I Gotta Find Peace of Mind

Tonight’s installment of Music to Read By – relating to my novel, A Good Kind of Knowing, is one of my favorites — Lauryn Hill’s I Gotta Find Peace of Mind.

In Chapter 1 of the book, readers meet Ruby D., who is one of my favorite characters that I’ve ever created. She loves Lauryn Hill, and this song is perfect for her. She’s dealing with a man she needs to dump for good, but can’t seem to find the courage to. Haven’t we all been there?

Take it away, Lauryn.

 

 


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New Book Trailer Offers Instant Stress Relief (and I Won’t Even Charge You For It if You Buy the Book)

Hello all! Thought I’d give my blog readers a sneak peek of the new book trailer for A Good Kind of Knowing, which releases in ebook tomorrow.

I love, love, love it, even though it goes against all book trailer marketing best practices. (I’m such a rebel, you know.) It’s basically just a lovely slideshow put to music, featuring brief excerpts from the novel along with beautiful photographs of rural Texas. My husband told me that it’s like a little break from reality and stress.

So many of my friends provided photos for the slideshow, and I thank you! Ruth Parker, Austin Moore, Tammy Arnold, Scott Smejkal, I’m talking to you. Oh, and my sister Hope, whom I did not even ASK if I could use her stuff. Kinda like she used to do with my clothes in high school, come to think of it.

Tell me what you think! It’s about 2 minutes long, so sit back with a glass of wine tonight or a cup of coffee tomorrow and enjoy. Oh, and turn up your sound because the music feels good, too.

Click to play this trailer for A Good Kind of Knowing

 


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Introducing the Cover Design for My Next Novel

I’m so pleased with how the cover art for my new novel, A Good Kind of Knowing, came out! My friend, Jeremy Kron, interactive designer extraordinaire, created this one, just like he did for Blue Straggler. And I really think he outdid himself this time. Here it is:

 

 

Imagine if Maeve Binchy grew up in Texas and wrote an old-school Larry McMurtry novel. Think Hope Floats meets High Fidelity. That’s how critics are describing A Good Kind of Knowing — from the author of the highly acclaimed and number-one Amazon bestseller, Blue Straggler.

A Good Kind of Knowing is a novel about the power of music and friendship, the relationship two-steps that go on in old Texas dancehalls, and the secret to finding just a little bit of common ground in a world full of distrust.

Sera Taylor’s store is the one place in Lakeville, Texas, where individuals from all walks of life share a universal love for music and a respect for the gypsy-like woman behind the antique glass counter. Readers get a taste of the unorthodox connection between Sera and Mack, a young local cowboy and musician, and Sera’s previously untested devotion to her husband Bill. They learn of her relationship with Ruby D., the vibrant but misguided mother of five; with Louie, the shy high school band director; with Beverly, the religious, upper-class socialite; with Antonio, a local bar owner striving to make a life for himself; with Tommy Lee, a rich and directionless gigolo; and with Wes, the only out-of-the closet gay man for miles. As Sera battles a serious illness, the characters must overcome long-held stereotypes to save Sera’s store, and in the end, large parts of themselves.

What readers are saying:

  • “Engaging, emotionally accurate, visual and funny.”
  • “My head is full of your story. It took me only two and a half days to read the book cover to cover, which means I was doing it every spare minute.”
  • “You pulled me right in.”
  • “I feel like I’m right there—I can feel the Texas heat and see the small town and the people who populate it.”
  • “The characters are diverse and interesting, and each has a unique personality that adds to the entire canvas of the story.”
  • “I know these people. What’s more, I like them, even despite their faults.”
  • “The pace is comfortable, the characters rich and colorful. The events are anything but predictable; I was always wondering what’s going to happen next.”

A Good Kind of Knowing is coming soon as an ebook — out by the end of the month! Paperbacks will be out for the holidays.

Thanks for all the support!

