Some Assembly Required

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I purchased a vacuum cleaner yesterday – a Hoover Wind Tunnel Bagged & Bagless with Pet Hair tool.

I don’t have a pet, but since I have long hair …

I got the Hoover because I’ve always had Hoovers. This will be my fourth in 25 years. So not a bad track record. My old Hoover upright still had a lot of suction but the last two times I used it … well there was this burning odor. Made me nervous. Plus it made the house smell like an ashtray. Remember those? Do people even have ashtrays any more?

Okay – back to the vacuum cleaner story.

So … I’ve been looking on-line to find the perfect vacuum cleaner. Okay, an almost perfect vacuum cleaner. The perfect one would have a maid attached. I also had to consider price. I didn’t want my vacuum cleaner to cost more than my car.

I also wanted to try a bagless vacuum. I have a terrible time remembering to buy vacuum cleaner bags and then when I remember to buy them, I can’t remember what kind of bag my vacuum cleaner needs. So a bagless vacuum seems like a good solution.

Of course I’ve heard that bagless vacuums have less suction power than bagged vacuums. And I do have lots of allergies – in particular an allergy to house dust. But don’t you think that if I will use a bagless vacuum more often because I don’t have to fool with bags, that fact would even out the negative of less suction?

When I found this model that offered both a bagged and a bagless option on the same vacuum, I bought it. I ordered it on line, then picked it up at the store. No shipping costs that way.

The box holding the vacuum was at least four feet tall. That freaked me out a little, but after I got it and the packing out of the box it was the regulation height for an upright vacuum.

Then the hard part started. A label on the box indicated that there was some assembly required. Always a bad sign. If the manufacturer is going to put something in a box that is almost twice the size of the item, why can’t they send it assembled?

The handle was not attached to the vacuum. The hose carrier was not attached. I got out my reading glasses and a screw driver.

There was a little piece of cardboard on the handle that had a message in size 6 font – it said, “Remove before attaching handle.” So I removed it. A little annoyed that I had to assemble anything, I vigorously removed it. The cardboard was holding four screws that I didn’t see before ripping the cardboard off. I spent about 30 minutes searching the carpet for the four screws that had gone flying.

After finally attaching the handle and hose carrier, I was ready to check out the bagged and bagless canisters. You choose one and insert it into the vacuum assembly. The bagged option had a bag already in the canister. The bag was attached to a plastic piece. The plastic piece should have been hooked at the top and bottom to the canister – it wasn’t. I spent about an hour trying to attach it.

Finally I took the bag off the plastic piece and then worked to attach the plastic piece into two tiny slots on the canister. I was afraid I was going to break the canister. There was a tag on the plastic piece that said, “Do Not Remove.” No kidding!

Apparently in the shipping process someone had removed it. Two broken nails and 30 minutes later, the plastic piece was snapped into the canister. Then I added the bag.

Finally assembled, it looked very nice – black, smoky gray, with a copper colored chassis.

I should have plugged it in last night and tried it out.

But it was late when I finished, almost 9 pm. I’d been at it for 3 hours.

I think that’s enough housework for any one day.

I guess I should have held out for the model with the maid.

Evelyn David

Vacation Time and the Living Is Easy

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Husband and I are headed for our first non-kid vacation in fifteen years soon and it is to our favorite place on earth (besides home sweet home, that is), Bermuda. We went to Bermuda three years ago with the kids, fell in love with it, and made a promise that we would return, alone, when we had the chance. We are so looking forward to the trip.

Now you may be asking yourself, why would a melanoma survivor—and someone who assiduously avoids the sun—pick a tropical locale so close to the equator to vacation? First reason is that despite the fact that I can’t swim, I love to swim. And I use that term loosely. My idea of swimming is a spastic doggy paddle/treading water/half American crawl that if you tried to replicate, you might pull a disk out and require immediate surgery. But it has been working for me for years and I’ve learned not to make too many waves with it, so once the other swimmers get used to a middle-aged woman in ankle-length, UV protectant swim tights and a mock turtleneck UV protectant swim shirt flailing about next to them, and are convinced she isn’t having a stroke, everyone has a great time. We also have hats, sunscreen that was created for when you’re actually standing on the sun (ok, not really, but close enough), and swim shoes to protect the feet. Guaranteed, I’ll be the palest person getting off the plane at JFK when we return from the island.

