Summer Reading Sale

In that other universe in which I teach English at an alternative high school...summer has arrived. In celebration of the fact that about 10 percent of the graduating class did so because I tutored them through their reading and writing exams during my planning period and after school, I'm putting my Guardian series on sale through the end of June. The coupons are good on Smashwords. All you have to do is enter the coupon code prior to completing your checkout. Book #1: The Guardian Michel was originally $0.99 -- with the coupon code PA46R -- you can get it for free through June 30, 2012. Book #2: The Guardian Michael was originally $1.99 -- with the coupon code KE93L -- it is $0.99 through June 30, 2012. Book #3: The Guardian Gabriel was originally $2.99 -- with the coupon code KX63P -- it is $1.99 through June 30, 2012. The books are available in the e-book format of your choice at Smashwords. Happy reading!

Hey, Mom, I'm Finally Learning Grammar!

Teaching has taught me a couple of very valuable lessons: how much I still don’t know, and how fortunate I was in the circumstances in which I grew up.

One of the facts every teacher understands is that to own knowledge, you must be able to impart that knowledge to another person. That’s what teachers do every day, but it’s also an excellent tool in observing whether students truly own what you’ve taught them. When they can teach that knowledge to a classmate—it’s theirs forever.

That’s been my experience with grammar, and that’s also where the second part of my valuable learning has come in. You see, I grew up in a household where writing and speaking correctly were simply facts of life. My father, who was a high school dropout, rose to become a top executive in a television broadcasting company. He did it in the way many self-taught people do, by emulating those he admired and by grasping firmly onto any knowledge he could. He read voraciously and had an extensive active vocabulary. While my father devoured a lot of non-fiction and bestsellers, my mother gravitated toward the classics (although she does read what I write – thanks, Mom!). In addition to plenty of time spent reading or locating books in the library to read, we were also a family of debaters. We loved to argue and prove points and learned to do so in a friendly way.

All of this is simply to say that what I learned of the English language was largely through osmosis. I understood the principles of good grammar because that was what we used in our home on a daily basis. Utilizing an extensive vocabulary was second nature, and if I encountered a word I didn’t know, I was either given a definition or synonym, or directed to the dictionary.

Did I pay attention to grammar instruction in school? Oh no. I yawned through it and relied on my innate ability to slide through—like many other students, I’m sure. It wasn’t until I began learning German that I finally discovered the disadvantages of not having learned the difference between indirect and direct objects, of understanding the parts of speech and how each word functions in a sentence. If I could go back (lol) I swear I would pay more attention to that sentence diagramming we did in 5th grade.

Life has handed me a second chance, though, to learn the technical aspects of grammar that I ignored during my education. That’s one of the great aspects of being a teacher. States require continuing education in order to renew teaching licenses. So right now, I am in the midst of an online grammar course offered by one of the state universities. This time—I’m paying attention because I expect it to pay off in two ways. First of all, a better understanding of the mechanics of the English language should help me improve my instruction to my own students. There is also the payoff in my writing career. I hope, and I’m sure my editors do too, that it will make editing and revising a much less laborious endeavor. We’ll see.

Bring on the Wassail--Please!

You know, every year I swear I’m going to get in the Christmas spirit. Really. I’ll decorate earlier, better and I faithfully pledge to take better care of the Christmas tree so that when I pull it down after the New Year it’s not because the Fire Inspector chastised me for crunchy tree needles.
But Christmas seems to fly in and out faster and faster, and after the New Year rings in I’m left to wonder, what did it really mean?
Sure, the economy’s not great, but it’s not the complete inability to satisfy my child’s every Christmas whim that has me on edge.
It’s just a feeling that something’s getting lost along the way. I’m looking for a little peace on earth and good will toward men. That’s really all I desire.
So, once again, I’m going to irritate my spouse when he asks what I want for Christmas because my reply will be—nothing. At least not anything that can be bought and wrapped and placed beneath the tree to be ripped open on Christmas morning.
I want my family around me without the laundry list of gimmes or gots. I want to feel like I’ve made someone else’s holiday better because I could help them in some way.

