He doesn’t think I’m funny


, , , , , ,

My husband doesn’t get my humor. Like, at all! I’m a pretty happy, jokey kind of person. When I talk to friends on the phone, there is lots of laughing. I crack jokes and find myself absolutely hilarious. It might come as surprising to you that I married someone who doesn’t find me funny at all!

But he doesn’t. He adores me. He treasures me. But he doesn’t find me funny. He says, “I know other people find you funny.” And he’ll watch me with a bewildered look of happiness on his face while I crack jokes and laugh at them, and he does laugh with me at times, it’s never laughing at the joke.


My husband has two sides to his personality–goofy and dead solemn. The dead solemn part of his personality is the one I enjoy the most. It’s just so determined and unflappable that I love trying to poke a hole in it.

For example, we’ll be sitting on the couch together and my husband will be reading a book. He sits there, book in front of him, solemn expression on his face. I find him heart-stoppingly handsome, especially when he’s in one of his solemn moods.

Me: Hey, honey?

He lifts his eyes and turns them toward me. No change in expression.

Me: What are you reading?

He says the title, waits for me to have a reaction, then his eyes slowly turn back to his book.

Me: Hey, honey?

His eyes turn slowly toward me again.

Me: Tell me I’m pretty.

Him: You’re gorgeous. And I love you. (Pause.) Okay?

Me: Okay.

His eyes slowly turn back to his book. Still no change in his deadpan expression.

Me: I think you’re gorgeous, too.

Him (still looking at his book): I know.

Me: You know that you’re gorgeous or that I think it?

Him: Both.

Me: Isn’t that vain?

Him: I’m a man. All men think they’re gorgeous. Doesn’t matter how old or unshowered we are, we think we’re gorgeous.

Me: Lucky I agree.

He turns his eyes toward me again.

Him: Am I going to read?

Me: You could. If you really wanted to.

His eyes turn slowly toward his book again, but his hand slides over and takes mine. He tugs me closer.

Me: I mean, if you really, really wanted to read, I wouldn’t stop you or anything.

Him: Let me finish this chapter, and then we can turn in. (Glances at watch.) It’s late.

Me: Kiss me first.

Him: (kisses me, and a glitter of humor comes into his eye) Now, I’m going to read to you aloud until I’m done this chapter.

Me: Heavens, no! You and your depressing books!

He starts to read aloud anyway, because he knows that I hate it and he enjoys teasing me. He follows me around the house while I try to escape his loud reading of some dismal biography. Eventually the book is abandoned, about a paragraph before the end of the chapter.

Him: Honey?

Me: Hmm?

Him: You’re awfully pretty.

It’s the utterly solemn side to his personality that has no ability to understand my humor, and I don’t think I’d trade it for the world.

Gluten-free, Dairy-free banana pudding


, , , ,

Yesterday, I made lemon meringue pie. It was wonderful. I still have pie in the fridge, so it felt wrong to make a whole other pie. I try to limit myself to one pie a week, baked on a Sunday as a treat to my 6 year old for being an angel in church. ;)

Anyway, so it occurred to me that it wouldn’t technically be gorging myself on pie if I just made the pie filling, now, would it? Logic prevails! So I decided to try my hand at banana pudding.

I’m not a big measurer. But I think this would be hard to ruin. So bear with my creative measuring!

In the fry pan, I sauteed two sliced bananas with brown sugar.

DSC03481In a separate pot, I put:

1 mashed banana

2 eggs

A dump of white sugar (maybe 3/4 of a cup?)

A dash of salt

Several glugs of almond milk (maybe a cup and a half?)

3 tsp of corn starch

I whisked it up. Turned on the heat, and kept stirring it while it warmed and thickened.

DSC03482Then I poured the thickened pudding over the bananas in a pan, then put it in the fridge to chill.


And the final product, ribboned with brown sugar and banana…


This has been brought to you by an author who is supposed to be writing. ;)



Little pitchers and big ears


, , , , , , , , , ,

My grandmothers are all gone now. They died when I was very young, so I never got to see how they grew older, how they aged. I do have my mother, but she is decidedly young–under 60–and she’s showing me the ropes.