We picked a hotel with seven restaurants because another thing we’re not is intrepid travelers. If you all recall our honeymoon story, we once went off the grid for “authentic” south of the border food, only to have me pick up a parasite, which I’m pretty darn sure still resides in my lower intestine and makes an appearance every once in a while. I’m also pretty sure that it has created its own parasitic family, one that enjoys making me sick every few years or so. So, once we park ourselves at the resorts, it’s where we sit, eat, sleep, “swim”, and lounge for the next week. We’re also not motor scooter people (Dad once forbade me from riding them and I obeyed him—my sister, not so afraid of authority, rode them all through her high school senior year trip to the island and even flashed pictures in his face while I said a silent prayer in the corner; she was, in the words of my grandmother, “bold.”)—but we’re not averse to getting on one of the clearly-marked pastel Bermudian buses and riding into Hamilton for a little shopping and dining. I will resist the urge to buy a “Bermuda bag.” Remember those? They were big when I was in high school. They had a wooden handle and were oval shaped and you could change the fabric on the handle to one of a thousand pastel or paisley selections. I couldn’t carry one off in 1985 and I certainly can’t now. But I often get caught up in the local color and think that I must have whatever it is that they’re selling. A Bermuda bag, though, doesn’t go with my clogs and recycled grocery bag lifestyle. I think I’m old enough and wise enough to realize this but only time will tell.

This time, though, I’m determined to get to St. George, which I heard is an historic part of the island and where you can get a drink called the “dark and stormy” that is sweet but deadly. My kind of drink exactly.

We have plans to partake in some kayaking while we’re there, but I’ve also learned that once we settle in somewhere and regard all of the activities that other resort-goers are undertaking, we just live vicariously through them. We’re both so tired from the school year and my work schedule that while we have great hopes of kayaking, scuba diving, and other water adventures, I bet you anything that the most we’ll do is raise a hand to the bartender to bring us another rum swizzle. That will require most of our energy and we want to make sure we don’t run out of steam too early in the vacation.

I’ll give you a full report upon my return. I plan on returning parasite, and sunburn-free. What are your plans for the summer, Stiletto Gang readers and posters? Will it be full-on relaxation or an adventure vacation? Write in and let us know!

Maggie Barbieri

Earlier Times

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On a list I’m on, people were reminiscing about their childhoods and how kids could use their imaginations more because they played outside–no one organized them. Things have truly changed and I think it’s too bad–and the main reason is because it’s too dangerous.

Back in my younger days, I have a feeling there were just as many bad people around, we just didn’t hear about them so much.

I had lots of freedom. Mom really didn’t seem to care where I went as long as I was home by 5 for dinner. Also, if we heard my dad whistle, and he could whistle really loud, we better hustle on home. I did not grow up in the country, our home was in Los Angeles. We had hills behind our house where the Glendale Freeway is today. We usually didn’t hike in the hills unless we had a grown-up with us because hobos lived in the hills. And yes, they really did, we often saw their encampments though never them.

We did a lot of roller skating down the sidewalks, we lived on a hilly street and usually stopped by crashing into someone’s garage door. We also rode our bikes everywhere. I often rode off alone in the summer with my writing gear in my basket and a book to read, and parked myself several blocks away under a lovely willow tree on someone’s front lawn. (No, I didn’t know the people.) I would write and read and enjoy myself and no one ever told me to move along.

I can just imagine the people of the house saying, “There’s that strange little girl again.”

Though I spent a lot of time with my friends doing all sorts of things like digging tunnels in the vacant lot (to escape from the enemy–I grew up during WWII) and cococting poisons, putting on plays with the neighborhood kids, I also wandered around a lot by myself. Sometimes I even managed to get lost.

