In our family we don't pardon our Thanksgiving turkey, we eat him, but first we name him. This year's bird was Irwin. Our youngest son Paul named him.
I wanted to call him Happy Jack the Turkey, but Paul objected because "Happy Jack" is the title of a song by The Who. Anything having to do with music is sacred to Paul so the bird was dubbed Irwin.
My husband Michael, who started this turkey-naming thing, kept calling Irwin Owen, which is the name of one of Paul's three cats. Owen is a big fat yellow tabby, almost the size of Irwin who is -- er, was, nineteen and one half pounds.
Last Thanksgiving Michael came to the table using a walker between his hip replacement surgeries. (See my post "Did Anybody Miss Me?" to find out why Michael now has two titanium hips.) This year Michael came to the table on his own two feet, well again and happy, and still calling Irwin Owen just to needle Paul.
That's what I'm thankful for this year.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Run for the Roses
That's the title of my favorite Dan Fogelberg song. Thoroughbreds run races, and so do writers. Our finish line is the deadline we kill ourselves to meet. I've gone days without sleeping, skipped meals and skipped showers to meet deadlines. A writer's blanket of roses is a good review and fan letters from readers telling us how much they loved the book.
When I was a kid I desperately wanted two things, a piano and a horse. I got the piano, but I never got the horse. The closest I came was the rocking horse my dad made me for Christmas. I named him Blackie.
Hardly an inspired name, but I was only three. That's Blackie and me in the photo. Clearly I was exhausted from a breakneck gallop across the living room. I don't know what happened to Blackie (though I'll bet my three brothers do) but I can still remember riding him. His springs squeaked like crazy. I loved that horse.
I've always loved horses. When I'm in the car and "Run for the Roses" plays on the radio I get so choked up I can't sing along. I never miss the Kentucky Derby on TV. When Secretariat died I cried all day.
I've written 16 books, but only two about horses. The Dreaming Pool for Dell, originally published as Paula Christopher, which I'll tell you about later, and Second Sight for Harlequin Temptation.
I love Second Sight. It's one of my favorites. I wanted to call it Gift Horse, which has more to do with the story than Second Sight, but I was overruled. I considered changing the title when I put the book up on Kindle but decided that might mislead readers.
If you've seen the movie Secretariat -- and if you haven't, do, it's terrific -- you'll recall the scene where Diane Lane's character, Penny Chenery Tweedy, asks for a moment alone with Secretariat and gives him a pep talk. I'm sure there were people in the theater that wondered what the hell she was doing talking to a horse.
Some people say horses are psychic, others that they're intuitive. If you doubt me read Dick Francis' wonderful horse racing mysteries or ask people who've owned horses all their lives, like my cousin Dana Eichman.
"Their eyes tell you everything," Dana says.
Richard Parker-Harris, the hero of Second Sight, discovers that when he looks the filly High Brow in the eye. Interestingly, Dana made her comment to me before she saw the new cover Pati Nagle designed for the ebook.
It's a very cool cover that features High Brow and Susan Cade, the character in the book that can talk to horses. Susan is an equine vet with an uncanny knack for picking winners at the track. Richard is dead broke, and figures that Susan owes him one for breaking his nose with a riding crop when she was fourteen. That's where Richard and Susan start, but that's not where they finish.
You can see the cover on my website, www.lynnmichaels.us or in the Lynn Michaels Collection on Amazon. If you love horses and a good romance I hope you'll buy the book.
Blackie and I will both thank you.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
My Big Fat Greek Decision
No, I'm not Greek. That was just to get your attention.
Okay, here's my decision -- Now that my husband Michael is well I'm going to start writing again, but I'm not going to write for a commercial publishing house. I'm not going to write what an editor wants or what my agent thinks an editor wants. I'm going to write what I want to write, and hopefully what you want to read.
How am I going to do this? By epublishing my books myself. I can do that now, thanks to Kindle, Nook and the other reading devices out there. I don't know them all; I'm still learning about epublishing so feel free to educate me.
When I realized I could do this, that I didn't have to twist myself into a pretzel to give Editor A what she wants, or what my agent thinks she wants, that all I have to do is write the book and hit publish, I got so light-headed I had to lie down.
