How does being an author affect the way in which I view and interact with the world, the way in which the world looks at me? I’ve been thinking about this for a little while because of the happy-daunting-exciting-terrifying circumstances in which I find myself.

What kind of creature is an author in the eyes of the world? I’ve heard many compare an author to his or her work. I mean, wouldn’t you be surprised to find that your favourite writer of sweet inspirational romances is a whiskey swilling, black leather, motorcycle mama with a tattoo that promises that White Snake is forever? But our own minds can trick us. An author is never so simply a reflection of their work. Their work is but a part of the whole—which includes experiences that aren’t reflected in the book, a wife or husband, children, a nagging mother-in-law, perhaps another job that pays those pesky bills, an unholy passion for shoes, or a troublesome habit they’ve been trying to kick.

When I have ‘met’ other authors—whether it is because they are on tv and Oprah is making them supremely famous in the span of a 10 minute segment, in a book store signing copies of their latest release, or more likely, as an online presence promoting their work—my experience has often been very good. These are fabulous people. Charismatic and friendly and relaxed. I had to wonder how they do it. I can easily imagine how hard it is.

How do you go from working day in and day out at a job that is unarguably one of the most solitary endeavours known to man, and then magically become a social butterfly when called upon? Whether you are writing for publication or not, the act of writing is a very private thing that comes from deep inside, and those words are hard to share in any other way than on the white page. I’ve known many authors who have said that their writing is their social expression, and they find it hard to communicate as effectively in person—they are tongue-tied in public, shy, withdrawn.

But in the world of publication, an author cannot avoid the task of marketing if they want their books to sell. And so he or she must venture out of that safety zone. Out of the place that they know—their own mind, LOL. There are of course, many authors that don’t have this problem and I wish they would write a book on that. But for the others—those who sometimes have difficulty going to a public venue where they may have to stand and say something to a group, or who find themselves meeting more and more people online as they try and promote their work—overcoming the anxiety becomes a task just as daunting as completing that first novel, or waiting expectantly for that first rejection letter.

It takes a lot of work to go against something so ingrained, and you’ve really got to hand it to the authors in this business today. Internet has made things so very different than it used to be—an online presence is almost a physical thing, much more so than the odd book signing. In many ways it’s more intimidating and scary—a blog interview can reach thousands and thousands of people in the blink of an eye across the entire world. But at the same time promotion online can also be so much easier. You can technically keep your writing hat on since it is still only your words that people are seeing (and maybe a very nice back cover photograph that has been digitally shopped to get rid of that pesky pimple that showed up just in time for the photo shoot).

So what has gotten me started thinking of all of this? Well, my happy news is that my Immortals series has been picked up by Linden Bay Romance and the first book, My Immortal will be available in May, 2008!!

Come along for the ride with me!

I need all of your support in this brand new journey. I need your help to venture from my world of bold, tormented Immortals, brave, feisty women and evil demons, for long enough to tell you all about them!

J.K. Coi
Immortals to die for

I DID IT!! I DID IT!! I DID IT!!




As of November 29, 2007 at 12:00 a.m. in the freakin' morning...
I have written 50,215 amazing, beautiful words!

Thanks everyone for your tremendous support and encouragement and interest. I feel like I should be holding a really heavy gold-plated award while I write this (I did NaNoWriMo and all I got was this stupid t-shirt), but it's true that I couldn't have done it without all of you, my family and friends...

Especially my husband and my son, who have been amazingly understanding of my need to do this even though it meant they haven't seen me in weeks, and even though I've gotten crankier and crankier as the words got harder and harder to write. During this last week, my son had gotten fond of saying: "Mommy it's okay, you keep working. I'll see you next year." (he's only five and he thinks tomorrow is next year, but it didn't make it any easier to hear!)

And my poor husband has had it the hardest during my absence this month, having to pick up all the slack with the house, flooding basements, an acre's worth of leaves to rake in the yard, birds in the chimney, running all the errands, taking the kid to hockey and swimming and doing homework and tons more...and I love him so much!!!!

To everyone who has had to listen to me ramble on and on and on about this character or that one, or the holes in my manuscript that kept driving me crazy...thankyou--and I'm so sorry. I'll call in a day or two (after I get some sleep) and I won't mention the book at all, I promise. Okay, maybe just to--No, I won't. Not at all. Unless you want to hear about it, but then only if you ask...or I ask you and you say it's okay. :)

I want to also say thankyou to my friends the Vanettes--a group of fabulous, talented writers who have taken me under their wing so to speak in this last year, and who have all shown me so much support and encouragement in the constant development of my writing. Without them, I don't think I would have ever tried this in the first place.

My coworkers have been really supportive too--at least those who know what the hell I was doing this last month. It's kind of funny really (although I may not think so when this new rep of mine is still hangin' round my neck in another year), but since I'm pretty new in the office, not many people know me, or know what I do 'on the side'--so after this month they are all positive that I'm a crazy anti-social madwoman who's probably been playing Halo3 on that laptop in the mornings before work and at lunchtime. :)

Anyway, celebrate with me. I'll be on cloud nine...starting tomorrow. Right now I'm going to bed. :)

You may have noticed that I've been pretty busy, and if you've read this blog before, if you've been unlucky enough to talk to me on the phone, or via email or in a post somewhere else online--basically if you've spoken two words to me in any format at all within the last six weeks--then you already know the reason.

