20,000 Leagues under the Sea

From Murderati April 2, 2005

You’ve all heard the term “underwater.” The service industry refers to it as  “being in the weeds.” It’s reserved for that moment, the perfect storm, when there is simply too much going on for one person to handle.

Yep. That’s me this week. Home from tour, FINALLY, thinking I’m going to get some time off. Not really time off, per se, since I have a book due May 1, but a little breather? Maybe a chance to catch up on Gossip Girl? Read the massive stack of People Magazines that have taken root next to my chair? Talk to a couple of friends? My parents? Heck, my mom literally started pouting yesterday when I had to get off the phone after a quick five minute call because we haven’t had a chance to just plain chat for almost a month.

Suffice it to say, I’ve had a lot on my plate. And yes, the vast majority of it I put there myself, which means I’ve got a damn sore backside from kicking myself.

The tour went great. The highlight, by far, was getting to travel with my good friend, the brilliant and talented Erica Spindler. We rocked the West Coast and Denver, and had a great time. Special thanks to everyone for dinners and drinks and rides during our coastal stay (Keith Raffel, Ken Isaacson, Michelle Gagnon, Jason Pinter, Maddie James, Steven Steinbock (though I think I bought HIS drink ; ) Jim Scott Bell… ) I even saw my dear friend Lee Child and managed not to get sucked into the vortex known as the Camel. Denver was wonderful, because I got a chance to see my family, and a couple of my dearest friends. D.C. was the same, I got to meet Katherine Neville and Robbie Goolrick, which was incredibly cool, and I made a new friend, Pickles, the Easter Bunny from Borders. Though poor Randy got food poisoning and we got stuck in Baltimore whilst he was ill. I feel sorry for our neighbors.

The Tennessee Mountain Writers conference in Oak Ridge, Tennessee was wonderful. I taught two fiction sessions, Building an Idea into a Novel and Murder Your Darlings: the Art of Revision. And I spoke to the plenary session, giving a long, convoluted speech about the joys and dangers of social networking. As always, teaching gives me insight into my own writing, and while I’m still not the best teacher in the world, I’m at least getting the hang of it so I don’t have the night terrors before I go in.

And then I came home. March was gone. The book did great. My sanity, not so much.

It’s that damn To Do List, you see.

Priority 1 - My AAs are here for my October book, THE IMMORTALS. AAs, Author Alterations, are Harlequin’s version of page proofs. It’s my very last chance to see the book before it goes to press. Being a bit of a perfectionist, I do my absolute best to catch all the little mistakes: copyedits that didn’t make it in, repeated words and phrases, typos and the like. It’s painstaking work. I’ve marked the manuscript with mini-post-its every place there’s a change, purple for copyedit fixes, yellow for my changes. I’ll compile them all into a spreadsheet and mail the whole thing to New York (today!) So there’s one thing off my plate.

Priority 1.5 - Golf started this week. Randy and I made an executive decision to join a golf club this year. Playing golf on the Nashville public courses has always been good enough for us – the municipal courses around here are fantastic. But the price has gotten completely out of control. A single round of 18 holes for two, with a cart, on the public course, was running us $90. That’s just plain insanity. When we looked at the number of times we played, and the number of times we wanted to play, we realized that it would actually be cheaper to join an actual club. And said club has 27 holes and a strong women’s league, which I promptly joined.

We had our first outing Wednesday morning – and I’ll be playing every Wednesday morning from here on out. I joined the group for a couple of reasons – 1, so I would have some accountability, would make myself get off the computer and actually get outside in the fresh air and get some exercise. You can burn 1,000 calories during a sedate round of golf. And 2, the ongoing attempt at socialization. Being an introvert means I’m perfectly content sitting in the house and not interacting with people, and I have to force myself to go out and do these things. So it should be good for me.

Yes, I took 3 hours away from the multitude of things on my To Do list (one so long it’s actually giving me hives) and played golf. I played like hell, but at least I wasn’t on the computer or staring at words. One of my personal goals for the year was to drop ten strokes off my game, and by God, I’m committed.

Priorities. I Has Them.

