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Back from RWA in Dallas…

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Hi All,

I’m finally rested up from the Romance Writers of America Conference held in Dallas and ready to dish. The conference kicked off on Wednesday evening with the Readers for Life Literacy autographing. Think 450 romance authors packed into the Hyatt’s grand salon signing their books and chatting up readers. That was enough to steam up even the most Arctic air conditioned of rooms.

Instead of my normal slinking to the hotel bar post-signing for vino and fried munchies, I joined fellow authors Kathryn Caskie and Sophia Nash on a out-of-hotel foray to Cowboy Red River, a “real live Texas cowboy bar” complete with mechanical bull. Romance Novel TV came along for the proverbial ride, film crew in tow. Courage bouyed by a very large and very strong Texas style Margarita, Yours Truly climbed aboard the about-to-be bucking beast. Maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the white Stetson borrowed from a cute cowboy called Ray, or maybe it was just my stubborn Irish pride, who knows, but bumps and bruises aside, I managed to hold my seat for the full eight seconds. For those of you tempted to remark that eight seconds isn’t all that, I say this–Try It. 😉

That was, of course, only the first of my four days in Dallas. Other highlights include dancing to “Love Shack” at the Harlequin Party on Friday night with about-to-be Rita winner, Julia Quinn, dishing with RNTV emcee Sophia Nash on “the red carpet” at the Saturday night Golden Heart and Rita Awards ceremony and gala, and sipping champagne with Kathryn Caskie, Nocturne author, Pam Poulsen, and romantic suspense writer, Terri Ridgell in the Hyatt lobby lounge while the rest of the hotel guests evacuated in response to a (false) fire alarm–think the orchestra playing on the deck in “Titanic.”

Okay, enuf about me. Anyone else go?

I’m sure I’m leaving out lots of fun times and events, but summarizing four action-packed and star-author studded days into a single post would make for one book length blog. That said, I hope you’ll check back for pictures from the conference to be posted. In the meantime…

Happy Trails,

🙂 Hope

Got ENSLAVED–latest sighting

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Copies of Enslaved can be found at Barnes & Noble and Waldenbooks stores in Mesa, AZ. Thanks to Joy I of Mesa, AZ for emailing the information.

Got (a copy of) Enslaved? Email me the store name and location with “Got Enslaved?” in the email subject header, and you’ll be automatically entered in my special summertime contest. The winner will be announced in early September.

And please check back in a day or so for the dish–garnished with the occassional “naughty bit”–from the Romance Writers of America conference in Dallas.

Hope

Off to RWA…

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Just a quick note before I dash off to Dallas for this year’s Romance Writers of America conference. Each year, the RWA conference kicks off with a multi-author (think 450-strong) Readers for Life Literacy autographing, the proceeds benefiting a major literacy-related charity housed in the host city. While the conference programs are for registered attendees only, the book signing is open to the public and heavily publicized. I’ll be signing copies of Vanquished as well as The Haunting and chatting with readers, fellow authors, and media in the Hyatt grand ballroom.

In between “work,” there will be publisher parties galore as well as some hours logged in the lobby lounge sipping wine, eating far too many bar munchies, and catching up with writer friends I only get to see a few times a year. The conference wraps with the Awards Ceremony and gala on Saturday where everyone puts on the Ritz to celebrate the Rita and Golden Heart winners (and console the other finalists) with champagne and chocolate. 🙂

At some point during the conference, I’ll be blogging from the RWA media room set up in the conference hotel. To read the blog in progress, go to rwanational.org after Wednesday and follow the links.

Once I’m back, I’ll be posting pictures and tasty tidbits from the conference week. Also on the horizon is my blog on “Hope and Susan’s Excellent Adventure,” a post-Independence Day roadtrip to Roanoke, WV and Blacksburg, VA with my buddy, Susan. (Hint: If Susan lets me, there may even be a pic posted from that adventure, too).

In the interim,

Happy Trails–and Happy Reading,

Hope

Happy Fourth!

