In which I almost made like the pope

The husband and I had a very nice time in St. Louis this weekend, although all I saw of the place was the Westin and the convention center. (Had a VERY yummy lunch at Kitchen K, so if you're in the vicinity, I recommend the fried chicken.) Anyway, the weather was uncooperative at best, but we always have fun together and the work event we were attending for him was forty kinds of bizarre which means we had LOTS to talk about. But the longer we were in St. Louis, the stranger it seemed there. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a very nice city. Perhaps TOO nice...in fact, by Sunday morning I had developed a theory. I don't think there are any human folks in St. Louis at all. I think it's some sort of extraterrestrial experiment where entities from another galaxy are emulating humans and testing the waters before they invade Manhattan. You think I'm kidding? I give you the following exhibits:

*the cabdriver who drove us across downtown and waved off the fare when my husband wanted to pay with his corporate card saying, "Oh, that's alright, just catch me another time. It's too much trouble to run the machine."

*the waitress who wouldn't charge me for my tea because she only had plain black tea and no Earl Grey and "couldn't possibly charge for something that wasn't first choice".

*the other cabdriver who gave my husband back part of his tip because it was too much money.

*the waitress who wouldn't let me order off the breakfast menu but insisted I use the buffet at the Westin because a la carte oatmeal was too expensive and then worried that I didn't get enough Greek yogurt.

*the TSA agent at the airport who helped take all of my things out of the four assorted gray plastic bins after they had been scanned and smiled while he was doing it as his colleague was helping my husband unpack his electronics

There is a pattern there of a distinctly Stepfordian bent. Added to that is the fact that the entire time we were there, we saw NOT ONE SINGLE pedestrian downtown. Granted, the weather wasn't great, but there were some patches of clear and still not a single living soul ventured onto the city sidewalks. Say what you like, that is just not normal. I was getting extremely nervous until we had lunch in the airport and the waitress helped herself to the coins from my lunch change. (Clearly the advance efforts for alien colonization missed one. Either that, or they are getting MUCH better at emulating human behavior.)

Now lest you think I am being critical of St. Louis, let me say that the people are extremely friendly, and I don't think I have ever seen a major sports facility as nicely done as Busch Stadium. I mean, honestly, it's all red brick and black iron and it just looks like someone actually THOUGHT about what it would look like when they were finished instead of pouring a mess of concrete and calling it a day. It reminds me of an old-fashioned ballpark, and I am genuinely sorry to have visited out of season and missed my chance to see the Cardinals play there.

But my pope reference has nothing to do with St. Louis itself. It was the flight home that had me mentally reviewing my Last Will and Testament, updated just last year--by a very nice man who informed me that I apparently now have a "literary estate" and who seemed rather tickled at having to dispose of it for me. Anyway, my husband and I amused ourselves at the Philadelphia airport by watching what looked like the cast of "Saved by the Bell" service our teeny-tiny twin-prop plane, but it did not seem at ALL funny an hour later when we hit a hailstorm and got bounced around like whiffle balls. We dropped so far and so hard I came up out of my seat more than once, and only avoided concussion because I had my seatbelt strapped so tightly I could feel it in my liver. I sincerely hoped that Screech had done everything he needed to in order to make sure that little plane didn't shake itself apart, and bless him, he apparently did because it all held together. (I was not at all comforted by the fact that we had changed seats at the last minute to get exit row leg room since the exit door was rattling like a set of maracas and seemed entirely capable of just popping off entirely.)

But there was an off-duty pilot in the row behind us, and I kept telling myself that if he wasn't nervous, neither was I, but let's be honest here, I was about five minutes away from the mother of all conniption fits, and I was EXTREMELY grateful when we emerged on the other side of that storm intact. I wasn't sure whether to kiss the pilot or kick him, but when he popped out of the cockpit, GRINNING, and said, "Little bumpy back there?" I gave serious consideration to pitchforks and baling wire, but I just didn't have the energy left in my poor white knuckles to hold the torch. And when did they start letting twelve-year olds fly commercial airliners? I KNOW he wasn't old enough to shave yet, and I strongly suspect he stole his daddy's pilot's license. Someone ought to look into it...

In which we talk glamour

This blog entry was originally posted on the Blog A Go-Go on November 25, 2007--a general musing on what elements it takes to achieve glamour.

*Age. A woman needs to be at least thirty before she can achieve glamour, and even that is a stretch. With age comes confidence and the ability to be comfortable in one's own skin, as the French say. It takes a few decades for a woman to make friends with her idiosyncrasies. (I refuse to call them flaws.) That confidence is utterly essential for a woman to be truly captivating. She has developed a personal style. She knows what haircut flatters her bone structure, what fragrance suits her own natural scent. She has made a study of herself and understands the importance of her walk and her voice. She has an entire arsenal of weapons at her disposal, and wields them all with grace and enthusiasm.

*Discipline. For a woman to be truly glamorous, she must be groomed. Ragged nails, torn cuticles, drooping hems, worn heels, limp hair, battered handbags, chapped lips--these are the hallmarks of a woman who places a higher priority on everything else in her life besides her appearance. Walk into any grocery store in the country and you will see exactly what I'm talking about. There will be women, a LOT of them, sporting bedheads and wearing their husbands' sweatshirts. If that's how they choose to present themselves to the world, well, bless their hearts. They are going to be comfortable, but they won't be remotely fabulous. (And I am darkly suspicious of any woman who claims that rolling out of bed and going in public without the slightest swipe of makeup, wearing unflattering clothes and mandals, is truly comfortable.) It takes effort to put your best foot forward, and that foot should be decently shod. Personally, I take half an hour to get ready, and that includes the time it takes me to dress, a perfectly respectable investment for the day, I think.

