Words by Webb

Is it Chick Lit or Women’s Fiction?

Jodi — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 12:56:57 +0000

Recently I had an author write a blog post about chick lit vs. women’s fiction for a blog tour she was on with her latest novel. Frankly, I couldn’t wait to read it. Hopefully it would answer a few questions for me. I know what romance is: girl meets boy, girl doesn’t get boy, then girl gets boy. Ta,da. I thought I knew what chick lit was. Romance with careers and nice shoes.

So then what’s women’s fiction? “Fiction with a female protagonist that appeals to a female audience.” Oh, such fancy words! So then chick lit must be women’s fiction, right? From the look I got I guessed that women’s fiction wouldn’t give chick lit the time of day. But what’s the difference?

Female main character? Check.

Female audience? Check.

Was it the romantic relationship? Couldn’t be that. I know many women’s fiction books have romantic relationships.

The careers? Many characters in women’s fiction have careers.

Could it be the shoes? Nice shoes—chick lit. BOGO from Payless—women’s fiction.

And what about when the main character has a great career, great shoes(even great shoes on her book cover), but doesn’t get the guy. That SO isn’t the chick lit way! So does that make it women’s fiction?

My head is spinning. I’m sick of sticking labels on every book. Can we just go back to calling them books?

The author I was talking about with books that just don’t fit is Margo Candela. Her latest, Good-bye to All That, looks like chick lit, reads like chick lit, but(spoiler alert)she doesn’t get the guy in the end. So is it still chick lit? Does it matter?

I enjoyed Good-bye to All That. It was a fast read and, just like real life it was a crazy mish-mash of Raquel’s love life, family life, and career. Just when everything was going well in her career, it all came crashing down. Raquel was left scrambling to try and save her job. And of course at that same time both her parents and her brother developed marital troubles and enlisted Raquel as referee. And, not to look a gift horse in the mouth but, just when she absolutely no time for it, she finds herself in the middle of an unexpected love affair.

If you’d like a chance to win a copy of Good-bye to All That check out her WOW Blog Tour. Scroll all the way to the bottom of the page for a list of her upcoming dates.

And the Winner Is…

Jodi — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 16:30:55 +0000

Meant to announce the winner of The Quick and the Thread book earlier but my computer did terrible things Wednesday through Sunday. More on that later! For now, the winner is Denim so if you could send me a snail mail I’ll get the book out to you. You’ll love it!

Ready to be the guest star?

Jodi — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 06:02:55 +0000

Want to promote your blog, book, writing event? One easy way is to guest post on a blog.

The Muffin, the blog for WOW-Women on Writing, is looking for short posts(500 words or less)from writers about women and writing. Everything from essays to markets to tips to events. Anything and everything! Oh, and you don’t have to be a woman!

Send your Friday “Speak Out” to Marcia Peterson at marcia@wow-womenonwriting.com

Check out the Muffin at http://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/

While we’re on the subject of guest posting I’m looking for a few writer blogs to trade posts with. I’ll share my followers with you if you share your followers with me

The Wishing Trees by John Shors

Jodi — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 06:35:52 +0000

A few months ago I did a review of John Shors’ historical novel Beside the Burning Sea.

Next month he’s releasing his fourth book a contemporary novel The Wishing Trees. I haven’t read it but John did send me some info and an excerpt. John has a neat habit of giving to a particular charity connected to his books. Through the proceeds of Dragon House and direct donations from readers, he raised enough money to buy sets of school books for 900 street children in Vietnam. Who will benefit from sales of The Wishing Trees? The Arbor Day Foundation, of course. John’s goal is to raise enough money to plant several thousand trees.

Check out his website for more on his books, signings, twitter, Facebook and all the other jazz!

Take it away John…

America

Two as One

“When one door closes, another one opens.” —American saying

Ian watched Mattie sleep, her body curved as if still pressed against his, her arms resting on a pillow that he had carefully positioned alongside her torso. The pillow acted as his body double on many nights, comforting her in his absence, offering her warmth and the remnants of his scent. The king-sized bed made his ten-year-old daughter seem so small. She looked too fragile and lonely, as if she might come unbound without him beside her.

As it often did, the sight of Mattie sleeping brought tears to Ian’s eyes, since in most every way she was an image of her deceased mother. Several years earlier, Mattie had compared herself to what she saw in a nearby park. Her hair, she said, was the color of an oak tree’s bark. At some point the sky must have dripped into her eyes, she was certain, because they were the same hue as what she saw above. Her mother had then asked Mattie where her freckles came from, and Mattie paused, glancing around the park. She finally replied that her freckles were tiny pieces of leaves that had fallen onto her face while she napped.

