Last week I spoke on a panel at a meeting of the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association, and was astounded at the number of people who showed up.  Lots of folks interested in being writers and looking for those tips and hints that pushed each of us toward publication. Of course, I forgot my camera, so I can’t prove that there was a crowd, so you’ll just have to take my word.

What was great about the panel is that we were a divergent crowd. Authors of suspense, urban fantasy, mystery, YA  and romance wouldn’t seem a likely mix, but it made the evening more interesting (at least for me) is how differently we all worked, the things that rang true for all of us, and the delight we each had with our chosen profession. Believe me there is nothing worse than having to listen to an author go on and on about how difficult the process is. The wrenching angst of writing. How tortured they get over their characters. Oh, come on. If you didn’t love it, you’d quit. Go back to the salt mines from which you came and leave the rest of us kissing-our-good-luck and thanking-the-heavens writers in peace. I mean, where else are you going to find a job where you can show up in PJs?

Two hours whipped by as we took turns sharing hints with the crowd and getting to know each other and I came home just sort of bubbling with enthusiasm. Again, note to self, kiss your good fortune every morning. I have to wonder, will the DH with good medical benefits suffice? I hope so.

Best tips from the evening, if you are inclined to write the next great bestseller (and please do, because a rising tide floats all boats, just look at what Harry Potter did to YA!):

• Perseverance. Everyone agreed that this business takes time, but steadily learning your craft and expanding your skills, finishing books, only increases your odds of success.
• Never stop learning. This is a craft. Take time to study what your weaknesses and how to best utilize your strengths. Classes, books, online workshops, writing magazines can continue your lifelong apprenticeship in this craft.
• Write the stories you love to read, this way your passion will find its way to the pages.

Great tips, a good vibe and new friends.  Not a bad night, all in all.

As I finished up the evening, I realized this had been a great start to what is going to prove to be a busy few months, with lots more events. In the works are booksignings in Chicago (around March 16th), Wichita, KS (April 2), and Orlando, Tampa and Clearwater, FL (May 7-9). These are in addition to the Events I already have on the books, (including Portland, Or), with more being added every week.  As I get the final details I’ll post them to my Events page and will make sure to send out all the details in my upcoming newsletters. Not subscribed? Yikes! Get yourself on the list so you get all the latest scoop delivered right to your inbox.

I’m sort of dazed with all the comings and goings. Can you say, “On the road again”? And again. And again. Then again, if you live in one of these areas, I hope we get a chance to meet which will indeed have me returning home dizzy with enthusiasm–you all do that to me.

Where else should I come to visit?  Come on, lurkers and regular posters alike, give me a shout out where you would like me to come visit?

Going along with all my goal talk and organizing speeches, you are probably starting to wonder if I’ve been snatched by aliens and replaced by a goal striving, neaten up freak. Believe me, I’ll be better by February. But in the meantime, and since I have to speak tonight, I wanted to share something I read on Tuesday in an email and have been thinking about ever since. It all sort of rolled into listening to President Obama’s inauguration speech and his call to all of us to do more and a conversation I overhead.

(See it is me. The eavesdropping writer who listens to other peoples’ conversations. I haven’t been snatched. Aren’t you so relieved?)

You see there I was in waiting around before school let out and two moms were talking and one of them said, “Well, I hardly see what I can do. One person. I don’t know what he is thinking, that an individual can change the world.”  Then she made that huffy, harrumph noise I love using in my books. Now her cynicism stopped me, for I was in a sort of euphoric haze all day, believing that our world could be a better place. And yet there it was, stark and cold. It was like being dashed with a bucket of cold water. What can one person do? That is until I got these words from Lou Tice, of the Pacific Institute later the same day:

Each of us needs to look for solutions to the challenges around us, no
matter how small. If you walk past the small things, you will never be in a
position to make a bigger difference.  We also deny the opportunity for the
“ripple effect” to go to work. You know the ripple effect: drop a pebble in
a pond and watch the ripples moving out from where you dropped the pebble.
Eventually these ripples touch every part of the pond.

