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.”

Today is Father’s Day, so I posted this picture of my Dad as my Facebook status. It generated much interest (and a few questions), so I decided to blog about it.

My parents, both of whom I lost during this last decade, were . . . unusual. They were a pretty typical mom and dad in most ways, but they were also Hams with a capital H. For example, they loved to go on cruises that had costume contests, and for every talent show at their retirement village, they’d dust off an old vaudeville routine to entertain their neighbors. But the highlights of their entertainment career were definitely their “performances” with Don Ho.

Mom and Dad weren’t rich–Dad was a school principal–but they were careful with money and after retirement, they were able to spend two months every winter in Hawaii. They adored Don Ho and at one of his shows, Mr Ho asked who in the audience had been married the longest. At nearly 60 years, my parents won the contest and were invited on stage. Don Ho didn’t know what he was getting into when he asked the old dude in the pink leisure suit and the elderly woman in the muumuu to join him. Dad started telling his jokes and Mom did the hula without waiting for an invitation. The audience loved it so much that Mr Ho invited my parents back. Again and again.

Even after my parents could no longer travel to Hawaii, Don Ho didn’t forget them. When Mom was in the hospital after suffering a heart attack, he called her to wish her well, impressing the nurses no end!

I probably have some of these details wrong (in which case my brothers and sister will be along to set me straight), but I think you can get a pretty good picture of my parents from this post. My siblings and I are all into the arts in some way–writing, art, theater, music–and we often say that “we don’t know where we got it from” because our parents never pursued any of those creative avenues. But maybe it simply boils down to a desire to entertain. That we come by naturally.

I know I should wait until The Lies We Told is available before sharing the video with the world, but I love it so much I can’t wait! I’ll tuck it away after this blog post and bring it back when the book is released, but I thought you might enjoy hearing how John and I created it, thus my excuse for this blog.

Book videos are hard to make. Movie trailers are easy (by comparison) because movies are visual and you can simply take carefully selected scenes from the film. You don’t have that luxury with books. It’s tempting in making a book video to try to interpret the story literally, using narrative either typed on the screen or in a voice over. She was beautiful and good hearted. (Cue image of beautiful, good-hearted woman). Until the night He appeared. (Image of scary looking but very handsome dude. With a couple of tattoos. Nice ones). On that night (Image of dark night, clouds drifting across a crescent moon) her young brother disappeared.  (Image of young boy slowly fading to black).

Okay, they’re not all that cheesy, but you get the idea. They’re hard to do. I like my two previous trailers, one for Before the Storm and its sequel,  Secrets She Left Behind, but I think I like this new one best. In my opinion, it gives the feeling of the book and the central themes (our family stories are not always what they seem and the powerful relationship between sisters) without actually trying to tell the viewer the story.

We toyed with a bunch of approaches to the story, which is about two sisters working for a Doctors Without Borders type of organization after a hurricane demolishes Wilmington, North Carolina. We pulled stock images of hurricane destruction, helicopters (a helicopter crashes in the story), doctors (yawn), and all sorts of other photographs. Then I came up with the idea of using the first page of the book (if any of you have an ARC–Advanced Reading Copy–the first page is missing, so don’t bother looking for it!). Even though I’m no professional narrator, we decided I’d do the reading. We added a sentence to help the viewer understand a bit better what’s going on. I recorded the narration about ten million times with long gaps between each sentence so that John could use the best take of each one. You can tell by the way I’m gripping my thighs how comfortable I am.

Then we began pulling stock images and video to fit the narrative. John found most of these. I think my favorite is Rebecca. Whoa, did he ever find the right clip for that woman! John put together the rough cut and we reviewed it and made a couple of changes. Then he assembled the finished program, and voila! Here it is.

I hope you enjoy it and look forward to your thoughts.

