Right now I'm listening to my favorite radio station.  Our local public radio station has wonderful classical music, and very little talk.  What talk they do have is insightful and interesting.  Having said all that, do I help support their programming by becoming a member?

Unfortunately, no.  Instead I support a neighboring public radio station to which I listen far less frequently.  The reason is simple.  No matter what I do or say, no matter whom I speak to or email, my local station continues to ask me for money. 

Once, years ago, I was a member and proud to do my share.  Then I realized that each year, the station was spending most of my contribution asking me for even more.  Sadly, I discontinued that relationship.  Although after numerous communications and much feedback they promised to cease and desist, like a spurned lover, they keep coming back.  This week alone we received not one but three pleas to send in our annual contribution, mailed to three different variations of our names at this address.  I've researched giving anonymously, but so far, have not found a solution.  And still the letters come. And come.  And still, my public radio contribution goes elsewhere.

I suspect you've been in the same situation.  Our mailboxes, both computer and snail mail, are filled with advertisements and solicitations.  I've discovered how to get off catalog mailing lists by using this address.  And I've discovered how to evaluate charities by their spending habits and their missions, so I can make wise choices on how I spend my money. I know how to unsubscribe and I know how to block spammers.  But now, I'm on the opposite side of the computer screen.  I am the one selling myself and my novels.

How does an author find readers who might want to read her novels without annoying them, the way my local radio station annoys me?  As it is, I do a fair amount of promotion.  I write this blog and keep an active Facebook page.  I send out a snail mail newsletter (email if you'd like to receive it) designed by my talented daughter-in-law, and several email newsletters each year.  Most addresses come from booksignings, another promotional tool, or signups on my webpage. I do events like the upcoming Virginia Festival of the Book and the Buckeye Bookfair I attended last fall.  I offer contests, some planned, some impromptu held here or at Facebook.  In fact I'm busily collecting prizes for the one to promote Fortunate Harbor in July, and busily sending out prizes readers have already won. 

I also take part in other online promotions.  Fresh Fiction and Author Buzz offer lots of opportunities and ideas, including blog tours, book groups, and online newsletters.  Of course, my publisher does the heavy lifting, taking out ads in magazines and newspapers, organizing book events.  This year they've asked me to be part of an Author Bus Tour in June, but more about that later.  We all work hard to get the books into the hands of people who want them, as well as people who don't yet know they do, but will.

Several years ago I was advised by professionals to, at the least, send out a monthly newsletter.  This was advice I ignored, preferring not to enrage my readers.  Yet I receive newsletters myself on a weekly basis, sometimes even more frequently, that I do read and enjoy.

So where is the threshold?  At what point does promotion become onerous for me?  Not yet.  I love blogging.  I really enjoy my Facebook page.  Booksignings when well promoted and organized are fun, and contests are a chance to be creative.  

But what about you?  How much promotion is too much promotion?  One newsletter in your inbox every week?  Every month?  Every year? Want to just take your chances at the bookstore without advance notice?  Or maybe you appreciate a little information?  Or a lot?  

In the end, the very best use of any novelist's energy is to write a good book.  The second best use is to find a good publisher who will make sure it's placed prominently in bookstores and gift it with an eye-catching cover. 

For myself, I'm doing the promotion I like to do, and promotion you seem to like, as well.  One thing I can guarantee, unlike my public radio station, if you ask for fewer mailings or none at all, I will listen, and I will do whatever I can to make sure your wishes are honored.

Anyone who signs on to Internet bulletin boards or newsgroups of novelists will, inevitably, run across "arguments" about the benefits of outlining or not outlining before writing.  Actually the "not outlining" group is usually the most vocal. They are convinced that outlining a novel, indeed knowing what's going to happen before you begin writing the story, impedes creativity. 

I am an outliner and proud of it.  I'm not sure where the non-outlining group believes my ideas come from.  The fact that I have many of my most creative ideas up front, guaranteeing me much less time in the editing process, doesn't sway them.  Nor should it.  Each of us has our own way of doing this.  The time I save during editing is spent writing the outline.  Just don't make the mistake of believing that one way or the other will assure an easy path to "the end."  There is no easy path.

