Please welcome KJ Montgomery to Dreamland. KJ has achieved her dream by publishing her novel, "Trove" (you get a sneak peek later on).

KJ, tell us a little bit about yourself.

I’m a right-brained soul trapped in a left-brained career. What I mean by that is my career deals with numbers and data. Imagine dealing with that five days a week (and some weekends) when my creative side is screaming to get out and take control…some days it’s tough to deal with the left-brain stuff.

I’ve lived in coastal New England all my life. I’m never far from the mountains nor the ocean, it’s the perfect location.

How and why did you start writing?

I’ve always had stories playing in my mind. A few years ago, I was presented with an opportunity with some job flexibility and I decided that now was the time to start “downloading” these stories.


Downloading -- that's a good (and very modern) way to put it. Now for some quick questions:
Who is your favorite author or with whom would you most like to be compared?

I’d have to say Jane Austen is my favorite. The fact that she dared do something that was out of societal norms and that her work is still around and admired today speaks volumes about her “voice.”

As for comparisons, I believe that every writer has a unique story to tell so to compare one with another is difficult to do. Having said that, I wouldn’t mind my “Katie Walsh Mysteries” someday, way down the road, being considered as a different flavor of Jim Butcher’s “The Dresden Files.”

What do you like to do when not writing, working, taking care of house and family? In other words, what feeds your soul?

I love spending time with my two nephews. I watch in amazement as their minds grow and their world expands. I also love to read (LOL who would think that?), gather with friends, and spend time watching the night sky in the mountains of New Hampshire.

What do you wear when writing?

It has to be comfortable. In the Summer it’s t-shirts and jeans and in the Winter it’s fleece. I have to confess, I have a fondness for lilac and pink. Both are very easy colors to find in my wardrobe and yet I have almost nothing in green.

If you play music while writing, what music genre works best for your muse?

It is totally dependent on the scene. If it is a tense scene between my heroine, Katie and my hero, Alec, I’ll listen to something like Adam Lambert’s “What Do You Want From Me?” and I’ll just have it repeat. It helps get me into a zen-like state. If it’s an upbeat scene, I listen to something like Breakout’s “Swing Out Sister.”

Music definitely helps set the scene. Now for some one word answers:
Favorite drink?

Cream soda

Favorite food?
Italian

Favorite vacation spot?
Mountains

Thanks, KJ, for allowing us to know you a little better. Before we get to the excerpt, where can we buy your book?

My book is available on line at Amazon Kindle, Amazon Print and on my website, www.kjmontgomery.com 

Love your website and I can definitely tell you like lilacs and purples. The premise behind your book is intriguing--here's the blurb:



Katie Walsh is an investigative mythologist seeking clues that could lead her into the very distant past and uncover the secrets of the mythic Norland. Alec MacGowan is an archaeologist searching for clues in the recent past in an attempt to bring a murderer to justice.
Anonymous lovers five years before, they’re re-united as their worlds collide when they are thrown together to decipher the murdered man’s notes and identify his killer. As the quest unfolds, they are forced to deal with their simmering attraction and hidden secrets.
Can they uncover the secret hidden in the murdered man’s notes before the killer finds them? And can they open their hearts to each other before it’s too late?

Thanks for visiting, KJ! And now, an excerpt from the book...

______________________________________________

Alec MacGowan, watched the woman and the interplay with the red-haired male, appreciating the genuine warmth he detected in their greeting. The affection between them suggested more than friends. Lovers perhaps? She was exactly as Robert had described her: petite, about five feet tall without the killer heels, chestnut hair, sparkling eyes that were noticeable even behind her glasses or maybe because of them. His appreciation of her grew as he noted that she had curves in all the right places, though Robert neglected to mention that. She had a woman’s figure, something to hold onto, sink his fingers into. He hated the way modern women tried to deny the luscious curves that nature endowed them with.

