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 It is blizzardy and deliciously wintery here today, so I thought you might like reading Lucien’s Fall, available now at Amazon Kindle. Lucien is one of my all time favorite heroes, reckless and beautiful and very nearly unredeemable.
A taste, if you’re so inclined:
The riders raced up the road madly. The gleaming, sporty phaeton rocked dangerously in the rain-rutted course. The other man rode on a beautiful, lean black horse; beast and man were illuminated with the bars of hazy light falling through thick tree branches. They were young men, London rakes, a breed of man beneath Madeline’s contempt. She found their arrogance and idleness a bore.
And yet, as they laughed and shouted, each goading the other to a faster pace, Madeline felt her blood rise in a strange excitement. It was in particular the man on the horse who caught her eye. He wore no powder or wig, and his thick dark hair was drawn back into a queue with a black ribbon. His body was long and sinuously made, and he rode as if he and the horse were one being. From where she stood, his face gave the impression of exotic tilts and powerful bones.
But it was the hedonism Madeline ordinarily found so distasteful in such men that drew her now, made her take up her skirts and run toward the opening of the maze so she would not lose sight of him behind the hedge.
She broke through to the open stretch of lawn between the maze and the Elizabethan house of Whitethorn just as the man urged his horse into a full run. Light dappled faster and faster over his dark hair, his dark horse, his long legs. Next to him, only a little behind, the phaeton rocked noisily.
As they neared the end of the drive, Madeline burst into a run. The man on the horse left the road and bolted across the same lawn. His speed was almost dizzying, and he headed with purpose for a shoulder-high hedge that edged the house garden.
Madeline froze. They would both be killed.
But even as she clamped a hand over her mouth, watching in horror, the black beast leaped with stunning grace over the squared hedge. Horse and man hung—haloed and gilded by the afternoon light—for an endless time against the sky.
As he hung there, suspended in midair, looking like Pan, like some untamed beast come in from the wild, the man laughed. The sound rang with robust defiance into the day, and Madeline felt her heart catch with a sharp pang.
To be so free!
Order this book now.
Since November, I’ve been writing a serial novel for a blog, The OtherLand Chronicles, which I’ve written about here several times. After two months, I have some observations.
I began on November 1, for NaNoWriMo, a lark. Or so I thought. The truth is, this story has been rattling around in my head for more than three years, gathering bits and pieces to itself. Every so often, it came to me with a new shiny something, like a child who wants to play, and I would say, “Oh, that really is clever, but I don’t really have time right now to do anything with it. Hang on to it, okay?” The book-child wold nod and amble away, admiring her little treasure.
Over and over and over this happened, until I realized that I had a LOT of material. Like an entire world and backstory and a story arc long enough for a trilogy. It was all born from my walks in the parkways around Briargate, and that’s a lot of walking. Every day, year in, year out, me and my dog and the story brewing.
Any writer knows that sooner or later, that work has to be done. It will force its way into your schedule no matter what else you’ve got going on, and it will make itself so very attractive that you will have no choice. You’ll be seduced.
I was seduced. Now I find myself writing an entire book in public, which is not the most comfortable thing in the world. It forces me to find more time to write than I usually would, and for the first time in years, I’m really a hermit. I don’t want to go anywhere. I have work to do. So much work, all of it so different, and so much fun in its own ways.
I also discovered that as much as I’d like to do a “serial draft” where I don’t change anything, that was just not possible. I had to go back and do some revisions for the sake of the story. I had to rewrite a couple of scenes pretty substantially and move a couple of them around, and until I did it, the book stubbornly wasn’t going to let me move forward.
But here’s the thing: this is my play project, so I get to make the rules. My promise to the readers of the material is that I will finish. I will not quit until I have a complete story. Turns out my promise to the story is that I have to serve it first. Which is always the way.
For the record, I am having a blast. This is as entertaining as anything I’ve done.
If you haven’t been reading along and wish to begin, start at the beginning.
If you have been reading, I finally got new material up after the long Christmas break. Start at Chapter Eleven, Scene 4
I am pretty sure I’ve talked about Gretchen Rubin’s book, The Happiness Project before. The book is upbeat, illuminating, and surprisingly practical. One of the steps I love most is her approach to creating a map of living. Each of us have a different set of goals, a dharma and purpose unlike that of anyone else. It’s helpful to put that down in writing.
