Looking at a recent photo of me in a pair of bright red sunglasses, my sister did a double-take.

“Who are you?” she crowed, giving me a hard look.

The answer came to me quickly: “Me. The new me.”

It’s true that I’ve recently undergone some changes. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I decided I was completely tired of my old life — mindset, misdirected energy, and the boring clothes I’ve been wearing since college: faded T-shirts with the University of Maryland splashed across the chest; ill-fitting jeans, worn with wear; scuffed sandals into which I’ve shoved my feet for years.

I’ve never been a fashion maven but I’ve never looked ridiculous, either. I generally wear feminine styles and, in terms of clothing, have a little flair for the dramatic. But lately? I’ve been stepping it up.

At least twice a week, you’ll see these little legs in a skirt or dress at work. Gone are my frumpy, baggy black dress pants — the ones I’d wear constantly to the office, hiding my expanding figure. In the past year, I’ve lost enough weight to fit back into all my “skinny” clothes . . . and invested in new pieces. Pieces that are more “me” than ever before. And see that nail up there, the one poking my cheek? That’s green, friends. Green nail polish. Would I have rocked a hue like that a year ago? Doubtful. But now? Let’s go for it.

Emerging from a very “blah” relationship and finally taking stock of my life since this time last year, I’ve sensed such a change in who I am . . . and what I want from myself. I’ve never been quiet, meek or afraid to speak up, but for a while I silenced any part of myself that was ready to step out of my comfort zone. Complacency was the name of the game, and anything that challenged me — as a person, as a writer, as a woman — was squashed. But between traveling, making new friends and strengthening old relationships, writing, bonding and generally living? I’m ready to get silly again. And bold. And crazy. 

All while wearing bright red sunglasses.

And damn if it doesn’t feel good.

When I was but a lowly bookseller at the chain bookstore in my hometown — which was, you know, about a year ago — I distinctly remember holding a paperback copy of Pam Jenoff’s The Diplomat’s Wife in my overworked fingers. My coworkers raved about it; customers raved about it. But my time with Pam Jenoff was still yet to come!

Because it’s now my pleasure to welcome Pam to write meg! with a topic near and dear to my own heart: a writer’s life. And while I can only hope to one day experience the terror Pam describes below, we’re all fortunate to share in her wisdom — and excellent books. Almost Home, recently reviewed, was a fabulous thriller full of all the British details I love above all else — and I can’t wait to grab The Diplomat’s Wife and The Kommandant’s Girl in the near future.


Fear And Loathing –
The Three Scariest Moments In A Writer’s Life

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Being an author is scary — really scary. Maybe this comes as no surprise, but when I was an aspiring author (okay, I am still aspiring to write, but I’m referring here to the pre-publication days) I thought getting there would be the hardest part. And that was very difficult, but I find the actual process of being published and putting my work out there even more terrifying. There are three moments in particular that send chills down my spine just thinking of them.

First, there’s sending off a manuscript to my editor (and sometimes my agent as well). There can be many weeks (or months) of nail-biting before getting feedback. I’ve actually had a nightmare during this waiting phase about an editor telling me what a stinking pile of poo the book I’d just labored on for a year really was. In actuality, the feedback is more positive and constructive than that. The second part of this phase, after I incorporate the editor’s feedback and wait to see if I’ve hit the mark, is equally frightening. Once it is all over, and the editor is generally satisfied with the manuscript, my stomach unclenches somewhat. In fact, I think the three sweetest words in the English language may be “delivery and acceptance” (meaning the manuscript is largely good to go).

The second terrifying phase to me is the pre-publication reviews. A few months before a book hits the shelves, it can be reviewed by one (or more if you’re lucky) of four industry publications: Publishers’ Weekly, Kirkus, Library Journal and Booklist. This is the first taste of what the trade thinks of a book and it is always a real nail-biter for me. Some of these publications may denote books which reviewers particularly like with a star. The much-coveted “starred review” can send important signals to booksellers and can also cause a publisher to pay more attention to a book. But the whole process is so shrouded in mystery: Which publications will review the book this time? Will reviewers like the book, and if so, which parts? Will it get that elusive star?