I'm in NaNoWriMo mode. And my god has it been hard!!

When I started this I thought--how bad can this really be? I write every day as it is, so this will just be a few more hundred words on my daily count, right? *snort*

Okay, I was wrong. And it wasn't the first time believe it or not.

The difference is in how you write for Nano. The challenge is not only to get the required wordcount by the end of the month, but also to have a completed novel by then. Which means you have to "keep moving forward" (I'm stealing from Walt Disney here folks).

There's no editing in Nano. There's no going back to fix. There's no layering. There's only crappy, incohesive, incomprehensible writing.

Now, I've learned in the last few days that I can be okay with that. But at about the halfway mark when I saw what was coming out of my brain onto the screen I wanted to cry and scream and go back and erase the whole lot of it. How can I work like this, I thought. I'm very methodical usually, and it was killing me to see all of the glaring holes and problems with the storyline and not have the time to fiddle with it and fix it.

But I realize that after Nano is done, the fixing will come later. That's the whole idea isn't it? To at least get a first draft of something down. To prove that you can take an idea from start to finish (no matter how terrible it is). The fixing can come later, after the rush and exhileration of having actually met that goal fades and you get back to real life.

For anyone who's interested, you're very welcome to visit my page at the NaNoWriMo website to track my progress. So far I'm not doing to badly, but I could use all the support I can get.

http://www.nanowrimo.org/user/208090

See you at the finish line!

It's almost that time my friends, NaNoWriMo will begin in just three more weeks. :)

What is NaNoWriMo? You mean besides a really awkward word to have to spell?

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. That's right. There's a month set aside for everything now.

November is the month. Writing is the goal. A Novel. In 30 DAYS!

Actually, the goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. Technically, in publishing terms, this would be more of a novella than a full length novel, but it doesn't make it any less daunting or intimidating, at least to me, since I've never done this before.

But I've been expanding my horizons these days. No longer do I simply write within the cozy comfortable confines of my own home, to remain secure and safe in ignorance of the real writing world.

I have torn that gauzy veil from my face and sent out query letters and partials of my work to agents and publishers. I have joined a formal writer's group that meets every month, taken a bunch of writing workshops to hone my skills, and I have gotten myself a critique partner who is fabulous, not only as a writer and editor of my work, but as a new friend.

NaNoWriMo is just another of these daring adventures. Because of the short time frame alloted, I'm thankful that the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity.

Quality be damned.

At the same time, this will force me to lower my usually high expectations, to take risks that I wouldn't normally, and write without editing. Honestly, that's going to be the hardest part. I'm that person. The one who will write a page and go over it. Write another page, go over it.

I think I'll be writing a lot of crap.

I'm getting nervous already. Just thinking about it!

I don't even have a story mapped out yet!

There's a niggly little idea floating around in my head, though and I think I'll use the rest of October to flesh it out so that I can draw up a bit of an outline.

It is very intimidating to think that I will commit myself to this challenge. I had to make sure to ask my family first if they were going to be okay with it, since my husband won't have a wife, and my son won't have a mother, for a month. I won't be watching House or Bones or CSI. I won't be going shopping, or attending family functions. I won't be helping to rake all of the leaves that are starting to litter my yard (oh darn!).

I love my family so much. They completely understand and still want me to go for it. I can't believe how supportive they always are.

I will draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other writers will be going through the same thing. The same trials and challenges as they work to write the "Great Frantic Novel" (in the words of the NaNo moderators). There will be support groups for me, people to meet from my area who are taking the challenge as well, and a big celebration at the end.

In 2006, there were apparently over 79,000 participants, with almost 13,000 of them crossing the 50k finish line by the deadline. This year, I plan to be one of them.

Wish me luck!!

Most of the time I’m a million miles away from wherever I am supposed to be, which can become dangerous to my career when I’m on a deadline (just kidding, I can focus when I have to...really) and dangerous to my health if my mother’s been trying to reach me.

Well today I wanted to explain a little bit about why that is. About my passion. Of course, you probably think that passion is chocolate or shopping. Sexy Italian men who do dishes? Writing you say?

Well it’s not. Funny huh?

Don’t get me wrong, I love writing, and the process satisfies me about as much as that bar of chocolate or something else that my sexy Italian man does for me other than the dishes :)

But while my passion comes as part and parcel with the writing process, the real draw is not the formal practise of putting words to paper, but the visceral impact of those words on my life, and the lives of others.

My passion is in the act of creating something that has a voice, a vision, something that will leave a lasting impression.

In exploring this craving, I started long ago by studying a more traditional and obvious medium, and so took paint and brush to canvas, attempting to turn the ultimate intimidating blank white page into something more, something real and alive with feeling and energy. I studied the great masters (whew those coffee table books get heavy), and painted for a lot of years. I do still enjoy pulling out those art supplies on a lazy Saturday afternoon when the house happens to be empty and I have the time and quiet that I need to focus my efforts on it. But painting was something that got less and less practical as my life started to get more and more complex, and while my passion still lived inside of me, raging for a release, I found it less and less satisfying because the process had become very frustrating.

