12-Step Program for the Bookaholic (Who Has No Desire to be “Cured!”)

1. Visit the book club boards at www.bn.com no more than five times a day. Ten at most.

2. Talk about books (or to authors) on Twitter no more than five times a day. Ten at most.

3. Talk about books (or to authors) on Facebook no more than an hour a day. Five at most.

4. Go to bookstores no more than twice a week. (Used bookstores don’t count.)

5. Order books online no more than five times per week. (Combined orders and pre-orders don’t count.)

6. Remember to check pre-orders before ordering a new release. (Think of all the duplicate books you’ve received because you forgot to do this!)

7. Just because you love the author’s new book, this does not necessitate buying every book on this author’s backlist. (Recent releases are enough – for now.)

8. Do not let friends who read only literature make you defensive about whatever genre you are currently reading. All reading improves the mind. (And books in the romance genre have added benefits!)

9. Remember that buying books written by authors who are friends doesn’t count.

10. And buying books written by RWA chapter members is sort of a business expense.

11. In fact, for writers, all books should count as business expenses – it’s research, after all. Someone should talk to the IRS about this flaw in their regulations.

12. Visit no more than five author blogs a day. Ten at the most. You’re only enabling them – they should be working on their next book, not talking to people like you!

The lovely illustration comes from this site: www.lovebooks.co.za/

I hope they don't mind me borrowing it.

Birthday Madness

I admit it: I go a little nuts over birthdays. Not my own, God forbid -- I'd just as soon forget those.

And not my husband's, either -- I've learned my lesson after two surprise parties. They were fun for everyone except the birthday boy, who would, if his life had turned out differently, have chosen to live as a monk in a cave somewhere.

But with my kids, all bets were off. I'd put up banners, tape their birthday cards to the door, get party plates and napkins, silly hats and horns and "I'm the Birthday Boy/Girl" badges. And that was only the beginning.

Birthdays were always events -- the kids didn't just have parties, they had theme parties. (I know, I know.) Clown parties. Magician parties. Decorate-the-sun-visor parties. Roller-rink parties, parties at the gymnastics center, Chuck-E-Cheese, Q-Zar, the Family Fun Center, slumber parties, surprise parties -- you name it, we did it.

Several of my daughter's birthdays stand out: on her second birthday, we had just moved to New Jersey and were living in a Sheraton hotel until the movers arrived with our furniture. While I was on the phone with the moving company, Jessica wrote all over her body with a pen -- I do mean ALL OVER. She looked like the Tattooed Baby -- I worried about her getting ink poisoning!

Then there was her 11th birthday, where I let her invite 11 friends for a sleepover (I think my hair started to turn white that night). The year she turned 13, Jessica had a pen pal who lived in New York City. After much begging on her part and much angst on mine, we flew to New York the weekend of her birthday. We met her friend Thyrza -- who turned out to be very sweet -- and visited Tower Records, a retro record store in Greenwich Village, Strawberry Fields and Times Square. We saw "Grease" and went to an Ani DiFranco concert in Central Park. In other words, we had a blast.

Jonathan had several memorable birthdays, too. Around the time of his 11th birthday, he was into challenges and puzzles, so I wrapped several gifts and hid them around the house. Then I made up riddles that he had to decipher in order to find them. I kept a copy of the list -- and the answers -- for myself, remembering how we'd lost a few Easter eggs that way. When we found them, months later, it wasn't pleasant.

His first birthday was memorable, too. My sister was about to move into a new house -- they had closed on the old house, but the new one wasn't quite ready. In the meantime, my husband and I, our two kids and two cats shared the house with my sister and her husband, their three girls and their dog.

And then her kids got chicken pox. Somehow, my kids -- who were sharing beds/cribs with their cousins -- didn't get sick, but Jonathan was still colicky and cried a lot at night. NONE of us got much sleep. My main memory of his first birthday was four adults in zombie-mode, surrounded by a gaggle of kids and animals. It was a memorable birthday, even if it passed in a blur.