He noted that she was not a staid academic as most PhDs he’d dealt with seemed to be. She was not one to hide behind the academic uniform of dark man-tailored suits. She was wearing a red dress that accented her figure, hugging and folding against her body suggestively, while the other females were dressed in variations of their unspoken dress code. Most researchers were rather bookish or totally obnoxious and angry at the world, though he had to concede that the research profession was very cutthroat. Competent people were forced to fight each other to grab their piece of a finite amount of financing. But she… she seemed alive. Robert was right, though. She didn’t look like a pushover. She was definitely in charge of the huge man with her, or was it more that he was protective of her, indulging her, but protecting her?
He watched her as she headed toward the bar and him. As she neared, he started towards them and then froze. No, it can’t be her. It couldn’t be KitKat, the woman with whom he spent the night five years ago.

His anonymous lover had a name and her name was Dr. Katie Walsh. Damn, this makes everything more complicated.

He exhaled, steadied himself, and stepped in front of her, effectively and totally blocking her path as she neared the bar with the red-headed male in her wake.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Dr. Katie Walsh of the Nordstrom Institute?”

She halted, forced to stop abruptly. She teetered in her high heels, grabbing the red-haired man’s arm to avoid ending up in a heap on the floor. She raised her head and scowled. He watched her closely as she scanned his face for recognition. He mused that it may have been difficult since her glasses had slid down from the bridge of her little nose and were now resting on the tip of it, clearly in danger of continuing their downward path.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, but do I know you? You look somewhat familiar, but I can’t seem to recall your name.”

“We have a mutual acquaintance, Robert Baines.”

 “Really?” she said, tilting her head slightly, releasing her scowl at the mention of Robert. “How do you know Robert?”

“Actually, he’s my half-brother.” He added, “My older half-brother by three years. I’m Dr. Alec MacGowan, archaeologist.” He reached over, and with his forefinger, he gently pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose then nodded his head slightly. “At your service.”

****
Stepping back, Katie studied his face. What incredible grey eyes, she thought before she continued the perusal. Smoky grey eyes, almost black, silky straight hair touched with grey at the temples, high cheekbones, and a body that exuded masculinity… My God, she wanted to scream, it can’t be him. She swallowed, trying to maintain her control as visions of his long body draped over hers flashed before her. Concentrate, Katie, concentrate. He was dressed in a navy suit and a pale blue oxford shirt, his tie loose at the neck. He looked every bit the sexy “love ‘em and leave ‘em type,” straight out of a Hollywood film. Yet that’s exactly what she did five years ago. She’d picked him up, loved him and left him in the pre-dawn light after that wickedly delicious night. Oh my God, it is him, she moaned inwardly as she forced herself to listen to what he was saying while her heart raced and her breath tried to keep time.

She reached up and tucked her hair behind her right ear as she subconsciously licked her lips. “I can see a physical resemblance around the mouth and I think you have the same nose.”
 But Robert didn’t have a brother, did he? He’d never mentioned it in the almost seven years they’d been friends. Surely he would’ve mentioned a brother, even if it was only a half-brother. “So, Dr. MacGowan, how is Bobby?”

“He’s fine. He asked me to remind you that he still owes you a dinner. Oh, and by the way, Dr. Walsh, you know as well as I do that no one, and I mean no one, calls him Bobby. If you want to call him and verify my identity be my guest. Actually…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone, giving Katie a glimpse of the muscled chest straining against the confining material, the chest she had explored, caressed, kissed for one night of unbridled, decadent passion. Her fingers itched to wind themselves in the dark hair she knew was hidden under the shirt, to revel in its silkiness. “Allow me.”

The heat spread across her face like wildfire. Was it because he was calling her out for testing him, or was it because she was remembering how his body felt pressed intimately against hers? Hopefully, in the subdued lighting he wouldn’t notice. She reached for his cell phone, the call already connecting. “Hello, Robert?”

“Katie. So he’s found you.”

Her free hand rested on her hip. “Yes. I’m standing here with this guy, and he claims to be your brother. Dark hair, grey eyes, about six-three I’m guessing.”

“Half-brother,” Alec corrected, his elbow propped casually against the high, free-standing cocktail table.

“Excuse me, your half-brother. Who is he?”

“He’s my half-brother Alec MacGowan. He’s an archaeologist.”

“Mm, a digger,” she murmured. “So he’s safe to be around? You know how I feel about diggers. I mean, he’s not a modern day Jack the Ripper-type is he?” Why, oh why, did he have to be a digger?