Right now I'm outlining my next novel, Sunset Bridge, which should be at your local bookstore in July 2011.  Sunset Bridge is the final book in my Happiness Key trilogy.  Fortunate Harbor, book two, comes out this July.  Writing a series has its own special problems, and problems are rife when we're in the plotting stage anyway.  Here are some I'm pondering today, and a few possible solutions for you to ponder as you write your own story.

Names:  I blogged about this before.  Character names are important.  Ethnicity, suitability for a particular geographic region or birthdate.  I mentioned that I try hard not to have characters with names beginning with the same letter, so not to confuse the eye when reading. 

What I didn't mention was that sometimes, we assign a very minor character a name in a novel, then later decide to feature them in another.  That's exactly what I did.  The relative of one of my characters is named once in Happiness Key but is never on stage.  Now I want to use that character (note how few clues I'm trying to give you here?) and the name begins with the same two letters as a major character's.

I've whined about this on my Facebook page all week. I've spent an entire day trying to solve it.  Here's a tip. When you're stuck on a minor issue?  Move on. Take a day if you must, but at the end, move on.  Because once you do, the answer will probably occur to you.  In this case I chose a new name for the character and an elaborate reason to cover up the use of a different name in Happiness Key.  And the moment I started writing the character's biography, I realized I had to use the original name.  She was that person to me. And the explanation took up too much space and drew too much attention to itself. 

So moral to the naming story?  Never assume a character name is a throw away.  That may come back to bite you, and you may be stuck.  Luckily, in this instance, I think I'm okay.  Different genders, and completely different sounds, plus the character's stories are not related.  But still . . .

Backstory:  I've spent two days and will spend more concocting a backstory for one of my characters that will hardly be noticeable in the novel.  I've researched her work setting, the city where she used to live, her former job and whether her rank there was viable.  So much more, too.   My tip?  Do just what you need to at this point then. . . wait for it. . . move on.  Save the bulk of the research for later, when you're sure you need to know all these facts.  Do just enough to make sure your idea can work, and to develop the flavor of it to feed your imagination.  Otherwise, you will use this backstory, even if you don't need it and it slows down your current story.  Be careful and don't let that happen. 

Notes:  Keep them as you write and plot.  Lots of them.  Character names and detailed descriptions, including the length of their hair and any phrases or slang you've used.  Descriptions of setting, all setting including the interiors of homes, the flowers planted in a backyard.  Make notes of speech patterns.  You might ask why this is important during plotting?  Well, you may discover that the novel needs a sequel, as I did--in this case two.  Then you'll need to know exactly what you've set up without having to go back to the original every ten minutes to make sure you're being consistent.  

If you don't?  It's not uncommon in Chapter Ten to try to remember what you said about a character or a house in Chapter Two.  If you're currently establishing facts that are going to be important to the novel, make careful notes about them in the plotting process.  If you're doing the work, make it pay for you in the future.

Plotting a novel?  Not for sissies.  The clock ticks loudly in the background, and every little fact or item you've spent days digging for seems trivial when shared out loud.  Just trust me, none of the work you do up front is trivial.  Take is easy and take it slow.  You'll be glad you did. 

There are people out there (and you know who you are) who live to catch errors on the printed page.  As obsessed as I am with making sure there are none, I still hear from this sacred sisterhood from time to time. 

"Don't I know that people "pore" over the printed page, not pour?"  Well, yes, I do.  And so do my editor and copy editor, but all of us goof from time to time.  In the rush to create I often type what I "hear" and homophones (look it up) can drive me crazy during editing.

"Have I marketed a new calendar in which Ash Wednesday comes during the week before Easter?"  No, I haven't, but now that you mention it, that would really shorten Lent.  All of us could actually give up something important for four days instead of forty and stick to it.  Somebody get Hallmark on the phone.