Until I finish a new book I'm publishing my backlist titles that I have the rights to on Kindle. Here are the titles I've put up so far on Amazon:
Captain Rakehell
The Duke's Downfall
Nightwing
Molly and the Phantom
Second Sight
Remembrance
Captain Rakehell and The Duke's Downfall are Regencies I wrote for Fawcett as Jane Lynson. Molly and the Phantom, Second Sight and Remembrance are paranormals I wrote for Harlequin Temptation and Nightwing, also a Temptation, is a vampire romance.
I'm having a blast doing this. It takes time to learn the conversion process, to come up with covers and blurbs, but it's fun. The best part of epublishing is that I'm in control -- I'm in charge of everything. I'm the author, the editor, the copy editor, and the cover designer. Note that I didn't say artist. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler.
Captain of my own ship. Mistress of my own destiny at last. Woo! I'm feeling light-headed again.
Okay, here's my decision -- Now that my husband Michael is well I'm going to start writing again, but I'm not going to write for a commercial publishing house. I'm not going to write what an editor wants or what my agent thinks an editor wants. I'm going to write what I want to write, and hopefully what you want to read.
How am I going to do this? By epublishing my books myself. I can do that now, thanks to Kindle, Nook and the other reading devices out there. I don't know them all; I'm still learning about epublishing so feel free to educate me.
When I realized I could do this, that I didn't have to twist myself into a pretzel to give Editor A what she wants, or what my agent thinks she wants, that all I have to do is write the book and hit publish, I got so light-headed I had to lie down.
Until I finish a new book I'm publishing my backlist titles that I have the rights to on Kindle. Here are the titles I've put up so far on Amazon:
Captain Rakehell
The Duke's Downfall
Nightwing
Molly and the Phantom
Second Sight
Remembrance
Captain Rakehell and The Duke's Downfall are Regencies I wrote for Fawcett as Jane Lynson. Molly and the Phantom, Second Sight and Remembrance are paranormals I wrote for Harlequin Temptation and Nightwing, also a Temptation, is a vampire romance.
I'm having a blast doing this. It takes time to learn the conversion process, to come up with covers and blurbs, but it's fun. The best part of epublishing is that I'm in control -- I'm in charge of everything. I'm the author, the editor, the copy editor, and the cover designer. Note that I didn't say artist. I can't draw a straight line with a ruler.
Captain of my own ship. Mistress of my own destiny at last. Woo! I'm feeling light-headed again.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Did Anybody Miss Me?
Yes, I was gone, thanks for noticing. I wasn't kidnapped by aliens, or Hugh Jackman, either, darn it. The truth is I haven't given a single thought to writing in the last three years.
About a month after I made my last post to this blog rheumatoid arthritis hit my husband Michael (now you know how I came up with my pseudonym) like a brick between the eyes.
One day he was fine, the next he was falling apart. By October he couldn't walk without a walker. He spent Christmas in the hosptial.
The doctors kept looking for cancer. They couldn't find it because it wasn't there. When a neurologist told me that Michael's sediment rate (the number of dead red cells in your blood) was over the moon I knew it was an autoimmune problem.
I was right. I should have gone to medical school. I should also write a book about what Michael went through, but I'd get sued for telling the truth.
Once I got Michael to a rheumatologist his health began to improve. He had surgery on his left hand to reattach the tendons in his fingers that were being severed, one by one, by a bone spur. One genius ER doctor told Michael that the flaming red basketball on his wrist was a skin condition, and he didn't need an x-ray for a skin condition. He's also had both of his hips replaced. He's fine, now, thank God, and our 11-year-old grandson thinks it's totally cool that Grampy has titanium hips like the Terminator.
Three years ago Michael was the healthiest 58-year-old man on the planet. He exercised every day, lifted weights three times a week (the only thing that saved his muscles from atrophy), ate right, didn't smoke or drink, and RA knocked him flat on his back.
From the Mayo Clinic website here are the symptoms of RA:
Joint pain
Joint swelling
Joints that are tender to the touch
Red and puffy hands (RA attacks small joints first)
Firm bumps of tissue under the skin on your arms (these are rheumatoid nodules)
Fatigue
Morning stiffness that may last for hours
Fever
Weight Loss
Michael experienced morning stiffness and wrote it off to this age. (Clearly he missed the 60 is the New 40 Memo.) He ran low-grade fevers and thought he'd over-exercised. His left wrist pained him now and then, and occasionally it was puffy, but again he thought he'd overdone it.
