This winter, the Roses are finding inspiration in the words of others. For February:

The way to know life is to love many things ~ Van Gogh

The course of true love never did run smooth. ~ William Shakespeare

Coming together is a beginning, staying together is progress, and working together is success. ~ Henry Ford

Saturday, January 31, 2015

Relax! It's the End of the Beginning by Andrea Downing

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."  T.S. Eliot

By the time January 31st rolls around, we know all too well we are truly into the New Year and all the resolutions of January 1st are but a fond memory for most of us.  It's about this time I ask myself, 'what's different from last year?'  As Eliot says, the end makes a beginning but the beginning also marks an end.
There's been a lot of discussion recently about writers losing their impetus to write, losing their joy of creating.  Is it a case of the mid-winter blues or was that joy just left behind with the holidays?  At a time when we should be relishing the feeling of it being a brand new year with tons of possibilities, some people carry the problems of the last year into the new and get bogged down.  It's difficult to let go; it's almost impossible to ignore the lurking fear of failure and strike down the voice demanding if you're going anywhere wfith all this work, that last year wasn't the outrageous success you'd envisaged.  We gaze goggle-eyed at the heap of drudgery before us—for writers, it's generally promotion and social media that suck out the life blood of the actual writing—and wonder if we can recreate the day to have twenty-six hours instead of twenty-four.
So let me ask you this, stockbroker or author, inventor or artist:  did you ever wonder why your best ideas come to you just as you're about to drift off to sleep?  Or while sitting back in the tub with that glass of wine?  It's because, quite obviously, you're relaxed!  The two sides of your brain are no longer fighting each other; you're able to let creativity flow.  Creating is rather like giving birth and, don't laugh, but we've all heard the stories of what doctors initially tell couples unable to conceive when there's no evidence that anything is wrong:  take a cruise!  Turn off the phones, get away from the computer and the demands of house and home, and relax.  And then there are those tales of couples who go ahead and adopt only to then find they've conceived.  Why?  Because the angst and worry has been finally taken from them.  When my first book came out, I wrote a blog post comparing the book's creation and publication to giving birth.  Conceiving ideas is not so far from conceiving a child, even if it isn't quite so much fun. 
So.  Don't worry about those forgotten resolutions.  Don't bite your nails over the problems leftover from the previous year/month/week/day.  Grab a glass of wine, sit back, and make a continual new beginning and take things in your stride.  Easier said than done?  Perhaps.  But perhaps the very act of creating is relaxing. After all, it's an escape. Once you start and are focused on what you're doing, everything else disappears into a sort of inconsequential fog.  Try!  That's my advice, and I'm taking it…but I'd like to know how you get your creative juices flowing again and get out of the winter doldrums.  Have you stuck with your resolutions?  And can you relax?!
   Thanks, Roses, for having me.  And Happy New Year everyone.

Blurb for Dances of the Heart:   Successful, workaholic author Carrie Bennett lives through her writing, but can’t succeed at writing a man into her life. Furthermore, her equally successful but cynical daughter, Paige, proves inconsolable after the death of her fiancé.
Hard-drinking rancher Ray Ryder can find humor in just about anything—except the loss of his oldest son. His younger son, Jake, recently returned from Iraq, now keeps a secret that could shatter his deceased brother’s good name.
On one sultry night in Texas, relationships blossom when the four meet, starting a series of events that move from the dancehalls of Hill Country to the beach parties of East Hampton, and from the penthouses of New York to the backstreets of a Mexican border town. But the hurts of the past are hard to leave behind, especially when old adversaries threaten the fragile ties that bind family to family…and lover to lover. 

