Where have all the paperbacks gone?

I'm guesting today over at Tote Bags 'n' Blogs - talking about the vexed question of why the paperback editions of the books we all love are disappearing from retail. 

Marking Time with a Broken Watch by Shirley Jump

Thanks so much for having me on the blog!! I was asked recently what influenced the writing of THE SWEETHEART RULES and the entire Sweetheart Sisters series, with their meddling grannies. People have asked if I had a grandma like Greta, the bourbon-swilling, matchmaking, sassy grandma who puts my hero and heroine together in the book. My grandma wasn’t Greta exactly, but she was unforgettable, and I think her spirit is in all the grandmas I create. I wrote an essay about her years ago (that got picked up by Chicken Soup, and Woman’s World) and I thought I’d share that with you today to show you the kind of influence I had as a little girl.

MARKING TIME     

I’m late. Again. My fancy digital watch, with an alarm and two built-in time zones, is losing twenty minutes a day. I’ve made three trips to the store this week and every time, forgot to buy a new battery. A mom on a constant schedule, I need an accurate timepiece, so I grab the only other watch I own, a delicate silver one my grandmother left me when she died.

            Nana’s watch is small, with a diamond-encircled face and a sliver of a band. It’s beautiful and petite, just like she was. I’ve always loved it, but rarely wear it. It’s the old-fashioned, battery-free kind that needs winding each night. For me, a person who has trouble remembering to feed the cats, wearing a watch requiring any degree of upkeep is a bad idea.

            The first few days I wear Nana’s watch, I keep forgetting to wind it and still end up late for everything. But by week’s end, its elfin face and ticking second hand are as familiar to me as the feel of Nana’s hand in mine when I was a child.

            Wearing the watch wraps me in memories of Nana. She used to take regular walks around the yard, just to see the loganberry trees in bloom. After dinner, she and Grandpa would walk me down to the 7-11 for a packet of M&M’s. We spent countless afternoons strolling downtown, window-shopping and dreaming of things to buy and adventures we’d have someday.

            Nana appreciated the value of time. Her son, Bobby, died when he was 8 in a tragic accident that left a measure of perpetual sadness reflected in Nana’s eyes. In 1976, Nana herself slipped through Death’s grasp when she had a brain tumor removed successfully. We celebrated the bicentennial of our country that year, cheering for the woman who was still here to sing silly songs and give advice on making potato salad.

            Nana refused to waste a second of the extra time granted to her. She taught me piano, asked about every school day, and waded with me through boxes of photographs and memories, trying to imprint legacies on an eleven-year-old girl who couldn’t know then that time would ever feel short.

            She laughed, she cried, she hugged, she kissed. She lived.

            Years later, when she passed away, Nana left me the watch. In the busy-ness of my life with a husband, two kids, two cats, a dog, a job and a house, I often forget to slow down and really see the little things around me. Bread is store bought, self-scrubbing bubbles clean bathrooms, and my car is a mobile office between soccer games and Brownie troop meetings.

            When Nana’s watch stopped one day -- because I’d forgotten to wind it again -- I was lost. The children and I were shopping, on our way to an appointment that seemed important at the time.

            I stopped in the middle of Wal-Mart and looked around for a clock, muttering to myself, annoyed. The children started whining about missing some show on TV. Spying an opportunity, my son darted across the aisle to a toy and my daughter headed for some books nearby. I had melting ice cream in the cart, cranky kids and someplace I had to be. I didn’t need another frustration.

            I tapped the watch with the futile hope that it would magically start again. When I did, a flash of memory slammed into me with the force of an electrical jolt. Nana, my mother, and I were strolling in the sunshine at a sidewalk sale. We bought a book for a dime, a drink from the soda fountain, and nothing else. Twenty-five years later, I still remember it as one of the best days of my life because every moment seemed to last forever.

            I realized I’d been letting schedules and errands swallow those mini-moments in my own life, ruled by the ticking of a clock that weighed heavy on my shoulders. I abandoned the cart and joined my kids, bending down to see the toys at their level. I marveled at the latest Buzz Lightyear and a colorful new Harry Potter book cover. Hand in hand, the kids and I ambled through the aisles, poking at this toy, pushing the buttons on that one, dreaming of Santa and birthdays and days to come. We wandered by the pet department, made friends with a hamster and chatted with a parrot.

            We arrived home much later, carrying a puddle of ice cream in the grocery bag, and one new goldfish. I’d missed my appointment, but it didn’t matter. After dinner, we explored our neighborhood on foot, hunting for squirrels and rabbits in the summer evening light. We fed the ducks at the pond, soared through the air on swings and played a rousing game of tag. When we returned home, we were exhausted but laughing. And we all had another happy memory to hang onto.

That night, while I turned the tiny knob to wind Nana’s watch, I realized why my grandmother had left me this particular piece of jewelry. Her legacy wasn’t a million-dollar home on a hill or a priceless art collection. Her gift was much simpler, one we often forget in our calendar-driven lives. She gave me the gift of time, wrapped up in a watch that needs daily attention, a continuous reminder that our days pass as fast as summer storms.