*Mystery. You have to leave something to the imagination to be glamorous. I am beyond tired of the "crotch-watch" shots being taken of every young starlet in Hollywood. Never mind the fact that their mothers should have taught them how to get in and out of a car without flashing their nethers. Someone should have handed them a copy of Forever Amber and sat on them until they read it. There is one pivotal scene during which Amber, trying to retrieve the attentions of the king, puts on a flamboyant and faintly obscene display of flesh in public. Too late, she realizes that by flaunting herself she has permitted herself to be judged and found wanting by anyone and everyone. She has offered herself as a public commodity, and cheapens herself irretrievably. (Sound familiar?) In our show and tell culture, we know FAR too much about celebrities these days, and most of it is seriously distasteful. (They should also be given a copy of The Lingerie Handbook and forcibly restrained from going out in public until they can write an essay on the importance of underclothing. If nothing else, they should be taught that undergarments themselves can be devastatingly glamorous.)

*A sense of humor. A woman with eyes like a dead fish--serious and cold--will never be glamorous. Women like Constance Bennet and Carole Lombard were beautiful, yes, but they were also funny and engaging and able to appreciate the absurdity of life. Nothing is as alluring as a person who is having fun. Fun is seductive, and a plain woman who knows how to enjoy herself will always score over a dull beauty.

*Intelligence. A plain woman can achieve glamour with a great deal of effort. A stupid woman never can because she lacks the imagination to conjure a better version of herself. She will never cast herself as the heroine of her own story because she has no story.

*Self-awareness. A glamorous woman is aware of the effect she has, and she uses it quite deliberately. Glamour is never an accident. It is purposefully reaching out to draw others into the warmth of your charmed circle. A glamorous woman knows precisely how to make you feel comfortable and is genuinely interested in enjoying your company. She understands that when she smiles at you, she can leave you dazzled. She loves to turn on her full charm and watch you fall under her spell--a glamoury is an enchantment, remember. She knows that she is not always the most beautiful woman in the room, but she is always the woman who has put the most thought into herself and into you. She knows that simply by holding herself like a beautiful woman, by walking like a beautiful woman, by using a beautiful woman's gestures, she will be perceived as beautiful. And since glamour is an illusory quality, isn't that all that matters?

(I'm thinking Cate Blanchett might be our best role model as a glamorous woman. She is a consummate professional, usually beautifully turned out, extremely gracious, and I have never seen anything bared above her knees.)

In which I am out of town

Spending the weekend with my darling husband in a secret-squirrel location somewhere in the midwest...anyway, I'm no longer blogging when I travel, but we're still trying to pull over blog entries from the Blog A Go-Go archive, so here is one of my favorites from November 26, 2007. It's all about words--add your favorites!

Years ago I read a study which published the most popular words, chosen by sound only, not meaning. I've tried to compile a similar list for myself, although I'm sure a word or two has crept in there by virtue of its pleasant connotations rather than its euphonia.

Violet, leopard, thrust, deceiver, whisper, buttery, crescent, scandalous, bashful, sumptuous, cuttlefish, translucent, pastoral, tale, camellia, moose, bliss, perfume, mystery, embrocation, scarlet, bodice, luscious, ribbon, lascivious, silken, punish, mollusk, bivouac, implode, incantation, slipper, wistful, plum, glisten, nacreous, willow, shiver, eviscerate, feather, tumble, incense, velvet, mellifluous, limber, moon, invocation, stormy, mirage, blush, regime, tantalize, cassowary, plume, thistle, marshmallow, revenant, enthralled, benediction, creamy, pillow, vivacious, seduction, mist, ruminant, thunder, cupcake, moss, luminous, serpent, wander, stocking, fig, honeysuckle, sibilant, teacup, gossamer, salamander, invidious, supper, tumescent, pleasure, shimmer, enchant, odalisque, rapture, conjure, silver, hither, relucent, plangent, capture, plaintive, destrier, tempest, ocelot, aqua, fallow, mermaid, serendipitous, ponder, pluperfect, veil, siege, trebuchet, tarantella, glassine, savage, puffin, ossuary, hoplite, incandescent, bumblebee, marionette, nascent, illuminate, madrigal, lilypad, pearlescent, toadstool, escarpment, autumn, madeira, tassel, tuffet, pomander, quicksilver, epistle, parasol, picaresque, epaulette, fable, tulle, salsify, seraphim, illuminate, myth, tortoise, galleon, fortuitous, galleon, feverfew, gust, corsair, forbidden, sacred, smoky, caravan, amaranth, rosary, lush, basque, leather, mystique, voluptuous, paisley, glamour, wisteria, russet, ellipsis, glissade, chrysalis, pellucid, lucifer, invidious, oubliette, statuesque, inviting, hermitage, escapade, desire, glorious, champagne, voluminous, turret, soliloquy, violin, dulcet, phantom, alchemy, castanet, scriptorium, palanquin, wolfish, bellicose, vicious, cygnet, whimsical, whisker, capricious, mulberry, lashing, lilac, fenestration, forthright, testament, melancholy, calypso, gloved, malicious, weep, lust, lubricious, sparkle, sympathy, ensorcel, woebegone, nautilus, vicarious, pessary, flutter, dolorous, rampant, phantasmagorical, sylvan, passementerie, ambrosia, villainess.

It occurs to me that this could be the vocabulary list for a very interesting tale.

