Blog Tour: Once in a Lifetime by Jill Shalvis

I mentioned a while back that I love airport bookstores because the limited selection often forces me to try books I might have otherwise missed. Well, the same can be said for the book aisles in grocery stores.

A few years ago I was stuck out at a house that I rent waiting for someone to come and turn the gas back on so the new tenant could move in. In the grand tradition of such things, this was going to happen sometime in a four hour window.

I was stuck in a house devoid of furniture, television or computers. I had yet to succumb to the lure of the smart phone. And, horror of horrors, I was without a book. It had been one of those days. I'd been twenty minutes into the hour and a half drive to the house before realizing that I'd forgotten the house keys and had to go back and start all over. It wasn't overly surprising that I'd also managed to leave my book on the bedside table.

So, to the local grocery store I went, for a much needed jolt of Dr. Pepper and literary balm for my diminishing sanity. I grabbed the first book that seemed interesting and beat a path back to the house in case the gentleman from the gas company arrived on the early end of the spectrum.

He didn't.

And I didn't care.

Sitting on the floor of the unheated living room, with my coat securely fastened against the December chill, I was first introduced to Jill Shalvis' Lucky Harbor. Between my Dr. Pepper IV and Maddie & Tara's stories, the three and a half hours I spent waiting seemed like nothing. By the time I was on the road home again, I knew that I had made a whole new group of literary friends and also had a new location to add to my list of fictional places I'd like to reside. I've happily gone back to visit with every new addition to the series and am always anxious to return again.

Which is why I was super excited Once In A Lifetime was released on Tuesday. I couldn't wait to get to know Aubrey and Ben better. Particularly after receiving this from Ms. Shalvis:

Top 5 Favorite Quotes from ONCE IN A LIFETIME

1. He was in jeans, wearing a tool belt slung low on his hips, his T-shirt clinging to him. He seemed a little irritated, a little sweaty, and just looking at him Aubrey got a whole lot hot and bothered in places that had no business being hot and bothered by this man at all.

2.  He was back in his tool belt, which was made of leather and crinkled all male-like when he moved. Plus, it forced his jeans a little low on his hips. She couldn’t stop staring, because there was something about the way he wore his clothes that suggested he’d look even better without them.

3.  She had no idea how long they kissed—and kissed—but she didn’t think about stopping until she ran out of air. Breathing hard, she slowly opened her eyes and stared directly into his.

      They’d heated. Darkened. And something else. He wasn’t looking so relaxed now. In fact, he was looking the opposite of relaxed. He looked…feral.

      And she was his prey.

4. “You’d better say it again,” he said very quietly.

     “What?”

     “That you don’t want me.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “Because you’re looking at me like I’m dinner and you haven’t eaten all day.”

5.  His mouth should be illegal in all fifty states, but she bet he could do things with it. Things she wanted.

      Bad.



So, I decided to read just the first few chapters last night before bed. You know, a nice way to unwind. (This is how I've been tricking myself into reading later than I should for the last twenty odd years. I fall for it every time.)

Naturally, I read the whole thing. And today, as I suffer from chronic yawnies, I can't even find it in me to be annoyed at Past Kelly. Because, if I were in her shoes right now...I'd probably make the same decision.

It would totally be worth it.

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Once in a Lifetime

ONCE IN A LIFETIME by Jill Shalvis (February 18, 2014; Grand Central Publishing Mass Market; $6.00)

SOMETIMES WRONG IS OH-SO-RIGHT
After a wrenching loss, Ben McDaniel tried to escape his grief by working in dangerous, war-torn places like Africa and the Middle East. Now he's back in his hometown and face-to-face with Aubrey Wellington, the hot-as-hell woman who is trouble with a capital T. Family and friends insist she's not the one to ease his pain, but Aubrey sparks an intense desire that gives Ben hope for the future.

Determined to right the wrongs of her past, Aubrey is working hard to make amends. But by far, the toughest challenge to her plan is sexy, brooding Ben - even though he has absolutely no idea what she's done . . .

Can this unlikely couple defy the odds and win over the little town of Lucky Harbor?