The first time my kids spent their birthdays away from home, I felt a little lost. Today is my daughter's 26th birthday, and she's spending it in New York City with her boyfriend. My son came home for the weekend closest to his birthday to keep my husband company while I was at RWA National, and we went out for birthday dinner on our way back from the airport on my return. Right after dinner, he headed back to Chicago and spent his actual birthday partying with friends three days later.

Yes, I went way too far with my kids' birthdays when they were young. Too many presents, too many parties, too much of everything. But my kids didn't turn out too badly and, you know, I'd probably do it again. Relatively speaking, there's only a short time when birthdays are fun, and you might as well make the most of it.

What about you -- your own birthdays, your husband/significant other's, your kids? Are you a party animal, or do you try to hide until the day is past? Do you tell the truth about your age when people ask? Or are your birthdays stuck at 29?

Put Up Your Dukes!

I've read Pride and Prejudice. Hell, I've even seen the movie. I love Jane Eyre, but prefer Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights to Emily Bronte's book. Still, until about a year and a half ago, I scorned historical romances.

Those books have had their revenge, because I seem to be hooked.

I blame Anna Campbell and Eloisa James. When I bought CLAIMING THE COURTESAN and AN AFFAIR BEFORE CHRISTMAS it was because I'd come across the authors at Barnes & Noble's website, and I was curious. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was pretty sure the books would be filled with foppish men and fussily dressed women, dastardly dukes and blushing duchesses and priggish period language. You would have thought those book covers might have given me a clue, but no -- I was the prig with my preconceived ideas. The books, on the other hand, left me breathless and eager for more.

Anna, with her favorite historicals listed on her website, and Eloisa, who writes a monthly column for Barnes & Noble which always includes book recommendations, led me into temptation. How can I explain this? I thought I was immune. I read mysteries first, and, being a slow learner, it took me awhile to realize my favorite mysteries included a romance. Think Mary Stewart, Evelyn Anthony, Dorothy Eden, Victoria Holt. Romantic suspense, contemporary romance - that was one thing. Historicals? Too girly.

Even when I admitted my addiction to romance and began subscribing to Harlequin and Silhouette, I hid the covers when I read them on the train and in the break room at work. They were a secret pleasure. When I hit fifty, I stopped worrying what other people thought about my book choices, and gave myself up to the pleasure of reading whatever I damn well felt like. But I was still a little embarrassed about reading historicals. For some reason, I felt as if I was falling too far over onto the feminine side -- as if any minute I'd break out in corsets and petticoats.

Then Melanie Murray and the regulars at Barnes & Noble's Romantic Reads board keep urging me to read more historical authors, and I found it increasingly hard to refuse their suggestions. When I met affirmed historical addict Michelle Buonfiglio, that clinched it. My name is Becke and I have an addiction to historical romance . . .

Once I fell, I fell hard. I've discovered so many great authors, I can't begin to list them all -- Loretta Chase, Lorraine Heath, Joanna Bourne, Madeline Hunter, Eva Ibbotson, Lisa Kleypas, Connie Brockway, Christina Dodd, Anne Gracie, Donna MacMeans, Christine Wells, Victoria Dahl, Julia Quinn, Vanessa Kelly, Nicola Cornick, Mary Balogh, Tessa Dare, Carolyn Jewel, Lisa Valdez, Robyn DeHart, Jennifer Ashley, Jennifer Haymore, Teresa Medeiros, Jacquie D'Alessandro, Karen Hawkins, Kathryn Kennedy, Meredith Duran, Judith Ivory, Maya Rodale, Stephanie Laurens, Anne Stuart, Christine Merrill, Sophie Jordan, Sabrina Jeffries, Delilah Marvelle, Elizabeth Hoyt, Laura Lee Guhrke, Liz Carlyle, Suzanne Enoch, Julie Anne Long, Johanna Lindsey, Claudia Dain -- oh, I give up. Let's just say my to-be-read pile is now overflowing with historicals.