 Excerpt:  “You know how to Texas Two-Step?” he asked.
 “No,” she said, laughter just below the surface.
 “Well, sweetheart, you have come to the right place. Or at least got yourself the right man. By the time I finish with you, you’ll be the best dang stepper on the floor.”
 Carrie looked around. “There isn’t anyone else on the floor at the moment, Ray.”
 “Well, heck, I know that. That’s perfect for learning.”
 As soon as his hand closed around hers, the leather of his palm a strange glove over her own fingers, a sudden frisson of connection ran through her she hadn’t known in a very long while. He moved her to face him squarely on, a small smile tipping the edges of his mouth, the dark, impenetrable eyes shining with his captured prize.
 “Just follow me,” he said as his right hand went to her back. A cover of a Vince Gill ballad started, the mournful tune setting a moderate tempo. “Perfect.” He held her right hand high and applied slight pressure to move her backwards. “Fast fast slow slow, fast fast slow slow.”
Carrie felt a light bulb go on. She got it. It was good. It was fun. And she relaxed in his embrace. He was an excellent teacher, a fabulous leader on the dance floor. Would wonders never cease?
 “You’re doing well. You’re doing fine,” he assured her. “We’re gonna try a little promenade now, and then a twirl, so get ready.”
Carrie couldn’t stop herself from smiling, anticipation bubbling for just a second. And then out of the corner of her eye she caught Ty watching them, beer half-raised in salute and a smirk plastered on his face. A moment’s hesitation and she missed the step.
 “What happened there?” asked Ray, oblivious to the effect the on-looker had on her.
Other couples were finally joining them on the dance floor, but despite the company, Carrie’s discomfort increased. “That boy, that Ty,” she told him. “He was watching us. It made me feel…uneasy.”
Ray scanned the sidelines, but Ty had gone, nowhere to be seen. “Oh, don’t pay him any mind. He’s harmless enough.”

Friday, January 30, 2015

Question Everything by Diane Burton

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning. ~ Albert Einstein

Words to live by—especially not to stop questioning. Do you remember the Sixties? (either personally or what you’ve read) We were such a “horrible” generation. So disillusioned by the Establishment. We dared to question authority. “Because I said so” didn’t cut it for us. Even worse when it came from people we were supposed to respect. Government, organized religion, Big Business. “Don’t trust anyone over thirty.” LOL

We grew up cynical, just knowing we were being lied to. Even when we weren’t. Worse when we could say “I told you so.” Questioning authority led to many arguments, even estrangement, within families. It also led to protest marches, riots, major disruptions of large assemblies (like the Democratic National Convention).

I’m pretty sure that type of questioning was not what Einstein referred to. While I’m not a flower child anymore (never was, actually), I haven’t stopped asking why. Or what if. Isn’t that what writers do? We want our readers to ask why, to leave them wondering what happens next when they finish our books. But first we have to ask those questions ourselves. What came before the story starts? Why do our characters act the way they do? What in their past formed their attitudes? What will it take to make them change? Why?

I’ve always been a reader. I love learning something new. Maybe not everything, like when Microsoft changes something that was perfectly fine. I’ve never enjoyed reading non-fiction, but if I need a fact for a story or blog post, I’ll delve deep into the internet. I’m very curious about other people, cultures, worlds. Not only do I wonder if there is sentient life on other planets, I make up stories about them.

Yesterday, Glenys wrote about age and attitude. I just shake my head at my contemporaries who won’t try something new, won’t use a computer (or are afraid to try), or think they’re too old to learn a new skill. They may be the same chronological age I am, but they’re years older in their attitude. 

I’ve frequently mentioned my three “Moms”—my mother, mother-in-law, and her sister. They are ladies who traveled to Europe in their eighties and nineties. When Aunt Cora broke her wrist in her mid-nineties, she learned to use a microwave. You should have seen her amazement when she discovered microwave popcorn came with butter and salt already on it. If laptop computers had been cheaper then, I’ll bet she would have loved learning to use one. Here's a picture of the three of them at St. Moritz. They continued going on European tours for another seven or eight years.
Cora, 89; Dorothy, 74; Grace, 91
I hope when I’m in my nineties, I’m still asking why and what if. Still writing stories to answer those questions.

Diane Burton blogs here on the 8th and 30th of each month and on Mondays on her own site:

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Don't Tell Me I'm Too Old!


It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.” – Gabriel García Marquez.