God forbid you should ever experience any of these symptoms. If you do make an appointment and see your doctor. If you don't like what he or she tells you, if it doesn't feel right to you, find another doctor. If you don't like the second opinion ask for a referral to a rheumatologist.
Thanks to those of you who noticed that I was MIA. Now that Michael is well again, lifting weights again, and most important, smiling and laughing again, I'm starting to write again.
Just thought I'd let you know. I'll keep you posted.
About a month after I made my last post to this blog rheumatoid arthritis hit my husband Michael (now you know how I came up with my pseudonym) like a brick between the eyes.
One day he was fine, the next he was falling apart. By October he couldn't walk without a walker. He spent Christmas in the hosptial.
The doctors kept looking for cancer. They couldn't find it because it wasn't there. When a neurologist told me that Michael's sediment rate (the number of dead red cells in your blood) was over the moon I knew it was an autoimmune problem.
I was right. I should have gone to medical school. I should also write a book about what Michael went through, but I'd get sued for telling the truth.
Once I got Michael to a rheumatologist his health began to improve. He had surgery on his left hand to reattach the tendons in his fingers that were being severed, one by one, by a bone spur. One genius ER doctor told Michael that the flaming red basketball on his wrist was a skin condition, and he didn't need an x-ray for a skin condition. He's also had both of his hips replaced. He's fine, now, thank God, and our 11-year-old grandson thinks it's totally cool that Grampy has titanium hips like the Terminator.
Three years ago Michael was the healthiest 58-year-old man on the planet. He exercised every day, lifted weights three times a week (the only thing that saved his muscles from atrophy), ate right, didn't smoke or drink, and RA knocked him flat on his back.
From the Mayo Clinic website here are the symptoms of RA:
Joint pain
Joint swelling
Joints that are tender to the touch
Red and puffy hands (RA attacks small joints first)
Firm bumps of tissue under the skin on your arms (these are rheumatoid nodules)
Fatigue
Morning stiffness that may last for hours
Fever
Weight Loss
Michael experienced morning stiffness and wrote it off to this age. (Clearly he missed the 60 is the New 40 Memo.) He ran low-grade fevers and thought he'd over-exercised. His left wrist pained him now and then, and occasionally it was puffy, but again he thought he'd overdone it.
God forbid you should ever experience any of these symptoms. If you do make an appointment and see your doctor. If you don't like what he or she tells you, if it doesn't feel right to you, find another doctor. If you don't like the second opinion ask for a referral to a rheumatologist.
Thanks to those of you who noticed that I was MIA. Now that Michael is well again, lifting weights again, and most important, smiling and laughing again, I'm starting to write again.
Just thought I'd let you know. I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Fun Things To Do With Your Characters
A great place to start a book is in medias res, a Latin phrase that means in the middle of things. I've heard this likened to putting your characters up a tree and then throwing rocks at them. I did that at the beginning of Captain Rakehell (recently reissued by Delphi Books). I stuck Lady Amanda Gilbertson in a tree. The rocks I threw at her were metaphorical: three bumbling thieves and a dashing hero in a black mask on a black horse.
Another fun way to get things rolling with your characters is take them out of their element and plunk them down in a completely foreign environment. I did that in Return Engagement. Plucked Noah Patrick out of Hollywood and dropped him in Belle Coeur, Missouri, a small town on the Missouri River.
Noah is one of my favorite characters. Smart, funny, thinks fast on his feet. So does Joe Kerr, the hero of Marriage By Design, which comes out on July 25, 2006.
What if these two very different guys, Noah Patrick and Joe Kerr, were to find themselves in a very strange place. A place where no man has gone before....
Noah: Hello? Hel-looo? Where are we? I don't see anything. (Squinting, shading eyes with his hand) Just a big, empty...nothing.
Joe: We're in cyberspace. You're an actor. Think of it as a blue screen, the background they put you against in a movie to deliver your lines to a CGI character that the computer will fill in later.
Noah: You're a detective. Why don't you find a way out of here?
Joe: Why don't you relax? However we got here, we'll be able to get out the same way.
Noah: (Walking away) I'll relax as soon as I find the door marked EXIT.
Joe: I wouldn't go too far.
