real teeth not teeth that had been worked on)
and the piece de resistance had an IQ that was not higher than his (I almost threw up in my mouth when he said that)

Guess what. He found one. Yup he did. I could not believe it. To me, this man was a narcisstic, egotistical a$$hole, the kind of man women fought in the 70's. Can I get an "Amen for Gloria Steinam" here? But somehow, he persevered through the matchmaker's discouragement and got exactly what he wanted.

Question -- When finding your significant other, were you fixed up? Did you have a list of prerequisites? Is he/she your ideal partner? Or did you just meet someone and "know" they were perfect for you?

Second question -- If anyone knows a guy who looks like Tom Selleck, has the tenderness of Denis Leary, is as smart as Tom Brokaw and the money of Warren Buffet, could you send him my way.

Love In The Time of Cholera

Good Morning Everyone. I hope you are enjoying a beautiful autumn day where you are. As we are discussing love today, I'm afraid the title of this post has nothing to do with the book LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA. It is, I'm afraid, a misnomer.
(Although I have heard that book is fantastic.)

You see, I've been sick. Very sick, as a matter of fact, since last Monday. It is that time of year when the weather changes, and living in the foothills of the Piedmont, the temperature goes down at night, and then during the day it gets hot. However, when the breezes blow, they whisper cold.

And that is what I got. A cold. Only I never get the common cold, where one can function normally, albeit slowly. NOOOO, I get a cold, then a sinus infection, then an ear infection, then either bronchitis, or pneumonia.

I knew it was coming, I could feel it last Sunday night, that little tickle in the back of my throat. I immediately called my mother to make me a pot of chicken soup, which she did. But it didn't help. Monday morning, I woke to a scratchy throat, funny eyes, pain in the head, and an all-over funky disposition.

I hate being sick, I mean, really, who enjoys snots, aches and pains, and coughing til you puke. I hate it though because I can't do anything. And because of my inability to remain in bed, I push myself to do the things that need doing, therefore getting sicker.

Tuesday morning, barely able to move, I called the doctor, who thankfully had an opening at 11:30. I stumbled into her office, plead my case for a Z-pac, which she sympathetically bestowed upon me, and I made it back to my house and into my bed where I remained for the next four days.

I haven't been quite this sick in a very long time. My mother thought I had contracted the flu. I refused to believe that, but suffered through flu-like symptoms for 2 days. I could not move. I won't bore you with the details of my illness, but I will tell you, at least the flu is good for something. I lost eight pounds.

Now, The Monster was sick as well, though she only had a cold, so she pretty much had the run of the house while I was down. My mother took her for the first part of my malaise so I was left alone to fend for myself. I did nothing but remain in bed, too sick to even watch tv.

When The Monster came back, so did her father. He stayed with us while I was down, which was a blessing. I could at least be assured she was eating on a regular basis. However, he did not once offer to feed me. Or get me water, or Tylenol, or even do the dishes.

When I emerged from my sickroom on day four, only wanting to take a shower and crawl back under clean sheets, I found the kitchen a dumping ground for every single dish, pot, pan, and glass from the cupboards. I then made my way downstairs to the laundry room to put the dirty sheets in the washer and found a pile of clothes on the laundry room floor a mile high.

What is it about men and their inability to do anything when someone is sick? He said, "But I didn't want to mess up the laundry. You know how I shrank all your stuff the last time." Which was true, but no matter how you try, you can't shrink towels. And the dishes? "Well, you hate the way I load the dishwasher and I didn't want to piss you off on top of being sick." And I do hate the way he loads the dishwasher, but I think I might have let that one go as I was on my way back to bed.

What is it about men, that they do not seem to possess a compassionate bone in their body? Or is it just my particular man? Come to think on it though, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of any of my former men waiting on me when I was sick. Not one glass of water, not one Tylenol, not one hand brushed against my forehead.

And now, he's sick. Yes, I knew he would get it eventually. He's upstairs in the guest bed, fever, chills, coughing his lungs up. I've given him Tylenol, cough syrup, chicken soup, orange juice, water, cough drops (the good kind), checked his temp -- 101.9, gotten him another blanket, another pillow, a box of Kleenex.

