Tag: Manhattan

What a Lady, What a Night!

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“What a lady, what a night…”

So the classic rock song goes and likewise so went last night’s launch of Lady Jane’s Salon, Manhattan’s first (and so far only) reading series devoted to romance fiction. The series, founded by Ron Hogan, Maya Rodale, Leanna Renee Hieber, and Moi benefits Share the Love, which reaches out to groups assisting women-in-transition build independent lives.

Hope chats with a guest during the meet-and-greet.
Hope chats with a guest during the meet-and-greet.

Forty or so attendees packed the elegant Victorian-inspired salon setting of Madame X in Tribeca. Distinguished guests included Carol Stacy, Publisher and Liz French, Managing Editor of Romantic Times BOOKReviews; Maria Lokken and Marisa O’Neill of Romance Novel TV; and Barbara Vey of PW’s uber popular blog, Beyond Her Book. Also on hand to clink glasses was Scandalous Women blogger, Elizabeth Kerri Mahon.

Foreground L-R: Bookseller and reviewer, Stacey Agdern and Barbara Vey, PW's Beyond Her Book.
Foreground L-R: Bookseller and reviewer, Stacey Agdern and Barbara Vey, PW

After a cocktail meet-and-greet, Ron took the stage as emcee to introduce Share the Love and Lady Jane co-founder, Maya Rodale. Maya spoke briefly and eloquently about her one-year-old organization’s mission to distribute gently-used romance novels to groups assisting women-in-transition, such as Women in Need (WIN), a domestic violence shelter located in Manhattan.

Guest author Andrea Pickens chats with the crowd.
Guest author Andrea Pickens chats with the crowd.

Award-winning author, Andrea Pickens got the party started by reading from The Scarlet Spy, the latest in her Regency-set historical series about a plucky group of young women trained as espionage agents. After a short break, during which Andrea and I signed our books, I read from Every Breath You Take…,my latest Harlequin contemporary release.

Books galores. The proceeds from all sales benefited Share The Love.
Books galores. The proceeds from all sales benefited Share The Love.

Last but not least, we made money for the cause as well as collected a cache of fabulous romance novels to be distributed to women working to achieve their own Happily Ever After beginnings. If that’s not sharing the love, I don’t know what is.

Next month’s Lady Jane’s Salon will take place on Monday, March 2nd, 7-9 PM at Madame X with romance authors Lauren Willig and Jenna Petersen as our guest readers. If you’re in Manhattan or passing through, I hope you’ll consider putting Lady Jane’s on your calendar.

Hope

Slightly Naughty Half Dozen

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Many thanks to my author buddy and fellow Lady Jane Salon co-founder Maya Rodale for having me guest blog. Answering her Same Six Questions AKA Slightly Naughty Half Dozen was too much fun.

Here in the Big Apple we’re ramping up for the debut of Lady Jane’s Salon this Monday, February 2nd from 7-9:00 PM with guest author Andrea Pickens followed by yes, Yours Truly. What’s Lady Jane’s? Check out my Media and Events page for event details.

Hope

Blogging Today at Book Talk with J&J

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Today (12/30) I’m blogging over at Book Talk with J&J and we’ll be giving away copies of Strokes of Midnight, my New Year’s themed Harlequin Blaze, too! If you can, please take two ticks and come over and say hi.

Hope

Happy Holidays

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In case you haven’t noticed how quiet this blog has been, I’ll admit it. My gadfly wings have been seriously clipped by the need to get some honest to goodness writing done. Still, you know what they say about all work and no play…

EKM and Moi looking very pleased with our holiday gift bags. Love those prezzies...
EKM and Moi looking very pleased with our holiday gift bags. Love those prezzies...

Fortunately I took time out to attend The Rebels of Romance holiday party at The Dove Parlour in the West Village. In addition to the co-hostesses, Liz Maverick and Marianne Mancusi, all the usual suspects turned out including Dorchester author Leanna Hieber, her editor, Chris Keesler, and Scandalous Women blogger extraordinaire, Elizabeth Kerri Mahon (AKA “EKM”). The Dove, which has appeared previously in this blog, is one of my favorite Manhattan venues–Victorian brothel meets Manhattan “secret” bar with cocktails like the Cherry Tart and, for the season, mulled wine. Then again, the holidays aren’t about a great venue or fab fashion wear though yeppers, everybody was certainly stylin’. Holidays are about spending time with the people (and pets!) we care about who care about us and remembering to be thankful for them as well as all the other blessings in our lives.