PS – Thanks to everyone who asked about my writing week in North Carolina. It was amazing and awesome and I got a ton of work on the third novel done. Plus, I squeezed in a few swims in the ocean (which was still warm!), one deep-sea fishing trip (my friend caught a shark!) and about 200 million meals of fried seafood. Now, back to reality.


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Processing What Happened in Colorado This Week

My heart and head are still reeling from this week’s mass shooting at a movie theater in Aurora. My husband went to high school in Aurora. My mother- and father-in-law live just a few miles from the theater. My husband goes to just about every comic-book film premiere, usually the midnight showings. He wasn’t there this time, thankfully.

Friends and family keep asking how my five-year-old son is processing what happened. More than 70 people shot; 12 dead at last count; some still barely holding on. The youngest victim … 3 months old. The youngest to die … six years old.

The truth is, he’s not processing it. Because he doesn’t know about it. We’ve kept the TV and radio off. We live in the secluded high mountains, so no one has mentioned it around him.

I hope we’re doing the right thing. We just think he’s too young to have to deal with the overwhelming sense of insecurity this brings, even to adults. He’s too young to feel that the world truly isn’t safe out there.

Frankly, will I ever sit in a movie theater again and not look at that brightly green-lit Exit sign above the door by the big screen? That’s where the shooter entered. Kicked in that door.

I posted to my Facebook page, “Why why why?” One of my friends replied that some people are broken. I understand that; mental illness can make a person commit horrific crimes. I think I read that the shooter told police he was the Joker, from the Batman series.

But my response is this: People have always been broken. Why do they now turn to these mass shootings that so violently change lives in mere seconds? Because of the easy availability of automatic assault weapons? Because of how violent TV shows, movies and video games have desensitized those who are broken?

And why has it happened twice in this place I call home now, and that I love dearly? Colorado is one of the most beautiful places on earth. And peaceful, at least in the mountains. And the people here, I’ve found to be caring and warm and beautiful inside, too. But is there some major problem that I don’t see? The Columbine massacre was blamed on bullying. But kids have been bullied forever. Heck, I was bullied, and pretty badly until I learned not to care.

Is there less of a sense of community and helping here than other places? In my experience, I do find that people here keep to themselves more than those back home in Texas. Which I find refreshing, and it fits my personality. But that does mean that there are fewer people to call when you’ve had a bad day. I experienced this firsthand during some crises of our own in the past few years. During those times, I missed my Texas friends beyond words. Because my Texas friends would have been over here, forcing help on me, whether I asked for it or not. That “up in your business” philosophy that can be suffocating at times to introverts like me can also be exactly the thing you need when you’ve hit rock bottom. My friends here cared, but kept their distance, waiting for me to ask for help.

Is it because there are very few people in Colorado who were born and raised here? So there are fewer roots to ground people, especially youth? The Denver metro area, definitely, is home to many, many people who are from somewhere else, and who land here without support systems in place.

Is the mental healthcare system here more troubled than in other areas? Is there too little funding? A philosophy of looking the other way?

I don’t have the answer. (Though if I had my way, there would never be another assault weapon sold, ever. As Anne Lamott put in a post this week, talking to gun control opponents … we don’t want to take all of your guns away. Just the ones designed to kill hundreds of people in 60 seconds. I’m paraphrasing, by the way.)

So, where do we go from here? I wish I knew. Mom says I should move back to Texas, where things like this don’t happen. But then I remember Luby’s. Still one of the worst mass shootings in U.S. history, with more than 20 people killed in a Central Texas restaurant.

If there’s a God, I hope He can give strength and someday peace to those affected by mass shootings. If there is a Hell and there is no diagnosis of severe mental illness in this guy, I hope he has a special place reserved for him there.


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21 Facebook Posts You’ll Never, Ever See From Me

If you ever see any of the following status updates on my Facebook page, call the authorities because I’ve been hacked! (Wait. Are there authorities to call for that, by the way? Is it even illegal? Are there fines? And what is in that huge box at the top of my closet? These are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night.)