But I think the scariest phase of being published is the period after the book comes out. You walk into the bookstore and finally hold your baby in your arms. Then you realize: People are going to (hopefully) read your guts-spilled-out-and-bound-up-as-book. People you don’t know, some of whom will post nice-and-not-so-nice reviews. People you do know like (gulp!) your mother. You fiendishly check your Amazon rankings and wait for the feedback.

At some point (hopefully early on while you are still waiting for editor feedback) you have to put the fear away and sit back down at the computer and keep working on the next one. After all as authors, that is what we do — write. (And fret. Lots and lots of fretting.) Then, depending upon the nature of your contract, it’s time to take the next one out to market, and see if the door will open when you knock once more. But that’s a whole other type of fear… and a topic for another day.

– Pam Jenoff

Since a tragedy claimed the life of her boyfriend Jared at Cambridge University, U.S. State Department intelligence officer Jordan Weiss has been run, run, running away from the past — fighting always to stay one step ahead of the painful memories. Advancing to her current post in Washington, D.C., Jordan chooses to stay emotionally aloof by burying her feelings and focusing always on her work.

Until a letter arrives, that is, changing everything. Sent from her close friend, now terminally ill, Sarah mentions she’s returned to England. Aware of her friend’s deteoriating health, Jordan barely hesitates before asking for a transfer to London to help care for her — in a place she has steadfastly avoided since her life there was shattered in the wake of Jared’s drowning. Now ten years removed from that terrible night, Jordan returns to the U.K. and immediately begins work with Maureen Martindale, a friend and superior who asks for her assistance in busting up a serious mob ring.

Aware of the danger surrounding her new task, Jordan carefully begins uncovering more than a few secrets floating around England — and one close to her heart. When an old Cambridge classmate reappears and begins asking questions about their shared past, the wounds on Jordan’s heart reopen. And it’s only through searching for the covered truth — with Chris Bannister, Jordan’s old best friend — that they might finally heal.

Atmospheric, cerebral and exciting, Pam Jenoff’s rollicking Almost Home kept me on the edge of my seat from page one. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a novel filled with so many elements — romance, murder, grief, passion, suspense, family — but Jenoff’s masterful use of description and language dropped me in the middle of each scene and refused to let me out.

As a reader, a novel’s setting — and the way in which it’s described — can make or break a book for me. In the case of Almost Home, the sense of place couldn’t have been more perfect or artfully described. As an Anglophile, I eagerly consumed Jenoff’s descriptions of England and British culture. And as the novel opens in Washington, my hometown, I could easily picture everywhere Jordan was traversing, giving the book added authenticity.

The mysteries embedded in the plot — plentiful, complicated — are what kept me up reading until 3 a.m. and up again just four hours later to finish. Jenoff dispenses enough information at each twist for us to feel like we’re “getting somewhere,” only to then flip around and unmask another complication. And I have one gripe about these mysteries: I think the back cover description gave away too much of the plot, and I knew more about the “mystery” going in than I would have wanted. In my own story description above, I’ve left out several key pieces of information you’d get from an Amazon or other description, so beware. It certainly did not ruin the novel for me, but I wish that one secret, in particular, hadn’t already been divulged.

Jordan’s character, while sometimes prickly, was someone I admired, respected and rooted for. I couldn’t completely understand her “any port in a storm” approach to romance, but I could also recognize the deep grief from which she was just beginning to recover and didn’t fault her for that. While some of her fledgling relationships felt a little one-dimensional, I did appreciate Jenoff’s development of one in particular.

Every reader will come to Almost Home with a different expectation — mystery, thriller, women’s fiction, historical fiction, British fiction — and probably find their needs met, as I did. Jenoff’s sequel Hidden Things is due out in July, and yours truly will be running (or, you know, driving) to the bookstore to find out what’s up next.


4.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 1416590706 ♥ Purchase from AmazonAuthor Website
Review copy provided by author

I wanna hold your hand . . . or do I?