Per the pets, please don’t forget my Holiday Goodness Challenge. We’ve had several takers so far, but I still have copies of Vanquished to give out. Beyond that, homeless dogs and cats need our help this holiday season more than ever.

Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hannukah, Kwanza, or the Solstice…

Happy, happy & Merry, merry…

Hope

Congratulations, Contest Winners

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Congratulations to Tracey T of Gassaway, WV, Karen H of Colorado Springs, CO, and Jessica P of Norman, OK who knew that in Every Breath You Take, Cole saw that the old Alex was still there from the glimmer in her eyes.

The three winners will each receive coverflat keepsakes for my Victorian-set historical, Untamed and TWO signed copies of Strokes at Midnight — my winter holiday Blaze — one for themselves and one inscribed to a person of the winner’s choosing, perfect for a sweet and easy holiday gift.

And if you didn’t win this time ’round, don’t despair. Check out my new contest, which just started yesterday.

Let the merry making begin…

Hope

Halloween Wrap Up

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This year was my very first Halloween in the Big Apple, and I’m happy to report, it did not disappoint. I kicked off the day with a trip to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx with my good writer buddy and Halloween enthusiast, Leanna Hieber. It was a gorgeous fall day, crisp but not cold. The colors were phenomenal, positively jewel-toned. Many of the monuments, notably the celebrated Woolworth tomb, include stained glass windows a la Tiffany, which were breathtaking to behold. Creepy though it may sound to some yes, we had a picnic. And yes, it was fun. I could say more but to save my typing fingers, check out Leanna’s Blog for the truly awesome photos.

Liz Maverick and Hope (as Goth Snow White).
Liz Maverick as Geisha Goldilocks and Hope as Goth Snow White.
Marianne, Hope, Leanna, and Stacey as fairytale femmes a la Goth.
From left to right, Marianne, Hope, Leanna, Stacey and Liz as fairytale femmes a la Goth.

Then it was back to Manhattan for a quick transformation (note: not transfusion). First stop: the Halloween Parade with my fellow Goth fairytale femmes: Leanna, Stacey Agdern, and the Rebels of Romance, Liz Maverick and Marianne Mancusi. Re Leanna as Dead Little Miss Muffett, check out those choppers!

The parade, though slow moving, was well worth the wait. The piece de resistance for me: the skeleton puppets, hulking dudes operated by multiple human hands (at least I think they were human). We rounded out the evening with a post-parade party in Murray Hill hosted by our good friends at Pacific TV. Morgan and her hubby put us through our paces playing trivia games long past the Witching Hour. Note to Self: less book reading, more TV watching and PEOPLE Magazine perusing.

Hope and Liz strut their stuff.
Hope and Liz strut their stuff.

On Saturday night, I joined friends at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where rock legend Patti Smith celebrated All Saints Day with an evening of poetry reading and of course, music.  Afterward, it was dinner at Les Halles on Park Avenue South. For me, the steak au poivre with frittes and yes, Bearnaise sauce, thank you very much! Finally, home for a soothing cup of peppermint tea, a quick glance at the second half of SNL and then, yes, bed.

Even a party ghoul needs her beauty sleep.

"Those trivia questions were pretty...hair raising."
"Hey, those trivia questions were pretty...hair raising."

To paraphrase the remarkable Patti Smith: to all our saints, to the unsaintly saints, both living and dead.

Hope

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?

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“I want to meet Mr. Big, get married, and live in New York.”

I am freezing my butt at the outside bar of the Bryant Park Grill, sipping shiraz, eating french fries, and fielding questions from two twenty-something German chicks who’ve come to New York for the first time, ostensibly on vacation. For tonight at least, they are on a fact-finding mission more so than a holiday. They want to know where to find Mr. Big and a good deal on American jeans–in that order.

The Dynamic Duo from Deutschland
The Dynamic Duo from Deutschland

The more animated of the two, or at least the one with the better English, is leading the charge. Even though she has barely touched her sweet-looking drink, she is more than slightly drunk. She waves her stick thin arms in the air a lot and slides her Size 0 butt around the stool a lot, and steals my fries when she thinks I’m not looking. So far, though, she’s more amusing than obnoxious, certifiably happy to meet me and anyone else who lives in New York. Even if it’s partly vodka-induced, that kind of unbridled, unjaded, over-the-top enthusiasm is well, kind of refreshing.

