It’s been fun having Secret Lives available as an e-book and I’ve enjoyed hearing from those of you who are reading it for the first time. Now I need to figure out which of my out-of-print books I should make available next. Whether you read e-books or not, I’d love your help in this decision. If you’ve read my early books, which was your favorite? Or if you haven’t read them, which sounds most intriguing to you? I apologize to those of you who only read print books and wish I could accommodate you as well. I hope they will be reissued some day by my publisher. Thanks so much for your help.

 The choices (with the original bookcovers) are:

 The Escape Artist: A young woman, about to lose custody of her eleven-month-old son, takes the toddler and escapes to Annapolis, Maryland to start a new life, leaving behind the man she loves. In Annapolis, she’s befriended by a mural artist with secrets of his own. When she stumbles into a dangerous situation that could cost people their lives, she’s unable to turn to the authorities because she’s on the run.

From Library Journal: “. . . a moving tale of parental love and desperation.” From Kirkus Reviews: “A sure-fire grabber.”

 

 

 

 

Reflection: Twenty years ago, a tragedy struck the Pennsylvania town of Reflection and everyone holds one woman, Rachel Huber, responsible for what happened. When Rachel returns to care for her elderly grandmother, she discovers she has only one person in her corner–a Mennonite minister who was her childhood friend. As the story shifts between past and present, secrets unfold, a romance blossoms, and both the town and Rachel are put to the test.  

From the Richmond Times Dispatch: “. . .  as the plots interlock, the reader is swept into the town’s emotion and suspense.”

 

 

 

 

Fire and Rain: The tiny southern California town, Valle Rosa, is withered by drought and ravaged by wildfires when a stranger appears, promising he can create rain. He asks only for total privacy while he works, but he becomes the center of two women’s worlds–Mia, who falls in love with him, and Carmen, who vows to learn his true identity at all costs. Neither woman realizes that their involvement with him can jeopardize far more than the future of Valle Rosa.

From Publishers Weekly: “Nearly every chapter finishes with the sort of emotional jolt that keeps the pages turning.”

 

 

 

 

Brass Ring: Claire Harte-Mathias tries unsuccessfully to save a woman who leaps from a bridge in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. As she tries to understand the reasons for the woman’s suicide,  Claire is jarred by frightening, half-hidden memories. Torn between the love and support of two men–her husband and the brother of the woman on the bridge–she tries to make sense of the images that haunt her, discovering that the past, present and future are intertwined in a way she is powerless to change.

From the Chicago Tribune: “You’d think there’s nowhere for a story to go after a distraught woman plunges to her death in an icy river, but Brass Ring will prove you wrong.”

About thirty years ago, I was published for the first time. Not a novel, but an op-ed piece in the Los Angeles Times. I was working as a hospital social worker at the time, and after a particularly moving encounter with a family in the ER, I took a break and wrote this fictionalized account in my office. I submitted it to the Times and was thrilled when they accepted it for publication. I was bitten by the writing bug then. . . Well, I’d been bitten long before that, I guess. It’s probably more accurate to say I was bitten by the publication bug. And the rest is history. 

So I thought I’d share the op-ed piece that started my writing career. I’ll try not to edit it here, although there are a few lines I would dearly love to change, but that ship has sailed!  Oh, and you know how I complain that publishers often change an author’s titles? I complained thirty years ago as well. I’d titled this piece “One Man’s Family in the Emergency Room.” Oh well.

She’s a Stranger at the Wrong Kind of Family Reunion

by Diane Chamberlain

The ambulance backs up to the emergency room door and a patient is whisked past me into the trauma room. I can see the team of blue-garbed figures surround him before the door swings shut. Someone tells me that he is a 42-year-old executive who collapsed at his desk just minutes earlier. I wait to meet his wife.

She arrives almost immediately, shaking from head to toe. She looks like the type of woman who would never be caught outside her home in the old jeans and torn shirt that she is wearing—not unless there was no time to change or put on makeup or even run a comb through her hair.

I steer her into the tiny counseling room several yards from where the trauma team is working on her husband. I tell her that I am the hospital social worker, and that I will stay with her while she waits.

I feel that gnawing sense of powerlessness that is always my companion during times like these in the emergency room. I can only bring her coffee, hold her hand, listen to her tell me what a good man he is. There is nothing more that I can do. He is on the brink and I am utterly incapable of bringing him back.

She is agitated. It is normal, I know. She can’t sit still. She walks from wall to wall in our tiny cubicle, sits in every chair, pounds every table. “This can’t be happening!” she screams. “He was fine this morning!”

I am a complete stranger to her, yet she lets me hold her. For a moment she seems to welcome my arms around her. Then she is up again, walking, pounding.

I help her focus. Together we call her teen-age sons and her brother. She weeps into the phone. They tell her they will come right over.

