
So, it’s Emily Brontë’s birthday, and I am reminded of the strangeness of families. See, Emily was a bit…odd. She had a really hard time being out in the world (not that Haworth afforded her much of a chance of that). She didn’t identify with others. I always think of
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First of all: WOW. Over 118 people will be joining me for The Great Gone With the Wind Readalong starting August 1! I’m humbled and thrilled…and of course you’re still very welcome to eavesdrop or join in. Secondly, time flies when you’re (not?) having fun. I’ve been writing professionally for
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Okay, head ‘splosion happening over here. I just ran across a GalleyCat post that poses an unthinkable question…should writers read? I’m going to try to avoid the kneejerk “omfghowcouldyouevensuggestotherwise” and say… I’ve run into this question before. Usually it’s coupled with some kind of discussion of the dangers of tainting
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One of the motivations behind The Heroine’s Bookshelf was to remind readers (and myself) that we are protagonists of our own lives. Call me egotistical, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t see ourselves as heroines, stars of our own particularly tricky novels, no matter how mundane or
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I love talking shop with other writers. So I was honored when fabulous New York Times bestselling author (and awesome friend/holder of #ebpower) Eleanor Brown asked me for a one-line piece of writing advice for her next blog on The Debutante Ball. My contribution: “done is better than fun.” Pithy?
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