My experience with the Jersey shore was quite typical for many years as I frequented the popular South Jersey shorepoints of Margate, Sea Isle, Avalon, Stone Harbor, and Ocean City with my friends. We were young, looking for the best nightlife, and a bunch of cold ones, especially the ones that came 5 for $1. Back then it was Kelly's, Maynard's, Bayshores, Mother's, The Little P, the Princeton, The Rocking Chair, The Springfield, LaCosta's, Winddrift, amongst many others. When we ventured upon the Dead Dog Saloon in Sea Isle, we thought we'd matured to the next level, away from the loud and pushy crowds of the other hot spots, where hitting the ladies room was a 45-minute ordeal due to the lines. In a sense, we had moved on to the next level... I suppose it was our 'transition' social setting, in a sense. All of it was great fun, with great friends. It was all a right of passage, I suppose.

Twelve years ago my husband and I first ventured to Cape May. Years earlier, I never would have admitted stepping foot there. It was for 'old people.' But from the minute we stepped inside the historic district, it was as if we'd stepped back in time. We knew we had stumbled upon what would become a place that would beckon us time and again. And it has. We felt like we discovered it (how ludicrous when there were people surrounding us who had long since discovered this blast from the past).

Well, if enjoying the sycamore-lined streets, Victorian architecture and horse-drawn buggies, and appreciating that there are no neon lights, cheezy motels nor even any chain restaurants makes me old, well, then I guess I'm embracing my age.

So, I'm fairly certain Cape May will NOT be the center of any reality show anytime soon. The loud and boistrous wouldn't last an hour there. Christmas means white lights on all the B&Bs and a horse-n-buggy ride, with a more mature selection of libations. Please don't tell them that in Summer, the beaches are expansive, have white sands, and you never feel like you're on a patch-work quilt of blankets. Please don't let them in on the best-kept secret of the #2 wedding destination spot...in the country. And just as well. We like it the way it is. Quiet. Tranquil. Essentially, boring. The fun is now measured by the company we keep, not the decibel level of the room.

I just came across something on a Google search that has reignited my enthusiasm about the marketing of my labor of love. It states the following:

"I also started When I Fall by Barb McClatchy which is already showing signs of a book you can't easily put down and I have only read the first 6 pages."

http://www.sparkpeople.com/myspark/team_messageboard_thread.asp?board=0x14737x14861064

Most feedback I receive indicates that readers get through it in about a day and a half, because they simply had to get to the end.

Thanks to all who have picked up a copy and enjoyed. Please spread the word!

Some time ago, I wrote a post about Meniere's disease, a condition of the inner ear that is widely unknown and greatly misunderstood. I won't go into the details of the condition as you can read about it in a prior blog. Suffice it to say that it's a condition of the inner ear causing a variety of symptoms ranging from temporary deafness, loud ringing and roaring, hyper-sensitivity to sound and severe vertigo. (And for the record, Alfred Hitchcock only got it partly right. Vertigo is not a fear of heights. It is a sensation that the world is spinning around you. Been dizzy before? Well, it's that...100-fold.)

I wrote about the condition a year-and-a-half ago because at that time I was experiencing symptoms of unbelievable hyper-sensitivity to sound. A normal talking voice, to me, sounded like someone was yelling in my bad ear through a megaphone. It was tough living in a world that to everyone else seemed normal, but to me sounded like the million-man march was following one step behind me. Back then, I was thankful that vertigo was not one of the symptoms that plagued me. Everyone blue moon, yes, I experienced an attack, but it did not rule my life.

Last month that all changed. With barely 2 to 3 seconds notice of the sensation overcoming me, my world began spinning out of control. In the midst of a normal conversation or meeting, suddenly I was in a different place than the person across from me, who had no clue what was happening. Oftentimes they'd continue on in the conversation, not realizing obviously what was hapening to me and only me. In 32 days I experienced 37 episodes, with each one lasting on average about two hours. Some were as long as 15 hours in duration. In that span of time, I'd strung a few "good" days together, but when I did the math I realized that during those 32 days, I spent one of every five waking hours in a complete "tiz."