About the author:

New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis lives in a small town in the Sierras full of quirky characters. Any resemblance to the quirky characters in her books is, um, mostly coincidental. Look for Jill's bestselling, award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

Social Media Links:

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Buy Links:

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Summer Reading List

Hello all!

It's been far too long, I know. Things have been a bit wacky. In the last few weeks, I've completed the international leg of my summer travel, been given a beautiful nephew by my brother and sister-in-law, and fought off the demon virus gnomes that thought they could defeat me. Silly fools. I have squashed their virus gnome bodies beneath my Velcro-laden sneaker.

Anyway, I am back in both the USA and good health, so huzzah!

To that end, I should be posting a bit more frequently before getting back to regular business this fall. No more of this month between writing nonsense. That's for the birds.

You know what's pretty great about travel? I mean, beside the whole seeing awesome places thing.

Reading time.

The past three months has been an awesome reading extravaganza. Being that it's vacation time, the material has been weighted to the romantic, but a few other genres have made appearances.

Here's what I've read so far:

• The Nightmare Affair (Mindee Arnett)
• Bolted (Meg Benjamin)
• Soulless (Gail Carriger)
• Graceling (Kristin Cashore)
• Man in the Empty Suit (Sean Ferrell)
• Hooked (Liz Fichera)
• The Best Man (Kristan Higgins)
• Love Irresistibly (Julie James)
• Practice Makes Perfect (Julie James)
• Jilted (Kelly Jamieson)
• Again the Magic (Lisa Kleypas)
• Secrets of a Summer Night (Lisa Kleypas)
• Shrapnel (Stephanie Lawton)
• Just One Kiss (Susan Mallery)
• Hitched (Erin Nicholas)
• It Had to Be You (Jill Shalvis)
• Double Play (Jill Shalvis)
• Slow Heat (Jill Shalvis)
• Busted (Sydney Somers)
• Poison (Bridget Zinn)

And next up:

• The Pericles Commission (Gary Corby)
• Unveiled (Lauren Grimley)
• OCD Love Story (Cory Ann Haydu)
• False Memory (Dan Krokos)
• Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman (JB Lynn)
• A Trace of Moonlight (Allison Pang)
• Divergent (Veronica Roth)
• Code Name Verity (Elizabeth Wein)

So, what have you been reading lately?

I Feel Like I've Read This Somewhere Before....

I’ve gotten the chance to do a lot of reading lately (a big YAY to that). While most of the stories have been wonderful, a couple have fallen into one of my biggest literary pet peeves.

Too much repetition.

Conflict is the heart and soul of any story. There’s something that must be dealt with for the protagonist to make it to that possibly happily ever after. And whatever that something is? The protagonist wants nothing to do with it.

And that’s great. Particularly when there’s a compelling reason for the protagonist to want to maintain distance – something more interesting that “Cause I don’t wanna!” But no matter how fantastic and understandable a reason the protagonist is given, I still don’t want to read it two hundred times in two hundred and fifty pages.

Say, for instance, there’s a girl whose hardworking father is employed by county’s Public Works Sewer Utility Division. Well, come “Take Your Daughter” to work day, she dons her goulashes and descends into the caverns below. And who does she meet, but a wounded ammit, begging for help to get back home. Despite being a peaceable sort, the girl’s first instinct is to chop the ammit’s head right off. After all, her mother’s heart had been consumed by an ammit, damning her spirit to an eternity of restlessness. Now, she haunts her daughter while increasingly going more insane.

Awesome. I’m totally on board with the reason this girl wants nothing to kill this creature. However, a good story is going to have a reason why she ends up helping the ammit. Such as saving her mother’s soul. And so the story continues.

Now, I’d want to see that the girl was conflicted. That she didn’t trust the damn ammit. That she has to hide her journey from her father who will, without hesitation, chop the thing in two. And all of this will stem from what happened to her mother.

But what happened to her mother is not the story.

This is about what’s happening to this girl.

So, the mother’s plight can color things, but sweet heavens, I do not want to see restated in every chapter. Mom’s had a rough time. Daughter’s a little touchy because of it.

I get it.

When I see back story like this showing up with an absurd frequency it makes me wonder if the person telling the story doesn’t seriously underestimate the intelligence of the person reading. Don’t get me wrong, I like these windows into the character’s motivations, but at least spread it out a little. My memory can take it.