In which I am book purging

The very hardest kind of purging, don't you know? Parting with books is like parting with friends, or at least acquaintances, and shoving them into grocery bags for the trip to the library donation rack is like deliberately avoiding someone on the street to whom you really OUGHT to say hello. (I can't even tell you which books I purged because it feels like gossiping. That's not normal, right?) I'm purging from the "novels I love" shelves, from the "research" shelves, and sadly, from the "to be read" shelves. Some of those books I've had for years and honestly, if I haven't read them yet, I'm really not going to. Some were purchased when I planned to improve myself; some were given to me at trade shows, but all represent a moment when I thought I would commit the hours to read that particular book and cutting them loose feels a bit like shutting the door on a stray puppy. (I am going to the BookExpo this year with an iron resolve not to bring home ANYTHING unless it's something I would have happily paid enormous sums of money for retail. That should cut down my usual 30 pounds to something like 28...)

And speaking of BookExpo, I've been invited to sign in the ABA Lounge on Friday afternoon from 2-2:30 (May 29), so if you're in the Javits Center and the Saturday signings don't work for you, come by then! I have no idea what it takes to get into the ABA Lounge, but it sounds very exclusive, doesn't it? As if there would be bootleg cocktails and girls in fringed costumes selling cigarettes while Marlene Dietrich sings something sad. I suspect I may be romanticizing a tad. If this year is anything like 2007, we will all be gently melting into a pool of our own perspiration. I would not mind at ALL if it turns out to be 70 degrees and overcast in NYC this year!

In which we try to be green

Le sigh. After years of including prepaid mailers to recycle used inkjet cartridges in each new cartridge, Hewlett-Packard has replaced them with some pointless brochure. Honestly, it's enough to make my eye twitch. I get that it costs HP money to do this, but it's a painless way for consumers to help the environment, and since manufacturing computers is probably the very MOST eco-friendly activity, it's a good chance for HP to help out. By taking those little envelopes out of the package, consumers are left with piles of inkjet rubbish, and I'm sure a nice sturdy percentage of those people are NOT going to haul them all to the office supply store just to chuck them in the recycling bin. I'm sure lots of people DO, but there are plenty of folks like me who almost never set foot in the office supply store and it's not very green to make a special trip JUST to recycle, is it? Also, studies have shown over and over again that if you want a higher rate of participation in a particular activity, you have to force people to opt OUT rather than opt IN. (This is how the very clever French managed to sign almost everybody up for their organ donor program. Unlike in the States, where you have to take the trouble to check the little box in order to give, in France you have to fill out a form NOT to donate. The French are gambling on the indolence of the average person, and they are right to do so. Genius.)

Anyway, at the same time that I was trying to figure out what to do with my burgeoning collection of ink cartridges, I also had a BlackBerry and a cell phone of my daughter's to get rid of. Enter Petsmart! Near the exit is a display of prepaid mailers for cartridges AND cell phones! Just pop them in, seal them up, and drop them in the mailbox. Petsmart supports their animal charities with the proceeds from the recycling--AND, unlike HP mailers, the Petsmart mailers will hold at least 6 inkject cartridges, which will cut down massively on how many of those suckers I mail out. So I get to be a little lazier, help the environment, AND the animals. What's not to love?

In which I am purging

It's sunny and almost warm here; the daffodils and pear trees are blooming, so that means it's time to THROW STUFF OUT. I did a major clean-out in December--it was my coping mechanism for dealing with the loss of Emma the Yellow Wonder Dog--so there isn't that much to purge. I'm down to the last bastions of clutter, the things you think you miiiiiiiight need so you hang onto them with a kung-fu grip that would make GI Joe proud. This week I cleared out the memorabilia boxes--three bins of cards, letters, photos, certificates, baby bracelets, etc. We have HALF of a bin left, and we've gotten rid of enough old greeting cards to wallpaper a house. HONESTLY. Looking at that pile and adding up what we've spent over the years on pieces of thick paper embossed with glitter and sticky with sentiment was embarrassing. At the very least I could have scored a pair of good shoes out of the deal. I mean REALLY good shoes--we are a card-happy people. But since greeting cards have climbed upward in price, it's gotten to be more of a nuisance to buy them and more of a guilt-ridden activity to throw them out.

So they linger, behind refrigerator magnets and tucked into calendars, until someone furtively slips them into the garbage or recycling bin. It's enough to make a girl lose her ever-lovin' mind. The most beautiful of the cards I cut down into bookmarks, then I purged my bookmarks. Remember when Amazon used to give a free bookmark or two in every order? Yeah, I had DOZENS of those suckers. Now I have a collection of gorgeous bookmarks, most of which are fragments of famous paintings and have a snippet of a loved one's handwriting on the back. And best of all, I had enough space left over in the living room closet to put THREE LINEAR FEET of coats in there. Do you know what this means for my own closet? It can breathe again. I swear I heard my dresses sigh in relief when I pulled those coats out.

Living with coats is a new phenomenon for us. In South Texas, you have one coat and it usually isn't even lined. You wear it three days out of the year, complain LOUDLY about the bitter cold coming down the plains, blame the Oklahomans for it, and then put it back in the closet until the next twenty-minute cold snap the following February. Here in Virginia, you need coats for the following conditions: cool, cool and rainy, cold, cold and rainy, VERY COLD, and cold but turning warmer. And then you need multiples of some of those because there are few things more unpleasant than pulling on a damp coat. (Unpleasant on a scale of "things you'd rather not do on a cold morning", not unpleasant in the way that war or famine is unpleasant, of course.)

Anyway, the memorabilia is purged down to just the very best stuff, the coats have a place to live, the dresses can breathe again, and I'm looking around for what to tackle next...