After her long-time sweetheart Nate turns out to be — gasp — just another teenage boy with a wandering eye, Penny Lane Bloom is crushed. Vowing to give up dating for the rest of high school, she soon finds a sympathetic ear — or twenty — as other girls from school find their way into an unofficial union with Penny Lane. An avid Beatles fan, Penny dubs the group “The Lonely Hearts Club” and the girls quickly form a comraderie based on wanting only the best out of life . . . and knowing that no immature high school senior will be able to provide it.

Things are fine and well until the group rapidly expands to encompass many of the school’s young ladies, and guess who isn’t so thrilled about a no-dating club? All of the young men. When the school newspaper does a feature on the club and breaks it all wide open, Penny must navigate the newly-treacherous waters of dirty looks, whispering, rumors and backstabbing. And along the way, battle her own feelings toward men — and one boy, in particular. Can the queen bee of the Lonely Hearts Club actually mend her own?

I started Elizabeth Eulberg’s The Lonely Hearts Club on Valentine’s Day — when I was having an impromptu Lonely Hearts Club meeting of my own, if I’m being honest. What I found in its pages was a sweet if simple story about a teen girl learning that friendship really does have restorative properties — and that we don’t need a man to waltz in and complete our lives (though sometimes it’s fun when the guys do show up).

Penny Lane should get points for being proactive with her heart, deciding what to do with it and to whom she’s going to give it. But I felt like, as a narrator, she was a bit boring . . . and that the supporting cast of The Lonely Hearts Club, which included best friends Diane and Tracy, was weak. None of the characters stood out as individuals or felt like people I would actually know; I wanted some depth and feeling going on here. Even as the novel opens on Penny and her broken heart, I didn’t feel the jagged edges of anything. It was all saccharine, too orderly.

Where the novel failed to move me was definitely through the characterization of Eulberg’s ensemble. Even Todd, a sort of “bad boy” fellow student, failed to inspire any aggravation or distaste on my part. Ryan, Diane’s ex-boyfriend, seemed like an everyman golden boy — the one girls love for no other reason than he’s just so gosh-darn loveable. And I don’t know . . . it didn’t work for me.

But the novel isn’t bad. The plotting is fast-paced, though I had no idea where the story was going — and not in a good way. It all just seemed to meander along without any motivation or impetus. Once the club was formed, I had a hard time figuring out where the conflict was going to come from. And in the end? There really . . . wasn’t one. Not enough to form a whole book around, anyway.

Still, I don’t want to leave you with a bad taste in your mouth. Eulberg’s writing is fun and the novel, which functions as a coming-of-age tale, will probably appeal to young teens. For fans of the Fab Four, the frequent Beatles references, lyrics and quotes add flavor to an otherwise vanilla young adult novel.


3 out of 5!

ISBN: 0545140315 ♥ Purchase from AmazonAuthor Website
Personal copy won from Read This Book!

You’d be hard-pressed to find a more excited book lover than me last Monday! Two fat packages arrived for yours truly at work, carried in by my office buddy Kelly. “You have presents!” she chimed.

She wasn’t kidding.

Contained in my two padded envelopes were 10 books, a massive win from The Book Studio’s #FridayReads program on Twitter. Each Friday, The Book Studio team asks Twitter folks to simply chat about what they’re reading that day and attach the #FridayReads hashtag to their thoughts. It’s a great way to see what your friends and followers have in hand, and I really enjoy checking out the responses throughout the day.

Before the snowpocalypse in early February, I participated and probably mentioned Austenland by Shannon Hale. Bethanne promised that if more than 500 responses came in for #FridayReads that day, The Book Studio would give away 10 books to one randomly selected winner. The response threshold was reached and, as you’ve probably guessed, I won! Throw the pink confetti!

I’d walked away from Twitter for about a half hour and when I returned, a flood of congratulations tweets filled my timeline. It took me a few minutes (and several Twitter stalkage clicks) to figure out what had happened, but then I was squealing with glee! Especially since I was housebound at that point. Girl needs something to keep her going.

