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Barbara Samuel is a multiple RITA award-winning author with more than 25 books to her credit, both women's fiction and historical and contemporary romances. |
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MADAME
MIRABOU'S SCHOOL OF LOVE |
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CLICK TO ORDER | |
| "[A] wistful story . . . Samuel sorts out all the relationships with a sure hand." -The Seattle Times |
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************************* 4.28.08 CIRCLES OF QUIET A nourishing new workshop for working writers June 16 The description and details for the new workshop is up at The Girls in the Basement. Meant to be a nourishing environment for published writers who need a place to rest and recharge, it begins June 16. VOICE I June 10 The next Voice I class will begin in June, too. There are only a couple of spots left.Check it out here. ************************* NEW BOOK I'm startled to realize that I haven't reported that the next book will be out late next year. Working title is COOKING FOR THE DEAD, though it remains to be seen if that will stick. Food, loss, sex, redemption and recipes! This is one of my favorite books ever. ************************* 4.16.08 from my blog Showing up, showing up, showing up Posted on April 16, 2008 It’s already Wednesday and I haven’t posted the training log from the weekend. Here it is, because I promised myself I would post it every week, to be true to the process of observation and training. Training log for last week: Truth: I took Saturday off because I was tired and sick of having something I had to do every single day. CR and I went to the metaphysical fair and someone read cards for me, which was fun. It turned out not to be my reading, but for one of my children, which was funny and weird, especially when that child called me five minutes later. Sunday, I knew I had to go for 15 miles again. Not in the mood from the first, and less so after I heard a dynamic speaker was giving a program at Unity and I would have to miss it. Humph. But there is it–training is training. It’s not for anyone else but for me. I want to enjoy myself on that long walk, not die in pain and exhaustion at the end of it. I layered my clothes, filled up the Camelbak and off I went. Without earphones to start with, just listening to the day and the quiet. Not fun. I was bored. I was not in the mood. I bargained that I would only walk to eight–just eight, just do that much. But around mile 2, something happened. My body warmed up. It was happy to have had a day of rest. I had a great breakfast (buckwheat pancakes, strawberries, soy sausages) and it kicked in just right, giving me energy and a good mood. By mile 3, I was hitting my stride and glad to be out and started listening to music. Arrived at the turn around point feeling pretty great, and I had the trail to myself quite a lot. I would have taken a rest for lunch at mile 9, but the bench was taken up by a family with malamutes who were panting hard in the hot day. I did finally rest for ten minutes at mile 10, and aired out my feet. By mile 12, I was feeling it, and the final two seemed about three times longer than they were. By the time I returned home, I was starving, weary, and not up for anything but mindless television. I asked CR, “why are those two extra miles so much harder?” He just shook his head, wise endurance athlete, and said, “that’s just how it is sometimes.” The next day, to stick with the training, I had to get out for the 7 miles, and to my great relief, it was fine. All good information. Miles this week: 25 (Sunday to Sunday). Long walk, 15; next day, 7. On the Ipod: not a lot this time. I liked the sound of the river and the birds. Even the cyclists whoooooossssshhhhhinnnng by. Snacks: Gu, a Luna bar, a bagel on the rest. Discovered that I do not like the tablet additions to my camelbak. Water is fine. The pitch: I have committed to raising $2500 by end of June. 33% there. YOU GUYS ROCK! Thank you. It isn’t a sponsorship, but direct donations to each walker’s tally. The money goes to many areas of assistance to breast cancer patients and their families–for example, helping provide screening and care for women who are under- or uninsured, a cause about which I am passionate. You can see my tally and goals here. Or if you feel moved to donate,you can do so here. The disclaimer: We all have things we care about and no one can give to everything, in time or money. ************************* 2008 CLASSES I've posted a new schedule of classes at The Care and Feeding of the Girls in the Basement ************************* 12-15-07 Ian and the Blue Gill Three women, ranging in age from senior to ancient, are settled in half circle at the end of the dock. The chairs have been dragged down to the pond from the main house, metal lawn chairs with woven seats in white and green, and there are only those three, so Ian and I sit on the wooden slats of the dock. A little while ago, there were some bigger boys, young teenagers in baggy shorts and skinny chests, daring each other to swim in the murky water, but they're gone now, leaving this little circle. The