These are my 12 personal commandments, which are connected to the secrets of adulthood. I used Rubin’s list as a model, but adapted them to me and my reality. Maybe you have a list of your own you’d like to share.
1. Be Barbara
This is taken directly from Rubin. It reminds me to be ME, not some idealized version of me. Or as my old Unity minister used to say, “I am God expressing as….Barbara.” Which is an exhilarating thought, really.
2. I am 100% responsible for my own happiness
Never as easy as I think it will be. For example, when I am driving and some rude driver cuts me off, how can I be happy? But I can, as my friend Heather does, tell myself another story about the action. Maybe that person has a sick child or is rushing to the beside of his best friend.
This also counts when I am irritated with some aspect of daily life or a person in my life….100% means all the time. The weird thing is, this particular secret carries a huge amount of relief.
3. If I look good, I feel good.
This doesn’t mean trying to be botoxed and skinny. It is to remind me that while it’s okay to wear yoga pants and my hair in a scrunchy while I’m working, I feel 10x better if I get my hair cut on time and wear only clothes I really love. It means putting on the nicer shirt and taking the time to do my hair before CR comes home. Little stuff, that’s all. (And this probably makes me sound like a slob, which would be impossible for a daughter of my mother.)
4. An Uncluttered Environment Leads to an Uncluttered Mind
Simple. I don’t have to have sparkling clean floors, but need to reduce visual clutter as much as possible.
5. Exercise always helps
I need daily walks and fresh air and lots of hard, physical exercise. I am grouchy without it. If I’m cranky or overwhelmed or tired, I almost always need to get outside or go swimming or go work out. The deeper the grumpiness, the more I need to do.
6. Sleep Gives You A Clear Head
I am a morning person. Like, obnoxiously so. I like to wake up early and get going on the day. That means I’m genuinely tired and ready to quit by 8 or 9. Because I grew up with vampires, I sometimes feel sheepish about this and will often try to stay up until 11, like other people. All this does is make me tired. Going to bed with a good book at 9 is a great choice for me.
7. Overindulging Always Has A Price
Just what it says. Too much sugar or wine, too many video games, too many cookies…and I don’t feel great.
8. Work and Meeting Goals Makes Me Happy
I am lucky enough to adore the work I do. Sometimes, however, I can procrastinate myself into a corner and then I have to work too hard to be able to enjoy the process. Much much better to set reasonable goals and show up every day to get the work done. I feel so much better this way.
9. Tracking My Progress Is An Effective Tool for Conscious Living
I am a born diarist, and seeing my day to day habits in black and white makes me aware of what habits and actions actually form the basis of my life. That allows me to be accountable and to make changes if I so desire.
10. Celebrating others makes me feel happy
Everyone likes to be noticed, honored, get presents and cards.
11. Meditation is my way of listening to God
I like meditation, but I am surprised how often I’ll say to myself, “I don’t have time this morning.” Making time makes a difference.
12. I am always practicing to be an elder
Our society revers youth, not elders, but we need our elders to guide and help lead. To be the Wise Woman I hope to be one day, I have to learn what that means, and how to embrace it. That means listening to my elders instead of dismissing them. It means seeking instruction and guidance. It means practicing awareness of what I say and how I say it and how that influences others.
How about you? Can you think of some things you’d put on your list?
This morning, I’m sitting at Bongo Billy’s coffee shop in Buena Vista, looking straight at Mt Princeton, which is one of the most gorgeous 14ers in a state packed with them. I’ve just posted the pages I wrote early this morning in my cabin overlooking Cottonwood Creek. Had to come to town to get a wifi signal. Doing it made me feel a bit of a city-slicker, but when you fall in love with a story, it goes with you. It’s one of the great things about being a writer.
I am madly in love with Bartholomew and Alia and the world they are revealing to me. I love having the the little deadline every few days so I can write some pages, and stick with it, but I also love that I’m writing it for me. I always write for myself, of course, but the artistic freedom in doing whatever I want for pure, total fun is rejuvenating in a way I hadn’t expected.
Now I’m off to soak in the hot springs and put together a vision board for the new year.
If you want to follow along, go to http://theotherlandchronicles.com/2011/12/chapter-9-scene-2/
In the meantime, hope you are all having a day as fine as mine.
Ambling around the internet this morning, I found this challenge from Book Chick City:
 Since I’m often setting goals like “go to the gym seven hundred times a week,” the idea of reading a hundred books of FICTION in a year sounds like a dream. I bet you read that much most of the time anyway. I know I do.