Robert’s laugh was clearly audible as her eyes swept from Eric to Alec. Eric looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from his left to his right foot. Alec wore a smug grin.

“No, Katie, he’s safe to be around. You have my word on that.”

She wished she could believe him. She wanted to ask him why he neglected to tell her, his very close friend, that he had a brother. But this wasn’t the time or place. She sighed. “Thanks. I’ll see you when I get back to Boston.” She ended the call and thrust the phone at him, letting her other hand drop from her hip. “Seems like you’re legit.”

He winked. “Yep, got all my papers in order and I’m housebroken too."

_______________________________________________

Mystery, humor and romance--I'm looking forward to a series of Katie Walsh mysteries and I hope you are, too.

Have book, will travel

When people think of writers, they usually imagine someone locked in a room with their computer, drinking endless cups of coffee, typing paragraphs and then deleting them. The sign on the door says "Go Away!" and family and friends interrupt at their peril.

I don't fit this profile, and neither do any of my writing friends. We're out and around, meeting and greeting.

In the past few weeks I've gone to Charlotte to hear Ron Rash read from his latest book "Nothing Gold Can Stay," to Book' Em North Carolina in Lumberton for the lectures and workshops. What a privilege to listen to Mary Alice Monroe talk about where she gets her ideas--by volunteering with sea turtle rehab and training baby porpoises! Does that sound like she's hiding behind her computer? No? Doesn't to me, either. And as for Mr. Rash, he's on a tour in Europe.

Every month I go to the Carolina Romance Writers to hear a morning speaker and participate in an afternoon workshop. Writers can't write unless they know their craft, and what better way to learn than with others with the same dreams and goals as you? I can read all the books on the shelf about "How to Write" and still get more from a published author who is in the same room, making eye contact, and answering my questions about something that wasn't in the book.

Writers attend conferences in droves -- half of my writing group is packing up to go to the RWA conference in Atlanta this year, hoping to find inspiration, an agent or editor, or new friends.

And, writers give talks at libraries and book clubs and book stores and just about anywhere they're invited. They love to talk about their books and to meet new readers.

There's another way to travel, and that's over the Internet. Writers love to have other writers appear on their blogs. Next week, my guest will be KJ Montgomery. She lives in New England, but will come all the way to North Carolina to tell us about her new book, "Trove."

Katie Walsh is an investigative mythologist seeking clues that could lead her into the very distant past and uncover the secrets of the mythic Norland. Alec MacGowan is an archaeologist searching for clues in the recent past in an attempt to bring a murderer to justice.

Well, she'll be visiting via my blog, but I hope you'll come back next week to say hello.

With all that said, writers do have to sit down at the computer (although I know at least one writer who still uses a yellow legal pad and ball-point pen) and write. Writing is the meat and potatoes. The rest is dessert.

And we all know you don't get dessert first.

And the Award goes to ...

I am thrilled that I have been nominated for this award. My friend, Joelene Coleman, nominated me. I've never met Joelene in person, but we have been on-line friends since the winter of 2010. We were both in an online class on editing through the RWA (Romance Writers of America). The class bonded so well that we didn't want to cut the connection loose, so we formed a Yahoo! group called the Writing Divas. In the two years since then, most of us have become published authors or are on the brink. Joelene has a book coming out this spring,  Designer Genes.

The rules for this award are:
Visit the blog of the person who nominated you, thank them, and acknowledge them on your blog.

Answer the questions below and nominate up to 20 loggers whom you feel are awesome and deserving of notice. Visit their blog and let them know. (I e-mailed the good news because I am not sure they would notice a comment.)

Cut and paste the award to your wall.

And answer the following questions.

So, here goes. (Imagine me standing on the high dive and gazing down. You will understand this image better  as you read on.)

If you could change one thing, what would you change?

I would take back every mean or ugly thing I've ever said. Words do hurt, and apologies, no matter how sincere, don't ease the pain. It lasts forever.

If you could be any age, what would it be?

The same age I am now. I don't want to go back and repeat mistakes or fight the same battles. I have time to write,  engage with friends and family, and read. Did I say, and read?

