Good-bye and Hello to New Story People

I just sent HOME TO HARMONY to my editor! That's the SuperRomance that will be out in January. (A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS releases this November, by the way.)

It's set in an old Arizona commune called HARMONY HOUSE and it features a woman who returns to the Arizona commune where she grew up with her troubled teenage son, only to fall in love with a man and the place.

It was an emotional story for me, since it's based on the idea of letting go of expectations and accepting love and people as they come to you--a personal, um, issue of my own.

I have to say Christine, Marcus and David (the teenager) have been in my mind since I finished. I miss them, you know? I'd been working on that book off and on for five years or more. I'm so glad their story will be on the shelves. January can't come too soon.

So that means I've been working on new story ideas. My brain feels like a popcorn popper shooting out ideas right and left--some fluffy, some burnt seeds. It's always a relief that I have new ideas and can find characters I fall in love with whose stories I want to tell.

I'm excited about an after-school program in a mixed neighborhood and the man and woman trying to rescue it for different reasons and in different ways. Gabriel Golden is Mexican-Irish and tough as nails. He offers an athletic program that kicks ass. Blond and bubbly Felicity Sanders wants to change the program AND Gabriel... I'm talking SPARKS.

Then there's Tara Wharton dragged back to the small town named after her family when her sister and father die in a suspicious accident...that might have been murder. Her high school soul-mate, Dylan Ryland, now the town manager, seems to be protecting the chief suspect--his own father.

I'm starting to get attached to these folks and can't wait to fish their stories out of my fevered brain. It will be a struggle, I promise you. At times like this I need the address of that warehouse in Schnectedy--you know, the one where they store the good ideas?
All my best,
Dawn Atkins

No Man is an Island of Worry

There is an island somewhere in the Caribbean that two countries have been hotly fighting over. There was diplomatic tension, ongoing threats of attack, etc.

Enter global warming and last month the island dropped into the sea.Gone...glub, glub, glub. No more dispute. Case closed.

That got me thinking about worry.

(Of course. Everything gets me thinking about worry.)

Specifically thinking about all the things I've worried about over the years that never happen at all. What's the saying? Worrying about tomorrow only sucks the joy from today.

So true.

A friend of mine is very, very popular. She's on numerous on-line groups, is active in clubs, well known and beloved everywhere she goes. Recently, her mother, a psychiatrist, mused, "You know, if I'd know how popular you would end up being, I wouldn't have worried so much about you being lonely in college."

That mother endured hours, months and years of needless worry. And she was a shrink, who, no doubt, knew better!

Meanwhile, the real troubles slam us out of left field. We're wringing our hands and sweating in the completely wrong direction.

That means that when I worry about whether my son will do well in college, find a good job, be loved his life long, or whether my first SuperRomance, A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS, coming in November, will sell well, or if my editor will love the one I'm working on right now as much, I'm simply poisoning many lovely days, weeks, months and years. Right?

Absolutely. Gotta stop that.

Maybe I'll worry about how much I worry for a while...

What pointless worries do you have? How do you banish them?

My advice is Bobby McFerrin's: Don't worry, be happy.

I double dog dare you.

Best,

Dawn Atkins

www.dawnatkins.com

A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS, HQ SuperRomance, 11/10

The Love That Needs No Valentines

I want nothing from my husband on Valentine's Day.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't turn down roses or a card or anything. I guess I mean I don't need anything from my husband on Valentine's Day.

That's because he makes me feel loved, needed, wanted and appreciated all year long. That sounds hokey, I know. He's no saint, believe me, but he brings home flowers for no particular reason, buys me athletic socks after overhearing me mumbling about the holes in mine, and the words "I love you" roll off his tongue pretty regularly.

There have been periods of time over the years when I've felt lonely, under-appreciated, taken for granted maybe. If that went on very long, you can bet I'd be tapping my foot on my birthday or Valentine's Day, expecting some tangible proof that he'd thought about me. And it better not be from a Seven-Eleven, either.

There are also bad Valentine's Day gifts, as I'm sure you know. One year, he brought home a big box of chocolates and I wanted to throw them at his head.