When my cousin and I were 10 our mothers let us go downtown (downtown L.A.) on the streetcar by ourselves. (What we didn’t know is they followed us on the very next street car.) We had strict orders to stay in the block between 5th and 6th and to only go in those stores. Because we did as we were told, we were allowed to go downtown by ourselves whenever we wanted after that. Back in those days you could buy a lot at the dime store with one dollar.

Visits to the library were a weekly event. Mom had to drive us there. I always got 10 books and read them all before the week was up.

When I was a bit older mom subscribed to a book club and she told me I couldn’t read the books–but I did after she finished them. (I’m sure she knew.)

My growing up years were filled with freedom and I truly know how blessed I was.

Marilyn a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

Highlights of The Southern Tour

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Give me my ruby red slippers, there is nothing quite so satisfying as coming home. I miss my kids (hubby was with me), my bed, my dog (more on that later), my favorite mug full of my favorite tea. I am a creature of habit.

But that being said, this trip was exhausting (6 events in 5 days), but oh so satisfying. Authors can easily get obsessed (or maybe just this author?) over Amazon rankings, checking constantly to see if there is any movement. The mood swings from exhilaration when the numbers suggest books have been sold to the depths of despair when it looks like no one will ever buy any book again – well it’s enough to give you a bad case of whiplash.

But when you’re on the road, actually meeting mystery lovers who have shown up and want to talk about whodunnits, is incentive enough to kickstart the next book in the Sullivan Investigations Series.

Some highlights of the trip:

Selling out twice at Barnes and Noble in Manassas! The manager had put up an end display a couple of days before my event. Sold so many books, he had to reorder – and then I sold every single one of them in two hours.

Visiting Mystery Loves Company – a wonderful bookstore in Oxford, Maryland, in an idyllic setting. Sold out of Murder Takes the Cake there!

Visiting Warrenton, Virginia – the setting of both Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake. The people were friendly and helpful, and I saw exactly the place where the next murder will occur! I also heard some fun and scary ghost stories about the area. Definitely fodder for Murder Ups the Ante (book three).

My talks at the libraries in Middleburg, VA, Cambridge, MD, and Delmar, DE. The librarians, Sheila Whetzel, Leslie Grove, and Veronica Schell were warm, welcoming, encouraging, and enthusiastic. In a time of economic difficulties, libraries are a national treasure. Many thanks to all.

Fabulous meal at Latitude 38 in Oxford, MD. Yum, Yum, Yum.

Wonderful mini-reunion with old college friends in Washington, DC. All these years later (and it is a looooong time since we were fresh-women together) – and the friendships endure.

Time alone with my husband. With work and family demands, it’s hard to find time to just chat. Long hours in the car were made fun because we were together. Yesterday was our anniversary and I’m so glad I’m married to this wonderful guy.

The recovery of Clio. Wouldn’t you just know that we leave town and the dog gets sick. Good news is she’ll be fine. Even better news, our daughter and son handled the situation perfectly. Poor pup developed a nasty cyst that got infected. Add in a series of thunderstorms which always leaves her terrified, and she’s had a rough few days. But she’s on the road to good health and is back gobbling treats with a vengeance.

My Blackberry. Yep, it was definitely worth the investment. While on the road, I could Facebook and Twitter, and keep up with business e-mails.

So I’m home (hooray), but there are more book events planned for the summer. But first, laundry, grocery shopping, and maybe even a chapter or two of book number three!

Evelyn David

Little Things Mean A Lot

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by Susan McBride

I find myself avoiding the evening news these days. I mostly tune in just to see the weather and hear any updates on off-season Blues hockey (hey, they just got a really good defenseman from Sweden who’s about 19 and cute as a button!). I’m not even very keen on reading online news. It’s like everywhere I look something awful’s happening: economies are collapsing, wars are going on, a military coup’s taken place, another celebrity has passed away, or a fat-cat financier’s going to jail (okay, that last one isn’t depressing at all really).