Last year’s Holiday hangover resulted in the writing of Santa’s Helper, which releases today from The Wild Rose Press. Jack, the hero, is covering a bet he’s lost by ringing a bell and collecting money for charity. Merry, the heroine, is working three jobs to support her and her son—one of them is as a Santa’s elf at the mall. She’s filled with the Christmas spirit and Jack’s not, even though it seems like the opposite should be the case. The attraction is instant, but Jack’s got a secret that could make even Merry say, “Bah, humbug!”
What are the things that put you in the holiday spirit? Leave a comment and I’ll put your name in a drawing for a copy of Santa’s Helper. Drawing will take place Sunday, 12/11 at 10 p.m. Good Luck.
Oh..hey...read the next post and leave a comment there too. You'll be entered in a drawing for my contemporary romance Bittersweet. It released Monday.

Cue the Commercial

(Me) “Okay, I’ll say right up front, this is an unapologetic promotion for the book I have releasing today. So, if you’re looking for some sage advice it’s probably not here. And I’m sure my more market savvy colleagues would cringe at the way I’m opening this blog post. Okay so scoff…”
(Cue the TV infomercial announcer) “BUT WAIT! There’s more. Stick around through the unabashed promotion and leave a comment for your chance to win a digital copy of BITTERSWEET!”

(Me) “That’s right. Here’s the deal… all you have to do is tell me what you believe makes for a really great romance. What is it that makes you pick up a book and buy it…or in the case of ebooks…what makes you click that “Buy Now” button? Is it the cover? The blurb? The excerpt? Genre?
“Do that, and I’ll enter your name in a drawing at the end of the debut week (12/11). Make sure I have a way to contact you, so I can send you your digital copy.”
(TV infomercial announcer) And, it doesn’t stop there…because Laura has a second…yes, a second book releasing on Wednesday. Come back then for an additional chance to win!”

A gift to All my Followers

Thanksgiving, that uniquely American holiday in which we stop to give thanks for what we have before we rush to the TV to watch parades and football followed by a feeding frenzy, is almost here. For us, it's also the start of the Holiday Season.

Every year, The Wild Rose Press offers a free e-cookbook to its authors and readers. I'm thankful I am able to contribute two recipes to this year's edition. I'd like to pass along those recipes, along with all the wonderful ones contributed by my fellow authors. Take a moment to download it, and you'll see there are some super eats included.

I'm not going to give you a sappy list of things for which I'm thankful other than to say -- my thanks to each and every one of you who's supported my efforts as a writer, either by buying my books or offering me your friendship and advice.

Here's to all of you.

Ghosts? You Bet!

Ask my mother. She knows. The house where I spent most of my formative years was haunted. I don’t want to sound all woo-woo, but I believe there are some folks who are wired for the weird, and others who aren’t. My dad was in that latter category.
Parts of the house creeped me out for a long time before I even knew my mother had actually seen an apparition inside it. And that was really kind of strange because it wasn’t like it was an old house, something that just screamed haunted. We moved in when it was brand-spanking new.
The family room was at one end of the house at the end of a long hallway that extended almost to the opposite end. Sometimes, after my parents thought I was old enough, they’d leave me for the evening to visit friends down the street. My brothers, all older, would be off doing whatever, so it would be just me and the dog. Grinner liked to lie on the floor, positioned so she could see down the hall. Not me, not at night. Every now and then, she would lift her head with a jerk and just stare down that long, dark hallway.
“Stop it!” I’d whisper, huddled under a blanket on the couch and not really wanting to see if she actually did see something. The dog would give me that over the shoulder glance before she went back to glaring down the hallway. I peeked one night, and no lie, I saw something smoky and floating at the end of the hall. But did I say anything? Hell no. I still didn’t know Mom had actually seen someone sitting in a chair in our family room! Instead I cowered on the couch and hoped our ancient mutt would keep whatever away. She growled, but I was still more frightened of the teasing I’d get from my brothers than of whatever lurked at the end of the hall.
I was always relieved when my parents came home.
In addition to the long hallway, this house had a full basement. Early on, my parents had hired a guy laid off from the Ford Plant in Louisville to finish the basement. That was okay with me. I’d always been spooked by the wooden stairs where someone could reach through and grab my ankle. I figured once those stairs were closed in, like normal stairs should be, everything would be cool.
The problem was, even after the basement was finished, I still got spooked every time I had to go up or down those stairs. They might be carpeted and paneled and look like any other stairs, but I still ran up them like the hounds of hell were hot on my heels, and I never, ever went up or down unless the lights were on.
There was even a bedroom in the basement. My parents had added that so that every one of us kids could have our own room. My brother, Tom, lived there with his black lights, Jimi Hendrix and long hair. He was into a few other things as well, so when he told me he’d seen a pure white hand flash in front of his face one night when he fell asleep watching TV and then woke up, his credibility was just a bit suspect.
Nevertheless, it reinforced my basement phobia.
Most of the time I was okay if I was down there with someone else, or if I could stay on the far side of the basement near the fireplace and the sliding glass door. It was the stairs and the unfinished part of the basement that made my skin crawl.
I truly tried to get over it. I would force myself to go down there for things, make myself stay there, but every time, when it came time to go back up, I felt like someone hovered right behind me, breathing down my neck as I scrambled up the steps.
I have to admit, this went on into my teenage years…way into them. In fact, I believe it was about the time I was cleaning out my stuff in preparation for going away to college that the final incident happened. My mother was big into us periodically going through our junk and getting rid of what we no longer wanted.
There I sat, by myself, and old enough now to poo-poo that niggling shiver of unease, sorting old books, toys and games. By this time, I knew about the lady in the chair. I knew about the hand flashing in front of Tom’s face, but big deal—I was college ready with a year abroad already behind me. Sophisticated, intelligent, getting ready to take the journalistic world by storm.
Right.
That’s when I found the Ouija Board. Remember those things? Cue the dark creature feature type voice: “Use the pointer on the board to communicate with the other side.” Ooooohhhhhh! I’d gotten it for a birthday or Christmas or something years ago, played it a couple of times with my girlfriends down the street while we asked it stupid questions like, “Will I marry Johnny when I grow up?” then put it away and promptly forgot about it.
With a cynical chuckle, I pulled the board and the pointer out. Since no one but me would be operating it, I figured I could debunk the whole idea of someone else having pushed it. I wasn’t going to. I was simply going to rest my fingers lightly on both sides of the pointer as the instructions said. Sitting there cross-legged with the board in front of me and my fingertips just barely touching it, I inhaled and asked, “Is there anyone else down here with me?”
The damn thing moved. Not some little twitch to one side that could have been caused by a quiver in my finger. No. It jerked across the board to “yes.”
When I could finally make myself go back down to the basement again, I packed up the Ouija Board and gave it away. I have never touched one since then.
But I still wonder. Did the people who’ve lived in that house since we moved ever realize they weren’t really alone?

