Weddings are all about the bride and groom, sure. But I have to say, I’m way more intrigued by the families that molded them, guided them, surrounded or wounded them on their way to this monumental step, and that’s why I like my own books to be filled with those big, messy families – the good ones, the not-so-good ones, and sometimes, the ones you would never invite TO the wedding.
I’m a big fan of unique holidays, especially if they can be celebrated with cupcakes. Then again, any holiday is a call for cupcakes, right? Unfortunately for my hips, any day can also BE a holiday. June alone has National Doughnut Day (the 6th), National Splurge Day (the 18th), and Blame Someone Else Day (the 13th). I think I might have to celebrate all of them.
My favorite holiday of all time, though, is one I don’t see on any official list. It was invented by Hank Phillippi Ryan (yes, she of Emmy, Agatha, and Macavity fame), and is so sweet it might give you a cavity. . . . .
While camping with another couple last summer, the subject of my first book, ACCIDENTAL COWGIRL, came up. My friend D is an avid reader, armed with a Kindle even at the campground, but her hubby G is more of a movie buff. When he started joking good-naturedly about my book and its genre, I was ready to handle it the same way so many of us romance writers do – with tolerance and good humor. He’s never actually read a romance novel, after all. Then, however, he started in on Decker, my hero. Now, I’m fairly attached to Decker, having created him and all. And he is rather perfect, despite his fixable flaws. Picking on me was one thing. Picking on my hero? Oh, no, you don’t. I think it started when G almost chopped … Continued
In our house, we have guy-jobs and gal-jobs … and a squishy area of in-between ones that might be called the whoever-finally-gives-in-and-does-it jobs. At Chez McGinnis, man-jobs include furniture-moving, spider-squashing, and fire. Sometimes I’m called in to help with the furniture, but only if McTool-Guy absolutely positively can’t do it himself. For some reason he thinks it’s easier to heave-ho gigantic objects around the house without my assistance, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with my dismal upper body strength … or my complete lack of spatial skills. The spider business used to be rather straightforward. I’d spot it, squawk, and he’d suck it up with the vacuum cleaner. Then we had children. And suddenly spiders became Living Things. We got lessons in how spiders are good because they eat other icky critters, … Continued
I used to love winter. Loved skating on the neighbor’s pond, loved trekking for miles on cross-country skis, and loved flying like a maniac down barely-groomed mountain trails. It was exhilarating! Fun! Death-defying at times (mostly because we lived in an area where the concept of hunting season was just a suggestion, and we wore a lot of dark coats and hand-knit white mittens). Wait. Mom? Could I speak to you about those mittens, please? My love of winter went into a long fade as ticket prices skyrocketed and snowfall amounts declined. And somewhere along the line, I gained this fear thing that was totally unfamiliar. I could break something, I realized. Like … me. And then where would we be? I’d still have to do all the things I do now … but do … Continued
I live in a neighborhood served by no less than six trash companies. On Thursdays, the trash-collecting trucks come all morning, and the recycling ones chug through in the afternoons. The streets are dotted with green, blue, and red plastic cans rolled neatly to the ends of driveways, and it’s all very civilized looking. I notice trash day every single week, and it’s not just because of the noise or because I’m the official trash-putter-outer of the family. I didn’t used to notice. Trash day would blow by just like every other day of the week. But then I ended up on pregnancy-induced bed rest at Week 18, desperately trying to keep my anxious twins from making a too-early entrance.
Those of you who’ve read Accidental Cowgirl know how much I loved Montana in August. In fact, I was pretty sure nothing else would ever compare. Well, I was wrong. You just haven’t done the holidays ‘til you’ve done them the Whisper Creek way. As I write this, a toasty fire is crackling in the stone fireplace of our little cabin, the snow is falling like puffy cornflakes, and it looks like we might be snowed in for the weekend. Just me, Decker, a cozy fire, and lots of cocoa.
I’m Thankful For … Ribs? Tis the season of thankfulness, and like most parents, I do my level best to make sure that spirit doesn’t get lost in the flurry of Black Fridays and Cyber Mondays and Techno-Thursdays and the seventeen pounds of toy catalogs in the mailbox. I have to admit, though, that my kiddos beat me to the punch last week when they asked me to cut out a bunch of hearts so they could decorate the windows for Thanksgiving.
Before I started writing seriously, I used to listen to authors talk about how their characters would take over their books. I was mystified. You’re the author, I’d think. How in the world did you not know what this character was going to do? She’s a figment of your imagination! You created her! You OWN her, for goodness sake! Ha.
So Accidental Cowgirl comes out today, and this is all kinds of awesome. It’s awesome for me because maybe now I can stop chomping my fingernails in anticipation. It’s awesome for you because you finally get to meet Decker, and this is a Very Good Thing. Because Decker is, well, perfect is a strong word, but we’ll go with it because, well, he just is. And I’m not just saying that because I created him from scratch, I swear. He’s oh-so-hot in those jeans and that Stetson. He walks with confidence, rides with just enough swagger, loves with just enough … well … you’ll have to read to find that out. His eyes can turn a city girl into mush, and his hands?
We’re only twelve (12! Yippee!) days away from the official release of Accidental Cowgirl, and I have to be honest. My secondary characters are a little jealous about all the attention Kyla and Decker are getting. Maybe a lot jealous. Jess and Hayley claim they’re the whole reason this story even started, what with them tricking Kyla into this dude ranch vacation, and they think they deserve a little shout-out. Since they’re sort of right (and since I really need them to cooperate for the next two books), I thought I’d give them the attention for today.
Beginning September 23 through Friday, October 18 In her Loveswept debut,on sale October 8th, Maggie McGinnis tells the tale of a city girl who’s running on fumes—and the cowboy who shows her all the good things she’s been missing.
Anyone who’s known me long knows I don’t spend a lot of successful time in the kitchen. I say successful because I spend an inordinate amount of time in there. Really. I apparently just don’t have the cooking chromosome that makes any of those hours remotely worthwhile. Take fudge, for instance. How hard is it to read the recipe on the fluff jar and make it work? Seriously, it says NEVER FAIL FUDGE … in really big letters. So last week, in a craving-induced fit of madness, I decided I could totally make fudge. However, after I’d dumped all the ingredients into an apparently not-quite-big-enough pan, I made the ill-fated decision to split my attention by answering the phone. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
In the world of romance writing, there was one place to be last week: Atlanta, where the entire romance publishing industry gathered for our national conference. So I was there, right? Wrong. Despite conniving and bribery and more than a little pouting, I was unable to convince my dear husband that Nationals was more important than our children having, well, food and water and supervision for the week.
In her Loveswept debut, Maggie McGinnis tells the tale of a city girl who’s running on fumes—and the cowboy who shows her all the good things she’s been missing.