I started writing when I found that I had made one too many excuses not to pull out my paintbrushes. The supplies were either too difficult to clean up afterward, the paint took too long to dry for me to get any quality work done in the time I had allotted per week, or my workspace was too small and dismal, having been stashed away in a corner of the basement. Whatever it was, and I don’t really want to analyze my disenchantment with something that I did once love wholeheartedly, I still needed an outlet for the swirling vortex that was growing and churning inside of my brain.

It turned out that I could take those eddies of colour and crazy dreams and twist them into some semblance of coherent thought (at least I think so, those of you who have read my work may disagree  ).

So whether I’m dreaming in coloured splotches of oil paint, or black printer toner on laser paper, the end result is thankfully the same...for me at least. My reviewers may actually prefer paintings of poppy fields to gripping tales of altered universes.

It's been a super crazy kind of summer, with everything from emergency trips to the hospital for stitches in obscure areas of the body (You don't really want to know, and my husband would kill me, since he's the one with the stitches), to camping trips, weddings, showers, birthdays and BBQs.

Whew.

I have always associated Fall with new beginnings. I know, it sounds pretty backwards when you consider that Springtime is when the long winter gives way to fresh flowers, refreshing rains, and new births throughout all of the animal kingdom. But maybe it has something to do with my childhood, and that first day of school that always brought with it new clothes and a great backpack, a new classroom and the meeting of future great friends.

It has of course been a R E A L L Y long time since I've been a student, even though I like to think that I'm constantly learning and upgrading my skills, but this year I still feel the same, that feeling of newness that September brings. Part of it is because my husband is a teacher, and so he's always going back to school every September after kicking back for the summer. My son is also back at school. This is his second year now, and he's going to Senior Kindergarten--it's way too cute to watch him set aside his clothes the night before, and put his things in his Spiderman backpack.

But also this year, I have a new beginning--no I didn't go back to school. I started a new job. That comes with all of those things that you usually associate with beginnings and change--uncertainty, expectation, and a great big hunk of nerves crystallizing in your belly.

I think the job is going to be good. Training is a bitch, being as it is held at head office, which is a good two hours drive for me, but when I get back to my own office afterward and start to get settled in, I think that I'll enjoy the opportunities that come with a new office, new people, and a different challenge.

So for now, I'm off. I have training to do, and people to meet. Talk soon.

Okay, so Canada didn't do so well in the U20 World Cup this year, but that last game against the Congo was a good one. Even though Canada lost in the end, I think that if the team had played that well against Chile and Austria, they would definitely have won at least one of those games, and bettered their overall chances.

Hubby and I went with some friends to the U.S./Uruguay game on Wednesday this week. Seven of us bundled into a minivan to head into Toronto, and though I'm way past the age where that kind of trip would be comfortable, the convenience of inter-car televisions is definitely a blessing, especially in rush hour traffic on the 401.

This was a great game! You have to visualize the scene. It was our first time at the new National Soccer Stadium in Toronto, the weather was cool but clear, and the energy all around us was palpable. The stadium was sold out, and the stands were packed with fans, not only for U.S.A. and Uruguay, but fans decked out in colours representing all teams: Brazil, Chile, Spain, Mexico, Portugal, and even for teams not represented in these games like Germany, Italy and others, all served to create a cultural rainbow of excitement. Fans all around us stomped their feet and yelled for their favourite players, and the huge big screen was great for watching replays, but it wasn't really necessary, since every seat in the house was a great seat, which allowed everyone to watch all the action.

After the U.S.'s win in overtime, we swarmed out of the stadium with thousands of others, everyone happy and friendly and enjoying the adrenaline from the soccer high. One of our own bore his Brazilian colours proudly and we took pictures with another group of fans decked out in the distinctive colours of yellow and green, then carried our Canadian, Brazilian and Romanian flags down the streets of Toronto to an energetic bar for drinks.

All in all, it was a great night of soccer, laughter and comraderie with friends, and I admit I was way too tired the next day. I should have taken Thursday off of work to stay home and sleep!!

Wow, getting logged on here took up about twenty minutes of my time, and I'd only given myself ten minutes for blogging to begin with!! Oh, the joys of the electronic age :)

Well, now that my nerves are completely shot, I'm not even sure what it is I wanted to say anymore.

There's been so much happening lately that I can't even begin to start. School's almost done now that summer is fast approaching and hubby is busy trying to get exams ready. Our son is starting to wonder why this is "the last week of school". He says he doesn't know everything yet, and it can't be finished. How to tell a 4-year old that he'll go back in a few months, that's going to seem like years to him.

I don't think I mentioned yet that...

I WON!!

My book took first place in the Get the Lead Out 2007 literary competition up in North Bay this past May! It was a lovely weekend conference, full of great advice from guest authors, and wonderful people to meet who are all in the same boat as me--writing, writing, writing.

I've just completed final edits for the book, and it has now been sent out to be reviewed by an agent. So now we play the waiting game and see what happens.

But, enough about history, let's talk about what's really important: SOCCER!!

We enter the time of the year that our family loves best, summertime. The time when the weather is warm, the trees are green, and the soccer is exciting.