Granted, I haven’t read a book since I downed Robbie Goolrick’s A RELIABLE WIFE (fantastic book) last month, I have a stack o’stuff that needs dealing with, two books to read and blurb, oh, and that naggy little thing called a DEADLINE coming up.

But you know what? Life is too damn short. I’m the one who put all this pressure on myself, and I’m going to take it off. It’s my new mantra. I will not feel guilty for doing something that’s good for me. Everyone around me will benefit. My priorities have changed.

This has been coming for a while, the death of fellow writer Louise Ure's husband Bruce this week really hammered it home for me. I have been trying to fathom Louise’s loss, and I can’t. I’m in tears right now just writing about it. And I’m getting to an age where loss is going to become a part of my vernacular. So I don’t want to lose a minute of the time I have left.

I hope you’ve taken some extra time this week to love the ones you love. Not just be with them, but truly reach out and let them know just how much they mean to you. Let me take a moment and thank all of you for reading this blog. It’s a true honor to write for you.

Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

Wine of the Week: In honor of our friends who just celebrated Passover: Covenent Cabernet Sauvignon, a Kosher Napa Valley wine. I want to go to this vineyard - I've heard delighful reports.



Howdy!

Hi folks!

So sorry I haven't been as attentive to the blog as I should have - touring tires a thrillerchick out. I've been running with Erica Spindler, author extraordinaire, out here on the Left Coast. We started the week in San Francisco, with a great signing at M is for Mystery (signed books available from Ed!) and moved down to the City of Angels. We've signed at 21 stores over the past several days, and after our panels tomorrow, we are off to Denver - my hometown. 

San Fran was awesome, the weather put on a show and it was stunningly green, and Los Angeles has been so amazing - I had lunch with a friend from elementary school who's a big wig voice over actor out here, and tea with a writer/director/producer friend who is the height of cool. We dined at the most wonderful Cicada tonight, the fine Italian restaurant that's been the scene of so many movies, like Pretty Woman (who can forget the escargot escapade?) and after dinner the delightful manager snuck us into the penthouse, formally the home of James Oviatt. From the Cicada website:

The Penthouse was designed by some of the most distinguished architects and artisans of the Jazz Age. It was built for James Oviatt, a haberdasher whose luxurious shop once occupied the ground floor of his namesake building. Oviatt’s ambition was to create a spectacular residence that would showcase the Art Deco design he’d admired at the 1925 Exposition in Paris.

It was so utterly surreal... I'll have pictures to post later. The photos on the wall, signed by the likes of Cecile B Demille and Errol Flynn, were truly unique. Suffice it to say I felt like we saw the ultimate insider view of some old-school LA histoire.

The Left Coast Crime bar is packed with the greatest folks - too many to name, but a veritable who's who of crime fiction. It's become sadly apparent that I haven't done enough social networking about my new book, but you know, I think that's okay. Sometimes we need to make sacrifices, and I have to tell you, I think giving up Facebook and Twitter for Lent was a good idea - I haven't felt this creative in months. I've been excited to sit down to work every day, which translates, of course, to more books and short stories for my readers. You'd rather me do that Tweet my fondness for cappuccino. Right?

Anywhoo, it's time to crash, but I wanted to say hi, tell you I miss you, and hope you're having a fabulous week. We have many blessings in this world, and I hope that several rain down upon you tonight.

xo,

JT

Talking about my desk at Meanderings and Musings

Here's a guest post for the very wonderful Kaye Barley, which appeared February 21, 2010 on her blog Meanderings and Musings.

Kaye requested something interesting from all of us doing her wonderful blog this year. A picture of our work space. Instead of just giving you a picture, I thought I’d talk about what a work space means to me.

Creating a book is a treacherous undertaking. We writers are sensitive artists, don’tcha know, replete with superstitions, rituals, methods. We have to have exactly the right paper, or pencil, or pen, or laptop, or desk, or music, or time…. You get the idea. Our work spaces are our cathedrals. We worship at the foot of the Muse, on our knees until they bleed, sometimes, begging and praying for that perfect storm of ideas, and the exact right shade of post-it notes.