So, I tell this tale of woe to once again thank and applaud those around me who have provided support and understanding, including my co-workers and employer. That said, I must take a moment to share a related story that centers around Indianapolis, where a lot of my family lives, and which also leads to the crux of this story.

When this all hit on May 18th, I had been scheduled to fly to Indianapolis the following weekend (Memorial Day) to attend my great-nephew's christening. (That would be A.J., who's really adorable!) Anyway, when I saw my ENT for the symptoms, she advised against any air travel. As she put it, "Patients in your condition have traveled against medical advice, hit a patch of turbulence, and had to have been taken off the plane on a stretcher because they couldn't tell up from down."

Say no more. To Indianapolis I did not go.

Which, as it turned out, was a very good thing. I spent two of three days of my coveted Memorial Day weekend literally tied to a chair.

Soooo, the travel insurance I paid for would come in handy, right? Even though I purchased it thinking that you could get your money back regardless of the reason of cancellation (I had a huge client meeting the following week and wasn't sure when I purchased the ticket whether I'd really be able to get away for the weekend), I later came to learn that there were actually only bonifiedreasons you could make a claim. Well, that shouldn't have been a problem, right? My Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) specialist had seen me the very day I was set to travel, and could attest to the state I was in.

But no, the insurance company wanted a statement from the referring physician, even though she had actually not seen me. So a faxed request to my primary followed. Then I got a phone call from her...

...and she is refusing to complete the statement because the insurance company already has a statement from the ENT. Initially her rationale made sense, but the logic that followed put me--a person trying to deal with this new life ailment with no great prognosis--in the middle. We have three children in college next year. I simply wanted my money back since I had paid for the insurance and wasn't able to attend the family gathering I had planned on due to the arrival of these new and very incapcitating symptoms. Certainly it wouldn't matter that I purchased it thinking I could cancel if the client presentation wasn't done...

But my primary immediately saw red and used this as an opportunity to climb up on her soap box against insurance companies. Perhaps many providers have their own soap box, but she has gone to an extent that most providers have not. She is going "concierge," meaning that her patients will need to pay a few thousand dollars a year to her directly so that she can provide the "undivided" attention her patients deserve without having to deal with the insurance company. 

So, you've probably figured out where this is going. My primary informed me that she would not sign the statemnt because, as she put it, "the insurance company only wants to frustrate you so you will drop the claim. We'll go on 20/20 if we have to to stop this practice."

Well, I don't think so. The insurance company merely wants the proof they require that would demonstrate that I didn't purchase the insurance after knowing there was a potential I'd have to cancel my trip due to my symptoms. This is the fundamental premise of insurance...you don't buy it after you know you need it. I get that, believe me. The question that I have for my primary provider is....

...if you're so consumed with paying "undivided" attention to your patients without the insurance company in the middle, then why didn't you ask me how I was fairing with these new symptoms rather than instead going on your own personal tirade???? I notified my primary that I would need my medical records transferred to a new provider. Thanks for the many years of service, but in hindsight, you always talked more than you listened. It makes me wonder what I really would have gotten in her "concierge" practice when she didn't use the opportunity she had to find out more about how I was dealing with the veritgo.

Finally, I find it completely ironic that, after almost twenty years of traveling for business and accumulating several hundred thousand miles of frequent flier miles (which also demonstrates that these symptoms have never intervened previously with my ability to travel), I wasn't able to use them for this particular trip, which would have made all of this a moot point. Any other day of the year there would have been no issue on getting a frequent flyer seat to Indianapolis. No intended insult to the family I have living there, but vacation hot-spot it is not. Except we were talking about Memorial Dayweekend, and while I'm no car-racing fan, Nascar or otherwise, there was no other way to get there economically other than by car. So said plane ticket--along with the continuing and yet-unresolved saga of whether I'll ever get my money back--was purchased.

So, which is the center of the universe, your inner ear or Indianapolis? Personally, I think the inner ear is completely under-rated in terms of a general understanding the role it plays in normal daily functioning. Fortunately, most people never have to think about why they are even able to walk in a straight line.