This year Canada is hosting the FIFA U20 World Cup Soccer finals in Toronto, Montreal, Ottawa, Edmonton, Burnaby, and Victoria. This is a big deal for players under the age of 20 who will from countries all over the world to compete, and since we're a big soccer family (having 2 out of 3 members playing all summer long), we'll not only be watching the games on TV, but will be lucky enough to get to see a semi-finals game in Toronto in July.

Traditionally, we have been a solid fan of the Italian teams, but alas, Italy will not be represented in these games, and that makes life so much simpler for us this summer, because we will be cheering guilt-free for our homeland, Canada.

The new home to Canada's national teams is the National Soccer Stadium at Exhibition Place, which hosted its first official international on Friday, May 11, and the FIFA U-20 World Cup hosts were only just edged out 2-1 in the dying seconds by Argentina in a pulse-pounding friendly.

This season's crop of Canadian players look tough to break down. Strong players with lots of experience and a strong coach, Canada could surprise many of the more traditional powers with the aid of familiar fields and what are bound to be energetic and boisterous crowds.

So, who else is following the tournament in Canada this year? It doesn't necessarily have the prestige of a Euro Cup or the World Cup to be held in South Africa in 2010, but for us, the benefit of games being held here in Canada is a great draw, and we'll gladly follow them to the very end.

Vive le Canada!!

Here in Canada, the first big sign that summer is almost here comes with the Victoria Day long weekend. Traditionally, it signifies a country-wide sigh of relief that the days of snow to your waist, biting winds and scraping ice of the car windows is past, at least for a few precious months. It is also like a big housewarming party to summer, full of BBQ chicken, sipping beer on the deck and watching the kids splashing in the sprinkler.

This year, I will spend it in at the annual Get the Lead Out Writers Conference. It's my very first writers conference, and while it is bittersweet because I will be away from my family and friends, and without any BBQ at all, I am still very excited.

I've spent the last year working on my first book, tapping away at the computer endlessly to get it done, then editing and polishing it up, working on the synopsis, and finally submitting it to two major literary award competitions, one of them being this Get the Lead Out competition--all in preparation for the real challenge-publishing. It's been a lot of work, so much more than I originally expected, and yet so satisfying at the same time.

I'm not the first to experience the cathartic release of pouring your heart out onto the page, but it really was just that. The experience was also a good part frustration of the tear-your-hair-out-by-the-roots kind, and part learning experience--a very big part. Writing is an art, a craft, a profession, and it takes dedication, perseverance and training.

I think I've got the dedication and perseverance down pat--anyone who can continue to write in between working full time at a busy litigation law firm, raising a four year old, and trying to get in quality time with the hunkiest husband alive, is definitely dedicated.

Ah, but the training, the experience, that's something that doesn't come naturally. Sure, anyone can have the Idea, but for someone like me, without any background, getting the Idea to become reality was the real hard part. I did a lot of reading and research, and then just had to sit down and do it--which I did. The final product was far from perfect, but I went through it again, and again, tweaking it and refining it, adding and taking away, until I was satisfied that it was the best story that I could write.

Having been named a finalist in this competition now feels great, feels like it was all worth it, but the best part is that the people judging my work will be authors themselves, as well as editors, publishers, agents, all in the industry, and all with years of experience that far surpasses my own.

Even if I don't come back home with any awards, I'll take a lot from this experience, most importantly--FEEDBACK. Yes, the judges reading my manuscript will be sending back their own critiques, giving me ideas on how to improve what I've written, and letting me know what they liked. To me, this is going to be an award in itself, the most valuable kind.

So let the long weekend begin. I'm ready--for more than just summer.

I thought, since I have just now finished the excrutiating editing process of finalizing my book, that I would celebrate by sharing a juicy little exceprt with you.

Here it is. This is a point shortly after the two have met, and Rhys is bringing Amy back home:

Rhys walked Amy up the steps of her apartment building, and took note of her name on the mailbox. Apartmnet 2D, Amy Bennett.

She looked at him in the soft lamplight of the building's entrance. God, he really was a beautiful man. Oh, not in any classic sense of the word. He was too large and hard core for that. His shaggy dark hair was still slightly damp, and fell to just past the nape of his neck. His eyes, though they seemed to shimmer strangely like silver in the light, held a softness, a tenderness, that was out of place with his strength and the careful control he held over himself.

She realized then that this evening could have ended a lot differently than with the two of them standing at her front door. He had taken care tonight to see that she wasn't hurt from her insane mad dash into danger, and while she was sure that she had hampered him more than she had helped, he hadn’t lost it on her. If she determined nothing else from the events of this evening, she was confident in concluding that he would never have hurt her.

"Thanks for bringing me home."

"No problem," Rhys replied. He seemed to want to say something more, but didn't.

Amy stared at his mouth, wondering if he would kiss her again. She really wanted him to kiss her again. Deciding this was her night to flirt with danger, she didn’t wait for it, and instead went up on her toes, and smoothed her lips over his.

Jeez, he was so tall, he should be playing for the NBA.

Amy pressed her mouth against him lightly, cautiously, then gasped as he groaned and wrapped his arms around her. He deepened her soft kiss into something more, something carnal and hot, and she tumbled into it, lost in her growing desire.