If anything good comes out of our own country’s current mess, I hope it’s people taking a look at their lives and realizing that little things mean a lot. I remember being in high school when Ralph Lauren was taking off, and we all begged our parents for anything with a tiny Polo man on it. “Greed is good,” Gordon Gekko declared, and everyone bought it. Pretty soon, too many folks were living on credit, buying houses, cars, electronics, and other bling they couldn’t afford. Right out of college, my sister had five major credit cards all charged to their limits. Meanwhile, post-university, I paid for everything in cash and had a heckuva time getting a Visa until I’d established a credit history. Then again, maybe that was a good thing as I don’t rely on credit cards much now.

Don’t get me wrong. I like nice things as much as the next gal. But once I was living off my own earnings, it was amazing how much I realized I could do without. What I couldn’t pay for with cash, I didn’t need. My grandfather had lived by that credo, and I see how right he was. I feel fortunate to have married a man who doesn’t need a lot of “stuff” to be happy.

Unfortunately, these days everything that’s affordable seems to be made in China. I’m sure tons of folks like me would rather buy “Made in the USA,” only it’s hard to find. Honestly, I’ve had enough T-shirts that fall apart at the seams after one wearing to be willing to pay more for something that’s domestically produced by skillful adults, not by children in sweat shops. Wouldn’t it be lovely if more companies returned from overseas and got the manufacturing biz humming in this country again?

As kids, we didn’t care about labels or impressing anyone with status symbols. The simplest things were the most fun, like catching fireflies on a warm summer night; running through the sprinkler in our bathing suits; finding clover and weaving it into a necklace; baking cookies in grandma’s kitchen. I’m not sure when the “gotta have it” syndrome sets in or what causes it. Too bad there’s not a vaccine to inoculate us against it.

I still think the best things in life are free, like taking walks in the park, chillin’ on the porch swing, going to art festivals, holding hands with your honey, or singing your lungs out to Def Leppard. Oh, and how cool is the sound of thunder and rain from a good old-fashioned summer storm (but not the kind that spawns tornadoes or knocks down power lines!)?

I’d like to hear some of the simple things in your lives that you love to do. And, whatever they are, I hope you get to do them plenty over this extended holiday weekend. Happy Fourth of July to everyone!

P.S. Speaking of fun free things: The Book Belles are giving away a tote bag full of signed books. Contest ends July 15 so there’s still time!

Coming In for a Landing!

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July 1, 2009, was the day of the big office move. I’ve mentioned before that my day job is with the Oklahoma Department of Mines. I’ve been there 25 years this month. About 20 of those years were spent in a rural field office. The building was nice when we moved in and after the landlord changed, became steadily less nice over the years. A total lack of maintenance will do that to a structure. Have you seen that television special on one of the science channels about would happen if all humans were gone tomorrow? It uses special photographic effects to show how long it would take for the plants and animals to remove all traces of human occupation. Doesn’t really take long. I imagine if the landlord doesn’t get a new renter in the next few months, that building will disappear as the plants and animals take it over.

The new office space was a long time coming. There is a standard 3-4 months of red-tape involved in any relocation of a state office. That’s if everything goes smoothly and the new building is vacant, meets state building codes, and the price doesn’t exceed price per square footage caps. The building we just moved into had to be remodeled before we could move in. The building was gutted, exterior walls removed, exposing the steel bones. The roof was left on, but before the remodel was over, it was replaced. All the plumbing was replaced. And while all that was going on – it rained. It rained for a couple of months straight. My carefully planned move schedule was doomed.

We moved out of our old building on the last working day of May. That’s right, May. For the entire month of June, my office has been my car and home. My employees have been working from home and another field office 60 miles away. It was fun for just about two days. Then it was just a hassle. Each day I drove into the town where the new office was, picked up the office mail from the Post Office (we had it forwarded to new address, then held as it became clear we would not have a June 1 move-in date despite the contractor’s assurances). After collecting the mail, I would go to the new building and check on the remodel progress. Most days there was very little.

Before leaving the old office we had “surplussed” a lot of our elderly furniture and ordered some new stuff- some matching stuff. Note: a field office usually gets castoff furniture from the main office and the main office gets new furniture. Our field office was no exception. I was using some furniture given to the state from the federal government when they closed an office in the early 1980s. The furniture itself was from the post-WWII era. My desk was big – you could land a plane on it. It was all metal – the heavy stuff – with the soft gummy top that is usually covered with a sheet of glass. My desk didn’t come with the glass so you had to be careful with what you set on the surface. A coffee cup ring was permanent if you didn’t use a coaster. Anything heavier, you had a permanent indention.