It seems a luxurious delight worthy challenge for our insanely readerly selves. I signed up. Maybe you’ll want to join me. Click the icon.
Also, speaking of reading: The OtherLand Chronicles, the serial urban fantasy/YA/? I started for NaNoWriMo, is still in progress. Just started Chapter Nine this morning. Posting M-W-F through December. Having so much fun it’s just sinful. ;)
To start at the beginning, go here: http://theotherlandchronicles.com/2011/10/starthere/
I’m giving away one Nook and one Kindle this Christmas season. All you have to do to be eligible is join my mailing list. Go here:
https://www.facebook.com/awriterafoot?sk=app_4949752878
 Just noticed that the digital price for A Piece of Heaven has dropped to $4.99. Check it out at
Barnes and Noble Nook Store
Amazon Kindle Store
First Chapter
Filler from The Taos News: Full Moon FactsThe full moon is the phase of the Moon in which it is fully illuminated as seen from Earth, at the point when the Sun and Moon are on opposite sides of the Earth. The full moon reaches its highest elevation at midnight. High tides. Names for the August and September full moon: Full Red Moon, Full Green Corn Moon, Full Sturgeon Moon.
It was a good thing for Placida Ramirez that the moon was full when she set her house on fire at three o’clock in the morning that August night. Because it was the moon, shining like a searchlight through her bedroom windows, that had awakened Luna McGraw. Technically, it was a dream about her long-gone father that yanked her out of sleep. It was worries about her daughter’s arrival tomorrow that kept her awake.
But the moon, so coldly white in the summer sky, took the blame.Dragging on a pair of shorts beneath her sleeping shirt, she got up to make some coffee. It would make her mother crazy to know Luna was making coffee in the middle of the night. Why not a cup of tea? Something soothing and relaxing?
Not her style. Once upon a time, she would have poured a hefty measure of gold tequila into a water glass and sipped that. A part of her still wished she could. Continue reading A Piece of Heaven bargain priced
 I’ve been posting a lot at Facebook about my younger son’s love of Banoffee Pie. I made one for Thanksgiving, and there is never even a crumb left over. It is one of the most luscious, decadent pies I’ve ever tasted.
Don’t worry if you have not heard of it. My first encounter was only a few years ago, at a gathering at Christopher Robin’s mother’s house in Hawkhurst, a village south of London. Gina had cooked a true English Sunday dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and swedes (rutabagas). Banoffee pie was dessert. Or rather, pudding. Even though it’s pie.
Whatever you call it, I took one bite and swooned. A crumbly, buttery crust. Caramel layered with bananas. Then unsweetened whipped cream dusted ever so slightly with cocoa powder. Sweet, rich, fantastic. I’ve started making it for holidays, and my younger son went so crazy for it that it’s the only dessert I ever make for him.
The trouble is that it uses ingredients that are not always that easy to find in the US. Like canned caramelized sweetened condensed milk. And digestive biscuits. Gina regularly sends me tins of the caramel, along with teabags and pastilles, but since I have a lot of US readers, perhaps you’ll want a source here. Alarminly, some recipes call for boiling tins of sweetened condensed milk in hot water until they caramelize, but I do not recommend that. The possibilities of exploding tins are horrific to contemplate. Paula Dean has a method for caramelizing milk in the oven you may want to try.
But really, you should be able to find Carnation dulce de leche at the grocery store with the condensed milks. It is available here in Colorado as a Mexican ingredient, so you might try that aisle, too.
Another problem is the digestive biscuits. I can buy them from the local English store (or your local world market), but they’re very expensive and often stale, so I’ve been trying substitutes. Dean’s recipe uses graham crackers, which I’ve tried, but that’s not quite the right flavor. This Thanksgiving, I tried mixing ordinary, mildly sweet sugar cookies with graham crackers ½ & ½ and we all gave it two thumbs up.
The third challenge is the UK to US measuring issue. They use ounces and grams, and the ounces are not the same. Very confusing, especially if you are (like me) not inclined to deal with fractions. I have finally found a cheat sheet that works well, but I’ve done the work for you here so you don’t have to bother.
*One funny side note. According to Wikipedia, banoffee pie is enormously popular on the backpacker route in India.
Anyway, here is the recipe. Do let me know if you try it. Gina will be so pleased.
