Hot and Homicidal

My Son the Cover Model

2009-05-14T07:39:00.000-07:00

Is this just about the cutest cover you've ever seen? I think so. But then, I might be biased. Not only did I write this book (in stores everywhere right now), but the photo below is a picture of my oldest son. Is it no wonder I let out a squee when I saw the cover for Priceless Newborn Prince?

New Beginnings

2009-01-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

Today as our country transfers power to a new president, I’m thinking about beginnings. The beginning of the Obama administration. The beginning of a new era where our presidents no long have to physically resemble our founding fathers, but can still carry forth the ideals on which the country was built. And the beginning of my work-in-progress.

Sure the last one isn’t as important and sweeping as the first two. But for me, right this minute, as I’m replotting and rewriting the mess that is my current book, it’s the one that occupies my mind the most. You see, this book is not working...yet. It’s not even close. And all of my problems start with the beginning.

There are many different ways to begin a book, but for me, there’s one way I like best. Fast. Intense. Urgent from page one. I’ve kicked off books in different ways, but the thriller-style beginning is my favorite to read and to write. My problem is that this story doesn’t lend itself to that kind of start. It has a little bit more of a cat-and-mouse plot. The tension is there, but it needs to linger, build, then explode, instead of exploding on page one.

So while I’m trying to get a feel for this story so I can finish it, I have a question for all of you. What kind of beginnings do you love in a story? Do you like your breathtaking romantic suspense to start with a bang? Or do you like it to begin with the time bomb ticking under the table and the characters unsure from where the danger might come? What are some of your favorite beginnings in the books you’ve read?

The Secret of Imagination

2009-01-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

I love action figures. It probably stems from my love of making up stories. From the time I could remember, I loved inventing my own stories, and action figures were the perfect way to act those stories out.

When I was a kid, female action figures didn’t exist. My brother had G.I. Joes. You know, the good twelve-inch-tall G.I. Joes with Kung-Foo grip and life-like hair. His were peace-loving former soldiers who belonged to the Adventure Team (since Vietnam had made military toys no longer politically correct at that time). G.I. Joes could do a lot of fun things. For me, the biggies were shooting guns and riding horses. Barbie could do neither of those things. Her hands couldn’t hold a gun, and she couldn’t sit astride one of my many model horses. Those deficiencies in Barbie left me playing with G.I. Joes and wishing for a day when female dolls could do everything the male dolls could.

Flash ahead a few years–
Before I sold my first novel, I was a professional window washer. Kind of an odd choice for a job, I’ll grant you. But I was a creative writing major in college and needed to make a living. There were many dirty windows in the world in need of washing, so my brother and I started a business to answer the demand. One of our regular clients was a former NFL quarterback, and he had a collection of memorabilia in his office that included an action figure of himself in uniform. Well, I thought that was just about the coolest thing ever. Just think of it! An action figure of yourself! What could be more bizarre and fun than that?

Flash ahead a few years–
I am a published novelist writing stories for a living. But I still haven’t gotten over my love for action figures. Only now there are female action figures in stores. I can collect my favorite strong, female fictional characters and use them to decorate my office. Super heroines like Batgirl, Hawkgirl, The Huntress, Wonder Woman and The Invisible Woman. Villains like and Harley Quinn (because I write for Harlequin, don’t you know). And my favorite movie characters - so far I have Eowyn from Lord of the Rings, Elizabeth Swan from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, Princess Leia from Star Wars and Marion Ravenwood from Indiana Jones.

I have a few odds and ends, too. The head Ringwraith is here so Eowyn can kill him (no man can kill him, after all). And I have a Cairo bad guy for Marion to hit over the head with a frying pan (above). And there’s my newest addition that my brother gave me for Christmas, the Barack Obama action figure (“an action figure we can believe in,” it says on the box). He also bid on a John McCain, in the interest of bipartisanship, but wasn’t able to win him on Ebay.

Although I’ve realized my childhood dream of gender equality in plastic action figure form, I cannot forget the yen for an action figure of myself. What would she do? Slay a bad guy with a pen? Bash a villain over the head with a laptop? Or would she be sucked into the world of her books, having to duke it out on the page with serial killers while being mistakenly chased by the law and falling in love with a cowboy?

Well, I may not ever have a little plastic me to play with, but inspired by a November interview I did at the Writers At Play blog, I discovered something close. An animated me! And so here I am, dressed in something I might wear to a winter writer’s conference.

I’m a little wacked, I know. I suppose when you make up stuff for a living, some wackiness is bound to rub off. Or maybe I’ve just always been this way. But I’ll tell you a secret. It’s a boat load of fun. And if you haven't figured it out, that is what I believe is the secret of imagination. Fun. Play. So why not let your imagination loose to celebrate the new year? What were your favorite toys as a kid? And do you still get the urge to play with them now?

2008-11-13T09:17:00.000-08:00

Pretty hot cover, huh? Do me a favor and look for it in a store near you.

Having a blast at the Harlequin Party!

2008-08-07T13:27:00.000-07:00

I spent the past week in San Francisco at RWA's national conference. One of the things I look forward to at the conference is the crazy dancing free-for-all that is the Harlequin Party. To testify here's a picture taken at the party this year. From left: Mary Biebel, Laura Iding in the background, Judith Lyons, Pam Ford, Lori Handleland and me, Ann Voss Peterson. We might not be exactly homicidal in this photo, but we sure are hot. ;) I love to dance. Especially at this stage of my life, because I have finally figured out what dancing is all about.

My father is a musician. Specifically, he plays tuba in a polka band (how deliciously Wisconsin is that?). So I learned to dance polkas, waltzes and schottisches by the time I was three years old. Dancing was pure fun for me back then. The opportunity to jump around and express my joy.

In highschool, dancing is all about posing and being seen. Looking cool and sexy is the whole point of going out on the floor, even though my friends and I had a very spotty understanding of what sexy actually was. I was a pom-pon girl for a year, too. But that didn’t have as much to do with dancing as with back-biting highschool girl politics. When the basketball season ended, I was relieved and vowed never to subject myself to anything remotely cheerlead-y again.

In college and in my twenties, dancing was about attracting guys. Of course, this method always left a lot to be desired. Most notably that one can’t control the type of male who was attracted.

After I got married, I didn’t dance nearly as often. You see, my husband hates dancing. Even watching others dance sends him back to the time his mother forced him to take tap lessons when he was about ten. He still shudders each time he sees the photo of himself on stage dressed as a tap-dancing playing card. To him, dancing means humiliation.

And that brings me to the Harlequin Party. A ballroom filled with authors, all gussied up and dancing ourselves into breathless pools of sweat. Goofy dance moves (I used some great ones this year, the lawn mower, the sprinkler, the batusi, hee hee!). Kicked off shoes. A room filled with smiles. The Harlequin Party is all about dancing for the pure joy of it. It reminds me of a room full of gleeful three-year-olds doing the polka. The optimism and energy is truly fabulous. I wish I could bottle it and post it on the blog for all of you to enjoy. But since I haven’t figured out how to do that, I’ll include a video that conveys that same jubilant, coming together feeling, except on a much larger scale.

And that leads me to my question: Wanna dance? And if not, why not?

Hot and Homicidal

2006-09-05T12:30:00.000-07:00

I'm busy finishing up a book before officially launching this blog. Once the book is in, we'll see what kind of interesting stuff we can cook up.

Ann

2006-08-29T17:17:00.000-07:00