Ian reflected on how Mattie and Kate had often spoken like that—as if they shared the same mind and view of the world. Mattie didn’t try to copy her mother, to make her mother’s characteristics her own. Rather, Mattie just seemed to be a miniature Kate, as if Kate’s DNA had been neatly sorted and stacked into Mattie’s mannerisms and thoughts. Like her mother, Mattie was artistic and curious. Her heart was filled with her mother’s love and laughter. Most everywhere the three of them had gone together, Mattie and Kate held hands—even when Mattie’s friends became too old for such public displays of affection.

Ian lowered himself to the edge of the bed nearest Mattie. This had been Kate’s side, and he ran his fingers over the sheets that had once warmed her. Even though ten months had passed since he’d last touched her skin, the ache of her loss was as intense as if she had died the day before. He still felt empty and incomplete, as if his soul had tried to travel with hers but had been tethered to the world of stone and dirt. His soul remained trapped within him now, bereft of the magic that was once so sustaining. Through his will, and his love for Mattie, he had managed to repair parts of this trapped soul—fitting its pieces together as he might patch up a broken vase. But this element of him, he feared, would never soar again. At least not the way it once had. An injured bird might relearn how to fly, but never with the same sense of unbridled freedom. Whatever had brought the bird down would always loom in the distance.

Mattie stirred in her sleep, dislodging the sheet and blanket that Ian had pulled to her neck. He carefully repeated the process, then bent to kiss a freckle on her forehead. Glancing to make sure that both night lights were on, he stood up and stepped toward the doorway. He reached an antique mirror that Kate had hung opposite their bed, and paused. His reflection had changed so much over the past year. His six-foot frame was now slightly stooped. His hair, recently the shade of shadows, had patches of gray near his temples, a color that was slowly spreading over him, as if it were ice subjugating a pond. He had lost twenty pounds, his body now more like a college student’s than a middle-aged man’s. Even his eyes had changed—still brown, but the flesh beneath them appearing bruised.

Ian shook his head, disliking his reflection. He left the bedroom. The rest of their brownstone was almost exactly the way Kate had arranged it. Every nook and open space rekindled memories, and he wondered if their real estate agent had fielded any calls that day. He couldn’t stay inside these walls much longer. And he didn’t think that Mattie could either. Their home, Ian felt, had been murdered. Nothing remained but a skeleton.

His office gave him little comfort—only some of Mattie’s colorful sketches provided solace. He glanced at Kate’s photo, but for once his eyes didn’t linger on hers. Instead he opened his closet and picked up a neatly wrapped present, which Kate had given him ten months earlier, just three days before she died. She had asked him to promise not to open it until his birthday. And he’d kept his promise, despite many temptations.

Ian sat on a chair and placed the package on his lap. He smelled the wrapping paper, hoping that a trace of Kate might remain. He imagined her tying the bow and he kissed the neat little knot of fabric. A tear raced down his face, dropping next to the bow. Maybe her tears fell in the same spot, he thought, wishing that he could kiss her damp cheek once again.

The box carried no card, which he had thought about often over the past ten months. It wasn’t like Kate to forget something like that, as she had always loved letters. She’d detested e-mail and text messages, refusing to write to him in such a manner unless it was absolutely necessary. Her notes had come to him via pen and paper.

After taking a deep and measured breath, Ian moved his fingers to an edge of the wrapping paper. His heartbeat quickened. The back of his neck tingled. His right thumb edged back and forth as if it were on the dial of his BlackBerry. He was afraid that Kate’s gift, through no fault of her own, would wound him. And he didn’t have the strength to withstand being wounded again.

The wrapping paper resisted him. The paper was like a flag draped over a coffin, and he treated it with respect. Kate had been careful with it, and he needed to be as well. “What’s in here, my luv?” he asked softly, his thick Australian accent at odds with the sounds of Manhattan seeping through a nearby window.

A box was soon revealed—a red shoe box that he had seen her use on other occasions. He removed the lid, moving faster, and saw an envelope first. Below it were about a dozen black film canisters. Ian pursed his lips, opening the envelope, which contained a letter. The sight of her elegant handwriting made him cry. She had always written in cursive, and even facing death, and in substantial pain, her hand had been steady and unrushed.

Ian,

Did you know that you take your love with you, when you die? I am so certain of this, because during the last few months, as I’ve lain here and deteriorated, my love for you and Mattie has been growing. Nothing, these days, grows within me except my love for you two. And that love rises like a tropical grass, overshadowing everything beneath it, reaching for light and warmth. A year ago I didn’t think that I could love either of you more. But I was wrong. I was looking at a tree in front of me, a gorgeous tree for sure, but not as lovely as the forest that surrounded it. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I feel so blessed to have stumbled upon you, though surely fate brought us together. Why else would we have both decided to teach English in Japan? Me, a girl from Manhattan. You, a boy from rural Australia. The heavens must have conspired for us to meet. That was the beginning of our story. The end will never be written. The middle saw us travel the world together, create a loving daughter together.

