people watching

I love writing at my local café, ostensibly as it gets me out of the house and away from the clambering of my three gorgeous kids. But also for the people watching. I don't think it ever occurs to me how much I give away about how I'm feeling, or what I'm thinking just walking along. But watching shoppers idle by you can tell so much with just a single glance.

I especially love, love, love watching couples. Seeing how they interact. Seeing how similar so many of them are in look, dress, mannerism, facial expression.

There's the buff dark guy with the tattoo sleeves tossing his little fair toddler son in the air makes my heart clench its such a cute image. But his curvy bombshell of a wife taps her high heel shod toes impatiently, waiting for him to get a hurry on.

The tall lithe Scandinavian-looking pair with their curly blonde daughter, so casually elegant without even trying to be. They seem easy-going, relaxed, and really content.

Then there's tanned surfer dude with the freckles and sun-drenched auburn hair, thongs slip-slapping on the tiles. He's holding hands with a fit blonde, the same height, the same build, the same stern expression. She slip slaps right alongside him as though they're both walking in time to the same tune.

Somehow, they all match perfectly. I couldn't imagine the red-headed bloke with the bombshell in any lifetime, or any other mix of these couples for that matter. They've all clearly recognized something of themselves in one another.

And it gets me to wondering. Have my hero and heroine done the same? And if so, what? How would they appear wandering the aisles of my local shops hand in hand? It's kind of a nice image. Some place beyond the scope of my happily ever after. But that's what I hope for them all the same.

This means my iced coffee and brownie were consumed in the name of research right?

arty farty moi?

A couple of nights ago I went to an art auction. Posh, no?

We had a reason. A friend of mine had a painting to sell through the Joel Fine Art Gallery. A James Haughton Forrest - Vessels at Low Tide 1918. I'd never been to an art auction before so we trundled along and it was fabulous fun!!!

High Street Armadale in Melbourne is famous for its upmarket shops and art houses. Sotheby's has a showroom there as do dozens of smaller galleries. Joel Fine Art Gallery is very schmick - all white walls, neutral carpet and chrome with makes the paintings lining the walls stand out beautifully.

At the door we were greeted with wine and a catalogue. The staff were very glam and glittery, and pretty much all of the patrons were dressed in black. Behind a partition at the back of the rasied auction room a large LCD TV displayed the painting for sale for those at the back. A few arty types mingled with others simply dripping in money. Hubby recognised the owner of the local basketball team. Needless to say we hid against a wall hoping to blend in. Picking our favourite pictures. Imagining where they might fit at home.

And the prices were phenomenal! Some paintings went for almost $200,000 dollars, many of them to one scruffy looking gent who we assumed owned a gallery or was bidding on behalf of others. Or maybe he's a billionaire looking to fill the walls of his new Brighton home. My hubby pointed a finger at something early on and we had to slap his hand down quick smart lest his bid of $42,000 stick. Why we bring him anywhere we're not exactly sure.

There was a Charles Blackman I loved which I thought would go beautifullly on the wall of the bub's room. Though at $40 odd thousand it was a tad out of our price bracket.

Unfortunately it was the modern art that was selling, the crowd obviously wasn't there for the classic stuff, even some big Australian names like Nolan and Blackman were passed in. So my friend's painting will likely return to the wall of her home until the tides turn.

But out of the night came one big find...the ocupations and setting for my next Romance!

between the sheets: motifs

I love a good motif. I never set out to have them in my books, they just seem to evolve out of thin air. And I don't even know that they will be motifs until suddenly they are!

I’m sure it was Trish Morey who recently said on a loop somewhere (and I’m sure she won’t mind me quoting her here) that she loves it when those lines or moments appear at the begining of a book and you have no idea what they mean, or what they will allude to later on, and suddenly when you’re three quarters of the way through the book you realize that that one moment, that one line has such an important resonance it could almost be the fulcrum from which the whole book balances!

Or words to that effect ;).

For me a motif that has come into its own today. Henry V. Yes, Shakespeare’s Henry V. And yes this is a contemporary novel. Of 50,000 words. And in the middle of nowhere a couple of weeks back I had my hero quote from it accidentally.

Or perhaps I should say I quoted it accidentally.

'So how about we clap hands and a bargain.’ He held out his hand to seal the deal.

My heroine recognized the words immediately. Even before I did.

“Henry V,’ she blurted out, her eyes lighting up.