So, bottom line? As much of a realist as I like to believe I am, I absolutely do believe the souls of the departed are sometimes still walking among us. Leave a comment and let me know what you think. Not only will it help me get rid of the shivers still turning my stomach as I recall those memories, it will enter you in a drawing for a copy of any one of my books that you choose as a pdf. I'll let the winner know on November 1st.
Hey, and while you’re at it? Check out this great Halloween blog hop!

Looking for the "Aha!" Moment

As a teacher, I know that every student isn’t going to get everything I teach the first time it comes out of my mouth. Particularly in English, it seems as though I spend the year guiding students again and again through similar and alternate paths to help them recognize literary concepts. I get that.

Here’s what I don’t get:

Me to the freshmen: “What is the setting for “The Birds”? You know, the story we just read?

Student 1: a farm.

Me: That’s right. In what country was that farm?

Student 2: Georgia?

(Now, I do know my students well enough to understand they are not referring to the former Soviet Republic.)

Me: Wrong side of the ocean.

Student 3: Minnesota?

Me: Noooo. Remember how the story mentions listening to the BBC on the wireless? What city was mentioned in the story?

Student 4: I don’t remember any city.

(I open the book, scan the pages and find the first mention of London.)

Me: Try the bottom of page 54. What city is mentioned there?

Student 1: London.

Me: Right! And what country is that in?

Student 5: France?

Me: (sigh)

Now this exchange went on for quite some time as I continued to lead them through the when…beginning with the fact that no one—gasp—had cell phones and walking them back through history several decades.

How is it, I wonder, that so many students travel this far into our educational system and lack such rudimentary knowledge of the world around them? No wonder they look at me when we try to read material that’s not related to fashion, sports or some musician’s latest hit like I’m speaking Greek.

We’re watching Alfred Hitchcock’s version of “The Birds” which, I might add, has only the concept of attacking birds and the title in common with Du Maurier’s short story, and I would be willing to bet that when I ask them tomorrow what U.S. state it’s set in, no one will say California.

We live in an age of information unlike anything anyone’s ever experienced. As a writer, I am still amazed at how quickly I can locate answers to questions that would have required extensive library research just two decades ago. So it frightens me that all this information is so readily available, and yet it seems like students are becoming more and more myopic and insular about the world around them.

Have they become like the person who dines every evening at the all-you-can-eat buffet? Have they become so overloaded with information they no longer have any desire to find out anything new?