Now I know why women are nurses.

Tell me -- Does your man help when you're down and out? Or do you get up and deal with the family because you know he won't? Is he a total baby when he's sick, or does he grab a couple of pills and head off to work?

PS I am feeling much better now, thank you very much. Getting ready for the cocktail party which I hope you will all attend. Details coming soon.

The Bachelorette

Good Morning. With my travails into the never-ending question about love, I'm going to share another secret with you. I watch The Bachelorette on tv. I know, I know. It's kind of nauseating sometimes, but I watch it to get character ideas. (Ha, yeah, if you believe that, I've got some bottom land for sale, cheap.)

No, really, I do. I always watch the beginning episode and pick out the guy I think the girl will eventually fall in love with. Just on first impressions. And then I skip the next few episodes until she gets to around 10 or 12 guys. That's when the real fun begins and they go to exotic locals.

On this last season, Ashley fell hard for a scoundrel, a rake, a big fat jerkface who broke her heart when he left the show. Now we all knew his reasoning behind it -- he thought he was going on the show for a different woman and he was disappointed with this girl and he couldn't fake affection -- but she didn't know any of that. He told her he missed his child back home and he couldn't stay there any longer.

And she fell hook, line and sinker for his BS. It made me cringe that he was such a low life scum bag to break her heart like that. I wanted to yell at the tv I was so mad. (And of course this is reality television so there are always moments like this.)

It took a week, but she got over it, and they went to Thailand. She and 11 other guys. Woo-hoo. She had a couple of good dates, and then lo and behold, Scumbag was brought to Thailand. And this time I really did scream at the tv. Because she wanted to see him. She wanted to see if he really was the true man of her dreams.

And he wasn't, thank the Goddess, but the guy she eventually picked, was not the guy I would have picked for her. Needless to say, I was disappointed in her choice, but you know, she's not me, and I'm not her, and we all have different ideas about who we eventually fall in love with.

Tell me -- Have you ever been in a relationship that all your friends told you was bad for you and you didn't listen? Have you ever loved a guy who was so out of your normal comfort zone your friends thought you were on crack?

Men In Love

Good Morning My Darlings. One of the greatest joys of being a writer is that I get to make stuff up. Go into my own little world and create characters, people if you will, put them in situations and see what they do, how they react. My favorite part of being a writer is creating a man who falls in love. I know how women do it, I am a woman, (last time I checked) and we're so e-mo-tion-al. Googly, giggly, giddy, starry-eyed, e-mo-tion-al wrecks. (Okay I'll admit, yes I am.) We primp, we preen, we wonder, we talk, we discuss, we lament with our girlfriends and an-a-lyze every single thing he says and does.

I must have read 10,000 romances over the course of my lifetime. Mainly historical. And all of them have had strong, macho heroes. They react to their situation instead of analyzing everything to death. Only when they realize they're going to lose the girl do they generally start thinking about what the problem is.

Which I think is why romance is the biggest selling genre. Men are men, women love them, even when they do stupid things. Men don't really show their emotional side and we know that about them. However, in reading romance, the author does tend to do that, and we eat it up like candy. What women do you know right now has said these words, "Oh I wish my husband, boyfriend, significant other, would just open up to me and tell me what he's feeling."

I must say, in my own stories I'm guilty of the same thing. My heroes go off all stalker and stomp around hitting things, when all they really want to do is cry. Only until they realize they're absolutely going to lose the woman of their dreams do they TELL her what's what.

Tell me -- Have you ever read a book where the man TELLS the woman how he's feeling, first, before he flies off the handle and beats things up? Do you think, we, as female writers can really get into the heads of men and show their emotional side, or are we second guessing ourselves?

Apologies to any men reading this. Please by all means jump in and discuss.

Returning to Broken Love

Good Morning Everyone. I hope you had an enjoyable weekend. Please note, this is an unusually long post today. I have a lot of ground to cover.

So, today's topic is Returning to Broken Love. You might ask what Broken Love means -- I'm talking about getting back together with someone who's broken your heart. Devastated you.

I don't do it. Ever. Have never. Will never.

