For My Mom

I want to extend a very special thank you to my mom, Arline Munson. Without her, I would not be the awesome mom that I am, because I learned how to be that from her. I also learned how to be creative, how to see things that others might not see, how to love unconditionally, and how to pinch with my toes. 

Erma Bombeck once said there are two kinds of mothers.

There is the kind of mom who can't have a breath mint at two a.m. without waking her kids up to share it with. My mom is that kind of mom. I can remember her waking us up in the middle of the night and giving us cheese and crackers or toast. "I'm hungry, so eat." She always made sure we had everything we needed and a few things that might not be necessities in life, but were lots of fun! 

Then there is the kind of mother who will eat an entire grocery sack full of Halloween candy. When her kids come home from school and find her passed out on the sofa in a sugar induced coma, she will look them straight in the eye and say, "The mice ate your candy. I tried to save it, but was too late." I tend to be more of that kind of mom! (Only when it comes to chocolate!)

My mother is one of the most talented women that I know. She can take two potatoes and an onion and feed 20 people. I get my artistic talents from her as well as my love for reading. I also get my sarcastic nature from her. I also get my backbone, perseverance, and love of life from her. She taught me to enjoy every moment of every day, even if it isn't filled with joy. Mom taught me that it is okay to cry when you feel like crying. I remember the Folgers commercial where the boy comes home from college. We cried like babies!  

I also get my sense of adventure from her. There were a few times when we decided on the spur of the moment to take a road trip. Now, that road trip could have been as short as going only a few miles, finding a stream and fishing with cane poles. Or, we could have ended up in Missouri, or Oklahoma, or Michigan. You just never knew where the wind would take us.

I think most of all, what I learned from my mom, was how to love someone. Whether it was your kids, your family, or your friends. You love unconditionally, with unparalleled ferocity. Your kids are perfect, even when they're behaving imperfectly. 

So thank you, mamma. For all you have ever done for me and my kids. Thank you for letting me grocery shop in your pantry when I didn't have money for groceries. Thank you for spoiling my children and now my grandchildren. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for being such a beautiful role-model for me. 

I love you mom!

Suzie

Steam or Not?

One of my Facebook followers posed the following question to me this afternoon:

Suzan, do you think a story can be too "Steamy"...inquiring minds want to know.

I LOVE that question! There simply wasn’t enough room to answer it completely or honestly at FB so I am answering it here.

Steamy scenes are like the old adage about art: I don't know what art is, but I know what I like. The same can be said for steamy scenes. Now, I do, on occasion, like to read a steamy scene or two. However, I don't want to feel like I'm a voyeur or that I'm watching porn. Steam, in certain degrees, can often times make a really good book even better. 

We're all big girls here. (By big, I mean grown up). We know what sex is. We know how to insert tab A into slot B. I don’t need to be beaten around the head with every conceivable way of doing it. Or even ways I hadn’t thought of before! However, there have been a few books where I did learn a thing or two, lol. 

 In my most humble and honest opinion, really good books can have a bit of steam, even a little debauchery.  What separates the very good books, at least in my mind, is this: If you can remove all the steamy scenes and still have a great book, then it is still a great book! Again, it is just my humble opinion that the entire book shouldn’t just be about sex. There has to be something else, otherwise, it is just sex.

When I read a romance I want the romance. I don’t like books where the main characters have just met and were so hopelessly drawn to one another that they’re having sex by the second page. I want the romance and the love to build up first. I want to see what obstacles, what trials and tribulations they might have to go through first. Otherwise, I find it an unbelievable story and again, its just sex. Call me old fashioned if you want. But I believe true romance should stand the test of time. 

For example, I present to you my in-laws. Two of the sweetest, funniest, most down to earth people you will ever meet. They've been married for over 50 years now. They've been through a thing or two. To this day, my father-in-law still gives my mother-in-law a sweet kisses! That is what I think true romance is: together for half a century, seeing each other at your worst, yet, when she steps into the room, he smiles at her like she's been gone for a month and he is so glad to see she's returned, when in fact, she simply stepped down the hall to the ladies room! Loving each other through thick and thin, good times and bad. And at the end of the day, he still makes your stomach do a little flutter and brings a smile to your face. 

That, my friends, is real. That is the type of love I try to put into each of my books. I want my readers to know that if I jumped ahead 50 years, my characters are still hopelessly, passionately in love with each other. But I think I digress....

Yes, I know in the real world people have one night stands on a regular basis. So what? That, in my opinion, is boring. Anyone can have a one-night-stand if they want to. It doesn’t take anything to pull that off except a pitcher of margaritas and a key to a Motel 6. Big deal. That isn’t romance.

Now, I’m no prude. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I like long, lingering, passionate, knee-buckling kisses. (My husband excels at this and it is one of the many, many reasons why I married him!) I like to read about those kinds of kisses in books. Its all part of what makes a good romance a good romance.