Well, Sunday is usually one of the days I update my blog, but this evening I have no time. You can see what I’m doing here: cleaning out my newly refaced cabinets at our Topsail Island condo, as well as many other household-y tasks. We just have two days here because snow, a rarity on the North Carolina coast, kept us away yesterday. When we arrived at three today, we had to scrape ice off the steps to get to the front door. My neighbor’s been redecorating the condo for me for the last couple of months and this is the first time I’ve seen it. There’s still a bit to do, but it looks fantastic. I can’t wait until I can put up the before and after pictures, and I will as soon as the after is really complete. You can see a few things still need doing in the kitchen–countertops, for starters.

Okay, I need to go back to work. See you with a real blog post midweek!

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.

Welcome UK readers!

 I was thrilled when my publisher released The Lost Daughter (known in the US as The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes) in the United Kingdom last year. It was embraced by so many new-to-me readers and made #1 on the Heatseekers’ Chart. The Heatseekers’ Chart in the UK contains books by up and coming authors who have yet to appear on the bestseller list there. I hope one day to climb  into that rarified atmosphere, but for now I’m excited to be exactly where I am.  My second book released in the UK is The Bay at Midnight, which was published in mid-December. After four weeks climbing the Heatseekers’ Chart, it too reached the top spot this week. I feel so lucky!

Those of you who’ve been reading my blog a long time know that The Bay at Midnight has a special place in my heart, since the setting was my childhood summer home. I wasn’t sure how the book would translate to a UK audience. Sure enough, one of the reviews mentioned certain  American  cultural references, such as Leave it to Beaver, 81 year-old Maria working at a McDonald’s, and the boardwalk at the Jersey Shore.  Yet the reviews have been great and my readers across the pond seem to enjoy the story even  if they’ve never heard of Wally and The Beave. The world feels so small sometimes, doesn’t it?

Before the Storm and Secrets She Left Behind will also be published in the UK this year.  It’s so much fun to see these books get a second life. Thanks, UK readers, for taking my stories into your hearts.

(Thank you, British reader Diane Beharrell for snapping this photo at the Gatwick London Airport!)

I’m a believer in resolutions. I don’t always keep them, but there’s something about that “fresh start feeling” that has great appeal to me. I have a slew of resolutions this year. Here goes:

-Work at writing as though it’s a 9 to 5 job.  This may sound like a no-brainer, especially to those of you who are not self-employed, but I tend to let other things get in the way of writing during the day. Then I work late into the night and I’m usually freaking out in the weeks leading up to deadline. All right, I know I’ll still freak out shortly before deadline, but organizing my work schedule will make me feel more in control before the crunch hits. So I’m going to pretend I have a boss who will not allow me to spend hours on Facebook or run out for groceries or Starbucks when the urge pops into my mind. Which brings me to the second resolution.

-I will actually attend the gym where I have a membership, instead of merely paying them a fee each month, and I will go early in the morning so I can be at my computer at 9 am. Uh, this should be interesting. To be at the gym early in the morning means going to bed earlier at night. Which brings me to resolution number three.

-Lights out at midnight. Not sure how I’m going to do this, because my reading time is usually 11 pm to 1 am or later. I can’t give up reading, so I guess I’ll have to get an earlier start on it.   

-Attend mindfulness classes at a local yoga center. I’ve recently rediscovered my mindfulness and meditation practice, something I enjoyed when I lived in Virginia. It centers me and brings me peace and joy, but as with everything else on my list, I need to actually do it to reap the benefit. 

-Do a few hours of volunteer work each month. I am so blessed, and there’s so much need.

-Stay in better touch with my family and friends. This should really be number one on my list. It is number one. 

Looking over my resolutions, I can see the one thing that will trip me up is TIME. Like everyone else in the world, I don’t have enough of it. But I’m going to give this list my best shot.

 How about you? Are you a resolver?

Well, I woke up today with a small health crisis. Not a big deal, but big enough that it couldn’t wait until I get home, so I spent the morning searching for a clinic where I could be seen and remembering why, although I adore being far away from home on an island,  there’s a lot to be said for being  close to everything familiar.  Anyhow, I found a lovely doctor who fixed me up, but wow today was a real pledge killer. 

