Begging for Love

Half-Way Up the Pyramid of the Moon

That's me, age 24, half-way up the Pyramid of the Moon in Mexico. I gave up climbing at that point. In 1974, I went to Mexico with my sister-in-law and one of her friends. My brother had died six months earlier, so my sister-in-law was a relatively new widow.

I had taken French classes in high school so I did not know any Spanish at all, but my sister-in-law spoke fluent Spanish. We went to several small towns of historical significance and then wound up in Mexico City. The small towns had been far more interesting to me for the glimpse of authentic Mexican culture. Mexico City was another big, international city and I had seen several of those by that point in my life. However, I had never seen pyramids so I happily hopped on a bus to spend the day climbing. But it was hot and I tired out fairly quickly. Reading about the pyramids was more fascinating than climbing them.

When I think of Mexico now, I think of the small towns with the plazas on Saturday night and the sound of a mariachi band drifting through the air. I think of the bakeries and the taste of fresh bolillos. I think of the bullfight, too. Poor bull.

But the pyramids. Well, I saw them and I climbed upon them. But I'd rather sit in a plaza, listen to mariachi music and eat bolillos.

In the Style of the Vanderbilts

Hubby and I went on a Road Scholar tour of Great Camp Sagamore. This was our third Road Scholar tour. We've enjoyed each of the programs. In 2010, we visited White River Junction in Vermont. (You can read about that tour HERE.) Last year we visited Chincoteague in Virginia. (Check it out HERE.)

Great Camp Sagamore was a very different experience. For one thing, there is no cell phone service. It is in the wilderness--what was once known as the Dismal Wilderness. It is the land of no cell phone towers. However, there is a phone in the camp which visitors may use with a prepaid calling card.

There isn't any television either, which isn't a bad thing for me or hubby because we don't watch it anyhow. There is a large screen TV with a DVD player and there are some DVDs available for guests. There are board games and books for the use of guests, too.

There is wifi--not in individual rooms but in the dining hall and the reading room. Some people are happy to leave all the technology behind when they go into the wilderness, but I did not want to be cut off completely.

At Great Camp Sagamore, guests usually share bathrooms. Ours was a little way down the hall, but very clean, neat, and modern. We had a bathroom with a shower, but some visitors got old-fashioned bathtubs with feet. :^)

Meals are served buffet style in the big dining room and the food was great. We had to clear our own dishes off the table and put them in the kitchen to be cleaned. All guests took turns wiping down the tables and sweeping the floor. We had to make our own beds and take care of our towels and linens.

Great Camp Sagamore is not a luxury hotel. It is a living museum.

Hubby and I arrived one day early, which gave us the opportunity to visit the Adirondack Museum. That extensive collection was well worth the price of admission.

The one thing that bothered just about everyone was the black flies. It was black fly season. In New Jersey, we are annoyed with mosquitoes, but in the Adirondacks, the black flies swarm. I did not know this until the young lady who signed us in at the office suggested we borrow bug jackets. I had never heard of a bug jacket until that point, but I found it to be a very useful garment.

The jacket made me look strange. Maybe I scared the bugs away! Hubby preferred slathering himself with bug repellent.

Naturally, the Vanderbilts did not visit Great Camp Sagamore during black fly season. The Vanderbilts usually came for a month in August once the black flies were done swarming. The Vanderbilts also came for a few weeks at Christmas time. That was it for the most part. However, many dignitaries and even movie stars were invited to the camp. The caretakers lived there year round.

Hubby and I enjoyed rowing and canoeing on the lake. We played a game of croquet with another couple who knew the rules. (Croquet was a favorite game at Sagamore.) In addition to touring all the buildings at Sagamore, the Road Scholars toured Uncas, which is nearby.

In addition to lectures on the history of the camp and the Vanderbilts, we were treated to entertainment by Bill Smith, an Adirondack treasure!

We enjoyed the company of other Road Scholars who came from all over the country to learn about the camp. Road Scholars runs terrific programs and the prices are reasonable. You can sign up HERE.

One Good Father

This is a photo of my paternal grandfather. He lived to be 86. His mother came to this country from Ireland as a domestic, and for the rest of her life she never wanted to go back to Ireland. She met her husband here in the States. They married, settled in Jersey City and had nine children. My grandfather was the oldest. He was short, like the rest of his siblings--a veritable brood of leprechauns. My grandfather had a dry wit and was always poking fun at anyone and everyone.

He came of age as World War I erupted. Given the job of cook in the trenches, he also had to retrieve the bodies of fallen soldiers.