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Happy Independence Day,

Hot dogs slightly charred and hot off the grill, ice cream that melts before you take that first anticipated swipe from the cone, watermelon that for whatever reason tastes more succulent than it does on any other day of the year–Fourth of July conjures a bevy of visceral as well as cognitive memories for most of us. And of course, no Independence Day celebration would be quite complete without fireworks (the safe public displays, if you please, at least for Yours Truly).

Enslaved, too, is taking off with a bang. This seems a good time to thank all of you who have taken the time to email me with your preview copy “sightings.” So far we have Joseph-Beth Booksellers (josephbeth.com), overstock.com, Borders stores (by order and in some cases already shelved), a Barnes & Noble (somewhere?), and a Books-a-Million in Mobile, Alabama (Pinebrook Shopping Center on Airport Drive). And of course, if anticipation is your thing (think the old Heinz ketchup jingle about “making me wait…”) you can always preorder a copy at amazon.com.

To thank readers, and to celebrate the summer sizzle, I am running a special blog contest from now through September. Please check back at www.hopetarr.com after the holiday for details on how to chime in and win.

In the interim, eat a hot dog slightly blackened around the edges and sloppy with relish and mustard and chopped onions. Go for not just an ice cream cone but a double dip. Seize the chance to lay back on a blanket, let the evening coolness wash over your sunburnt face, and savor the bliss of a perfect fireworks constellation while snuggling someone you love.

Have a great Independence Day…

Got… ENSLAVED?

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Hi Everyone,

As many of you know, my new historical romance, Enslaved is now available for direct order through Borders Bookstores or online through Independent Publishers Group. You can also pre-order the book at amazon.com.

The sequel to Vanquished, Enslaved is slated for worldwide release in October 2007. That said, about 2,500 copies of Enslaved shipped early and have already found their way onto bookstore shelves–and into eager readers’ hot little hands.

Sightings so far include Joseph-Beth Booksellers in Cincinnati, OH (www.josephbeth.com) and Books-a-Million, Pinebrook Shopping Center on Airport Blvd., Mobile, Alabama. I’ve also heard from a ton of people who’ve ordered it through their local Borders store.

Do you have a copy of Enslaved? If so, I’d love, love, love to know where you got yours, be it a chain bookstore, an indy bookstore, a library or well… anywhere.

Over the summer months I’ll be building a list of “Early Enslaved Sightings” to track the progress of these renegade books. So if you could take two ticks (AKA moments) to post to this thread, you’ll be helping out by letting other readers know where they can find the book.

To reward “informants, ” I’ll be running a special “Get… Enslaved Sneak Peak End of Summer Contest” in addition to my regular monthly contest. The winner will be announced on September 1st. The prize will be a signed copy of Book #1 in my “Men of Roxbury House” trilogy, Vanquished, a signed cover flat of Enslaved as well as the winner’s pick of my backlist titles.

In the meantime…

Happy Summer Reading — and Sighting

Hope

Back from Book Expo America…

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Hi Everyone,

I’m back from Book Expo America. For those of you not familiar with BEA, it’s the U.S. answer to the London and Frankfurt Bookfairs and I do believe it’s even bigger — around 30,000 participants at this year’s event held at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan.

Big clue to the incredible vibe of this year’s event: the Expo was in New York City — now, can that *ever* be bad? 😉

I went up on trusty ole Amtrak the night before expecting to have a good trip, a productive trip, a pleasant trip…

What I had was a *great* trip.

I launched my venture on Thursday evening with dinner a-deux with my good buddy, uber talented historical romance novelist, Kathryn Caskie. We chose Zagat top pic, Gotham Bar & Grill on 12th in The Village. Determined not to be idle, we mapped out our Expo plans over a lovely bottle of shriraz and top tier (aka yummy) fare of hard shell crabs (me) and filet (Kathy).