There's something about the physicality of a broken heart. Now I know that when someone breaks it, it doesn't really fall apart, but it sure does feel like it. And I'm not talking about high school broken hearts, I'm talking about real true adult broken hearts. (And I've never been married, so I can't speak for what happens in a divorce. This is from a single woman's point of view.)

When you think you've found the "one". You are giddy and in love and everyday is Heaven on earth, there is no other person in the world who means as much to you ever. There is the promise of something "more", of a lifetime together, perhaps. There are years invested, and friends and family, vacations, commitments.

And then, he does something so inconceivable that you just can't believe it. He breaks your heart.

Let me tell you about Richard. We were incredibly in love. He was a chef, I was a restaurant manager, we started dating and somewhere around the two year mark we built and opened a restaurant together, almost from the ground up. I helped with everything, from ordering to hiring, cooking, waitressing, building, picking out tile, redecorating. You name it, he cleared everything through me before he made the final decision. We had our first opening night and invited 100 of our closest friends and clients. It was magical. Things couldn't have been better.

We had our second opening night for the community at large. I was there already greeting guests, serving drinks, when he walked in with another woman. A woman I knew from town. A woman I had no idea he had been seeing on the side, while I had been slaving away helping him with the restaurant.

I literally heard my heart snap in half. After the initial shock, and the dead silence of having the customers watch me to see what I would do, (because it was a small town and everyone knew us as a couple) I walked out of the bar right then and never looked back. Sure he called, and tried to explain, and cried and begged me to come back, but I refused to even take his call. Two months later, the gossip killed him and he lost the business.

I was bereft for about 6 months. Really. I lost almost 30 pounds. I refused to see my friends. I was totally humiliated. I cried ALL the time. I lost a part of myself that I couldn't get back. I swore I would never fall in love again.

Cut to Nevada 10 years later. I started a relationship with Terrence, but I never let my heart get completely involved. I was very leery of the whole "love" thing. But then he was accused of a crime he didn't commit and he asked me to stand by his side, to support him. So I did. Our relationship changed after that. (I knew he didn't do it, and the judge ruled he didn't do it. It was a set-up.)

Sitting in a diner, having a turkey sandwich with my best friend, I realized I was in love with him. I denied it, of course, because I wasn't ever going to be in love again. But there it was. So I committed to him and the love. To make a long story short, 3 months later he told me he was in love with someone else. My best friend.

Yeah.

But she wasn't in love with him. They tried dating, it didn't last 6 months, and she married another guy. Of course he came begging back to me and I turned him on his ear.

The reason I'm discussing this topic today, is that my ex, Monster Child's father, has come back to North Carolina. I'm not going to get into the where-for's and why's about our break-up, it's just too ugly. But it did get me wondering why I won't get back with him.

People change, absolutely, and he has, for the most part, done a complete 180 from where it was that broke us up. But, throughout the last 8 years, he's broken my heart more times than I can count. I gave him chance after chance, because I did love him with all my heart and he is my daughter's father and I thought a family should really try.

The last two years without him around have been hard on The Monster. She loved her Daddy, and now he's back, she's over the moon. And I never wanted to take her away from him, but he was just so damned toxic. He was killing both of us, the three of us, so I made him go.

But now he's gotten his shit together and I'm happy for him. I like the fact he can come over to my house and we can have a civil conversation instead of screaming, or crying or throwing things. I have made peace with my ex. I have to get along with him, he is my daughter's father. I have forgiven him (for the most part) of all the things he's done to me. But I will never forgive him for breaking my heart.

He's asked, The Monster has begged, why he can't move back in. Why we can't be a real family again. How do I explain to my 6 yr. old about broken hearts. About losing trust and hearing lies and the damage it causes.

Once my heart is broken, it takes a long time to heal. And mine has so many scars on it right now, it's held together with super glue and duct tape. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't fall in love ever again. That's a whole other blog post. What I'm saying is, I won't attempt to rekindle a dead fire. I won't ever get back together with a man who's broken my heart.

Tell me -- How about you? Would you, or have you, gotten back together with someone who broke your heart in a major way? Or is once it's over, it's over?

Heavens to Murgatroid!