After the conflict ended, he got a job as a jitney bus driver. Then he met my grandmother. She wasn't Catholic. At that time, marrying outside the faith was frowned upon. My grandparents were not married at the altar, they were married in the vestibule of the church.

He became a milkman and in those days, even in the city, the milkman delivered milk with a horse and wagon, early in the morning. It was steady work--even during the Depression. He and my grandmother had three boys. My father is the oldest. The second son died in World War II.

My grandmother's father owned a chicken farm. When he died, my grandfather could have inherited the farm, but he did not like chickens. He said they were always dying. He continued to be a milkman until he retired--although after a while the horse and wagon were replaced with a truck. :^)

After my grandmother died, Granddad continued to live in his house in the city. He helped out the neighbors and had his job at the polls during elections. Some of his siblings still lived in the old family home a few blocks away and they sent him homemade soup or meatballs. But he could cook up a very good Western omelet on his own.

He got cancer and stayed with my parents for a while. Then he had to go into a nursing home, but he was not there for long before he died.

He was a good father. He remained faithful to his wife, worked at a steady job until he retired, and then helped those around him. His children became hard-working honest men, committed to their wives and families, too.

My grandfather was one of the best, but there are many other great fathers in the world today--like my own hubby, my father, his brother, my sisters' husbands, and so many more. I want to wish all of them a Happy Father's Day.

The Problem With Traveling

Here's a very young me overlooking Florence, Italy. A long time ago, I signed up for summer study in Italy. I got six college credits, plus I learned a lot about Italian history. Years later, I wrote a suspense novel with Florence as the setting, but I knew the story needed work and I never got around to fixing it. I feel I should really take another trip to Italy to see if I have all the details correct. :^)

I enjoyed Florence and I was there for six weeks, so after a while I did not feel like a tourist anymore. Nevertheless, I missed my home and my family. In those days, communication overseas was difficult. I wrote letters and my family wrote back to me. I still have those letters and they are a real treasure.

I have other books I finished that I know need work. There's one with Mexico as a backdrop because I once visited Mexico, too. That's the problem with traveling. I'll go someplace and then I'll want to use it as a setting for a novel. I've been to Florida a gazillion times and I have every intention of using it as a setting one of these days.

I sure wish I could write faster.

Do you have any favorite settings for novels?

Two Rings

We had one car when I was young and Dad used it to go to work. He worked in Jersey City, but he spent most of his career on the graveyard shift because newspapers are put together at night.

I commuted to college in Jersey City. However, my father's schedule and mine seldom coincided. As a result, I had to walk a mile to the bus stop and hop on board the Red and Tan Lines everyday. I arrived at Journal Square in Jersey City approximately forty-five minutes later--depending on the traffic. From Journal Square I caught a bus that traveled along Kennedy Boulevard and reached the college in about fifteen minutes. If I had a class that ended at 6 p.m., I had a more arduous journey home because the Red and Tan, which was an express bus, left at 5:30 p.m. So I would have to take the local bus to the Square, then catch a PATH train to Newark, and then take another bus home--or if it was really late, I'd have to take a train.

When I arrived in my hometown, I would use a public pay phone to call home. I put in my dime, let the phone ring twice, and hung up. That was the signal for Mom or my brother to come and pick me up. I would start walking home, and if the car was available I would get picked up somewhere along the way. If not, I walked the entire distance, which seemed a lot longer in the evening because I was tired and hungry.

For four years, I cheated the phone company by hanging up the phone after two rings and taking back my dime. There's some irony in the situation because I wound up marrying hubby, who worked at Bell Labs. As it turned out, he had commuted to college also. He would signal his parents by ringing three times before he hung up.

Nowadays, there are fewer pay phones. When my daughter needs a ride home from the train station, she sends me a text message. It's so much simpler and far more efficient, plus her cellphone carrier can't complain because they get their money every month.

Texting can be a good thing.

A Tale of Sleep Deprivation

I need about seven hours of sleep to function. I don't usually have a problem falling asleep. However, there have been many times in my life when I did not have enough hours in the day. The only way to find more time was to steal from my bedtime hours, but that did not help me work any better--or write any better.

Way back when I was a college student I worked at a glass factory. For two summers, I endured rotating shifts because the wages were great. However, I found it next to impossible to keep my eyes open. Mostly I stood and packed bottles into boxes, but every hour or so, I got a chance to sit down and watch the bottles twirl by the light box. I was supposed to be looking for bad bottles, but the twirling bottles quickly turned into lovely dancing ladies in long dresses as I started dreaming. I am lucky I did not fall off the stool.

