Merry (almost) Christmas! I have a short story titled “Christmas In Montana” in the Our First Christmas anthology with terrific authors Lisa Jackson, Mary Burton, and Mary Carter.

“Christmas In Montana” is about a woman named Laurel Kelly with a crazy family, a huge regret, a man she’s loved her whole life but can’t be with, and a new, sexy apron selling business.

Here’s a snippet…

One of my facebook posts…

About eighteen years ago, I quit teaching school. I was a fourth grade teacher. I became a teacher solely to become a writer. I did not have much confidence that I would make it as a writer and I did not want to starve to death in the interim or live in a dark basement apartment with rats.

I told myself that I would write after school and on weekends, and in between I’d wear something conservative, brush my hair like a normal person, not swear, and teach math, reading, writing, etc.

I ended up loving teaching school. I loved my students, their parents and, especially, the teachers I worked with, many of whom I’m still in contact with today. I left when I was pregnant with twins, was the size of a small rhino, had very bad pregnancy complications, and had a chatty three year old at home.

So, the other day I found out that two of my former students, (two of my favorites!) Nathan Gordon and Meredith Gordon, got married, had a son, and have another one on the way. They were lovely people then, and are lovely people now. Their whole story just warms my ole’ heart…

And it reminds me of the teaching profession and how fortunate I was to teach with the amazing/smart/interesting men and women that I did for those eight – ish years and the impact that my best teachers had on me and on my life. Most especially Bev Kerns, my journalism teacher, who dripped red pencil all over my work when I was in high school, and spared no criticism, but who taught me how to write.

Teachers and students and the impacts they have on each other…what an incredible profession it is. Sometimes I still miss it, I really do.

PS Nathan and Meredith, you have to tell everyone that I was your favorite teacher or no recess!

This is an excerpt from my book, What I Remember Most, written through the eyes of my character, Grenadine Scotch Wild.

“Being homeless is bringing Alice, My Anxiety, to the forefront. I am vulnerable in many ways. My physical safety is not assured. I am cold.  I do not have a bed or a home. I cannot take a shower when I need to. I am peeing out the side of my car. Sleeping in my car makes me feel claustrophobic. I do not like tight spaces. I don’t have enough money.

Nothing is organized as it should be.  When things are disorganized I feel scattered and nervous.I need a home environment that is neat and clean with tons of healthy food in the cupboards.

I need pretty around me and bright colors to ward off the darkness so I am not reminded of where I used to be. Any reminder of the chaos of my past, the danger, will set me off. I am now set off.

I need my art, too. There is no “stupid” in art. It can’t make fun of me across the canvas. It can’t force me to stumble over words. It can’t ridicule me. It is mine. I am art. I create and paint, layer, and build. I need my canvases, my paints; my odd, shiny, rough, original, unique, trashy, sparkling collage materials.  I need my scissors and my glues.

My hands are not used to not doing art. My mind is not used to being present in the real world at all times, nor does it like it.  My heart needs art.

I need a home so I can art it out, so to speak.

Which translates loosely into: If I can’t art it out, I will lose my friggin’ mind to Alice, My Anxiety.

I am homeless, and Alice and I do not like car living.”

 

In What I Remember Most, my character, Grenadine Scotch Wild, goes to jail for three nights. She gets into two fights, is put in isolation twice, and meets different women, including one who is mentally ill and pets imaginary animals.

In order to portray jail accurately, I went to a jail for almost three hours.  It took me three days to recover.

Here are a few things I learned about jail.

1) You never, ever want to go. Trust me on this and do not commit a crime even if your husband runs out on you with a blonde bimbo with a brain the size of a bean.

2) The women, at least at the jail I was at, spend 22 hours a day in a cell.

3) The cell had a silver toilet and sink and a window in the cell door that anyone could look through at any time.

4) The cells also had a slit of a window to the outside. You can then look outside and see what others are doing that you are not because of what you did.

5) If you are not crazy when you enter the acute psych ward in the jail when you arrive, you will be in two weeks.

6) There were many prostitutes who were locked up. If they don’t make money, their pimps beat the hell out of them. If they stand on a street corner and get arrested, they go to jail. There is no win here for them.