old women wear cotton skirts and sensible shoes and soft cotton hats to protect their good complexions. Gnarled fingers fix bait, and fishing lines trail lazily in the water of the small pond. The air is thick and still, so hot I find it hard to breathe, and my son's pale cheeks are flushed. We are Colorado natives, and this is the countryside of the border between Missouri and Illinois and I'd rather be almost anywhere else besides this farmland with three old woman fishing. I hate fishing. I hate humidity. I hate the heat. I had been excited about the family gathering with my husband's family, but the reality is daunting. It's hard to understand some of their deep south accents, and I don't understand references to times and people I don't know. And maybe they're not patronizing me, the much-younger, blond wife of an older African-American man, but all the usual in-law negotiations of time and fitting in make it feel like they might be. I'm shy, which makes it worse. I'm not even thirty and bookish and wilting in this heat they all take for granted and I don't even know where I fit in the world I came from, much less this one. Continue reading this essay .... ************************* 10.12.07 Come on over to my blog, A Writer Afoot, where I can more easily talk with readers and writers. I've been posting essays and observations from Italy and England ************************* 9.3.07 PLAYING WITH THE GIRLS IN THE BASEMENT A new book is brewing. Rather dramatically, as will sometimes happen. My office is scattered with magazines and new CDs and paintbrushes. I've scotch-taped a bunch of photos to the closet door while I'm letting it all brew. To the outside view, this doesn't much look like work, honestly, and I can fall prey to the "just get busy" syndrome that can be so devastating to an idea that's winding its way through my imagination, sending out runners of silk to anchor itself here, there, all sorts of odd places. This makes me think of the first trimester of pregnancy, when you're so tired and when you close your eyes for three minutes, you fall into that other world, the dreamer world, and it's hard to tell which is the real world. There's a lot going on below the surface. Hidden. Quiet. Gossamer. This very morning, I was thinking, "I guess I should make a chart or something. So I have a plot. So I know what I'm doing." And the Girls in the Basement, who've been playing Keb Mo really loud, and cutting things out to glue on the walls, and ordering CDs like Sonny and Terry and Marc Broussard and getting SO excited about the storm map on the wall and practicing their accents, looked up and said, "Plan? We don't need a plan. WE know what we're doing. If you know, you'll fuck it up, so just mind your own business." So I went for a walk with the dogs and listened to Lucinda Williams and smelled biscuits baking and remembered a really cool bit of woman-magic that always has intrigued me, and figured out the hero's name, and there is a big southern thread to this book, which has been missing from my books over the past few years. Suddenly, it's just there again. Maybe I am pining for my grandmother, or for my late mother-in-law. They both passed in the autumn, two years and three years ago, and I wish I could have a chat with them. Or maybe, the girls want to play with other material, taste new things. Maybe I have no idea where books come from or why, but my job is to say, "Oooh, this one seems like it will be fun." And I remind myself to play. Just play. ************************* 5.8.07 ADIEU, MICHELLE'S The news has stunned us all this morning: Michelle's Chocolatiers, Ice Cream and Tea Room has been closed by the IRS. An icon of downtown Colorado Springs for more than fifty years, the restaurant was once featured in a LIFE magazine feature spread. The children are shown in early sixties Technicolor, wearing cowboy boots and hats, eating ice cream at the green table, and the father--swarthy and handsome--puts the cherry at the top of a giant sundae. It is no secret to readers of this blog (or my novels!) that I am in love with restaurants. I love the business in all its incarnations--kitchens and knives, acres of stainless steel and the smell of industrial dishwasher soap. It's not some distant fairy tale longing, either; I fell in love with the business at the age of sixteen and spent, all told, more than 15 years in various restaurants in many jobs, from dishwasher to server to cook to bartender. The place it began was Michelle's, a magical little restaurant and ice cream parlor in Colorado Springs. There was always something vaguely European about the place. The elegant chocolates, handmade and meticulously displayed behind glass counters. The menu with its Monte Cristo sandwich (well, it sounded European to me as a girl) and the Greek salad. It was the first place I tasted feta cheese, and to be honest, I had no idea it was goat cheese until years later. You could order a demitasse, though hardly anyone ever did. When my friend Sonia took me to Angelina's, a chocolatier nearby the Louvre, the baroque decorations and slightly faded glamor reminded me instantly of Michelle's. Ah, Michelle's. When I worked there, the uniforms