Why? Because I'd been fighting a hard battle with about twenty pounds of post-baby cargo I had just begun making headway on losing The last thing I needed was a box of chocolates I would plow through without even sitting down first. That was no gift. It was an assault.

Which brings me to the question of what makes a good gift, for Valentine's Day or any day. My theory is it should be personalized, something your loved one noticed about you, only you, a secret wish or a longed-for treat.

What do you think about celebrating Valentine's Day and gifts and cards? What was your best Valentine's Day? What made it that way?

In honor of the holiday, I'm giving away a few books. Tell me your Valentine's Day tale and you'll be part of my drawing.

May you have the Valentine's Day of your dreams.

Best,

Dawn Atkins

Your First Bad Christmas

Do you remember your first bad Christmas?

As a child, I loved listening for--and hearing--Santa's sleigh bells from my twin bed where I lay trying to fall asleep so I could wake up and see what he brought me.

No doubt this was actually a trash can adventure of one of the dozens of cats that seemed to roam our Tucson neighborhood at night, but to me it was the magic of Santa's visit. I remember seeing the passing shadow of the sleigh and reindeer taking off from our roof. Now, keep in mind, we did not have a chimney, but somehow I knew Santa worked it out just fine.

I pictured all the gifts he'd brought--just what I wanted, plus some he magically deduced I needed, but hadn't thought of--all cozy under the tree, with one special one--usually with some assembly required the night before--unwrapped and on display for immediate use.

Even when I was old enough to realize that Santa was really my parents I still retained the anticipation, the thrill, the delight of the days before and especially Christmas Day itself.

Then I turned thirteen.

I started with the usual excited feeling, anticipation, buying gifts my loved ones would enjoy, guessing what my loved ones would choose for me. Then it hit me...what's the point?

All this fuss and excitement, then a flurry of unwrapping and it's all over in a half-hour. After that, the letdown. A dress that has to be taken back because it has darts and I have no breasts to fill them with, the flicker of disappointment when I get the silver ID bracelet instead of the classier gold one all the cool kids have. And then, nothing, ordinary world, boredom, it's all over except taking the wrappings out to the trash.

Of course, most of my concerns at the time were petty and selfish and material, certainly not in the spirit of Christmas. I knew it then and I know it now, but that didn't help the feeling.

And even if we all got exactly what we wanted, soon enough the magic is gone and they're just objects. They don't love back. They don't last.

So what was all the fuss about? The excitement and anxiety? The thrill, the warm glow?

That awful Christmas, I longed to be small again, when the thrill seemed to go on and on and getting the baby doll who wet itself was the be all and end all of the season. Or, failing that,to be an adult who didn't care any more, who was content to open up a tie or a pair of slippers--can you IMAGINE?--and be content, vicariously enjoying Christmas through the shrieks and kisses of the young ones in the family.

Ah, adolescence. What a painful time. I still remember that hollow feeling in my stomach, that floundering around for real meaning beneath the tinsel and lights. This is not about religion, by the way or the birth of Jesus and all that. That's a separate consideration. I'm talking about Christmas in all its secular glory--Santa, surprises, chestnuts roasting, caroling, the whole magilla.

Gradually, of course, Christmas loosened its grip on me and my existential "what's it all about, Alfie?" angst faded. I was thrilled to see little kids open gifts and thought more about the love I felt for family and friends, the luck of being healthy and all together, the games we played, the jokes we told, the hugs we gave each other, the meals we shared, than the booty I hauled in.

But I'll never forget that one angsty 13-yr-old Christmas. It reminds me of that old Peggy Lee song "Is That All There Is?" It was when I first learned that I had to make meaning in my own life. It wouldn't arrive like a package on Christmas all wrapped up in a bow for me. Happiness and contentment take work and attention and time.

An important lesson. At the time, however, I really wanted that gold ID bracelet.

Tell me about a disillusioning Christmas you experienced and how you handled it. How do you make Christmas work for you?

My wish for you is a meaningful holiday season and all the gold ID bracelets you desire!

Best,

Dawn

http://www.dawnatkins.com/

A HOME FOR CHRISTMAS, HQ SuperRomance, 11/10

The Author as Therapist

I just turned in HOME FOR CHRISTMAS to my editor at SuperRomance and I'm feeling delighted! And nostalgic. I miss these characters and their struggle.