On the flip side, for me, Indianapolis does offer the advantage that a lot of my family lives there. Perhaps one day when I may not be able to to discern up from down, it may be my ultimate destination. Regardless, watching cars race around in a circle will definitely be out of the question...it just simply makes me dizzy.

...your world can be turned upside down, by death, by illness, by an accident, by unemployment. Or in some cases, by mere words. How ironic that the latter was the case for me.

A series of events--that in and of themselves may have been otherwise overlooked or disregarded as typical irresponsible, college student behavior--crystallized in my mind after someone, someone whom I had no reason not to trust, spoke the words of every parent's worst nightmare.

I've spent twenty years being a teacher and role model for my daughter. In less than one short minute, I felt as if I'd failed her. My only child was keeping dangerous company, or so I'd been told. The advice bestowed upon me by those closest to me was to act now, or potentially live with far greater regret later.

I acted. I turned worlds upside down like a waste basket and shook hard, vehemently, to see what would fall out. I became an amateur sleuth, piecing the bits of litter that fell to the floor together to find the proof I so desperately needed, but so desperately wanted not to find. My child's life, my life as I knew it, was at stake, or so I believed. How could I not act?

In the end, thankfully, what I found was that the words, hand-delivered on a silver platter, were a ruse to somehow get me to intervene with a new budding relationship. Irresponsible, young adult behavior aside, what I found was that my daughter was indeed never happier before in her life with this new, but unfamiliar and therefore unproven, beau. And the words delivered were a selfish and immature attempt of another to end that. Of course, it only served to make the newly formed bond between the lovebirds that much stronger. But there was an additional silver lining, one which I could never have imagined...

No, it was not the ten pounds I lost during that month. It certainly wasn't the hair loss I experienced, nor the spike in blood sugar levels that were hopefully only spawned by event-driven stress and not the onset of diabetes. It wasn't the "intervention" that occurred or the drug testing or the plans to take her away if we confirmed the worst. What we found was a happy, healthy college student in love. But in a sense, a mini-miracle occurred that I hope served to show my daughter how much her family loves her.  You see, the miracle is the "we" part. Her biological father and I came together and acted as one on her behalf after having gone nearly seven years without speaking. In a sense, the old beau paved the way for a much smoother day, hopefully far off in the future, and one that I suspect most of us had been shamefully dreading. One day, "we" will all stand behind her, together and in unity, when she ultimately gives herself to her true soul mate, whomever that may be.

Sometimes, I guess, the teacher must also be the student.

After a much-needed hiatus, I've returned to the online scene. Puppy training and car accidents and other life misfortunes may have temporarily derailed me, but have certainly not deterred me.

(Then again, perhaps the real reason I've returned is that I have a Blackberry now and don't have to be glued to the indoors. Why didn't I think of this twelve months ago?) (contemplative look)

It's been just about a year since WHEN I FALL first hit the streets, and I'm proud of where it's taken me. I stopped advertising yet am still receiving feedback and hear a buzz that it's still being talked about, which tells me my story and, more importantly, my characters have real legs.

I've always believed that. It's what keeps me going five years after pen first hit paper, seven years after window washers dangled on the other side of my center-city high-rise office building, and I knew that there was a book in there.

I saw an advertisement for a new TV sitcom about window washers. It looks like it may be pretty lame (we'll see how many episodes it lasts). But they're right about one thing...imagine the things that they must see!

Well, Mel Hawthorne certainly gets an eyeful in WHEN I FALL. And he's too honorable to let it go, even when the world seems to be against him.

I hope you get to know him, because he's worth it. Who knows...maybe he'll even make you rethink the way in which you view the world!

I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So shoot me. Perhaps I'd be more in-vogue or popular with the jet set if I preferred sushi, or escargot, or even a rare delicacy like frog's legs, but, quite honestly, I can't understand why someone would choose any of these delicacies over a good 'ole PB&J.

I'm not knocking people who do prefer sushi, or escargot, or frog's legs for that matter. All I'm saying is that I don't necessarily understand their penchant for the putrid (in my humble opinion).