Do you recall when we were at the Taj Mahal and our guide told us about the emperor and his wife? He loved her so much. And as she lay dying, he wondered if she needed anything. She asked him for one wish—to build her something beautiful and to visit that place on their anniversary and light a candle. That dying woman’s wish became the Taj Mahal.

Well, I have a last request, too. It may be simpler than what she asked for, but it won’t necessarily be easier. You see, I want you and Mattie to be happy. That is my last wish. I want you both to be happy after you’ve mourned me. I can’t rest in peace if either of you is miserable, so please do this for me. Be happy. Learn to laugh again. To joke. To wrestle together like you once did. Learn to be free again.

Remember how, before I got sick, we were planning to retrace our steps around Asia? To celebrate our fifteenth anniversary? Only this time, Mattie would be by our side. We were all so excited, so full of life, of joy.

I want you, my love, to take her on that same trip. See what we were all so eager to see, feel what we wanted to feel. Will you do that for me? Please? Please visit the places you and I so adored, walk the paths that we planned to walk again. Let me hear you laugh. Let me see you smile. Teach each other how to experience joy once more. Please go sometime soon, and open these film canisters when you arrive in the country that I’ve marked on the front of each canister. There are six canisters for you and six for Mattie, representing the countries on our original itinerary. Please don’t open any of them until you arrive at the proper destination.

Take my life insurance money and use it for this trip. You’ve already sold your company, and I hope that you haven’t started another one yet. There will always be time for work.

Please go on this journey. Please. I wish I could travel with you. I’m sorry I had to leave. I tried so hard to stay. I fought until I began to become a different person, until rage tainted my thoughts. Only then did I give up the fight.

Do you remember, my love, how we used to write each other poems? When you’re overseas, step outside, look at the stars, and think about those poems. I was bound to you when you wrote your first poem for me. You didn’t know it then, but you bound me to you and we can never be unbound.

Please grant me my final wish. It won’t be easy, I know. But take this trip for me, for Mattie, for yourself. Leave your footprints in foreign lands, and cherish each other along the way. You both used to joke and laugh and smile so much. One of the greatest joys of my life was watching you two laugh together. And you need to laugh again. You will laugh again.

I love you, Ian. Remember what I wrote—that we are bound together and nothing can unbind us. Not time. Not distance. Not physical separation. The love I feel for you both can’t be pulled apart, because that love is like an ocean, and you’re both the salt and the water of that ocean.

I will love you and Mattie forever.

Your Kate

Ian put his head in his hands and began to weep.

Only much later was he able to trace her words with his forefinger and think about them. He didn’t want to travel to Asia without Kate. In so many respects, such a journey would be hollow, bereft of color. And yet, their little girl seemed so lost, such a shadow of her former self. He’d tried in countless ways in countless moments to shine a light on her, to purge her of this shadow. And though sometimes his light settled on her face, these moments were as fleeting as the flight of falling leaves.

Ian reread the letter again and again until exhaustion rendered him nearly incapable of thought or emotion. Lying down beside Mattie, he pulled her close, kissing her, closing his eyes, letting darkness come to his rescue

5Ws with Amanda Lee/Gayle Trent

Jodi — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 06:16:10 +0000

On Tuesday you got my review of Amanda Lee’s latest cozy mystery The Quick and the Thread. Amanda Lee also writes as Gayle Trent. Will the real author please stand up? Well, her real name is Gayle Trent and her pen name is Amanda Lee so if you’re looking for her website, twitter or Facebook it’s Gayle Trent!
Today is special because I get to give away a copy of The Quick and the Thread. All you have to do is leave a comment! Spread the word.

When?

When did you first begin writing? When was your first mystery published?

I’ve been writing since high school. I took creative writing classes my junior and senior years, and they were so much fun. My first mystery was published in 1998. It was titled Photo Finish.

Why?

Why did you choose mystery books? Will you ever try any other genres?

I love mysteries myself and enjoy trying to figure out whodunnit. Never say never, but I’m enjoying mysteries too much to try anything new right now.

Who?

Who is your favorite mystery author?

Just one? Yikes. That’s tough. But I’m going to go with Mary Higgins Clark.

What?

What kind of jobs did you do before you began planning murders?