Don’ t you want to touch the entire pond? Apparently you can. You just have to try. Now if I can just find that woman and drop her in the lake . . .

But my usual Monday morning ramblings, (I prefer witticisms and thoughtful reflections) are preempted. I was going to write a blog last night so it would post bright and early this foggy, lovely morning. But last night I made the mistake and walked through Borders. And there in the romance section was Lara Adrian’s new book, Veil of Midnight.

Therefore, this blog is preempted while I read this next installment in the Midnight Breed series. I would encourage you to do the same.

BTW, what have you read lately that has preempted your daily routine?

So I suppose we have to talk about them. Yes, them. Goals. Everyone gets all goal-this and goal-that the first few weeks of January, sort of like a mini-flu season where you get in this fevered rush for improvement. Of course, being humans we all dive in with this big resolve and enormous vigor, and then by about the middle of the month (which happens to be about now) those wonderful ideals that we so carved out in a frenzy of champagne and good intentions suddenly get in the way of old, comfortable habits.

Now I am a huge proponent of goals, just not the New Year’s sorts. But I got roped into speaking about goals at the January 22nd meeting of Pacific Northwest Writers entitled “Habits of Successful Authors – Goal setting for 2009” and I found myself having to ponder my own goals and habits. Now if you read my last post, you will know by now I am a lazy creature, who likes her coffee, a bit of knitting and an hour a day to watch All My Children (Did you see Tad kick Krystal to the curb this week?—oh, yeah, that was classic.). But since the good people at the Pacific Northwest Writers have decided to call me successful and infur that I have habits that make me such, I now have to come up with a list of them, leaving off the aforementioned coffee, knitting and AMC, which apparently are NOT conducive to getting pages written.

But I thought more about what making goals forces us to do, because one of my goals this year (I know, I said I don’t believe in them, but I still make them. I’m a lemming, what can I say?) was to get my knitting organized. The other weekend, I dove in, headfirst and pulled out every skein of yarn I own. Which also meant owning up to my family just how much yarn is actually stored in our house. I dragged it out from under beds, closets, my office, my husband’s “Bob Cratchet” office (It’s this cold, dark little room in the basement that is “his office”, hence the nickname, and don’t forget that implies I’m Scrooge in my heated, well-lit cozy domain upstairs). I found yarn practically holding up the foundation, but thankfully removing it kept the house upright. What it forced me to do was look at all my good intentioned projects (because I bought, traded, bartered and thrifted for all of it with the intent of making a specific project) and realized I needed to come up with some 2009 rules for my knitting.

Now before you panic over my use of the word “rule,” I think this very important word has gotten a bad rap over the past few decades, because I don’t think of rules as bad things. Rules are guidelines to keep our lives in order. And an orderly life tends to function better than one bursting at the seams without any focus, one without rules. So I sorted all the mismatched, haphazard bags and totes and bins of yarns and put them into an order for me to work through. My order probably wouldn’t work for anyone else, but it made logical sense to me and brought a real sense of peace to the otherwise panicked realization that I own over 40,000 yards of yarn. And while my knitting is a creative outlet, having a workable portion of it queued up and lined up has brought a renewed sense of excitement and accomplishment to my nightly K1P2 endeavors that ends up spilling into other parts of my life and soul as well. I know, I got a little Oprah there, but really you get one corner dusted out and the rest don’t look so daunting.

Think of all the bad habits we have stuffed into our personal closets, the ones we tuck under the bed, out of sight–nearly out of mind, and perhaps, oh, say occasionally, like in January, it might just be a good time to drag them out, confront them, acknowledge them, then whip their lazy hind quarters into shape. Come up with the rules that make sense to you that will bring order to the things in your life that could use a little tidying up. Then, quite frankly, just stick to your rules. It really is that easy. You don’t rob banks because it is against the rules. So why break your own personal rules? Your cleaned out under the bed space will thank you.

BTW, the PNWA meeting (next Thursday, January 22nd) is open to all writers, not just members of PNWA. There will also be an autographing afterward. If you have ever wanted to learn more about this organization or just hear from a panel of writers the habits that help them keep the pages moving, this would be a great place to start, do plan on dropping by the Bellevue B&N around 7. More details can be found on my Events page. Hope to see you there.