As a society, we seem obsessed with age. Age dominates the way we're expected to behave - how often do we hear the phrase: Act Your Age! when we're maybe feeling light and easy and a bit giddy? And what a putdown that can feel like! Then the way we dress - why shouldn't 'older' women wear bright colors and yes, tight pants and mini skirts, too, if they have the shape for it. Not something I would do, though. My shape needs something more demure...:-)
Age perception affects every aspect of our lives. Whether we get a job or a promotion, whether we're considered too old to learn something new, too old to date or find new relationships. An aunt in her late sixties was advised by concerned family members that she was 'too old' to take a trip to Australia to see the son she hadn't seen for years, and meet his family. She went. She had a great time - and looked years younger when she came home.
A friend who's an avid woodworker set about building himself a new workshop as his 70th birthday gift to himself. Another friend suggested to him that, at his age, it was pointless building this new project because, after all, he wouldn't have a lot of time left. Twenty years later, he's still enjoying his workspace, making wood carvings and creating other items from his own designs.
There's a lot to be said for staying young in our outlook. I'm pretty sure that 'young thinking' people stay healthier and active. I'm a great believer in the idea that 'attitude is everything' and that, if we give in to the idea that age prevents us from doing something, well, we may as well head for the rocking chair and slowly fade away.
I've taught creative writing online for years, and one question prospective students often ask is: "Do You Think I'm Too Old To Start Writing a Book?" My reply is usually: "Are you breathing? Do You have a pulse? Then no, you're not too old."
It makes me angry when I hear newsreaders announce that 'an elderly woman of 57' was injured in a car accident. Jeez, whoever said 57 was elderly?
I'm not immune, though. This age thing gets into your head. One of the main characters in my recently completed novel, The Bride's Curse, is a woman of 62. I found myself frequently referring to her as an older woman, and even twice as an old woman. Goodness me - I had to slap myself silly and go back and change all those references!
So, that's my rant for today, and the reason that I veered from the straight and narrow of the quotes listed for January above. After all, my fellow roses have done justice to them already and I'm feeling far too old to be competitive - Not!
Glenys O'Connell, who refuses to give her age even when asked by Homeland Security, also blogs on Romance Can Be Murder! And you can see her books on

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Debra Druzy's Typical Day of a Romance Writer

Thank you for hosting me on the Roses of Prose. As a newly published author, I appreciate this opportunity to share a bit about my writing life. Writing romance has been my guilty pleasure for years. Only a handful of family and friends know I write or even published a book. I'm an ordinary stay-at-home mom when I'm carting my kids around town. But once I'm home alone, I harness the power of my inner-MarkTwainJohnSteinbeckNoraRoberts and get to work.

A Typical Day in the Not-So-Glamorous Life of this Romance Writer
Have you ever seen the movie She-Devil with Roseanne Barr and Meryl Streep? It’s funny on so many levels, but the portrayal of the romance novelist, Mary Fisher, is hilarious. Mary's world is pink and perfect—from her waterfront mansion, to her flowing outfits, to her Zenith laptop. Can you picture Mary Fisher? Okay… Now forget her. Because that’s not me.
Here’s my typical day—
3:15am – Hubby’s alarm goes off, and my brain starts tallying everything I have to do today. Since I get more done when I'm awake than when I'm asleep I might as well start the day now that my eyes are pried open.

3:30 – It's a frigid 64 degrees in the house, so I turn up the thermostat. Then turn on Mr. Coffee. Click the remote starter to warm up hubby's car. Swap loads of laundry. Check social media to see what's been going on in the world without me.

4:00 – Once I've sent hubby off to work and let the pup out for a quick squirt, I hop on treadmill because if I don’t exercise now I won’t do it at all.

5:00 – My stomach is craving a chocolate biscotti and coffee, but I suck down a protein shake instead while unloading the dishwasher.

5:30 – Hit the shower, aka The Think Tank, where I mentally run down the list of to-dos for today. Dressing is super-simple when all I ever wear is black yoga pants and black thermal shirts—I call it my uniform.

6:00 – Wake Middle-Schooler for round-one of the morning routine—which includes me begging and prodding for her to make a move so we can get this project underway.

7:00 – Wake Elementary-Schooler for round-two of the morning routine—she's usually ahead of schedule but still finds ways to deviate from the master plan.

