Showing posts with label scrapbooking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scrapbooking. Show all posts

Friday, May 29, 2009

Cut, Crop & Die Hits the Shelves


by Joanna Campbell Slan
Cut, Crop & Die, the second book in my Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series, has hit the stores. How do I know? Booksellers are emailing me to ask if I’ll come do signings. Scrapbook store owners are hearing from their customers. And gosh, what a difference it makes to be releasing Book #2 in a series! It’s so fun to be “known,” to not have to plow fresh ground, and to have folks who are clamoring for “more, more, more!”

Personally, I love reading books that are a part of a series. I like getting to know the characters, watching them grow, and frankly, watching the author grow, too. Each new book is like a visit with an old friend.

In Cut, Crop & Die, one of the subplots is how Kiki’s newfound independence is threatened by a new employee, Bama. Bama’s much vaunted high-falluting degree in art leaves Kiki feeling both jealous and inept. Concurrently, Kiki’s job has become ever more precious to her. For the first time in her life, Kiki is calling all the shots. She’s a “real” grown up, responsible for herself and her daughter, Anya. She’s living solo without a parent or a spouse to tell her what to do. She’s even decorated her home in her own personal style, whereas the gorgeous McMansion she owned with her husband was furnished to his taste by a decorator.

People ask me, “Is it true that authors need to write what they know?”

Boy, wouldn’t it be a boring world if we did? I’ve never been shot at. I’ve never killed anyone. But I write about those things. So, no, I don’t always stick to what I know…except when it comes to emotions. That’s where I use my knowledge. You see, I can remember living on my own after my first marriage failed. I had a great job selling newspaper advertising—a job that threatened my first husband’s ego so much he couldn’t stand it. Finally, I decided I couldn’t stand him, so we were even.
I got rid of 275 pounds of ugly fat. I divorced him.

I got my own little apartment, decorated with castoffs, but certainly reflecting my own style. I can recall what that time was like, the freedom, the fears, and the sense of finally finding myself. Those are the emotions I gave Kiki. Her relationship with Bama reminds me of how I felt when our advertising boss hired a woman he praised to the skies. I remember how he even bragged about paying her more than all of the rest of us salespeople, even though she was less experienced. He felt justified because of her stature in the community. I remember how that eroded my self-esteem and how I worried about my job performance.

I learned a lot from that experience. Fear of failure provides a marvelous incentive to work harder, to be more prepared, to think creatively, to hold nothing back. At least, it works that way for me.

And that new employee? She didn’t last long and she sure didn’t outsell me.

The neat thing about being a writer is nothing is EVER wasted. Those pains I felt, that sense of being “less than,” I don’t call them up every day. But they came in handy when I wrote Cut, Crop & Die.

Care to read an excerpt? Go to www.JoannaSlan.com

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Oh, Say Can You See?


For the past eight weeks I’ve been traveling across the country, watching the odometer on my car flip past 100,000, eating too many Combos (cheddar is my favorite), and sleeping in too many hotels. (Correction: Trying to sleep. I’ve been awakened by folks pounding on the door next to me because “Jennifer” forgot to set her alarm and was about to miss the shuttle, by a smoke alarm, and by a hotel staff who forgot to re-set their clocks to Daylight Savings Time.)

And what have I seen?

A glorious, panoramic vision of our country. From the Appalachian mountains where my vehicle went up and down and round and round like a child’s toy, to the waving wheat-filled plains of Kansas, to the big muddy river defining the state borders, to a huge restaurant in Sikeston MO where they throw hot, yeasty rolls at the diners…this is a land so vast, so great that my heart has ached for the love of it.

Today, being Veterans Day, I pause to give thanks that we are free. My mother’s father fought inWWII—she still owns his service revolver. My other grandfather was one of 704 who survived the bombing of the USS Franklin by the Japanese—I have his handwritten account. My husband’s father served on a base in Germany—we still have a collection of Hummels he bought for his bride. My father served on planes during the Korean conflict—he send home a tiny kimono for me.

Perhaps the most poignant service was one I nearly overlooked. I own a grainy “Brownie” snapshot of my uncle in uniform in Korea. For years I’ve admired how handsome Uncle Dick was, with his profile and features so much like a young Johnny Carson. Then I decided to enlarge the photo and use it on a scrapbook page. That’s when I discovered that the “wall” he was standing in front of was actually a bunker made of sandbags.

Suddenly, I saw that image in a new light. I realized my uncle planned it as a “goodbye” photo, a last image in case he didn’t survive.

Often in life we think we “see”. We believe we know what’s what. Who’s who. How it’s hanging. But a slight shift of perspective can open our eyes.

Let me offer a suggestion: A week ago, voters waited seven hours at the polls here in St. Louis. To honor all our veterans, why not make Election Day a national holiday? When we lived in England, our neighbors were shocked that our country--which touts free and fair elections—does NOT give our citizens the day off. Instead, we make it difficult to cast a ballot. Wouldn’t that be a better way of honoring all those who served our country? Who fought and died to make sure we have the right to choose our leaders?

That’s how I see it.

Monday, April 7, 2008

A Creative Fugue State--A Holiday for My Brain

Blame it on Camille Minichino (aka Margaret Grace), my sister blogger on http://killerhobbies.blogspot.com/

I was on my way to Florida for Spring Break when I emailed her if she’d like some sea shells for her miniatures.

She wrote back, “Oooh, yes, I have a little beach scene on my bookcase, and it's seriously lacking shells!”