Some of the comments I receive are valid, and some aren't.  Publishing houses have style manuals they adhere to, and even if you don't agree with them, that's what you'll get if you buy their novels. Different houses use different manuals or style sheets.  I write for two publishers.  For instance, Mira asks that I write "blond," unless I'm using the word as a noun: "That blonde in the green T-shirt."  Berkley uses "blonde" as an adjective when a woman is described.  "She had blonde hair the color of ripening wheat."  If I forget?  That's where editors come in.

In addition to all the edits I do before I send my books to New York, two editors pore over my work afterwards.  My enviably fabulous line editors, Leslie Wainger for Mira and Cindy Hwang for Berkley, have the first looks.  They're in charge of the big stuff, like cuts or additions, story inconsistencies, anything that's not working.  In addition they fix little things, too, when they find them.  Then, after I've had a glance and a chance to scream in the silence of my study, I respond, more edits are done on my end, and the novel heads to the copy editor. 

The copy editor fixes whatever the editor didn't, elements like punctuation and grammar, timelines and consistency within the story.  Since my mysteries are a series, the Berkley copy editor has to worry about the other books in the series, too.  I've described a character one way in book one, and slightly differently in book five.  Has she changed, or am I simply a doofus?  It's usually a fifty-fifty split.

About this time, the Advanced Reading Copy (fondly known as the ARC) is printed for reviewers and booksellers.  The photo above is a particularly lovely ARC of Fortunate Harbor, my next release for Mira Books, which for multiple reasons actually went to this stage without any editing at all.  "Advance uncorrected proof" is completely accurate.  So is the "Not For Sale" above it. So if you see ARCs on eBay or elsewhere with a price attached?  Somebody is bending the law and the law is squealing.

Recently I had the "fun" of going over the galleys for Fortunate Harbor.  This is the final stage before printing copies for sale.  Both line editor and copy editor have made their changes, and I've had the opportunity to make changes myself, or ask that the original be honored.  This is my final chance to look for errors and make one more round of corrections.

Remember now, at this point, two talented professionals have seen and worked on the book in addition to me.  There should be no problems left, correct?

Picture me faxing 40 pages with changes back to New York on Tuesday.  Problems with the internal calendar of the story.  Sentences that were or weren't deleted. Even an exchange of dialogue that directly contradicts one earlier in the story.  Oh, and a word that's not supposed to be capitalized in one context but should be in another, that somehow ended up in capitals every time.  Ever have cheese and Crackers?  Hopefully, now the characters in my novel won't, either.

How does this happen, you ask?  It's simple.  Fortunate Harbor is a long book, with lots of characters, scenes, dialogue, and plot lines.  Three people have worked on it, which in and of itself, can cause copy problems.  Most important, as hard as we work, and as experienced as we are, we are also human.  We just can't keep every single word of more than a hundred thousand straight, no matter how hard we try.

The good news?  We manage 99.99% of them with aplomb. So enjoy the novel when it comes out in July.  We earned it.

So there we were this morning, trying to make a phone call.  Then, there was our beloved telephone company.  Turns out our line was dead. Turns out they can repair it.  In nine days.

Last year our telephone went dead--bees in the box on the pole--and eight days passed before said telephone company toddled out to fumigate the line.  We don't live in rural Idaho or North Dakota, mind you, and we aren't in the midst of a blizzard.  We live not ten minutes from the White House--which is not a political statement, please note--and spring's in the air.  Four years ago the telephone held me hostage without service for two weeks, insisting that the problem with my vanished phone number was someone else's.  Only when I borrowed a neighbor's phone, got a supervisor and refused to hang up for three hours until my service was restored, did they actually look to see what was going on.  Tired of me, they fixed it in thirty seconds.  This is not an exaggeration.

Last year when I got the eight day repair sentence I wrote my representative to Congress, my local County Board, and the FCC--the County Board's suggestion.  Not to complain, to ask them to provide some oversight and some rules.  Four months later the FCC sent me a form letter telling me I needed to write the Attorney General of the State of Alabama.