7) The girl who was detoxing from a heroin overdose was skinny, pale, and slept like she was dead. She was very young. She was someone’s daughter. I felt like crying when I saw her. Drugs had eaten her life.

8) I have never seen so many people in uniform in my life. They did not look like people you would want to mess with.

9) And to that end…To work in a jail looks absolutely miserable and dark and dangerous. The people that the employees have to work with can come in screaming and hitting, spitting and vomiting, raging and murderous.

10) People deserve to be punished for committing crimes.  I’m a tough on creepy criminals kind of gal, especially for people who hurt children and women. But we must re – think the length of SOME jail sentences for SOME inmates, especially the ones who were very young when they committed their crimes.

11) Drugs are a curse on this country. One wonders how much better off we would all be without them. We need to regularly lock up the dealers who are dealing death and destruction, and get more, and better, help for the users, of which there were many in that jail population.

12) Jail is absolutely no place for the mentally ill. We as a society need to fix this immediately.

13) I saw a small, tight isolation room with green walls for people who are a danger to themselves, or others. If you want to picture hell, picture this.

14) Undergoing the fingerprinting, mug shots, and strip checks, including bending over and coughing while spreading your butt, would be demoralizing and devastating.

15) I would lose my mind in twenty four hours.

16) Did I mention that you should not commit a crime?

This is a note, and photos, I received from a book group who read Julia’s Chocolates. Cracked me up.

Hi Cathy,

A few weeks ago, I sent you an email telling how you inspired my girlfriend and me to have “Do Over” party for our friends who’ve had a lousy year- similar to the women’s dinners in Julia’s Chocolates. Well, we had it! It was fabulous, AND April had a pig! So, we wrote out what was pissing us off, hung it on the pig, and then lit a fire to burn the notes (and our upsets in effigy!) It was wonderful.

This article was written by my daughter, Janelle Lamb, who is co – editor for her university’s paper.

Reflections from the woman measuring your chest…

“So…um…how does one actually become a bra fitter?”

The question tends to be a stalling tactic, used by women clutching their shirts nervously to their chests as I enter the dressing room.

I learned to measure boobs by spending two full days undressed as a group of us, all new lingerie girls at a high-end department store, practiced sizing each other. But somehow describing any job training that involves nudity always seems a touch unsavory.

I maneuver the conversation back to the task at hand. I’m fairly certain I’ve come up with every variation of ‘can you please take your top off’ and yet the words still taste inappropriate.

You can tell a lot about a woman by the way she undresses. As a general rule, the older she is, the less self-conscious she’ll be.

70-year-olds shrug off their shirts and bounce around with their new bras on, just to give them each a proper go. Middle-aged women laugh at their bodies and make a cryptic joke about my youth.

The new mothers always seem a bit confused by their newly sagging breasts and fresh stretch marks, and eye our nursing bra selection with all of the mourning of a ballerina throwing out her pointe shoes.

Girls in their twenties blush, turn to the wall and keep their arms firmly crossed. With teenagers, there is always a decent chance of tears.

At the point of disrobing, most women feel obligated to point out their own perceived flaws, their tone apologetic:

“One of my boobs is larger than the other, I’m sorry it’s so weird…”

“I keep telling myself I’ll lose weight before I buy new bras but I’ve been trying for a few years now…”

“My nipples are so droopy—is there a bra that can fix that?”

I tell them that I’m past noticing this sort of thing. I’ve seen 38JJs, lactation in action, inverted nipps, augmentations, reductions, mastectomies, and pretty much anything else your top half can dish out.

Now I just twirl my tape measurer and cut the self – critical diatribe off as quickly as possible.

As for me, boobs lost any semblance of sexuality after my first week on the job. They are now a bland as an elbow or an armpit.

I know the vulnerable moments aren’t actually when I’m with them, chatting away and throwing a variety of lace contraptions in their direction.

The vulnerable moments are when they’re left topless in the dressing room with nothing to do but stare at their own bodies. Some women pull their clothes back on every time you run out for another bra, unable to be alone and naked with themselves for even a minute.

Conversely, the more her body has gone through, the less daunting a bra fitting seems. Cancer survivors never seem to give half a damn if their shirt is off or on.