I ask if she would like a clergyman or a friend to come. She shakes her head no.

Her sons, 17 and 18, arrive, followed moments later by her brother. They hug one another, cling together. I feel enormous strength and love coming from their little circle. She needs me less now.

I talk with the nurse outside the trauma room to see if there is any information that I can pass on to the family. The nurse says there is little chance that he will make it. I return to the counseling room and they look at me with wet, pleading eyes. I am careful not to give them hope. They need to be prepared for what is coming. He is not doing well, I tell them. They cry more, hugging one another, pushing me out of their circle.

The doctor comes in. His words are gently spoken, yet they cut like a knife. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We did everything we could, but weren’t able to save him.”

He waits while they cry, while they say that it just can’t be so. I don’t touch them now. I don’t comment. They don’t need me. I am awed, as I always am, at the way they hold one another up, how each puts aside his or her own pain to become a backbone for the others.

When they are ready to listen, the doctor tells them what was done to try to save him. They nod and nod. I wonder what they will remember of this explanation.

She wants to see her husband. I tell her about the tubes that have to remain in place until the coroner arrives. I take her and her sons into the room where the man is covered by a sheet up to his chin. He looks younger than I expected and I see my own husband in his face. I cry just a little as I watch them say goodbye. She touches his face and smoothes his hair. One son kisses his forehead. I walk into the hallway to give them privacy.

In my mind, I have lived through the deaths of my parents, my husband and my siblings in this emergency room. I can never see the body of someone’s loved one without thinking of someone I love.

Sometimes people ask me how I can tolerate this part of my job. I tell them of the love I have been privileged to see: the 3-year-old standing on tiptoe to kiss grandpa’s cold cheek; the burly truck driver rocking the body of his infant son in his arms, humming a lullaby. Families come together, the conflicts of yesterday and tomorrow suspended for today. I feel lucky to be able to see this part of life.

The man’s family leaves, each member circled by the arm of another, and I walk back to my office hoping that one of my co-workers is there. Right now, I don’t want to be alone.

 Even the dog bed is askew. Pictures of my characters. Manuscript pages everywhere. Almonds to snack on. Hand lotion for my weary fingers. My singing stuffed warbler, sent to me by a reader, sits in front of my printer. I can squeeze him whenever I need a bit of June in the midst of February. Thich Nhat Hanh calendar on the wall to keep me centered. And on my monitor, the steps leading from my condo to the beach. Yeah.

Warning: This sight will only worsen in the next few months.

First, this is not a complaint! I’m actually quite happy about what’s going on, even though I don’t quite understand it.

The past couple of weeks, I seem to have gained a zillion new readers. At least, I’ve heard from a zillion new readers. Over the last couple of years, especially since Target selected The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes as a bookclub pick in 2008, I’ve gradually gained new readers and it’s been wonderful. I’ve heard from many of them via email and spoken to dozens of bookclubs via speakerphone. This last week, though, for some reason I haven’t been able to figure out, I’ve received more than fifty emails asking me what books I have coming up and which older books are available. I always receive a couple of those emails a day, but fifty in a week??  In addition, several readers have explored my list of books on Amazon, discovering titles they’d never heard of and emailing me to ask why. So I think, given this influx of similar questions, it’s time for me to offer a few answers.  

First, the Amazon query. There is another author named  Diane Chamberlain. She often uses her middle initial: Diane K. Chamberlain. She writes inspirational Christian non-fiction,  and she’s a lovely person. There’s nothing she or I can do about the fact that Amazon can’t keep us straight and puts my books on her page and vice versa. I’m sorry for the confusion, but if I have to be confused with someone, I’m glad it’s her.

Second, the Amazon query again. I’ve addressed this several times, but I’ll repeat it now for those new blog readers: different countries sometimes give my books different titles. Most notably, The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes is The Lost Daughter in the UK and A Beautiful Lie in Australia. If you see a book on Amazon (or anywhere else)  that you haven’t heard of before, check out the story description to be sure you haven’t read it.

Third, people have asked me if my books are linked. All of my books are written to stand alone, but several of them are linked:

• The Keeper Trilogy: Keeper of the Light, Kiss River and Her Mother’s Shadow
• The Topsail Island Books: Before the Storm and Secrets She Left Behind

Finally, readers sometimes have trouble keeping track of which books are available, which are reissues, when older books will be reissued and most importantly, when the next brand new book will be out. With so many people asking me these questions over the past couple of weeks, I decided to write a standard answer to plug into my otherwise personalized responses to their emails (I always answer my own email. You’re important to me!) Here’s what I said:

• Please check out the “books” page on my website to see what books are available. In the upper right hand corner of that page, there’s a link to a printable book list. I keep that list updated at all times and it will let you know the publication date of all my books, as well as which books are reissues and what books will be published in the near future.