In which we are SO ready for spring

Aren't we? In spite of not getting a proper snowfall until March, I am pretty much done with winter. I feel sluggish and dull and I need a nice dose of warm sunshine and some brisk breezes to blow out the cobwebs. It's time to dust off my spring books, some E.M. Delafield (the Provincial Lady series is FABULOUS) or Raphaella Barker (I would buy her books for the charming clip-art covers alone, but I happen to adore her Venetia books.)

And it's definitely time to shed the winter woolens and banish the tights to the back of the drawer. Last weekend I found this dress at Old Navy. It looks like nothing in the picture, but it is adorable on--even the color is infinitely nicer in person. (I don't know why much of the Old Navy website fails so spectacularly at providing accurate and flattering pictures of the clothes, but there it is.) The website also doesn't tell you that the dress is available in white or the most extraordinary flame orange, but it is. It FURTHER doesn't mention that in the store, it's only $25 dollars. My store was picked over in my size, but I did manage to snag the very last one in turquoise. Maybe you'll have better luck!

Finally, I'm hanging out all this week over at eHarlequin, answering questions about research, so come by and let's visit!

In which we talk literary role models

This entry was originally posted on the Blog A Go-Go on November 28, 2007.

One of the great pleasures of reading, particularly when you're a child, is the chance to find inspiration, role models who demonstrate how to live with courage and verve and style. Here are a few of my favorite heroines from literature:

*Jo March, Elizabeth Bennet, and Scout Finch. Little Women, Pride & Prejudice, and To Kill a Mockingbird. I'm grouping these three together because they are pretty much universal. I have never known a girl from the South who didn't want to be Scout, nor have I ever met a woman who wanted to be any other March or Bennet sister.

*Scarlett O'Hara and Amber St. Clair, Gone With the Wind and Forever Amber. Alright, I know these two are a little unconventional for role models, but hear me out. They both manage to give the impression of being much more beautiful than they really are. They both struggle to create lives during tumultuous times, parlaying their attractions into assets. They are bright, street smart, clever, and courageous, and they are above all, survivors. (It's no accident that at the end of both books, we don't know precisely what happens to either heroine. We don't have to. After all the twists and turns, we have perfect faith that they will land on their little cat feet.)

*Jane Eyre. She was not a role model the first time I read the book, or even the second. She was too mealy-mouthed and meek for my taste. But after years elapsed, I read the book again and was astonished to find that Jane Eyre is feisty. She stands up for herself and scraps with anyone who tries to put her down or make her less than she is. She holds tightly to her moral convictions, and yet when she realizes she has a chance at happiness, she seizes it with both hands in a bold move worthy of Scarlett herself.

*Cathy Earnshaw. Wuthering Heights. I concede, Cathy made a bad end. Haunting a cold, windy moor is not precisely how most of us would like to wind up, but I would like to make the point that Cathy is at all times herself. She is one of the most authentic and self-aware characters in literature. She is not nice, and she knows it. She advertises it in fact, and makes no apologies. (And her speech about loving Heathcliff because "he's more myself than I am" gets me every time.)

*Lucy Eyelesbarrow. 4:50 from Paddington. I know it seems odd to include an Agatha Christie character here, but I am smitten with the idea of Lucy Eyelesbarrow. She is the paragon who took a first in mathematics at Oxford, but decided to become an outrageously overpriced domestic. There is nothing she can't do, and her cool competence is unshaken even in the face of murder. And it drives me MAD that we don't know which marriage proposal she accepts in the end.

*Nancy Drew. Well, of course. She meddles and snoops remorselessly, but she has a convertible and a charge card and she travels a LOT.

*Cassandra Mortmain. I Capture the Castle. I love her for the same reasons I love Jo March. She is always scribbling and always trying to fix her family. Another nebulous ending, but somehow you know everything will come right for Cassandra because she deserves a happily ever after.

*Flora Poste. Cold Comfort Farm. Ah, Robert Poste's child! I adore Flora's sense of adventure, her absolute certainty that she knows best and ought to be allowed to get on with tidying everything up. She reminds me of Emma Woodhouse, but vastly less annoying.

*The nameless heroine of Rebecca. Yes, I despised her at first for her diffidence, but after the discovery of the sunken boat, when she discovers the truth about Maxim and Rebecca's relationship, she becomes assertive and cool, certain of herself in a way she could never have been had she continued to live in Rebecca's shadow.

In which we're adding a feature

When we left the Blog A Go-Go, we left behind a rather sizable archive. It's still there for now--there are still loads of folks dropping by and I hate to just yank it away. But it does cost a wee bit to keep it hosted, and at some point I will be closing it and taking down the archive. Alas, that means the entire Blog A Go-Go would be lost, and there is no easy way to import the archive although there are a number of entries I would like to see archived here. So, starting on the 23rd of this month, every Monday will be our day to revisit an entry originally posted on the Blog A Go-Go! I haven't poked through the archive in quite a while, so I'm excited to go see what we can go dig up.

Also, if you currently link to my blog on your own blog or website, would you please take a moment to update your link to this blog if you haven't already done so? I am HUGELY appreciative of the folks who have linked me, but once the Blog A Go-Go disappears, those links will be broken and I'm still getting oodles of visitors over there on your referrals because you just rock that hard.

And something to SQUEEEE about--tomorrow night at 9pm Eastern I have a live chat at Writerspace. (Writerspace are the fabulous folks who performed the technical hocus-pocus to create my website after the delightful Jeanne designed it, and they are also handling my mailing list, newsletters, and website updates, so they are my tech gurus!) We'll be giving away a full set of the Julia Grey series, so drop by and let's visit!