What are your goals for this year and what lessons have you learned from past goals to make sure these work for you?

If you are my editor or husband, do us all a favor and skip ahead. The next paragraph probably isn’t meant to be read by you.

After lolly-gagging around a good part of December, (I told you you’d want skip ahead) I had to get back to work last week and dive back into my book with a renewed vigor.  It wasn’t entirely my fault that I didn’t get very many pages produced during the Christmas Season. I was struck with this sort of bake cookies, concoct fudge, knit presents sort of frenzy and Regency England held no thrall over me, except perhaps as a source of a good Wassail punch recipe.

Okay, it was my fault, but in my defense, I have been writing without breaks for about three years now, and I needed a little bit of time away from the keyboard and a bit of time to find my spirit again.

And I did. Being snowed in helped. When you can’t get out of your neighborhood, the shopping and hustle of the season sort of disappears off the radar. I sort of shrugged off what I couldn’t do and instead went sledding with the kids. I had forgotten how much fun it is to go whipping down a hill and laugh your head off with dizzy fear about how and where you are going to land–and in front of all your neighbors. And speaking of neighbors–I met so many of mine that I’ve seen in passing but never got to know.  Amazing what happens when you just stop. Life becomes so much simpler because your plans are rather straightforward: stay at home. At first there was only a little bit of snow, but then it came down with a vengeance and buried us. At that point the indispensable, must be done, follow to the minute, day to day schedule that rules my life was indiscernible. Buried much like my flower pots.

And there is a silence that comes with a big snowfall that is humbling. A hushed sort of awe that surrounds and blankets you. It is as if the rest of the world has stopped to listen just like you are.  Since most of a writer’s life is spent listening to the voices in your head (these are the good sort of voices, not the ones that require medication, though with some of us even that is debatable), the silence is a blessed respite. I would go out at night and just stand on my deck, knee deep in snow and just listen to nothing.

Of course there is the other side of too much snow. Take my poor aunt in Couer d’Alene, Idaho. Spokane and Couer d’Alene have been measuring their snowfall this winter in feet rather than inches. Even I can agree that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, as seen by the tunnel to her steps and front door. Just for reference, the top rail of her porch is about 6-7 feet up from the ground.

No, I was happy to get back to work last week. I had my office back to myself, no snow to distract me, and a story that suddenly hummed to life with renewed vigor. Perhaps it was the characters who looked happy to see me, or was it the writer who was happy to find them waiting for her.

Do you feel renewed this time of year?

First off, thank you everyone who has posted a comment, emailed me privately, or spread the word about the sneak peek inside Confessions of a Little Black Gown via the links in the comment section that will take you to Facebook, MySpace or your favorite social site, because your excitement is my excitement. And yes, that cover is to die for gorgeous.

But also coming up is fan-fueled conference, Celebrate Romance (“CR2009” to those in the know) February 27th – March 1st in Portland, Oregon. Now let me say, I have never had a chance to go to CR, but everyone I know who has gone has loved it. It was even in Seattle one year, the same weekend I was slated to speak in San Diego. CR and I have been like two ships passing in the night, but this year is different. I am going to be there and I hope as many of you who can, will make your way by car, plane or train to Portland, Oregon as well.

So to convince you that this is the romance loving conference you want to attend, I asked my good friend Valarie Pelissero to give you an insider’s view of Celebrate Romance. Here is what she had to say:

EB: Why Portland?

VP: Because Portland is a fabulous city with a great romance reading community, and since CR2009 will be our last year for our fabulous conference, where better to have it?

EB: I won’t argue with you there. I adore Portland. What can fans expect?

VP: First of all there are no writing workshops. This is a fan focused conference with round-table discussions and keynote speakers. This year’s schedule looks likely to run much like last year’s:

Friday – registration from 5:30pm to 7pm where you get a bag full of books. (What could be better?) Dinner at 7pm where both authors and fans mingle. There is usually some type of event after dinner on Friday night.