First tell us that the mom had her heart eaten.

Later, maybe a bit on her going insane.

Down the line, the reason that the ammit judged her heart to be impure in the first place.

If it’s going to be a constant throughout the story, tell me a little bit at a time. Don’t tell me all at once in the first chapter and then rehash it again and again and again.

So, that’s one of my pet peeves when it comes to stories. Let’s hear one of yours.

Giving Up What's Good For You....Apparently a No-No

When I was in fifth grade, I decided that for Lent I wanted to really make a sacrifice. I thought about it and thought about it, wracking my brain for what would be the hardest to give up.

Soda? Definitely liked that, but we didn’t normally have a ton of it in the house. It was more of a going out to dinner thing, so it wouldn’t be that hard to avoid.

Candy? Delicious, but similar to the soda situation.

TV? That was getting closer. Definitely liked TV, particularly if I could put a movie on. Then it was great.

But it still didn’t seem quite right. And then it hit me. The thing that I loved doing more than anything else in the world.

Reading.

That would be hard. Really, really hard. Maybe even impossible, but I was going to try. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I was proud I had found something that would be truly difficult.

My parents, however, were not too keen on the choice.

I promised them that I was only giving up my for-fun reading, not any of my school stuff. But that didn’t seem to be enough to get them any more into the decision.

I was a stubborn kid, though. And I was standing firm. Eventually, the convinced me to talk about it with my teacher. So, the next day, I walked into St. Patrick’s School, ready for my teacher to agree with me completely.

And be a little relieved, as well.

After all, she was the second teacher to tell my parents that I really shouldn't be trying to sneakily read during math and science. Wedging the book between my lap and the desk and “discreetly” looking down at it while pretending to take notes? Apparently not fooling anyone.

So, yes, I was expecting relief.

As soon as I told her, I could tell I wasn’t going to get the agreement I was looking for. She sat me down and told me that she thought it was very nice that I wanted to make such a big sacrifice, but that no one, especially God, wanted me to give up anything that was good for me. And reading, she was very insistent, was good for me. She told me that just like we shouldn’t give up food that makes our body stronger, we shouldn’t be giving up anything that makes out minds stronger.

In the face of all this unexpected exaltation of reading, how could I cast it aside, even temporarily? So, I chose a different sacrifice to make and kept on “hiding” my books under the desk (in retrospect, my teacher probably would have supported me giving up that one particular activity, but I was an all or nothing sort of kid).

And I learned that no matter how noble your intentions, reading is just too important to give up.

Getting Lost in Some Good Books

On Friday I participated in the Back From the Future Blogfest and one of the things I received from Future Me was a holographic eReader. (Note to all you technological types out there: Please get on this. I would like one for real.)

This got me thinking about which books I would like to Pagemaster the most.

I think I’d start by jumping into Deborah Harkness’ A Discovery of Witches. For one thing, I’ve never been to England, so this seems like a good way to see it. Plus, quite a bit of this book takes place in libraries, so if I start getting a little nervous are all the witches, vampires and demons, at least I’ll still be surrounded by the comfort of books. It seems like a good way to ease myself into the worlds of fiction.

Definitely want to see Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus. And with this eReader I don’t have to wait until nightfall. Take that reveurs!

However, in terms of magical worlds, I’d be very reluctant to read the Harry Potter books on this contraption. Mostly because I’m pretty sure if I ever made my way into Hogwarts, I wouldn’t want to come out. And I just don't think holographic food is going to be as life-sustaining as the real stuff.

I’d be completely willing to get Lost in a Good Book of Jasper Fforde’s. Access to all those literary characters in one place. Fantastic. But I’d go even if I wasn’t going to get the chance to see all of them. Why? Two words: pet dodo. And I’m sold.

Oooh, and Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time! The suburban world that young Christopher John Francis Boone lives in may not be that far from ones I’ve experienced, but I’m guessing as the book is written in first person that this mystical eReader would show it to me from Christopher’s point of view. And that would be more than worth the re-read.

And, of course, eventually I need to check out Dracula, one of my earliest introductions to Gothic horror. Mostly I want to see if it’s as gloomy and raining as I always imagine it to be. Seriously, pick up that book and thunder starts booming in my head.