A young woman who had just undergone reconstruction after a double-mastectomy once bought the fifteen sexiest bras in the shop.

An ancient-looking woman came in and demanded that I only find her bras in red. A woman who had recently lost half her body weight cried when I found her a cute, polka-dotted bra and it fit.

There’s not much you can do to make a woman like her reflection. You can measure her correctly, you can insist she tries on that one bra that’s just oh-too-sexy for her, and you can listen.

But at the end of the day, her sense of comfort, her confidence, has nothing to do with her body and everything to do with the way she looks at it.

 

 

 

Cathy Lamb: So, shall I call you T.E.? What is your real name?

Teri Woods: I know…sounds pompous, doesn’t it?  Like who do I think I am, Batman?  People call me Teri.  I couldn’t publish under that name because there’s already a well-established writer…of mystery novels and others…publishing as Teri Woods.  Teresa (my given name) sounds like a telemarketer is calling me, so my publisher and I decided to go with my initials. But, please, call me Teri.

Teri, I love this line from your new book, “The Unforgivable Fix,” The killer won’t come for you, you fool. He’ll come for me.”

That just gives me the shivers, in a good way. Tell us what the story is about.

“The Unforgiveable Fix” is the third book in the Justice Series and continues the stories of Mort Grant, Chief of Detectives for the Seattle Police Department, and Lydia Corriger, a clinical psychologist in Olympia. Mort and Lydia’s paths crossed in my first book, “The Fixer.” I’d tell you all about that, but it would spoil the fun for readers new to the series. Suffice it to say Mort and Lydia share a secret that keeps them bound tighter than any blood line or romantic involvement could.

In this installment, Lydia tentatively resumes her private practice after healing from some serious scrapes in books one and two. She tries to start slowly, easing in with a few patients and some teaching as a favor to a friend. Soon she’s embroiled in a nasty bit of business that may cost her everything, including her life.

At the same time, Mort’s thrill seeking daughter, Allie, who’s been lost to the family for the past three years as she jets around the world playing consort to a global drug king pin, finds herself on the run from some very, very bad apples who are out to destroy her boyfriend by destroying her.

Allie runs back home and while Mort tries to save his daughter from both the Russian mob and the U.S. Attorney’s Office, he stashes her the one place he hopes she’ll be safe: with Lydia. Much tension, double-dealing, and mayhem ensues. And, as is typical in my books, nothing is as it seems.

Sheesh. I feel like I’ve been on a literary roller coaster ride already, holding my hat on my head and screaming. What a story.

You seem so nice. Gentle. Kind. And then – scary evil. What draws you to crime, thrillers, killers? 

I’m a clinical psychologist and I specialize in profound behavioral and emotional dysregulation. Every day I get to work with people who do the most outlandish, destructive (and often self-destructive) things as they stumble toward some twisted idea of what would make them happy. I’m intrigued by that.

I like the way my patients take me by the hand and lead me to the edge of any manner of cruelties people are able to perpetrate against themselves or others. Very often the behaviors include crimes. Sometimes violent crimes. I think my writing is just a natural extension of what I see in my work-a-day world.

I’m sitting here in my kitchen nook, trying to drink my coffee, my mouth now hanging open, as I imagine your work day.  I try to perfect my love scenes and you’re dealing, often, with criminals and they’re twisted, cruel thinking. And then you go home and make dinner…

Did you ever imagine, as a child, or a teenager, that you would be writing this type of book? Did you even want to be a writer when you were a kid? What triggered this genre?

I can remember a yellow notebook I had when I was young. Maybe seven or eight years old. I’d write little stories in it and anyone who wanted to play with me would have to listen to my story first. It wasn’t long before kids were bringing other kids by, asking me to read them my stories, too.

Of course I was happy to oblige. I recall thinking I’d keep that notebook my entire life and it would be the first of hundreds of notebooks I would fill.

You see where this is going, right? That little yellow notebook is nowhere to be found…I didn’t give it companions on the shelf…and I doubt I ever even filled it. I grew up poor and the notion of learning how to write just wasn’t an option. I was expected to study something that was sure to give me a chance to make an independent living.

