Tag Archive for: The Cougar Club

The Cougar Club

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CARLA
Carla Moss in an interview
with the St. Louis Post-Dispatch:

Aging anchormen are like Santa Claus. The more pot-bellied and bald they get, the more revered. Anchorwomen, on the other hand, are pretty much like Kleenex: disposable and always replaceable

with a newer, prettier box.
***

“Welcome, everyone, to our annual Survivors Breakfast,” Allison Hoffman greeted the crowd. She theatrically fluffed the fuchsia feather boa draped over her shoulders, flinging its tail-end around her neck. “I do hope you’re all feeling as in the pink as I am this morning. Diva pink, I like to call it, though I believe our guest of honor has put on Chanel pink, isn’t that right, Carla?” the director teased, looking in Carla’s direction.

Carla called back, “It beats Pepto-Bismal pink,” which sent a wave of laughter rippling through the enormous room.

“You all know and love her as the face of Channel Three news. She’s been one of our biggest supporters for over a decade, headlining fundraisers and leading the pack at our annual Save the Ta-Tas Walk. In fact, I can’t think of enough good things to say about her, so why don’t I just let her speak for herself. Without further ado”—she made a grand sweep of her arm, shedding feathers from her boa—“Ms. Carla Moss.”

Carla rose to her feet amidst a thunder of applause and hoots. With a graceful wave to all, she ascended the steps to the stage, accepted a hug from Allison, and settled behind the podium. She adjusted the mike before saying, “Thank you so much for the warm welcome,” as the noise slowly died down.

The lights glinted off her auburn hair and the gold buttons of her suit and shone so brightly in her eyes that she could see no farther than the first row of tables. Beyond that, heads appeared faceless, no more than blurred shadows. But Carla smiled and let her gaze roam the room, as if she could see them all.

As she leaned toward the microphone, she lightly clutched the sides of the lectern. “Wow, what a gorgeous group of woman, oh, and you don’t look too shabby either, sir,” she said, winking at a lonely gentleman surrounded by ladies at a first-tier table. The crowd chuckled heartily, and Carla paused before going on. “I’m here today in celebration of all of you, survivors and co-survivors alike. Honestly, after meeting so many of you before breakfast and hearing your stories, I think this amazing tribe of pink could run the world if it wanted to.”

The audience cheered, and Carla hesitated until the ballroom grew quiet again. “As you know if you’ve heard me speak before, I come from a long line of tough broads. My grandmother had breast cancer when I was in grade school, too young to realize what was going on. All I remember about her diagnosis was my mother crying on the phone and then packing her suitcase to head to Texas. She left my dad and me alone to fend for ourselves for a month while she cared for my grandma. But Granny was a fighter, and she made it through just fine.”

Carla’s finger curled around the lectern’s edges, and her voice wavered ever so slightly. “When I envision a survivor, I think of my grandmother living another twenty years after her breast cancer before she died at 85 of something else entirely. No, the breast cancer didn’t get her. She’d never have let it best her. She’d made it through the Great Depression and several World Wars to see men walk on the moon. A pesky thing like Stage 2a invasive ductal carcinoma wasn’t going to bring her down, and it didn’t.”

More hoots and “here here’s” erupted from the depths of the ballroom, and Carla paused until things quieted down again.

“After she was cancer-free, I stayed with her one summer. Every morning, she got up, stuck on her bra, tucked in her prosthesis, and she soldiered on. It was like nothing had ever happened, and it was like everything had happened. She’d become even more of what she was: more loving, more giving, and more fun. Granny took life by the balls, and she held on,” Carla declared and wet her lips, keeping her composure though the memories touched her still. “She lived her life to the fullest, as we all should, every day, no matter what our circumstances. And I challenge each and every one of you to do the same.”

A disjointed chorus of “amen’s” rang out and others clapped, and Carla felt her nerves finally easing. Her grip relaxed, and she exhaled softly through her glossed lips, holding her emotions in check.