Once again, I’m waiting on those of you more technologically minded than myself to figure this whole thing out. Until you do, I’m just going to keep running inside libraries during thunderstorms and hope to get knocked out.

After all, it worked for Richard Tyler.

How Do You Read?

Do you like to look at the words or do you absorb more when someone else is reading and favor audio books? If so, are there consistent parts where you find your mind wandering? 

And if you like to look at the words yourself do you skim? Pore over every word? Or is it a mix?

I used to think I was a pore-r, but over the years I've realized that's not entirely accurate. I know this because as an avid re-reader, I almost always discover something new on the second go-around. Some little piece of magic that didn't quite register the first time.

Rarely though is it dialogue. Regardless of genre, conversations between multiple characters or between a character and his/her self is always something I focus on. Probably because conversations are something I find interesting in my off-the-page life. Or maybe because dialogue is something I like to read aloud when I have the chance and that just makes it harder to miss. Seriously, try it. With voices. It's awesome.

But regardless of the reason, I must declare myself a mixer. 

So, what are you?

A Picture May Be Worth A Thousand Words, But Pictures With Words Are Priceless

We had rehearsal in a different place last night. Generally we meet up every night at a nearby elementary school, but last night they were having an event.

I still had to drive past the elementary school to get to the new rehearsal location. If I’m being honest, the big sign proclaiming “Book Fair” kind of made me want to stop by for a second. I, not at all surprisingly, used to love whenever my school did anything book related. Fairs were fantastic. And whenever the Scholastic pamphlet came out, I would spend the rest of my day circling all books that I wanted, so that I could make an educated decision over which ones I would declare to my parents that I couldn’t live without.

It got me thinking about some of the earliest books I remember reading – the picture books that still hold places on my shelves.

Bill Martin Jr. and Eric Carle were big favorites for me early on. Martin came to my school once and signed my copy of Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? And my young life was perfect. A few years back, I spent some time with one of my little cousins and we read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (Martin & John Archambault). Sitting there, chanting about the alphabet, I had some pretty strong memories of climbing up into the top bunk in the room I shared with my sister, clutching that book to my chest, beside myself excited that my parents had just gotten it for me.

Judi and Ron Barrett’s Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs was a book I read over and over again. Not only did I love the idea that food would rain from the sky, but I was absolutely enamored with the illustrations of this book. The expressions of the Chewandswallow citizens as the weather turned on them were well worth turning the pages for.

Chris Van Allsburg’s Jumanji was another book where the illustrations just got to me. That, plus I always really, really wanted my board games to come alive. Apparently, I wanted to make all the same mistakes as Judy and Peter. Also, Van Allsburg’s The Polar Express continues to be displayed on my coffee table every December. And I still feel a twist of heartbreak when the little boy realizes he has a hole in his pocket.

Keeping with yesterday’s discussion of alternative fairy tales, how could I not love Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith’s The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs!? Poor Mr. Wolf. Just trying to get a cup of sugar…. And, of course, Robert Munsch and Michael Martchenko’s The Paper Bag Princess. I mean, Princess Elizabeth not only outsmarts a dragon and saves and dumps a prince, but also manages to keep her paper bag from going up in flames. That’s just impressive.

Okay, clearly I could go on like this for awhile. Every time I write one book done, two more that I love pop into my head. But it’s your turn now – What were some of your earliest and most enduring literary loves?

Security Blankets of the Literary Persuasion

I was reading this article yesterday and it got me thinking about my own comfort books. You know, the ones I can count on to give me the warm and fuzzies when I’m feeling homesick or just need a little break.

Given how frequently I like to revisit books, my list of such stories can get pretty unwieldy. So, I’ve limited myself to ten of my most tried and true. Many of them have been popping up in my reading rotation for the last 10-15 years. I’m happy to say that since getting out of school in May, I’ve read a number of books that are sure to be added to this list. But for now, I’m sticking to ones that have proven themselves as reliable soothers for at least a few years.

To keep this from getting too out of hand, I’m going to describe my favorite aspects of the stories in ten words or less. 