In its tiny silver face, I see Nana, and in the ticking of its second hand, I hear the running journey of my life. That’s when I turn off the phone, close the calendar and take the kids outside to greet the first daffodils of spring.

            Tell me, did you have a grandma like that? A special memento she shared with you?

If you like stories like this, please check out the next book in my Sweetheart Sisters series: THE SWEETHEART RULES (warning: shameless plug to follow):

The Sweetheart Sisters are ready to give some old-school lessons in love…

Rescue Bay veterinarian Diana Tuttle is a great single mom, but she has a harder time taking care of herself. Having been burned in the past by her son’s noncommittal father, the last thing she wants is a man who isn’t in it for the long haul—until a foolish one-night stand from her past walks back into her life.

Coast Guard Lieutenant Mike Stark has never wanted to settle down. But when his ex-wife leaves their two small children on his doorstep, he is forced to become a family man in a hurry. His return to Rescue Bay, Florida and fatherhood isn’t easy, but reconnecting with Diana makes the challenge all the more worthwhile. Except becoming the long-term lover she has in mind may be one commitment too many…

Luckily, when Diana’s and Mike’s pasts begin to threaten their future, the Sweetheart Sisters have the perfect scheme to make this second chance last a lifetime.

Buy it here or in a bookstore near you! And read an awesome review here, if you’re so inclined :-)

Don’t forget to enter the giveaway! Tell me, what’s your favorite spring recipe? Anything decadent? Or do you go healthy with that eek-it’s-almost-swimsuit-season attitude?

Shirley

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shirley Jump spends her days writing romance and women's fiction to feed her shoe addiction and avoid cleaning the toilets. She cleverly finds writing time by feeding her kids junk food, allowing them to dress in the clothes they find on the floor and encouraging the dogs to double as vacuum cleaners.

Look for her Sweet and Savory Romance series, including the USA Today bestselling book, THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE, on Amazon and Nook, and the debut of her Sweetheart Club series for Berkley, starting with THE SWEETHEART BARGAIN in September 2013.

Visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com or read recipes and life adventures at www.eating-my-words.com.

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Spring Memories Part 2: Easter - by Donna Alward

I love Easter.

When I was a girl, Easter always seemed to mark the TRUE beginning of spring. I used to love getting up Easter morning to see what the Easter Bunny brought me, and it was usually a basket with treats and fun stuff like a new skipping rope or Frisbee or ball along with a healthy (or unhealthy) amount of chocolate and jelly beans. I didn’t even mind the chocolate-covered marshmallow stuff. It was AWESOME.

But my favourite part of Easter was the new dress and shoes. 

In our family, we took the “no white shoes after Labour Day but okay on/after Easter” thing very seriously.  I almost always had a new dress to wear to church on Sunday morning, probably in a pastel colour with some ruffles at sleeve, neck or hem.  You did not wear that dress before Easter.  And of course last year’s shoes wouldn’t fit, so it was off to town for a new pair of white ones. The best Easter Sundays were the ones where your white shoes were open toed or sandals for summer and it was warm enough that it made sense to wear them.

When my girls were little, Holy Week was fairly crazy. I sang in our church choir, which meant services on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and again Easter Sunday. Our pieces on Thursday and Friday were always somber, and one was usually a version of “Were You There”.  In a darkened church on Good Friday, the sound of that hymn being sung a cappella by the choir in 3 part harmony was haunting. We would dress in winter clothes…dark trousers or dresses and black shoes. But then, Easter morning would arrive, and my girls would be able to wear THEIR Easter dresses and new shoes (usually courtesy of Payless) and we’d head off to church where we’d smell Easter Lilies and sing bright and happy songs to celebrate the Resurrection. I remember one year the girls had new dresses in lilac and golden yellow, with cute little box pleats and matching wide-brimmed hats. Oh my, those were the days (these days it’s more about heels and eyeliner).

I definitely understand that not everyone celebrates the religious holiday of Easter, but I think most can relate to a day where we leave the darkness of winter behind and celebrate a bright new season of life and colour.

Do you have a “Rite of Spring” where you throw off the shackles of winter?

Donna’s latest book is THE HOUSE ON BLACKBERRY HILL, out on April 29^th and the first title in her new Jewell Cove series from St. Martin’s Press. Catch up with her on her website at www.donnaalward.com and don’t forget to enter the Blog Hop contest for your chance to win a great box of books, chocolate, T-shirts, a Tote bag and more!

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April Showers Bring Spring Flowers! by Samantha Hunter

Well, it’s still spitting snow and cold here in Syracuse, but I am dreaming of my gardens,  sorting through my seeds, and reading (and re-reading) my garden magazines, thinking about this year’s vegetables and so forth. But that’s getting ahead of the game. First, there will be the Spring flowers, and the best thing about those is that they come along on their own, with little help from me.

Tulips, Daffodils (called Jonquils in the southern US, which I didn’t know until friend Anna Adams informed me) and Hyacinths, but also Crocuses and Grape Hyacinths, and tons of ephemerals that bloom all over our yard, even in the grass, and I’m not always sure of their names. A bit later, the Irises.

