Thursday Thought: On Daughters

Thou art thy mother’s looking-glass, and she in thee recalls the lovely April of her prime.
– William Shakespeare


Thoughts on the Winston Investigation

To quote Will Rogers, all I know is what I read in the papers. To be more accurate, I don’t know anything about the investigation into allegations that FSU quarterback Jameis Winston committed rape except what ESPN and social media tell me – and neither are particularly reliable sources.

But a lack of knowledge, as y’all know, has never kept me quiet. And here, I do feel that I have some comments to make from several perspectives.

I’m a woman, who had a minor sexual offense (not rape, thank God!) committed upon me back in college, and I cried with a sorority sister the morning after she was raped by the boy she was dating and a few of his frat brothers. We didn’t report it – back then, if you agreed to stay late at a guy’s house, well, heck, you must have wanted to have sex with every guy in the place. The 70s were an strange time.

I am also a lawyer, who has defended and prosecuted those charged with sexual offenses. I’ve seen photos of injuries so bad that the memory brings tears to my eyes these many years later.

But I’m a Seminole, too. Rabidly committed to all things Garnet and Gold ever since I joined the Jr. Seminole Boosters at the ripe old age of 7. I still have a photo of Lane Fenner’s catch – google that if you want to know how long I will hold a grudge when my team is involved.

So, given all that, here’s what I want to say about Jameis and his accuser:

I was offended by the media frenzy surrounding the Jameis Winston investigation, with people who really had no knowledge loudly proclaiming his guilt. But I am even more offended by the comments about the young lady now that State Attorney Willie Meggs (a very distant relative of mine, btw) announced there won’t be charges.

But remember, “unproven” is a result that only works in the Alice-through-the-looking-glass world of the law. In reality, the facts are the facts, whether provable or not.

Look – either A: she was raped, and there wasn’t enough evidence to bring her rapist to justice. That’s bad. Or B: she wasn’t raped, and someone – an attorney with her own agenda, perhaps – used her to make a false claim. That’s bad, too.

As for Winston, either A: he did it, and he is a troubled young man who will not be court- ordered to receive help he desperately needs. That’s bad. Or B: he didn’t do it and he has been drug through the mud and there will be an undeserved cloud on his reputation. That’s bad, too.

So, My Seminole brethren and sistern, let ‘s not gloat or rejoice. This is a sad, sad situation either way. Having been a 19 or 20 year old kid who made bad choices myself a long time ago, I can’t imagine the awfulness of living through what the media and the public have done with this.

And to those of you who still want to joke about the “Criminoles” from “Forced Sex University,” (I’m looking at you, Swamp Things), stop it. Because it’s either A: an unprovable yet horrible crime against a young lady, or B: an intolerable smear on a talented young man. And neither of those is funny.

Tunesday: Postmodern Jukebox

Good Morning, my lovelies. I’m typing away at my WIP during breaks at a conference for the day job, and realized that it has been simply ages since I’ve posted anything. My bad — I can write the stories or keep up with my social media, but not both. So I’ve concentrated on the WIP for a few weeks. Sue me if its a problem.

But in keeping with my practice of bringing you thoughts on a Tune for Tuesday (see how clever I am with alliteration?), I wanted to share an odd yet appealing set of songs with you today.

One thing I love is mashing up two completely contradictory concepts into a unique, creative whole. Pride, Prejudice and Zombies? Loved it. (Of course, once it’s been done, it’s no longer creative and unique, so Sense, Sensibility and Seamonsters, not so much.)

If you like those kind of weird combinations where good ol’ “A” plus predictable “B” give us an amazing X, Y, or Z, you need to meet the good folks of Post-modern Jukebox. One Scott Bradlee, a music and history buff, got the brilliant idea to reinterpret the ubiquitous pop songs we all love to hate in unpredictable ways. Ke$ha goes country, Lourde becomes a male Pierrot clown, and Bieber swings it ’40’s style.