What is the one thing that really scares you?

Height. I never used to be afraid. As a kid, I'd climb a tree or a fire tower on the drop of a dare. Now I'm afraid to step on the second rung of the kitchen step stool. I have no idea when this sneaked up on me.

If you could be someone else for a day, who would it be?

A gymnast, ballerina, or ice skater. I've been such a klutz all my life, I'd like to know how it feels to be in control of every muscle in my body. I'd just once like to hear someone say, "Isn't she graceful!" instead of, "Uh-oh, I bet that hurt."

Now I get to nominate some bloggers. My nominees are:

Carole St. Laurent
Nancy Northcott
Robin Weaver
Ashantay Peters
Heather McGovern and Elizabeth Michaels
and the group bloggers at Bad Girlz Write

Thanks for dropping by, and please visit the links on this page. And, to my nominees, I hope you play along. It's been fun.

Books, books, books!

I love to read.

If you are reading this, your probably love to read, too. And, like me, you've probably succumbed to the lure of the e-reader.

We love the convenience, and the lower price of the digital versions of our favorite author's works. However, we have all noticed the price creep higher and higher. As one friend commented, you can buy a good used copy print cheaper than the e-version.

I have found some sites where you can get free or low-cost books that I'm happy to share.                                                                                                              

 www.nooklovers.com     

Be warned, Nook Lovers is for lovers. In other words, if you don't like romance, you won't find much on this site. If you do, you've hit a treasure trove. Books are free or under $3.99. You also need to check to see if they are still offered. I've clicked on some only to find the "free" date had expired and the book is now back to its regular price. ((Hint: although it's not listed there, "The Almost Bride" e -book is only $2.99)

www.bookbub.com

This site is for your Kindle or iPad. You sign in, check what genres you like, and get a daily e-mail with free reads you can download. Again, these offers don't last so act quickly.

Be sure to check the reviews when contemplating "purchasing" a free book. I almost got one until I saw all the complaints about the poor editing and jumpy story line. Not every free book is worth the price, but some are really good.

And last, check your local library. Many have books on line that you can borrow via your e-reader for two weeks. I was disappointed that I couldn't erase them from my Nook after reading them, and they don't disappear after the two weeks is up. (Frankly, if anyone knows how to get books OFF your Nook, and lets me in on the secret, I will personally send you the choice of one of my books.)

If you have another source of good, free or cheap books, please share with us.

After all, we love to read.

Better late than never!

I meant to post this excerpt from "The Almost Bride" last week for the Mainstream Blog Hop. No excuses (but I did enjoy my grandson's band concert).

Click HERE to join the Hop

Lily and Grady's first date--or is it?

Just as I was about to grab my purse, Grady came up and asked, “Lily, where do you keep all those take-out menus?”

I fumbled around in the shelf below the counter and brought up four or five grubby menus. Grady leafed through them, finally selected one. “How’s the Thai Garden?” he asked. “You’ve eaten there, I guess.”

“If you aren’t a fan of really hot food, I’d pick something else,” I said.

Grady put the menu down. “I thought I’d just pick up something for dinner tonight, but I can’t decide what I’m in the mood for.”

“Not cooking?” I asked.

“No, Mom and Dad were invited out for dinner with some friends. They’ll play bridge afterward.”

“I’m glad your mother is feeling well enough to go out,” I said.

He gave a non-committal little shrug. “Any suggestions?”

“What do you—” I started, and then said, “Gosh, I’m such a dope.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I have a big dinner all prepared for tonight, and a half-hour ago Dee called and cancelled. Tim Junior is sick. So here I have all this food and, well, why don’t you come and help me eat it?”

He hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to just barge in.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, more sharply than I intended. I realized I was taking my frustration out on Grady, and made an effort to soften my tone. “You aren’t barging in, I invited you. All I have to do is put the food in the oven, so if you come over in about an hour it’ll be ready. Or you can follow me home now and we can have a glass of wine while it cooks. Whatever.”

It wasn’t the most elegant invitation ever extended, but Grady’s face lit up anyway.

“Thanks. Let me get the wine. I have some …”

“Upstairs,” I finished. “Which you bought at an estate sale and then didn’t know what to do with it.”

