I’ll catch up with friends and check facts for my latest manuscript.

Then, Hannah and I hit the road. We’ll visit New Orleans in hopes the Vampire Lestat is home, Austin’s music scene, and then…….the  road will stretch before us for MILES……. until we reach San Francisco and home…….

Many writers prefer writing the first draft and dislike the revision process. I’m the opposite. For me, the first draft is fraught with blank spots where I sit and stare at the screen and try to figure out what comes next. Hate that part. My happiest writing comes after I’ve laid down the bare bones and thoughts begin to spark and connect.

I made progress today but it was slow and I’m feeling grumpy about it. So let me tell you about what I just finished reading….

Sizzling Sixteen by Janet Evanovich www.evanovich.com/

 The first Evanovich I read was, Plum Spooky. It was a random read, number 18 in her Stephanie Plum series, so it was out of sequence. I didn’t know what to expect, and from page one I couldn’t believe what I was reading. It was a crazy, wild ride with a chimpanzee in the backseat.

Even so, you might wonder why would I go back, start from the beginning, and read all twenty Stephanie Plum books? They do have a predictability about them: Ranger and Morelli will vie for Stephanie’s body, Lula’s going to be eating, or talking about eating, and popping out of her ‘ho clothes, together they’re going to lose their skips and Stephanie will end up wearing garbage, there will be chimpanzees and alligators and Stephanie’s car will explode, and Grandma Mazur will cause a scene at the mortuary…

….wait, get Janet Evanovich on the phone, I’ve written the outline for number seventeen.

Knowing all the above, why do I count down the months in anticipation of her latest release? Because Janet Evanovich writes the snappiest, funniest, laugh-out-loud-and-wake-everyone-in-the-house dialogue. She makes Trenton, New Jersey a destination point. Guaranteed. I’m crazy about her characters and I love what they have to say. Even now. Reaching the final page is sad because the ride has come to an end. But wait….

Wicked Appetite, a Diesel novel will be released September 14, 2010. Just a few more weeks of anticipation before we can dig in.

The first interview I ever conducted took place as a journalism student back when I was a freshman at Eisenhower High School. You may assume I was a journalism student because of my longstanding love of writing, but as I recall, I was a journalism student so I could schedule interviews with cute boys on the swim team.   In retrospect, it was very entrepreneurial of me. Of course, after I interviewed Roy Cencirullo, I was forced to follow-up and actually write about water polo.

Thankfully, those Byzantine days are behind me. Today, I interviewed Ilza Lewis over a slice of tres leche cake from Sweet Things Bakery in Tiburon. My goal? To help bring authenticity to a scene.

What?! You think I may have had ulterior motives? Perhaps I wanted to get closer to the rugala as it was being pulled, fresh from the oven? Yeah, that too.

Ilza gave me the inside scoop on what it’s like to open a bakery while it’s dark outside and the rest of us are snuggled into the sheets. And in case you were wondering, yes, it still smells sweet from the previous day’s baking when you walk into the kitchen at 3:30 in the morning. Because I’m a baked goods addict, I had to pursue this: “So the kitchen smells sweet. Sweet, like what?” I asked.

“It smells like cake,” Ilza said.

“Like cake?” I reflected, not willing to let the moment go.

“Yes, like caramelized sugar.”

Oh boy. Now we’re talking. 

Ilza was generous with her time and knowledge, but I’m not sharing more with you today; the rest goes straight into the manuscript.

I’ve read every Jack Reacher book Lee Child has written http://www.leechild.com  I’ve also seen him at a book signing at Book Passage www.bookpassage.com  The line between fan and groupie probably blurs after reading all fourteen of his books. Why are these books so good?

No one writes vengeance better than Lee Child, and no one embodies it better than his main character, Jack Reacher.

Here’s what I’ve discovered when it’s after midnight and I’ve glanced at the clock and decided that I’ll read just one more chapter: vengeance can be quite satisfying. There are no calories involved, it will keep you up past your bedtime, and it will be good for you. Trust me on this.  

As a reader, I love all the Reacher books because they’re page turners. You can’t put them down. As soon as I finish the final page I hand the book to Bill and say, “You’ve got to read this.” Usually, our literary tastes do not align, but on this we agree: there’s nothing better than vicariously being alone in the dark on the road with Reacher as he sets out for justice. You know that when the moment of reckoning arrives there will be no turning back. It’s going to be good.   

Because I love to write, I’m also reading for technique. And reading Lee Child is a lesson in relentless tension and pacing. Of course, like all lessons, it comes down to execution. Sure, anyone can admire and deconstruct his work, but there’s only one Lee Child. And if you haven’t had the pleasure of reading him, you really should do something about that. Just saying.

Often, I feel like I live in Forks, because, baby, it’s cold outside. Not to mention damp. Here’s what it looked like from our dock, yesterday:

And that’s during the daytime. I was dressed warm, down to my Uggs, and I still needed to turn on the heater. So, if you are in a spot where you can:

Hear a screen door slam behind you,

Feel the grass between your toes,

Watch the kids play in the sprinklers,

Complain about the heat as you pour a cool glass of lemonade or sweet tea,

Barbeque in shorts and a t-shirt,

I’m not envious – I’m flat-out jealous.

The upside, and yes, I’m really having to search for one, is its good weather to stay inside and write. Arrrrggh.

The other upside is I’m planning a trip to Savannah in late August. My completed manuscript, All Things Unusual, is set in Savannah, but my work in progress begins there, as well. I’ll arrive just in time to appreciate the historic district during a Southern summer. That’s right, I can’t wait to have sweat drip off the tip of my nose.

Well, no, there is no apartment above the shop…as I said…it’s my fantasy.

