The Audio Version of WHY KINGS CONFESS

This cover for the audio version of Why Kings Confess has been out a while, but I kept forgetting to post it. The narrator is, once again, Davina Porter.

Believe it or not, this is the second version; the first was not only of some Victorian dude, but he was bearded and lounging in a chair smoking a pipe. I don't know why art departments seem to think people wore the same style clothing from 1800 to 1900, so if you say "early nineteenth-century setting," they think, "Ah, yes; Victorian."

And while we're on the subject of covers, I've been told I'll be given permission to reveal the cover of Who Buries the Dead on May 21st. Once again, my editor and I asked that they not show a face, and once again, they did. But overall, I'm pretty happy with it, so I'm anxious to hear what you think. Watch this space.

A Book Signing. In a Bar.

So it's happening this Thursday evening: I'll be heading for Bourbon Street for an author meet and greet and, if anyone wants, to sign books. In a bar. For some reason I find myself thinking of that scene in Sweet Home Alabama where the Reese Witherspoon character is in a bar and runs into an old classmate holding a baby in her arms. Reese says, "You have a baby! In a bar!" Babies, books, bars.... Hmmm.

Anyway, I'll be at the bar from 6:30 to 8:30, should any of you care to sashay in, say, "Hey!" and get your books signed. I hear that in place of a mechanical bull, they have a mechanical whale.

Rides, anyone?

Happy Mother's Day!

Mother's Day was one of my favorite holidays as a child, because I really, really loved my mother. Depending on where we lived, I'd pick her a bouquet of wildflowers from the meadows or blooms from an abandoned farmhouse or maybe just a bunch of bright yellow dandelions. I'd bake her a cake (although she actually preferred pies, but that always seemed too complicated for me). And we'd either make dinner or my dad would take us out to eat. I still remember many of the gifts I gave her over the years; some of them now grace my own home, bringing a smile to my heart whenever I see them because they remind me of her and all the joy that we shared through the years.

My love of gardening is one of the many gifts my mother gave me. And this lovely rose near my driveway gate came from her. So Happy Mother's Day, Mama; these are for you:

The Rule of Three. Or Six.

What is it about bad luck always coming in threes? Or sets of threes? It all started a few months ago when my refrigerator went on the blink. We barely got that replaced when we needed a new hot water heater. Then the dishwasher went out right before Christmas. The stove went the day after Christmas (always a lovely time to try to have new appliances delivered). The guy who installed the new dishwasher told us we'd better have our kitchen faucet replaced ASAP. That's five. So I should have known this was coming: last week, my washing machine died.

At first, I was almost happy about it, for I have hated the danged thing since it first broke down a month after we spent what seemed like a small fortune buying it. All together it broke down something like eight times in the first two years. Plus, no matter how hard I tried, I could not keep it from getting moldy. But the thing I hated about it the most was my own stupid fault, because I should have realize that you can't soak clothes in a front loader (I'm one of those people who really likes to soak). So I was excited about the idea of replacing it. Only, then I discovered just how difficult it is to find a machine--even a top loader--that will let you actually fill it up with water and turn it off to soak your clothes for as long as you want. Seriously? Doesn't anyone soak their clothes any more? I had to wait EIGHT DAYS to get this thing delivered from the Back of Beyond.

When the delivery guys wheeled it into my laundry room, they laughed and said, "You were smart; you went with one of the good ole fashioned kind. Them fancy new things ain't worth sh*t." No kidding. Now I have a mountain of laundry to work my way through. And I know it looks silly, but I decided I couldn't part with the dryer because I keep my paper towels and spare laundry detergent in the storage space beneath it. So now I'm eyeing my air conditioners and thinking, One dryer + two air conditioners=three. 

My Notebook

Some time ago, I asked readers to leave questions they'd like to see answered here, and I've slowly been working my way through them. So, here's a question from Liz:

My question has to do with your notebook. To what extent do you use a notebook and pencil/pen vs a computer. For instance, do you use the former to organize the plot and the latter to do the actual writing?

Once upon a time, I composed my books while sitting at the computer. Theoretically, writing at the computer is faster since it eliminates the need to transcribe. But then, after Hurricane Katrina destroyed my office, our house, and everything for miles around it, life was chaos; I had a book due, and I was finding it extraordinarily difficult to write. A friend of mine, Rexanne Becnel, has always written her books by hand, in a notebook, in a coffee shop. So I decided to try it (the notebook part, not the coffee shop part; I like solitude and quiet). The change broke whatever was blocking me; I was able to write Why Mermaids Sing in record time, and I've written by hand ever since.

I like it for a number of reasons. I have a bad back thanks to breaking it in a tobogganing accident years ago, so I find sitting for hours on a sofa, chair, or porch swing far more comfortable. Once upon a time it also took me away from the ever-present temptations of the Internet, but smart phones and iPads have wiped out that benefit. But most of all I like it because I find I write better by hand. Someone recently did a study showing that the act of holding and moving a pen stimulates creativity better than typing, so it's not simply my imagination.

In a sense, I've come full circle. When I first started writing, my kids were little and I wrote in a notebook because it was portable--I could take it to swim practice or dance classes or flute lessons.... You know what being a mother is like. Once upon a time I wrote on the backs of old printouts, but I've become more finicky with age. Now, I absolutely must use the same brand and weight of crisp white legal pads and the same type of pen every time I write. I try to type up each scene or chapter as I write it; I edit as I transcribe, and then I print it out and edit it some more. I keep the manuscript clipped together in sections. Here's the first part of book #11, which as you can see has no title yet:

 And of course, sitting on a sofa makes it easier to manage this guy:

Angel does love to 'help.'