His jaw dropped. “Uncanny. How did you know that?”

I almost answered, and then saw the teasing glint in his eyes. “Pick something that goes with chicken,” I suggested.

We walked to my house, Grady carrying the bottle of wine. When we got there, he suggested he chill it first, so I dumped some ice cubes in a large aluminum mixing bowl—the nearest thing I had to an ice bucket.

I took the chicken out of the refrigerator and laid it on a bed of the other half of the rosemary branches. I arranged the potatoes around it and put the roaster in the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes.

Grady watched. “Twenty minutes? Is that a convection oven?”

“No, the timer is to remind me to turn the temperature down. It’ll take about an hour after that.”

I tossed the salad and put a couple of the rolls in a paper bag, to be warmed at the last minute. I had set the table earlier, but I decided to leave the third place setting where it was until I cleaned up all the dishes later on. If Tim Junior had been able to come, Tim Senior would have brought his portable high chair and his Peter Rabbit dish and cup.

I found the two wine glasses Jill and I had used the night before, sparkling clean, in the cupboard. Grady said he thought the wine was cool enough by now, and poured us each a glass.

“Cheers,” I said, and he raised his glass in a half-salute. I led the way into the living room and we sat, looking at each other.

We both starting talking at once, and then laughed..

I told Grady a little about growing up in a small town and he told me what it was like to grow up in a large metropolitan area. We talked about college and our best and worst professors. We talked about siblings. I didn’t tell him about my relationship with Jill, only that she was still living with me and hadn’t yet seen a lawyer. I didn’t add that unless something drastic happened to alter the status quo, she never would.

Grady said that it must be nice for me to have her so close, although the situation was a sad one for her. I didn’t contradict him. I could be open about everything else, but I didn’t want to drag Grady into the sorry past I had with Jill and Paul.

The timer rang, and I jumped up and turned the temperature to three hundred fifty degrees. Then I sat back down and the conversation resumed.

Grady said he hadn’t seen his brother or sister in over a year, but that they kept in touch by e-mail and telephone. He sounded a little detached, and I wondered if he resented the fact that he had all of the care of their parents while they offered second-hand advice. But he didn’t complain and I didn’t ask.

He showed me pictures of his two nephews and niece. They were nice-looking teenagers, with Grady’s height and dark curls. I didn’t have a picture of Ashley. If Grady wondered why, he didn’t ask.

We were as careful not to tread on any toes as two strangers on a crowded bus.

Then Grady poured us another glass of wine and the conversation veered to movies we’d seen and favorite books we’d read.  Books led naturally to The Book Nook and Grady volunteered that profits had been up, just slightly, in the past few months.

The timer went off again, and we took our glasses to the kitchen, where I popped the rolls into the oven and mixed brown sugar with balsamic vinegar to drizzle over the chicken, which I put on a platter with the potatoes. I set out the salad with vinegar and oil cruets, and put the rolls in a basket. Grady emptied the bottle, sharing evenly between our two glasses, and we sat down. Grady carved the chicken and I dished up the salad.

I found myself really wishing Dee was here. Everything was delicious. I was as proud of myself as a hen who had laid her first egg, but I didn’t dare brag. I wanted Grady to think that I had always been an accomplished chef. I’d had just enough wine not to know that my notebook, labeled “Take-Out” in large letters and prominently displayed on the counter, gave me away.

The food and wine had relaxed both of us, and we no longer were talking at each other, but to each other. Grady had a dry wit that he allowed full reign as we discussed our customers and their foibles until ears must have been burning all across town.

I was laughing at his imitation of Mr. Kennesaw’s proprietary attitude toward the coffee machine and wondering if there was any of the Shiraz left in the refrigerator when the door opened and Jill walked in.

Grady started to stand up, but Jill waved him back and plunked herself in the chair by the unused plate. “Looks good,” she said.

“Please help yourself,” I offered. If Jill detected the note of irony in my voice, she didn’t react to it.

“Thanks.” She took a piece of chicken and the remnants of salad.

