Guest Blog by author Cheryl Kaye Tardif

I have a great guest blog this week--a followup article from best-selling Canadian author, Cheryl K Tardif, who last time discussed her pseudonym, Cherish D'Angelo. You can read the first Romance novel she's written under that name--for free, as she explains below.

If 'free', 'romance', 'suspense', and 'thriller' aren't enough enticement, she's recently revealed she's included some of her friends and supporters in the novel. Does that include me? You? We better check it out!

Eileen Schuh
Canadian Author
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Romantic suspense: a scintillating combination of titillation and trepidation


When I first decided to write a romance novel, I polished off the first half of a contemporary romance, then got bored with it and filed it away in the bowels of my computer. You know, stuffed so far into a file that I easily forgot about it. The problem was that I had already established myself as an author of mystery and suspense. Sure there was some romance in my novels, but it didn’t “drive” the story, and there often wasn’t a “happily ever after”, which is the unshakable law of romance novels.

What bored me about my original romance novel—beside the title (Reflections)—was the journey of my characters (I forget the main character’s name). They met, there was chemistry, she had a disturbing past that stood in her way, they explored each other timidly, she fell in love, he didn’t at first, they eventually hooked up…blah, blah, blah…and they all lived happily ever after. Boring!

I knew that there were many problems with the work. I couldn’t get into my characters enough for even ME to feel for them, much less a poor reader. It’s my personal mantra to make readers feel what my characters feel. Then there was the setting. It originally took place in Bermuda, where I had lived as a teen. However, the laws there are strict regarding people who can live there or own land. And finally, there wasn’t enough tension or suspense, something I feel I’m good at creating when I write a thriller. I buried the manuscript, never sure if I’d ever look at it again. But I did.

In June, I heard about the Dorchester ‘Next Best Celler’ contest over at http://www.textnovel.com/. Dorchester Publishing is looking for the “New Voice in Romance”. As soon as I read that, I thought: I could BE that voice. Since the prize was a publishing contract with Dorchester, a company I’ve been interested in for a few years, I was instantly motivated.

First, I opened up Reflections and did lots of cringing and groaning. I wondered if I’d be better off starting a new novel from scratch, but the theme of the novel drew me in: A woman is stranded on a tropical island after her dying boss sends her there for reasons only known to him and said woman meets angry but handsome recluse. Sure beats meeting a guy in a bar.

As I read over the first few chapters of Reflections, I realized instantly what I could do to amp up this novel and make it worth publishing. I could make it a romantic suspense [insert flashing light bulb]. All I had to do was throw in an element of danger, which came in the form of a sleazy, sadistic private investigator. He was created when, partway through writing this novel, I held a special contest. My “Create a Corpse Contest” had been popular in the past and this time it resulted in the winning entry: “Winston Chambers”.

As soon as Winston was thrown into the mix, the plot thickened, grew darker and more intense, and I realized something. I had created one of my best characters in that scumbag Winston. I hated him! And if I hated him, I knew my readers would too. If you read some of the comments over at Textnovel.com, you’ll see the reaction people have had.
Winston Chambers allowed me to tiptoe over to the dark side, while pursuing the romance between my main characters, Rhianna and Jonathan.

Has the original Reflections changed? Darn rights it has! Only the premise and a few short scenes are from the original manuscript. I took the concept and created an entire 66,000 word manuscript in just under 5 months. You can read about ¾ of it online FREE.

My debut romantic suspense is called Lancelot’s Lady, and I think you’ll find it’s a scintillating combination of titillation and trepidation, the ingredients necessary in a novel of this genre. You’ll also find that I plan to use a pseudonym for my romance writing, so be sure to keep an eye out for Cherish D’Angelo’s debut. Cherish likes to stir her cauldron of steamy romance and lurking suspense, occasionally adding a dash of humor and a pinch of foreshadowing. She’s already considered her next romance novel…but if she tells you about it now, she’d have to kill you.

What started as a boring work has become an inspiring one that grew more visible to me with each added scene. This Dorchester contest, while often seeming long and exhausting, pushed me to deliver. And I hope I did. Please check out Lancelot’s Lady at Textnovel.com. Let me know what you think. How did I do? If you really enjoy it, please consider voting for me. If you click on the blue thumb circle and blue phone circle, I get 2 points, and that will help me get to the finals in mid-November. I sincerely value your support.

Read Lancelot’s Lady for FREE at:
http://www.textnovel.com/stories_list_detail.php?story_id=928

~Cherish D’Angelo (aka Cheryl Kaye Tardif)
http://www.cherishdangelo.com/

The Circle of Time

This is my 44th consecutive smoke-free day. As my life as a smoker draws to a close, my career as a writer opens wide.