But somehow I read that as “ Oooh, yes, I have a little sea shell shop on my bookcase, and it’s seriously lacking shells!”

Funny how my mind works. I went to South Carolina and picked up tiny sea shells from the beach. But the whole time, I was thinking about a sea shell shop, which was something I’d intended to create for myself in miniature for years. In fact, I couldn’t get this project out of my brain. One night while I was listening to the ocean, I went online and found http://www.wannainelpaso.com/ I entered a fugue state, which is defined as an altered state of consciousness in which a person may move about purposely and even speak but is not fully aware. My mind was buzzing with ideas. When we got home from South Carolina, I went to Michaels, coupon in hand, and bought a paper mache “hat box” plus a wooden hutch and several bottles of acrylic paint. (Total cost about $10 with coupon.)

On Friday, my husband left town for a business trip. Since then, I’ve done nothing but work on my sea shell shop, ruining a perfectly good manicure but having a ball. It’s not entirely done…I want to add a few more things and then I’ll close it up and cover the outside and the lid. I made everything but the mermaid (I painted a statue of Ariel), the hutch, and the paintings.

I created the rug, the lights, the shell trimmed mirror, the table, the chair (except for the painted shells), the postcard stand, the plant, the shelving unit, all the shell displays and so on. In the "ceiling," I put tiny lights. (Picked these up on sale at Michaels after Halloween for $1.) Then, I draped the sparkling net over it to catch the 20 miniature "fireflies."I’m curious.

Do you enjoy more than one hobby? Do you ever get a creative impulse that’s so strong you can barely control it? Have you ever spent two days in your jammies working on a project and forgetting to eat? I feel so refreshed. I've been working on my writing for so long...I'm about 1/3 of the way through Book #3 of my scrapbooking mystery series...that this feels like a restful vacation. A holiday for my mind and my creative juices.

How do you like my sea shell shop?

Monday, March 10, 2008

Egads! What if Mom Was Right? And a Contest

By Joanna Campbell Slan

“Don’t eat that. It’s dirty,” Mom used to say as my sisters and I ran around frantically trying to catch snowflakes on our tongues. And when we attempted a snow ice cream recipe, mixing sugar and half-and-half with five cups of the fluffy white stuff, she went apoplectic. “You don’t know where that’s been. What were you thinking? Throw that out, right now.”

So we did.

Bacteria in the Snowflakes?

Now I discover she was right. According to an Associated Press article in last week's St. Louis Post-Dispatch, scientists found that as much as 85% of the nuclei of snowflakes were bacteria. Okay, it’s the kind that only causes diseases in tomatoes, but those things mutate, don’t they? I mean, today it’s tomatoes, tomorrow you’re kissing your liver goodbye.

I set aside my daily paper, pushed away my latte, and buried my head in my hands. “If she was right about this…what else does Mom know? Maybe I should have been paying better attention.”

There was that threat: Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back. She said it and laughed. Was she teasing? I’ve experimented, and so far, no word from Florida about breaking bones, but…who knows? Maybe it’s just a matter of time.

If you read in poor light, you’ll need glasses. By golly, she had me there. I’ve been blind as the proverbial bat—not a real bat, mind you—since fourth grade. Then I had LASIK surgery. But since then I must gone back to reading in poor light, because now I can scarcely read my AARP card held at arm’s length.

Your face is going to get stuck like that. On close examination, I do believe that hash-mark between my eyes is the result of constant frowns. Of making faces about the cost of gas, why my teenage son isn’t home yet, and failed attempts at weight loss.

Step outside with wet hair and you’ll catch your death of cold. Maybe wet hair doesn’t attract the rhinovirus, but a good chill does lower your immune system. At least, I think it does. After all, no one seems to know exactly what does and does not prevent a cold. As a young adult, I gulped gallons of orange juice. Next, I popped Zinc lozenges. Now I chug Airborne. What if all along the culprit has been wet hair? Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.

I reach for the phone and give Mom a call.(That's a photo of us taken 50-some years ago.) She’s always glad to hear from me. I take a deep breath and apologize. “Mom, all these years, I wasn’t listening to you. Turns out, you were right.” I go through my list of “mom-isms” and give her long overdue credit.

A Useful Citizen at Last

“See?” She says, a hint of self-satisfaction in her voice. “The pediatrician told me someday you’d be a useful citizen.” With that she signs off.

I put away the paper and clean the breakfast dishes. I feel strangely relieved to know Mom was right about so much. Checking the time, I realize I need to hurry or I’ll be late for my appointment. One foot is out the door, when I hear my mother’s voice in my head: Always put on clean underwear before you go out. What if you get hit by a car and they take you to the hospital?

And, Lord help me, I run upstairs to change.

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Annoucing the Box O'Books and Lots O' Stickers Contest

Pop on over to http://www.killerhobbies.blogspot.com and enter the first ever Box O' Books and Lots O' Stickers Contest. All you have to do is sign up for our mailing list in the boxes on the right ON or BEFORE St. Patrick's Day, 2008, and you could win 1.) A box of gently read books totaling more than $180 in value or 2.) A selection of Mrs. Grossman's Stickers.

Come on and get lucky!
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Joanna Campbell Slan is the author of ten non-fiction books. Her new series set in St. Louis will debut in September with Paper, Scissors, Death: A Scrapbooking Mystery (ISBN: 0-7387-1250-7) from Midnight Ink. Joanna and her family live in St. Louis.