Saturday – Breakfast, then fun discussions with attending authors, followed by lunch and another fun discussion panel.  Then we had a few hours free for the Advanced Book Trade or to rest up for the evening.

Saturday evening is my favorite part of CR, a multi-author booksigning at one of the bookstores and then dinner out (this dinner is not part of the conference fee). We all had a fun time, and not only did we get lost going to the restaurant, but we got lost trying to find our way back to the hotel. Not everyone came, but most of us did and we had a lot of fun.

Sunday – Breakfast and a few more author talks, then we have the author booksigning where readers can purchase books from one of the bookstores who will be on site and then we draw the raffle baskets. I love the raffle baskets. And it is over by noon and everyone has to say their goodbyes until next year, only this time will be our final goodbyes.

EB:  I’m in. You know how much I love raffle baskets. I also love hanging out with readers and other authors. Who’s coming so far?

VP: The keynote speakers include, Cathy Maxwell, the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over eighteen historical romance novels, and Jane Porter, the bestselling author 30 novels (five for Grand Central Publishing and 25 for Harlequin). The complete list of authors can be found at the CR website.

EB: Val, explain to everyone how CR differs from other gatherings?

VP: CR is first and foremost a fan conference. Both the authors and the readers come as fans and we all become fan-girls for the weekend. There are no writing workshops, just fun, fun, fun for everyone. Prior to attending CR in 2006, I had only been to a few local booksignings and writing workshops to see my favorite writers (even though I don’t write), and since I didn’t write, I felt a little out of place as everyone was talking about their latest work in progress and getting an agent. I love that CR is someplace were readers can talk to other readers as well as the authors about what we all love about the romance genre in general and the specific genres we love the best. I have been able to meet and read new authors that I probably wouldn’t have tried before CR.

EB: Now I’m a huge fan of Portland, as it is one of my favorite getaway locations, but as a native, can you add to my positive vote for the City of Roses?

VP: First of all, the conference will be held at the Benson Hotel right in downtown Portland and downtown Portland is a beautiful city. There are plenty of things to do within walking distance, as well as a lot of bookstores to visit. Powell’s City of Books is just a few blocks away from the hotel and for those who don’t know Powell’s Bookstore, it encompasses an entire city block. Also across the river is Barnes and Noble at the Lloyd Center Mall, and the MAX line is free to ride from downtown to Lloyd Center (convenient, huh?). The Pioneer Square mall is also just a short walk away, as is the Willamette River which has a great walking path, and generally the end of February is not too cold in Portland, but it will probably be raining, but then again, when isn’t it? The best reason to visit Portland? There is NO Sales Tax in Oregon!!!

EB: Yeah I love that no sales tax. You forgot to mention my favorite yarn store, Knit Purl, which is also downtown. But now that we’ve got all the scoop, how do folks sign up?

VP: Go to the website: CR2009. Registration is open now, so register for the event, you won’t want to miss it! You can make your reservations at the Benson anytime, just remember to mention Celebrate Romance so you can get the conference room rate.

EB:  Thanks, Val! I just went and registered and made my train reservations. Can I just say that if you do come, Val is the best guide to Portland. She’s given me more gold plated restaurant recommendations than anyone I’ve ever met. If you want to go out to eat, ask Val.  See you all at CR and even if you can go, spread the word through the social sites to help make it a great success!

Here it is, the first peek inside Confessions of a Little Black Gown. I thought with the holidays being over and all of us having to get back to work, I’d extend the season just one more day and give everyone a little treat. Hope you enjoy it!

I’ll set the stage by saying this is a fun scene from Chapter 4. Our hero, Lord Larken is posing as the Duke of Hollindrake’s cousin, Mr. Ryder, in hopes of finding Captain Dashwell who has mysteriously escaped prison. Gee, I wonder who helped Dash escape??? Our heroine, Tally Langley suspects  Mr. Ryder, a vicar of all things,  isn’t who he says he is, and has donned the black gown to see if she can get him to slip up.  Let’s see how she does when her dog Brutus has run into a vast maze at night and Tally insists our hero go after her precious pet:

A Sneak Peek inside Confessions of a Little Black Gown:

While he could return to the house and send the gardener after her, which is most likely what the duchess would expect Mr. Ryder to do, his host was another matter. Hollindrake’s expectations of him would be more exacting, for he knew exactly who Larken was.