The Two Princesses of Bamarre (Gale Carson Levine)

-          Adventure centered on sisters, with happy (but not neat) ending.

Wraith Squadron (Aaron Allston)

-          Screw-ups who aren’t ready to throw in the towel yet.

Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)

-          Not an unflawed character in the lot. What’s not to love?

Cards on the Table (Agatha Christie)

-          Murder victim sets up card game between sleuths and suspects.

Animorphs: In the Time of Dinosaurs (K.A. Applegate)

-          Animorphs, time travel, dinosaurs. Pure awesome.

Fahrenheit 451 (Ray Bradbury)

-          Book banning at a more intense level. Terrifying.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (J.K. Rowling)

-          Introduction of Remus Lupin. Enough said.

Jewels of the Sun (Nora Roberts)

-          Whose life wouldn’t be improved by some lovelorn ghosts?

The Doomsday Key (James Rollins)

-          Classic race to save the world and some Celtic lore.

The Indian in the Cupboard (Lynne Reid Banks)

-          Old cupboard? A lone figurine? Best birthday gifts ever.

Okay, your turn. What books do you go back to when you need a little pick-me-up?

Much More Telling Than My Being a Leo....

Who hasn’t watched a scene in a movie or TV show where some character unknowingly sports a “Kick Me” sign on his back? I’m pretty sure my first exposure to it was Eugene in Grease.

Well, Jennifer Colgan over at Killer Chicks posits that we’re all wearing signs we can’t see. Now, the signs she’s talking about aren’t hung by the T-birds, but are instead messages that we unconsciously put forward into the world. And they garner just as many reactions from those around us. 

I’ve known for years what my invisible sign is:

I WORK IN THIS BOOKSTORE.

Now, I have never worked in a bookstore. I did spend one summer working at a library, but that’s the closest I’ve ever gotten. Still, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve been stopped while perusing the shelves to be asked where another patron can find the book they’re looking for.

It started in eighth grade. My mother and I went to the mall after school. A mall that I loved because it had two bookstores, one on each end. I, naturally, paid a visit to both that day. And in both, I was stopped by people who thought I was an employee.

At that point, I just assumed it was because of my outfit. We’d had a Christmas show in school and I was wearing a white button down shirt tucked into black pants. It could have been a uniform. So that must have been it.

Except it wasn’t.

Since that day, over and over again, I’ve been asked “Do you work here?” more times than I can count. Once I was stopped as I was exiting the store, coat on. The patron had just barely crossed the threshold, made eye contact and asked if I was employed by the establishment.

With the exception of that day when I was thirteen, my bookstore attire generally consists of jeans and a sweater – nothing particularly uniform-y there. I’m not one to sport a name tag for the sheer fun of it, so that can’t be it. Never once have I asked anyone if they need assistance in locating a desired tome. If people inquired about my employment in other types of stores, I might just assume that I have a shop-clerky look about me.

But it is only bookstores.

It’s possible my reading obsession shines a little brighter in a bookstore, drawing people to me. Or maybe, folks just assume that anyone carrying that many books around must be restocking the shelves.

I’m not sure. But I do know that it’s my invisible sign. 

What’s yours?

I'd even settle for the Eenie Meenie Miney Moe method...

Do you know the song “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind,” by The Lovin’ Spoonful? It starts off with:

Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Pick up on one, and leave the other behind

It’s not often easy, and not often kind

Did you every have to make up your mind?

I can remember this because I used to sing it to my sister. You see, it got on her nerves and being a kid, this, of course, made it hysterical to me. But, the song came to mind today when I was reading a post on problematic protagonists. The list provided here was excellent, but I would add one more to the catalog: “Unable to Make a Decision.”

Have you ever read a book and felt like things just keep happening to the main character? It’s not that the protagonist is making them happen. Nope, just along for the ride.

In times of action, this is the person who fights the good fight only when forced to. Strong beliefs are sometimes professed, but rarely do they lead to an actual choice. No, this character waits around until the surrounding circumstances whittle down the options, then participates with an sense of resignation.