Well, Good Morning. Finally. I know I'm late with my post today. I'll bet you can't guess why. I'll tell you. I slept late. I slept until eight o'clock. Which I haven't done since -- I can't remember. And do you want to know why I slept until eight o'clock.

Monster Child slept in her own bed last night. For the first time. (Actually technically, it was the third time, but this was the first time she initiated it on her own.)

I made the decision of keeping her, first, in her bassinet in our bedroom, when I brought her home from the hospital. Breast feeding and all that. And then in our bed when she went through growth spurts, and then, well, she wouldn't go down in her crib and would scream bloody murder, and I just couldn't stand to listen to the poor thing so in our bed she came. When her father and I split up, naturally she wouldn't leave me, and I didn't bug her about it.

What precipitated the change of sleeping venue, you ask? I'm not exactly sure, but I think it's because her bedroom is finally finished. Sure it's always been inhabitable, bed, desk, chair, teddies (bears not pj's), dressers, tv/vcr (spoiled rotten), but I've never been happy with it. There's always been something wrong -- the curtains, the bookcase, the lamp, the chair. So last week I bought two (better) bookcases for her room, new curtains, rearranged the furniture and BAM! Her room, in my eyes, was finally done.

And I guess in hers as well.

I've read the child rearing books, I've had other parents turn their nose up at me for saying I raised Monster Child in a family bed, our doctor even questioned my choice. They all warned me about the possible outcomes, all bad, all negative. I don't think it's fostered anything other than a loving comfortable stable atmosphere at home. No matter how much we scream and yell (she soooo takes after my Type A personalilty and challenges me on EVERYTHING) there's always a giggle and snuggle in bed. I always know where she is, can hear her breathing. (When she was so sick for so long I would stay up all night and just listen to her breath. I had a lot of conversations with God on those nights.)

I knew it would only be a matter of time before SHE decided she would sleep in her own room. I have the patience of a saint (or so I've been told.) Last night, she went up to my room (with the DVD player) and I stayed downstairs to watch Masterpiece Mystery. I figured she fell asleep like she always does. At 10:30 she was still awake. It's summer now, I don't really care what time she goes to bed -- sort of.

She said, "I want you to put up my Princess tent on my bed. I'm going to sleep in my own room."

It's 10:30 on a Sunday night. I DO NOT want to fuss with the Princess tent. I'm tired, I have a lot to do on Monday. However, who am I to turn down spreading out in my own bed for the first time in six years. I snapped that tent together in record time, tucked her in, kissed her good-night, and jumped in my own glorious queen size bed all by myself. I sank blissfully into my pillows, not worrying about if she's cold, or moving an ankle or elbow, not wondering if one of us was going to fall out of bed.

Did I sleep the sleep I've been longing for? NO! I tossed and turned, had horrible, horrible nightmares, got up 3 times to check on her. She came in and woke me up at six a.m. I told her to go back to sleep, it was too early. That's MY usual time to get up. I laid there after she left and debated about getting up. Next thing I knew, the sun was streaming through the windows. I glanced at the clock and to my horror, it was eight a.m. I lost two hours to my Monday. Oh well.

Now I realize my Monday posts are supposed to be about love. I guess today's post is about unconditional love.

Tell me -- Have you bucked tradition where your kids are concerned? Have you done anything for them that other parents might raise an eyebrow over? Do you allow them things or freedoms that you didn't have as a child?

Love and Marriage

Good Monday Morning. And because it's Monday and I now write about romance on Monday, I thought I'd give love and marriage a go. It seems I got hit with an S.N.I. (shiny new idea) last week and it pertains to our topic.

Now, all of the books I've written so far, the hero and heroine (or H/H) have found their way through love, to marriage. In this latest book, Robert, (our hero) finds himself at gunpoint (literally) and must marry Fiona (our heroine). The reason -- well, it's a compromising position that wasn't intended as such. Fiona was actually trying to keep Robert from killing himself (accidentally). Unfortunately, her father found out and well, let's just say that Laird Fionnghall Stewart was not a happy camper. Hence the shot-gun marriage.

Robert's intention is to have the marriage annulled after a time. And if that doesn't work, then he'll get a divorce. He's rich, he's a duke, he could do it. Now, being a romance, you KNOW that's not going to happen. We need a Happily Ever After. And I'll get it. After all, this is a book.