I was a secretary in the accounting, legal and judicial fields. And if THAT doesn’t get you to thinking about murder…. Kidding! Pretty much.

Where?

Where will your next book/series take place? Any favorite spots/areas you’d like to work into a book?

The embroidery series is set on the Oregon coast, and the cake decorating series is set in Southwest Virginia. There may be some field trips, though. I’d love for Myra and Daphne to venture up to New York, and I’d like for Marcy and Sadie to visit Marcy’s mom in San Francisco.

Don’t forget to enter to win The Quick and the Thread by leaving a comment!

I’m Visiting…

Jodi — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 10:52:29 +0000

…at the Muffin where I’m talking about some great groups for genre writers to join. Including my favorite genre–mystery!

Guess Who’s Coming?

Jodi — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 06:21:29 +0000

Firday, as part of the WOW Blog Tours, I’m having a quick visit from Gayle Trent a.k.a Amanda Lee. A spy? No, actually an author who writes mysteries under two names. As Gayle Trent she writes the Daphne Martin Cake Decorating Series and as Amanda Lee she launched her new series The Seven Year Stitch on August 3. Stop back Friday for Amanda/Gayle’s interview for the 5Ws and a giveaway of her book The Quick and the Thread.

The Quick and the Thread: An Embroidery Mystery

Author: Amanda Lee

Paperback: 336 pages

Publisher: Signet(August 3, 2010)

Synposis:

Set in the Oregon coast, The Seven Year Stitch series begins with The Quick and the Thread. In the first book Marcy Singer’s excitement about opening her own embroidery shop turns to horror when she discovers the body of the shop’s previous owner. Does someone want Marcy’s shop to fail? Frame her for the murder? Or maybe it isn’t anything personal–maybe it’s just murder! Marcy sets out to discover who brought murder to her new town.

Review:

Marcy Singer is a character you can fall in love simply because she’s so real. She talks to herself, she fights with her best friend over stupid things, she hides things from her mother. I’m worried that Amanda Lee had cameras set up in my house to get ideas for Marcy Singer! Marcy is also authentic when she proves over and over again that she just doesn’t know what’s going on. There are no miraculous flashes of inspiration, no knowledge of little known facts, and just one or two coincidences. She just muddles along, picking up a clue here and there. For a while it seems that the more she learns the less likely she’ll be to figure out who the murderer is. And in a small town where everyone is connected and Marcy is the outsider, soon the only one she can trust is her dog Angus.

This is a great mystery because the reader(at least this reader)starts to get a feel for what might have happened but…you can’t quite wrap your head around it. Amanda Lee gives you just enough clues to whet your appetite but not enough that you’re saying, “Of course, Mr. X did it!” She also remembers that solving the crime is about means, motive, opportunity. By giving just about everyone in town the identical means and motive she makes it even more fun to disentangle the threads that lead to the one person who decided to deal their enemy a fatal blow.

Note: If you aren’t an embroiderer(I’m not)just wanted to let you know that embroidery doesn’t play a key role in the murder or its solving. It’s just mentioned as Marcy’s career and hobby.

5Ws with Pamela Grandstaff

Jodi — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 07:40:19 +0000

I’ve had fun reading Pamela Grandstaff’s first two mysteries Rose Hill and Morning Glory Circle(incidentally two of my favorite flowers). Pamela is as sweet as the flowers she names her mystery books after. When she heard I’d given away my copy of Rose Hill to a lady working on a church committee with me(actually there was a bit of an argument over the book but the ladies decided to pass it around!) she sent me a replacement. I’ve marked on my calendar that her new book Iris Avenue is coming out in October(my birthday month)and the kids have been put on notice that this would be a great birthday gift for me. By the way Pamela, I have irises in my garden too. Can I make a suggestion for book number four? Lilacs! They’re my absolute favorite!

Who?

Who is your favorite mystery author?

Dorothy Sayers. Harriet Vane from the Peter Wimsey books is my favorite mystery series character. I re-read Gaudy Night and Busman’s Honeymoon once a year, and thoroughly enjoy that the brilliant, sophisticated, upper class detective falls for the independent, brainy nerdette, and better yet, has to work hard to convince her to marry him. That’s my idea of the perfect romance.

What?

What would you be doing if you weren’t writing mystery books?

I love to design houses I may never build and work on graphic design projects.

Why?

Why did you begin writing mysteries?

Due to some big changes in my life a few years ago I started staying home most of the time when I wasn’t working, to care for a family member. At first I wrote just for myself, as a creative outlet in the evenings. I made up some characters, put them in a town, and after I got bored with that I decided to make the story a mystery. Suddenly the writing became challenging in a way it hadn’t been and I became passionate about what I was doing.