She smiles frequently and broadly, and I can’t help noticing her teeth could really do with a bonding. Still, she is lovely in that haphazard, waifish, just-breezed-out-of-my-bunk-at-the-youth-hostel sort of way, a look you pretty much stop being able to pull off the day you turn thirty-five. With her straight brown hair, full mouth, and pencil thin body, she also bears a striking resemblance to the 80’s supermodel, Paulina Porizkova. I’d tell her so only she probably wouldn’t know who Paulina is. You see, she was born in 1981.

“No, really, I want to know,” she persists, plumping her full lips into a pout which if I were a guy I’d probably find really hot. “Where do the Mr. Big’s go?” She tosses her bangs out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and slants her big round eyes at her friend, whom until now she seems to have forgotten. “We want to go there.”

Yes, well, good luck with that. Not that I say anything so remotely bitchy, of course. Instead I smile back and shake my head and admit it’s a worthy goal–and one hell of a good question.

Just what my friends and I need, another nubile twenty-something model look alike swimming in our dating pond which even though it’s Manhattan sometimes feels more like a puddle. Supposing I do know where Mr. Big hangs out? Does she really expect me to give it up out of what, the goodness of my heart?

The German educational system is reputed to be among the world’s best, but I’m thinking the curriculum must not include any Darwin.

To segue from science to literature–that’s litter-ah-chur–I’m reading or rather re-reading Candace Bushnell’s SEX AND THE CITY. It’s interesting how living in Manhattan has altered my perspective on the book as well as the HBO series. Before moving here, references to The Bowery Bar (B Bar and Grill now), Bicycle Boys, and yes, Modelizers seemed about as relevant to me as Ancient Egypt. I mean good to know, fascinating even, but really what does any of it have to do with my day-to-day? Now nine months into my Single Girl in Manhattan Life, I find myself sighing and shaking my head. And groaning occasionally. Okay, a lot.

The Paulina girl interrupts my momentary musing, her eyelids listing toward closed though her drink is more than three-quarters full. “You are Carrie Bradshaw, yes, but you have brown hair.”

I don’t smoke, either, but well, when you’re being compared, even remotely, to Sarah Jessica Parker, is it really any time to quibble?

Candace Bushnell, whom I met last month when she stopped by the Barnes and Noble in Union Square, is frequently likened to literary icon, Edith Wharton. The only Wharton books I’ve read are ETHAN FROME and THE BUCCANEERS and well, it’s been a while. (As for THE AGE OF INNOCENCE, so far I’ve made due with the Daniel Day Lewis film). For sure both authors offer an insider’s sometimes scathing perspective on Manhattan culture, though Bushnell’s take is a lot closer to the Age of Un-Innocence. And even though SEX AND THE CITY was first published in 1996, dating some of the references, it’s amazing how much of what she wrote in the 90’s still holds true. If you have any doubts, see my 9-22 blog on “Keeping It Real.” Believe me, modelizing is alive and well.

Fortunately, so are dreams. Yes, “girls” of all ages still want to have fun. But along with the fun, we want the fairytale. Sure, Prince Charming is now Mr. Big, the castle is now an Upper West Side high rise, and the glass slippers are Manolo slingbacks with some sort of really amazing detailing on the vamp, but otherwise the story, the fairytale, plays out pretty much the same.

And I for one am holding onto it with both white-knuckled hands. Even Bushnell’s Mr. Big got it right in the end, at least in the television and film adaptations of the book.

“Sometimes you just want to be with the one who makes you laugh.”

Happily Ever After–and Happy Halloween,

Hope

PS In celebration of the day-long Witching Hour, I’ll be pulling out my Inner Princess along with my ghoul-friends Liz Maverick, Elizabeth Kerri Mahon, Leanna Hieber et al as the Goth versions of popular fairytale princesses. I’m going as Goth Snow White and in addition to that Poison Apple, my costume’s corset is well, murder.

Life According to Alda

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Earlier this month, I had the profound privilege of hearing award-winning actor, director, and yes, writer, Alan Alda address a membership event at The New York Public Library. I’ve been a fan of Mr. Alda’s since his eleven-year stint as wise-cracking, martini-mixing, soul-searching surgeon Benjamin “Hawkeye” Pierce on the iconic television series, M*A*S*H. (For any kiddies out there, MASH stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital–okay, my job is done).  The show lasted longer than the Korean War on which it was based, and yet I still remember filling up during the final episode in yes, 1983, because eleven years didn’t feel like nearly enough.