In which we talk Edith Wharton again

A week or two ago, I flogged Edith Wharton's Ethan Frome as the perfect late winter read. (Don't forget--"Ghost Hunters" will be at The Mount next week.) A day or so later I was cleaning out some clippings and ran across this quote by Edith Wharton, which I absolutely love: If only we'd stop trying to be happy, we could have a pretty good time. And since I am a fervent advocate of doing LESS as often as possible, I heartily agree.

Also, a few frugal and fun reads I came across recently: The Thrift Book by India Knight and Kath Kelly's How I Lived On A Pound A Day. (She's not kidding. She actually lived on a pound a day for a year, and that includes everything but rent. I deeply admire the spirit behind her experiment, although I'm going to respectfully decline to undertake such a thing myself. For starters, hitchhiking in my neck of the woods would probably get you arrested before it would get you where you want to go...but I digress.) Knight's book has some great ideas for families on a budget and how to cut corners without cutting out the fun stuff. They are both British books and available on the UK version of Amazon.

And I have succumbed to the lure of the Twitter. If you want to follow, I'm deannaraybourn.

In which we talk Twitter

I confess, I am tempted to Twitter. I haven't succumbed yet, but I know it's just a matter of time. I haven't even gone to the site yet because I am certain it is a sucking vortex and just by clicking into it, I will be doomed to tweet forever. And honestly, at forty I ought to be immune to peer pressure, but when my friend Jerusha noted that "all the cool kids are doing it" I had immediate eighth grade flashbacks and an almost uncontrollable urge to listen to the Go-Gos and dig out my pep squad uniform. (Oh, dear Lord, I just realized I remember the ENTIRE fight song, complete with hand motions, but I have lost my multiplication tables past my fives. There is something VERY wrong about that.) So, I wonder--do you Twitter? And what do you tweet about?

In which I hit a bestseller list!

Alright, so it isn't the New York Times list YET, but Silent on the Moor was #4 on the February bestseller list of the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association! (It is a great consolation since I did not win the Dilys Award. Big congratulations to Sean Chercover whose book Trigger City DID win! I TOLD y'all I was going to be the Susan Lucci of the Dilys Award...but hey, a girl's got to be known for something, right?) Anyway, I am full up with happy about making the bestseller list, and as always, big huge licky love to the indie booksellers!

And speaking of indies, the photo is from my reading and signing at The Fountain Bookstore in Richmond this past weekend. (The place is so cozy that I swear if they handed me a pot of tea and a dog I would just live there.)

In which we catch up

So this past Saturday was my speaking engagement followed up by a signing at the ever-cool Fountain Bookstore in Richmond. What a day! I was good for NOTHING on Sunday and my voice is just now back to normal--you wouldn't think talking about yourself all day is that tiring! But it was great fun. The Virginia Romance Authors are forty kinds of cool and so gracious it was impossible to be nervous with them. And the signing was a delight thanks to Kelly, Tess, and Heather and the fabulous readers who traveled in some nasty weather to get there. (We had a charming crew who traveled all the way from Indianapolis just for the signing!) I read and we had a most excellent Q&A with some fantastic questions--most of which I've never been asked before which is always a treat. Thanks, y'all!

And on Sunday, I FINALLY got my iphone! My BlackBerry had provided endless frustrations, mostly because I could never access the internet or figure out the troubleshooting features, but this iphone is so sweet, I may sleep with it under my pillow. I haven't even downloaded my wishlist of apps yet and I adore it. (I particularly love the fact that it streamlines my travel gear HUGELY. For short trips, it's all I need--no camera, ipod, Kindle, flash drive, etc. Just my phone! Completely fabulous.

Now, to answer again a few of the FAQs that are much more FA than ever:

*Silent on the Moor is NOT the last Julia Grey book.
*The next book is The Dead Travel Fast and is not part of the series. It will be out in March '10.
*The next Julia Grey novel, as yet untitled, will be out in October '10.
*I write as fast as I can. I know you're eager to find out what happens next, and I'm thrilled that you are, but the publishing business is like unto the mills of the gods: it grinds exceedingly slowly. I am finishing The Dead Travel Fast as we speak, and yet it won't be published for a year. Just the nature of the beast, and lots of variables go into the publication schedule, but it is set FAR in advance--we're talking YEARS here--by the publisher.

In which we talk about glamour

There's so much gloom and doom with the financial news these days, a girl hardly likes to turn on the television or check the headlines on her favorite news site. And yes, things are rather dire and ought to be taken seriously. But it seems to me that when you are feeling beset on all sides, it is the VERY time to make an effort to look good. You will feel better, a definite confidence-booster if you're trying to land a job or keep the one you have. If nothing else, you will have made your own day, and the day of everyone else around you, better, and that's always a good thing. So, here are a list of my favorite budget glamour blogs. Post yours in the comments to round out the list!

Already Pretty: I'm a huge fan of Sal's, not just for her devotion to pulling it all together, but because she tirelessly preaches the message of loving what you've got. And she's promised me a quesadilla if I ever get to her neck of the snowy woods!

Make Do Style: One of the myriad fabulous Brit-blogs. (I don't pretend to know why the same t-shirt selling at Target can seem twice as glamorous if it comes from a British store, but there it is.)

The Budget Babe: Bills her blog as fab without a fortune, and it is. She is a great trendspotter, highlighting celebrity and runway looks on a dime.

Broke and Beautiful: Youthful, but with plenty of good stuff for a forty-year old like me. Definitely worth checking out.

Budget Chic: Photographs her daily looks for some serious inspiration.