We watched as she ate as if she were a judge on Iron Chef and we were awaiting her opinion. Eventually she put her fork down. “In case you’re wondering why I’m home so early—” she started, and I nodded because I was, in fact, wondering that very thing “—I got fired.”

“Fired? Why am I not surprised?” I said. “Frankly, I’ve been expecting this.” Both Grady and Jill glared at me.

“I should have known you were waiting for me to fall on my face,” Jill said as Grady said “Gosh, Lily” to me and “Now, now,” to Jill like a father comforting twins with teething problems.

“Wait a second! I wasn’t criticizing you, Jill. It’s just that—think for a minute. How long have you work at Tubs and Towels, anyway?”

“Almost three months,” Jill said, her lips tight in anger.

“And didn’t you tell me they said you’d get a raise and be put on the company insurance plan after three months?”

She nodded. “And?”

“They’ve just saved themselves a lot of money. Tomorrow they’ll hire someone else eager to work for minimum wage. That’s all I meant,” I said, trying for a conciliatory tone.

“They told me it was because I didn’t make my sales quota,” she mumbled.

“Well, they had to give some excuse other than the truth,” I told her. “And, you just verified my suspicions about their clerks. I bet they get paid commission for any sales over a stated amount, right?”

“Yeah, but I never collected,” Jill said. “I hate trying to force people to buy something they don’t want.”

Sensing that Grady was feeling left out, I turned to face him. “That’s why I don’t even go inside the door at Tubs and Towels. I went in once for a jar of lotion and the clerk badgered me the whole time to buy all the related products in that line: bath soap, powder, after-bath spritz, shampoo, conditioner … ” I spread my fingers to show how many products I hadn’t purchased.

I turned back to Jill. “And, the quota was probably set so high no one could make it. It’s just an excuse to keep their salespeople going through a revolving door and saving them a lot of money.”

For some insane reason, Jill seemed determined to defend her former employers. “They said it cost them a lot to train sales staff and they hated to see anyone go.”

I laughed. “Sure, like how long did it take you to figure out how to use the cash register? A day?”

Grady cleared his throat to get our attention. “If that’s true, Lily, then how do they get away with it?”

“Because no one complains to the right people,” I said. “It’s easier to get another job than to jump through all the hoops a lawsuit would involve, especially against a big company like Tubs and Towels.”

“If it happened to enough people, they could start a class action suit,” Grady countered. “Jill, you could get the ball rolling.”

“Oh, please,” I said before I could stop myself from shoving my size seven Reebok in my mouth. “Jill won’t even get a lawyer to start divorce proceedings.”

Jill’s face went white even as her cheeks turned bright red. She looked a little like a blonde Raggedy Ann.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I said. “That was out of line.”

“But completely in character,” Jill spat. “You know very well why I haven’t hired a lawyer.”

“Maybe I’d better go,” Grady said uneasily, half rising.

“Sit still. I’ve got pie and coffee yet,” I ordered. I got up and measured coffee into the four-cup coffee maker. “It’s blueberry,” I told Grady, and he sat back down.

I cut three slices from the pie and replaced the dirty dishes with dessert.

“No thanks,” Jill said.

“You love blueberry.” I handed her a clean fork. She took it meekly.

I poured the coffee and we all ate. I couldn’t taste a thing and I don’t think Grady or Jill could either.

Finally Grady broke the silence. “I’m sure everything will work out,” he told Jill.

“Thanks.” She drank the last of her coffee. “I don’t guess you know of any job openings around here?”

Grady pursed his lips as if thinking intently. Then he let out a breath. “Not really,” he admitted.

“l’omelette had a sign they were hiring,” I mentioned.

“Waitressing?” She might as well have said, “Hooking?”

Now it was my turn to bridle. “I waited tables for almost nine years,” I said. “If you’re half-way efficient and pleasant, the tips aren’t bad. Paid my way through college.”  I didn’t mention that at the time I didn’t have car payments and roomed with three other students.

“Good pie,” Grady said. “Did you make it, Lily?”

I turned to look at him. “No.” I turned back to Jill. “You could work there until something better came along.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t in mirth. “Provided I get the job.”

“Well, you won’t know unless you go down and apply,” I said. “And look, it’s closer to home. You could walk.”