Life is a fabric woven from segments like these--intertwined memories and expectations, beginnings and endings, past, present, future--self and the universe. I am the pattern that emerges from this tapestry of choices and fate, traumas and celebrations, failures and triumphs. As it is with the universe, this pattern that is me is ever changing, ever renewing, ever becoming.

Most writers blog about the use of the semicolon, the proper format for a query letter, the upcoming release of their newest book, the source of inspiration, etc. Likewise, I intended to use "Magic of the Muses" to showcase my skill as a writer, promote the novels I've written, find the agent/publisher I'm seeking. My blog, however, evolved into an intimate diary of my quest to quit smoking.

Between the hours involved in blogging about this quest, and the time spent pacing and eating--distracted by cravings and pain--my writing career seemed to be going nowhere. Yet, in my inbox an email from an agent appeared, requesting a copy of my novel, "Noraebang" to review. Next came a tweet from an American scientist, interested in my tweeted and blogged campaign to quit.

As my nicotine cravings gradually fade along with the need to write about them, my time becomes increasing devoted to cultivating the interest in my writing sparked by "Magic of the Muses".

I am diligently pursuing an agent, preparing queries and answering responses. I'll keep you posted. Perhaps my next blog will be entitled, "Me and my Agent".

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Read a preview and excerpt from my novel
"Noraebang"
http://www.eileenschuh.com/noraebang/

Day 36: Suck it up, Princess

I received an email about my last post, suggesting I shouldn't minimize my fight to quit smoking. Although others in the world may be facing greater and more painful challenges, addictions are a very serious issue for individuals and for society.

I have to agree. In fact, the woman who inspired me by working through the grief of losing her grandson to a drunk driver, was quite likely the victim of someone with an addiction--alcohol addiction. Addictions are the evil behind many criminal acts. [They have a prominent role in my crime novels which are previewed on my website: http://www.eileenschuh.com]

I did not intend last week's blog to minimize my addiction, my pain, or my efforts to quit. I believe, though, that I was attributing entirely too many words and exclamation marks to my weeping and moaning. I chose to start smoking and I chose to quit smoking. Lots of people, like the grandmother in my last blog, are hurting through no choice of their own.

So, what I was trying to say to myself was, "Suck it up, Princess!"

Although encouraging people to talk about their pains and problems is touted as a great stress reliever, studies have shown otherwise. During conversations about trauma, people react emotionally and physically as if they were actually experiencing the events. The moral? Sometimes it's best and healthiest to leave things be and move on--think about other things, other people, sunnier times, brighter futures.

To this end, I will briefly inform you--the cravings are much less frequent and less intense. My candy consumption is decreasing. And my husband has announced he is joining me in 'butting out' for keeps.

On a lighter note, I asked for tidbits of humour on Facebook and Twitter and promised I'd post on my blog the joke that made me laugh the most.

Thanks to Shevi Arnold for the following giggle: "Would everyone who believes in telekinesis, please raise my hand."

And, equally humorous, thanks to my cousin, Maureen, for the following laughs:

My face in the mirror isn't wrinkled or drawn.
My house isn't dirty, the cobwebs are gone.
My garden looks lovely and so does my lawn.
I think I might never, put my glasses back on!

A librarian admitted to hospital for surgery got this card from her associates: "If they take anything out make sure they sign for it!"

Funny Definitions:
BEAUTY PARLOR: a place where women curl up and dye
CHICKENS: the only creatures you eat before they are born and after they die.
EGOTIST: Someone who is usually me-deep in conversation.
TOOTHACHE: the pain that drives you to extraction!

Thanks, guys, for making me laugh!

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

My pain is infinitesimal

I have nothing wise to say today about hitting Day #28 smoke-free. The cravings are less frequent, but their intensity has not diminished. This past weekend I was at a workshop and instead of being in the company of friends who'd successfully quit, I was with those who enjoyed their cigarettes. I could have had a puff. I could have stood outside the doors with them instead of being stuck at a table with ladies I didn't know.

I want to join my buddies for just one cigarette. No one would find out. The woman across from me asks what I do for a living. I begin telling her about my website, my blog, and my dream of becoming a published novelist. She tells me about a poem her young niece wrote as a tribute to our soldiers in Afghanistan. An announcement that the next sessions start in 3 minutes cuts short a very interesting conversation.

I'm caught up in the presentation on covert surveillance techniques and don't entertain a single thought about smoking until the next break. I longingly watch my buddies slip outside. I follow them, watch them through the glass doors, turn away and finger a red MADD ribbon on a display table. A framed photo of a smiling toddler catches my eye. The baby looks so much like my grandson.

"My daughter's boy," the woman behind the table says. "He was killed by a drunk driver." My heart leaps, my eyes moisten.

"I've been volunteering for Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) for the last 11 years--since it happened. I talk at schools. I talk to prisoners."

I stare at her, wondering from where she gets her courage.

"He lived with my daughter in our basement. I remember him calling up the stairs in the morning, 'Grandma, are you awake, yet?'"

A nicotine fix is the farthest thing from my mind.

"I remember tiptoeing in to see him as he slept. I remember thinking, 'I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.'"

The workshop ends and I pull up to our cabin. My grandson greets me with a gurgle and a 5-toothed smile. I think of the stories that I would not have heard had I been on the other side of those glass doors.

I have nothing wise to say about being smoke-free. There's nothing I want to complain about. On a scale of 1 to 10, my pain is infinitesimal.

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Pangs, Pains, & Panic

Twenty-two smoke-free days and it strikes me that if smoking is like Twittering, quitting is like being in labour. The cravings--intense, painful, and raw--like contractions, come and go. Quitting smoking, like labouring, has positive results--that reportedly are well-worth the agony. However, that's about where the similarities end.

There's no one here to give me demerol, morphine, or a spinal to ease the pain when I'm in the throws of a craving. There's no one to assure me that the doctor won't let the cravings continue for more than 18 hours. There's no one rubbing my back, telling me that I'm half-way through my craving, and begging me to hang in there.

No one saying, "Breath deep. Keep breathing."

Two things kept me from panicking in the labour room. One was timing my contractions and knowing when I was half-way through them. The other was realizing that women for eons had being doing this and, therefore, I would too.

Knowing that the cravings will pass, provides a bit of comfort, but knowing others have successfully quit smoking doesn't help me much--because I also know that unlike labour, many have tried and failed. If three hours into labour a woman could change her mind and opt out of the pregnancy plan, we likely wouldn't have an over-population problem. However, in the quest to quit smoking, there is a choice. And everyone who tries to quit knows there is. That choice results in a hell of a lot more people failing in their attempt to quit than succeeding. I cannot comfort myself with the knowledge that all this pain is guaranteed to result in success.

I'm panicking. For over three weeks I've engaged in a distracting, agonizing, personal, and lonely battle with the nicotine demons. It's a battle I'm imagining will last forever. Again and again my soul will scream out for comfort. For years, I'll be restlessly wandering the house, empty and dark inside. Forever, I'll hear demonic voices whispering tales about the pleasures of 'Players.'

An endless battle I'm not assured of winning. The enticing option to retreat always there. No ointment to soothe my wounds. No deadline to win the war. Pangs, pain, and panic.

DOES ANYONE OUT THERE HEAR MY PAIN?

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Can Twitter help the Quitter?

Can Twitter help the Quitter? It's a question posed to me by Steve Ondersma, scientist at WSU Med School in Detroit, as I head into my third smoke-free week. "Wld lov yr thoughts!" he tweeted. It wasn't a question I'd considered before.

I hadn't joined Twitter to aid my quest to quit-smoking; I'd joined to promote myself as a Canadian author, 'get my name out there in cyberspace', curry friendships and potential readership, reach my goal of becoming a published novelist. By tweeting about my real-life quit-smoking efforts, I hoped to entice people to read my 'important' website stuff. Until Steve tweeted me, I hadn't thought that perhaps Twitter was also helping me reach my smoking-cessation goal.

"What has the world come to?" I lamented to my publicist. "Are people really relying on faceless friends and electronic messages of 140 characters or less for moral support? What happened to family and friends? Phone calls and hugs?"

One of the hardest parts of my stop-smoking strategy was announcing my intentions to family and friends--a necessary step in order to increase one's chance of success, according to smoking-cessation specialists. It was difficult to do, not only because I was scared that I was setting myself up for a very public failure, but because people's reactions are not always helpful. Comments like "It's about time!" or "Now you won't stink!" are a little tough on a fragile ego, especially when delivered by people you love.

On the other hand, announcing my decision to the entire world via Twitter was surprisingly easy, perhaps because I was masked in anonymity. Perhaps because with Twitter, escaping judgement was simply a keystroke away. Unlike my announcement to family and friends, my Twitter announcement had to be succint--less than 140 characters. There was no room for parlaying reasons, excuses, history, and blame. All I had to say was, "Hey, World. I'm gonna quit smoking."

Come to think of it, I have found Tweeting to be a lot like cigarette smoking. It takes less than five minutes. It provides short, intermittant breaks from the daily grind. It's readily available at all hours of the day and night. It provides a small burst of pleasure. It's addictive--the more you do the more you want to do.