It’s impossible for me to choose a favorite, I love them all, perhaps especially so after the long, stark stretch of white. Our White Star Magnolia will bloom, and that’s always a treat (and so fragrant!) though I’ll have to chase away the squirrels who rip the blossoms off and throw the petals like confetti. They also used to eat my tulips – I can’t tell you how many times I would go out to find all of my tulips, on the edge of bloom, completely beheaded! While I try not to use too many sprays or chemicals in the garden, I bought Deer-Off and now I enjoy my flowers every spring.

Which ones are you looking forward to the most? Do you have any pests that get after them, and how do you deal with them?


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Spring Memories Part 1: Down on the Farm… from Donna Alward

Spring is not my favourite season.

Late spring? Sure. In the late spring green things are sprouting, flowers are starting to bloom, days are longer, and there’s this feeling that summer is right around the corner.

But that happens closer to the May side of things, and spring “officially” starts on March 20^th or 21^st. Why don’t I like it so much? Well, it’s a bit dirty, to be honest. The snow melts, but then the ground is muddy and it smells…not so nice. Dirt tracks into the house. Even the road, when it’s dry, is a pain because it’s covered with gravel from the sand trucks going all winter. The dog tracks in with muddy feet. The trees are still gnarled and bare and the grass is brown. Sigh.

Still, I have some good memories of early spring from when I was a kid. For instance, as soon as the driveway and parking lot were clear at school, it marked the beginning of skipping season. Either singles ropes or doubles, and things really got fun when we had ropes of the same length and could get Double Dutch going. I spent a lot of noon hours skipping during elementary school.

It was also a time of year where I could earn some money. I grew up on an apple farm, and during March my dad did all the winter pruning. In the mature orchards, that meant a lot of branches on the ground, branches that had to be picked up. I spent spring Saturdays picking brush – piling it precisely in the middle of the rows between the trees, so my dad could come along after with the bush hog and grind it up. It was back breaking work, and sometimes there was still snow on the ground so feet and hands got cold and wet. But the money was worth it!

Once pruning was over, it was time to look at fertilizing. By the time I was eight, I was driving the smaller tractor we owned. My dad and our hired hand would fill buckets with fertilizer and spread it around the trees by hand while I drove the tractor with the wagon behind it. If there was a really soft spot, my dad would hop on the tractor and get me around the corner to the next row. I was so short that to push in the brake and clutch, I had to stand up off the seat. But driving the tractor was really cool and I earned some money doing that, too.

By the time the fertilizer was spread, it got more fun. My dad was the local “dealer” for fruit trees in our area, and he took orders over the winter and got the trees in May. The trees needed to be kept somewhere moist, so we also got a few loads of sawdust to keep them in. My job was to go out and water them with the garden hose until “Pick Up Day”. I knew where different varieties were, so when Pick Up Day arrived, I was out in the big metal building that was our barn, helping bundle trees together, putting a little sawdust in the empty fertilizer bags to keep the roots wet for when people took them home. I loved Pick Up Day!

It always seemed like once the trees were gone, spring was over and the real summer work began. 

Donna’s latest book is THE HOUSE ON BLACKBERRY HILL, out on April 29^th from St. Martin’s Press. You can find her at her site at www.donnaalward.com... Meanwhile she’s probably writing her next book or outside pruning and fertilizing her own apple trees. Don’t forget to enter the Chocolate Box Blog Hop contest for a great prize, including one of Donna’s latest books.

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WHAT'S ON MY BOOKSHELF?

With the book finished and awaiting my editor's verdict, I've had a little time catch up on my reading in the last week.

First, up is the delightful Haunting Jasmine by Anajali Banerjee. 


Jasmine, struggling after a painful divorce, has been asked to spend a month taking care of her aunt's bookstore on a west coast island off Seattle.  The bookstore is full of old books that seem to be telling her things. And some of the authors drop by to help her out with the reading group and the children's reading group. And then there's the handsome doctor who appears just when needed.

The book is a delight and I'm so grateful to Nicola Marsh for telling me about it.

I think I discovered We Are Not Alone by Kristin Lamb on Twitter. It would certainly be appropriate if I had, because Kristin is a world class expert on using Social Media.

I'm scarcely a beginner at this - I had my first website in 1997 - but I have learned a ton from this book.

White Lies and Custard Creams by the lovely Susan Alison, who I met at the Romantic Novelists' Association conference in Caerleon earlier this year is just a mad romp. A gorgeous dog - of course; a lovely man; the craziest bunch of lodgers and neighbours to be found in one house, one street, anywhere. A bit of cross-dressing and a big mystery.

A lovely time!

Giles and Florence by John Harding, was a gift from a friend, a delightful surprise arriving in my post box a couple of weeks ago.

I have started it and it's the most unusual book I've read in a long time.

I am entranced by the style - the writer is a young girl who has been denied books and "stole" reading by learning letters from packages in the kitchen. She devours books but has to keep her habit a secret.

I am entranced.