At that point I had to back up a step. And headed off the Google land to check that I had any clue that was the correct reference. And what do you know what? It was. Yay me! It comes from the proposal scene near the end of the play. I love this play. Adore it. Kenneth Branagh’s film would have to be one of my favourites. And the proposal scene is a delight. It's hilariously funny (especailly after coming directly after so much heartache and pain and blood and gore and loss in the great battle scene) and sooooo moving.

Now, from that one accidental quote I have since discovered that:

My heroine has a double English lit major

My hero’s house has a massive library that he loved trawling as a kid (mostly because he loved pushing himself around on the ten foot ladder on wheels mind you ;))

And while rediscovering the library today Hud stumbled upon a copy of Henry V and while reading the proposal scene he discovered amazing things about himself, his place in the world, and what he has to offer a woman

I can already see how this motif can play through the rest of the book – lightly, gently, sometimes in ways that nobody may even notice bar me, but I can even see how it will make an appearance towards the end of my own book.

Kissing a Fool, the George Michael song is still beautifully evocative for the feel of the book, but the title no longer resonates. I feel like I need a line from that scene to lock it all into place. Even though the title WILL change if the book is bought, I need to have a working title that takes me directly to the heart of the book.

Some ideas floating around in my head:

Rhyme and Reason (not quite magical enough)

Canst thou love me?

Take Me, Take a Bachelor (a modern spin on a line I can feel is going to be important later in the book)

Broken Music (pretty huh?)

The Voyager and the Mermaid (nothing to do with Henry V though it has a lot to do with the story)

Watch this space for the winning title. And if you haven't see the movie - DO! And now. It came out before Braveheart, before Narnia, before Lord of the Rings, and to my mind the battle scenes in this movie are far superior (and much copied). And as Kendall says:

It’ll make you laugh, and cry, and your heart go pitter pat. And if it doesn’t, well then I fear you’re just not human.

For the journey of writing a Harlequin Romance from initial idea to 'the end', check out the whole Between the Sheets series…

at the zoo

Yesterday I went to the Melbourne Zoo. I loooove the zoo. My brother-in-law and his girlfriend are staying with us for a week and every visitor who comes to stay has to go to the zoo with us. House rules ;).

The Melbourne Zoo is something special. The grounds are gorgeous. The spirit is phenomenal. It really makes you feel like a home away from home. They’ve had amazing success at breeding endangered species and they put serious time and effort in keeping and upgrading the enclosures into the best they can be.

If I had to name my faves, I would have to include the butterfly house. So hot you can barely breathe. But it's stunning. The colour, the intricate beauty. The fact that they hardly live a life before breding and dying. So bittersweet.

Then there are the giraffes and elephants. Stunning. And the crazy snakes and so cute you want to take one home in your handbag meerkats. And the baboons are amazing. Huge red bottoms aside.

And then there are the orangutans. Hilarious! The baby is such a show-off. The mother indulgent and the father seems to think them both far too forgiving of the crowds going and gahing at them. The gibbons are just as much fun. The black male is such a show-off. He hung around by the tips of his fingers for a while before getting swinging enough to all but hit the glass we were watching him through. Cheeky monkey indeed! We stood there giggling for ages!

I could spend all day watching the Sumatran tigers. The grace, the markings, the power. They get my vote as most beautiful animal. (Though I have to admit the seal trainer was pretty cute ;)) I only found out when I got home that the tigers have cubs!!! So we are going back in a couple of weeks with my in-laws and my friend Sheree’s family for Twilight at the Zoo – an afternoon of animal watching followed by a picnic and a night of Jazz at the zoo itself!

How’s that for civilised?

all in the name of research

I tend to write, or at this point revise, from ~ midday until I go to bed. When deadlines are not near I like to stop when hubby gets home from work, but considering deadline was last Thursday, at this point it's midday til I go to bed ;).
Not non stop mind you. For that would be nuts. Neck aches, numb bum, back stiffness, carpal tunnel, eye strain. I know. Because I do have days where I am nuts and I don't stop for anything. Bar coffee and chocolate, but that goes without saying.

Anyhoo, over the last few weeks, I have been stopping for SatC breaks. While sitting down to breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea, I have been re-watching Sex and the City all over again starting with episode one. And it has been maaaaarvellous.

I loved the show when it was first aired. I have loved catching repeats whenever they're on. But wathcing the show as a whole I have a new appreciation. It is brilliant. Nuanced. Tragic. Hilarious. Embarassing. And oh so true.

When it comes to women and their fragile psyches, when it comes to romance, love life and having it all, this show gets it. Soooo much. Look past the raucous language, the big city life, and the loads of men, Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha are us.