Now, that said, you may be asking whether I've tried any of these delicacies before knocking them. I'll try anything before knocking it, so I guess I shouldn't knock frogs legs. I've just never been offered them. Maybe they really do taste like chicken. Someone else will have to attest to that or offer me some before I should really draw any conclusions. But then again, if they do taste so much like chicken, I'll have chicken, thank you very much.

And so as I gobbled down not one, but yes, two PBJs for lunch today (my special treat when I work from home), it got me thinking: What is it about new authors that many turn their noses up at? Is it that a new author is the PB&J of the publishing industry? Is it because the reader community prefers to stick with what they've acquired a taste for, the "tried and tested" authors who won't let them down?

Well, that seems to be one very obvious reason. But then I got to thinking how on many occasions I have been disappointed by a best-selling author, either because his formula had grown too predictable, he was apparently forced into pushing out yet another bestseller before its time, or he departed from the normal genre and it wasn't satisfying.

One could sit back, I suppose, and wait for all the reviews to come in for a best-selling author before deciding to read his next "masterpiece." But, he has the luxury of his publisher who pays out the wazoo to whet your appetite so you won't. You'll run to get it.

And even then a reader who loves a particular author will probably never admit that the work was downright awful, even if it is. "Wasn't one of his better efforts," is what I often read or hear, comparing it, of course, to the author's prior works. But have you ever asked yourself how that best-selling author's even "so-so" works would compare to some unknown author who doesn't have the track record or New York publishing house behind her, convincing you that you'll enjoy the ride?

So why not forgo the sushi or escargot once in awhile and try a little PB&J from an unknown, undiscovered author? There are millions out there to choose from. Take the road less traveled, as Robert Frost suggested. You might very well find that you discover a real gem that does blow away some best-selling author's "so-so" works that continue to make him wealthy beyond imagination. A "so-so" work which, by the way, would never have cut muster at a New York publisher had it been from an unknown.

And so continues the catch 22 of the publishing world. Why not help stop the madness? Whether it's me or any one of hundreds of thousands like me out there, all you have to do is visit www.AuthorsDen to find a diamond in the rough.

As I sit here tonight pondering what brilliant, insightful or simply silly information I wanted to write about, I am being stalked.

It's for real, and I need a plan. Something needs to be done about this. So far, I've positioned the pillow cushions on the couch to block his line of sight of me, but I still feel his glare. I leave the room, but his eyes remain fixated on me, fixated on me wherever I go despite the plaster walls of this very old stone and stucco house.

He wants more, and I can't give him what he wants. I won't give him what he wants. He wants me to be afraid. And I am. But I dare not show it.

For at any minute--say, for example, if I allow myself to get caught up in the middle of a complex sentence structure and really need to concentrate because, after all, good grammar means the difference between life and death--he could sense me at my weakest.

And if I'm not careful, if I'm not always at the top of my game, on red alert status with the eyes in the back of my head wide open, he will get the best of me. I must simply not let my guard down. Ever.

It seemed to happen when he lost his best friend, about two months ago, I'd say. He changed, and not for the better. It's actually quite sad, really. And I dare not turn him in to the authorities because there is simply too much history there. And others would suffer. But how I wish I could get him help. How I wish I could once again pound away at my computer without fear of his retribution.

But, sadly, I wait. I wait until my daughter returns from college, and he turns his vengence on her. What kind of mother, you say, would want to divert her attacker's attention to her own daughter?

Well, it is her cat. And he does like to lunge and sink his teeth in, deep. And she does love him, nonetheless. So, what's a mom to do?

(FYI -- for a picture of this back-massaging-turned-attack cat and his beloved friend, go to the "Utterly Useless Information" page.

In my last post titled, "If I Could Give Away Copies, I Would!," I pondered the notion that all any writer really wants is to be read and to receive feedback. (Unless, of course, he or she is trying to actually make a living from it, in which case, unless he's Stephen King or James Patterson, I wish him much luck!)

Well, it occurred to me that I could. Not indefinitely, of course. The books aren't free to me. I'd go broke and two daughters would have to drop out of college.

But I did give away most of the stock I had at my house to some eager members of a forum I've been frequenting for about the last six or seven months. After all, Amazon and the publisher do most of the order fulfillment. What good was a small stockpile doing in my dining room collecting dust?