were the ultimate. Oh, baby. Black nylon, short, with a white frill to tuck in at the neckline and a white nylon apron over it. We wore them tight, as we were teenagers and perfect, and as this was before the end-pantyhose revolution, stockings were required. Everything swished in those uniforms, legs against legs and skirt and apron against waist and hair, once it was let down at the end of a shift, swishing against the nylon back. I loved them. They made me feel grown-up and sexy. Keep reading --->> Read entries at A Writer Afoot --->> ************************* DRAGON LOVERS ANTHOLOGY IS OUT!!! Jo Beverley, Mary Jo Putney, Karen Harbaugh and Barbara Samuel Check out Four Inspired website for more details and a glimpse of the gorgeous cover. This is a highly delightful project, full of fun and great escapes. ************************* Excellent news! Lady Luck's Map of Vegas has been selected to be a Target Breakout Book! ************************* |
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-------------------- LADY LUCK WINS THE RITA! Before all this frustration with my webpage going down (again!), I wanted to post that LADY LUCK'S MAP OF VEGAS is now hitting the shelves in paperback. If you haven't had a chance, this would be a great time to go find it. Happily, there is even more news about my beloved Eldora and India's story. LADY LUCK proved lucky in the annual RITA awards, taking home the gold. We are slowly getting the website back to working order after a major hard drive crash on the host server, in the meantime, you can keep up with my columns at http://awriterafoot.typepad.com. |
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LADY
LUCK'S MAP OF VEGAS
Award-winning author Barbara Samuel brings us a heartfelt story of second chances and unexpected detours. As two women come to terms with themselves and each other, the past unravels and the future spreads out before them like the open road. Read More "Lady Luck's Map of Vegas is my favorite kind of novel-a fun, fabulous, fast-paced story that takes me right to the heart of what it means to be a family. A magical road trip . . . a pair of unforgettable women on a quest to understand their own lives . . . and a drop-dead gorgeous man looking for love. What more could a reader want? This is a complex, beautiful, and moving story that will resonate with you until long after you've finished the final pages." -Kristin Hannah |
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"Fun,
fabulous, fast-paced . . . a complex, beautiful, and moving story that
will resonate with you until long after you've finished the final pages."
-Kristin Hannah |
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THE
GODDESSES OF KITCHEN AVENUE From an acclaimed voice in women's fiction, here is a wry, beguiling, heartfelt and warmly wise novel about second chances, unexpected choices, and the dreams that we all hunger to fill. Read More |
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"A
compelling emotional portrait . . . Samuel's writing is a gift to readers,
her voice, a demand for us to feel everything in our lives and to meet
it with courage. . . . Samuel has crafted a truly luminous novel." "Barbara
Samuel's writing is, quite simply, splendid. . . . These women are as
familiar as your next-door neighbor and as exotic as the goddesses who
archetype their lives. Samuel soars with genius in the humanity of her
storytelling." |
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A
PIECE OF HEAVEN With her acclaimed hardcover debut, No Place Like Home, readers enthusiastically welcomed Barbara Samuel into the ranks of bestselling women’s fiction, applauding her stirring novel of loss and redemption. In A Piece of Heaven, she shares another poignant tale rich in atmosphere and insight that explores the complexity of relationships, the importance of family, and the healing power of love. Read More |
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"A
deep and wise love story . . . Mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and daughters-there's
something wonderful here for every reader." -Jo-Ann Mapson, author of Bad Girl Creek and Along Came Mary "Barbara
Samuel is irresistible. She writes compelling, poignant stories that
will touch the heart of any woman." |
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NO
PLACE LIKE HOME No Place Like Home tells the unforgettable story of a family bound together by tradition - and the emotional journey of an estranged daughter risking everything for a second chance at life and love. Told with breathtaking insight and deep emotion, No Place Like Home is a joyful feast for all the senses, a vibrant bounty of love, and a tender life lesson to be savored long after the last page is turned. Read More |
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"Samuel's
snappy dialogue and her sense of humor leaven the heavier moments of the
plot...you may even be tempted to set down the novel temporarily to try
that apple pie with the gingersnap crust." - Seattle Times "A lyrical novel of family, loss, and redemption, beautifully written, beautifully told." - Jennifer Crusie |
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