And yesterday I hit the second to last DVD. Miranda married Steve. Carrie married herself after Berger dumped her using a post-it. Samantha found out she had breast cancer. Smith shaved his head. Big had heart surgery, offered Carrie a life together and recanted the next morning. Charlotte miscarried. And I bawled and bawled and bawled. Once every 2-3 hours when I had my SatC fix, I bawled.

I have one disc to go. Only one disc. One tiny, measly, piddly disc. I know what happens. I know how it all ends. But I can't do it. I can't make myself put it into the machine, for it means that soon, far too soon it will all be over. My love affair with SatC, my 2pm break won't ever be the same again. No more Charlotte and Harry and Elizabeth Taylor. No more Manolo Blahniks. No more Brady Hobbs, and Brooklyn, and cynical Miranda. No more Mr Big!!! Whatever will I do???

Of course a friend of mine has given me the first 8 episodes of the new season of Grey's Anatomy...

a taste of italy

Two and a half years ago I took a trip to

Italy.

I had always wanted to visit. To throw a coin or three into the Trevi Fountain like they did in the movie. To see the Leaning Tower of Pisa before it either fell over or they propped it up so much it became the

Tower of Pisa. And to see Michelangelo’s David. Need I say more.

I also had a book in my head. A character from my previous novel, a naughty snow white type called Gracie, lost her mother at the end of HOW TO MARRY A BILLIONAIRE. I decided to send her off to

Rome in search of the father she never knew. I had one image in my head of her sitting on the steps of the Trevi Fountain, a coin held tight in her hot palm as she made a wish. The rest of the story was up for grabs...

So hubby and I took a Contiki tour. They are more famous for twenty-four hour beer fests than research tours, but our trip was absolutely perfect. We had a great tour guide, a fabulous bus load of people, including several other couples and a few fab Aussies. And boy did we see Italy!

Limoncello and bubbling cheese pizzas on Capri. Lukewarm cappuccinos and the world’s most beautiful pink glass in Venice. Carabinieri – the world’s sexiest police, in outfits designed by Armani! – and even a funky nightclub in Rome. A Kennedy holiday home and the most beautiful scenery I have ever laid eyes on in Lake Como (and no I don't mean George Clooney).

I also found much inspiration for my book. Tuscan hills. Mountaintop towns. Chianti wineries.

This month A MOTHER FOR HIS DAUGHTER is on shelves across North America. I am so excited as the guys who took our tour with us can now see lots of hints and sliver views of the places we visited. (Waving to Contiki family!)

For more behind the scenes fun stuff check out my article, Inspiration is All Around, and I am also blogging today about the search for my Italian hero at the Pink Heart Society.

6 DAYS UNTIL THE LAUNCH OF PROJECT CHICKLET...

let it snow

I'm currently writing my first book with scenes set at the snow. It all feels a little odd as outside right in Aussie land it is hot, hot, hot. So hot, and dry, with a great big brown sky as we are in the middle of bush fires right now. And right about whre snow fell about two weeks ago. Crazy old world...

Anyhoo, for the last few days on writing THE SWEETEST THING, I'm having to do lots of imagining.

I don't even have all that much experience with snow actually. I saw a bit behind a rock for the first time maybe five years ago while doing an autumn "changing of the seasons" trip through the mountains. The next time I saw snow was about two years back while at the Grand Canyon. Yep, in the middle of the desert. Las Vegas was boiling, but four hours away the Canyon was freezing, and just at the enhd of our beautiful day, snow began to fall. My oh my was it beautiful.

My one and only trip to a proper snowfield was meant to be a romantic weekend with the hubby on our first wedding anniversary. We drove up to Mt Buller. I was so excited! Until we got there. In my black Russion hat, my fancy black coat, my tight jeans and knee high black boots, I fit in just fine back in Melbourne, but surrounded by snow people in their multi-coloured parkas, mis-matched thermal pants, odd beanies, fat goggles, and flat sensible shoes I stood out like a sore thumb. It was like they were all in some kind of colour-blind cult.

It was lovely. We watched other people ski. I stood on snow. We drank hot chocolate looking over the speldinferous view of the Alpine Village, and then we went home. I know, I know. I caved. But we realised we might actually need to go with people who know what they were doing next time. People who know the secret password and can tell us where to buy thermal underwear.

I couldn't help but put my heroine, Morgan in my shoes when she and Saxon turn up at Mt Buller. Okay, my boots were black and hers are electric blue but that's artistic license right?


8 DAYS TO THE LAUNCH OF PROJECT CHICKLET...