And he’d expect Larken to do the honorable thing.

Larken’s jaw worked back and forth. If it was any other man than Hollindrake . . . for the duke was one of the few men in the ton who didn’t look askance at him. Avoid his company. Then again, the duke had served in the field under Wellington and shared, Larken guessed, many of the same experiences war left upon a man’s heart and memories.

They might not have ever spoken of it, but they didn’t have to. Each knew. And would expect nothing less than doing the right thing from the other. The honorable thing.
Shaking aside his annoyance as he stepped inside the maze, Larken set to work. For wasn’t lurking about and finding unsuspecting people what he did best, as he had in Madrid or Marseilles?

Yes, and this time he wasn’t even expected to kill anyone, though Miss Langley was certainly stretching his patience.

Taking a deep breath, he closed off the regular sounds of the evening, the hum of the insects, the whisper of a light summer wind, the lowing of a beast in a far meadow, and Brutus’s barking. Finally he settled in on the sound of Miss Langley’s determined tread, trying to discern exactly where she was, recalling the twists and turns he’d memorized from his bedchamber window earlier while trying to avoid going down to dinner.

As he marched forth, he made his list. First, he’d find her (and to hell with her little dog) and drag her back inside. Then, he’d deposit her in the care of her sister and brother-in-law and make his excuses to escape them all. Finally, he’d find Dashwell, even if it took him all night.

Then as if the Fates had ruled in his favor, he heard her gasp and tumble over.

“Bother!” came her exasperated sputter, and he couldn’t help himself, he grinned.

That was all he needed, for as he listened, he saw her, head over heels in the grass, and knew without a doubt which direction he needed to go–for she hadn’t stopped muttering her complaints.

He wound through the hedges, following the paths the best he could, listening for her complaints and threats—directed toward Brutus, thankfully—each one like a bread crumb trail, until he thought he was very close. “Miss Langley?” he said as calmly as he assumed a vicar might.

“Mr. Ryder!” she huffed from the other side of the hedge, as she tip-toed along. “Do be quiet. I’m trying to find Brutus.”

“You would do well just to leave him out here overnight—”

“Overnight? Are you mad?”

Larken glanced up at the moon above and shook his head. “I wager by morning you’d find a contrite and well-behaved dog awaiting you.”

There was an aggrieved harrumph from the other side of the thorns, and still she continued along. Stubborn chit. “I do wish you would be still,” she whispered. “I think I know exactly where he is.”

Oh, yes, now she was the expert in these matters. Then again, he had a good reckoning where the mutt was as well—so could anyone within the Hollindrake park lands given the little beast’s growling and yapping–Brutus was far deeper into the enormous maze than Larken wanted to venture. He had no intention of spending the night hunting for a spoiled dog or the exit when he had more important matters to attend to . . .

Yet this time, when he closed his eyes and tried to recall the pattern of the maze, all he saw was her.

Miss Langley. In that dress of moonlight and shadows. With her blond hair curling down in reckless tangles from its pins, her arms outstretched, her lips parted.

There were no more secrets between them, just the two of them on this moonlit night, and no boundaries, no rules to keep them apart.

Come to me . . . she’d whisper through the hedges. Take me, my lord . . . if you can catch me.

“Oh, heavens, no!” she gasped.

Larken’s eyes sprang open. Though his blood pounded in his ears, the very real sound of Brutus growling as if he’d caught the largest rat in England wiped away the last vestiges of any thought of passion.

“Do you hear that? He’s in terrible trouble,” she said. “We must save poor Brutus!”

Poor Brutus, indeed! When this assignment is over, Larken, he promised himself, you are going to take a long, holiday in some quiet seaside resort. That or spend a week in London’s most expensive brothel and get every recollection of this assignment out of your memory . . . Every thought of her.

He shuddered and contained the very rash and thorough curse that nearly sprang to his lips.

Vicars, as he recalled, were not prone to using profanity or even the occasional obscenity.