Noah: (Stops, turns around) Why not?
Joe: You aren't leaving footprints.
Noah: Yikes! (Scoots back to Joe.)
Joe: Good choice. I'm a detective, not a bloodhound.
Noah: I get lost going to the bathroom, but this one takes the cake. My wife Lindsay will never believe it.
Joe: Then I suggest you don't tell her.
Noah: You aren't married, are you?
Joe: Not yet. Mia and I are engaged.
Noah: That explains why you think you can keep anything from a woman. Can't be done. They have powers. Lindsay says it's in their hormones.
Joe: No. It's in their brain cells. I keep telling Mia that I'll make a detective out of her yet, but she says she wants to keep designing. When I met her she hated designing wedding gowns. She quit her father's company Savard Creations just to get out of it. Go figure.
Noah: We're alone, aren't we?
Joe: Do you see anyone else?
Noah: No. And I don't want to. I especially don't want to see Lucien Savard. Good luck to you, pal. Your intended's old man is a nut job.
Joe: Lucien wouldn't be caught dead here. There's no furniture to bust up. Relax.
Noah: That's the second time you've told me to relax. It's getting on my nerves. So is this place.
Joe: I told you. It's cyberspace.
Noah: Uh huh. And where is cyberspace exactly? Does it have coordinates? Can you show it to me on a map?
Joe: Are you trying to give me a headache?
Noah: I'm trying to get you to look for the door.
Joe: There is no door. Why should I look for one?
Noah: How about to keep me from screaming like a girl?
Joe: Why don't you just chill?
Noah: That means the same thing as relax and it ain't gonna happen, Sherlock, till you find the door. Joe: Ay-yi-yi.
Noah: It's not freaking you out just the teeniest little bit that somehow we've ended up in cyberspace?
Joe: No. Why should it?
Noah: Ay-yi-yi.
Joe: You're getting your shorts in a twist over nothing.
Noah: That's my point, Sherlock. Cyberspace is nothing. It's not real.
Joe: It's as real as you are, as real as I am.
Noah: Cyberspace is nothing but a URL, a universal resource locator. I'm not a resource. I'm a married man with a wife an kids. I'd like to get back to them before Lindsay thinks I've gotten lost again and sends Uncle Ezra out to find me.
Joe: That's the last thing we need. Lindsay's crazy uncle showing up with his shotgun.
Noah: Relax, Sherlock. Lucille is never loaded.
Joe: I don't care. I don't like guns. Okay. (Moving away from Noah) I'm gonna find the door now.
Noah: (Singing) Lucille. Why can't you be true. Oh, oh, Lucille --
Joe: Knock it off, Patrick. You want out of here or not?
Noah: You bet your bippy I want out of here. Lead the way, Sherlock. I'm right behind you.
And Joe stalks off into the wild blue wander of cyberspace with Noah trailing behind him humming Lucille under his breath...
Another fun way to get things rolling with your characters is take them out of their element and plunk them down in a completely foreign environment. I did that in Return Engagement. Plucked Noah Patrick out of Hollywood and dropped him in Belle Coeur, Missouri, a small town on the Missouri River.
Noah is one of my favorite characters. Smart, funny, thinks fast on his feet. So does Joe Kerr, the hero of Marriage By Design, which comes out on July 25, 2006.
What if these two very different guys, Noah Patrick and Joe Kerr, were to find themselves in a very strange place. A place where no man has gone before....
Noah: Hello? Hel-looo? Where are we? I don't see anything. (Squinting, shading eyes with his hand) Just a big, empty...nothing.
Joe: We're in cyberspace. You're an actor. Think of it as a blue screen, the background they put you against in a movie to deliver your lines to a CGI character that the computer will fill in later.
Noah: You're a detective. Why don't you find a way out of here?
Joe: Why don't you relax? However we got here, we'll be able to get out the same way.
Noah: (Walking away) I'll relax as soon as I find the door marked EXIT.
Joe: I wouldn't go too far.
Noah: (Stops, turns around) Why not?
Joe: You aren't leaving footprints.
Noah: Yikes! (Scoots back to Joe.)
Joe: Good choice. I'm a detective, not a bloodhound.
Noah: I get lost going to the bathroom, but this one takes the cake. My wife Lindsay will never believe it.
Joe: Then I suggest you don't tell her.