My boss encouraged me to pick out a new desk – of course it was going to be smaller (they stopped making the big ones) but the new office was going to be smaller too. So I agreed. Reluctantly. My old desk is gone. My new desk is still on order. I’m using a computer table as a desk now. Talk about small! By the time I get my new desk – another week maybe – I’ll probably be thrilled with the size.

On July 2, we hope not only be in the new office with all our boxes and furniture, but to have internet service. When that happens, maybe the new place will feel like home – so to speak.

There are still about 100 boxes to unpack.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

Too Many Days of Rain

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No, this post isn’t about the weather. It has been a strange couple of days in the celebrity world in terms of deaths, what with the losses of Ed McMahon (not so surprising at 82), Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and pitchman Billy Mays and I had some thoughts I wanted to share.

I’m finding myself having a hard time getting worked up about the death of Michael Jackson and I’m wondering why that is. Well, deep down inside, I know what it is, but for right now, let’s just leave it alone. I do feel terrible for the surviving family members, and particularly, his children—two of who have their collective future hanging in the balance while their birth mother decides whether or not she wants to be a participating mother as opposed to someone who carried them for nine months and then left shortly thereafter. The whole situation has a decidedly carnival air about it, just as the poor man’s life did. And that leaves me sad, but not with a grief that I can’t overcome, which is how I’m seeing some people depicted on television.

I can’t say that I was surprised by the too early and untimely demise of Michael Jackson at all. Part of me was surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner.

We also, as a media-hungry society, watched as Farrah Fawcett died a slow and painful death from cancer. I felt worse about her passing, maybe because I know the pain of being a cancer patient, or maybe because I related to the fact that despite being perfect looking, she had a less than perfect life marred by the addictions of a grown son who had to visit her in shackles. Although her family and friends claimed that she had no idea that her son was in jail, I think she knew. I think that she was fully aware until the end that her little boy had lived a less than stellar life and was suffering the consequences. Don’t ask me how I know this or why I think this but I think that behind that glorious smile was a pain that only a parent with a dark secret like that can hide.

It was with great sadness that I had to let child #2 know that Billy Mays, champion pitchman, had died. Nothing gives child #2 more joy than the “Mighty-Putty” commercial in which with just a piece of this magic putty, an elephant can pull an eighteen wheeler. Kid begs me—and I mean BEGS me—every time the commercial comes on to buy Mighty Putty, going on to list the innumerable uses it might have in our own home. They are too embarrassing to list but put end to end, amount to a punch list that would probably stretch down our street to the Hudson River below. He was crestfallen when he heard that his hero had died. I think I may actually get the kid some Mighty Putty to alleviate his grief.

Between these celebrity deaths, plane crashes, the fallen troops from Iraq and Afghanistan, and the pictures of protestors being gunned down in the middle of the streets of Iraqi protesting the election (I hope this gives the non-voting Americans—and you know who you are—pause), I can barely stand to watch the news. You would think that all around us was death. But truly, all around us is life. And that, we should celebrate. Because every day is a gift to be treasured and too often, we treat as something that we are owed.

And so finally, I’d like to remember someone who wasn’t a celebrity, but just a very kind man and someone who our family considered one of a kind. John “Mac” McVeigh died on Friday at the age of 67, of an untimely and massive heart attack. He was my father’s oldest and dearest friend and was someone who could light up a room without sucking all of the oxygen out of it. He once told me when I was very small that “God never gives you more than you can handle” and I remembered those words, even as they were used as mere platitudes throughout the years by lesser men and women to describe situations that didn’t rival the ones he faced. He loved his “Reezie,” his kids, and his grandkids. And he loved his friends and treated them like special gifts bestowed upon him. He told the longest, most meandering stories that you could imagine, but eventually, those stories would come to an end, and you would be richer for having heard them. To say that he will be missed is a massive understatement, but if we can all carry around just a little piece of John’s love of life around with us in our hearts, we will all be just a little bit better. And happier.