I am not the supreme omnipotent despotic ruler of the universe.  I do believe to each his own and what goes on behind closed doors is no one’s business and it especially isn’t mine.  Lots of people like really steamy, detailed, and highly descriptive books and that is quite all right! ;o) I have actually read one or two of those ;o)

I tried once, a year ago, to write a really steamy scene for Findley’s Lass. When I realized that my face had turned beet red and that I wasn’t even looking at the screen…I was just tapping away at the keyboard, had turned my head away in embarrassment, I realized then that that particular type of writing wasn’t for me. If I was too embarrassed to write it, then chances were, my readers were going to be too embarrassed to read it. There are other authors out there, far more talented than I, at writing steamy scenes, lol. I'll leave those to the experts. ;o)

I tend take a different approach to writing love scenes. I try to introduce as much humor to it as possible without being too over the top. Read Wee William's Woman for an example of what I mean by funny, yet romantic and passionate.

I mean honestly, when you really think about what we’re actually doing when we’re actually doing ‘it’, don’t you sometimes get the urge to giggle? I know that I do! And no, that isn’t a bad mark aimed at my husband, so please don’t think of it that way.  I won’t go into personal detail here, but suffice it to say that my husband is delightfully very talented at more than just those knee knocking kisses I mentioned earlier! ;o)

So, to answer the question, is there such a thing as too steamy? It is really up to each person. IF it is written well and IF the characters are believable and likable then steam is fine and dandy. But you have to start with a really good story first. ;o) 

So there you have it. My long answer to your question.

Hugs,

Suzan

Beautiful Life....

Since giving up the day job last October, I've become accustomed to 'sleeping in'. For me, sleeping in means sleeping until 7:30, maybe even 8!  This is a big deal when one considers that I used to be up at 3:30 or 4:00 every morning in order to write before leaving for work.

Yesterday, my daughter and grandson surprised us with a visit. Last evening, I remembered why I didn't write when my kids were little. It is next to impossible while they are awake! It is like trying to put pantyhose on over bluejeans. ;o)

This morning, I'm letting my daughter sleep in. I'm in my office with my two and a half year old grandson. I'm at my computer while he plays with legos, and anything else he can get his hands on! He's rattling on and on about how he needs to 'fick' it. He loves tools and fixing things. Last night, his Papa Kevin actually let him use a small drill to unscrew and then re-screw screws into the drywall on the outside walls of my office. I don't know who had more fun, but I do know who was most proud.

In the quiet of this morning, with little Carter playing at my feet, it hit me again just how blessed I am. I have four really great kids, three perfect grandkids (I married young the first time -ha!) I have a wonderful husband, a roof over our heads, food in our bellies. I have great parents, rotten yet wonderful brothers, and a beautiful extended family. Good friends, great readers, and good neighbors. I feel like I'm living in utopia half the time. (The other half resembles a Three Stooges movie, but that is only when I'm alone with husband and son!)

I have three books flying up the charts at Amazon. All three of them are on the Top 100 Best Sellers List in Historical Fiction and Historical Romance. Wee William's Woman has taken off like a rocket. I have readers contacting me to let me know they've just started reading it, are in the middle, or have just finished it. I love hearing from you! ;o)

I am blessed with such a beautiful life. Ten years ago, I never would have thought any of this would  be possible. I certainly couldn't have imagined such a peaceful life. I owe that to my husband. He has this very unique way of keeping me calm yet letting me be excited and happy. I call it sedated exuberance. ;o)

God has blessed me beyond what I think I deserve. My mother-in-law says not to question it but to simply be thankful. ;o) I am. Very thankful!

I also know that I would not be where I am at this moment if it weren't for all of the wonderful readers out there who have taken such a strong liking to the Clan MacDougall. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times and I'll keep saying it: I owe it all to you. You really have helped make my dreams come true. I am forever and eternally in your debt. Thank you.

My grandson is now in the  hands of his uncle, which means I need to step away from the computer and see what the heck they are up too! It has gotten far too quiet up stairs! ;o)

Have a beautiful day and my God bless each and every one of you!

Hugs and gratitude,
Suzan

Of Barbie Dolls, Spies, and Castles

I was reminded this morning of my first Barbie doll. I think I was in third or fourth grade and I loved her.

Yes, I thought she was pretty and there isn't a thing wrong with that. Never once in all my childhood did I want to look like Barbie when I grew up. But I did want to be like my Barbie. (Before all the Barbie haters start in on how awful Barbie is, please read the rest of this post. ;o) Thank you.)

I was in fourth or fifth grade when I got the Barbie Cruise Ship and the Barbie Airplane for Christmas. My cousin Debbie got the Barbie Townhouse, oh my gracious it was awesome!!! IT EVEN HAD AN ELEVATOR! How cool is that? I was so envious. But she let me play with it so that was cool!