  • Use Oil of Olay every day after 30.
  • Don’t forget to put cream on the backs of your hands and your neck–spots the young forget.
  • Enjoy your figure while you can, because in ten years, you’ll look back on old photos and wonder what your problem was.

It’s funny how none of us know how to do this getting older thing. We remain these awkward adolescents, in a way, trying to figure out how to dress, how to do our hair, how to keep our weight under control as our bodies mature and change.

The women around me probably don’t know it, but I look to them to see how they do it. The women in my church who sit next to their husbands, or sit alone, the backs of their heads holding my attention. They’re hitting these milestones before me, and I don’t even know what they are! But these women have experience–invaluable experience–that I wish I could learn from.


And while I sit with my husband in the pew, there are probably younger women looking at the back of my head, wondering the same things about me. Except that we’re all very self-sufficient, and we don’t ask. But we watch. Yes, we most definitely watch! Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t… like if they knew about my scrutiny, they’d say something about little pitchers and big ears and hush right up.

But how else are little pitchers supposed to figure all of this out?

Instinctively we know that the answers don’t come from a solitary experience, but from a community. I’m still growing my own community of women–many of whom are online–but I know what I need to do, and that is to reach out. We are in this together. And little pitchers have a lot to learn.


A Firefighter’s Promise


, , , , , , , ,

I’m so excited to show you my next book coming out May 2015! I just love this cover…

firefighter's promise cover

When the baby he rescued seven years ago returns–with his widowed adoptive mom–Deputy Fire Chief Matt Bailey can’t turn them away. Desperate to escape the reminders of his failure in the line of duty, Matt is close to leaving town. But one look at Rachel Carter and her son, Christopher, has him second-guessing his plans. Rachel is a mom in need of a hero for her son. But as much as she wants the two to bond, she’s determined to keep her distance from Matt. After losing her husband on the job, she’s promised never to love another fireman. Yet somehow she finds herself drawn to the one man she should avoid.

Look for A FIREFIGHTER’S PROMISE in a bookstore near you in May 2015!

I totally deserve a Mustang


, , , ,

Are you a fan of Mike and Molly? I really enjoy this show! Due to my own frustrating relationship with the PVR in my home, I missed almost all of this season, so a friend of mine decided to catch me up.

Bless her.


So you might have noticed that Molly is now an author–a fun twist! I really wish I lived in TV Land. Molly, a previously unpublished author, was able to get a book deal based on the blurb of an unfinished first draft. And her advance was enough to buy a brand new Mustang.

It isn’t realistic, obviously. TV Land never is! And while that shouldn’t bother me, it kind of does! Why? One very simple and shallow reason: when people who know me ask, “Ahem, so…. how well do you do on these books?” I look like a loser who doesn’t have a Mustang, that’s why! ;)

So just so you know… and in case you know any authors….

Mustangs are not the rule with which you should measure your local romance author. ;)

“Gently Aging”


, , , , ,

I always wanted to age naturally… gently going gray, the smile lines around my eyes enticing those around me…

And then I dyed my hair the first time. I could have stopped–I COULD have!–except that my husband liked my hair dyed so much that I couldn’t bring myself to stop. He thought that my “gently aging” idea sounded too old. He might have a point, considering that my mental image was of Dame Judi Dench.

news021802_08But Judi Dench is just gorgeous! She’s even prettier now than she was when she was my age.

judi-dench-actress-and-husband-michael-williamsThat photo is just to make my point. Anyway…

At the moment, my current hair color is called Medium Ash Blonde, and it promises to blend in with your own tones and highlights. Well, after you dye it for a couple of years, time after time, you don’t really have any natural tones or highlights left and your hair ends up looking more like doll’s hair. Brassy.

So I’ve decided to change my hair color to something darker–Light Ash Brown, to be exact. It hasn’t happened yet, since I’m holding out until my roots demand it… but as soon as I do, I’ll snap a photo so you can see.

If I can age like Judi Dench, I have something to look forward to! Unfortunately, my husband refuses to let me look 70 until I am.