And now for posts you will never see from me:

  1. I signed up for my next marathon today – so excited.
  2. Wow, it’s 5 p.m. and I totally forgot to eat today.
  3. My performance in last night’s kickball game was crazy good.
  4. I can’t wait for my next bra fitting. (See related blog post on this topic.)
  5. It’s July, and I’m so missing my Texas summers.
  6. Enjoying the brilliant writing in Fifty Shades of Grey.
  7. Please, everyone, check out my new glamour-shot profile pic!
  8. It’s 75 and sunny outside, but dang, I really want to finish this report before I hit the trail.
  9. Brought home our new pet today, a kingsnake just full of personality and small rats.
  10. OMG. I’m jonesing for some new stiletto boots.
  11. Yay! Time to clean the house!
  12. A full morning of mall shopping, followed by a super-light lunch under 500 calories. Can life be any sweeter?
  13. I wish my friends would stop sending me Ketel One vodka all the time.
  14. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare haters, you can’t handle the gaming truth!
  15. Does my avatar make me look fat?
  16. I love that my husband hides dirty dishes in our oven. It’s such an endearing trait. XOXOXO
  17. Can’t wait to go to the Kid Rock concert tonight.
  18. Being a working mom has been such a freaking breeze this week. I feel so bad for women who have nannies and maids. They are truly missing out.
  19. Check out our new (to us) Ford Crown Victoria with tinted windows.
  20. The new Taylor Swift and Toby Keith duet. Is. Awesome.
  21. Go, Mitt, go!

For the record, I have never turned down vodka of any kind. I know this is difficult to believe, but it is indeed true.

So … what update would NEVER come from you?

Come on, spill below! It’s fun and a good way to waste about 15 to 20 minutes depending on how fast you type.

* Disclaimer: If you are considering purchasing 1,000 copies of my novel, Blue Straggler, and any of these fake posts offend you, I completely and utterly apologize and also I take Visa.


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A Little Tease: Author Q/A and an Excerpt from My Next Novel

I’m cheating a little tonight. I was going to write a quick blog post before hitting the hay, but then I realized I had recently answered an Author Q/A for a blog during my two-week blog tour, but the content was never used.

So I think I’ll publish it here, just for kicks. The really cool thing? It includes a quick teaser of content from my second novel, A Good Kind of Knowing, which will be out this summer. I hope you enjoy it. But first, the Q/A.

Q: What inspired you to write this book, Blue Straggler?

I had written a short story with three of the characters that now appear in Blue Straggler (Bailey, Rudy and Idamarie), and I just loved them so much that I needed to put them into a broader story. Plus, the main character in the short story (Bailey) was going through a kind of early mid-life crisis, and I knew a lot of friends who were going through similar things, as was I. I thought the story could be universal and really explore what it means to find out who you are and where you’re meant to land in life.

Q: Do you have a favorite place you like to write?

Our deck in the summer = paradise for me.

Yes! On my deck in the spring, summer and fall. I live in a log cabin in a beautiful area in the Colorado mountains, in the middle of a national forest. It’s so peaceful; I can’t think of a better place to settle in and crank out stories. When winter rolls around, and the deck is not an option due to 20-below temperatures and snow, I write in my back bedroom or in the great room, next to a warm, crackling fire. Thank goodness for laptops (and golden retrievers to keep my feet warm)! We’re talking of moving to a lower elevation soon; it’ll be interesting to see how it affects my writing.

Q: Do you have a favorite author of your own?

So many. I love Barbara Kingsolver. She’s probably at the top of my list. Anna Quindlen would be there, too. (Her new memoir is brilliant.) Anne Lamott and Lorrie Moore. Larry McMurtry. Cormac McCarthy. Toni Morrison. I just can’t choose; it’s like asking me which of my many furry babies (dogs) I’ve had through the years I like best.

Q: A favorite character? One of yours or someone else’s that touched your heart?

A: Not to toot my own horn, but in my Blue Straggler, I love, love Idamarie. She’s just so down-to-earth and real and colorful and she always shoots from the hip. She’s the kind of Texan I miss most, living in Colorado like I do now. If I could have an Idamarie in my life, I think life would be even more fun than it is now. And I’d likely be more grounded with her sage advice around.