I was happy to see how excited people were, how interested they were in receiving the books, and it made me feel, well, like Santa. No wonder he laughs so much. It didn't just feel good. If felt GREAT! I even sprung for the shipping and handling. What the heck, I thought. If you're going to do it, do it right.

So now I wait. Hopefully, I'll hear some feedback in return, which is really what the point of the whole thing originally was, to be perfectly honest. Is that so wrong? But more than that, I've now struck up some new online friendships where none existed before. Not being much of an Internet person before I embarked on this endeavor, I must admit I've become quite the computer nerd.

Thankfully, my husband simply adjusts to me as I continue to morph into utter geekness and embark on these new frontiers. The things we do for a little feedback. It's no wonder he calls me his "needy sweetie."

As a writer, I probably speak for most of us unique birds when I say that all we really want is the knowledge that somewhere, someone is being entertained by our labors of love. Stated more directly, how many strangers are reading my book at this very moment, and are eagerly turning the pages? Sadly, we can't know the answer to this question without feedback. Sales are an indicator, but without direct feedback, who knows for sure what people think of our babies? More often than not, when one finishes a gratifying read, she doesn't tend to run to the computer to write a review. She tells a friend, which gets back to sales as an indicator.

So, what I'm really saying is that it's not about the money, or even sales figures, at all. I'll take the knowledge that my baby is open in someone else's hands at this very moment any day over a royalty check. Now, of course I say that because I have a day job and there is food on the table. But the God's honest truth is that I don't expect to ever be able to quit the day job based on what I make on book sales. (Another topic entirely, but I only make about $1 - $4 per book, depending on where it's purchased. The balance goes to the publisher (Infinity) and distributor (Amazon, etc.). A crime, isn't it, given who really did all of the work??)

But, I digress. If you read WHEN I FALL, I'd love nothing more than to hear what you think! 

I wrote these words on a discussion board earlier today as, at first, two ideas seemed on the surface to be diametrically opposed. Upon peeling back the onion a little further, though, common ground was maybe found. We'll see how/if the discussion continues. If you're visiting here from that site, welcome!!

It occurs to me now that this is one of many different premises within WHEN I FALL. In fiction, one has to "categorize" the subject matter in order to market it. You can't pick multiple categories. I struggled with this long ago when I first penned the work. There were so many underlying stories and lessons brewing just beneath the surface of the more obvious storyline, that I didn't think "mystery/suspense" captured it all. I still don't.

As I pondered the words of the title of today's blog, I thought about how accurately these words describe just about anything in life. Many disagreements are rooted in the fact that we simply don't take the time to understand others or give the opportunity for others to understand us before we draw conclusions. This IS the underlying premise of WHEN I FALL. It just weaves a mystery/suspense story into the lesson.

So, the heck with what the publishing industry mandates. WHEN I FALL is "Inspirational Suspense." I just might have a cornered a new market!

Most people have never even heard of this condition, so they tend to cock their head to the side when I mention it. And mention it I must. Because on any given day--for me usually more so in the Fall to Winter time frame--someone will invariably wonder why I can't formulate a coherent thought, or why I must ask him or her to talk in almost a whisper, or why I'm walking in a crooked line, or worse yet, bumping into things or falling. Any normal person who's not in the know would likely conclude I was drinking on the job.

Well, sorry to disappoint the office grapevine. For something like 5-7 people in 1000, these are symptoms of a progressive disease that attack the inner ear mechanism. Dizziness, severe vertigo, loss of hearing and sensitivity to noise (yeah, I know that the two symptoms together seem like an oxymoron), tinnitus (constant, relentless ringing and roaring in the ear) wreak havoc on sufferers. I'm one of them.

Being misdiagnosed for years (I remember my first attack in 1990 in hindsight, not knowing what it was at the time) is not the worst of it. There is no cure, only a sure progression of the attacks until the inner ear is completely destroyed, which of course results in total, irreparable hearing loss.