You think I’m kidding, don’t you?

Our offices are sacred, and the tools of our trade as vital as the scepter and staff.

Ah, the tools.

In polite company, I’m referred to as an addict. A junkie. But we’re among friends here. We can be honest, open, forthright. The truth of the matter is I’m an office supply slut. I will do most anything for a fresh notebook, virginal paper and a kick-ass pen. And I cheat on my favorites unabashedly. I schedule time to go through the Levenger catalog. I read the Quo Vadis blog. I’ve started leaving my sunglasses on when I go to Staples because the checkout girl started looking at me with that pitying gaze – Oh, that poor girl, back again.

Offices, and office supplies, have been my Achilles heel my whole life. My very first job out of college, I was plopped at a desk next to a secretary’s desk, given a phone and a chair, and set to work. I cringed. Where was my office? Where was my view? Where was that all-important door that I could close?

Yeah. It took another three jobs before I got the door. Never did get the view.

But in all that time, my desk was my pride and joy. I always have been hyper organized. My inbox was always neat, my outbox full. Pens and pencils had their respective jars, and never the twain shall meet. I filed lustfully, experimenting with alphabetizing, dating, color schemes.

And then I struck out on my own. This was my office:

I wrote my first novel at that tiny desk. A second one, too. We actually just donated it to Goodwill, and I must admit, parting wasn’t the easiest. But maybe it will help some other aspiring author to build their dream.

When I realized I might actually be spending a lot of time at the little desk, my delightful parents upgraded me to this:

Beautiful, isn’t it? It took three days and a near separation for hubby and I to put that together. I still don’t think he’s forgiven me for all that molding. Yes, that is a bat hanging from the light, and yes, that sign on the right does say “Don’t Piss Off The Fairies.” Good advice, that.

My office is still a beautiful, clean and organized space. But now, seven novels in, I find I don’t need the trappings to feel creative. I often find myself in a black leather lounger in my living room, my laptop in my lap on a lapdesk I bought from Staples, my Levenger Circa and Moleskine notebook to my right:

I’ve simplified. The more experienced I become, I realize what’s important is the words on the page, and my surroundings don’t play as big a role as they used to.

But my desk is still clean, and my files are still beautifully organized.

What I'm Reading and a Quick Tour Update

Marshal Zeringue, who runs the incredibly awesome set of websites that make up the CAFTAR network (Campaign for the American Reader) asked me to contribute to his "What I'm Reading" blogs.

Here's a link to Writers Read, where I disclose my solution to stress reading.

#

The Cold Room tour is underway, and things are hopping! I've spent my (EARLY) mornings criss-crossing the country during doing morning radio drive time, having really excellent discussions with some great people. I love radio, it's just a perfect medium to have a conversation about books, life, and everything in between. I'm looking to find a way to add a podcast section to my site so I can share some of these interviews.

Had lunch today with a bevy of wonderful friends and authors, and I must warn you, I think Nashville is about to put the major markets to shame as far as cool writer collectives goes. A quick shout out to the connectornator, River Jordan, for all she's done to bring us together.

Two signings are behind me now, and tonight is my first downtown Nashville signing at the venerable independent Davis Kidd. When my husband was my boyfriend, he brought me to Nashville and showed me around the town, planning, I believe, our future here. That was 18 years ago, mind you, so it's strange how this all works out. Where did he take me that first day in Nashville, to introduce me to this wonderful town? Yep. Davis Kidd. So it's going to be a special night all around. Hope to see you tonight!

Oh, and did I mention my copyedits arrived this morning? The cosmos loves playing jokes on me...

Leaps in Time (and other stories)

From Murderati February 5, 2010

There is nothing more remarkable than the moment you realize you are no longer a struggling debut writer, but a real live working author. I’m not quite sure I’d fully grasped that concept until now, as I begin the penultimate blog before my fourth novel goes on sale.

Trust you me, when I started blogging on April 7, 2006, when I had an agent but no book deal, I never dreamed that I’d be at this point. I’m not being modest, I really, truly, honestly never in a million years thought that in a mere four years, I’d be doing what I’m doing.