Her arms clutching him, Rhys backed Amy up until she was pressed against the wall of the building. Amy reveled in the feeling of the sharp stone at her back, and his smooth, hard strength pressing into her from the front. One muscled thigh moved between her legs, pressed up against her, and she gasped as her insides melted in response. His lips were traveling down the smooth column of her neck, along her jaw, licking the sensitive spot at the base of her shoulder blade, while his hand moved to cup one breast, kneading and shaping it to fit his palm, the other tangling itself in her hair, which tumbled loosely over her shoulders.

Rhys was on fire. He had never felt this before, this all-consuming need. He wanted Amy with a desperation that was overriding all the good intentions that he had started out with, wanted to take her as hard and as deep as he possibly could. He had never let his body rule him that way. But right now, he wanted--he needed--to imprint himself on her body, mark her, dominate her. He wanted to possess her and protect her at the same time, to hold himself inside her for an eternity.

It didn’t help his self-control to know that she was just as hot for him. Her raspy little moans and the scent of her excitement beckoned to him like a siren’s summons. It would take nothing for Rhys to overcome her lingering inhibitions, convince her to take him into her bed, and once there, he wouldn't let her out of it again for days.

In fact, what better way to keep an eye on her. He could keep her constantly at his side, and perhaps gain some insight into the source of his dreams.

Whoa, he thought. Constant proximity for women always meant closeness and sharing. No way did he want that complication. He had a job to do that Amy could never understand, and a life that she could never be part of...a dangerous fucked-up life at that. He wouldn’t allow any human to become a part of that, especially not Amy, no matter how much he was drawn to her serene strength and frank humour. She would compromise his very existence if he allowed himself to be distracted by those expressive eyes and lush body.

It would be better for them both if he simply let her retreat into her apartment alone. She would never see him again, and he would move into the future as a whisper of nothingness, a ghost, as he had always been to humans.

But first, he wanted to commit the taste of her to memory.

I feel like I've been running a 10k marathon, and so far I'm not sure whether I'm ahead or behind.

But last night was one of those banner moments, one of those moments you remember for the rest of your life--because I finished the synopsis for my book!

Huh, you're not impressed? I'm ecstatic. I feel like I just passed the last leg of the marathon, now I'm into my seventh km, and the home stretch is upon me.

I can remember the agony of starting the book. When you first set your cushy running shoes on that path and push forward. It's hard going, but then you get into a bit of a zone, and the pavement starts zooming by. Until you get a stitch in your side, or in this case, WRITER'S BLOCK. Oh, the horror of writer's block. It might take a while, and you may have to sit out of the race for a few moments to catch your breath, but then you can start moving again, and that is a good feeling too, knowing that you've conquered the block.

When the book was actually written, I had a glass of wine that day. But oddly enough, despite feeling a little bit of a glow, I wasn't jumping up and down ecstatic. Perhaps it was because I knew that I had only reached the half-way point in my trek. Getting the book ready for publishing was going to take a lot more time, and I'd be huffing and puffing pretty hard by the end of it.

Now that editing is well on its way, I had diverted my attention to the matter of publishing materials. If a person wants to send a manuscript to a publisher for review, there are a lot of RULES. I couldn't believe all the rules. You need to query first, which means you send a short letter of introduction. And depending on the publishing company, they will either respond to request a synopsis of your book, along with a copy of the first few chapters, or they will not. Sometimes, a publisher wants the chapters with your query, sometimes they want a synopsis that is five pages, sometimes eight. Then of course, some won't even look at your query unless it is submitted by an agent.

Oh My God, I thought. How do I get an agent?

We'll just leave that one alone for now.

But finally, the query letters are written, the synopsis is drafted, and this is when I start doing the football happy dance--oh wait, my analogy was running, right? Oh well, never mind.

I am reminded today of relationships...past, future, lasting and fleeting.

I have had occasion recently to reconnect with a number of old friends from high school--eeek. The horrors of remembering a time when I wore faded blue jeans that came up to my shin, bright neon colours, and, if I happened to have actually attended school that day...a uniform. (I know!!)

But more than that, I remember laughter, drama, friendships that seemed they would last forever, life that was glowing and fresh, and a sense of future, of purpose that was wide open and infinite with possibility. It's funny how it all seemed so common and everyday back then, while now I look on it with a profound sense of wonder. Wonder that I was ever so young, that I had so many dreams. Wonder that I ever looked that bad, and wonder that I even made it out alive.

Some of those friends are still with me today. Others, as I mentioned, I have had a chance to reconnect with, and I enjoy learning about their lives and families. I am amazed to find so many people doing exactly what they wanted to do back when we were young and foolish, and others who have gone so far above and beyond their own wildest dreams. Either way, it's always good to see that they're having fun, and living life to the fullest.

I think about how my own goals have changed since I was young. I used to write as if my soul were pouring out on the paper. Poetry, stories, anything to put words down. I have come to determine that the creativity flows best and easiest when you're young. But then I remember wanting to be a doctor, a lawyer, or something equally glamorous. I think that was mainly a result of watching too much tv, though. When I finally made it through high school, and went on to university, and then to college, my goals changed again. And again...and again. Until I was back to the same place I had started--with a love of writing, and trying to see where it would take me.