“Even though my mother never had to deal with breast cancer, I still worry about her health, and I worry about my own. I try not to dwell on what I can’t control, but I can’t help wondering sometimes what’s in store for me and my boobs”—she lifted her hands to theatrically cup her breasts, glancing south-ward as she did so—“besides the tug of gravity, pulling them down more every year, of course.”

She smiled at the ensuing laughter, pleased she kept hitting the right notes. Her voice stronger now, she carried on. “What I do know for sure is that I’m not leaving much to chance. I’ve been having mammograms annually since I turned 35 and now with digital mammography—and the occasional ultrasound when my doctor sees something she doesn’t like—I feel like my knockers are being monitored more closely than any Playboy playmate’s.”

A broad grin slipped across Carla’s mouth at the raucous sound of hooting and hollering that followed that remark, which was when even the most lingering of butterflies fled her stomach altogether and she realized her audience wasn’t eating their $30 per plate breakfast so much as eating out of the palm of her hand.

You like me, you really like me, she mused happily and finished up her talk in twenty minutes flat, right on schedule, and left the podium to a standing ovation.

***
Excerpted with author’s permission from The Cougar Club (HarperCollins, 02/10). For more on this book, visit SusanMcBride.com.

Building a Community of Readers

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A writer’s goal is for her book to be discovered and loved by readers.

A reader’s goal is to discover and love new books and authors.

But in the world of publishing, it can be tricky to achieve these goals. There aren’t a lot of publishing dollars spent on marketing an author or promoting her book, particularly if you’re not already a bestseller (read: bread and butter for the publisher). Sure, a few lucky writers are anointed and co-op, advertising, and other promotion happens at the publisher’s expense, but by and large, it’s up to authors to promote their own books, and to try to reach their potential audience.

This is a challenge for authors, no matter the genre we write in. Social networking is a whole new world, allowing for exposure in a brand new way. Twitter, Facebook, Stumble, Digg, and so many more let you connect and network with strangers who may be potential readers.

But still, it’s hard.

I’m making yet another dent in the fabric of the World Wide Web. This last Monday, I launched Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens. These two sites are all about building a community of readers. The goal is to bring great books to readers, and to help readers discover great books.

Every Monday, a new book and author are featured. There are video interviews (this week, Jane Kurtz talks about her upbringing in Ethiopia, her passion: Ethiopia Reads, and her new books, Lanie and Lanie’s Real Adventures, the 2010 American Girl Doll Lanie Holland books; 6 copies of these books will be given away Monday!), Q & As with the authors, and more. Enter each week to win. That’s all there is to it! What better way is there for a reader to discover a new-to-them -author, and what a great way for a writer to gain exposure for their book.

Our own Susan McBride is the inaugural author on Books on the House! 3 copies of The Cougar Club will be given away on Monday. Her YouTube interview is posted, as well as a Q & A in which she lets us in on some exciting news she has.

I’m so excited about Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens and the potential for the sites to really help build a community of readers. We have some fabulous authors and books lined up including:

Alexandra Bullen with Wish

NY Times Bestseller Allison Brennan with Original Sin

NY Times Bestseller Jane Yolen with her new graphic novel

Mystery Writer Jennie Bentley

NY Times Bestseller Brenda Novak

and so many more!

Check out Books on the House and Books on the House for Kids and Teens. Tweet about it! Spread the word! Help build our community of readers.

=) Misa

The Mid-Life Dating Game

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by Susan McBride

Promoting The Cougar Club has me thinking (and talking) a lot about dating in mid-life. It’s a fascinating subject, perhaps because it’s not something most of us imagine we’ll ever do, not when we’re in high school and crush-worthy subjects are abundant. Worrying about possibly being single for the rest of your life isn’t even a big deal when you’re out of college and embarking in the real world, becoming bridesmaids in your friends’ weddings and pursuing your dreams instead of Mr. Right. Then all of a sudden you’re forty, and your mother’s bemoaning the fact that she may never have a grandchild. Or worse, she makes comments like, “If you get pregnant by that adorable guy you’re dating, it’s okay. I’ll be there for you. In fact, I can babysit whenever you need me.” And she does it with a straight face.