Q: Are you currently working on anything? If so, can you give us a tease?

I am putting the finishing touches on my next novel, A Good Kind of Knowing. It’s set in a small, rural town in Texas, and explores how all of these small-town lives are interconnected, and how even though we all come from different places in our lives, we have a lot in common — big things like humanity and small things like a love of good music.

So, I’ll leave you with a super tease! This is the most I think I’ve revealed of any part of the book. As you’ll see right away, A Good Kind of Knowing is a different kind of novel than Blue Straggler. It’s not comic fiction, though there is some humor.

This is the kind of jukebox mentioned in the excerpt below.

This is an excerpt from about halfway through the story. Sera is the main character in the novel; she owns a local music store. She’s married to Bill, but has a “special” relationship, which is growing in intimacy and closeness, to a handsome young musician (Mack). She’s been pretty sick for a while, and most people in town know it. Some of her friends have been trying to help out at her business while she deals with her illness.

_____________________________________________

Mack waited for her at Antonio’s bar. Antonio stood over by the pool tables, emptying ashtrays from the night before. The afternoon sun filtered in through the small windows up front, sending sleek slats of light into the otherwise dark room and catching the perpetual dust of the place in a kind of suspension around the room. Two men, both in their eighties, sat at a square table in the corner, smoking thick cigars and playing cards. Every now and then, one of them would chuckle and cough. Antonio had turned on the jukebox—an old Wurlitzer with just one remaining front bulb flickering—and pushed the numbers for his favorites, mostly Freddy Fender hits.

   Antonio mumbled the words to “Vaya Con Dios” as he picked up the previous night’s litter around the booths in the back. Empty beer bottles knocked together in his hand.

     Mack sat at the bar, his felt hat on the barstool beside him, his hands working to fold a square bar napkin into the shape of a flimsy paper airplane. He shifted his weight on the barstool, glanced back at Antonio, then shifted again. “Sure I can’t help you back there?” It was the third time he’d asked.

       Antonio hollered his response. Same as before.

       The front door squeaked a little, drowning out the low-playing music for a second, and Sera stepped into the bar, jeans hanging loose on her hips and one of Bill’s sweatshirts tied around her waist. A blast of fall slipped in behind her and the wind sucked the heavy door back hard as she came in.

       “Hey there. Been waiting long?” She greeted Mack with a quick kiss on the cheek. He wondered if she’d meant to let her lips linger, or if it was only in his mind.

      “Thanks for meeting me, hon. I needed to get out of the house for a while.” Sera waved to Antonio as she talked. “I don’t know how long I can stay, though. I never know when my body’s going to give up the ship for the day.”

       “I was glad you called,” Mack replied, nodding again at Antonio as he motioned for them to help themselves to the cold longnecks chilling in a long, aluminum tub next to the bar.

       Mack picked out a couple and used the corner of his brown work jacket to twist off the caps.

     “Can you even have beer?” Mack hadn’t thought to ask before he handed it to her.

       “Oh hell yes. Why not? Not like a little beer every now and then ever killed a person.” She laughed at her joke and nudged Mack’s shoulder.

       “Funny.” He didn’t mean it.

      Antonio walked over to them and put his hands on Sera’s neck.

      “How’s my favorite lady today?” Antonio asked, squeezing her thin shoulders. Mack straightened next to her.

       Sera smiled and swirled around on her barstool to face Antonio. “Tony. Join us? I’m taking a walk on the wild side, going to see how hops and barley affect pancreatic distress.”

         Antonio glanced at Mack, then back at Sera. “Maybe later, okay?”

         “Later,” Sera agreed.

         As Antonio left to check on his two customers, Sera turned back to Mack and asked how things were at the store.