So, I studied hard, went to college, and took a Bachelor of Science degree. Very practical. Then I went on to a master’s and Ph.D. in psychology. That path worked. I earn a comfortable living. But about six years ago, after I learned another scientific article I’d written had been accepted for publication, I wondered, quite out of the blue, if I could write anything creative. Maybe the little girl with the yellow notebook was tugging at my subconscious.

In the shower that morning a murder came to me. By noon I had my cast of characters. I came home after work, went to my office, and started writing. I remember my husband came home and poked his nose in, asking what I was working on. “I’m writing a murder mystery”, I said. Now, those words had never come out of my mouth before. Nor had I expressed any desire as an adult to write creatively. But there I was. And the writing opened a joy in me that spills over to all parts of my life.

My novels may be twisted and dark, but the writing of them has brought me tremendous pleasure and light.

One of your characters, Allie Grant, has been the lover of, and I quote from your book, “One of the world’s most powerful and deadly men.” How did you do the research for this part? (Can you hear me chuckling when I ask this question?)  And what research did you do to write the Russian mob realistically?

Oh, my!  That was great fun!  I read newspaper and magazine articles about the explosion of Russian gangsters following the fall of communism. I took particular interest in the sheer hedonism of their consumption. Those guys know how to indulge themselves.

Of course, they also know how to be brutal. They don’t rule with an iron fist…that would be far too delicate for their ideas of enforcing order.  I’m also fortunate to have met several people who immigrated from Russia and learned how filled with hope people were following the collapse of the Soviet Union, only to have those hopes dashed when the authoritarian regime of the government was seemingly immediately replaced by the authoritarianism of the criminal oligarchies that emerged.

So, I took what I learned from my research, blended it in with the twisty cruelties I’ve come across in my practice, and spiced it up with my own sick imagination.

So you had a three fold force: The Russian mob, chatty criminals, and your imagination gone wild.

I love that The Fixer is a woman.  She’s a hired gun in a home built like a fortress.   Tell me what inspired this character? Any of you in her? Is she your alter ego?

The Fixer knows what it’s like to be unfairly treated and presumptively judged. I think all women can recall experiences like that in their own lives. The Fixer is interesting to me because she’s actually quite fearful. But when she’s championing the cause of someone else she’s blindingly fearless. She’s confident and strong when defending others, yet so wrapped in her own vulnerabilities she’s stunting her own life and limiting her own happiness.

But, man, I love how kick-ass she is.

I don’t know if she’s my alter ego…but I’ll cop to wishing there was more justice in the world. I’m confident in my non-violence, and The Fixer is unapologetic in raining violence down on those who clearly deserve it. So, I’m hoping there’s no overlap there. However, I do try to be an agent for fairness wherever I can.

What The Fixer and I do share is her address. While I live in Madison, Wisconsin now, when I was first married I lived in the house where The Fixer lives now. High upon a cliff overlooking Dana Passage. The islands and the mountains in the distance. Eagles and sea gulls. Cedar and Fir trees. It was heaven.  Now, when I lived there it wasn’t an armed fortress and it didn’t have the supercomputer or NSA-worthy communication center that The Fixer has in her basement, but it was lovely.

When you’re not writing you are…

I’m living a life better than that little girl with the yellow notebook growing up in that rusted-out steel town ever could have imagined. I’m healthy and strong. I’m married 33 years to the finest man I know, and we’re still crazy for one another.

I’m playing with my dogs…well, actually serving my dogs, it is they who run the house. I’m enjoying “Wednesdays are Friends Days.” Every Wednesday afternoon I meet with a group of women to eat and laugh and support one another. Then I meet with another, smaller group of women to drink and laugh and support one another.

I hike, I kayak, I bike. I binge watch HBO series and read whatever I can get my hands on. I experiment in the kitchen. I sit in the breakfast nook and watch the birds in the feeder.

And I try to stay grateful. I’ve worked hard to build my life. And I know there’s a Universe that has shown me I’m not in this alone. For that I am eternally grateful.

For everyone who wants to write out there, but who also have day jobs, give them some advice on how to do both. How to manage the time, energy, and efforts while still finding time for family and friends and sanity.