I love everything I’ve heard by PMJ, but my favorite has to be their doo-wop cover of Miley Cyrus’s We Can’t Stop. It’s tuneful, soulful, and waaaay better than the original. Check it out here:

Thursday Thought: Charles Bukowski

…it’s not the large things that send a man to the madhouse. death he’s ready for, or murder, incest, robbery, fire, flood… no, it’s the continuing series of small tragedies that send a man to the madhouse… not the death of his love but a shoelace that snaps with no time left …

From the Shoelace
by Charles Bukowski


Random Thoughts, including a Small Suggestion for World Peace

There’s been a lot of stuff happening in the world, and I’ve really wanted to post my comments about most of it. To sum up:

1. Miley and Robin at the VMA’s — seriously, any concept that includes a Beetlejuice suit and lascivious teddy bears should have been rejected out of hand. Aside from the ickiness of the whole twerking mess, it was just bad artistically. I can forgive a lot if the art is good, but this was just in-your-face offensiveness without any artistic vision. (Check Madonna’s early stuff if you want to see offensiveness done for the artistic value. Still offensive, but not gratuitously so.)

And I blame the fully-dressed grown man more than the stupid twenty-one year old. I was a stupid twenty-one year old myself, back in the Jurassic era, and I am now very, very grateful that cell phone cameras had not been invented in my Alpha Xi Delta days.

2. The Anniversary of Dr. King’s Speech — I realize that, being a white Southerner of a certain age, anything I have to say about race relations is suspect. But (and like my own, it is a big but) I do remember the sixties and seventies. I remember separate water fountains. I remember not understanding why my brother wouldn’t let me sit in the balcony at a Disney movie. I remember “Greg” a very good student, who was active in school activities and well-mannered — all the things a parent would like — and me being unable to go public with the fact that we had a bit of a crush on each other because he was the “wrong” race.

This weekend, when Princess #2 invited two guys to join her and her friend at the beach, none of the teenagers even thought about the various shades of epidermis that were represented. I hate that I am still enough a child of the South in the sixties that I did notice, but I am pleased that none of the grownups made the noticing noticeable.

When people say nothing has changed, it makes me angry — and sad. Maybe there hasn’t been enough change, maybe there never will be. But my child will never let a silly thing like melanin determine who she loves.

3. The mess in the Middle East — just one generation ago, my father and uncles were fighting the Axis Powers. We lost family members to the War to Save Democracy. But this weekend, Princess 2 joined several friends for a trip to the water park and an ice cream afterwards.

There they were — two Italian and one German exchange students, a first-generation Peruvian-American, and my little American mixed breed, sitting at Baskin Robbins and having fun. There are few cultural differences that cannot be bridged by ice cream.

Maybe, just maybe, if the world leaders could go down the Rocketing Raft Fun Slide and then share a hot-fudge sundae, they could stop being so angry all the time. Just a suggestion.


Just Keep Swimming!

I had a rough day yesterday – I got exactly what I asked for, and I whined like a two-year-old when I actually got it.

I’ve finished a book. Well, finished in the sense that I made it all the way from “Chapter One” to “The End”. The writers amongst you will understand that now the real work begins.

I sent my little ms out to my crit partner, aka The Book Midwife. She is one of the most insightful readers I have ever met, and she pointed out exactly what was wrong with my story. Indeed, a lot of her comments were things I knew, but was refusing to acknowledge, hoping that readers wouldn’t notice. (Yeah, right.)

So when my darling DeAnn gave me her thoughts, I thanked her and buckled right down to work, right? Oh, kids, y’all know me better than that!

I pouted. I cried. I stomped around the house swearing that I was done writing. (As if the people in my head would allow that.). I misbehaved badly.

And then a friend – one who knew nothing of my tantrum – posted the quote below. I think it was a sign from God, the universe, the Force, or whatever you conceive the higher power to be.

I’ve apologized to DeAnn, and I’m doing so again now. I’m sorry that you gave me exactly what I asked for and needed and I was too childish and self absorbed to take it graciously. I wish I could promise it will never happen again, but my capacity for childish behavior exceeds all bounds. I can say that I deeply appreciate all the work she did, I value and agree with her comments, and I will TRY to be better in the future.

And as far as my writing, as Dory told Nemo: just keep swimming!



Thursday Thought: First Drafts


Thursday Thought: Anais Nin


You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing.