       “Nobody’ll tell me a thing, Mack. Bill hardly even speaks to me these days. I’m lucky if I get a good morning from him, much less a report on how things are going. And I went by the shop on my way here, and Tommy Lee and Ruby D. were down there—on a Sunday, mind you—arguing over shelf space.

       “I think it’s all gonna be alright, Sera. Everybody’s tryin’ real hard.”

       “I know,” she said, letting out a long sigh. “You know, I’m really thinking you all are crazy and we ought to just close the shop for a while. It would ease my guilt of you all trying to make this work.”

      Mack cleared this throat and nodded toward the bar door. “Guess this weather’s gonna stay cool for a while longer,” he said, doing his best to change the subject.

       Sera didn’t answer. They sat together, listening to Freddy Fender sing about being there before the next teardrop falls. One of the men sang out to the chorus in Spanish.

      “I’ve been thinking about heaven, Mack. I mean, there’s a side of me that wants to believe there is this garden of sunshine up there waiting for me with all the people I’ve ever lost in the world sitting around sipping lemonade in the shade. The weather would never get hot, and there’d be cats everywhere and my mother and Otis Redding and Patsy Cline would all be singing every night at a little dive. But something tells me it isn’t that simple.”

        “It could be.”

      “Yeah, but what if we’re living in heaven right now? I mean, what if we’ve got it all wrong, and we’re already there.”

      “I guess there’d be some people going around missing out on the lemonade.”

     Sera smiled. “Maybe we ought to switch the lemonade to Shiner Bock.” She clicked her bottle against Mack’s.

      In the back, Antonio turned the key on the jukebox and punched in new codes to start the music up again.

      An old Johnny Rodriguez song dropped into play, a melody about being down on the Rio Grande, lovers walking hand in hand. Sera hummed, and Mack watched the beer swirl against the glass as he moved his bottle in circles with his wrist.

    “Do you realize we’ve never danced together?” Sera turned to face him.

    Mack smiled slightly, concentrating on his beer. “Guess there was never a time, what with me on stage and all.”

      Sera waited for a moment. “What about now?”

      Mack surveyed the room. “Now?”

       He looked at her—this woman with eyes that danced no matter what the music, with a face that could weaken any man, with a spirit that spread around her like a magician’s stardust.

       He blushed, then stood up and offered his hand. She grinned and he grinned and the old men in the corner grinned. Even Antonio looked up from his calculator—and slowly grinned.

       Together, Mack and Sera swayed and moved in a slow two-step around the center of the hardwood floor. Daylight streamed in around them like nature’s spotlight. Mack held her loosely at first, but Sera moved as close to him as she could, her left hand at the nape of his neck, her right in his leading hand.

       He heard her breathe in, but was not aware that she was actually trying to hold on to his scent—an earthy combinationpart leather, part cotton. Part hay, part rope. Part beer, part coffee. Part horse mane and part crushed wild weeds.

       As she rested her head on his shoulder, Mack let his own breath out slowly, for fear she’d know, finally, full well, the effect she had on him. Her hair, blown in many directions from the wind when she came in, tickled his nose. But he couldn’t brush it away, didn’t ever want to brush it away. He closed his eyes and memorized how her body moved, how somehow he was no longer leading and his body was only reacting to the sway of Sera’s hips, his boots following the sliding of Sera’s across the floor.

_____________________________________________________________

So … like it? Hate it? Let me know by commenting below! Thanks for reading, always.

 


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What Being a Texas Woman Means

A friend recently sent me an article that was posted in Garden & Gun’s online magazine (I know! Worst magazine title ever, even if you are into squeezing a trigger) about what being a Southern woman means. It’s an excellent little piece.

Here’s one of my favorite insights: “It also means never leaving the house with wet hair. Not even in the case of fire. Because wet hair is low-rent. It shows you don’t care, and not caring is not something Southern women do …”

This. Is. Texas.

Mostly, though, the article got me thinking about what it really means to be a Texas woman. (Because when you’re from Texas, even if you move on like I have, you’re still a Texan. It’s not something you can ever leave behind. In fact, for me, Texas has only become more important as I’ve tried to make a life somewhere else. Texas is home. Texas is family. Texas is my heritage.)