Sweet Things is where I procure my rugala, but they make a mean Red Velvet cupcake, or Butter Cap cupcake, too.

They understand it’s all about the ratio of frosting to cake. And speaking of cake, if I’m leaning toward a slice…it has to be their Tres Leche cake.

But my fantasy goes like this….it’s early morning and I wander downstairs in my bathrobe and sit at the striped seat in the window. Someone brings me a cup of coffee, some sugar cookies, and I open up my laptop and begin writing. No, they don’t have Wi-Fi….once again, it’s my fantasy.

And that’s it. It doesn’t get any deeper than that. I write and eat baked goods to my heart’s content.

So excuse me while I lick the frosting from my upper lip and head back to the new manuscript. I left the main character fighting for her life in front of the Cathedral on Abercorn Street in Savannah’s historic district.  She really hates it when I do that.

 I found these books at E. Shaver Booksellers on Madison Square. When I didn’t have the forethought to buy what I needed while I was there, they were always kind enough to ship.

And here’s my trusty, well-worn, map that shows all the Squares:

It was at my right hand, beside the mouse, as I wrote and revised. On one of my visits to the historic district I discovered there are one-way streets and, of course, the map isn’t that specific; fingers crossed that I caught any inaccuracies in the manuscript while I was moving characters around town.  

And while I’m at it, here’s the Spirit Bottle I bought at Folklorico:

They’ve moved to their new shop on Bull Street, right before you reach Forsyth Park:

Lulu, the protagonist in ALL THINGS UNUSUAL takes a Spirit Bottle home from Mama Etta’s House of Hoodoo and All Things Unusual and all sorts of strange things begin to occur in her life. Me? So far, I’ve kept my Spirit Bottle tightly capped. Guess I’m not as brave as my imagination.

and if that doesn’t look familiar, here’s another hint:

If only I’d photographed the Museo National del Prado you would have leaped from your chair and shouted, “Madrid!”

But don’t get too comfortable because then we moved to:

Si, si, it’s on the tip of your tongue….Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter)

and a metro ride later finds us gazing up at Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia in………. Barcelona!!

Sad but true: all those years of memorizing dialogue in Spanish class, “En la biblioteca,” did not pay off.

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But I had a great time with Hannah (that’s her in the distance; trust me on this):

Long walks and train rides are conducive to opening up my thoughts. And although this visit to Spain was brief, whether I was people watching or gazing at a Goya portrait, I was struck by the beauty of Spanish facial features; they will probably show up in a character or two in my current manuscript. Now that I’ve returned home, the only travel planned in the immediate future will be in my imagination. The laptop awaits.

Early this morning I gave Bill a ride over to the Corinthian for the start of the Singlehanded Sailing Society’s 2010 TransPac www.sfbaysss.org It’s a race from San Francisco Bay to Hanalei Bay, Kauai; a 2,120 mile dream or nightmare, depending on conditions and your state-of-mind.

 Singlehanded means just that – there’s only one sailor per boat. First they have to make it through the shipping lanes, sleep deprivation kicks in as they continue to put distance between their boat and land…and eventually the experience translates into being alone in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific.

Bill and his mistress boat Ergo did the race in ’04 and ’06 so I know what it feels like to drive to Tiburon with him in the early morning. When it comes to saying goodbye to someone who’s going to be alone in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific, I feel a need to say something important. Something to tide us over in the days ahead. But I’ve never figured that one out, other than ‘I love you,’ and ‘be safe.’

Thankfully, this morning I didn’t have to say goodbye because Ergo wasn’t racing. Bill says he’s over the TransPac. I’ve heard that before but he’s  sounding convincing. For now.

This morning he helped tow the fleet to the starting line:

But before the towing began, here’s Blue Moon (Adam Correa) and Cathy:

Sure, she looks trim and beautiful now, but voice of experience to Cathy: in the days ahead, stay away from channel surfing and binge eating. Just saying.

Here’s what it looks like on the dock as friends and families gather to see their sailors off:

In ’04 they towed Ergo out before I had a chance to give Bill a kiss goodbye. As I stood on the dock waving, a man who happened to be standing behind me said, “Sometimes they go crazy out there.” 

Where’s the Cherry Garcia when you need it? 

And here are some of the racers — past and current — milling around for some last minute, jeeped-up conversations:

Semper Fi, Marine!:

Folks start to gather up toward the race deck for the start:

and I make friends with an egret who is watching the last boats being towed on the far end of the dock:

Wishing all the racers a fast, safe passage — here’s your reward — Hanalei Bay at dusk:

Oh, and here are two photographs Bill took in the middle of the freakin’ Pacific:

This was the view over the back rail earlier this week. The gulls won because they’re dirty street fighters; they carry knives, jagged glass and other contraband hidden in those snowy white feathers. They’re handsome but sociopathic. They’ll cut any goose that comes between them and their stale bread. They go for the eyes, the throat, the women and children. No hesitation, no remorse.

Now, here’s a view of the front porch. I couldn’t figure out how this concentrated spot of bird pooh came to be here on the ground under the awning….

Mystery solved. Can you see the nest with the sweet baby birds tucked in the canvas above our door? We think their parents set-up house while we were visiting Savannah. And I don’t think they’re happy we’ve returned. Why do I say that?

When we come and go the mom and dad fly across the dock and scream threats and obscenities at us for getting too close.

I think they’re off their medication.

It’s true; we have our share of anti-social neighbors. I’ve learned to deal with it. How? Note to self: avoid walking beneath right side of awning from this point forward.  

Trivial pursuit: Can anyone identify the large, shiny, silver thingamajig next to the bird pooh Bill has left on the front porch? Maybe not, but I bet you wish you had one.

Some folks decorate their entry with a seasonal wreath. Light-weights.