Cover Story: The Girl on the Golden Coin


Once again, I’m here to introduce you to one of my incredible crit group ladies. Today it’s Marci McGuire Jefferson, who has written an absolutely lovely book about one Frances Stuart, who served as the model for “Britannia” on years and years worth of British coins.

I’m not going to waste your time babbling; I’m just going to turn today’s blog over to Marci and let her tell you all about her book!


Marci Jefferson’s first novel is about Frances Stuart, who rejected three kings and graced England’s coins for generations as the model for Britannia. The book will release February 11, 2014 from Thomas Dunne Books / St. Martin’s Press. But pre-order this week and comment on Marci’s blog (link below) for a chance to win a pair of sterling-silver pearl-drop earrings like the ones Frances wears on this elegant cover (be prepared to present your receipt).


Impoverished and exiled to the French countryside after the overthrow of the English Crown, Frances Stuart survives merely by her blood-relation to the Stuart Royals. But in 1660, the Restoration of Stuart Monarchy in England returns her family to favor. Frances discards threadbare gowns and springs to gilded Fontainebleau Palace, where she soon catches King Louis XIV’s eye. But Frances is no ordinary court beauty, she has Stuart secrets to keep and people to protect. The king turns vengeful when she rejects his offer to become his Official Mistress. He banishes her to England with orders to seduce King Charles II and stop a war.

Armed in pearls and silk, Frances maneuvers through the political turbulence of Whitehall Palace, but still can’t afford to stir a scandal. Her tactic to inspire King Charles to greatness captivates him. He believes her love can make him an honest man and even chooses Frances to pose as Britannia for England’s coins. Frances survives the Great Fire, the Great Plague, and the debauchery of the Restoration Court, yet loses her heart to the very king she must control. Until she is forced to choose between love or war.

On the eve of England’s Glorious Revolution, James II forces Frances to decide whether to remain loyal to her Stuart heritage or, like England, make her stand for Liberty. Her portrait as Britannia is minted on every copper coin. There she remains for generations, an enduring symbol of Britain’s independent spirit and her own struggle for freedom.


“In her wonderfully evocative debut, Girl on the Golden Coin, Marci Jefferson recreates the fascinating story of Frances Stuart, whose influence over England’s Charles II became the talk of a nation. As vibrant and delightful as the woman it’s based on, Girl on the Golden Coin is a jewel of a novel!”
—Michelle Moran, New York Times bestselling author of The Second Empress and Madame Tussaud

“Beauty is not always a blessing, as young Frances Stuart finds out when her lovely face pits her between the desires and politics of rival kings Louis XIV and Charles II. Frances makes an appealing heroine, by turns wary and passionate, sophisticated and innocent, as she matures from destitute young pawn to the majestic duchess whose figure would grace Britain’s coins for centuries. Her struggles to support her loved ones, uncover her family secrets, and somehow find a life of her own amid the snake-pit courts of the Sun King and the Merry Monarch make for lively, entertaining reading in this lush Restoration novel by debut author Marci Jefferson.”
—Kate Quinn, New York Times bestselling author of Mistress of Rome

“Girl on the Golden Coin is a fantastic novel. I couldn’t put it down. The plot is fast-paced and compelling, with intriguing characters, lush settings and captivating narrative voice. Jefferson’s debut paints an intriguing portrait of Frances Stuart, a novel worthy of the determined, golden spirit of the woman whose face became the model for Britannia herself.”
—Susan Spann, author of Claws of the Cat

“Girl on the Golden Coin is a sexy, exciting tale featuring vivid characters, rich historical detail, scintillating court intrigue, and a complexly rendered heroine in Frances Stuart, Maid of Honor to the Queen of England, who will capture the reader’s heart — as will the man she loves, that rascal King Charles II.”
— Sherry Jones, author, FOUR SISTERS, ALL QUEENS


Barnes & Noble


Dorothy Parker, Hating to Write, and Arabella’s 100 Challenge


When you are a bright yet less than drop-dead-gorgeous girl growing up in the South, you have to develop the talents you do have. I was good with words, and my father’s family was blessed with a multitude of natural-born comedians and storytellers, so I worked with what the Good Lord gave me and became a specialist in snarky humor.