Initially, I didn’t dwell much on the fact that I was still single when I crossed the big 4-0. After ten years of working like crazy to get published and several more after that building the foundation for my career, I was just thrilled to be writing mysteries for Avon that were selling well. I loved being on the road, hanging out with writer friends, and meeting fellow book lovers across the country. It felt like heaven to me.

So while I was too busy to worry about becoming a notorious cat lady, my relatives apparently weren’t, something I realized at any/every family gathering. I believe it was at my brother’s wedding that a male cousin asked if I might be a lesbian. When I told him, “No. I like men,” he nodded and leaned in to whisper, “But it would be all right if you were.” Thank you, Dr. Phil. My sister (who is a year older and still single) never seemed to get as much scrutiny about her love life. Perhaps because the myriad dating stories she theatrically shared (she’s an actress at heart) made everyone afraid to comment or ask questions! By the way, she’s the real Cougar in the family, having dated younger dudes since high school. My family calls her “free-spirited.” As a kid, I imagined she’d grow up to be a go-go dancer or a magician’s assistant. Not the kind of gigs that demand marriage and stability.

I, on the other hand, had a lot expected of me. I was the responsible one, the driven one so I expected a lot of myself, too. I was all about setting the bar high and meeting my career goals, not sitting at bars trying to meet men. Besides, the guys I ran into at book-related events, in airports, or through set-ups weren’t ever people I could imagine spending two dates with, much less the rest of my life. Wasn’t there a study that said women over forty have a better chance of being killed in a terrorist act than they do of getting married? Let me tell you, dating when you’re over forty sometimes feels like a terrorist act, especially if you’re looking for guys your own age. Here’s Kat Maguire’s Facts of Life for Women over Forty from The Cougar Club, which sums up the situation rather neatly:

The older you get, the harder it is to find a single man your own age who isn’t either: (a) married or gay; (b) divorced with insurmontable baggage; (c) looking for a girl half his age.

The idea of finding a soul-mate sounded oh so appealing, but how to locate the pearl among the swine? I soon learned what I had to do was open my eyes a little wider. I needed to chuck the list of “must-haves” that I used to judge potential boyfriends in high school and–not settle–but realize that maybe lack of fashion sense isn’t the kiss of death, that a doctorate in computer science is far more valuable to a writer than a doctor of medicine, and that humor and wit outweigh bulky muscles by a long shot. I should have written a book about my epiphany before someone else did. (Because it’s too late now. I just heard about a book this morning called Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough, which is really about looking for potential, not settling. It’s written by a 42-year-old single woman who had a baby via a sperm donor because she set her standards so high she blew off every guy she might have/could have/may have loved).

I feel extremely fortunate that I met Ed at a time when I was satisfied with the direction of my career and feeling very happy with myself. I still look back and shake my head, amazed at how events lined up so fatefully in 2005, leading to the introduction to my husband. So many “ifs” could have taken us in separate directions: if my mom hadn’t sent in an email to St. Louis Magazine asking them to consider me and my sister as “top singles” for that year’s issue, if they hadn’t selected me, if I hadn’t filled out the questionnaire, if I hadn’t made friends with Jeremy Nolle (Ed’s former co-worker) at the magazine shoot, if I hadn’t been talking to Jeremy when Ed showed up at the Contemporary Art Museum for the party the magazine threw…if so many little pieces of the puzzle hadn’t come together perfectly, I would have missed finding my own Mr. Right. (Ed and I honestly think that our deceased grandmothers had a hand in things somehow, meeting up in Heaven and saying, “Oh, your grand-daughter is single?” “Wait, you have a grandson?” You know the drill.)