You’ve answered the question in the asking. I’m asked a lot…I mean a WHOLE lot…some version of “How do you do all the things you do?”  It’s all about managing time.

Here’s my advice to writers: WRITE. Write like you mean it. Write like it’s your job and you’re bucking for employee of the month.  Don’t FIND the time to write. MAKE it. Schedule time to write every day. I don’t care if it’s an outline of a scene or ten pages in your novel. WRITE! Don’t buy into that goofy notion that you have to wait for the muse to strike. That’s just an excuse for not writing. Write and the muse will come. The ideas will flow at varying levels. The words will wax poetic one moment and fall flat the next. That’s okay. KEEP WRITING!

MAKE time for yourself. MAKE time for friends. MAKE time for your relationship. Take care of yourself with good nutrition, sleep, and exercise. MAKE IT HAPPEN.

Here’s what we’ve got: we’ve got time, we’ve got talent, and we’ve got treasury. Spend each where it counts.

Very often, when people ask how I get so much done, I’ll ask them what they’d like to have time to do. Folks seldom have trouble answering that. “If I had time I’d write.” Or they tell me they’d travel or exercise more or spend more time with their kids or learn to speak Swahili. Whatever! Folks seem to know what they’d do if they had more time.

Well guess what…WE DON’T HAVE MORE TIME. We have THIS time. I’ll ask those same folks…after they’ve told me what they’d do if they had more time, what they did last evening. This is what I hear the majority of the time: “Nothing” “Watched television” “Played video games” “Hung out on Facebook”…yadda, yadda, yadda.

See what I mean? Pick anyone who’s successful at what they do. Ask THEM what they did last evening. They have the same amount of time we all do. They’ve simply made the decision to MAKE the time work for them by doing what brings them joy.

And don’t fall into that trap of expectations. Too many people…women especially, give their time, talent, and treasury to others. They give away their most valuable resources then wonder what happened.

Make it happen. This is your one and only life. Find what you value. Hang a goal off that value. Then point your nose in the direction of that goal and start marching toward it.

Okay…enough with the preaching. I’m kicking over that soap box.

That was quite a soap box, though. Excellent advice.

Three favorite places to be on the planet Earth?

What a great question! First and foremost I’m going to say “Anyplace my hubby is”. Now, with that out of the way…

1) Camden, Maine

2) Bayfield, Wisconsin

3) France…don’t care where. Normandy? Check. Provence? Sure. Lyon? You bet.  Just France. Yummy, lovely, expensive France.

 

Thank you for your time, Teri! 

 

Contact T.E. Woods here:

Website:  http://www.tewoodswrites.com

Facebook Author page: https://www.facebook.com/tewoodswrites

Twitter:  @tewoodswrites

 

 

 

 

Cathy Lamb: Friends, Jean Kwok wrote the New York Times bestseller, Girl In Translation.

It was one of my favorite books of 2013. I highly recommend it. Because I loved that book, I tracked down Jean and begged her (in a nice and non – pathetic sort of way) to let me interview her. Lucky for me, she said yes.

It’s my understanding Girl In Translation is at least partially autobiographical. You immigrated with your family from Hong Kong, lived in Brooklyn in an apartment with no heat, and your family, including you, endured jobs in sweatshops. You ended up at Harvard. What part of Girl In Translation is your story? All of it?

Jean Kwok: A great deal of Girl in Translation was indeed based upon my own life. Although the book is a work of fiction, my heroine Kimberly Chang and her mother live in an apartment that mirrors the one I grew up in: overrun with rats and roaches, plaster falling off of the walls and ceilings, and worse of all – no central heating through the bitter New York City winters.

Kimberly and her mother also work in a sweatshop in Chinatown that is a replica of the one I remember working in as a child, and I was by no means the only child there.

Like Kimberly, I was able to do well in school and that was my escape route. However, I will never forget the people I left behind.

Cathy Lamb: I am just appalled at the conditions of your apartment and that children were allowed to work in a sweatshop in the US. I thought we by passed that a hundred years ago. I am in awe of your personal story, the incredible struggles you faced as a child, and the stunning success you have now.

Let’s talk about your new book, Mambo In Chinatown.  I am fascinated by Charlie Wong and her life in Chinatown and how everything changes for her over the course of the story. We have a culture clash, we have family members in conflict, we have poverty, and we have dancing. What a combination.