But one must give credit where credit is due. Back in the dim dark ages when I was in high school and dinosaurs roamed the earth, I ran across a poem by the Undisputed Queen of Snark, Ms. Dorothy Parker herself. You know the one, because all tragically misunderstood and literary-minded teenage girls know it: Resume. And I quote:

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.*

Whenever my heart got broken (a fairly frequent event), I would slope around the house, sighing like Ophelia on Valium, lamenting the fact that even suicide was too much trouble. Then I’d eat some potato chips and feel better.

Then, not long after discovering Resume, I ran across a copy of The Portable Dorothy Parker at DuBey’s Bookstore — that’s it pictured above. I can still remember the day I bought it; it was a life-changer. Not only snarky poems and epigrams for fashionably-depressed teenagers, but really beautiful, lyrical writing about women’s lives. I read that paperback Portable til the cover was all ragged and fuzzy around the edges. I still have my original copy, and every year or so I take it down and reread it from cover to cover. If you have never read Dorothy, do not delay — go get a copy now, and read it immediately. You will thank me for this. (To make it easy, here’s a link to buy it. Alas, I can’t find it in e-format, but it’s a keeper, so buy the hardcopy. Go to

And after getting my babies through their childhood and establishing myself in a dayjob career, I finally got to do what I had always wanted — I became a real writer, just like Dorothy. Her stories and essays about the writing life took on a new meaning for me, and I fell in love with her all over again.

But there is one major point about writing that dearest Dorothy and I agree on. To quote her again, “I hate writing. I love having written.” I love making up my stories. I love playing with words, making them jump through hoops and do their little tricks. I love thinking up fresh hells to visit upon my characters on their way to a happy ever after. But sometimes, when it is actually time to sit my butt down in the chair and put my hands on the keyboard, I feel that old teenage depression again. Dear God in Heaven, I dread it sometimes!

But you know, once I start, I realize that I, like Dorothy, absolutely adore seeing my shiny little stories taking shape on the page/screen. And then I can keep going until my DH comes out to the den and tells me “It’s 3 am, don’t you know you have work in the morning?” It’s the starting, not the writing, that I really hate.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, brings us to the point of today’s post — Arabella’s 100 Challenge. I will give credit for the idea to the fabulous Vicky Dreiling, who is one of the finest Regency Romance writers working today. What Vicky came up with is the best cure I’ve found for a procrastinating writer like myself. Here’s the deal:

You must write 100 words a day. Every day. No less than 100. Even if the well has completely run dry and your muse has stopped speaking to you. I will admit to having one very bad day where my heroine actually listened to the radio, and I got my 100 words by quoting song lyrics. (That scene was, fortunately, cut from the final manuscript!) If you write to 100 and want to quit, you quit. In the middle of a paragraph, in the middle of a sentence. You did your 100, and you were a success. That’s all that’s required.

But if you are anything like me, you’ll find that the only problem was the starting. For every time that I’ve quoted 100 words of Elton John songs and stopped mid-sentence, there are dozens where I’ve looked up a couple of thousand words later and realized how much fun my characters and I are having. I credit Vicky’s 100 Word a Day process for my last two manuscripts.

So, dear readers, who else needs a kick in the pants to get started? I’m throwing down the gauntlet — Starting August 1, we go 100 days of 100 words. You can report your progress on my handy-dandy Yahoo group I set up for the purpose. Remember, you don’t report how many words — this is not a oneupmanship adventure. It is a binary question — Yes, I did my 100 (or more) or No, I didn’t.

At the end of 100 days, the member with the most 100-word days gets a $25.00 Barnes and Noble gift card. If there is a tie (because I’m sure everyone will have made it all 100 days), we will keep going until there is one member left standing.

You’re on your honor here, kids. I mean, it is so easy to type a recipe or a poem if that is all you can come up with, and there is no reason to cheat. If you don’t do it, climb back in the saddle and get going again. Because, at the end of the day, the real prize is that bright, shiny new manuscript you will be making. And like dearest Dorothy, you know you love having written.

If you’re in, go to to sign up. All standard exclusions apply, void where prohibited, wash, rinse, repeat, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

Let’s get writing!!!

*Dorothy Parker, “Resumé” from The Portable Dorothy Parker, edited by Brendan Gill. (1926)