Family furor, nasty weather, and a thought about books

The furor in the family over the cookbook cover continues. Yesterday Colin doctored the cover to insert Kegan's face, only Kegan is wearing monster teeth (he's apparently fond of running around the house in them) and his head is too small under the hat and the whole things is too ugly--when my darling Kegan is so beautiful. Then Brandon took Colin's photo and furthered doctored it. And finally Jamie wrote that my publisher had sent him the real cover, which is titled "My Favorite Boy! How the love of one son can inspire an entire family . . . " I'm truly sorry that I couldn't get it to upload. I wrote a Marcia Daudistel, who follows my blog, about all this, and she suggested that small families don't have nearly as much fun as large ones. Jordan did tell me seriously that many of her girlfriends want to buy the book, always a good sign.
Tonight is one of those North Texas nights when you live in apprehension--will it really be icy in the morning? They're predicting freezing rain, subfreezing temperatures, and ice from early tomorrow morning through mid-day Wednesday. I have plenty of food and today did those errands that make you feel self-satisfied--the vet for dog and cat food, filled the car with gas, and picked up a prescription. Then, because it was already wet and nasty, I came home and hunkered down. I'm warm and cozy and prepared to stay home for a day or more if I have to. Of course, a power outage would change the whole story completely--and leave me without eat since my gas furnace has an electric starter.
I've been thinking a lot about point of view in fiction the last few days. I have most often written in first person, putting myself inside a female head--it's the voice that seems to come naturally to me and at which my writing is better. I think I mentioned recently my fear that you were supposed to graduate and I might never, along with the fact that my current mystery started out in third person and got much better when I rewrote in first.
But now I'm reading a mystery written in first person from a male point of view--and I don't mean to sound gender biased or anything like that, but I'm having a hard time with it. It's told by a man who's an undertaker--well, there's a bit of a problem in itself, still sleeps with his ex-wife, engages in pummeling with friends when they meet (He even says, "We men love that sort of pummeling."), drinks a bit too much, etc. I have a hard time identifying, whereas I quickly identify with the narrators of my cozies I read. There's no law that says cozies must be written by women, but they usually are. This has all the makings of a good plot, but I'm just not sure I'll hang in to the end--it's a fairly long mystery. Thank goodness I paid a dollar for it, used and on sale.
Just in case of ice, I ordered a couple of new books for my Kindle tonight (not that I don't have plenty of work to do, but this is the new, slower, lazier me). The beauty of the Kindle is that you can order the books and have them almost instantly.
An interest statistic: sales of e-books jumped 108% in the last--well, now, I don't know if it's quarter or year, but that's still an amazing jump.

Fictional Worlds

I've been thinking about fictional worlds, because I live in them a lot. When I'm writing a novel, I tend to live in the world of that novel, which is good. I carry it, the characters, the story line, with me all the time. But when I'm reading a novel that truly absorbs me, I live in the world of that novel. Sometimes the two worlds collide, which is what has happened now. I really should be living with my characters and their dilemmas but I'm off in the world of Mercy by Jodi Picoult. I put off reading it for a while, then opened it one night for a quick look before I passed it, mostly unread, to a friend--and zap! I was hooked. For one thing there's a strong Scottish element to it. The setting is a fictional town, Wheelock, Massachusetts, settled by a branch of the MacDonald Clan after the defeat of the clans at Culloden in the Highlands (1746). The current sheriff, Cam MacDonald, is also the clan chief, both titles having been handed down from his father, grandfather, etc. (I'm not sure this is verifiable, because I'm pretty sure somewhere, not necessarily in Scotland, there is a clan chief call the MacDonald of MacDonald--I'm a MacBain and there is a MacBain of MacBain in Arizona who is the chief of the clan).
Jamie MacDonald suffocates his wife, because she begs, pleads, insists--she is dying a slow, painful death from cancer--and she warns him not to quit, even if she fights, which she does. He does this in Wheelock, although he doesn't live there--but he's a MacDonald. Then he gives himself up to the sheriff/clan chief who is his cousin--the clan chief always protects clansmen, but will he in this case?
The novel is really all above love--Jamie has shown the ultimate degree of love, and Cam is sort of at the opposite pole. Married for five or six years but generally dissatisfied with his life, he meets a woman who inspires instant passion, the kind of "I can't keep my hands off" passion that I hope most folks have known at least once in their lives. He is tortured by guilt but too obsessed to turn away--although he does love his wife, Allie. And he doesn't want to have a thing to do with Jamie, but Allie takes up the relative's cause. A complicated story.
Don't ask me how it ends--I'm still in that world. But I recommend the book.
I'm looking forward to a long, lazy weekend--for one thing, I can finish that book and maybe get back to my novel. I've been drawn in by newspaper articles, etc., touting Fourth of July food, and whereas I promised dinner guests Sunday a light summer supper, I'm thinking they'll get hot dogs (Hebrew National), baked beans, and either cucumber salad or slaw, probably the latter. Oh, and of course, deviled eggs.
Happy Fourth everyone!

Stuff

I'm always sending friends and family emails with the subject line, "Stuff." I suppose it's frustrating but I so often have a potpourri of things to say, and tonight's that way.
First food: I was watching Paula Deen while I rode my stationary recumbent bicycle this afternoon. Now I'm a fan of hers, but good heavens! The amount of butter and sugar that woman uses! And she made coconut cookies, iced with white chocolate, and sprinkled with toasted coconut--does she realize what that does to your cholesterol? Okay, I'm particularly conscious of it because I'm really trying to watch what I eat (and drink) and today my lab work came back with an "Excellent" written in next to the cholesterol number.
Betty and I ate at the nearby Lebanese Restaurant, Chadra, again tonight, and I had spaghettini with meat sauce--really good but a serving for three people. They don't have a big menu, but we really like the food--and Betty loves the dense bread garlic knots they serve. I had the front matter and first pages of my Great Texas Chefs and showed it to her--of course she skimmed right over the dedication, which is what I wanted her to see because it's dededicated to "Betty, who explores restaurants with me."
I've been reading novels for the press, and I've found two or three that I think have real promise. This is a problem for us, because we barely break even publishing them--and sometimes don't, if the author isn't VERY energetic about promotion. So I'm thinking we should do them paper print-to-order. I'd love some opinions--would you buy a paperback novel as quickly as a hardback?
Meantime I'm also trying hard to study the market and discover what to do with my mystery, Dead Space. One of the things all the books say is that you have to demonstrate you're a professional writer. Surely, I can do that. And I have confidence in both the book I've written and my ability to craft and tell a story. So I guess now it's a matter of perserverance--and I intend to hang in there. And I might just show that confidence by starting on the second novel in my proposed series--that's another selling point, a series.
Nice weekend ahead. Tomorrow night I'll take my friend Charles to a local restaurant where they serve mussels, which he loves. Saturday I'll cook dinner for Jeannie and Jim--he's home from the hospital but needs so much care that she's exhausted and cooking is the last thing she wants to do. I'm waiting for her to tell me what's on his diet. Sunday, a few of the Grace & Gumption ladies are giving a program at my church and then I'm hosting a potluck supper for the neighbors and Jordan, Christian, and Jacob. I'm only making the appetizer, and I can set the table Saturday morning. Eating outside while trying to corral Jacob is too much trouble!