So I've lived with it for seventeen years, the last three of which have become practically intolerable, particularly and unfortunately around the holidays. Parties are about the last place I can be, although I'm a very social person. It's literally torture to be in that kind of setting, and it kills a part of me not always being able to partake. Concerts? yeah, right. Not during an attack, anyway. Restaurant? Depends on the "sensitivity" factor for the day, since a clanging plate or a dropped spoon can literally send me through the roof. Imagine your head's a speaker and you put a microphone to your ear...you know that feedback sound? Yeah, it's like that...but on top of the jet engine roar and ringing that never goes away. To put things even further into perspective, during one attack last year that permanently stole too many decibels of my hearing, the internal feedback from the sound of my own voice in my head was literally unbearable. So not only does this fiend steal my hearing over time, at times I must also become mute to defy its cruel, insidious wrath.

To keep my sanity and the right outlook for the future, I try to remind myself of why I'm lucky: For me, it only affects one ear (yay!), it doesn't cause any pain (unless I were to sustain an injury during a fall), it's not fatal, and I luckily have a supportive family and work environment. The most disconcerting part for me personally, though, is the "stupid" factor. You see, fighting to constantly erase background clutter of the constant ringing and the hypersensitivity to external noises plays mind games with me, literally, because my brain is receiving and interpreting false signals that another can't possibly perceive or understand, unless he or she has the condition or is close to someone who does. I'm exhausted after a day on the battlefield, as maybe you can now imagine.

So if you see me sashaying down the hallway, looking as if I've hit the holiday cheer a little early, please WHISPER words of encouragement versus drawing the wrong conclusion. And when I can't complete a coherent thought, please pick up one of my books and know that inside this confused-looking person, there is a smart, articulate, clever individual who CAN not only put coherent thoughts together, but who can also craft an entire novel in which every single detail has a purpose and hangs together with all others that preceded it. And surprise endings, well, that's what I do best.

So, with that said, maybe there's a surprise ending for Meniere's sufferers that our doctors just haven't come up with yet. We can hope. And if you ever come across another person who suffers from this affliction, tell her that you understand, that you know about it. The look on that person's face will indeed convey a sense of indescribable instant relief simply in knowing that someone else understands and knows that she is not crazy.

The Insideous Intruder

Take what you will

You always do

But you can’t have my sanity

Steal what’s not yours

I know you will

But you can’t touch my dignity

Beat me down

And isolate me

But my legs remain mine to defy you

Pillage my senses

And leave me for dead

But my soul, my cellmate, is beyond you

I travel a fair amount for work these days. Several years ago, I travelled much more than I would have liked, but passed time on the road by burying myself in my work and retreating into a ficticous world I was in the midst of creating, literally. And people, thankfully, tended to leave me to my work. I'd set up at a table in the lounge area of a hotel, and with what must have been a very engrossed look on my face, apparently scared people off. And that was fine by me. I'm happily married and wanted to avoid giving anyone the impression that I was looking for something more than my laptop and my story, and the solitude required to concentrate on it.

Well, last night that changed. While I pounded on my keyboard in the lounge of suburban DC hotel, someone did attempt to invade my sacred space. Apparently, this man had seen many scary things in his day, and my Ann Taylor suit and the don't-bother-me look on my face were not amongst them. I allowed him to introduce himself, and then allowed a quick exchange or two, then I finally allowed him to join me at my table, as he'd been back-to-back to me at his, with his own laptop.

After allowing this man to enter "the forbidden zone," I soon discovered that I'd been missing out on meeting truly interesting people who can add an entirely new dimension to your thinking, or even spark an idea you never would have otherwise had. As a writer, while I thought I'd been shutting out the world to perfect my art, I was actually closing off opportunities for new and fresh thinking.

So this very interesting, charming and handsome man who happens to be pulling serious rank within the army apparently has seen it all. Again, Ann Taylor isn't likely on his seen-it-all list. While the lack of a wedding band on my left ring finger may have paved the way for his bold approach (my husband and I played volleyball the evening before with our team and I'd neglected to return the rings to the finger!), what I ended up having was an above-board, laugh-filled evening while I simultaneously learned a lot about someone in a line of work that I admire, but discovered I really know nothing about. Less than twenty-four hours later, I also came up with the concept for my next novel, based on this interaction.