Damn those dukes, anyway. I'm all about the contemporary era -- I live in jeans and sandals, for Pete's sake! I would have hated to live in Regency England, or any time in the past. Except . . . there is something about a reformed rake.

Which reminds me -- I have a hundred pages to go in the story I'm reading. Regency England is calling and I must heed the call! But, all you authors of historical romances? If you're saying, "I told you so," you're right. I was wrong, and I'm here to admit it. Those books are wonderful, and I'm so glad I've discovered them, even if the TBR pile is a little scary these days. Now I have to go finish reading my book!

I'm in Patricia McLinn's Reader Hall of Fame!

I've been a fan of Patricia McLinn's for many years. We met at the Lori Foster Reader and Writer Get Together in Cincinnati this year -- she now lives in my area and is in the Ohio Valley romance writers chapter, too. She's just updated her website, and I'm honored to be in her Reader Hall of Fame! Here's the link:

http://www.patriciamclinn.com/reader_hall_of_fame.html

It came as no surprise to me that Patricia is a dog lover, too. My dog died two years ago, and I still miss her. With my son in Chicago and my daughter in Orlando, I'm traveling a lot right now. My husband and I both want a dog, but we don't think it would be fair when we're gone so much. But I love reading stories like this:

http://www.patriciamclinn.com/whats_new.html

Here's Patricia's book list. I've read them all, and I love them (as you've figured out by now):

http://www.patriciamclinn.com/bookshelf.html

Eloisa James' Fun Paper Doll Contest

Nature, Nurture and the Power of No

My name is Becke and I am a pleaser. I can't help it -- I try to avoid it, and since I hit 50 some years back, I've really been working on releasing my inner bitch. But it's darn hard to teach this old dog new tricks.

There's a Jim Carrey movie called "Yes Man" about a guy who changes his life by saying "yes" to everything. "Yes" has always been my default response, along with "Sure, why not?" and "Well, okay . . . if no one else will do it." Now, don't get me wrong, sometimes I really enjoy these things. I strongly believe in the volunteer ethic, and I've spent a good part of my life volunteering at church, at work, at school, in the neighborhood and anywhere else it's possible to volunteer.

But sometimes, I just have to say "no." I don't like conflict, and have been known to get physically ill when I've been caught in the middle of unavoidable family nasties. I will lose sleep if I think I might have inadvertently offended someone. If you look up "wimp" in the dictionary, you'll probably find a picture of me.

This is not to say I don't stand up for what I believe in, and if anything threatened my kids when they were little (or now, for that matter) I would morph into a force of nature. But normally, in my day-to-day life, I don't just bend with the wind, I let it toss me around like a puff of dandelion seeds.

Like I said, I'm trying to change this, but it's an uphill battle. "No" doesn't come easy, even though all years of trying to please everyone has only brought trouble. Every disfunctional relationship I've ever been stuck in came from my inability to say a simple two-letter word, the first word most babies learn: No.

So how did I come to have two kids who are most excellent at standing up for themselves, and have been for most of their lives? My son took a little longer to find the confidence at his core, but my daughter was a firecracker from day one. The other day, I found a journal I'd kept when my kids were little. I laughed so hard at some scenes that my mascara was running down my cheeks.

I have a feeling only a mother would find those things as funny as I did, though -- I discerned a pained expression on my husband's face as his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape route, when I started reading those selections to him. Even my daughter sighed a few times, AND THE SCENES WERE ABOUT HER.

Still, this one really made me think. It took place when she was about three years old:

Jessica was so funny in the store today. She was standing in front of the shopping cart while we were in line, and the lady in front of us bumped into her. "Excuse me, sweetheart," the lady said. Jessica stood up real straight and replied, "I'm not your sweetheart. I'm only Mommy and Daddy's sweetheart."

The lady said, "You're right -- my grandson is really my sweetheart, but you're so cute I could eat you up!" A most offended Jessica announced loudly, "I'm not food -- you can't eat me up!"

I added a note: "My goodness! She certainly stands up for herself!"