However, in real life, since my last birthday in April, I've been giving a lot of thought to marriage. I have never been married. In my 20's and 30's, I thought I had all the time in the world to find Prince Charming, Mr. Right, or The Soul Mate. Then when I hit my 40's, I was despairing of ever meeting THE ONE. It was easier to get struck by lightning in an airplane, than a woman in her 40's to get hitched. My biological clock was ticking, faster and faster and well, you can't make a baby by yourself. (Well, you can, but not without a trust fund.) When I met Monster Child's father, and without getting into it, I thought I found HIM. For all intents and purposes I THOUGHT he was a good man. And he was, still is, sort of. His family had a lot to do with our break-up. We had intended to get married before Monster Child was even conceived, but that didn't happen. (For reasons too numerous to mention.) And then again, after she was born, but well, it's a long story.

I don't know if this is a subconscious idea or not, but I truly don't think I was ever supposed to be married. Sure, I've fallen in love, I've been engaged four times. But the one question that always brought me crashing back to reality was -- Can I look at this person for the rest of my life over breakfast every morning? Yeah, that's it. Sounds stupid, but that's how I think. And my answer, every single time was no. So, I remain a spinster.

I envy those of you who have found your hero and have been married for EVER. I do long for that closeness, yearn for that synchronicity of familial bond. I miss having a man around the house. Even if he does watch football every single freaking Sunday from August to January. Even if he does leave wet towels on the bathroom floor, and never puts his dishes in the dishwasher.

I miss the shared smiles, the fleeting touches, the phone calls at noon, just to see what I'm up to. And well, truthfully, I miss the sex. Orgasms are a dime a dozen, but making love to a man you love is just truly mind-blowing. It transcends everything.

Yes, love and marriage are hard work. And I've never been afraid of that. What I was always afraid of was divorce. I never wanted that. And going back to the breakfast thing, if there was ever any question in my mind that it would come down to it, then why bother getting married in the first place.

Do I regret not being married? No. Do I want to be married? I don't know. I suppose if I met the right man, I wouldn't say no. I deserve to find a good man. I'm a good woman. I think I deserve a Happily Ever After.

Tell me -- Did you know you would be with your significant other for always? Do you believe in Happily Ever After? How hard is it really to make love and marriage work?


PS My guest post will appear on Natascha's blog The Las Vegas Writer, tomorrow, Tuesday if you want to swing by and take a look.

Love at First Sight

Good Morning My Darlings. I hope you've all had a fine weekend.

Today's question -- Do you believe in love at first sight? My answer -- a resounding yes.

I don't care what science says, I don't care how cynical people are (and let me tell you I am number one on the cynic patrol). However, I AM a romantic. And I do believe there is something to be said about looking across the room, seeing that look in another person's eyes and BLAM! There it is.

Oh sure, it may be lust. Many times, that's all it is. But there's something else underneath it. An infitismal reach into the subconscious that whispers "Could he (or she) be the ONE?" And sometimes it's fun trying to find out.

I have fallen in love at first sight twice in my life. The first with Bonezy. (You may remember him from last week.) I was bartending at the Fo'c'sle in Sakonnet Point, my second night actually, and he came in with his buddies. I was relatively new in town so when they caught sight of me I knew what they were thinking straight away -- Ah, fresh meat.

They gave me the usual razz, where're you from, how long have you been in town, are you a summer snob or what? I laughed with them, joked around, busted their balls, you know, the usual bar-time banter. But when Bonezy looked at me and smiled that first time, I mean really looked me in the eye and smiled, I fell. Splat. Right on the floor.

I knew we were meant to be together. And we were from that very night. And for five years after. But somehow the love didn't quite make it. Well, that's not true. I still loved him very much when I broke it off. I wanted more (marriage) and he couldn't give it to me. (For many many reasons, least of all being his mother, who hated my guts. Yeah, what is it about me and prospective mothers-in-law, they all despise me.) So we broke up. The last I heard, he's been with Franny since the late 90's. I hope he's happy.