Can you tell everyone what Mambo In Chinatown is about and what inspired you to write it?

Jean Kwok: Mambo in Chinatown is the story of a poor girl in Chinatown, Charlie Wong, who works as a dishwasher in a noodle restaurant. It was partly inspired by my own life, since I grew up very poor in the slums of Brooklyn. After my family moved to the US, we started working in a clothing factory in Chinatown and even though I was only five years old at the time, I went there every day after school and worked as well. Although I was lucky enough to have a gift for school, my heart remained in Chinatown throughout my years studying at Harvard and Columbia.

I wanted to write from the perspective of someone who works day and night just to make ends meet. When my heroine Charlie gets the chance to work as a receptionist at a ballroom dance studio, she slowly discovers her own dance talent. I wanted to invite readers to step into the closed worlds of Chinatown and ballroom dance.

As Charlie flourishes, however, her little sister Lisa becomes chronically ill and their widower father insists on treating Lisa exclusively with Eastern medicine. Charlie struggles to win a prestigious ballroom dance competition in order to save her little sister, and herself.

In a lot of ways, this is a book about finding your own dreams and talents, no matter how unusual or unlikely they may seem to be.

“Finding your own dreams and talents.” I will have to remember that line and share that with my kids.

On another note, do you know how to mambo?

Actually, I worked as a professional ballroom dancer for Fred Astaire Studios in New York City for three years in between my degrees at Harvard and Columbia, so I learned how to mambo then. As Charlie discovers in the book, mambo is one of the hardest and most exhilarating dances.

When I was doing research for Mambo in Chinatown, I went back into the professional dance world both for research and to film a promotional video. I have to admit that I hit my very kind and forgiving dance partner several times during rehearsals by accident! You can see the finished video here:

http://jeankwok.com/events.shtml

Oh, I love this!

In your opinion, what are some of the struggles that immigrant families face?

Being misunderstood, being ignored. I think we’ve all had that experience of seeing someone on the bus, who is dressed so differently and who seems so different from mainstream America. It’s easy to dismiss that person, to think, “Oh, and she doesn’t even speak English properly.”

But I’ve been that person and I find that one of the most powerful things about novels is that they can deposit you inside the mind and heart of someone else, regardless of nationality, race or religion. One of the nicest comments I’ve heard from a reader is that when someone bumped into him accidentally on the subway after he read my book, he wouldn’t get mad or feel racist anymore but he would think, “That person could be Kimberly or Ma.”

Jean, what an amazing gift you’ve given people with your stories. You bring your characters to life and then readers apply their new knowledge and understanding to the people they meet in “real” life. 

 Where do you live now? How is your family?

The members of my family are all doing very well, so I’m extremely grateful for that. They’d always been quite ashamed of our past but with the publication of my book and the warm reception of many readers, that has turned to pride.

I actually live in the Netherlands now, which shows how unpredictable life can be. I married a Dutch man and we live there with our two boys, ages 8 and 10.

I just was in and out of the airport in Amsterdam. I should have waved. What a beautiful place to live. 

What is the hardest part about being a writer? The best part?

The hardest part is the writing itself, of course. So much of the time, writing is like trying to shoot termites in the dark.

The best part is having readers tell you that your book meant something to them, that it might have changed their lives for the better.

I felt that way after reading Girl In Translation. It opened a whole new world for me. I think it’s easy to get lost in our own comfortable lives and block out everyone else’s entrenched, radically unfair problems. 

Tell me, because I’m always curious about how other writers write.  How do you write your books? Outlining? Day by day, thought by thought? Do you follow word count goals? Editing goals?

I need to mull over my characters and story for a long time before I can begin to write. Once I feel like I have something that coheres into a possible novel, I start writing short pieces, little explorations into new territory. As I get a clearer idea of the shape of the book, I write a rough outline of the whole thing on Scrivener. There will be radical changes but the outline is just a rough map for me so that I don’t completely lose my way.