I know many authors who do not get enough sleep. They get up early, write, and then put in a full day at their real job. I never did that. The thought of crawling out of bed at 4:30 a.m. to write never appealed to me. I love writing, but I like to do it with a clear head.

There are the writers who stay up late into the wee hours to write. I never did that either. I actually tried it a few times, but the next day I was not up to par.

I tend to do my best writing in the evening after supper. I don't watch television so I don't have that distraction. I have not written as many books as some authors, but I know my limitations. Not getting enough sleep will make my blood pressure go up and that is a bad idea. So I sleep when I am supposed to sleep and write when I can.

When do you write?

New Review for The Fiend of White Buck Hall

Yes, The Fiend of White Buck Hall was released in 2010, but it received a review from The Romance Studio just the other day. As an author it is always gratifying for me to know the book was enjoyed. It does not matter how long it took for someone to notice it or read it. Teresa T. said, "Ms. Marzec gave us a suspenseful and intense story!" You can read the rest of the review at http://www.theromancestudio.com/reviews/reviews/buckhallmarzec.htm

Many of the characters in the book are former circus performers, including the hero. Naturally, there is a reason for that. When my brother graduated from high school, he needed a summer job. The circus came to town and my brother signed up. He went traveling from town to town, putting up the big tents, living in a trailer, and getting to know the circus family. It was quite exciting. My brother came home with a tan and some impressive muscles.

You can find the book at New Concepts Publishing, where you can read the first chapter. It is also available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

If you want to win a copy of The Fiend of White Buck Hall, go to my website (HERE) and sign up for the contest. You might get lucky. :^)

The Lost

One summer, my cousin Sandy came to stay with us. She's the girl on the left in the back, next to my brother. Sandy lived near Pittsburgh in a comfortable suburban home. My uncle and aunt had adopted her, but then they had four children of their own. Sandy felt she had far too many chores to do.

She enjoyed her stay with us and we all got along quite well but after she returned home, the tensions between her and her parents grew worse until at the age of sixteen she ran away from home. She called a taxi, telling her younger sister not to tell anyone.

Sandy was never heard from again. She was never found.

My mother and I had hoped she might run to us, since she had gotten along well with us. When we learned of her disappearance, we went to Penn Station in Newark and stood for hours on the platform hoping to spot her. It was a futile effort.

For a long time afterward, whenever a young woman's body was found in New Jersey, my mother would wonder if it was Sandy.

When I wrote Heaven's Blue I dedicated it to Sandy. It is not Sandy's story, but I was inspired to write it due to her disappearance because I always wished her story had a happy ending.

Hey Girls, We've Never Had It So Good

My work-in-progress is set in 1778. I've been delving into the details of history at that time. I love discovering all sorts of odd little facts. However, I sometimes go off on tangents--inadvertantly. I start off looking for one thing and wind up someplace else.

This happened to me today. I wanted to check into more of the particulars about my heroine's chemise, which was the only undergarment women wore at the time--and they wore the same chemise for days on end. Underpants had not been invented.

Then I saw some websites with information about chemises that I had not really considered. I found out that menstruating women usually bled on their clothing, including that all-important chemise which they wore day in and day out.

For those of you who are already grossed out, you may skip the following websites, though I really think you should take a look. Sometimes, I am just amazed that the human race made it this far.

Click on the following links and be grateful you weren't born more than a century ago:

http://myperiodblog.wordpress.com/2010/11/17/history-of-menstruation-part-1/

http://www.mum.org/whatwore.htm

As the websites point out, women did not menstruate as much because they started later in life than girls do today and then they were either pregnant, nursing, undernourished, or sick much of the time.

We've come a long way.

Begging for Reader Love

Being an author has discouraging moments. Writing books is fun. Selling books--not so much fun. Part of the strategy in selling books is collecting reviews. From what I've been told, the best way to sell books is to get a lot of reviews--specifically on Amazon. Supposedly, an author needs at least fifty reviews to make a difference in sales! The reviews can be good or bad evidently. It's the number that counts. Quantity not quality. :^(

My publishers solicit reviews as the books are released, but many times their notices are ignored. I have asked for reviews from reviewers and I get ignored, too. Experienced book reviewers are evidently busy people.

Book bloggers tend to be more willing to write reviews, but--of course--the author is responsible for contacting each and every one of them. However, not all of them will post the review on Amazon.

Of course, Amazon reviews are supposed to be written by customers, but one need not buy the book at Amazon to post a review. Anybody can do it as long as they have an Amazon account.

I have been lax in soliciting reviews and as a result, I do not have many. I have gotten some very nice reviews over the years, but most of those are not at Amazon.

Obviously, I have to do some catching up. Hence, I am basically begging. I need some reader love.