What I’m doing is writing book six, and thinking about book seven, and getting ready for copyedits on book five, and promoting the living hell out of myself and book four, and working on three shorts for anthologies, and remodeling, remembering to breathe and beginning my foray into a bunch of foreign markets.

I am blessed.

A momentary aside: I am not kidding when I say that. I KNOW I’m blessed. Yes, I work hard, very hard. But there’s always an element of luck and timing involved in publishing, two things that have been in ready abundance for me. I don’t know why that is. I wish to God I could share it with everyone.

But that’s what happens in this crazy world. Sometimes, if you’re very good and very lucky, you get a break. Sometimes, if you’re very good and very lucky, you don’t get a break. It’s not fair. It upsets me to no end. I want everyone to be happy, published, self-sufficient. I know that’s not the case. Because there’s a downside to the good – friendships lost, sleepless nights worrying about what’s to come, the fear of a book’s complete failure.

But the good, it outweighs the bad. It outweighs it ten to one.

There’s a moment in the promotion schedule that I always hit – what in the world am I going to talk about with this book? I’ve been suffering with that malady tremendously with THE COLD ROOM – on its surface, it’s a novel about necrosadism, though there is so much more to it than that. There’s a secret in the book. Something that I don’t want to talk about – that’s not true, I DO want to talk about it, but I’ll ruin it for the readers if I do – so I’ve been stubbornly clinging to the mentality that I don’t have anything but that to discuss. I’ve had a horrible mental block on this, and we’re only three weeks from launch day. I have a punishing schedule of appearances and travel, and no matter what I want or don’t want, I have to talk about this book. I’ve tried to make notes, and nothing’s coming together. I am doomed.

And then my editor needed a series of questions answered for the Polish translation of ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS.

ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS? Hell, I haven’t even thought about that book for years. Literally, years. How am I supposed to think about that when I’m trying to figure out what to say about book four? And write book six? And remember to breathe?

IAMNOTACOMPLETELYNEWAUTHORBUTIAMSTILLFIGURINGALL
THISOUTANDTHEREISAFINITEAMOUNTOFRAMINMYHEADAND…

So I got on a plane. Flew to my parents (it was a scheduled trip, but after the past month, and knowing what’s coming in the month ahead, I was really looking forward to being on a plane with no Internet for an hour and a half.)

I put on my earphones to discourage the negative Nelly next to me (note to flyers: NEVER open to your seatmate with a story about a plane crash. IT IS BAD LUCK!) settled in, and the second the bell dinged, I dove. I listened to some MUSE, some METRIC, then hit shuffle and closed my eyes. The first song that came on was Sarah McLachlan’s ANGEL.

Which is the theme song for book six.

Which I haven’t heard forever because I forgot I made it the theme song for book six.

Because I am an idiot.

And everything fell into place with one of those big huge cosmic CLICKS!

I suddenly remembered what I wanted to do with book six. I realized what I needed to talk about on the road for THE COLD ROOM. I remembered the joy and the agony of writing ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS, and where I was four years ago, no deal, no books, no worries. I remembered that I have people, people who love me even when I’m being selfish, who want so much for me and put up with my nonsense.

I found my center.

I opened my Moleskine and started writing. I laid out everything I wanted to touch upon during the tour. I worked on the standalone. I worked on a short story. I made notes on THE PRETENDER. I listened to Angel over and over, and the blood, sweat and tears I’ve been putting in for the past four years just flowed onto the page.

I got off the plane feeling better than I have in months.

2009 was a rough year for many of us. Ours was particularly rough on the non-JT side of the fence, but a great one for JT. Which threw a great big rift into my ability to keep the two separate. I’ve been spinning my wheels for months now – working but not feeling wholly involved, promoting but resenting it, writing but feeling a spark missing.

That fire relit itself on the plane, because I had to think back, truly reach back in my mind, to remember something about my debut novel. I’m sitting here on my parents couch, looking at the waves, remembering how it all began.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?

Next time, I’m going to bore you to tears with all kinds of details about THE COLD ROOM. It was the most difficult book I’ve ever written for a number of reasons, and I’m ready to talk about that.