Anyway, I digress...back to my cruise ship and airplane. These were vinyl covered cardboard things, not all hard pink plastic like you see today. You could tuck all your dresses, shoes, jewelry and things inside it and carry it with you wherever you went. I loved them and thought they were pretty nifty.

When other girls played with their Barbies, they were pretty generic about it. My Barbie did different things and they made me feel like the odd ball. While my cousins' Barbies were teachers, nurses, and moms, well, my Barbie was different.

My Barbie wasn't a mom, or a teacher or a nurse or even a stewardess. (They were called stewardesses back in my day, so don't hate me for using that term). My Barbie was the pilot. She flew all over the world in her airplane. Bangkok, Tokyo, Saudi Arabia, England (she spent lots of time in England), New York City, Taiwan, Russia, pretty much every place that I was learning about in social studies, my Barbie would fly to.

But when she landed, she'd zip over to her hotel to change. She'd don her red evening gown, or the gold one depending on her mood. Now here is where my mom should have known I was either going to end up in the nut house or end up a writer: Barbie would strap a .357 Magnum to each of her thighs. In her bejeweled evening bag was another gun. Under her evening gloves, she had hidden sharp knives. (NO, she was NOT a serial killer!) My Barbie was the female version of 007. ;o)

Barbie was flying around the world pretending to be a pilot. But that was her cover. She was actually a secret spy for the CIA, hence the guns hidden under her beautiful ball gowns. (They were imaginary of course because you couldn't get plastic guns tiny enough to strap to a Barbie doll! I bet you still can't)

She would make her way into these castles and villas. Then she'd sneak around in the dark and find her way into to the secret, but not too well hidden libraries of the bad guys, break into their safes, steal the secret codes or files, and sneak back out again. Occasionally, she made it out without anyone knowing what was hidden under her dress. But other times, she barely got out alive. A few times, she'd have to steal the bad guy's helicopter or his speed boat, shooting all the bad guys down on her way to safety.  Sometimes she would have to rescue a fellow CIA agent who was being held prisoner. The aforementioned CIA operative was always male because I still thought boys were stupid and couldn't find their way out of a wet paper bag. My Barbie rocked. My Barbie saved the world. My Barbie kicked bootie.

There were very few romances with Ken. (I was a late bloomer.)  My Barbie was too busy taking of business and saving the world to worry about romance, husbands, and children.

So there you have it. That's how I played with my Barbie. Sometimes she was an opera singer. Sometimes she was a cowgirl. Sometimes she was a cop. Sometimes a doctor or a scientist. Whatever role I put her in, her essence was the same: Never plain, never stupid, and never needed a man to rescue her.

Somewhere along life's road, I lost the little girl that I used to be. The one that was so sure of herself, knew exactly what she wanted out of life, and never needed rescuing.  She lay dormant for decades, quietly tucked inside a vinyl covered cardboard airplane, waiting for someone to pull out the ball gowns and guns.

I don't know whatever happened to my Barbie, Skipper and PJ dolls. And I don't know where all her handmade clothes and her boat and airplane ended up. But I have found her. Or the essence of her. 

That little girl I used to be. The one who was so confident, self-assured, and kicking bootie. Instead of guns strapped to thighs however, my weapon of choice is my MacBook Pro. But the idea is still the same. I can create wonderful stories of romance, mystery and intrigue. Oh, I throw in a lot of romance now, mainly because I have blossomed! And my stories currently take place in 14th Century Scotland. The premise is the same; we get to steal away for a few hours, locking out the real world that is sometimes just too hectic, harrowing, ugly, stressful, or even boring. We get to pull our Barbies out and play for a while and forget about the rest of the world.

And I still get to rescue people and my heroine's are often rescued, and there isn't anything wrong with that. I think all of us at one point or another need rescued. Either from a ne'er do well or ourselves.

I guess I'm still playing with Barbies, but mind you, in a round about, grown up way. Every day I get to sit in my office and let my imagination take me away to enchanting, far away places, filled with castles, heroes and heroines and bad guys. And good always triumphs over evil. And love is never denied. There are broadswords, sgian dubh's, and bows and arrows instead of guns and blades. I still have beautiful gowns but of a different time and era. People travel by horse instead of plane. There are still spies, still bad guys to deal with. The adventure continues....

The crazy thing is, I get to write all these stories down. The coolest part is that I get to share what goes on in this crazy mind of mine with the rest of the world.

I'd say I have a blessed life. I have a wonderful, kind, funny, sexy husband who is, and always will be my hero. I've got great kids and perfect grandchildren. A crazy family that loves me and is proud of me.  A safe, warm, loving home in which all who enter are loved and adored. I get to help those who are less fortunate than I am. I get to be there for my family and help out when and wherever I can.