Maggie Barbieri

The Kindle

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Yes, I broke down and bought a Kindle. I love it.

Frankly, I didn’t buy it merely to read books. My main purpose was to have something to demonstrate while I gave talks on e-publishing. I’ve been doing that for a long time, and I had two such presentations lined up in a row. I was on a panel at the California Crime Writers Conference in Pasadena and doing a talk on e-publishing for the Public Safety Writers Association’s Conference last weekend.

I downloaded Gary Phillips latest book on the Kindle because he was the moderator for the first panel. He’d never seen a Kindle so obviously not his book on one either. He was tickled.

I also purchased a couple of my own books on Kindle to see what they looked like: No Sanctuary and an old romance, Lingering Spirit.

The Kindle is great, easy to figure out and nice to read on.

The one drawback is it is far too easy to buy books. I have about six on there now. I’m saving them for when I go on a trip and that’s all I have to take with me.

Because, I have a huge stack of regular books to read. I got three books from a publisher to read and review–and they are really big and rather literary, so they’ll take awhile. Then, while I was at the PSWA conference I bought way too many books. When the author is there and talks about his or her book, I can’t control myself. Oh, and that brings me around to one more drawback about the Kindle–you can’t get the author to sign them.

Most of the big publishers haven’t figured out yet that you shouldn’t charge so much for books. E-publishers who have been around for a long time, know that the cost should be low if they expect to sell a lot of books. All of my publishers are putting their books on Kindle as well as all the other e-book sites. Yes, there are lots of ways to read an e-book–iPhones, iPods, Sony E-Reader and others, Kindle is not the only one.

Over the years I’ve had several e-readers, but you had to connect to your computer to buy a book. The Kindle is magic–you can order the book through Amazon’s Internet site if you want, but you can just as easily go to the book store on the Kindle and order. In 20 seconds the books is there.

And that’s what I have to say about my new Kindle.

Marilyn a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

On the Road

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I’m on my Southern Book Tour. I’ve heard about the promotional travels that F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway would take. In those days, authors would move from city to city, stay at the poshest hotels, eat five-course meals, drink to the wee hours, all at the publisher’s expense, and then give thought-provoking readings of their newest works to rooms full of fans, rapt with wonder at the pearls being shared with them.

Today you’re at Motel Six with a free breakfast buffet of donuts and coffee, all on your own dime. Or more likely, you’re sitting at your desk in your pajamas and it’s a virtual book tour where you move from blog to blog.

There’s something reassuring to know that whether you’re on The New York Times best-seller list or still struggling to make a name for yourself, book tours are the great equalizer. Check out the fun web site, http://booktour.com/stories. Jack Getze, author of the Austin Carr mystery series, recalled a conversation he had with award-winning Robert Crais, creator of the Elvis Cole mysteries. Crais told how he recently arrived at a bookstore for a long-scheduled event, only to find the place empty and none of the sales staff aware of who he was. “When I found the manager, he offered me a job application.”

And yet, whether’s it a four-star hotel or the Holiday Inn, what makes these outings worth it are the mystery fans you meet along the way. That’s the big payoff. They love the genre and I often get fantastic suggestions for new writers to read. Of course, some of these meetings are the fodder for future book scenes. For example, I ask people in the audience to name their favorite authors. One woman detailed a lengthy list and then explained that that she used to read a certain famous writer, but had stopped because the newer books had “gotten too dark.” I agreed and laughed that I didn’t need to read books to get depressed. The woman nodded and added, “I’m on Prozac and I don’t want to do anything to counteract that!”

And then there are the mega-buck payoffs (and that’s a figure of speech rather than any actual dollars). One woman told the Southern half of Evelyn David that she had never read a book for fun until she picked up our first mystery, Murder Off the Books. Reading our sequel, Murder Takes the Cake, would then be her second book finished. The idea that we might be part of the reason someone becomes a reader — now that’s the stuff of book tours.