Economy of Style: A MAJOR favorite. Photographs her daily looks and tells you where everything came from and how she decided to put it together. If she dressed me every day I would be a happy girl indeed.

What I Wore Today: Fantastic use of color and she looks like SO much fun--the kind of girl you'd go shopping with and get giggly over a pitcher of margaritas.

In which I am signing today!

Today I will be signing at The Fountain Bookstore in Richmond at 2pm. (1312 East Cary Street). I adore The Fountain. It's small and quirky with all kinds of interesting things to read. I always find something divine to read there, and the staff is GREAT fun. Come by if you're in the area!

Before the signing I'm speaking to the Virginia Romance Authors. The topic is "From the Brontes to the Blogosphere: Finding Your Voice." I'm nervous. Shhhhh....don't tell them. But as I told y'all on the Blog A Go-Go, I had the epiphany last year when I realized I choose fear. So I expect this will be tremendous fun, and when I'm done, I'll have one less thing that makes me nervous, right?

In which we talk Jane Austen

Because, frankly, it's been too long. We haven't had a single Jane Austen post at the new blog! Oh, the shame of it all. Today I bring you a perfect piece of whimsy for a Friday--a Jane Austen heroines quiz. Which one are YOU?

My results?

Take the Quiz here!

In which we talk about spooky places

Oh, how I love a good spooky place. There are few things more enjoyable than checking out an excellent eerie spot. (Please note, I prefer spooky to cursed and completely creepy. No WAY will you find me hanging out at the Bunnyman Bridge...) I once spent a maddening ten minutes between clots of tourists trying to detect a ghost in an ancient tower at Warwick Castle, and all of my favorite travel destinations have a ghost or two hanging around. So, it's no surprise that the setting for Silent on the Moor was taken from the very excellent East Riddlesden Hall in Yorkshire. If you haven't already checked out the link, DO. It's a wonderfully atmospheric place where my husband got scolded for taking a photo indoors. Momentary lapse--we forgot it was a National Trust property. The funny part is that they will let you take all the photos you want outside, but put a TOE inside the door and you're in for it. Ironically, the Hall was holding a sort of Easter scavenger hunt for kids at the time, and the place was awash in daffodils, probably looking as pretty as it ever does. And STILL, there was an air of menace that was absolutely delicious. Perhaps it's the soot on the stones or perhaps it's the sinister pond grieving on the front lawn...In any event, it was a wonderful spot and a perfect inspiration for Grimsgrave Hall. The only thing missing was a proper moor as modern development has insinuated itself close up against the boundaries of the place, but if you squint and the wind is high enough, you won't notice.

Of course, I also live in a place that's reputed to be very haunted although I have yet to see George Washington pootling around. And across the river is Bacon's Castle which is supposed to be haunted by a tremendous fireball that likes to hurl itself at visitors according to local lore. (Seriously? Because I think a fireball is probably worth the ferry ride...)

So what are YOUR local haunts? (Muchas gracias to Dan F. for unintentionally suggesting this blog topic!)

Also, I did a quick interview with the fine folks at Writing Raw. If you have aspirations of a wordy sort, check it out. They provide an online literary magazine as a forum for writers to share their work.

In which I love a clean house

Not mine, sadly. I've been tail over teakettle in revisions and I'm barely managing "tidy" these days. This means things are put away and laundry and dishes and grocery shopping are done, but we wouldn't be passing any white glove inspections. But I am thoroughly addicted to the show "Clean House" on the Style network. I mourned the loss of the Style network when we left Texas, but FINALLY, our local cable provider has seen the light and bestowed Style upon us and lo, it was good. I'm at last able to catch up on the shows I've missed over the last six years. (The last time I saw Style, Elisabeth Hasselbeck was still hosting "The Look for Less" and my two favorite shows were "Shabby Chic" and whichever Nigella series they were pimping at the time.) But now it's all Style, all the time at our house, and all is right with the world.

I am intrigued by "Clean House" for the same reason I love the BBC version of "How Clean is Your House?"--I'm a domestic voyeur. (This also explains my love of a good domestic novel: lots of AGAs and pets and garden mishaps.) I deeply enjoy seeing how other people live, both to indulge in a touch of Schadenfreude--"Well, at least my bathtub doesn't look like THAT."-- and to pick up organizing tips. I'm also fascinated by the psychology of clutter. I firmly believe that a cluttered environment is the product of a cluttered mind, and while I love my books and my occasional tchotchke, I also appreciate space to BREATHE. I'm fascinated by creative people who manage to produce their work in chaos, and I wonder why so many folks think that disorder and chaos walk hand in hand. Does Bohemia have to be MESSY? Or can it simply be eclectic but well-ordered? I know I function much better from a creative perspective when my study is tidy, but I also know that I am extremely visual and organizing in the usual ways is disaster for me. (I hear there is a book out on the subject of organizing for creative types. I need to track that down...) And you? Anarchy or alphabetical labels?

In which we coddle creativity

I don't really like that title as it makes creativity sound like eggs, but I'm trying to get this posted quickly because my self-imposed work deadline of 5pm is fast approaching and honestly, the lentils aren't going to cook themselves. (I'm experimenting with different whole grains and beans. This week it's all about the lentil.) Anyway, last week I was perusing the delightful blog, Living the Beautiful Life, and discovered a gorgeous poster she'd created for seven tried and true ways to stifle creativity. She got her inspiration from a blog post by Christine Kane, and you might enjoy reading the original post. I thoroughly concur with them ALL. And actually, the more I think about it, the more apt the metaphor of creativity as egg seems...