Friday was a “work” day. After a short waiting stint sipping designer H20 in the Green Room (and no, I didn’t see anyone terribly famous, more’s the pity), I kicked off with a traditonal autographing for my new historical romance release, Enslaved (Medallion press). Later, I had midday coffee talk with talented historical fiction author, Will Hutchison, and then an in-booth signing at the Harlequin booth during “Sexy Hour” with Cara Summers and bestselling author, Carly Phillips.

But there’s more…

That night, Kathryn Caskie (Kathy to me) and our good buddy, historical romance author, Sophia Nash, met up at New York’s famous Webster Hall for The Rock Bottom Remainders “Still Younger than Keith” charity concert. At the VIP reception to kick off the concert, we clinked glasses with literati heavyweights Mitch Albom, Frank McCourt, Amy Tan, Stephen King, and my personal fav, humor columnist turned children’s author, Dave Barry. If you have two ticks, check out our candid pics on my Snapshots page. And yes, consider the rumor confirmed, Dave Barry really did pronounce the three of us “hot.” I believe the word “babes” was also used,” but well, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble at home. 😉

As you may expect, all this autographing and gladhanding can really wear a woman down. Fortunately, I got to unwind on Saturday evening at the Harlequin party held at a swank Midtown club. Harlequin always does it right and this year’s fete was no exception. Guests were greeted at the door with champagne and chocolates and the night got even better from there. Over canapes and champagne (yes, more), I caught up with authors Jane Porter (“Flirting with Forty”), Candice Poarch, and Rebecca York as well as had the opportunity to say thank you to Harlequin’s talented and hardworking editorial, marketing and sales staff.

Come Sunday, all this nose-to-the-grindstone hard work was really taking its toll. The chocolate consumption alone had me at “sixes and sevens” as Sophia might say in one of her Regency-set historicals. I wound down with a signing of The Haunting in the Romance Writers of America booth at BEA along with Niki Burnham (“Goddess Games”) and Silhouette author, Anna DePalo.

A few days of post-Expo R&R in the West Village set me to rights. Come mid-week, I was homebound on that Amtrak train, maybe not exactly fresh as a daisy but certainly touting a big ole smile.

Okay, so enuf about me. Anybody else go to BEA? As they say, inquiring minds…

Hope

You get what you need…

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Last Friday my local Athenaeum threw a book launch party to celebrate the release of my Harlequin Extreme Blaze contemporary romance novel, The Haunting. The book is set in downtown Fredericksburg, VA, the 40-block historic district, to be exact. So was the party. Not in the heart of Manhattan where I’d always imagined my book release party would be, if indeed I was fortunate enough to have one but in Fredericksburg, the small town where I’ve made my home for the past six years–and counting.

Fredericksburg is very much a character in The Haunting much like Manhattan in the Candace Bushnell bestseller, “Sex and the City.” I jokingly refer to The Haunting as “Sex in the Itty Bitty City” to some people’s amusement and others’ chagrin.

If you haven’t already guessed, I’m a huge “Sex and the City” fan–the television series, that is. I faithfully watched the episodes when they were first broadcast on HBO, and I watch them in re-run most weeknights.

During the program’s last season on the air, I gathered with girlfriends every Sunday night to drink Cosmos (what else) and nosh on themed snacks as we counted down to the final episode. Like the ubiquitous spin doctors who rear their “talking heads” post-televised Presidential speech, we’d hang around afterward to dissect the underlying truth of that night’s episode, which invariably held far reaching implications for our own less-than-perfect romantic lives.

Most devotees of any TV program have their personal favorite episodes, and I’m no exception. I have a few. I actually thought the producers did a great job with the final episode and though it’s probably not politically correct to admit it, I really liked that Carrie ended up with Big. Heart of gold aside, Aiden was always a little too earthy for me and as for Carrie’s other main love interest, fellow author John Burger–“Burger”–well, he always struck me as a whiny wimp. I mean, dude, your book tanked. Get over it and write another one. (All joking aside, Burger would never make it in romance fiction. We romance writers are made of sturdier stuff.)