When more than one alternative presents itself (employment opportunities, love triangles, gelato flavors, etc.) the protagonist is truly stymied, bouncing back and forth between options, never happy, always tortured by the difficulty of the choice. But the excuse is always that the options are just all so flip-flopping fantastic, never that this individual’s way of deciding is to passive-aggressively force someone else to, so that no responsibility ever need be taken. So our hero just waits around allowing things to work themselves out. I mean, they’re bound to run out of some of that gelato eventually, right? No effort needed.

These characters drive me straight on up the wall. They prompt me to throw books, which then leads to hours upon hours of me apologizing to the book, ‘cause it’s not its fault that these characters are acting like dinkuses.

I want a character who makes a choice. Who sees that something is coming down the road and preemptively says, “I’m not going to wait for that to get here, I’m going to [insert decision here].” Now, I don’t care if I agree with the choice. I could hate it. Maybe I think it’s the dumbest decision anyone has ever made heretofore on this planet. Who cares? The protagonist didn’t wait for an event to just happen to him. He took control of the action and I applaud that, regardless of how dumbass I may think the choice is. Because the character proved that he was not so scared of the fallout of the decision that he would avoid making it.

And that’s a character I can support. One who looks at a situation, takes control of his role in it, and is willing to deal with the consequences.

How about you? Any character types who make you want to run for the hills, screaming like a tiny baby monkey?

To sprint or to savor....that is the question

How do you read?

I would say that at least eight out of every ten books I read are completed in one sitting. When I was kid, this would have been ten out of ten. But with work and whatnot, this percentage has taken a hit.

This kind of reading is both good and bad. Good because I get to know what happens faster. Bad because that means the book is over.

From the second I start to read, I am at a constant war with myself.

On one side, we have the savor-er. She’s been waiting to enjoy this book, either for months, or since she picked it up at the bookstore twenty minutes ago (both can seem like an eternity). She wants to take note of every detail. Wander through the world of the book until it’s a second home. She plans on knowing the characters better than they know themselves, on shaking her head, small smile lighting her face, when they do something foolish and feel a swelling sense of pride in these folks when they find their way of out of the corner they’d boxed themselves into. She is the strong, silent type. Calm, cool and collected.

And in the other corner, we have the sprint-er. She can see the finish line and she wants to know what’s waiting on the other side. She’s in love with the world and wants to run through it with wild abandon. Rather than stopping to smell the roses, she’s gonna give them a wave as she log rolls down a hill. She’s not at all convinced that the characters know what’s best for themselves, but she’s willing to help them out. She starts out with some helpful suggestions. But they just don’t listen. That’s when the yelling begins. It’s not that she wants to give them a hard time, but come on…she can’t just sit there. And she certainly can’t put the book down and go to sleep, when she knows that they’re struggling. When they eventually get her message and start getting their lives together, she knows that they couldn’t have done it without her. She’s a little kid. Hopped up on Nesquik, pixy stix, and Mallomars.

You see, I consider myself a (relatively) sane person, but put a book in my hand and all bets are off. Battle lines have been drawn and the fighting has begun. On rare occasions, the savor-er wins out. She calms the Tasmanian devil within. More often than not, though, the sprint-er seduces her over to the other side with promises of answers to all those questions she has about the characters and why they are the way that they are and where they’re going to end up. Well, answers and Mallomars.

And then the book is over and the sprint-er looks over at the savor-er and asks, Why’d you just let me run through that?? Now it’s over! I don’t want it to be over! What were you thinking? The savor-er loses the calm, cool and collected vibe she’s so proud of and just starts yelling, You never listen to me, you crazed lunatic! You just bolt through everything like you’re a damn roadrunner. Sprint-er: Yeah, I’d like to see your gravity lessons! Savor-er: What does that even mean? Okay, hold on. This is going off the rails here. It’s fine. We can just reread the book later.

And with that all sorted out, I put the book down and the two sides coalesce back into one.

Until next time.

Dreaming of Summer Days

Is it just me or has every day since the groundhog saw his shadow been colder and colder? I personally think Punxutawney Phil wields more power than he should. But, as I’m not currently in the position to usurp his shadowy throne, (it would be the height of hubris to think I could take on the squirrels and the groundhogs at once. Plus, it’s not all groundhogs that are a problem. Just that arrogant Phil. Seriously.....not looking to start anything with the groundhogs.) I will content myself with summer-related memories until the weather warms again.