In which I'm watching too many musicals

The girlchild has a fondness for musical theatre and we watch a lot of musicals in our house. A LOT. I noticed that most of the musicals we've been watching feature a corset number--a song in which one or more girls dances around in their room in a corset, singing about something that has very little to do with their underwear. And yet underwear abound, really for no good reason. It's gotten to the point where I've begun a list of "corset musicals"--Jekyll & Hyde, Oklahoma, Paint Your Wagon, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Phantom of the Opera. (I'm not including Moulin Rouge because I'm limiting this to stage musicals that became films.) The husband's theory is that the corset number was introduced for the titillation factor, and I'm sure he's correct. And honestly, dancing in your underwear and singing about life isn't any stranger than gang warfare set to a kicky tune complete with fan kicks and jazz hands.

And a HUGE thank you to the readers who came out on Saturday for the signing in Williamsburg! It was so much fun to see all of you, and I am still amazed at how far some of you came. (Extra big thanks to the charming Lara from Australia and the gracious pair from Mobile and Elizabeth in the beautiful red dress, as well as all the fabulous local folks!) It was a wonderful signing--we even ran out of books!

In which you might need an end of winter book

Spring is almost here--it will actually crack 80 degrees here this weekend!--but there was a lovely snowfall last week, and I know loads of you are still bundled up and waiting for the daffodils to make an appearance. That sort of weather calls for a cold, wintry book, but now is not the time to get bogged down in something set on the Russian steppes. We need something quick, to be savored on a snowy afternoon with a pot of tea or a hot apple cider. We need Ethan Frome. Seriously, if you have not read Edith Wharton, this is a great place to start. It's a slender novel, but beautifully written. I hadn't read it in years, but I picked it up again during our snowy weekend and was absolutely riveted by the perfect moments within it. The only drawback is that Wharton is one of those writers who will occasionally cause me to burn with envy and wonder why I even bother to write, but if you're not a writer, you're in for an afternoon of pure pleasure.

Also, I was delighted to find that the crew from "Ghost Hunters" will be investigating The Mount! Edith Wharton's beautiful estate has long been deemed haunted--appropriately so as she wrote some superb ghost stories--and on March 25, the TAPS team will check it out.

In which we talk about cheap luxuries

Everyone is feeling the pinch these days, and it seems like every purchase is coming under the heading of, I want it, but do I NEED it? I have made no secret of my love of fragrance--an unfortunately costly interest at times. I recently added up how much I spent on ordering samples and felt queasy. It's not that the samples are expensive, it's that I seldom LOVE anything I sample, meaning the order was wasted. So, I'm only buying fragrance I've tested in person, and I've found a few inexpensive options that are really lovely for spring:

*Moroccan Rose from The Body Shop. My problem with most rose fragrances is that they are too over-the-top-Aunt-Bee-fussy. This one is much cleaner, with a warm musky note. Floral, but soft floral. And best of all, a decent-sized bottle is $25.

*United Colors of Benetton Unisex. (Kohl's.) The reviews say this one has lovely things like bergamot in it. I'll take their word for it. It is fresh and green, and not at all masculine. Also $25.

A few other budget-friendly splurges:

*The Body Shop Coconut Lip Butter. $8 for a pot of tropical deliciousness. It comes in a variety of other flavors, but coconut always promises warm weather and sarongs to me.

*A single truffle from your favorite chocolatier. This should be savored, not gulped down. A good-sized truffle can give you four magnificent bites if you make an event of it. And it is MUCH more satisfying than a huge, manky candy bar for very little extra.

*Flavored teas. A little jasmine elegance is just the thing for warming up a chilly afternoon. Numi makes loads of fabulous teas in exotic flavors. I even love the packaging. You can also buy single-serving tea sachets in little chiffon bags for a truly indulgent experience.

*Budget Travel magazine. Grab a copy of the newsstand and do some armchair traveling.

*Sign up for TravelZoo. You'll receive a newsletter packed with tips for fantastic bargain getaways. (My own Caribbean trip got canceled in favor of paying taxes and doing some business travel, but YOU can still pack your bags and send me a postcard.)

*Listen to Pandora. It does not get better than FREE, and with Pandora you can personalize your very own radio station.

*Bargain blogs. I have found a few great blogs for budget-friendly ideas in the kitchen. Try Poor Girl Eats Well for a savvy girl's tricks for eating fabulous things without spending a lot.

In which we talk chamber pots

Well, someone had to. Reader Amanda messaged me on Facebook to ask about the hygienic arrangements at Grimsgrave Hall in Silent on the Moor. She was surprised at Portia's reaction to finding a chamberpot under the bed because she assumed all Victorians used them. At the start of the Victorian Age, that would have undoubtedly have been true. But the Victorian Age lasted a VERY long time, and it was a time that saw probably the greatest change in domestic technology in history. When Victoria ascended the throne in 1837, even the wealthy would have used chamberpots and had their rooms lit by candles or oil lamps. By the end of her reign in 1901, electricity had supplanted gaslights in most major cities, and the first Mercedes automobile had already been designed. (If you're interested in the history of technology and its impact on society, Michelle Stacey's The Fasting Girl has a fascinating section detailing the psychological ramifications of such rapid and extraordinary changes.)

Naturally, the March sisters would have been accustomed to the latest domestic technologies--except in the matter of heating Bellmont Abbey where the Earl resists modern convenience in favor of coal fires and candles. Their London homes would have featured water closets with running water, and they would view chamberpots as primitive and unsanitary. Their reactions to the arrangements reveal a little about Julia and Portia, but the arrangements themselves reveal rather more about the Allenbys who have been content to live in such conditions despite being landed gentry. Are they merely old-fashioned? Are they romanticists? Has poverty dictated the choice or are they simple content to live a simpler life, cut off as they are from most of the modern world?