I’ve been so lucky in my life to be surrounded by amazing Texas women from all walks of life: Women who grew up on farms and ended up running huge ranching operations on their own. Women who grew up in Houston and Dallas and Austin who go on to lead meaningful nonprofits and run international companies. Women who quietly make their own mark in small towns that are miles and miles from a metropolitan area. Women who drive 18-wheelers. Women who devote everything they have to their church or their art.

So, while I always fear over-generalization, I wanted to point out some commonalities I think exist in all of these different kinds of women — characteristics that, in combination, make Texas women truly unique. These are only my thoughts, of course — I’d love for others to add to the list (or argue with my perceptions). Here it goes:

Don't Mess With Texas Women.

1. Texas women are fiercely loyal. We’re seriously like German Shepherds on crack. A Texas woman will stand up for her man, her family and her close friends, protect them and guard them with her life — if they have earned her trust. Once you make it into a Texas woman’s inner circle, she will do anything for you. We have each other’s backs, even if we don’t necessarily agree with your actions, or if we haven’t seen you in 10 years.

2. Texas women hold grudges. If we feel a wrong has been committed against us, or against those we love dearly, we will never forgive you for it. It’s just a fact. You can apologize, and we might accept the apology at face value, we might even say that we forgive you, but you’ll never be in our inner circle again. Never. And you’ll miss that, because our trust and loyalty are pretty awesome things to have.

3. We’re going to do what we want, so you probably should just go along with it. A friend of mine asked me one day if I thought Texas women were high maintenance. She was thinking of the Dallas (the city, not the old TV show) stereotypes out there. My response was no, not at all. Now, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t Texas women who demand nice things in life (the mansion, the car, the jewelry). What it does mean is this: Texas women don’t stop until they get what they want. Maybe they’ll ask you for what they want. Maybe they won’t. But either way, they’ll push forward and find a way to make it happen with or without you. It’s not high maintenance, it’s perseverance. It’s “lead or get the hell out of the way so I can.”

Friday Night Football in Texas

4. We get football. We understand the game because we likely had fathers or brothers or college boyfriends or mothers or aunts who loved it. Or maybe we loved it, too. After all, football is big in Texas. BIG. It’s a huge part of the culture, whether you live in the city or a small rural town. Texas women grow up with the excitement of Friday night games and cheerleading and the marching band, and pep rallies. It’s just part of the fabric of Texas life. Some Texas women go on to love it their whole lives, and some don’t. But either way, they still get it.

5. Texas women know that when someone is grieving, sending over a brisket, a broccoli-cheese casserole and a pound of coffee is the best way to express how much you care. Period.

6. Texas women, if they are moms, are deeply involved in their kids’ lives. If her son is playing football, she will be at every game, no matter how far she has to drive. If her daughter wants to play softball, but the family can’t afford a team uniform and fees, she will work an extra job, or sell breakfast tacos at work, until she earns enough to make it happen.

7. We hold it together in tough times. We’re powered by a hardy history and kick-ass ancestors. Remember, Texas was a god-forsaken place back when it was first settled: Difficult to farm, little water, hard ground, harsh weather. I think those resilient women of yesteryear have stayed in our genes throughout time. You tragically lose a husband or a child? You curse, you howl in agony, and then you put yourself back together and make it through it. Your son goes to jail for an unspeakable crime? You hold your head up high and visit him weekly. A hurricane destroys your home? You rebuild it, stronger. And sure, Texas women cry. But then we wipe those tears and figure out how to go on.

8. We understand that you can draw more flies with honey than vinegar. We know how to use that strategy to, say, get out of speeding tickets, or get another desired result (see #3 above). But we have plenty of vinegar to share if you get on our bad side. Texas women love a good fight, and we know how to fight with words that’ll slap you harder than a happy hound dog’s tail.