No wonder they always looked so miserable.

“Oh, heavens, I do hope he hasn’t caught anything too filthy. But at least I know exactly where he is,” came Miss Langley’s excited whisper. “Stay here while I go get him.”

This time he couldn’t stop himself. He cursed as he listened to her take flight yet again.

And Temple has the nerve to call me rash.

He chased after her, turning one corner, then another until he was ahead of her. He wheeled sharply around the corner of a hedge, thinking he was enough ahead of her to cut her off.

Not so.

Miss Langley was closer than he thought and she ran straight into him, their collision complete.

In so many ways.

She barreled into his chest, and they fell together, her atop him, her hands grappling to catch hold of his lapels.

And onto the grass they tumbled, a tangle of limbs, one hand winding around her and pulling her closer, even as his other reached out to brace their fall. And while he shielded her from the worst of it, he found himself branded with every curve of her body, the fullness of her breasts, the feminine line of her hips, her long legs wound with his, her breath hot and indignant upon his neck.

It happened in the blink of an eye, but from that moment on, Larken knew he’d be marked by this troublesome bit of velvet, this woman who confounded him at every turn.

In the soft moonlight, he gazed up at her, struck to his very heart by the unlikely hold she cast over him.

Everything around them faded into the background. There was only them. It was a magical sort of thing, one that left a practical man like Larken utterly confounded.

And when she looked back at him, her fingers still wound into his jacket, her eyes widened with the same passion, he’d wager, that was enveloping in him. Her lips opened to say something, but the words escaped her and instead, they parted only enough to form the sort of invitation that needed no explanation.

She glanced at him warily, but the curious desire in her eyes caught him, lured him closer. Made him forget that he was supposed to be Hollindrake’s eunuch of a cousin, not the rake this lady brought out in him.

Kiss me, her half parted lips seemed to whisper. Kiss me now before this moment ends.

---

Confessions of a Little Black Dress is available to pre-order on Amazon.com,  Barnes & Noble and at Books-a-Million.

I’m announcing the first of my five winners in my current contest.  And the winners are:

• Betsy B. of Taylorsville, NC
• Kari C. of Northfield, MN

Congratulations! And watch for your autographed hardback edition of Love Letters from a Duke in your mailbox.
Make sure you read all the details and then enter, because there are still three prizes left to win.

Have you seen the new feature in comments where you can share this blog on Facebook and alike? Just go to comments, click on your fav social networking icon and you can share this contest and blog with your friends anytime. Cool, huh?

Finally the snow has melted away (at least in my part of town) and I think my friend Kelli Estes is probably still digging out.  Her part of the area (and my mom’s as well) got hammered with more snow on Christmas to the point where many people lost their power and are still stranded with unplowed streets and limited access in and out. That is one of the vagaries of Seattle weather. Right now the wind is howling and the rain is pouring down, but I called my mom who lives 35 minutes away and she has blue sky and patches of snow in her yard. We have, according to the weather experts, some of the hardest weather to predict because of all the forces that converge over the Pacific Northwest and specifically Seattle (we even have a “Convergent Zone”).

Our Christmas was definitely memorable–the snow and more snow, and even more snow made it so. My dad drove up from Roseburg, Oregon in just horrible weather. I have to give him huge kudos for making the trip. I adore having my entire family in the house on Christmas and look forward to it all December. I plan out the big dinner, shop, cook and plan obsessively, and then it all comes together like a beautiful dream. I’m not bragging, it is just one thing that I am good at–putting on a big family meal and having it all come together. I watched my mom and my grandmothers do it year after year, and I itched for the time when it would finally fall on my shoulders. Well it did about 10 years ago, and I live for the holidays. I feel so close to my grandmothers when I have the entire kitchen running–oven packed, all the burners going, family dodging around me, kids eating too many cookies and crackers, someone’s spilled punch. I mean really, does life get any better?

Now my family would probably describe it a little differently.  I also don’t share the responsibility any more than I have to, and I cringe when someone offers to bring something. Please don’t, it makes the control freak in me sort of crazy. Okay, a lot crazy. Unless it is my mom offering to bring rolls. She bakes killer rolls.