I then force myself to write a complete rough draft from beginning to end, no matter how terrible. I rewrite and rewrite and rewrite. When I’m working steadily, I set a word count goal for myself per day instead of an amount of time that I need to sit in front of my computer. If the deadline is far away, I like to write about 1200 words per day but as my agent starts asking how my new book is going, that target number can go way, way up.

What’s a typical day like for you?

I have to balance writing, publicity and my family. I usually wake up at 6am, although I used to be a night person! When I’m up against a deadline, I get up at 5am to get some writing in before my day begins. I take the kids to school and then write or do interviews, etc. until they come home. Sometimes I need to do Skype events or write a piece for a magazine, and that can be difficult while the kids are clinging to me like little Velcro monkeys.

I’ve also had a great deal of international publicity since my books have been published in 17 countries so I travel a lot as well. Many schools have added Girl in Translation to their curriculum, and one of the things I enjoy doing most is giving talks to students who have studied my book.

I am a former teacher and I am just thrilled that students are reading your books. 

What are your future plans and goals, both personally and professionally?

There are still many books I’d like to write, worlds I’d enjoy showing to my readers. I believe in trying to enlighten and entertain my readers at the same time. My next book will be about a woman who moves to Amsterdam to start a new life.

Personally, I’d like to find peace. Since I’m writing this interview while on an airplane because this is the only free period I’ve had for weeks, I’m not sure how likely this goal is. 😉

Wishing you peace, always, Jean.

Thank you for your time.

 

 

 

My character, Grenadine Scotch Wild, in “What I Remember Most,” is a collage artist and painter, but is working, currently, as a bartender in a central Oregon town as she is on the run.

This is a conversation she had with a dim witted, slimy husband. Some of you may know that type of husband.

The next complaint was a ringer, to which I showed a boatload of compassion: “My wife’s always complaining because she don’t get no free time cause of the kids.”

“How many kids do you two have?” I asked

“Five.”

I slammed a pitcher of beer down. My anger is always simmering. “You’re here every night and you’re complaining about your wife because she says she needs free time? You must be joking, Selfish One. What do you think you’re doing here? Working?”

“Uh. No.”

“You’re having free time. I dare you to let your wife come sit at this bar and you go home and take care of the kids.”

“I don’t want my wife here! There’s a whole bunch of men here.”
“Why don’t you go home and love your wife before she discovers there’s a whole bunch of men here and chooses one to live with who is not you?”

His face paled.

“You think she won’t do that? You think she won’t fall in love with some other man simply because she said ‘I do’ to you years ago when she was young and not thinking rationally? She said a vow and you think that will keep your wife from leaving some jackass husband who goes to a bar like a liquor leech and talks behind her back?”

“Uh.”

“Uh yourself. Ask yourself an easy question: What are you doing to keep your wife in love with you? What?”

“I’m her husband!”

“Big deal. I can assure you that part is not impressive. All you have to have to be a husband is a marriage license and a dick. Yours is probably small, but she signed the paper, poor woman. You should do what you can to prevent her from signing another piece of paper saying you are now her ex-husband because her life would be easier without you. Now, good-bye.” I took his beer. “Tip first, Selfish One.”

He gave me a five and scuttled on out.

 

My next book, out in August of 2015, is set in Scotland. So la dee dah, I got to visit!

I try to look for humor wherever I am.  I need it. WE need it, right?  Below are a few of the funnier (is funnier a word?) shots I took while skipping around Scotland.  These are the shots that made me laugh or think or pause.

Or, best yet, the shots that gave me ideas for my next story.

And yes, I did see men in kilts. Quite handsome they were, and those bagpipes? There is nothing like the haunting, cheerful, mysterious, soul – touching, musical blast of bagpipes.

There is only one picture that is not self explanatory. It’s the one where there is a hole. This hole was in a castle, built and rebuilt at different points during the last 800 years and is now in ruins.

The Archbishop used to throw people he didn’t like down the hole.  The hole was a prison, located in the castle he lived in in richness and splendor.  The prisoner is thrown through the hole and down the tunnel, which widens at the bottom. Like a science beaker. The poor prisoner was probably someone who spoke out against the Archbishop or the church. Charming, wasn’t he?

One of the archbishops of the castle also had 20 illegitimate children…another real winner, clearly devoted to the church’s teachings…