Noah: You aren't married, are you?
Joe: Not yet. Mia and I are engaged.
Noah: That explains why you think you can keep anything from a woman. Can't be done. They have powers. Lindsay says it's in their hormones.
Joe: No. It's in their brain cells. I keep telling Mia that I'll make a detective out of her yet, but she says she wants to keep designing. When I met her she hated designing wedding gowns. She quit her father's company Savard Creations just to get out of it. Go figure.
Noah: We're alone, aren't we?
Joe: Do you see anyone else?
Noah: No. And I don't want to. I especially don't want to see Lucien Savard. Good luck to you, pal. Your intended's old man is a nut job.
Joe: Lucien wouldn't be caught dead here. There's no furniture to bust up. Relax.
Noah: That's the second time you've told me to relax. It's getting on my nerves. So is this place.
Joe: I told you. It's cyberspace.
Noah: Uh huh. And where is cyberspace exactly? Does it have coordinates? Can you show it to me on a map?
Joe: Are you trying to give me a headache?
Noah: I'm trying to get you to look for the door.
Joe: There is no door. Why should I look for one?
Noah: How about to keep me from screaming like a girl?
Joe: Why don't you just chill?
Noah: That means the same thing as relax and it ain't gonna happen, Sherlock, till you find the door. Joe: Ay-yi-yi.
Noah: It's not freaking you out just the teeniest little bit that somehow we've ended up in cyberspace?
Joe: No. Why should it?
Noah: Ay-yi-yi.
Joe: You're getting your shorts in a twist over nothing.
Noah: That's my point, Sherlock. Cyberspace is nothing. It's not real.
Joe: It's as real as you are, as real as I am.
Noah: Cyberspace is nothing but a URL, a universal resource locator. I'm not a resource. I'm a married man with a wife an kids. I'd like to get back to them before Lindsay thinks I've gotten lost again and sends Uncle Ezra out to find me.
Joe: That's the last thing we need. Lindsay's crazy uncle showing up with his shotgun.
Noah: Relax, Sherlock. Lucille is never loaded.
Joe: I don't care. I don't like guns. Okay. (Moving away from Noah) I'm gonna find the door now.
Noah: (Singing) Lucille. Why can't you be true. Oh, oh, Lucille --
Joe: Knock it off, Patrick. You want out of here or not?
Noah: You bet your bippy I want out of here. Lead the way, Sherlock. I'm right behind you.
And Joe stalks off into the wild blue wander of cyberspace with Noah trailing behind him humming Lucille under his breath...
Friday, February 17, 2006
Here's the answer to Foo Fighters:
They're a grock group, of course, but the term/phrase (whatever you want to call it) Foo Fighters is a World War II phrase coined by military pilots to refer to mysterious or otherwise unexplainable aerial pehonomena. AKA -- UFO's.
As my husband Michaels says, "You learn something new everyday if you stay awake long enough."
Could that be why I stay up till midnight almost every night? Hmmm...
As my husband Michaels says, "You learn something new everyday if you stay awake long enough."
Could that be why I stay up till midnight almost every night? Hmmm...
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Today is a Think Day.
A day when I mostly wander around the house straightening up, dusting, piddling, while the chapter I'm writing and bits of the story spool off the movie reel in my head.
Some writers only hear their stories. Others only hear them. I do both. In my head, my books are Cecil B. De Mille productions with casts of thousand and Dolby stereo soundtracks. I even fill in background music. When I'm in my car a song will come on the radio and I'll think, "Ooh! That would sound so cool playing in the background in Chapter 5, while Lily and Harry are peeling potatoes." Or whatever they're doing.
Songs inspire montages of scenes that flip through my brain like a slide show. So on Think Days I play a lot of music. Today's choice: After Hours by John Pizzarelli. Light, jazzy, playful. Good mood music for romantic comedy.
Some writers listen to music while they write. I don't because I can't hear the voices in my head. The voices of my characters, not the voices from the mother ship. I hear those when I'm not writing. The ideal office space for me would be a mausoleum.
While I'm thinking I'll make notes: snippets of conversation, some of the montage scenes that come through with the music. If I'm in the kitchen I'll grab a scratchpad if I can find one, hopefully a pen that writes. These loose-leaf notes I'll glue or Scotch tape into the notebook I keep for each book. An 8 1/2 x 11 hardcover journal, spiral bound so it lays flat on my desk. I haunt the bargain books in Barnes and Noble and buy them on sale.