This grainy photo is Alan Alda working the room-trust me.
This grainy photo is Alan Alda working the room-trust me.

Mr. Alda’s two memoirs to date are NEVER HAVE YOUR DOG STUFFED: AND OTHER THINGS I’VE LEARNED and most recently, THINGS I OVERHEARD WHILE TALKING TO MYSELF.  The latter raises the question, “What makes a meaningful life?” The book, which I’ll admit I haven’t read–yet–is now topping my to-buy list or my Christmas wish list, take your pick.

In the course of his hour chat–and yes, it felt like an interactive conversation, not a lecture–Mr. Alda relayed his near death experience five years ago during a vacation trip to Chile. I won’t go into grizzly details–like me, you can read the book. Basically while he was touring Chile, he was seized with sudden, terrible abdominal pains and rushed by ambulance to the nearest hospital, which happened to look a lot like the set for the field hospital in M*A*S*H. He easily could have died. Obviously he didn’t. Ultimately his life was saved by a canny, skillful surgeon who correctly and quickly diagnosed the problem and working under, by Western standards, very primitive conditions, fixed it.

The experience, however, left the actor not only asking, “What makes a meaningful life” but with a living-in-the-present focus that is truly delightful and dazzling to behold. Apparently this…immediacy, for lack of a better word, is common among many people who come close to dying. For most, though, the feeling gradually wears off. Not so for Mr. Alda.

After the lecture, he opened the program to questions from the audience. Johnny on the spot at microphone #1 was a pint-size lady with the demeanor of a flame-spewing dragon and yes, the mouth of the lion that roared.

“I was a fan of your father,” she began–and yes, she likely was a contemporary of Robert Alda, too. “But I wonder about these celebrities today who use their celebrity status to tell us all what to think and how to vote and how to act as though we need them to tell us how it is…Blah, blah, blah…Yada, yada, yada… And well, I’d be very interested to hear your thoughts.” (Note: Her invective was a lot longer and a lot nastier, but I’m summarizing lest my hand cramp).

Now, Mr. Alda’s political beliefs and past activism, including his ardent campaigning for the Equal Rights Amendment, are matters of public record. I have my opinion about all that and yes, I’ll leave you to yours. What I will say is that if you’re going to a) invite a person to speak to your organization and then b) spend your own good money to attend said speech, insulting your guest is just well, damn bad manners. And memo to the “lady” of whom I speak, madam just because you were hatched when dinosaurs walked the earth doesn’t automatically make you wise. And FYI, we came that night to hear “Life According to Alda,” not life according to you, so next time mind–or better yet, close–your crochety yap.

But back to Alan Alda.

Obviously Mr. Alda has put on some years since his MASH days. Then again, so have I. And yet that smile, that sparkle in his eye, that lance straight stance and yes, that wonderful voice are still there in full force, the essence of a man who not only lives in the moment but has given so very many of us so very many moments that are truly memorable. 

Hope

PS: And yes, I had a Fan Girl moment. Shaking his hand at the evening’s end was as close to weak kneed as I’ve come in well, some time.

PPS: Next time, as promised, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun…”

Food for Thought: Recalling all Facsimile Foods

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Okay, the Tasti D Lite that used to be mere steps from my building is now The Lite Choice and, heads up, I’m less than pleased. The Lite Choice–talk about a misnomer. I didn’t get a choice, a say,  and certainly not a vote.

But then I’m pretty fed up with what as of now I’m calling “facsimile foods,” low calorie, low-carb, low-fat faux foods that ape the look and yes, texture of the Real Deal and yet still manage to taste like…nothing. Bio-engineered sesame seeds perched atop my crackers–where will the madness end?

Okay, I get that The Lite Choice is supposed to be not only low-fat but also organic and yes, kosher. The question for Yours Truly isn’t what they left in–but what they took out. Hint: show me the cream!

Our grandparents ate real food and though some of that fare would be dubbed a heart attack-on-a-plate by today’s standards, let me point out that Back in the Day people actually moved their bodies, climbing real stairs rather than stair masters, hefting real bales of hay rather than bench pressing Nautilus machines. And yes, when mealtime rolled around, they sat down and enjoyed their very real food. Sans apology and most importantly, sans guilt.