9. Texas hospitality is unique, too. We don’t welcome just anybody into our homes. But when we do ask you to come in, you can expect a glass of cold, sweet iced tea, and an invitation to stay for dinner and pie. And if you’ve earned our trust (see #1 above), you can make yourself at home from then on out. Just grab what you want out of the refrigerator and be sure the back screen door is shut tight.

10. Finally, yes, Texas women like to look good. Appearances are important. It’s rare to find a Texas woman who will go to the grocery store without at least a little makeup on. I personally think it all comes back to the fact that we need a whole lot of self-confidence to fight our way through life, and by wearing those nice-fitting jeans and a sparkly belt (even after the age of 45) to buy toilet tissue, we give ourselves the edge we need to run our little (or big) worlds.

I miss my Texas gals. Every one of you, even if I don’t wear makeup to the grocery store in Colorado any more.

———————————————————————————-

BOOK NEWS! It’s been an unbelievable week so far for Blue Straggler. The novel hit the #1 best-selling position in both comic fiction and humor categories on Amazon, and on its first free promotion day, 7,000+ people downloaded it to their Kindles. Someone pinch me!


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Highlights of My Texas Book Tour

The wildflowers were incredible!

Several things are more clear to me than ever after my whirlwind book tour in South/Central Texas: I have some of the best family and friends in the world back home; there are few sights more beautiful than a lush green pasture full of Texas wildflowers and grazing horses; and my skin and hair still visibly balk at a week spent in that 200-percent humidity.

My five-year-old son accompanied me on the book tour, and we had a great time. (My son was either selling or giving away his autograph and asking others for theirs at several of the events. He was way more popular than me. It’s hell to be overshadowed by a cute kid.)

Various members of my family (my mom, my sisters, my niece, my dad) served as my promoters, bankers and greeters. It was so nice to feel supported by them (and I think they were even a little proud of me!) Along with several friends who pounded the pavement for me to bring people in for the events, I felt like I had my very own little Street Team going on.

At the Bryan, Texas, book signing with friend Lori C.

I got to see so many dear friends from my previous lives … high school friends, college running buddies, coworkers from the jobs I held at Texas A&M. I got to catch up with wonderful people over wine and beer and burgers. I got to thank many of my hometown teachers who taught me so well all those years ago.

Other stuff that happened:

At one of the events, people took books and had me sign them without paying for them … I think they thought they were free for the taking! When I told a friend this at another event, he suggested he had attended the wrong party (since he’d had to pay for his copy that night).

My sister’s hubcaps were stolen off her Cadillac during one of the signings. This was only a little bit funny to her. (Or not at all now that I think about it.)

I spoke to a group of high school seniors at my alma mater in Gonzales, and the vacant stares and large yawns were a bit unnerving. I tried to make jokes here and there, but this tough crowd was having none of it. However, no spitballs were thrown at me, and I considered this a positive thing. Note to self: Do not go into motivational speaking to young people.

I had intended to ask someone to take pictures at the events, but kept forgetting to actually alert anyone to this need until the end of each event. But this way, I can remember myself as looking better than I actually did. (If you are reading this and took pictures at an event, and — this is important — I look good in the pictures — send them to me via email – kathy@kathylynnharris.com!)

At one event, an old friend of mine came up to me dressed in a disguise. Was this really necessary? Did make me laugh, though.

Okay, I think that’s it for a recap. Thank you to every single person, in disguise or not, who attended an event in the Lone Star State. It was an amazing experience (my first book tour ever!) and I’m just so grateful.

I’m also officially exhausted and out of gas money.


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Friends Are Worried About My “Girls”

I have good friends. In Texas, in Colorado, all over the U.S. Even a few overseas. Here in Denver, in particular, I happen to work with some really awesome people … ladies that I can laugh so hard with that we snort out loud and tears roll down our faces. We’ve also cried sad tears together a few times. (They can’t seem to understand that when I say, “do not be nice to me when I’m on the verge of tears,” I mean it! If someone expresses sympathy at that stage, the waterworks begin. And nobody likes to see that in the workplace!)