I had always felt independent–lived independently–so much so that I imagined it would be very hard once I fell in love with someone I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. My family used to tease me about a comment I made long ago that even when I married I’d want a duplex so I could have one side and my husband the other. “I need time alone!” I would insist while they quietly chuckled. My mom even mentioned this in her toast at Ed’s and my rehearsal dinner. As it turned out, I never feel like Ed and I have enough time together. We’ll be celebrating our second wedding anniversary on February 24, and I love him more now for all the things we’ve been through together than I did when we were at that dewy “OMG, I could just suck face all night” falling-in-love stage.

If I hadn’t been part of the mid-life dating game, I wouldn’t have married an amazing man (who just happens to be younger)…and I would never have written The Cougar Club. The moral to my story: ladies over forty, it ain’t over ’til it’s over! Or maybe it’s that there’s always a book in everything. Hmm.

The Weirdness of Being a Writer

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by Susan McBride

Here I go again, getting all geared up and nervous for a new book release (11 days from today, to be exact!). I’m strapping on my mental Kevlar vest and my sturdiest virtual helmet, and I’m crossing fingers, toes, legs, eyes, whatever’s remotely cross-able. On January 26, THE COUGAR CLUB will be available in bookstores all over the place, and three women who have lived in my head since I signed a contract in September of 2008 will be unleashed on the world, at which point they will cease to belong only to me. They will be wide open to public scrutiny, and I’ll have to accept the inevitable: some readers and reviewers will find these women fabulous and inspiring and all sorts of good things, and others will hold their noses and declare them odious, pounding out angry one-star reviews on Amazon that warn others not to spend a single penny on such drivel. Gulp! And I will have no control over either. (Sweat is breaking out on my upper lip as I type this but my positive thinking will surely evaporate it in no time, right?)

It’s a weird thing sometimes, being a writer. I mean, it sounds really fabulous when you decide at some point, “I want to be Margaret Mitchell (or Harper Lee or Barbara Taylor Bradford)! I have stories to tell! I want to share my wild imagination and love of words with the universe!” Only you don’t stop and think how unsafe an occupation it truly is, and there are no OSHA rules to protect those of us determined enough to proceed. It’s one thing to have your mother read your first manuscript and declare, “This is brilliant! Pure genius!” It’s another to peel one eye open enough to read what Publishers Weekly or Library Journal or Romantic Times decided about your latest opus. To put it bluntly, publishing can be scary!

Like, simply writing a book isn’t tough enough. I was emailing with Ellen Byerrum (who’s on a crazy deadline) the other day, and she asked me if the process ever got any easier. I didn’t need to think too hard to answer, “Nope, it never does.” THE COUGAR CLUB will be my 10th published novel–and number 11 has been in the can since last January–and even before I was under contract, I wrote 10 manuscripts that will never see the light of day. Whew, it makes me tired just recalling how much blood, sweat, and tears I’ve dripped on my keyboard through the years. Those of us who write don’t do it for the glory or the money. Anytime I hear a starry-eyed novice proclaim, “I’m going to write a book and make a lot of money so I can quit my job and support my family,” I have to fight the urge to say, “Are you crazy?” How nice it would be if it worked out that way! (Plus, you never know. I mean, if your name is Stephenie and you had a dream about a vampire, then that’s pretty much how it went.)

For those of us who are mere mortals, success doesn’t come overnight. It comes through persistence, determination, sacrifice of time with friends and family, lots of travel and self-promotion, and the unflagging hope that “maybe this will be the one.” Because, honestly, in this business you never know. It’s not always possible to predict where lightning will strike in book publishing (or else publishers would only be putting out best-sellers, as they say).

Despite the odds, despite how weird this game is to play (with the rules ever-changing), despite the naysayers declaring things like, “Books will be obsolete by 2025”–okay, I made that up but someone probably did say it!–I can’t imagine doing anything else. Words have always been my passion. I was the kid in grade school scribbling stories in my Big Chief tablet just for fun, not because it was homework. I was the student who grinned when I heard the phrase “essay test,” because I knew I could write my way through anything. I’ve always played “what if” in my head: “What if that boy on the bike is running away from something…what did he do and where is he going?”