I hope this helps those of you who are new (or even not so new) to my books. I’m delighted you’re enjoying my stories and look forward to entertaining you for many years to come!

I drove down the long gravel driveway to the Weymouth mansion Thursday afternoon with a prayer of gratitude on my lips. Coming here is like flipping a switch from the world of laundry and grocery shopping and doctors’ appointments and phone calls to the world of writing and nature and friends. Sarah Shaber was the first person I saw when I climbed the stairs to the writers’ section of the house, and she said she’d felt a lump in her throat as she came up the driveway. Clearly, I wasn’t alone in my joy and gratitude. I knew I wouldn’t be.

We’re all gathered here now (in the photo, L to R, that’s me, Margaret Maron, Katy Munger, Sarah Shaber, Alexandra Sokoloff and Mary Kay Andrews. We’re missing–in more ways than one–Bren Witchger, who couldn’t join us this time). The Weymouth Mansion opens its doors to serious writers who have a North Carolina connection. In our case, we’re all published and we all understand the trials and tribulations of the business and the writing process. It costs us nothing to stay here for up to two weeks each year, though most of us make donations to help with utilities and maintenance. Our rooms are small, but the mansion is huge and we each carve out our personal space in which to write.  Our needs this week are simple: M & M peanuts, two games (Balderdash and Taboo), the ability to check our email, and our works-in-progress. We brainstorm with one another and take solo, meditative walks around the beautiful grounds, but for the most part, we work and it’s fantastic to suddenly realize you’ve written twelve pages almost effortlessly.

Today was a little different. We actually put on make-up this morning and dressed in something other than sweats, because a writer and photographer were coming from Our State Magazine to do an article on us. Someone at Our State had heard about our twice-yearly retreats and asked if they could spend half a day with us. I asked the writer, Anne Webb, to snap this shot of us on the stairs with my camera as we posed for the “real” photographer, Natalie Ross. It was fun to share our morning with Anne and Natalie, and we’re all looking forward to May, when the article will appear in Our State. Of course, their visit wreaked havoc on our writing schedule, but it didn’t matter. When I was wandering outside after their visit, I stumbled across Natalie (in the Witches’ Garden) who asked if I’d like a Native American spiritual card reading. I jumped at the chance–knowing I’d have her read the cards for my character rather than myself (see my blog post on Tarot for writers). We found a sunny spot and sat down on a bed of pine needles. Natalie pulled out her deck of special cards, and in about five minutes, I had an unexected twist for my storyline. The whole thing was kind of woo-woo and wonderful.  

So now, the wine is being poured as we all catch up on our writing and ponder where to go for dinner. (One of us who shall remain nameless is munching M&Ms; not me. I’ve already had my fill for the day). After dinner, we’ll play Taboo, since we wore out Balderdash last night (Anyone know what a prickmadam is? We do now!) Alex won’t play–she is the real workhorse of the group, rarely taking a break, and she eats healthy food all the time, but we love her anyway!

I’ll check in with another post later in the week. Till then, enjoy whatever you’re reading, knowing that some of your favorite authors are here, spinning new tales for you!

I’m not much of a believer in the occult, but I do love Tarot, not in any small part because the 78 cards in a Tarot deck can be so beautiful. There’s something undeniably fascinating in the symbols and images, and it’s easy to get caught up the magic.

My first reading was done by a real pro: author Nora Roberts. We were at the Washington Romance Writers’ annual retreat at the fabulous Hilltop House in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, and Nora was doing readings for her friends. I think she told me my marriage was destined to last forever. The next reading I had was by another fellow writer, the late, beautiful Virginia Ellis, shortly after my divorce.  Ha! So as I said, I’m not much of a believer, but I do believe in taking brainstorming help wherever I can get it, and a good Tarot Card reading–for a writers’ characters rather than for the writer herself–can jumpstart a scene, or even an entire book. 

Like Nora, Gin Ellis was a generous reader. At a Novelists, Inc conference in Santa Fe one year, she read for every major character in my work-in-progress. I learned one character’s deepest, darkest secret, why another was afraid to be a mother, and why yet another  chose his particular career. There are many, many other ways to brainstorm, but none as intriguing or fun as Tarot.

I’m aware of one book on Tarot specifically for writers (Tarot for Writers, by Corrinne Kenner), but I’m sure there are more, because writers have turned to Tarot over the years (over the centuries, since Tarot’s been around that long) to help them develop characters and story lines. 

Tarot came into play with my upcoming novel, The Lies We Told. I didn’t use it to help me brainstorm, but my characters themselves use it to. . .  well, I’ll wait until the book comes out to tell you!

So how about you? Have you ever had a Tarot reading?