I think our first loves are often our best. We can't always get that feeling back after it's drifted away, and in most cases, it's best that way. But sometimes our younger selves can teachour older selves a few things. About how to appreciate friendships, follow dreams, and enjoy life.

Let's talk character development today ladies and gents. Why you ask? Because I want to, and it's my blog. :)

But really, it's kind of been on my mind, mostly because, now that I've effectively moved onto my second WIP, with the first book being all but done, I'm very surprised at how very different the characters are in this new book. Granted, the stories are very different as well. Originally, I had thought that, after finishing my first book, I would continue to write paranormals, but I was stunned to find that the next characters to clamour for attention, wanted a story that wasn't like that at all.

Book 1 (we'll call it that for now, since for some reason, it hasn't quite "found" its name yet), is a dark paranormal, complete with immortal warriors charged with the responsibility of protecting mankind from hell's most evil demons. Needless to say, these were some pretty tough and dangerous characters, and we're just talking about the heroes. The main character, Julian, is a 900 year-old soldier in this epic war, and has his own deep emotional scars to prove it. When he meets Amy, the heroine, he finds her fascinating, not only because she's brave (maybe stupidly so), but also because she is like a vibrant burst of sparkling colour in his otherwise dark existence. He fights his powerful attraction to her, but cannot completely put her from his mind, partly because he keeps dreaming that she is in danger, and his dreams have a bad habit of coming true.

Book 2 (and at this point it's being called "Lost", for a number of reasons), is a contemporary romantic tale with a hint of mystery thrown in for good measure. The characters meet and at first are more annoyed with each other than anything else. There are no supernatural forces bringing them together, but a mutual attraction has them eager to explore the possibilities. The hero, Max, is a former cop who now owns a rustic mountain lodge in the volcanic mountains of Oregon. The heroine, Cam, is a writer (fancy that), who has come to town as part of her book tour.

For me, the interesting part of writing Book 1 was bringing characters together who are from extremely different worlds, and who will fight their attraction to each other from the word "go". Even so, for both Julian and Amy, their past becomes the biggest obstacle between them and their happy ever after.

In Lost, Max and Cam aren't drowning in the horrors and guilt of past events. They are both strong, independent people, who weren't necessarily looking for each other, but aren't afraid of being together. But how does love blossom when these two become embroiled in intrigue and murder?

So there you go. Two books. Two couples, and author who is pretty surprised at the turn of events.

Well, I guess you can tell that I haven't been around here much recently. I mean, the last blog was from August or some such nonsense.

Sorry about that.

I can tell you that the passage of time has been both good and...not so good.

We had a number of unfortunate deaths in our family this year, and I miss them all very much. But we also celebrated birthdays, weddings, Christmas, and all those fattening-type holidays, and enjoyed every minute of it all. My sister is now a happy married lady with a little baby on the way, and everyone is looking forward to when he arrives and we find out that the doctor was wrong to tell her it was a girl...just kidding. They don't tell you those kinds of things unless they're sure--right?

Derek started junior kindergarten in the Fall. He loves it so much, and I couldn't be prouder of how well he's doing, how many friends he's made, and how quickly that comment "nothing" starts coming out of his mouth already when I ask him what he did on any particular day.

For those of you who were aware of the fact that I was writing my first novel...ta da!! It's done, finis, and now we enter the dreaded editing phase. Actually, this part I like. It's the time when I get to re-read the book with a lighter frame of mind, not so worried about dreaming up plot strategies. I just get to fine tune minor inconsistencies and enjoy the actual story-imagine that.

The new book is well underway. The first one was more of a "pantser" exercise, meaning I wrote by the seat of my well-worn oversized sweats. But this time I'm trying to be a little bit more methodical, and I've actually got an outline!

Hopefully, I'll make it back here soon. Love

So, with the beginning of August, came not only the end of Carlo's summer teaching schedule and the beginning of his vacation, but also my birthday and our planned trip to go camping with our three year old son. Camping you say? Why not to Italy, to visit fabulous art galleries, majestic cathedrals, having tantalizing gelato and succulent wines? My vote seemed to have been vetoed. We went camping.

Not that it wasn't amazing. I'm still going to bring up the Italy trip again next year (and every year thereafter, until I can browbeat them to go :) )

We decided to go north. We always go north. Every year in May, I get online with our National Parks reservation service and book our camping trip in Algonquin Park. We go there as much as possible. The views, the lakes, the wildlife, are all truly beautiful and worth every second of the four hour drive in weekend bumper-to-bumper traffic to get there...really.

This year, like clock work, I logged on-only to find that our retreat, our haven in the north, was completely booked. There were no sites available-and I was looking all the way into August for Pete's sake!

So instead of Algonquin Park, we headed up north to a park on Georgian Bay. It was a good choice, still latitudinally the same, still a Provincial Park, still camping, right?

Well, all Camp grounds are not created equal, as with everything else. It was still a quiet camp ground, which is something we really look for. And the water was marvelous, crystal clear, warm and with a fun, sandy beach for playing. Yet, the natural benefits that we had come to cherish in Algonquin Park seemed to be sparse. There was a more definite feel of "human invasion", and very little flora to behold. There were no nature walks and no fish to pull out of the lake.