It’s who I am, it’s what I do, and, God help me, but I love it. It’s never easy, but it satisfies some part of me that I can’t even explain. And I worry over every new book that’s about to be released, no matter that I realize I can’t control what happens to it any more than I can control the weather. So in eleven days, I’ll hold my breath for a second when I wake up, knowing that I’m letting THE COUGAR CLUB out into the wild. At least I can be sure of what my mom will say about it: “This is brilliant! Pure genius!” (You’ve gotta love moms!)

Where Do You Get Your Ideas?

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by Susan McBride

One of the questions that writers are asked most frequently has to be, “Where do you get your ideas?” I remember hearing Denise Swanson once tell someone, “I order mine from J.C. Penney,” which I thought was pretty funny. Personally, I pluck mine from the Idea Tree which grows right beside the Money Tree in my backyard (oh, man, don’t I wish!).

Okay, seriously, I find ideas everywhere all the time. It’s almost impossible for me to go out anymore–or to take a shower or get on the treadmill–without the seed for a plot planting itself in my mind. When I first began writing seriously post-college, I’d cut stories from the newspaper that intrigued me, usually those concerning a missing person or a baffling homicide that got me thinking, “What if it had happened this way instead?”

That’s how I wrote AND THEN SHE WAS GONE, my very first published mystery. A little girl had gone missing from a public park in broad daylight in Plano, Texas, with loads of people around watching T-ball games; yet no one had seen a thing. That bothered me to no end until I had to sit down and write about it. The next Maggie Ryan book to follow, OVERKILL, had its plot loosely based on a school bus shooting in St. Louis. Something about being able to control what happened in my fictional tales had a soothing effect on me, like justice did win out (even if it doesn’t always in real-life).

Once I started writing the humorous Debutante Dropout Mysteries, I couldn’t exactly use such heart-wrenching real-life stories as my jumping-off point. I had to tone things down a lot (although there’s no on-the-page violence or much of anything graphic except emotion in either GONE or OVERKILL). BLUE BLOOD, the first in the series to feature society rebel Andy Kendricks, involved the murder of the loathsome owner of a restaurant called Jugs (think “Hooters” with a hillbilly theme). I’d gotten so sick of seeing ginormous Hooters billboards all over Dallas that it felt pretty good to exterminate Bud Hartman, a sexist and hardly beloved character. Next, in THE GOOD GIRL’S GUIDE TO MURDER, I offed a Texan version of Martha Stewart after watching one too many of Martha’s holiday specials and feeling like an inadequate dolt. I must admit, that felt very cathartic, too.

When I was asked to write THE DEBS young adult series, I had to change my mind-set. I mean, I wasn’t going to kill anyone in those books (except maybe with dirty looks and reputation-destroying words). Then I got to thinking about the teens and twentysomethings I know, and I realized that technology might have changed since my high school days but emotions had not. So the ideas for the plotlines in THE DEBS; LOVE, LIES, AND TEXAS DIPS; and the forthcoming GLOVES OFF stemmed from relationship issues. Who hasn’t experienced a friend’s betrayal, a broken heart, a mother’s ultimatum, or a dream dashed? The best part about writing those novels was getting to re-enact some of my high school drama via the characters in the book…and getting to have my debs say all the witty and acerbic things that I wish I’d said in similar circumstances. Ah, sometimes it’s really therapeutic playing God, at least on the page.

When the chance came to write THE COUGAR CLUB, I leapt at it. I’d been dying to write about women my age who happened to date younger men (I only dated one but I ended up marrying him). I’d gotten sick and tired of the way the media portrays “Cougars” as desperate old hags with fake boobs, tummy tucks, spray-on tans, platinum hair, and Botoxed features. My friends in their 40s and 50s who’ve dated and/or married younger guys are smart, successful, classy, and real. So I came up with the idea of three women who’d been friends in childhood but slowly drifted apart through the years because of jobs, marriage, children, and distance. When they’re all 45, they end up coming together again as they each hit huge potholes in their respective roads. What they help each other to realize is that true friendship never dies, the only way to live is real, and you’re never too old to follow your heart. These are the middle-aged (but hardly old) women I know. Heck, the kind of woman I am.