Well, as the days progressed toward my perfect Christmas, Mother Nature decided to give me a lesson.  Instead of thawing as I thought it should, the weather just continued getting worse. I spent my time living in front of the local weather reports. When you are stuck at home with the kids and no way to get out, the weatherman is your lifeline. I sat in front of King 5 begging for help. “Come on, Jeff Renner, give me some temps over freezing.”

But alas, the weather kept my mom and brother and his family stuck–which just made me so sad. I’ve only spent two Christmases away from my mom in my entire life, and I was starting to feel a little heartbroken. But my dad, God Bless him, went out of his way to make the day fun. He played video games with the kids and had them laughing until the house rang with it. And that is what Christmas is all about, isn’t it?  Great joy.

I ended up cutting the roast I had bought in half because we didn’t have enough people to eat 15 pounds of roast beef. (Did I also mention that I cook enough for a entire village?) As it happened, Matthew’s aid, Kelsey and her boyfriend had mentioned that they weren’t doing anything for Christmas, so I invited them over, because they are a wonderful part of our family and I knew they could get to our house. And to make my day complete, I discovered that her boyfriend eats. And eats and eats.  He polished off every bit of leftovers and practically licked the plates clean. My grandmothers were certainly smiling down.

Oh, get your mind out of the snowbank.  Not that kind of quickie. A quickie gift. Perfect for a stocking stuffer, something to give to your book group, local bookseller who finds you great titles, friend at work who passes along gently used books. I did these up this morning after watching my husband drive up our driveway in my car.  He made it on the third attempt. Did I say he was driving my car? Only one around here with front wheel drive and chains. Because some of us like to be prepared. Crazy notion that! So after the harrowing ordeal of watching my dear car sliding up and down the driveway, and the prospect of being snowed in with the kids for Day 6 (but who’s counting?), I needed something fun, peaceful and useful to do this morning before they wake up and the fighting, er, fun begins.

And yes, that is my deck with about 2 feet of snow on it. In Seattle. And it just keeps coming down. We had to dig it all off the deck yesterday because we were worried it was going to get too heavy. Well, he-who-is-driving-my-car did the shoveling, since we have only one shovel. And while you might think having only one shovel isn’t thinking ahead, I disagree. It leaves you inside to make the coffee.

So back to my need for a quickie this morning. Something crafty and easy on the pocketbook to soothe my soul after watching my car come sliding down the driveway. Something I can do at home since getting out to finish the Christmas shopping isn’t going to happen. Therefore, I got out my new favorite quickie gift–one anyone can make–the freebie, downloadable bookmarks I put together with Julia Quinn, Kathryn Caskie, and Samantha James.

You just need a good pair of scissors, or if you are really crafty, a paper cutter. Some self-laminating paper or some cardstock or good paper to mount the bookmark onto. Maybe a bit of stray ribbon and you are good. So here it is in 4 easy steps.

1) Download the bookmark.

I used photo paper in my printer and used the best printing I could and they came out great. I’ve also done them on plain paper had to look just great as well. Really with only a bit of time on your hands, use what is on hand.

2) Cut them out carefully. I printed out two pages so I had the choice of having the same book on both sides, or mixing it up.

3) Cut out the laminating paper just a little bit bigger than the bookmarks. Or if you are totally crafting and can always say, “Oh, I’ve got one of those,” you can use your home laminator. But if you are like me and don’t have one, you can do just as well with this Avery Self-Adhesive sheets.

4) Put the bookmarks back to back and stick them to the laminating paper.Put another piece on top, trim it up a bit, and voila! You have the quickest gift on earth.

I even did one with a ribbon down the middle just to be fancy.

And here it is in a brand new book my editor sent me last week:

So there it is. A great little bit of homemade goodness to tuck inside a book for a stocking stuffer or to share with your favorite bookhounds. So bookmark away, and have some fun this week.  It may be busy and hectic and stressful, (especially when your husband is driving your car) but take a few moments out and do something crafty and homey and fun. Then give it away. “Tis the season after all. Besides, you know how to make more.