I live in Virginia.

So today, I emailed all my state delegates and senators.  The County Board, too.  Call me an idiot or an optimist, your choice.  I explained that in Ohio, the local telephone company is required by law to go out and assess the problem within 24 hours of a report.  Why, I asked, couldn't we, too, have a law that governed this?  Or at least some oversight of our utility companies.

What are the chances anyone will answer me?  And why have I bothered?  Well, maybe it's because last week the cable company showed up to repair my Internet (down since December) and the technician didn't have a new modem to replace my damaged one.  Because he wasn't allowed to carry one. 

The repair man was not allowed to carry the very device that would repair my Internet.  Kafka, were you only alive today.

I had to reschedule that appointment, make sure twice that this time a modem came with the deal, and wait another four days. 

Why am I blogging about this?  Well, I have this theory that when any of us pays for service, we deserve service.  I also worry about all those people unwilling or unable to speak for theselves.  Senior citizens, disabled citizens.  People confused by technology who are not able to navigate the labyrinth of websites, forms, chat lines and bouncing webpages that our utilities claim will help solve our problems.

Maybe all this consumer outrage is simply because I started Weight Watchers last week.  Maybe I need to do a little more consuming of the calorie kind, and use some of those extra points Weight Watchers so generously bestows each week to de-stress.  Maybe then I won't expect the services I pay for to work and work well.

On the other hand, maybe I'll start a movement.  Mad about the way your utility companies are treating you?  Write somebody.  Let's see what happens.  If you aren't mad because your utilities work just fine?  Let me know where you live.  Is there a house on your street for sale?  I'm interested.

By the way, my phone is working again.  We don't know why and we don't know how.  But more than ever, I believe in miracles.  Unfortunately, I can't cancel the work order.  The incident number they promised to text us, never arrived.  And the form to cancel requires it.

In my ten days in New Zealand watching Sweet Georgia Gal, one of my first novels, being turned into a movie for German television, I answered a lot of questions.  I asked a lot, too, since that's a hazard of my profession, plus I drew a lot of comparisons between New Zealand, Germany and the United States, which probably drove everybody nuts.  But that, too, is part of the "novelist thing."  Understanding is the first requirement for writing.  The more we understand, the more we have to say.

Understanding seemed to be a given on both sides, and those involved in filming this movie and those to follow wanted to be certain we were on the same page--or frame.  The production company was most concerned that I might be unhappy about changes that were being made to my story.  Lots of changes, beginning with setting. 

You might ask how a novel set in rural Georgia came to be filmed in New Zealand.  This was never a serious question for me.  New Zealand has a spectacular, varied landscape and a flourishing film industry.  In fact if you look at the original cover--yesterday's blog--you could mistake that background for New Zealand.  Except for my novels in which setting is almost a character itself (Iron Lace and Rising Tides, for instance) the "flavor" of almost any setting can be met on either the North or South Islands. Sweet Georgia Gal is not about Georgia. It's about love and the way it sometimes surprises us. It's a traditional romance with a marriage of convenience plot. 

But not anymore.  At least not on film.

We've all read marriage of convenience novels, even if we didn't peg them that way.  The plotline isn't limited to romances.  It can be a catalyst in literary novels, in mysteries, in fantasy and more.  In a marriage of convenience, a couple is "forced" into marriage by some outside event.  Then slowly, despite a boatload of problems, they fall in love.  Reasons for the marriage tend to revolve around inheritances, safety, deportation, or cultural expectations--like Janya and Rishi's marriage in Happiness Key. 

The marriage of convenience in Sweet Georgia Gal is based on a child custody issue, also a popular device.  In this case, Ryan, the hero, has temporary custody of his nieces and nephews after their parents' death, but he's afraid he'll lose them to a scheming relative unless he presents a more traditional lifestyle to the courts.  So Stacey, the children's temporary nanny, agrees to marry him.  She has her reasons, of course, and not all of them are because he's incredibly attractive and she's incredibly innocent--which she is.