I’ve got a zillion ideas floating around my brain for the next books I need to write (namely, a young adult novel that isn’t a DEBS book and another stand-alone novel to follow THE COUGAR CLUB). The hardest part for me is getting the ideas down on paper for my agents and editors to see in a way that makes sense and conveys all the nuances I’m imagining. But enough about my Idea Tree. I’d love to hear from y’all. Do you order from J.C. Penney like Denise? Cut out pieces from the newspaper? Eavesdrop in restaurants? Inquiring minds want to know!

Garanimals for Grown-Ups

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by Susan McBride

I love October, and not just because it’s my birthday month. The older I get, the happier I am when summer has ended. Since I shun the sun (how else can I keep my ghostly pale complexion?), I’m a lot less fond of shorts and bathing suits than I used to be. I long for crisp days when jeans and sweaters are the norm. And I’m thrilled that scarves are in, even with T-shirts. I’ve never worn scarves much before, except thick woolly ones to keep the cold at bay; but my fashion sense keeps changing as I, um, mature. When I go shopping now, I realize I’m drawn to items that I would’ve bypassed maybe even a year ago. I’m less prone to buy trendy things and more enamored of classics (although I’ll never dress in Polo head-to-toe again as I did during my early college days!).

I guess I’ve got clothes on the brain as I desperately need to clean out my closets (more like purge) and sort out what fits, what I don’t wear, and what I’m lacking. The last four years have kind of ravaged my wardrobe as I’ve gone through so many changes. Back in 2005, I had shrunk down to a size zero after eating healthier (read: going vegetarian) and trying (successfully) to get my cholesterol down. I had new author photos shot, and the photographer had sent me out with a stylist because “you’re much cooler on the inside than you are on the outside,” as she put it. I was advised that my hairstyle was too “anchor-woman-ish” and my sweater-sets had to go. The stylist definitely kick-started my interest in fashion again. I realized, too, that when you’re the size of a clothes hanger, everything looks terrific. I had wonderful outfits that I wore with high heels to speaking engagements, conferences, social outings, wherever. I felt like Carrie Bradshaw in “Sex & the City” (minus the cigarettes and the promiscuous sex).

Then came my breast cancer diagnosis in late 2006. The first thing I craved out of surgery was a hamburger (which I inhaled–God, it tasted good!–but haven’t had since). I was told on no uncertain terms to eat more protein during radiation therapy so I consumed plenty of yogurt, nuts, fish, and chicken. My doctors were thrilled when I put on 10 pounds, and my friends and family breathed a sigh of relief, too. I hadn’t realized until then that everyone thought my skinny (albeit very healthy and energetic) self had resembled nothing more than a “bobble-head doll” or a “human lollipop.” Nice. As for my fashion sense during this rough period: I lived in camisoles and sweats. Comfort was key. I worried more about healing and feeling strong again and less about dressing like a magazine cover girl. So my chic little clothes and high heels gathered dust. Once I recovered from treatment and started working out again, I lost a few pounds as I got back in shape; but my size zero days were gone for good. Which meant I had a closet filled with clothes that didn’t fit.

Once I donated some things to charity and gave others to petite friends and relatives, I was left with a wardrobe mostly comprised of various colored zip-up jackets with matching camisoles, jeans, and sweatpants. Perfect attire for writing, but not exactly how I want to dress when I’m doing a bunch of speaking gigs this month…or promoting THE COUGAR CLUB next February.

I wish there were Garanimals for grown-ups with colored tags that told me what went with what. It would make life so much easier. I find it amazing how my tastes have changed over time. I want to look good, but I need to be comfortable. I’d like fewer pieces that work together better. I want to wear heels on some occasions and flats on others, depending on what I’m doing. It’s kind of like my changing wardrobe reflects the changes I’ve made in my life. I’m learning to focus on fewer things that are more important, to toss the bad stuff as fast as I can, and to celebrate all the good stuff. It’s taken me awhile to figure out that it’s the good stuff that never goes out of style.