The second time I fell in love at first sight was with Mike. Mike was a fiercesome creature -- ALL MAN. He was so Alpha male he could have been made out of stone. There was no soft side to Mike. Anywhere. Sure he was gorgeous, in that neanderthal kind of way, but he was too hard. Too unforgiving. He once shot his girlfriend's dog for getting into the chicken coop. (Now, I know the reasoning behind it so I forgive him, sort of.) We were each friends of friends and would run into each other socially, but I stayed very far away from him. He scared the shit out of me.

Cut to fifteen years later. We'd both gone our separate ways in life as well as in town. In the state of Rhode Island there was only one DMV office. I happened to be there one day, so were 9000 other people. I got up from the bench and there was Mike. BLAM! (What is it with me and men and the DMV?)

I looked in his eyes, he looked in mine and then he smiled at me as if he'd been waiting for me his whole life. (Remember the scene in THE HOLIDAY with Jude Law when he smiles at Cameron Diaz -- Yeah, it was just like that.) And I fell. Splat. Right on the floor. If he had asked me to run away with him right then, I would have. The hardness was gone. He'd matured. He had laugh lines at his eyes that crinkled. Whoever he had been, he no longer was. We talked for about 15 minutes. Catch up banter I'm sure. I don't remember. But what I do remember was wanting to touch him, needing to touch him. Just on the arm, the hand. My number was called. He kissed me good-bye. Just a quick peck.

I never saw him again.

I Googled him once, not too long ago. He's on My Space. Not that I know what that is, but I followed the e-trail. I didn't get far. He still lives in town. He has a son, but never married. You have no idea how badly I want to go back to RI and find him. Just to see. You know.

Tell me -- Have you ever fallen in love at first sight? Did it last? Or was it just a random encounter?

PS The adventure with the DMV guy is over. I took my mother last Monday and he didn't even look at me. Oh well.

eMatchLoveHarmonySingles.com

Good Morning My Darlings. Turning *ahem* older has gotten me thinking about the past. With men. As a romance writer I write about the Happily Ever After. In my real life, hasn't really happened - yet.

I have a confession to make. Don't laugh, well, okay, you can giggle if you want. I probably would too if I weren't so embarrassed.

I view the singles sites. You know, those from the mashed title of this post. Every so often I click on and just take a look to see who's out there searching for love online. Let me tell you -- there isn't much to look at.

I mean, sure, the last time I did I found 339 guys in my required age range 45-55, but there were only 2 who struck me as interesting enough for me to get to know any better. (Remember too, I'm a big believer at falling in love at first sight.) When I really plugged in and filled out all the extra requirements I got nothing. A big fat donut hole.

What does that mean I wonder? That I'm too picky, or that men really aren't interested in an *ahem* older woman with a 6 year old child. Possibly. I suppose if I was single, no kids, and met a guy with a 6 year old, that would be kind of strange. Talk about baggage. (Yeah, I know, refer me back to my other post)

I used to meet men all the time. I worked in restaurants for years, then I worked construction, then I worked in the auto industry. There were always men around. Tall men, short men, men who climbed on rocks, fat men, skinny men, even men with mis-matched socks.

But since I've moved down here, I haven't been able to meet one. Well, okay, the one man I actually did meet, is my neighbor. Chad. Nice enough guy I suppose. He's of the southern variety. Looks like one of the guys from ZZ Topp. Wears flannel, has a 4-wheeler, has a gun rack on the rear widnow of his 4x4 pick-up truck. He came over to the house the morning we moved in and talked to my father. Found out I was single.

Later that day, after my father left, he came over, drunk as a skunk and proceeded to ask me if I wanted to go for a ride with him on his 4-wheeler -- at sunset, up in the back woods. Uh, no. And he hasn't talked to me since. He did ask my daughter to his house for his son's birthday last summer (I didn't go) and he did cut my grass once when it got to be as tall as Kansas wheat. Thank you very much. (I bought him steaks for repayment. Had the Monster Child deliver them.) He knows we aren't compatible. I guess he was looking for something too.

I know what I'm looking for, but truly, I don't think he exists. My mother and I were chatting one day about my lack of a love life. "It's too bad you and Bonezy (yeah, that was his nickname) didn't work out," she said. And I thought about it. Yeah, it was too bad. But that was a long time ago. And he had a LOT of baggage. But you know what, he loved me. And I really loved him.