First things first, I need to admit something: There have been rumors that I might be part vampire. Not due to any bloodlust or anything. (I fainted once, lying down, when I was giving blood at a work blood drive.) My vampiric tendencies lean more towards sun avoidance. You see, I don’t tan. If the sun touches my skin, it does one of two things:

1) Bounces off the SPF – 2 million I have slathered on and blinds innocent passers-by or
2) Turns me a festive fuchsia and draws attention to that fact with weltiness.

Actually, I should say that it does one of three things because sometimes you can get a fun mix of 1 and 2. Once while applying my SPF – 2 million, I apparently tired of the process. I put my hand on the back of my leg, but did not come even close to spreading the suntan lotion evenly. It was hours later that I noticed the welting on my leg, all focused around a very white handprint. For weeks, it looked as though I had been slapped from the inside. Which would be an acceptable punishment for being eighteen and unable to apply suntan lotion proficiently.

Taking this into account, I avoid the beach. Tanning has never worked out and there is the extra side effect of the sun making me sleepy. So, I fall asleep under the rays thinking, How lovely to be bathed in this warmth, and wake up thinking, When was I immersed in hell and how did I miss the process? At this point, I generally find that my mother noticed my shiny white skin glistening in the vicious sunlight, got nervous about my fate and cocooned me – head and all – in every towel we brought with us. Or in the case of one afternoon, my friends completely buried my body in the sand and placed a bandanna over my face because “we didn’t want you to get sunburned.” Their concern was touching.

Despite my eternal struggle with the fiery ball above, I do have a perfect beach memory. It, not surprisingly, involves a book. The Fairy Rebel by Lynne Reid Banks, to be exact. My mom and I read almost all of Banks’ books together. So, The Fairy Rebel and the promise of an umbrella was enough to get me down to the beach. It was just the two of us. We sat there in the shade all day. While others threw nerf footballs, built and destroyed sandcastles, and splashed in the water, we whiled away the hours with Jan, Tiki and Bindi. We took only one short break to get our feet wet and walk up to the boardwalk (where I got one of those tiny gelatinous sharks that get 10x bigger when you put it in water – Score!).

We read the whole book on that beach. I would read a few pages every now and then, but mostly I just listened to my mom telling me the story.

Even now, when I hear the ocean, I picture Tiki in her little jeans. When I smell suntan lotion or treat myself to one of those gelatinous expand-o sharks (still cool), I think about that most perfect day at the beach and the little rebellious fairy.

"Mouth Moves When She Reads"

When we were kids, my sister went through a “Harriet the Spy” phase in which she took notes on the family in a journal. I later found out her comments about me were “My sister’s mouth moves when she reads” and “My sister slurps when she eats cereal.” I’ve managed to cut the sound effects out of my breakfast, but I’m pretty sure the other observation still stands.

I realized pretty quickly in life that it wasn’t enough for me to simply hear the story. I had to be part of it.

When it comes to reading, I always prefer when I'm alone. It's not because I lack concentration when other people are around. This is, thankfully, an ability I possess. I credit this to two young gentlemen with whom I spent many an afternoon waiting for the bus. While I whiled away the minutes reading, they did their utmost to distract me. Running around in circles, nudging me as they went by. Yelling – sometimes words, sometimes just sound. They were unsuccessful in their quest, though their persistence was admirable. Thanks to their efforts, I came out of elementary school with a knack for zoning out everything around me as soon as there was a book in my hands.

More than one teacher told my parents that I needed to stop reading under the desk while they were going over the lessons. I was deaf to the warning. When my parents were finally able to talk me into going to the school roller skating party, I stuck a book in my coat, found an empty corner and had a lovely evening.

No, my desire to read in solitude does not spring from an issue in concentration, but because I want to hear what the lines really sounded like. The dialogue on the page is so real to me that it has always seemed wrong that it should sound only in my head. So I started, and have continued, to do the conversations out loud, often including accents. Sometimes I choose one character and do only their voice. Other times, I have to be everyone.

All in all, it just seems like a better idea to do this in the privacy of my own room. People get nervous when they’re stuck next to someone who is holding all sides of a multi-person conversation. Go figure.