P.S. I’ve done a MAJOR closet overhaul, donating three fat bags of clothes and shoes to charity. Whew. That calls for a little shopping to celebrate, don’t you think?

Finding Myself Again

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Finding Myself Again
by Susan McBride, author of THE DEBS
As I write this, I’m on deadline for Book Three in my YA series for Random House, not even a month after THE DEBS debuted, and I’m gearing up for the Southern Booksellers convention in Mobile, AL, where I’m doing a panel and signing. Oh, and I’m celebrating seven months of wedded bliss (awww!) and thankful to have survived a flooded basement, recent landscaping, a TV appearance (fun!), and interviewing Sandra Brown for the County Library (she’s amazing!). Though I’m not quite on the hectic “travel and promote like a maniac for six months post book release” schedule I put myself through when I was writing my Debutante Dropout Mysteries for Avon, it still feels like there’s always more going on than I ever intended. How does a calendar that starts with such blissfully empty days turn crazy so quickly?

Is it just a woman’s duty to burn the candle at both ends? Are we born with this kind of driven DNA? Because I know my husband—and most of the males in my family, come to think of it—aren’t exactly Type As.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to shake things up, doesn’t it? While on two book deadlines during my breast cancer treatment in late 2006 and early 2007, I tearfully vowed to reprioritize my life. I’d taken on so many duties beyond my writing—like, joining tons of professional organizations, volunteering on boards, judging awards, and speaking at book clubs, libraries, schools, and mystery conventions—that I completely lost sight of myself and my original goals. At the peak of my multi-tasking, I met Ed, now my husband, after being selected one of St. Louis Magazine’s Top Singles, which required attending parties, being “sold” at a charity auction, and assorted other tasks. For awhile, it felt like I was squeezing in time with him between everything else. Not the best way to nourish a growing relationship.

This might sound weird, but I think it took the breast cancer to make me think, “Whoa! Something’s gotta give.” As scary as that period in my life was, it had a truly positive effect. I cut out all the extraneous activities I possibly could. I got off the Internet groups I’d submerged myself in for years. I learned how to say “no.” I put my health and my marriage first, refocused on my writing, and moved everything else off my must-do list.

Let me tell you, none of that was easy. After being so immersed in the mystery community—having made so many friends and acquaintances in that world—it felt more like losing a part of myself than finding myself again. But, little by little, I began to realize how full my real-life was and how much I’d missed feeling like a (fairly) normal human being instead of Stressed-Out Multi-Tasking Barbie. Ed and I established Saturdays as “date” days where I wasn’t even allowed to get on the computer. Instead, we stroll around the Missouri Botanical Gardens, stay over at a nearby B&B, or just hang around the house together. My writing—as opposed to book promotion—has taken center-stage in my career, and incredible projects have come my way.

I won’t say I’m all the way there: at the perfect zen stage where I truly know how to relax and breathe. I still feel like I’m juggling more balls in the air than I should, but I’m slowly learning what “having it all” means. And it ain’t running nonstop like a hamster on a treadmill, that’s fo’ shizzle.

I’d love to hear how y’all find peace in your busy lives! Other than eating chocolate, I mean (I’ve warned Ed that cookies are my Xanax). Oh, and thank you, Stiletto Gang ladies, for having me!

Susan McBride’s YA series debut with Random House, THE DEBS, features four prep school seniors in Houston clawing their way through their debutante season. A Fall 2008 Kid’s Indie Next Pick, THE DEBS has been called “GOSSIP GIRL on mint juleps.” The second DEBS book, LOVE, LIES, AND TEXAS DIPS, will be out in June of 2009, and Susan’s busy writing the third. Susan has also penned five Debutante Dropout Mysteries for Avon, including TOO PRETTY TO DIE and BLUE BLOOD. She’s recently signed with HarperCollins to write a trade paperback women’s beach book called THE COUGAR CLUB, about three forty-something women who date younger men. Visit her web site at http://SusanMcBride.com for more scoop.