Still, for our son, it was heaven on earth. He absolutely adored the beach. He loved the fact that he slept in his sleeping bag in a tent, and didn't have to go to bed until it was really dark out, after stuffing his face full of mushy white marshmallows. He also got the undivided attention of his parents and his uncle, who accompanied us this year.

So all in all, while I will still press for Italy next year, we won't be ruling out camping either. For this family, the experience is one to savour as often as possible, and we'll always make the time to go...although we might stick to Algonquin Park, as that's where our hearts seem to be.

It looks like summer is well on its way to having arrived. How do I know this? What is the deciding factor that brings this to my decidedly unfocussed attention?

Our grass needs cutting. Constantly.

Lush green lawns are the bane of society. I know, in the past everything from T.V., cell phones, and spiky hair have been the bane of society in my humble opinion. But really...grass.

You may recall that we have recently moved into a beautiful home in a nice, quiet, older neighbourhood. It's great. I love it. But there's 1/2 an acre of land, and a lot of this consists of lush green lawn. Everyone on the block has the convenient riding lawn mower out at least twice a week to keep the grass nice and short. My husband has also been graced with a riding lawn mower of his own, even though we have a push mower that is almost brand new (bought last year). The riding mower was given as a gift because our friends were getting themselves a new one. The old one, the one sitting in our garage...doesn't work. Hubbie is adamant that he can get it working, and until he does...the grass doesn't get mowed.

So not only are we the "new kids on the block", but now we're also the bad neighbours because our lawn looks more like a meadow, complete with weeds.

I hope and pray that the mower will either be fixed soon, or a kindly arsonist will come along and set it on fire for me...in either case, the lawn will still get mowed eventually. And then I'll have to start baking muffins to take to all the neighbours.

Wow, has it really been since January that I've posted a blog here? I feel deep shame, I assure you. Crazy, crazy is life in a law office.

We have, however, begun to enjoy our Springtime. It started madly enough in January, with a seemingly innocuous little photo on the internet of a house for sale. I fell in love. My husband and I had just started to talk about the possibility of selling and moving somewhere else. We like the area, but in the specific neighbourhood where we lived, the constant construction and growth was wearing thin. Since we had moved in there had been about 5,000 more homes built around us, 2 schools, 2 grocery stores, 3 corner conveniences, 1 Canadian Tire, 1 Walmart, 1 Home Depot, and 3 strip malls. The noise level had grown to be so bad that no matter what time of day it was, you could never enjoy the natural sounds (even though we were fortunate enough to back onto a bush area).

So, I showed the photo of this nice little house to my husband, we went to see it, and put in an offer. Ta da...she turned us down. Okay, keep on trucking you say. And that's what we did. We put the little house aside in our minds, and kept looking around. Well, after another 3 weeks, we still hadn't seen anything we liked, and decided maybe we should wait until next year anyway, just to be sure we weren't "jumping into anything".

But wait...the seller of our little dream house came back to us and said she had reconsidered our offer (I mean really, if that's not fate, what is?). We jumped on it, and by mid-March, we were the proud owners of a 30-year old home in rural Ontario, with a 1/2 acre of land, and lots of trees, privacy and "natural sounds".

We painted, we cleaned, we gutted and renovated the basement. Ask me why we felt the need to renovate the basement right away. Because my husband decided before we even moved in that it would prove to be a perfect getaway for him and his buddies. He wanted to turn it into the ultimate "games" room. Complete with foosball, poker table, bar, tv, etc...Considering I talked him into the house in the first place, I was quick to agree that it was indeed a necessary expenditure at this time.

We survived the Easter holidy, spent time with family and friends, attended a baptism and a birthday party or two...and now we're up to date.

Talk to you soon.

Well, it's surely been a long time since I've successfully blogged, and I say successfully because there have been a few times (few and far between) where I've begun something, haven't been able to finish, and of course, the impetus is gone, and later I no longer feel that my thoughts were worth trying to resurrect from the vast black hole that is my brain these days.

Christmas has now come and gone, the new year has thus been rung in, and here I am at my desk again. I think what I really wanted for Christmas, and of course, didn't get, was some more time off. Not only from work, but from the whole rigmarole that is the holiday season. I really love it...I do, but I wish that there wasn't so much to do in such a short time. For my husband, it's great. He teaches, so come Christmastime, he'll always have two weeks off from work. Sure, I'll give him a few projects to get done around the house, but that's more to keep him from calling me at work every ten minutes because he's bored out of his mind. He's just that kind of hyper-active personality type that has to have the hands and mind working on something constantly, or he'll immediately be sleeping...or bugging me.

Not me. I know how to maximize relaxation time. I don't get much of it, but if I even had three or four days where I didn't have to follow any schedule, do any visiting, or get any work done, I'd be reading. Not just casually, but hard-core from sun-up to the dark of midnight reading. That, and I'd go for a massage, get to the gym a couple times (not too much, it's a vacation), bake some warm, fresh muffins, and get out that paint brush.