The mention of Burger brings me to one of my top favorite episodes, the one where Carrie’s publisher throws her a posh Manhattan style book release party. There is a Cosmo bar, an enormous blow-up poster of the book cover featuring Carrie looking fabulous in short black coat dress and f-me-pump designer high heels, and the two Tweedle Dee Tweedle Dum publisher reps cooing over our girl as though her book’s the greatest thing to roll off the press since Gutenberg invented it. For her part, Carrie sports a chic shorter ‘do, a killer party dress and even more killer designer shoes–either Jimmy’s or Manola’s, we’re not sure.

But all is not exactly paradise. Friend Samantha’s face is an angry orange from a chemical peel gone bad. Other friend Charlotte is down-in-the-mouth about…something and Miranda is characteristically sarcastic albeit supportive. The guest of honor is dateless. Love interest John Burger shows up to wish Carrie well but despite the quantity of lingering looks exchanged, he leaves to go home to his girlfriend. Standing on the balcony staring onto the crowd, Carrie admits to herself she isn’t just alone. She is lonely.

She ends the night solo in a cab headed for home. The female driver learns she’s published a book and insists on stopping for a celebratory hot dog. The hot dog vendor, equally impressed with her accomplishment, refuses to let anyone pay. Sitting in the backseat of the cab with a sloppy hot dog in hand, Carrie suddenly realizes the night isn’t just kind of perfect–it really is perfect.

My book release party was held in a converted third floor artist’s studio with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto Caroline Street, downtown Fredericksburg’s main drag. Despite the conspicuous lack of traffic noise–okay, lack of traffic in general–I could almost imagine I was in a trendy converted warehouse in the Manhattan meat packing district. There wasn’t a Cosmo bar but there was some really nice wine and nice noshes to go with it and best of all, a bevy of good friends who turned out to celebrate with me along with a sprinkling of new faces who, like the cab driver in the “Sex and the City” episode, stopped in not to curb my enthusiasm but to share in it.

At the book signing earlier that day, I’d sold out of books, the book store’s copies and finally my own personal inventory. The party was the proverbial icing on the cake. Like Carrie, I didn’t have a date. Afterward, though, instead of going home alone in a cab, I went out with a group of friends to Bristro Bethem, our favorite downtime restaurant, where the owners Blake and Aby treated us all to a champagne toast.

It wasn’t exactly as I’d imagined my book release party to be–it was a hundred times better. Like the song says, “You can’t always get what you want but you get what you need.”

What times in your life turned out differently than you’d envisioned–only as good or better? Are there events you look back on with the 20/20 wisdom of hindsight and thank the Universe, God or so-called “dumb luck” for *not* letting you have what at the time you really, really wanted? Is there “someone” or maybe a collective of someones working 24/7 to save us from the hubris driving our all too frequently blind human desires?

Wishing you a springtime blossoming with needs fulfilled and dreams exceeded…

Hope

Resolving to Believe…

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Okay, so we’re three weeks and counting into a new year, and I can’t help wondering how many of us made New Year’s resolutions for 2007–and how many of us have kept them.

In Baltimore where I grew up, I attended an Episcopal private school from grades six to twelve. Every Friday, we broke from classes mid-morning to attend chapel, held in the cafeteria with we students filing in and sitting cross-legged in rows on the sticky floor. I have to confess I spent most of those chapel sessions zoning out, day dreaming about what I wanted to do and be in that faraway place known as my grownup future.

One chapel talk, just before Lent, though, has stayed with me all these years. The speaker was one of the teachers on staff, a spare, slender, neat woman who seemed ancient to me at the time and who was, I’m sure now, no older than thirty-five. The topic was Lent and her point, at least one of them, was that Lent shouldn’t always be a call to give up something, to deprive ourselves of some supposedly guilty pleasure. Maybe Lent, she suggested, was a time to *add* something to our lives heretofore missing. In her case, she resolved to honor the season by cooking a tasty, healthful dinner for herself each night. It seemed she was a single woman and eating dinner solo wasn’t something she looked forward to. Instead she grabbed a quick bite or sometimes skipped the meal altogether. Her thought was that perhaps cooking dinner for herself during Lent would become habit-forming, an act of self-love, an affirmation of her Divinely given human worth.