8:00 - 9:00 – Two trips to the bus stop.

9:30 – START WRITING!... Wait—I have to read a few lines of what I wrote yesterday so I can get my head in the game! What was I thinking? This makes no sense… Let’s just tweak, and fix, and delete, and change and… What am I doing? This isn’t revising time—it's writing time. Stop revising! Start writing!

10:00—Okay. Writing for real now…

11:30 – Bathroom break—for pup and me. Stretch legs. Refill cup—since quitting coffee (boo-hoo) this means tea or water.

Noon – BACK TO WRITING! Hurry up, I’m burning daylight... Hubby and girls will be home soon and will want stuff—like my time and attention and food and a ride. Write faster!

2:00 – Get something ready for dinner. Ugh! I forgot to defrost the meat. Think, think… Raviolis! Check the freezer… Bingo—I just won another hour of writing time! Wait—just remembered… I have to write something for a guest blog spot. Stumped for a topic. Freak out while surfing the 'net for blog ideas.

3:00 - 4:00 – Two trips to the bus stop.

5:00 – After-school routine. Homework. Raviolis. Activities.

8:00 – Bedtime, finally! Take pup out for a last squirt. Turn down thermostat. Kiss girls goodnight. Relax and read an e-book. Or if I'm lucky, catch an episode or two or three of Family Guy with hubby. Zone out.

10:00pm – Double check the thermostat's turned down. Then lights out because 3:15am comes around real fast. Where’d all the time go? Thank God and say prayers for another day just like this one.

I'm exhausted just proofreading this J

Thanks again, for having me here today. Have a great day—I hope it’s a productive one filled with all the right words!


When Nick reluctantly accepts the temporary transfer to the Scenic View Fire Department he doesn’t plan on playing Santa Claus for the kiddie Christmas party. Sticking around town for the special assignment will give him a chance to get to know lonely, local sweetheart Lily and find out why she wants nothing to do with him.

Lily is a lifelong fixture in Scenic View, sick of living hand-to-mouth in a place where everyone’s nose is in her personal business. Just when she’s ready to move out of town, she meets the gorgeous newcomer, and it’s lust at first sight. The only thing is she doesn’t date firemen, which is too bad, because charming Nick seems like a real keeper. With a little Christmas magic and help from the Santa suit, will Nick find a way into Lily’s heart and change her mind?


Almost everything was closed on Thanksgiving, so her choices were limited to grabbing a bag of beef jerky at the gas station’s mini-mart or daring to go into the dreaded diner. She didn’t like eating alone in public, which worked perfectly because she didn’t have enough cash for the bill, plus a tip.
Studying the Specials posted on the glass door, she debated on ordering something to go. She could eat it at a picnic table in the park.
A man’s thick voice behind her shook her deep contemplation. “Going in or coming out?”
“Sorry.” As Lily jumped aside to free up the doorway, she recognized Nick’s superlative smile beaming like the sun, warming every cell in her body. His nose was rosy, and his quizzical eyes shimmered with moisture as if he’d been in the frigid wind for too long. She bit her tongue to prevent any wild thoughts from rushing past her shivering lips.
“Hey, are you following me?” He winked.
“I, um…” His distinctive musk and cinnamon scent derailed her train of thought. She hid her smile while brushing away an escaped curl tickling her chin. Did her best to contain the butterflies fluttering in her belly.
“Well?” Nick cocked his head. “I’m cold and hungry. How about you?” He grimaced, underdressed for the blustery weather in a black leather jacket with a red scarf tucked into the collar. “Care to join me?”
Of course, she wanted to join him but the rapid fire of her treacherous heart made it difficult to breathe, let alone talk, and her feet were too stunned to move.
“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna. But why eat alone when we could eat together? Unless, of course, you’re not here alone.”


Debra Druzy is a lifelong Long Islander, writing contemporary romance while caring for the hubby, two daughters, and the dog. Her debut novel, SLEEPING WITH SANTA, a spicy romance, is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other notable booksellers. Visit her on the web at

Find Debra Druzy Online at: