I know the release of Secrets She Left Behind is still months away (last week of May), but I wanted to give you a sneak peek at the cover. I love it! Love the colors and the evocative mood. Secrets She Left Behind is the sequel to Before the Storm, but will easily stand alone for readers unfamiliar with the first book.
What do you think?
As I wait to hear on my latest book proposal, John and I decided to take a pre-holiday, visiting-relatives-trip to New York and New Jersey. It's been great, complete with a (small) snowstorm last night. Although John grew up in Virginia, many of his relatives are on Long Island, and I lived in New Jersey until I was twenty. Mostly, we're eating ourselves through the two states. All really bad-for-you and totally delicious food. Lot's of diner stuff and take-out. Why can't North Carolina make pizza like they do in New Jersey?? I'm going to import my pizza from NJ from now on.
Anyway, this first picture is, from left to right, my sister's aide, Nina, my sister Joann, and me. Nina's Georgian and she just gave me a great-sounding Georgian recipe to try when I get home. If it's a winner, I'll share it with you. (note: Nina just walked out of the kitchen with this gigantic platter of some kind of Georgian meat blitzes she made for John and me to take back to North Carolina with us! The eating continues. . . )
I dragged John to my hometown, Plainfield, and he took this picture of me in front of St. Mary's, the church where I practically lived as a kid. Seems like we were always in church.
Then we went to my great niece Joanna's school, where her class made a presentation on Native Americans. Here she's demonstrating a rainstick. She's a cute girl whom I can picture someday being an actress, a writer, a scientist or president--in short, anything she wants to be. She's amazing.
John and I head back to North Carolina tomorrow. It's been a great trip, but we'll be glad to get home and back to work.
I'm reading The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb. Love, love, love this book. (Don't tell me how it ends--I'm not done yet!). At more than 700 pages, it's quite a tale, involving the Columbine shootings, a couple of Katrina victims and myriad other real and imagined events. However, I constantly find myself turning the page to the next chapter and furrowing my brow as Lamb takes me off in a whole new direction. Sometimes, I want to fight the change. (What is he DOING??) But then I remember Lamb's an author I can trust, and I turn myself over to him. I know I'm in capable story-telling hands. He's going to take good care of me and I can relax.
Occasionally, though, I trust a writer and he (or she) betrays me. He leads me down a dark alley, where I'm clobbered by some miserable shift in the story that rewards me with nothing more than confusion or disappointment. I'll rarely read that author again.
Non-writing friends have told me that I read books in a different way than they do. That's probably true. If the writing is beautiful, I'll often read a phrase over and over again. If the writer's done something out of the ordinary, I'll study how he did it. I'll marvel at the depth of character he creates, as in Lamb's case, or in the blending of fact and fiction, as in the case of Nancy Horan (Loving Frank), another book I'm currently reading.
But I like nothing better than reading an author whom I trust to take me on a bumpy, wild, but ultimately rewarding ride. How about you? Do you ever get that "Why are you doing this to me??" feeling as you read. . . and do you trust enough to keep turning the pages?