And all this talk of hygienic arrangements reminds me that one detail I omitted when I was praising the Inn Boonsboro last week: the toilets are Japanese Toro devices, with warmed seats, cleaning jets, and a dryer. And when you walk up to them, they open automatically. A very far cry from chamberpots indeed. I wonder what Portia would make of them.

In which you might be at BEA or RWA

In which case, I will see you there! My travel schedule has altered a wee bit, and it seems that I will be at BookExpo this year after all. (Which thrills me to NO end, let me tell you. Books, FREE books, as far as the eye can see...it beggars description.) So, if you're planning to attend either the BookExpo or the national conference of Romance Writers of America, come and see me! I'll be signing at both.

Also, I have a signing this Saturday, March 7, at the Barnes and Noble (New Town) in Williamsburg from 2-4pm. Stop by and say hi!

In which there was an intervention

Last weekend my family staged a gentle intervention. When they asked me to name the last day I had taken off--completely off, no writing, no e-mails, no research, no blogging, no Facebook, no interviews, no signings--I couldn't name it. Honestly, I could not remember the last day I completely unplugged with no work-related activity whatsoever. That, of course, is a recipe for all sorts of ills, most of which have been descending upon me. The antidote was a simple one: I unplugged for the whole of Sunday. The manuscript, my piles of research, my notebooks, and my BlackBerry were locked in the study with my computer and I didn't go near any of it. (I didn't even cheat and check my e-mail on my husband's laptop.)

I have to admit, I was a little concerned that cutting my electronic umbilical cords might cause me to snap and go Viking on my nearest and dearest, but in fact the opposite happened. I was RELAXED. I had worlds of time to do anything I wanted. We went shopping and bought clothes for my husband, shoes for the daughter, and perfume for me. We lazed in bed watching movies and I settled in with fashion books and travel magazines. It was bliss, pure unadulterated bliss, and it has caused me to rethink my incessant to-ing and fro-ing and some of the unreasonable expectations I've put on myself. I've re-organized my work schedule in a way that suits my mental health better but means that non-essential e-mails will take longer to return. I've also decided that instead of blogging seven days a week, I will take a proper day off and blog for six, as well as not stressing about writing blogs to go up when I'm traveling. My BlackBerry will not be turned on unless I am leaving the house, and e-mails won't be checked after 6pm. I'm feeling lighter already...

In which I celebrate the car book

The other day I was chatting with friends of mine when the subject of books came up, and it suddenly occurred to me that I may be weirder than I realized. One of my great fears in life is being stranded somewhere--anywhere--with nothing to read. I get chills just thinking about it. I never go anyplace I might have to wait without reading material. (I once tried substituting correspondence for reading, but the glitter from my Christmas cards went EVERYWHERE and I don't think the staff at the doctor's office appreciated it.) This is my secret motive for purchasing a Kindle. It isn't because I love technology and must have the latest gadget toot sweet, as we say in Texas. It's because it carries a real lot of books in a very tiny package.

Of course, my fear of running out of books dictates that my Kindle, which is loaded with back-up books, must ITSELF have a back-up, usually in the form of a mass market paperback I don't mind leaving behind somewhere. Another favorite back-up is the car book. And let me say right now, the car book is what separates the REAL readers from the poseurs. I have a teenage daughter which means I am occasionally called upon to drive her hither and yon with the understanding that I will return to hither and yon at the appointed time to pick her up. If the Kindle isn't charged or I simply lose my mind and forget to bring my present book, the car book is always waiting.

Now, the selection of a proper car book is a tricky thing. It cannot be fiction because a car book is often dipped into at random, then left alone for long periods of time. It has to be something you can pick up and put down without losing a narrative thread. (This is why biography or history are equally poor choices.) Short stories would seem to be good; they are not. Short stories never turn out to be quite short enough, and then you're left dangling, never a good thing with Dorothy Parker. No, a proper car book must be either essays or poetry, with the latter being my strong preference. (Essays must be reprints from newspaper columns to be the proper length for car book indulgence.) Poetry is PERFECT car book material. Poems are rich with metaphor and lush language; they are usually short but peopled with memorable characters.

Further, poems are perfect for setting a seasonal tone--there IS such a thing as winter or summer poetry. There is a poem for every mood. Poems celebrate the glorious and eulogize the deplorable. They are also the perfect medium in which to dabble with a different pleasure and taste a new flavor. If you usually eschew romance novels in favor of sci-fi, a few love poems are just the thing to balance you out. The best car book is one that gives a nod to your past and a nudge to a new horizon. I have made no secret of my love for Jane Austen, but my current car book is a volume of cowgirl poetry I bought in Arizona. I love it for the dusty bovine goodness, but also because it reminds me of the day I sat in the sunshine, eating fish tacos and drinking margaritas with two women I adore. I am very nearly finished with it, and for the next car book, I think I'll be feeling very Baudelaire...

In which today is the day to enter for the Kindle!

If you haven't already found the Contest page with the Kindle 2 contest, go there NOW! The Kindle 2 arrived in my hot little hands this week, and I confess, I touched it. I didn't turn it on, but I did drool a little. It is FABULOUS--much better than the original, and I'm exceedingly bitter that it is so much nicer. But a lucky reader is going to get this puppy, and I am so happy about that.

And because we can't go a week without talking fragrance, I'm deeply curious about Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. A reader recommended them the same time I happened upon their ad in BUST Magazine--no, it's not porn even though it sounds like it. Anyway, I would be intrigued by Black Phoenix even for their name alone, but the scents sound deliciously mysterious.