When I read this to my daughter, who is now an adult, she didn't see anything unusual about it. But then, she never has had trouble standing up for herself. My son was a little shy when he was young -- something that will come as a shock to anyone who only knew him in high school and college. My husband certainly has no problem saying "no" -- in no uncertain terms -- in any situation, so maybe they learned this from him.

I remember reading that parents should be careful what they say, because their children will be listening, and taking notes. In this family, I'm the one taking notes, learning from them how to stand up for myself. You'd think by my age, saying "no" would come easier, but . . . no.

Tales of the Tooth Fairy

The tooth fairy doesn't cast a long shadow at most houses. Her saga was a little different at our place.

My daughter lost her first tooth at church, walking up some stairs. There was a major panic when she thought it was gone forever, but we did find it and, later that night, the tooth fairy took it from under her pillow and left a dollar. (She left a quarter when I was a kid, but times have changed.)

When my daughter lost her second tooth, we were at a hotel in Orlando, Florida, on our first visit to Disney World. My daughter nearly went into hysterics because her tooth fairy was back home in Illinois. I thought fast and invented a cousin for her tooth fairy -- clearly, I didn't think fast enough or I would have given her tooth fairy a Lear jet or super-powers. But, no, I had to get clever.

Jessica always loved a good story, so she demanded to know all about this mysterious cousin. And that led to questions about her own personal tooth fairy. Thus Tatiana was born, along with her Florida-based cousin, Desiree. Later, Jonathan got his own tooth fairy, too -- I'd forgotten her name was Clea until I recently found my notes. What I should have done was create a freaking spreadsheet.

The thing about teeth is that months -- even years -- can go by before another one falls out. And when two kids are involved, the whole tooth fairy saga can go on for years. When Jessica lost her third tooth, I'd all but forgotten about Tatiana and Desiree. Thank the lord, I'd kept the long letter Jessica wrote to them while we were in Florida, and she'd mentioned them both by name, as well as some details of their history. I kept that letter in her baby book for future reference, until it was dog-eared.

But that's only part of the story. The thing is, the tooth fairy looked an awful lot like Mom, and occasionally Dad. But usually it was night owl Mom who did the honors, since both kids slept with half an eye open, hoping to catch the tooth fairy in the act. This meant that I lived in dread of being caught -- dollar and/or tooth in hand -- by a tearful, disillusioned child. After one memorable night when I couldn't find the damn tooth and had to explain why the tooth fairy left a buck AND the tooth, I insisted they put the tooth in a Baggie before placing it under the pillow.

One night, I was more tired than usual and completely forgot. The tooth fairy was so remorseful, she left two dollar bills the following night. And then there was the night the Dad tooth fairy pulled what he thought was a dollar bill from his wallet, in the darkened bedroom, only to be awakened in the morning by a thrilled child shrieking that the tooth fairy had left twenty bucks under the pillow!

After that, our crafty son starting looking at every tooth as a potential windfall. He tried bargaining with the tooth fairy, suggesting she might leave bags of Skittles in place of money. And then there was the time Jonathan made an extremely realistic tooth out of bits of Dixie cup smooshed up with toothpaste. Luckily, the Dad tooth fairy overheard the commotion in the hall bathroom and left Monopoly money under the pillow in place of the fake tooth.

Every time a tooth came out, it seemed the ante went up -- Jessica wrote long, heartfelt letters and required letters back in response, while Jonathan wrote letters asking what the tooth fairy did with all those teeth, probably with the view of selling his teeth elsewhere and cutting out the middle man. Did I mention he's got an Economics degree now?

And Jessica works at Disney World. If she loses any more teeth, I'm passing the job on to Tinkerbelle.

(My daughter just read this and, in the way of the modern world, posted this to me on Facebook: "TIANA!!!! OMG, Mom, how could you forget her name??? This must be amended pronto! And pssst, it's Tinker Bell."

All I can say is my notes say Tatiana, but I will admit that my memory leaves a lot to be desired. And there were probably other notes. But, seriously? Tinkerbelle is Tinker Bell? That is so unfeminine! What was Disney thinking?)