If you have read my books, please go to Amazon and let everyone know what you thought of them. (You could make yourself famous!)

If you would like to know more about how the system at Amazon works I found a fantastic explanation at Amazon Reader Reviews: 12 Things Everybody and His Grandmother Needs to Know .

You can make a big difference. :^)

New Review for KISS OF BLARNEY!

Mom

Here's Mom with Dad at the bulkhead in Keyport. Mom is holding a little sketchbook. She was always busy sketching or painting. She had more time in her later years for her art, but she did as much as she could when she was raising me and my siblings.

When we were young, she would sit at the easel, supposedly absorbed in her painting, but she always knew when one of us was up to something. She made me and my siblings believe she had eyes in back of her head.

Talented, intelligent, and loving, but a good disciplinarian as well, Mom did not hit us. She used words to guide us--lots of words. She told stories, moralistic ones, of course--but it worked. (Hint to parents: Communicate with your children.)

Sometimes, when she was not feeling well due to migraines, she would lie in the double bed and we snuggled down beside her. She made up stories in which all her children were the heroes and heroines. We loved it!

Maybe that is why I like to make up stories. :^)

When my mother read a story, it came alive. She gave the characters different voices and accents. Mom would have made a good actress.

Nearly three years ago, Mom died. Having no mother for Mother's Day takes some getting used to. Walking into the card shop before Mother's Day is a surreal experience. Nevertheless, I picked out cards for other mothers--my sisters and my friends. I ordered geraniums as usual, but I used to give them to Mom, now I put them in my own yard. And so life goes on.

I feel fortunate that my father as well as my mother-in-law are still here. It is comforting to have some of the older generation available to tell us their stories and offer their wisdom.

I am also very blessed because I have my daughters to pamper me. Daughter #1 has promised to make meatloaf for me on Sunday. I love meatloaf.

But, I still miss Mom. Sometimes, I talk to her. After all, she could be listening. If she had eyes in back of her head, she surely has ears in heaven.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you.

My First Communion

May is the month for First Communions. My brother and I knelt at the altar rail for the first time in May of 1957. We did not have a special sitting with a photographer. We did not get a party. That's the way it was.

I still felt special. Maybe that was due to the gigantic veil on my head.:^)

Among the Ranks of the Rejected

In putting together my talk on self-publishing, I came across some interesting material. I started out looking for the names of famous self-published authors. There are a lot of them. However, I found the list of now famous authors who were rejected over and over again to be more intriguing. It takes courage to persist in sending out a manuscript repeatedly, despite blistering rejections. It is comforting to know that Gone With the Wind was rejected 38 times before a publisher recognized its worth. Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, was turned down 29 times. Louis L’Amour was rejected over 200 times.

It seems there are many short-sighted publishers in this world.

I have been to innumerable writers' conferences and listened to panels of editors describe what they want. I have heard many of them say, "I'll know it when I see it."

Really?

To be fair, I realize that editors are swamped with manuscripts. They have to get rid of some of them.

Over the years, my manuscripts have been turned down plenty of times. Irons in the Fire had 25 rejections from both agents and editors, but it was published eventually and was nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice award.

It is wonderful to find an editor who appreciates your writing, but it isn't an easy task and frequently those editors move on. Then the author has to start the process all over again.

I am still collecting rejections from publishers. In the last letter I received, the editor wrote about my use of formal language. It wasn't right for her.

Daughter #1 got a laugh out of that. She figured I probably wrote out the word your instead of using ur.

Prince of the Mist is currently my only self-published book. However, it was previously published. Putting it up for sale again was a no-brainer.

Self-publishing is not a difficult process, but it is extra work. I have considered putting up my books on my own, but it is wonderful to have someone else edit, format, make a cover, and upload the book for me.

All I really want to do is write.

Filler Words

I am giving a talk at the library next week. (Middletown Township Public Library, May 2nd.) I am going to tell people how to e-publish their own books. I wrote out the talk and have been practicing my speech.

Daughter #1 belongs to Toastmasters, an international organization dedicated to public speaking and leadership. She was rather shy in grade school, but she's definitely improved. She pointed out some of the filler words I used on a regular basis when I was practicing.

Toastmasters has a specific list of filler words. Anyone giving a speech should never use the following words:

ah
um
like
you know
so (an unofficial filler word, but it can be distracting)

I speak on a regular basis. I am not afraid of public speaking. In fact, I love to talk about books! Once I get started, it's difficult to stop--but short of electric shock therapy, I doubt that I will ever be able to get rid of all my um's and you know's.

How about you?