What did I win, you might ask? Here’s what arrived in my mailbox:

The Embers by Hyatt Bass (fiction)
Stand The Storm by Breena Clarke (fiction)
Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen (fiction)
Cheerful Money by Tad Friend (non-fiction/memoir)
Sonata Mulattica by Rita Dove (poetry)
Lowboy by John Wray (fiction)
Things I’ve Been Silent About by Azar Nafisi (non-fiction/memoir)
The Brenner Assignment by Patrick O’Donnell (non-fiction/WWII)
Lovesick by Alex Wellen (fiction)
Drive by Daniel H. Pink (non-fiction)

Such an ecclectic group of books! I’ve already shared The Embers with a coworker, as I read it last summer on vacation; definitely a powerful read that I’ve actually thought about often, despite feeling like I really didn’t enjoy it at the time. I guess sometimes the novels that stick with us aren’t the ones we felt were “best,” but rather most poignant?

I’m really excited to make my way through the stack — pulling each one from the envelopes was a complete surprise, and so thrilling. Seriously. It felt like my birthday and Christmas and the dawning of a new millennium and a wedding (my own?) all wrapped up in two brown packages! None of them were necessarilybooks I would have chosen for myself, and I think that’s part of what makes it so fun. I definitely intend to pour over them — and y’all know I’ll be back to share.

Thanks again to The Book Studio for my fabulous prize! Remember to check out #FridayReads on Twitter and join in the fun. (I’m always there, so you know it must be good.)

Something really exciting happened to me this week.

No, I haven’t yet found “The One” — or even “the one” of the moment. As of this posting, friends, I haven’t gotten to a third date with any of the gentlemen with whom I’ve been seeing recently. Casually. In a casual way.

I haven’t won the lottery or gotten a raise. And while I’m at it, I haven’t made great strides in finishing my fourth novel or returning to the infamous querying process in order to find someone who will value (and promote) my snark-tastic musings. I did win a heaping pile of books from The Book Studio — more on that later — but I’m so stressed and busy, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to crack the spine on any of them. Yes, things are insane — in a good way — and I’m feeling overwhelmed, but . . .

I found the perfect shade of
pink nail polish.

I’ve pranced around the planet for almost 25 years and polished up these pretty fingers more times than I can count. In terms of obsessions, I’m a bit of a nail polish junkie — and it doesn’t help that I frequent some fabulous fashion blogs which make me want to whip out the ol’ credit card and order everything in sight. If I’m strolling through Target, I have to detour into the makeup aisle — just to get a glimpse at all the tiny, pretty bottles, all perfectly lined up and promising I’ll become sassy or saucy or sexy while wearing these shades.

I’m pretty saucy on a daily basis — or try to be, anyway — but there’s something about those clear bottles promising me a mini-makeover that I find utterly irresistible.

But up until this week, I’d never been able to find the right shade of pink.

Because on top of being sassy and saucy, I’m very particular. My sister’s room is full of the pink cast-offs I’ve purchased over the years, trying to find the right color, only to decide that while it’s pretty or cute or whatevs, it’s not The One.

But it’s a brand-new day.

It’s called “Party In My Cabana” and is made by none other than OPI, that most fabulous (and, er, costly) of nail companies. Since I cycle through so many bottles of polish on a regular basis, I usually can’t see paying $8 or $10 a bottle for something I’ll probably wear once and then shove in a bin, but let me say this: I’d pay every cent of that $8 for this hue (and did), and I think you’ll see why. Glance to the very top.

It’s dark. It’s a fun, dark pink. It’s not bubblegum, but it’s not salmon. It’s bold and bright and fun, while still being sophisticated and work-appropriate.

Basically, it’s Heaven In A Tiny, Black-Capped Bottle.

I was about to stop believing, but my faith in cosmetics has been restored. Yes, Meg, there is a Nail Polish Claus — available on the OPI site — and it knew what I wanted even before I did. Once there, click “Try On This Color” and, you know, spend a few minutes (er, hours?) finding the shade that works best for you. Then head over to Amazon or your favorite retailer, find it cheap and go for it. Paint those nails. Or, in my case, come have a “party in my cabana”!

Not sure that sounds right. But, ladies, you know what I mean.

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