Where?

Where do you live?

I grew up one of those preacher’s kids who moved every couple years so I was always the new kid in school. I once lived in a town with a population of 400, and I’ve also lived in some pretty big cities. I’ve come to realize that it’s being near family (either the one you got stuck with or the one you make) that makes a place feel like home.

When?

When would you write a mystery if not in contemporary time?

I’d secretly like to write Harry Potter-esque magical mysteries under a pseudonym. My inner twelve-year-old is already awake and spazzing over the idea.

Anything new coming up?

The third book in my Rose Hill Mystery Series, Iris Avenue, is coming out in October in trade size paperback and Kindle e-book on Amazon.

Rose Hill looks like the perfect place to browse for antiques, grab a quick bite to eat, or drink a pint with the friendly locals. Underneath the polished veneer of this charming college town, however, lies something old and rotten that’s about to be revealed.

When the bloody trail of a drug-dealing turf war leads back to Rose Hill, Police Chief Scott Gordon finds his investigation complicated by a rabidly ambitious county investigator and a swarm of FBI agents. When all his preconceived notions of right and wrong are called into question, Scott must decide if upholding the law is worth sacrificing the very people he has sworn to protect.

Feisty bookstore owner Maggie Fitzpatrick still has not forgiven Scott for a mistake he made in the past. Maggie’s safe and orderly world is rocked by the return of the love of her life, a man who mysteriously disappeared seven years before. Although he’s not the man she thought she knew, he still has the power to overwhelm her senses and tempt to her to abandon everything she holds dear.

It’s a bitterly cold March in Rose Hill and dark clouds gather like an ominous warning. The suspects and victims have returned to the scene of an old crime; now all must face the consequences of the choices they made years ago.

I feel like I need to go “Dun, dun, dun!” after that last sentence. LOL.

Happy Reading,

Pamela

Visiting Your Favorite Characters

Jodi — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 08:38:16 +0000

This week–just because I’m in a mood– I’ll be all about mystery writers and books. So if you like mysteriers you’re in luck!

They(who are they anyway?)always say if you’re going to have a blog you should be unique. Have a slant. Have a hook. When did I start talking like this? Anyway…I found a blog with a memorable slant and I can’t believe they don’t have more readers. Killer Characters features posts by mystery characters(not authors–the actual characters). Sometimes they even post in response to another character’s post. I love it. Check it out at Killer Characters.

Super Contest and Book Review

Jodi — Fri, 06 Aug 2010 06:21:45 +0000

Did I let you know about Therese Walsh’s super contest to celebrate the release of the paperback version of her novel The Last Will of Moira Leahy? On Facebook 51 authors are giving away 2 books each–more than 50 winners. Don’t forget, to enter you have to “like” Therese’s facebook page.

The Last Will of Moira Leahy

Author: Therese Walsh

Paperback: 304 pages(also available as Kindle, Hard Cover, and Large Print)

Publisher: Three Rivers Press (August 3, 2010)

Synposis:

Maeve was the fun loving twin; Moira was the quiet twin. Eventually, young love began changing Moira when they were 16 years old. But then tragedy struck. After Moira’s death, Maeve became more like her—quieter, more orderly, even boring.

After a decade of being a shadow of herself, Maeve wins a keris or Japanese dagger that reminds her of her childhood playing pirates with Moira. Not long after she finds her life plunged into chaos: anonymous notes, travel to Rome, and a strange riddle with roots in the past to unravel. Is Maeve’s adventure a gift to jolt her out of her routine existence or a punishment manipulated by a twin from beyond the grave?
Review:

Starting out I had three problems with this book romance, flashbacks, and paranormal. Three things I’m not crazy about. Well, The Last Will of Moira Leahy called me on all three.

I began thinking this story would be about a woman’s youthful romance and her adult romance. But it was the tale of two twins’ relationship and how it continued to unfold, with the surviving twin still being affected by her sister even after they were separated. Flashbacks can often be clunky and confusing but Walsh managed to weave them into the story in a natural way. Bravo! And the paranormal—or does it only seem paranormal?—provides the book’s biggest surprise.

Some books I think of as double reads. I want to speed through them, anxious to discover what happens to the characters. Caught up in the twists and turns of a wild plot. Then, as soon as I finish, I want to flip back to page one and read again so I can luxuriate in the descriptions, the settings, the side stories. The Last Will of Moira Leahy is a double read.

Even though it’s summer don’t just stick The Last Will of Moira Leahy in your “beach reads” pile. It’s great for curling up with a cup of hot chocolate, for your book club, and for your gift list. I think this book will appeal to many different types of readers. I recommended it to my mom and we rarely like the same book!