A Wounded Protagonist

Saturday, I spent hours at a special New Jersey Romance Writers workshop listening to Michael Hauge's talk on story structure. It was a fantastic lecture interspersed with film clips. I took plenty of notes, and it is taking me a while to absorb all of the presentation. However, one of Michael Hauge's points has really stuck with me. He discussed giving the hero (or heroine) a wound--something from the distant past that has affected the protagonist deeply. As an example, Mr. Hauge showed a clip from the movie L.A. Confidential in which Russell Crowe's character talks about a horrible incident in his childhood. That scene defines the character, lending him empathy, but also adding an emotional punch which would not be there if the viewer did not know what makes the character tick.

I've always found it difficult to wound my heroines. I don't like to hurt people, but--as Michael Hauge pointed out--all of us are wounded in some way. Everyone has defense mechanisms in place by the time they are adults. All of us hide some of our true selves.

Mr. Hauge's left us with a statement to fill in for our protagonist, "I'll do whatever it takes to achieve my goal, just don't ask me to ________, because that's just not me."

If our characters are to succeed, they must go beyond their fears. That is courage. They must reveal their true selves because that is where their strength lies.

Then Mr. Hauge asked all of us not only to use his statement for our character, but to question ourselves.

A Sense of Direction

If you hide an accordion deep in the heart of New Jersey, hubby will find it. He does have good map skills, but while he has lived in New Jersey for more than forty years, he cannot find his way around without a map or me. I am hubby's GPS. He knows his way around Brooklyn, where he grew up, but he doesn't know north from south, east from west in New Jersey. He has no sense of direction.

He fears getting lost, which is incomprehensible to me. How can anyone get lost in New Jersey? There are Parkway signs and Turnpike signs all over the state. With all the jughandles, everyone makes a wrong turn now and then, but there will be another jughandle down the road where you can swing around and correct your course.

Besides, sometimes getting a little lost is fun. I call it exploring. New Jersey has some lovely scenery and unless you take a detour now and then, you will miss it.

When I write a book, it's like taking a long detour and doing some serious exploring. My outline is my map, but sometimes I loop around an unfamiliar jughandle and discover a scene of great beauty. If I was afraid of getting lost, I would never find that scene.

I know how to get home. I know how to find that happy ever after ending, but much of the fun in writing for me is in exploring. I travel deep into my characters' hearts, discover their motivations and learn what they really want. It's an incredible journey, but very entertaining.

My advice to all my writing friends is to write fearlessly. Do not be afraid of getting lost. Develop a sense of direction by studying the landmarks in your story. Tour new vistas and analyze the details.

And have fun. That's what writing is all about.

My Imaginary Friends

Yesterday, I spent some time making up a chart with the main characters in my new work-in-progress. The chart looks like this:

This is the bare bones stuff, but I find it handy. I don't want anyone's eye color to change mysteriously during the story.

I spent a considerable amount of time naming my imaginary friends. (That's what Daughter #1 calls them.) I had borrowed a book from the library which contained the names of many of the original families who settled in this county, which is the setting of this novel. I did not want to use any of those names in the book because my people are fictional.

Still, they had to have fairly common names for the time period, 1778. Of course, everything is subject to change. If a better name floats into my head for a character, I will use it. The heroine in my last book had another name at first, but when I realized I had too many names starting with the letter m, I changed her name. It isn't difficult with a computer. :^)

I set up this chart in Word. I can add lots more people simply by adding more rows to my table. I do much of my writing by the seat of my pants, but even I need some organization.

Peach Memories

The peach trees in the orchard have bloomed. They are beautiful, but every time I think of peaches, I think of my mother-in-law bringing me a ton of ripe peaches and telling me to do something with them before they all rot.

It was ninety-nine degrees and we had no air-conditioning.

I made peach jam. My daughters and my mother-in-law helped. They peeled and cut up the peaches. I hovered over the boiling jam until I thought I was going to melt.

I canned the jam and it was the very best peach jam ever, but every time I think of peaches, I think of being forced to make peach jam on a brutally hot day.

I used a lot of my peach experience in The Company You Keep. For a writer, even a negative experience can be useful. That's one of the big perks of being a writer. All kinds of situations can be channeled into a story.

My family can recognize the truth in my fiction. None of the plots I've devised resemble reality. None of my books are anything but fiction. However, some of the details are taken from actual incidents--like the peach business.

I still eat peaches, I like the scent of peaches, and I buy peach jam, but I never made another batch of peach jam. If anyone handed me a ton of ripe peaches now I would eat a few and hand out the rest to anyone who would take them.

I would rather be writing than making peach jam.