Banoffee Pie
Base
1 stick of butter, melted
2 cups crushed digestive biscuits
or 1 cup each sugar cookies and plain graham crackers, crushed
Filling
1-2 cans Carnation Caramel or Dulce de Leche (I prefer less—it is very sweet)
4 small bananas
Topping
1 pint heavy whipping cream
1 banana, sliced
Cocoa powder or shaved bitter chocolate for dusting
1. Mix together the butter and crumbs, the press evenly into a 9-inch pie pan.
2. Cover the crumbs with caramel, then slice the bananas on top.
3. Whip the cream until it forms stiff peaks, and spread over the top of the bananas.
4. Arrange sliced bananas on top of cream. Dust lightly with cocoa powder or shaved chocolate.
5. Chill for at least an hour. Don’t expect leftovers.
I am quite pleased to be keeping up, posting almost every day (have had to take two days off, and I suspect there will be another this week). More, I am having a blast discovering this world and story. Who knew there was a magic cello?
He passed the cello over to me, and I almost felt a ripple through the body, as if it was as excited to be in my hands as I was to touch it again. I pressed a palm against the front, and took in a breath. Bartholomew gave me the bow. “What would you like to play?”
“I would happily play Mary Had a Little Lamb on this beautiful instrument,” I said, nestling it closer to me. It reclined against my shoulder, the scroll close to my ear. As if it—no, she—could speak, I almost heard a whisper, a suggestion. “Bach’s Air?” I said.
He was very still for a long moment, then he riffled through a pile of music on the stand, and pulled out the selection. “I have been working on it.”
We shifted, each of us bending into our instruments, finding our balance. I mentally hummed through the first bars, sliding into the notes as if they were a suit. He tuned the G string more finely. Against me, the old cello vibrated very faintly.
I looked at Bartholomew, and he nodded, tapping his foot. I swayed into his lead and we began together, the long sweet notes pouring out, winding around each other. I found him in the music, and he fit himself into my playing, and we fell inside the piece, both of us. It was melancholoy and romantic, and the profound beauty loaned by the cello took the notes to some wilder, deeper place. It seemed to dance against me, the wood warming, glowing. My cheeks grew hot and a trickle of sweat ran down my neck, and I closed my eyes, feeling an electric sense of tingling through my hands, up my arms, swirling through my neck, and somehow into me, into my chest and throat.
READ CHAPTER FIVE, THE MIRROR GIRL
The OtherLand Chronicles experiment continues, posting a new scene (almost) every day as a sort of NaNoWriMo exercise. I say sort of because you are technically supposed to just blast through and not edit and there are likely other rules I don’t know about, but this is my gig and I’m playing it my way. My goal was to post new work every day and to be as true as possible to the NaNo idea of moving forward even when things aren’t quite right.
Not that easy! By the time you see one of my books, I’ve been over it a dozen times (at least!). My agent and editor have read it, commented, made suggestions. A line edit and copy edit have been done, weeding out the obnoxious repetitive phrases and clumsy sentences I have missed. None of that has happened with this book, and it’s both thrilling and dismaying.
There isn’t time to edit much, frankly. If I’m going to get the new scene written, I can’t spend a lot of time polishing the work from the day before–I just have to GO. I have been writing the scene one day ahead, and giving myself and a beta reader a chance to catch anything that’s going to mess up the story, a dropped thread or anything like that, but not much more.
And you know what, this is FUN! I’m more worried about getting the story down, keeping the tension up, balancing what the reader needs to know with what needs to remain hidden. Planting clues, pacing, staying true to the character’s voice.
I thought I know all about the story, too, but stories have a way of birthing themselves into whatever they like. I am being surprised and entertained. I tell my voice students to play, to let themselves go, to take a chance every now and then to give the girls in the basement a chance to play. That’s what I’m doing. We are writers. We are in wild mind, beginner’s mind. A very good place to be.
Just posted the first scene of Chapter Four. http://theotherlandchronicles.com/2011/11/chapter-4-scene-1-2/
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Barbara Samuel O'Neal is the author of more than thirty award-winning novels, including Rita Award Winning THE LOST RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS and THE SECRET OF EVERYTHING. Her newest book HOW TO BAKE A PERFECT LIFE is available NOW! 
A native of Colorado, Barbara loves teaching, travel, reading, writing, yoga, walking, food, cooking, photography and...okay, reality television.
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