Here are the details of the rest of my travels. I’m bringing chocolate to all events!:

June 29, 7 pm
Middleburg Library
101 Reed Street
Middleburg, VA

June 30, Noon
Dorchester County Library
303 Gay Street
Cambridge, MD

July 1, Noon
Mystery Loves Company Bookstore
202 S. Morris Street
Oxford, MD

July 1, 7 pm
Delmar Public Library
101 N. Bi-State Boulevard
Delmar, DE

Hope to see you on the road!

Evelyn David

Thanks, but No Thanks

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Toni Andrews is the author of the Mercy Hollings series. Her newest book, Cry Mercy, was published this month by Mira.

No offense.

I don’t want to write your story.

If you’ve seen the tale on my website, you know that I came to writing late in life. The blush has far from worn off—I’m still thrilled every time I get fan mail or someone comes up to me at a book store and says “I love your novels.” I still take my books down from the shelf and run my fingers over the smooth covers and sniff the binders.

I live in Connecticut. Those of you who are from other parts of the world may be picturing rolling lawns and stately homes full of people with PhDs sipping white Merlot. Yes, those places exist in Connecticut. But where I live, it’s a firmly blue-collar area. Local restaurants serve chicken wings and pizza and not much else. Red Sox vs. Yankees arguments are more common than literary discussions.

Don’t get me wrong—I love it here. But when I go down to the local bar and grill and someone finds out that I write books for a living, I often get one of three reactions:

Disbelief (Yes, but what do you really do?).

Shock and awe, followed by an admission of not having read a book since high school.

A sudden, feverish look in the eyes, followed by a request for my business card.

It’s the third one I have to watch out for. I’ve learned to ask, with as much subtlety as possible, why they want it. Because, often as not, it’s because they have a book idea for me.

These fall into two categories (I love lists. Can you tell?):

He, his uncle, or his next door neighbor has such an amazing personal story that if I will just write it down, the book will be a GUARANTEED NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER. Sorry to shout. It’s just that they always use those exact words. Always.

He himself has an idea that’s a GUARANTEED NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER but he doesn’t have the skill or patience to write it, and he wants me to “help” him.

Occasionally there’s a third option, particularly if the venue is a bar and even more particularly if the party concerned has got what my Uncle Avery used to refer to as “a snoot-full.” This is the person who proceeds to drunkenly spew out said GUARANTEED NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER’s plot, and then becomes paranoid that I am going to run home, write it down, send it in, and become a gazillionaire.

Like most writers I know, I have folders and folders, both real and virtual, full of my own book ideas. I’ve written them on the backs of envelopes I found under the seat of my car, in the margins of magazine pages ripped from ancient copies moldering in waiting rooms and in countless notebooks.

I’ll never get the chance to write all these books, even if I live to be 150. Because I’ll always be getting more ideas.

If you have a book idea that’s a GUA (I stopped myself this time.) just dying to be written, then I think you should write it yourself. And I’m not being snotty here—I mean it.

It’s not as hard to write a book as you think. After all, I did it.

Walk into a big bookstore and take a look around. Some human being wrote every one of those books. They weren’t all (trust me on this one) geniuses. And you don’t have to reinvent the wheel – you can stroll over to the writing section of that store and find books that will tell you how to structure a plot, create believable characters, write sparkling dialogue, and even how to get it published afterward.

Hey, I know. I credit my published status to the first book I picked up when I made the decision to write my story down: Writing a Romance Novel for Dummies by Leslie Wainger, a book I highly recommend.

So, sorry, I don’t want to write your book—not because it wouldn’t be amazing. It’s just that I’m busy working on my own. As for your book:

Write it.

I mean it.

Start today.

Toni Andrews

Toni’s web site: http://toniandrews.com/
Where to send your Self Addressed Stamped Envelope to get a signed book plate for your copy: http://toniandrews.com/CryMercyTour.htm
Toni’s Blog: http://tinyurl.com/ToniBlog
Toni’s TV show: http://toniandrews.com/SoManyBooks.htm
Cry Mercy Trailer: http://tinyurl.com/75vl4s
Book Rx, Toni’s “Book Doctor” service: http://toniandrews.com/BookRx.htm