Last night my husband Michael opened the fridge and said: "I can see the bulb." Sometimes he says: "I'm getting an echo." That means it's time to buy food. So sometime today I'll make a grocery list on that scratchpad, with the pen that hopefully still writes, and make a trek to Price Chopper.
I'll play the radio and hear more songs. I keep a notebook in my car in case Elton John or The Foo Fighters give me a hot idea. Usually the notebook is on the floor of the backseat. I have no idea how it gets there. Once I found it in the trunk. That still stumps me.
By the end of the day I'll have lots of notes and new ideas, which tomorrow I'll turn into dialogue between Lily and Harry or maybe some introspection on her part, or his, or maybe both. We'll see.
Till then -- do you know what Foo Fighters are? Where the term originated? What it means? If you do, here's your chance to show off. Leave a comment.
If you don't, I'll tell you tomorrow.
Some writers only hear their stories. Others only hear them. I do both. In my head, my books are Cecil B. De Mille productions with casts of thousand and Dolby stereo soundtracks. I even fill in background music. When I'm in my car a song will come on the radio and I'll think, "Ooh! That would sound so cool playing in the background in Chapter 5, while Lily and Harry are peeling potatoes." Or whatever they're doing.
Songs inspire montages of scenes that flip through my brain like a slide show. So on Think Days I play a lot of music. Today's choice: After Hours by John Pizzarelli. Light, jazzy, playful. Good mood music for romantic comedy.
Some writers listen to music while they write. I don't because I can't hear the voices in my head. The voices of my characters, not the voices from the mother ship. I hear those when I'm not writing. The ideal office space for me would be a mausoleum.
While I'm thinking I'll make notes: snippets of conversation, some of the montage scenes that come through with the music. If I'm in the kitchen I'll grab a scratchpad if I can find one, hopefully a pen that writes. These loose-leaf notes I'll glue or Scotch tape into the notebook I keep for each book. An 8 1/2 x 11 hardcover journal, spiral bound so it lays flat on my desk. I haunt the bargain books in Barnes and Noble and buy them on sale.
Last night my husband Michael opened the fridge and said: "I can see the bulb." Sometimes he says: "I'm getting an echo." That means it's time to buy food. So sometime today I'll make a grocery list on that scratchpad, with the pen that hopefully still writes, and make a trek to Price Chopper.
I'll play the radio and hear more songs. I keep a notebook in my car in case Elton John or The Foo Fighters give me a hot idea. Usually the notebook is on the floor of the backseat. I have no idea how it gets there. Once I found it in the trunk. That still stumps me.
By the end of the day I'll have lots of notes and new ideas, which tomorrow I'll turn into dialogue between Lily and Harry or maybe some introspection on her part, or his, or maybe both. We'll see.
Till then -- do you know what Foo Fighters are? Where the term originated? What it means? If you do, here's your chance to show off. Leave a comment.
If you don't, I'll tell you tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Hello and welcome!
This is Tuesday, February 7. I should be writing a book -- the pesky little things don't write themselves -- and I will be shortly, just as soon as I finish this post inviting you to LipService.
Writing isn't always easy, but it's fun! I'm a Libra and we don't show up for anything that isn't fun.
I'm starting a new book, a trilogy actually, so I'm working on the first book. I write chronologically, I guess you'd call it, from beginning to end. Straight through from start to finish.
If you're a fan of my books (and if you are, I'm thrilled to meet you here!) and you'd like to know how I do what I do, pull up a post and tag along while I write this puppy.
I'd also like to invite you to my website, www.lynnmichaels.us. I'm available there to chat on the message board about anything and everything. Come play!
Writing isn't always easy, but it's fun! I'm a Libra and we don't show up for anything that isn't fun.
I'm starting a new book, a trilogy actually, so I'm working on the first book. I write chronologically, I guess you'd call it, from beginning to end. Straight through from start to finish.
If you're a fan of my books (and if you are, I'm thrilled to meet you here!) and you'd like to know how I do what I do, pull up a post and tag along while I write this puppy.
I'd also like to invite you to my website, www.lynnmichaels.us. I'm available there to chat on the message board about anything and everything. Come play!
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