This is the scene in the movie that I'm talking about. You know you remember it.

I actually like to think of these ladies I work with as my A Team — my entourage when I need propping up. If you need an image of what this might entail, think of the scene in the movie Bridesmaids, where the whole group of girls are getting on the plane for Vegas for the bachelorette party. Daring music plays, wind machines blow our hair, as we walk slowly as a group. You get the picture.

Lately, these friends have been expressing concern about, well, my “girls.” And I don’t mean children of any kind. I mean those girls. They think I need a different bra. These are the things that they are not afraid to tell me over morning coffee. And I think I’m glad.

I think. I am. Glad.

One of these ladies, who shall remain nameless, says that the right bra can change your life. She watches Oprah. Another agrees with the whole concept of bratopia; she says she’s a religious convert to the church of push-ups and half-cup sizes.

Me? Ummmm. Comfort is my religion. And I strongly believe that bras could very well be society’s long-used way of keeping women down and in their place. Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but I think bras are stupid and not necessary and anti-feminist and did I mention stupid? I’m a closet hippie and I want to be free of all society-made constraints. I should probably just go ahead and chuck my attempts at a normal life and move to a commune. But I bet communes would entail actually communing with others, and I’m not good at small talk.

I digress.

So, I do try to listen to my entourage on important life details. Love, marriage, parenthood, where to go for lunch. So against my better judgment, I went to [gulp] Macy’s for a bra fitting. That’s right. Me. In Macy’s. For a bra fitting. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a picture easily conjured.

My “bra fit expert” was about 65 years old. Her name was Jen, which was weird to me for a woman that age, but who am I to say anything? I’m a 42-year-old Kathy.

Jen called me, “honey,” a lot, which I didn’t mind (yet). She did however shake her head and make a “tsk-tsk” sound when I explained to her what type of bra I wear now. She looked me up and down. Turned me around in front of her. Looked me up and down again.

Jen and I were not going to be good friends, I could tell.

She took me into a fitting room, had me strip to my bra, and then she proceeded to whip her tape measure around me with impressive efficiency. I do not like people touching me AT ALL, but at least she was quick about it. I thought she could use a little bit more deodorant, but again, being the nice person I am, I did not mention this.

Then she told me to wait while she brought back some options to try on. In the meantime, I was alone in the dressing room, with Taylor Swift music being pumped in at a loud volume, and all I could do was stare at myself. This is actually my idea of Hell. (It was also very warm in this fitting room. Coincidence? I think not.)

While I waited, I found five wiry silver hairs, 10 additional wrinkles I hadn’t known existed and one little white hair on my chin. I tried sucking my stomach in and standing at different angles, analyzed my teeth for coffee (and Dr Pepper) stains, and stuck my tongue out at myself just in case someone was watching me from behind the secret mirrors.

I found this vintage bra ad online. I love the Internet.

Jen eventually (and I mean she was gone a long time) came back with several different bras for me to try on. I obliged, telling myself that this could change my life. Oprah knows. But the first bra I tried on was tight in every imaginable place. How tight? Cutting off blood circulation tight. The second one left so much room in the cups I could have shoplifted two or three pairs of socks in there and still had room for a new blender. The next bra felt like I was being squished into some kind of medieval, barbarian corset. The girls did get a boost from that one. I verbally apologized to them, as I couldn’t get out of that contraption fast enough.

Jen came back and was disappointed in me. I was frustrated. She brought more to try. Only one felt the least bit comfortable, and Jen told me that [and I quote], “it does absolutely nothing for my figure.”  Really, Jen? Did I mention you need some Secret Clinical Formula?

Jen and I parted amicably, I suppose. She told me that I need to keep in mind the goal is not absolute comfort, but to help my body look its best. I disagree, Jen! And I told her so. She sighed. I make people sigh a lot sometimes. (I think that’s actually a line from Blue Straggler.)

Now, I’ll just have to report back to my entourage that my mission was a failure. But they’ll understand. They probably expected it.

 

 


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