Do I regret not sticking with him through the long haul? No. I was 22, he was 30. We were together 5 years or so. I've changed over the years, and so has he. Would I like to meet him again? Yeah, sure. I think it would be a kick. Would I like to get back together with him. Nah. He's been with Franny for a decade now. I'm not a home-wrecker. And I never get back together with ex-boyfriends. EVER.

So just for fun, I cruise the singles sites. I don't talk to anyone, I don't IM or wink or whatever. I just look. Because I can. Although I would really like to see that guy from the DMV again. And guess what, my mother has to renew her license this week. Yay!

How much fun would it be to say ten years from now -- I met my husband at the DMV. Wishful thinking. But hey, I'm a romance writer. It's what I do.

Tell me -- How did you meet your significant other?


PS -- Sarah and Yvonne -- I posted my recipe for Spinach Pies and Calzones in my "Pages" section of the blog. Let me know if you make them and how they came out.

The Man Magnet - Or Why I Write Romance

Good Morning Lovelies. Today I'm going to share with you some deep dark secrets about why I write romance. Don't worry, nothing graphic in this post. I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately, my birthday is Friday, and well, thoughts are just a-popping in my brain.

I am a Man Magnet. Yes, you heard me. I attract men like flies to a dead corpse. Losers, drunks, bums, users, violent, scum suckers from the dregs of the bowels of the deepest pit of despair.

I don't know why. I'm really a very nice person. Perhaps that's why. Maybe they see in me a need to try and be redeemed. Maybe it's because I broke my teeth on historical romance way back in the 70's when men were rakes and libertines and could only be redeemed by perfect women. (Not that I'm perfect, far from it, but I do have some very nice qualities.) I don't know. Perhaps I was looking for my own rake to reform.

As I've gotten older, I pushed aside those bad boys and found very sane, very nice, perfectly amenable men to date. But they all had underlying baggage. Heavy duty baggage that airlines would charge triple to put on the plane. (I will admit I have my own issues to deal with, however, I have dealt with most of them and filed them away.)

Now some of you are probably wondering why my stories don't have murder and mayhem in them, why I don't kill my ex-darlings on the pages. Because secretly I'm a sappy romantic at heart. I cry at Hallmark commercials. I am a connoisseur of chick flicks. I love happily ever after. I was raised on the original Disney Princess model -- Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella. (Cinderella was my favorite and one of my ex's used to call me that on occasion.)

All my life, I think, I've been searching for the perfect man. Well, at least the perfect man for me. Oh sure, I've found some that were almost, but they always had that one thing that made me back off. I've been engaged four times, have planned four weddings, have bought three wedding dresses, have even gone so far as to print invitations. But I could never go through with it. Because something just wasn't quite right. (Remember how old I really am and four fiances is not all that many.)

Perhaps I was dreaming of the happily ever after and somehow I knew I wouldn't be happy. I was raised as a Catholic and for all my lapsing, I still believe in the institution of marriage that bonds two people until the end of their days. In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, until death do us part. And I knew I would end up divorced, so I chose to forego the marriage AND divorce.

I write romance for the express purpose that someone I know (created) and love will find everlasting happiness with the man of her dreams. I write romance because I love a good love story. I love the longing, and the yearning, and the angst. Sure, all my heroines have obstacles to get over, some more so than others, but they always in the end, get their man. (And believe it or not, I am not in any of my female characters. I am in my male characters. Don't know why, it's just the way I write.)

I've been single for five years now. Monster Child's father really did me in. I've been focusing on my daughter, and my writing, and my parents for the last five years. I've given up on men because, well, fifteen times burned, always shy.

But you know, I still have hope. My fondest wish is to someday meet my soul mate, marry and live in bliss for the rest of my life. And isn't that why we read romance? For the ultimate wish -- happily ever after. And that's why I write it.

Tell me -- why do you write in your genre? Any secrets you want to share? I promise I won't tell.


PS I wrote Monday's post on the fly and drove myself crazy with the word license. I looked it up, finally, and there are actually two ways to spell it -- licence and license. You really don't know how much this drove me nuts.