I miss Starlight Desert Mall, which is the setting for the book, the place that Sylvie had turned into a home. I've grown to love it, too, especially the island of plants in the center where my characters, um, got to know each other, um, better.

This is my first SuperRomance and I so want it to be fabulous!

It took me the longest time to wrangle Chase and Sylvie into shape. Actually, what I was wrangling was my own understanding of them--what they really wanted, why they'd hidden their true desires from themselves for so long.

It's hard to write about people who are different than you are. I'm pretty much out there with my feelings, but these two played their cards close to their vests and it took some time to convince them to spill to me, the author of their story.

I hope that doesn't sound too woo-woo. Sometimes being an author feels a lot like being a therapist, only you choose your "patients," they don't choose you. (Or maybe they do...now that's woo-woo.)

Anyhoo, you invite the characters onto your couch and ask them questions about their past, their parents, their goals and dreams, help them discover self-defeating behaviors and overcome them.

But, better than therapy, where the psychologist sends the client off with insights and tools to work it out for themselves, as an author I'm charged with doing the fixing. It's an honor and a responsibility. I hope I did Chase and Sylvie justice.

I hope you agree when you read the book, coming next November.

Best,

Dawn

The Thrill and Horror of Being in the Newspaper

When Karina Bland, a reporter at our daily paper, called me for an interview about how romance book sales are up in a down economy, I was thrilled...and horrified.

Thrilled because it's an honor to be quoted or written about and the chance to advance the cause of reading romance is important to me.

Horrified because I'm going to be quoted and written about in the NEWSPAPER!!

Where people will READ my WORDS and FORM OPINIONS about me. That can't possibly be good, can it?

See, I am an introvert with extrovert tendencies, which is agony, believe me. I love talking and meeting people and saying outrageous things and making people laugh and gasp, but then I'm mortified afterward.

Why did I say that? What was I thinking? I looked like an idiot or a fool or whatever. Weird, huh?

How do you feel about public speaking, cocktail party chatter, karaoke, and, oh, getting hypnotized to squawk like a chicken?

If you're curious how the story came out, here it is in her online column, where it was reprinted from the Sunday Arizona Republic: http://tinyurl.com/ya2ehvl. The cover of the book she mentions is here. It's still available online, by the way. The book offers a last hit of summer when the fall is upon us!

Best,

Dawn, who is now working on a Christmas book...jingle, jingle...

Love the Book You're With

I recently sent the book I've been working on to my beta readers for their feedback.

The book's working title is A HOME FOR CHRISTMAS and it's my first SuperRomance. It's set in a small, family-owned mall and it brings up all the joys and agonies of the holiday season--the traditions, the traumas, the surprises and disappointments, the lost loves reunited.

I loved that story as I wrote it. It was like a member of my family. And now I would be handing it over to strangers. (Well, not strangers, wise readers, but you know what I mean)

They'll look over my book with care, noting the good features, the broad shoulders, the kind eyes, the sensible attitudes, and they'll seek out his flaws and weaknesses--his muddy motivation, his unresolved conflict, his clunky dialogue. That is the point, after all.

The idea is painful to me as I stand in the post office with the red-white-and-blue Priority envelopes holding the pages still warm from the printer. What if they don't like it? I'll just die.

Luckily, time passes, during which my readers read and guess what I do?

I go to work on another book! Forgetting entirely about the story I loved so much. And guess what, I adore this one, too. Each morning I can't wait to take the characters a few pages farther on their life-changing journey.

That will all change next week when, armed with the critiques from my readers, I must set aside the shiny new book and fix up the book I so lovingly mailed away. Time to fix those flaws, spiff up those scenes, sharpen that dialogue, go for those missed moments.

Luckily, I'll fall right back in love again (cheating on the new book, of course), eager to spiff up my tattered beloved, smooth all the rough edges and soothe all the boo-boos before sending it to my editor for a last loving chance to make it better.

Then back to the new guy with, I hope, renewed love. And the entire process starts over.

It's a rollercoaster ride, all right, but then I've always loved a wild ride....

Here's hoping readers enjoy the results.

All my Best,

Dawn