“Yeah, I guess you want to stop the wear and tear on your car,” she said, her voice rising.

“I didn’t say a damn thing about my car.” I raised my voice just a notch above hers.

“Great dinner, Lily, but I guess I’d better be off.” This time Grady stood all the way up.

“Uh, yeah, thanks for the wine,” I said, remembering my manners. I stood up, too, and walked him to the door.

“Sorry about this,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“My brother and I fought all the time growing up,” Grady said. “Don’t let it bother you.”

“Growing up,” I said, leaning my forehead on the door jamb. “We’re supposed to be grown up.”

Grady just chuckled. “There’s something to be said for your siblings living several states away. When you do see them, you’re on your best behavior, and by the time old rivalries flare up, they’re on their way home again.”

I managed a grin and said goodnight. Then I went back into the kitchen. Jill was eating a second piece of pie. I remembered that she always ate when stressed, and yet never gained a pound. I was willing to bet she weighed the same as she had in high school.

I poured myself another cup of coffee. After a long silence, I muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Lily, I am, too. I was just so upset.” She set her fork down on the empty plate. “Maybe I will go down to l’omelette tomorrow. It couldn’t hurt. Can I help you with the dishes?”

“Sure, thanks,” I said. We were almost finished when Jill said, “I thought you had invited Dee and the Tims over for dinner? What happened?”

“Tim Junior had an earache,” I explained. “Grady was at loose ends, so I invited him instead.”

“Oh.” Jill folded the dish towel and hung it over the rack. “I’m glad. For a minute there, I thought I had spoiled your date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I assured her.

What I didn’t say was that until she had come in it had almost seemed like one

I figured a few extra pounds at my age wasn't a big deal until my doctor informed me otherwise.

"Lose the weight." It was a royal edict with the "or else" implied.

I had lost the extra pounds a few years ago, but it slowly crept back, ounce by ounce and French fry by French fry.

Years ago, another doctor (who had the same advice--are they in cahoots?) told me diet without exercise was as useless and exercise without diet. You have to do both to make any headway. And, there is no magic pill or diet drink or anything else that will help you.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings.

I know from experience that being at your optimal weight is healthier for your body, mind and spirit. And, as a cancer survivor, I know that being overweight is one of the risk factors.

So, wanting to stay healthy as well as feel and look better, I embarked on my new regime. I did fine for a week, then blew a third of a day's calories on a fast-food chicken sandwich. Ouch.

Rather than browbeat myself, I headed for the park and walked for a half hour (1.6 miles).

So this is the end of week one. If I can find time to write every day, I can find time to walk. If I can research a period in history for my novel, I can research calories and fat grams for my food count.

If you are thinking of starting a diet (or a book, but my advice for that is different), here are some helpful links:

MyFitnessPal

A free app to keep track of the calories you consume each day.

Writing Healthy

Website started by my writing friend Carole St. Laurent whose journey to fitness will inspire you.

Tea Time Romance

A blog about changing. It's geared to writers, but good advice for anyone.

Okay. Now it's time to work on my book.

Getting Organized

I am not a very organized person. Some people (my husband) might disagree since I like things put away where they belong--mainly so I can find them again when I need them.

But my desk tells a different story. Because everything is within arm's reach, I don't need to compartmentalize. Whet I need is usually in plain sight. Or under something.

I did get tired of my cords getting tangled up, especially since I accumulated more electronics in the past few months--phone, camera, Nook, Ipad. If you've ever tried to insert your phone cord into your camera, you know the feeling.

So I got out my trusty permanent marking pen and labeled the white ones. That left just the black ones to confuse me, but I think I have them figured out. I leave the plug on the telephone cord.

They still wanted to participate in a group hug, however. Outside  of  keeping each cord in  separate room, I had to do something.

Two Hills Brothers coffee containers (Sugar-free Vanilla Cappuccino is my favorite)
Four toilet paper cores (or a tall medicine bottle, but they're harder to get)
Three rubber bands.

And there you are. Nicely nested and easy to get at.

I have no patent on this, so feel free to copy.

This has absolutely nothing to do with writing. I can't even think of a connection. If you can, please leave a comment and share your insights!