Do you know that I speak to bookclubs via speakerphone? There have been some weeks when I make a call every single night. I always promise 20 minutes, but I have so much fun talking that I may ramble on for 30. The time just flies by. This week I spoke with a book club in West Chester, Ohio in the middle of the afternoon. That was a first. The name of their club is Lettuce Read! They’d read Before the Storm, and after our call, they sent me this picture. I love it!

If you’d like me to chat with your bookclub when you’re discussing one of my books, just fill out the form on my website. I have to warn you that I’ve had to turn down some requests lately because of my crazy travel schedule as I promote Secrets She Left Behind, but I will do my best to accomodate you.  

I’m occasionally invited to local bookclubs when they’re discussing one of my books, and I always go if I can fit it into my schedule. I love meeting new readers and it’s fun hearing what they think about a book I’ve written. Every once in a while, though, a visit to a book club comes with a big bonus. One such visit occurred a few weeks ago, when I met with a bookclub at the home of a woman named Karen.

Karen had read my book, The Bay at Midnight, which is set in Bay Head Shores at the New Jersey Shore. Karen grew up as I did, spending summers “down the shore,” and she still has a strong attachment to the area. When I arrived for the bookclub, she’d decorated with sea glass and other beachy items, but told me the one thing she’d really wanted to have for me she’d been unable to get: crumb cake from Mueller’s Bakery in Bay Head. I’d mentioned Mueller’s in The Bay at Midnight, so Karen knew I was a fan. During my childhood summers, my family would stop at Mueller’s after church each Sunday for rolls and their famous crumb cake (which they ship, by the way). Mueller’s was closed for the season when Karen contacted them, but she wasn’t deterred! She and her husband, Bill, were in Bay Head last weekend, and this evening she stopped by my house with a box of crumb cake. What a treat! It’s so yummy and brings back wonderful memories of childhood summers. I have the most amazing fans. Thank you, Karen!

My neighborhood bookclub met tonight to discuss Julie and Julia, by Julie Powell. (For those of you who don’t know, twenty-nine-year-old Julie Powell set a goal of making every recipe in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking–all in one year, in a tiny apartment in New York. Lots of stocks made from scratch, jiggly aspic, organ meats and the slaying of lobsters. The movie version comes out next year.).  I would say we had mixed feelings about the book, but we loved our hostess’s yummy French-inspired refreshments and the good company. 

However, this post is really not about that.

When several writers get together and they witness or overhear something fascinating that simply cries out to be in a story, one of them is sure to scoop up the morsel and claim it as her own before the others have a chance to grab it. At bookclub tonight, I heard just such a morsel, and since I don’t think it will ever fit into one of my books, I’m hereby offering it to whoever wants it. It’s just to good to pass up!

One of the bookclub members told us that when she and her husband were house hunting in our neighborhood, they fell in love with one particular house. As they toured it, walking from room to room, they knew it was perfect for their growing family. The owners had already moved out all of their furnishings and the house was empty. . . except for a box on the kitchen counter. You’ve probably already guessed what was in the box: The human skull was surrounded by a bit of dirt, as if it might have been excavated only recently. Even those of you who don’t write must be wondering “Why? Why? Why?” Needless to say, my neighbor and her husband decided to continue their search for a house elsewhere. 

The obvious thing, and it could make a yummy short story, is that a nasty divorce battle resulted in the husband losing the house to his wife, who then needs to sell it. The husband sabotages the sale by planting the skull, because seriously, who’d buy a house with a skull in the kitchen? You’d never be able to walk in that room without picturing that icky box. But I bet a clever writer could come up with something less obvious, so I offer this impossible-to-pass-up morsel to you writers out there. Please do something wonderful with it. I bet this skull would make a delicious stock.

 

Wow, what a great night! Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh provided two scrumptious cakes, I was able to talk about my favorite topic (writing), the audience was attentive and appreciative, and they bought books by the armload. . .which led to the only negative of the evening: we ran out of books! I was so sorry that some readers left empty-handed and hope I can make it up to them in the future. I know Quail Ridge will be getting plenty more in.

Here are a few pictures from the event.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m getting ready to speak in this shot, above. I’m afraid I’m at that age where, to be comfortable, I need not only a bottle of water and reading glasses, but my personal mini-fan as well.

 

 

 

Here, I’m describing how my characters talk to me. I was getting some strange looks from a few of the audience members!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A much-appreciated round of applause!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Signing books. This is just about where we ran out. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part of my neighborhood bookclub showed up to give me support (no, this is not the entire club! I think we must have the biggest book club in North Carolina). They wore these little labels that read “I’m a friend of Diane’s” and “Diane and I read the same books.” I was so touched by their show of support!

All in all, it was a wonderful night. I hope people went home happy and that Before the Storm is keeping them well entertained!