I guess you could say that I owe my childhood Barbie a big thank you. If it weren't for her and her airplane that helped open up this wild imagination of mine, I don't know where I'd be. So for all you Barbie haters out there...not all little girls want to look like a Barbie. But there isn't a damned thing wrong with wanting to be like your Barbie. That is, if she is as cool and kick butt as mine was. ;o)

Hugs,
Suzan

Yes, Virginia, Happily Ever Afters and Prince Charming do exist.

Yes, Virginia, Happily Ever Afters and Prince Charming do exist.

I have found out though, that the happy ending, in reality, is the happy beginning. My life is the perfect example. While I won't go in to all the details, suffice it to say that I have found my prince charming.

He is sweet, kind, funny, has a wicked sense of humor (I mean, really, he'd have to be in order to put up with me!) He's handsome, muscly, a phenomenal kisser, quite the romantic, honorable, would fight to his own death if he had to in order to protect me, loves me beyond all human comprehension, treats me like a queen, supports me in this roller coaster ride called writing, loves my children as if they were his own, and is just a really, really nice guy! I can tell by the way he looks at me that he loves me. He is a very talented carpenter who can fix just about anything. Did I mention he's handsome and has lots of really nice muscles? The list is endless.

So I found my little HEA (Happily Ever After) in real life. Kevin came into my life at a time when I thought, truly believed, that good guys were non-exisitant, Prince Charming only existed in fairy tales. Romance didn't happen in real life, it only happened in Harlequin Romance Novels. Romance, good guys, Prince Charmings, were as elusive as leprechauns and just as hard to find as the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or a man who changes a diaper. They simply weren't real.

After my divorce, I swore by all that was Holy, truthful and right, that I would never, ever, ever, ever, not in a million years, get married again. Ever. Oh, I'd date and have fun, I'd go to dinner, I'd flirt, I'd enjoy being single after 19 years of marriage. No, I didn't sit on barstools in taverns waiting to be 'picked up' (Do they still use that term?)

Anyway, I'd sworn off marriage, believed romance was nonexistent, and was not-so-happily enjoying my life as a divorced mamma of three who worked full time and went to college full time. My life was crazy and I figured it would be no problem maintaining single status. I mean, really, who'd want to jump in to the craziness that surrounded my life? Who would want to step in and take on three kids that weren't his? No, we're not dysfunctional, just colorful. If you knew my family, that statement would make perfectly good sense! So single I would remain for all the rest of my life. Blissfully single.

Then he walked into my life. A curly headed, blonde, muscly -- not body builder muscles mind you, but real muscles developed over years of building really cool buildings and houses, walking up and down ladders carrying shingles on his back, or carrying two or three sheets of drywall at once -- man with a beard. Yes, my first thought of the beard was "does it scratch or tickle?" ;o) It tickles!

Honest as the day is long, even tempered, generous to a fault on so many different levels, kind, funny as hell, a sweet man who understands the importance of a mind-blowing, knee bending, earth shaking, tummy flipping kiss.

So yes, I do have my own version of Prince Charming.
And I've discovered that happily ever after is really a beginning. A beginning of a life that before I met my husband, I really didn't think existed. I'm going to save that for another time...the 'how I knew it was him' story. The 'why I fell in love with this guy' story.

Anyway...we've been married for seven wonderful years. We're still in the 'honeymooning' stage too! He's still quite the romantic -- which is yet another post for another time! He's still muscly, handsome, sweet and generous. I know you won't believe this, but it gets better every day, my life with Kevin. He's helped me raise my three children, he paid for my daughter's wedding, he's provided a home for my us, for my kids, he's been what a dad should be...again...stories for another time.

I think my husband knows the trick of being a great husband. He swept me off my feet before we were married. What makes him so amazing in my eyes is the fact that he never put away the broom. Its like he sweeps me off my feet every day. How goofy is that? ;o)

So yes, Prince Charming is real and he comes in varying shapes, sizes, and ages. Happily Ever Afters are -- or at least they should be -- happy beginnings. A beginning of a life where two people are respectful and kind to each other and they show each other every single day just how important the other person is. Its knowing that you can't imagine your life without him or her in it, and if you try to, even for a moment, it makes your heart seize, your stomach hurt, and big tears form in your eyes.

Its knowing you can trust the other person with anything. Its helping each other live a good life, full of laughter, silliness, and wonder. Its being able to laugh with each other, even when you feel like crying. Its knowing you've got each others backs. You just know these things.

No, he doesn't bring me flowers every Friday. And no he doesn't buy me expensive jewelry. But trust me when I say he gives the best gifts! Gifts that sometimes you just can't hold in your hand or wear around your neck. He gives gifts that stay in my heart and fill me with so much giddiness at times that I swear it's just beyond real, beyond goofy. ;o) But yes, happily ever afters are real. So is Prince Charming. So is love.