This year I made a New Year’s resolution, my first in years. It was just a small thing, really, a starter resolution. I resolved to start working out with my hand weights and exercise mat 2-3 times a week rather than once every week (or sometimes every other week). So far, I’ve kept my resolution. Now instead of a guilty binge work-out that leaves me reaching for the Motrin, I work out, feel great–and then actually am able to lift my arms the next day to dress myself. 😉 Can I keep it up? There’s no guarantee but, for now, I think I can.

Some resolutions, New Year’s and otherwise, maybe are meant to be broken. Certainly the ones that leave us feeling cranky, deprived, even bitter rather than good about ourselves are best left by the proverbial wayside.

How do we handle it when the things we once dreamed for ourselves don’t fit anymore–a relationship turned toxic, a job that no longer challenges us to create or grow, a daily routine that once made sense but now feels like a stint in federal prison.

Can we outgrow our resolutions sort of like that circa 1980 sweater with the shoulder pads and the glitter and leather patches that used to look so cutting edge cool but now seems just really sad and dated? When a dream grows old and frayed, is it time to put it aside and try on something new?

Recently I caught up by phone with a friend who moved away to Alabama. Before Pam left town, we used to hang out over dinner at her house, open a bottle of decent red wine, and have the most amazing one-on-one conversations. Pam is a big believer in making wish lists and creating vision boards. The latter are big pieces of foam board or just plain poster paper with photographs and magazine clippings and sundry small items that symbolize much more–basically what Back in the Day we used to call a collage. The purpose of the vision board, however, is to create a visual representation of how we wish our life to be–and then not just to wish it but to see and feel it. The vision board operates on the premise of the Law of Attraction. Seeing is believing. Believe it, and the good stuff will come. On the flip side, if you don’t dare ask, if you don’t dare dream, you don’t get.

On New Year’s Eve I bought a big bright red hunka foam board from the office supply store. It cost about $8 with tax, a small investment in the future. Right now it’s propped against the wall in my spare bathroom still sheathed in its shiny clear wrapper. I’m promising myself, resolving if you will, that this week I’m going to change that. I’m going to set aside a night when I’m home, open a bottle of decent red wine and sit down with magazines and books and scissors and glue and tape and, of course, my piece of big red foam board. I’m promising myself I’m not going to rush things. I’m not going to make a task of this. I’m not going to beat myself up if my vision board ends up looking like a third-grader’s C+ science fair project rather than a display object of beauty. (Did I mention I’ve never been “crafty”?). Instead I’m going to set aside the night, sip my wine, think about how amazingly fortunate I am to have gotten this far in life–and then I’m going to dare to dream and dream big. As in B-I-G. I’ll let you know how it goes.

As for my friend, Pam, she’s ramping up to make a whole new vision board. She’s already achieved most if not all of the goals represented on her old one, including a great new job, great new living situation, and brand new car. If that’s not inspiration for the rest of us, I don’t know what is.

May 2007 bring the realization of all your dreams, no matter how large or small…

Hope

The Best Gift Ever

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For many of us, the winter holiday season brings about an almost instant association with jam packed shopping malls, long, long checkout lines, and ballooning January credit card debt. Years ago when I was a college student, I worked a retail job at a Benetton clothing store in Towson, MD. Even after I left the local area to go off to graduate school, I would come home for the holidays and spend the break working in the store. In fact, for five consecutive years (count ’em–five) I worked the double shift from opening until closing on the day after Thanksgiving, known as Black Friday for good reason. Very good reason.