A Good, Old-fashioned Book Stalking


, , , , ,

Sometimes I forget how cool my job is. That seems a little nuts, because all my life I daydreamed about the day I was an author, wandering through a bookstore and seeing my book on a shelf. I wrote for smaller presses, my books making it into small Christian bookstores. I wrote for e-presses, where the bookstores were virtual. And now I write for Harlequin and my books are in every place that books are sold across North America.

That’s huge!

So it’s just plain wrong that it took me three weeks to go find my book on an actual shelf. Why on earth would I not revel in the joy of seeing my book on the shelf in a Shopper’s Drug Mart? Or in a Coles? Or whatever bookstore is closest?

I have three reasons for that:

1. I really love the book writing process. A lot. That might sound counter intuitive, but once one book is done, I’ve moved onto the next one, and I’m planning or writing, or otherwise immersing myself in a whole new book. Sometimes I forget to revel in the final stage of a previous one.

2. A lot of a writer’s life happens inside her head, including all the “when I arrive” fantasies. It’s harder than I thought to move outside my head and into a brick and mortar book store to quietly celebrate.

3. I’m an idiot! Seriously, celebrating the achievement is important, and I need to take the time to do that. I might feel silly throwing a book release party for my non-romance reading friends, but at the very least I can stalk my book on the shelves. There is nothing more healthy than a good, old-fashioned book stalking.


Terribly Authorial Glasses


, , , , , ,

Today I picked up my brand new, terribly authorial glasses.

It was high time I got new glasses. The last glasses I had kept slipping down my nose, and I wouldn’t really notice. My husband complained I looked like an old lady when I peered over the top of them, but I had good excuse. I got those glasses when my son was a toddler in a stroller. Anyone who has had a toddler in a stroller knows exactly how relaxing it is to stroll those grabby hands through a frame store. The place was busy and the person working there said I’d need to come back in like 3 hours.

It wasn’t three hours, but it might as well have been. I had a tired child. With allergies! I had to feed him something. Get him home. Make him sleep! I wasn’t waiting around for half an hour, or whatever impossible time I’d been asked to wait. So I just took the glasses and left.

And for four and half years, I wore glasses that slid down my nose.

So if writing books wasn’t enough for you, I now bring you glasses. Terribly authorial glasses. That stay up.

You’re welcome. ;)

New Year’s Predictions for 2015


, , , , , ,

I’m terrible with resolutions because unless they are something I’m going to do anyway, I never actually do them. Gym memberships are a waste of money on me. I will not change the way I eat… for long, at least. So instead of us lying to each other about things we’ll never do, I bring you my New Year’s predictions!

Those are safer. No one needs to lie here.


New Year’s Predictions:

1. My son will beat me at checkers when I’m really trying. This is inevitable and painful. He’s six. Let’s never speak of it again.

2. My husband and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary. I love that!¬† A nice round number–double digits!

Handcuffed_hands_(line_drawing)3. I’ll get more contracts–because there is no option there. If I don’t, I’ll die of frustration. My internal organs will literally implode. It’s publish or die. It would be really confusing for the coroner who would assume I was poisoned and some innocent person would go to prison… Lives would be ruined, people! So I’d better get more contracts.

4. I will FINALLY buy some summer dresses! When I was a brand new mom, I used skirts and nursing tops during the warm months because it was easier to discretely feed him. The next year, it was cheaper and easier to just buy new tops to go with the skirts I had, and the year after to pick up a new skirt to go with the tops I had, and as the years passed I never actually bought myself some new dresses. Well, this year, I think it’s finally time to make that happen. I’m buying summer dresses. The reason for the skirts and tops is in school now, for crying out loud!

lossy-page1-400px-Till_boken_-_utst√§llningen_Kunglig_Vintage_-_Livrustkammaren_-_87613.tif5. …

Nope, that’s all I’ve got. I predict that Canadian politics will remain dull. American politics will remain interesting.

Oh… and keep your eyes open for THE FIREFIGHTER’S PROMISE coming out in May! That’s less of a prediction and more of a guarantee… ;)


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 55 other followers