I’ll withhold any additional direct comments on my Lite Choice vanilla cone lest I be sued–though in that event I’d remind you that real turnips don’t bleed. Suffice it to say that Mr. Softee, my former Plan B alternative, has just moved up to the top slot otherwise known as Plan A.

Mr. Softee? From a product branding standpoint, are we sure we’re sending the right um…message?

Food for thought: eat something real and savor it.

Hope

Taking a Bite Out of the Big Apple

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For most of my adult life, I’ve lived by the mantra that we eat to live, not live to eat. That thinking served me in good stead–until I moved to Manhattan.

Food–gloriously good food–at all price ranges is available everywhere at all times.  At any given hour a good half of the pedestrians pushing past me on the busy streets are eating on the go. Once I saw a young woman, dressed to the designer nines, clicking down Fifth Avenue eating sushi. Okay, it was California Roll but still…

Apple 2000/01 by Stephan Weiss (1938-2001)
Apple 2000/01 by Stephan Weiss (1938-2001)

I’ve been playing gastronomic tourist since February–and grooving on every bite. Just as you can walk out your door and easily hear five languages other than English being spoken, you can step out onto most city blocks to a smorgasbord of cuisines from around the world. And if you don’t feel like going out, you can get any or all of those diverse cuisines delivered to your door. It’s well, pretty great.

I’m a seriously big list maker, and I have a food-to-try list just as I have a list for practically everything else. Topping my to-do’s since moving here was to partake of yes, a cupcake from the West Village’s Magnolia Bakery.  Sounds like a modest enough goal, right? If so, then you’ve never seen the line, which is usually not only out the door but wrapping around the corner and snaking up 11th Street. And yet the other day when I was walking home from my run at what should have been peak time, there was no line.  Nada. Peering through the storefront glass, I spotted two, maybe three, customers max.

My first thought was to ask what my fellow city dwellers must know that I didn’t. Were we talking evacuation? Armageddon? A return trip by Benicio Del Toro with me missing him yet again?

Sure, even one cupcake would pretty much cancel out the previous 6+ miles of cardio pavement pounding.  Then again if “Rome” was burning, was this really any time to be carping over calories or denying myself yummy carbs?

The bakery was even running a promo special: buy one Pink Ribbon cupcake and fifty cents of the proceeds would be donated to a popular breast cancer charity.  Scarfing down that high calorie, high carb cupcake wouldn’t just be physically satisfying.  It would be positively philanthropic! Social awareness blanketed in buttercream–really, does it get any better?

In the spirit of “an heir and a spare,” I bought not one but two cupcakes: a red velvet number and yes, the special Pink Ribbon promo.  The red velvet one I ate like a true New Yorker, which is to say while walking home.  Only unlike the uber cool chick with the sushi, I couldn’t pull it off. When I got home I looked like I’d been on the losing end of a paintball competition–assuming the game was played with pastry bags, not paint guns.

The cupcake was most certainly scrumptious.  Would I stand in line for it a really long time? Honestly, no.  But then at this point in my life there isn’t much in the way of food for which I would stand in line barring catfood and that assumes my fur-babies were down to their last collective can.

Other good eats for this week include lunch at Tea and Sympathy, also in the West Village, where I caught up with writer buddy, Dee Davis. Being what I like to call a “recovering vegetarian,” I’m not usually much for “British food,” so I gave the bangers and mash and like menu options a broad berth.  Instead I opted for the “Tweed Kettle Pie,” salmon and cod in a parsley sauce with a potato topping.  It was seriously delish.

And no New York City food report would be complete without pizza. One of my favorite stops is Amore’s on 14th Street though on the service end, the staff is starting to royally pi** me off. Memo to the young lady working late nights at the register: if I’m ever going to cross over to the Dark Side and embark on a Life of Crime, I’m a lot more likely to knock off the Manolo Blahnik store across from the MOMA than I am to scam an extra eighty cent pizza topping. Really. Maybe you might want to reward a regular customer with a little trust rather than making “her” untape and open her friggin’ pizza box every time like you’re the guard tasked with making sure the Crown Jewels don’t take a walk. If I say I ordered the white pizza, the one with the mozzarella only, then that’s what I’m packing–period.

Eat and be merry,

Hope