The film touches on this, but in a completely different way.  There IS no actual marriage of convenience in the film version.  This surprised me at first, since marriage of convenience plots are still popular and that seemed to be the point of the story.  But after reacquainting myself with the novel, I tried to imagine how to make what I had written work on the screen.  I couldn't.

You've seen some of your favorite novels made into films, haven't you, and wondered at the changes, even been angered by them?  Film and novels are different mediums.  In this case there's a "fantasy" quotient in a traditional romance novel, an assurance that our readers will suspend disbelief and give us leeway to make our magic work for them.  Not so in film.  Stacey as I'd written her, was far too good to be true, too innocent to survive in the real world, too--sorry as I am to say so--lacking in backbone.  Stacey as portrayed in the film is stronger and more realistic.  The story is more realistic, too.

Will it keep the magic?  The actors--to the right in the above photo--are wonderfully attractive, perfect for their roles, and the air sizzles when they're on camera together.  John, the director--on the left--is a creative taskmaster working hard to get the best out of everybody on set.  And the screenwriters worked hard to keep essential parts of the novel in place.  Could I ask for more?

Novelists learn very early that if they are lucky enough to have their books filmed, they should stand back quietly and watch. I learned my lesson well.  This is no longer MY story.  It's OUR story, a lesson in collaboration.  It's a lesson I'm enjoying immensely.  

Congratulations to Kitty of Plaquemine, Louisiana, who won an autographed copy of The Four Seasons by Mary Alice Monroe in a random drawing from commenters on my January 23rd blog about Mary Alice's booksigning at the Sanibel Island Bookshop.

Congratulations to two winners in the book-to-movie contest on my February 11th Wild Blue Yonder blog.  I promised one prize, but as one reader pointed out, I'd actually given the answer to this question in a Facebook post.  So I've let random.org choose between the two winners who'd clearly read that post, then to be fair, among the others who hadn't, for a second prize.  Can you tell I had four children? 

So congratulations to Carolyn and Donna, who win the paperback novels of their choice--if I have them to give away--and a fragrant wineberry drawer sachet from Pacifica Skincare of New Zealand.

And the novel I saw filmed?  Sweet Georgia Gal, one of my oldies but goodies. I'll be blogging about that tomorrow, so stay tuned.

There are two kinds of people in the world.  Actually there are almost seven billion kinds of people in the world, but for our purposes today, I'll simplify.  There are two kinds of people.  The kind who fall neatly into slots other people choose for them, and the kind who make their own slots.  I won't complicate this by pointing out that at one time or another, we've probably all done both.  Let's just pretend life's easy to understand and go from there.

As loyal blog followers know, I spent most of the past two weeks in New Zealand watching one of my earliest novels being made into a film for the German television station, ZDF.  We won't take up the question of why an American author flew to New Zealand to watch a German production company make a film of a novel originally set in Georgia.  Suffice it to say that the transition works well, and that New Zealand has enough gorgeous and diverse locations to make a gazillion movies, as well as a flourishing film industry eager to help.  What I really want to talk about is how often I noted people doing what they loved. 

Take Terri and Jim, for instance.  Terri and Jim are originally from the UK--although Jim spent time in Jamaica along the way.  After a trip to New Zealand's South Island, they went home and began to work toward the goal of moving back permanently to run a charter boat service.  It took more than a decade to make the dream happen, but now Jim and Terri ARE Kaiteriteri Boat Charters, offering spectacular cruises through the Abel Tasman National Park.  Their joy in what they do is catching.  Every detail is performed with enthusiasm and care, plus they serve the best picnic lunch I've ever had, which permanently endeared them to all on board.

Then there was James.  James is a runner, at least I think that's what he's called in filmspeak.  James does everything.  I noted him on the first day and the last, a young, energetic man who seemed to know exactly what to do and how to do it on time and with courtesy.  On the last day I overheard him in conversation with another member of the crew.  He talked about how his job was simply to do whatever needed to be done with no excuses.  Not ever.  Can you imagine a world in which everyone had that attitude?  I have a strong feeling we'll be hearing from James again.  All of us.  Because I'm sure James has plans to move on in the world of film, and I'm sure he will. James isn't afraid to try.