I have so many ways to relax, but lately none of them seem to work. Maybe it's because of the fact that there's not even enough time for power naps anymore. It takes me more than the 1 hour grace period I may get in an evening to wind down and really RELAX, and so I don't bother anymore. I keep on truckin' and tell myself that I'll just get these few things done today, and then tomorrow I'll have a little more time and I can sit down for a while. But it never happens that way, because tomorrow comes with its own set of all new tasks that just have to get done.

I guess that's why I've chosen to vent like this today. I'm making it my New Year's Resolution (do people really still make those?) to not give a shit about the dishes so much, or the laundry, or worry about getting every task off of my desk before the end of the day.

So how long do you give me?

I read an e-mail today about a daughter who was giving her mother the news that she and her husband were expecting a baby. The e-mail was about how the mother wanted to express to her daughter the complicated emotions and changes that would happen to her once that child was born, but had trouble doing so. I found myself knowing exactly what she felt. I have often tried to express my own feelings surrounding my life as a mother.

The changes in my life after becoming a mother involve more than just me trying to hide the disgusting truth that is my new body, the inability to sleep in on weekends, or take spontaneous vacations. It's something that no childbirth class will ever be able to teach you (not like they taught me much to start with). The physical wounds of child bearing eventually heal, but becoming a mother has left an emotional wound inside me that is so raw, I fear I will be forever vulnerable, because I know that I will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" News of every plane crash, and every house fire haunts me. When I see pictures of starving children, I now always wonder if anything could be worse than watching a child die. No matter how sophisticated I was (yeah right), becoming a mother has reduced me to the primitive level of a bear protecting it's cub. An urgent call of "Mom!" is enough to cause me to drop the good crystal without a moment's hesitation to rush over and make sure that no bones have been broken.

I remember thinking, while I was pregnant, that motherhood wouldn't affect my career. I would simply get a really good babysitter, and everything at work would carry on as it had before. But no matter how much time I invest in my career, I have been professionally derailed by motherhood. There are days when I have to use every ounce of my non-existent discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure my baby is safe with the strangers I have entrusted him to, no matter how much I have investigated their qualifications. However decisive I may be at the office, I second-guess myself constantly as a mother.

Eventually I did shed the pounds of pregnancy, but I have never felt the same about my body. I have slowly learned to recognize that my life, once so important, is of less value to me now that I have a child. I know that I would give myself up in a moment to save my offspring, but also hope to live longer, not to accomplish my own dreams, but to watch my child accomplish his.

I know that my husband understands how much more I love him now, as a father. He was always careful to powder the baby's bottom, and never hesitates to play endless games of hockey or watch countless episodes of-god forbid-Barney, with him. I have since fallen in love with him all over again, for reasons that others would find very unromantic. Just the fact that he holds my hand as we lie in bed, when I'm exhausted after a full day running around after our son, that he will hold out his arms for Derek who is running hell-bent-for-leather to jump on him when he walks in the door at the end of the day, or when my husband has taken the job of bathing him and putting him to bed all on his own, so that I may have a moment's rest before storytime, has now endeared my husband to me forever, with those new bonds being stronger than any vow of marriage, or declaration of love.

I offer a silent prayer for my husband and me, and for all those mere mortals called parents, who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. May you always have in your arms the one who is in your heart.

All women are aware of the notion that, once you've given birth to a child, the joy and beauty of that little baby just makes the pain and agony of delivery sort of float away, and you won't really remember it afterward.

I'm here to tell you that's crap.

I remember every detail about my son's birth, from the tense, crampy pain of the beginning labour, to the full blown cut-this-thing-out-of-me-then-kill-me-promptly pain that comes later. I remember recovery, breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and the whole shebang.

My son is now 3, and we've been steadily potty training for about 3 months. Like I've said, while I will never forget the agony of childbirth, I think potty training will surpass it in the memory banks.

Potty training is one of those uncontrollable things, like getting your husband to put down the remote while you're watching "Lost" and he's trying to get updates on the hockey game during every commercial. You ask him to do it, you plead with him to do it, but ultimately, you have little control over whether or not he will do it. It's the same with potty training. No matter how much I cajole, plead, and bribe Derek to please, please, please go on the potty, it's not really up to me, as to whether he will, or invariably, won't.

I hate that.

I've spent evening after evening these last months, sitting on the bathroom floor getting hemmorhoids, while I read Derek book after book and waited for those precious drops to fall into the toilet. Finally now, we are at a point where Derek understands the concept, and can consistently hold his bladder long enough to get to the potty.

I have to admit though, that I've been playing it safe a little bit, by keeping his training pants on overnight, so that he (and I) can sleep well (I know that he isn't quite ready to go a whole night without an accident yet). Except that, whether psychologically, or purposefully, he refuses to go number 2 on the potty, so every morning his training pants are dirty.

We've hit a wall. He's training himself not to go number 2 during the day, which means he's always going at night, which means that I can't take the training pants off (I'm not so cruel a mother that I would purposely instigate nightly rituals that begin with his crying at 3:00 a.m. because he's dirty, then necessitate my having to put him into a bath, change the sheets, and get him dressed in new pajamas, all while I'm swearing and cursing under my breath because neither of us wants to be up for another 3 or 4 hours yet).

So what does a mother do? And when will the agonies end?