Spending the Christmas season in the retail trenches gave me a host of great war stories, several of which stick with me today, twenty years later. Like the frantic dad who brought his small daughter shopping for a present for his wife on Christmas Eve an hour before the mall was due to close. With the clock ticking, we were picking through the leavings of folded Italian sweaters when I suggested he might expedite the search by giving me some description of the target–I mean gift recipient. (Forget knowing such vitals as say, her actual size). When he only stared at me, I could see I was going to have take the lead.

“What color is her hair?” I asked in that patient but firm voice usually reserved for small children. Professionalism aside, I’d been on my feet for coming on ten solid hours sans break and young though I was, my high heel shod feet were beginning to swell.

After a moment’s hesitation, he looked me up and down and declared it was sort of like my shoulder-length chestnut brown locks. Okay, now we were getting somewhere! Then I asked, “What color are her eyes?” As it happened, I had a bunch of blue hued sweaters left in my badly dwindled inventory, and I was hoping I might have a match.

There was another pause, a l-o-n-g pause and then he looked down at his little daughter, his own dark eyes bulging, and asked, “What… what color are mommy’s eyes?”

“They’re BLUE, Daddy!” the child fairly shouted and then looked up at me with her own china blue eyes, presumably inherited from her mom. That look, I’ll never forget it. It fell somewhere between disappointment and downright disgust. I looked back at her and though I was a twenty-something and she was probably only around eight, we shared a moment of silent commiseration over the vageries of men.

But my winter retail gig didn’t end with December 25th, oh no. There followed a day even more dreaded by retail clerks everywhere than Black Friday. December 26th, otherwise known as The Day After Christmas. If the shopping days leading up to Christmas are about fantasy and infinite possibility, the days after the holiday are all about reality (and that would be cold, hard reality) and the limitations of material things to fill us up. The size 12 lady returning the size 2 sweater. The size 2 lady returning the size 12 sweater and both shocked and more than a littled miffed that the gift givers, in both cases the husband, seemed to know them so little, at least when it came to personal style.

Like Maggie in It’s A Wonderfully Sexy Life, I’m finding more and more that what I really want for Christmas or any other holiday doesn’t come inside a store box, no matter how exquisite the wrapping.

What was the best holiday gift you ever received? What was the worst? Or, if you’re so inclined to share, what is the gift for which you secretly or not so secretly yearn, the one you’ve never gotten, at least not yet?

Whatever holiday you celebrate during the winter months, I hope it’s joyous and filled with myriad reminders of the true magic of the season…

Hope

Welcome

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Welcome to the launch of my new and first-ever blog. It’s been a year of “firsts” for me personally and professionally. Per the latter, It’s A Wonderfully Sexy Life is my a) first ever contemporary, b) first ever Harlequin, c) first ever paranormal and d) first ever Christmas book.

And I’ve just finished my second paranormal for Harlequin’s Extreme Blaze line. The Haunting will hit bookstores, both brick-and-mortar as well as online, this April 2007. The book begins with my heroine, Dr. Maggie Holliday, discovering a 150-year-old diary buried behind some loose wallboard in the attic of her newly purchased historic home in the Fredericksburg, VA historic district where I’ve made my home coming on six years now.

Having just moved from an historic home that (amazingly!) resembles my heroine’s Victorian dream house, I’ve been struck by all the miscellaneous “stuff” you discover when you’re ramping up to pack. I’d always seen myself as a neat nick but the whole house purge in preparation for packing indicated otherwise. In The Haunting, Maggie finds the diary, which happens to have been penned by her previous Civil War era incarnation, Isabel Earnshaw.

What hidden treasures (or terrors) have you found when ramping up for a move? Maggie’s move from the Washington, DC area to Fredericksburg, VA went considerably more smoothly than mine did. What was your worst ever absolute nightmare move? Or, on the perkier side, what the best move you ever made and why?

Whether we get there by the short, smooth easy road or the long, prickly bramble-riddled one, it’s my personal belief that we’re all always exactly where we’re meant to be.

Here’s wishing you a safe, joyous kick-off to the winter holidays…
Hope