Still, it was another beautiful day in Paradise and I had a great walk on the beach, followed by a nap. All of that left me with less writing time than I would have liked, but I managed to fill the snippets with five good pages in which I was surprised by a ten-year-old girl, a cat named Patches and a hidden key. I also turned a character’s seedy apartment into a run down but cute little arts and crafts cottage. Going into those five pages, I had no idea any of that would occur. Writing fction never fails to amaze me, and all I can say is I hope tomorrow’s surprises are only of the fictional variety!

Time for a year-end wrap up of the stories that touched us most in 2009. I’ll start, and then I’d love to hear about your favorites. With the exception of The Help, these are not in any particular order.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett: Sometimes you simply want to thank an author for writing a book, and that’s how I feel about this one. It’s probably my favorite of 2009. This all-too realistic look at race relations in the early ’60s is full of heart and I loved the voices of the women. A great bookclub book.

Sweeping up Glass by Carolyn Wall (I listened to it on audio): Set in depression era Kentucky, this is a story of one woman’s simple yet extraordinary life. It’s Wall’s debut novel and her character, Olivia Harker, is real, imperfect, and sympathetic.

Run by Ann Patchett: An unusual story of African American twin brothers adopted by way-liberal white parents. As a writer, I was intrigued by the fascinating structure of the novel and the deep characterization. I loved how each character was immensely flawed, yet a good person in his or her own way.

Sarah’s Key by Tatiana de Rosnay: Almost too painful for me, but I’m glad I read it. The story of one girl’s experience during the French round up of the Jews during World War II alternates with a current day story of a woman obsessed with trying to learn the girl’s fate. As I’ve found with my own books, it’s sometimes hard for a contemporary thread to compete with the more engaging story of the past, yet I found this a very engrossing and satisfying read.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield: A very unusual book you will either love or hate. The story, about a young woman biographer hired to write the biography of an elderly author, is hard to place in time, but that only adds to the dark, Gothic atmosphere. One of many things that impressed me was the link Setterfield drew between the protaganist and the woman whose story she’s telling–that link being twinship. Without that thread tying the women together, I don’t believe the story would have the same power.

Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos: I tend to like fairly serious novels, so this fairly light book is not my usual fare, but I loved it and will read anything de los Santos writes in the future. She is wryly funny, her characters are human and easy to identify with, and her message of love and family shines through.

The River Wife by Jonis Agee: I nearly passed this book by because I’d read some negative reviews on GoodReads.com, but I started it and was instantly caught up in the story. I love well-written, multi-generational tales that span decades, and I particularly loved the way Agee linked the tales from the different eras. I found the characters fascinating and am so glad I gave the book a try.

The Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks: What an amazing book! The protagonist is a wonder herself, and watching her grow during the year the plague stole two thirds of her small English village was heartening and inspirational. As a novelist, I’m awed by the research that went into writing this book. Warning: it’s gory, but worth it.

The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb: Okay, it’s really long and all over the place, but it’s Wally Lamb and that makes up for any flaws. Lamb moves from the Columbine massacre (a risky, but well-executed use of real life tragedy) to Katrina to women’s prisons to family secrets, and he takes over 700 pages to get from point A to point Z, but his characters are so fascinating that the pages flew. If you love a good saga, this is for you. If you want an author to get straight to the point, you may need to look elsewhere.

Tethered by Amy MacKinnon: A fascinating book. MacKinnon took a rather simple, almost trite, mystery and lifted it up through her stunning writing and the creation of an unforgettable and (almost) entirely sympathetic central character. The character, one of the most complex ever to grace the page, is an undertaker, and my skin crawled at times during the book, but I kept turning the pages and was glad I did. As a writer, I was floored by MacKinnon’s use of description. I don’t like a lot of detail when I read, but MacKinnon’s judicious use of detail–especially in the way it helped me understand the characters–was spot on.

So there you have it. My faves for 2009. I’d love to hear what books touched you the most this past year.