Tweeting has soothed me when I was uneasy, energized me when I was tired, lifted my depression, and offer a me a social connection that rivals that of the smokers' circle. It's something I look forward to doing--something that gets me out of bed in the mornings.

Twitter's simularities to smoking, especially when coupled with its differences (such as much lower cost and no proven ill side-effects), may indeed prove Twittering to be a valuable alternative to smoking--just not when one is driving. Please.


Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/

Quest to Quit Smoking

My pre-planned quit date was September 1st.

I was on a road trip to Alaska with two friends and my husband as the days ground toward that dreaded last cigarette. Champix, the smoking cessation drug, built up in my system as the miles slipped behind us. I struggled to cut back on the amount I smoked and ended up smoking more as I desperately sought comfort from cigarettes which were no longer offering that pleasure. I crocheted, I laughed, I drank wine, watched grizzlies, and took photos of glaciers.

On the fifth day of taking Champix, 22 August 2009, I wrote in my diary. "Concentrated on pleasures from other sources: the kiss of my puppy, beautiful scenery, laughter of friends, beautiful flower baskets, the crunch of a Smarties' candy shell and the smooth chocolate beneath. The bite of dark roasted Arabic coffee. I feel better to have taken some conscious and deliberate steps to wean myself, rather than passively waiting for the pills to 'cure' me. Gives me a sense of control participation and counters the panic I feel when I contemplate life without cigarettes. If I quit Champix, cigarettes would again give me pleasure. However, the nicotine demons would demand my health and dollars in exchange for their service. I don't want that.

I realize the instant, on-demand spurts of nicotine pleasure have dulled many legitimate opportunities to experience positive emotions. Not only through the addiction aspect, ("Here, take the grandson. I need a smoke!") but also by dulling the senses of smell and taste. These two senses are closely linked to memory. I think of being a child and inhaling the smell of rain, dew on roses, frogs. Sharp cheese, fresh mown hay...spontaneous pleasures. Gifts: no sacrifices needed."

Day 11, 28 August 2009: "Have done well cutting back. Had 5 cigarettes all day. Cravings, if resisted, vanish in 5-10 seconds. Cravings only happen every 3-4 hours."

Day 14, 31 August 2009: "Felt depressed, as if saying farewell to a friend who for years has been there to comfort me. Have difficulty concentrating on good things about not smoking. Had about 4 cigarettes today. In the evening, I throw my last one into the campfire embers. I contemplate how one simple decision (to quit Champix) could bring back my friend. I do not feel at all like celebrating. I mention it to no one."

September 1st: Quit Day: "Over-riding feeling of depression throughout the day. Past traumas and tragedies mull around in my brain. Can I live with bad memories and current stresses without nicotine?"

September 2nd: "Awake to rain and puppy piddle on the mattress at my feet. No showers in this campground. Remnants of weird, busy dreams. It's so cold. Cravings are frequent and intense--but short-lived. I'm prickly with my friends. Moody. Quiet. Depressed."

September 3rd: "Wake in a more cheery mood. Today I feel better, stronger, more committed. This morning my mouth felt cleaner--the first advantage of non-smoking I've experienced. I wish I wasn't travelling so that I could engage in more exercise and have easier access to healthy snacks. Bought a 4-pound sack of Rockets candies. I don't fit any of the jeans I've packed."

September 4th: "Dark, bottomless emptiness into which 100 sour candies, a steak supper and two pieces of apple pie fall. Coffee and Irish Cream. I'm never sated, never full. I could eat forever. Sugar, caffeine, alcohol. Deep breaths of mountain air, long hikes. Four pounds of Rockets. Half a jug of white wine. 14 hours of sleep. Nothing is ever enough. Nothing fills the emptiness."

September 5th: "Coffee and cream liqueur. Two-hour hike through mountain muskeg. Fall colours, red berries, green moss, blue lakes, quiet. Friends. Hot sun. Slow nagging headache. An afternoon nap turns bad. I can't wake up for supper. Tired. So tired. Tummy stirs. Eyes close. Day 5. Yes. I can do it."

September 6th: "If I knew cigarettes would give me pleasure, I'd fall for the temptation. It's the bane of the addict--the drug always calls..."

Today, 12 September 2009, is my 12th smoke-free day. It has not been easy. It is not getting any easier. I feel like a baby that's lost its soother, a toddler bereft of her teddy bear, a child letting go her mother's hand to step into the classroom on her very first day of school.

Friends, I've been there, done all that, grew through it all and survived. We all know that this time will be no different.

Check out some tobacco trivia at http://www.eileenschuh.com/did-you-know/

Eileen Schuh,
Canadian writer
http://www.eileenschuh.com/