How many of us can say that?  I'm one of the lucky ones.  I "fell" into writing when the opportunity presented itself.  I adore what I do.  But I was never told to follow my dream.  I was told to be practical, to shoot for security, and not to step over boundaries because that wasn't sensible.

I did step over boundaries, of course, and became a writer, even though I had a nagging feeling--and still do sometimes--that my typing skills might best be used for clerical work.  Still, had I not found a publishing niche so quickly, would I have continued working toward my goal?  I'd like to think I would have worked a decade for my dream, the way Jim and Terri did, but I'm not sure it's true.

Do you have a dream you're trying to fulfill? Go for it, and tell your children to do the same.  We'll all be better off because you did.  After all, happiness and enthusiasm are catching.  I know it's true.  I came home with both.    

Years ago when my husband read Lord of the Rings to our children, I figured that was "their" time together.  After all, hobbits and elves and wizards?  Not my thing.

Then, the movies arrived.  Although I wasn't dragged to the first one, neither did I go with much enthusiasm.  And then, the magic.

At one point while we were waiting for the third movie to debut, I turned to my husband and said, "You know, if I die before this movie comes out, that's going to be the last thing I think about."  And while that probably wasn't strictly true, it was nearly.  I still think watching the movies on the largest and best screens in our area were some of the most pleasurable moments of my life.

Until I was on my way to New Zealand, I forgot that the films were made here.  Then we had the pleasure of meeting Robin Murphy, who was our guide around the islands for several days.  Robin was the location manager for Lord of the Rings, and of course, had fabulous stories to tell us.  She also offered to take us to some of the sites.  So here we are at Hobbiton, in Rivendell, and finally at the stately home where Gollum commits the act that turns him from a happy fisherman into the creature he becomes. 

Novelists deal in fantasy, but we all have our personal fantasies, too.  Mine is of a life in Middle Earth.  I've yet to decide whether I'll be a Hobbit or an Elf.  I just know that if Middle Earth is half as beautiful as the country where the movies were filmed, I will be eternally happy. 

A movie set is a village, complete with solutions to all life's pressing problems.  Places to eat, rest, clothe yourself, and, of course, a place where that most primal of needs, the telling of stories, comes to life in a very special way.

We arrived in New Zealand in the morning, rested and showered then headed to the set where my novel . . . but wait, I can't tell you which one yet, can I?  See two blogs ago to find out why and enter my giveaway.

"The film being produced for German television" is based on one of my earliest novels, what publishers called a "sweet" romance, meaning there's an absence of steamy love scenes and the heroine is often young and innocent.  Fascinated by family life, I often, even then, wrote about domestic issues, a habit that served me well in this novel.  The moment we arrived on set we watched a scene with the movie's male lead and three young children.  And watched.  And watched.  Because if I learned anything in the hours while I stood in the rain as two different scenes were filmed and refilmed, I learned movie making is an exacting and exhausting business that requires an enormous number of people from the inception (where I came in) to the conclusion, when the film makes its debut.

On any number of levels, I've been so impressed with the film people I've met.  They have been, to a person, warm, interested and interesting.  They are cosmopolitan, creative and in the case of the German production team, flawlessly bilingual.

And did I mention great with children?  The kids in the production are having such fun, and the adults clearly enjoy having them around.

Even in the moments when nothing was going right, rain was falling, closeups revealed problems with continuity, there were none of the much publicized personal theatrics we're told to expect on film sets.  Just hard work, attention to detail and creative solutions. I am left with a new respect for a medium I, as a viewer. often take for granted.

Which reminds me of another group of films made here in New Zealand that no one will ever take for granted.  But we just pulled up to the Shire, so that story will have to wait for the next blog.

Stay tuned for photos.