So, if you're reading this post my new friend, know that the novel will be purely fiction but that you helped to inspire it. And believe me, somehow peanut butter crackers will find their way into the story.

We've all been guilty of it: seeing a person in the mall whom you know but don't really want to engage in a conversation with so you duck behind other shoppers. Or perhaps you feign lack of recognition when eye contact occurs if much time has elapsed since the last time you'd been in the other person's presence.

Or maybe it's just me and I'm addressing a group of one: myself. But at least I admit it. Honestly, though, I never quite feel good about doing it. Sometimes I rationalize that the other person wouldn't recongize me anyway; I mean, I don't really think I'm all that memorable. And maybe the other person isn't either, so to speak, but I still remember him, so why do I put myself in the "unremarkable" category? Perhaps it's to make myself feel better for having done the ignoring to begin with; I'm not sure.

So, assuming that I'm not in a group of one, and that at some time or another we've all been guilty this social faux pas, riddle me this, Batman:

Do you ignore emails from people you know? Pretend never to have received them? This I can honestly say I do not do. If someone took the time to send me something, I will always acknowledge it. But if you admit that you are an email ignorer, keep this in mind:

In today's day and age of online instant gratification, I suggest you don't (assuming, of course,  that the sender is someone you know). Through magic "cookies" placed on our computers and email functionality that tells you who's received, opened and clicked through to various links, we can no longer duck behind other shoppers or feign lack of recognition. And if you choose to ignore, remember this: Every time the "sender" sees you, he or she may actually know more than you do.  ;-)

My husband, a very handsome and patient man, would be okay if I cheated on him. Now pick your jaw up off of your keyboard, and read on about the circumstances under which he would even consider such a scenario.

I recently read something that made me think about what it is that keeps me going in the promotion of WHEN I FALL. Kathleen Valentine said this about author self-promotion in her blog: "...I have to keep pushing. I don't want to but I have to. And what I am trying to make myself realize is that I don't do it for me. I do it for my characters."

Well, this struck me. When I fired my agent and decided to promote my own work, I did it because I wanted other people to meet Mel Hawthorne, the protagonist of WHEN I FALL. Unfortunately, this was an impossibility with my manuscript collecting dust on the desk of an agent who could no more recite the premise of the book than land Stephen King as a client.

Now when someone reads WHEN I FALL and tells me how much he or she was inspired by the characters, Mel in particular, then I know I've done Mel justice. He's come alive in another's mind, and has made an impression. After all, he deserves to be known. He embodies characteristics that we admire: he's moral, fair and insightful.  There's something to be said about someone who puts others' needs before their own...a trait that we perhaps see lacking in ourselves, maybe not all the time, but often enough. So when a character on the pages of a book makes you want to be a better person, well, then, he deserves recognition for it.

So, back to my husband and his seemingly amoral approval of an unscrupulous notion. My husband would allow me to cheat on him if it were with Mel Hawthorne, and only Mel Hawthorne, and not because he's a character who merely exists on the pages of a book. The fact is, my husband knows that if Mel were to miraculously come to life from those pages, his depth of character would never allow him to become involved with a married woman. So in this sense, then, we all win.

Thanks to the Internet, WHEN I FALL seems to be a smashing success in just the few short weeks it's been out. My publisher has said it's doing incredibly well, and is one of the most popular books, so thank you! For those of you who haven't yet purchased and want the book for the beach, your best bet is to order through bbotw.com where in some cases books are arriving next day. Amazon and Borders sales are doing so well that they ran out of their initial stock, and were on a 4-6 week delivery timeframe, although that's improved to about 1-3 weeks now.

Website traffic is incredible. The all-time high was 170 hits on May 22. And 25% of hits on a daily basis are people returning to the site. Very cool. But between the site, Google Analytics, MySpace and other online tools...I have become completely addicted and must return to my real life some time soon! Something had to give while I got all of this up and running, and unfortunately it was exercise, although I do still peel myself away from the laptop on Wednesdays for volleyball. (Go 6 Degrees! Presently undefeated!) But exercise I must...hitting the 'refresh' button every fifteen minutes just isn't cutting it.

Thank you, EVERYONE!