I didn’t used to.  Only deranged people talk aloud to themselves, right?  But there are certain circumstances now when I find myself doing it.

Like when I carry two super-heavy bags of groceries in from the car and heave them onto the kitchen counter.  Okay, I grunt in relief when the first hits.  Okay, I grunt when the second lands beside it.

I also talk to myself in times of frustration, like when someone cuts me off in traffic.  You imbecile, I mutter under my breath, often using a more rude word than imbecile, but since I’m talking to myself, myself isn’t shocked.  Are you in such a *** rush that you can’t be civil?

Or disbelief, when it’s dinnertime and the rice suddenly boils and goes all over my nice clean stove because I was distracted reaching for the phone, only to find that it’s another political call.  Slamming down the phone, I grab for the pan, lower the heat, and shout, I wouldn’t vote for your guy if my life depended on it!

This is internal narrative gone external, and there’s definitely a cathartic value to it.  There’s no faster way to release tension.  And it doesn’t hurt anyone.

But what about internal narrative in a novel?  Have you ever read a book where the main character ruminates at length over every single thing that either has happened or is about to happen?  In this instance, it does hurt someone.  It hurts the reader, who becomes bored, and it hurts the author, who loses a reader.

Now that I’m writing the climactic scenes of Sweet Salt Air, I think about this a lot.  The characters are feeling high emotion at this stage, and some internal narrative is good.  But there’s a fine line between good and iffy.  My solution?  At this point in the story, Charlotte is on Quinnipeague, my fictitious Maine island, and Nicole is in Chicago, in very real Illinois.  Since they can’t be physically together, I’ve been combining internal narrative with texting.  Mind you, I’m careful not to repeat their thoughts – i.e., Nicole cannot text Charlotte the same thing she has just told you in internal narrative.  But she can certainly text her the what-comes-next bit.

I wish I could say that there’s no repetition when I talk to myself, but there is.  Oh yes, it’s cathartic.  But aren’t you glad you don’t have to hear me then?

I’m shrugging – no, not doing the bobbing thing with the shoulders, but knitting a shrug.  Remember, I mentioned it in my blog on instant gratification?  I even posted a picture there of the yarn I was going to use.

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to that goal.  The pattern called for knitting the shrug in one piece from cuff-to-cuff, so I did one skein worth of a sleeve – and didn’t like the way it looked or felt.  This is the problem I have with knitting wearables.  In a store, I try on five sweaters before finding one with the right look and feel.  With knitting, you have to do the all work before you can see whether you like it or not.

In this case, it wasn’t a big problem.  I returned the unused skeins, purchased a different fiber (a blend of mohair and silk that has a tiny silver sparkle in it), and chose a slightly different pattern.  Click on the picture below for a more detailed look.  You can’t quite see the sparkles, but, trust me, they’re there.

This time, I love the way it looks and feels.  I’ve already finished the shrug itself and now just have to sew the sleeve seams, then pick up stitches for the cuffs and a ribbed border up the lapels and around the neck.  Cuffs and border are done two-stranded – using one strand of the same yarn as the body and one of alpaca to give the ribbing stability.  I can’t wait to see how the shrug looks when these edges are done.  More, I can’t wait to wear it.  Gray is such a neutral, wear-with-anything color, and this shade of light gray for spring and summer?  Perfect.

Since the shrug is too big now to tote around as a travel project,  I’m also knitting a pair of Monkeys.  It’s another Cookie A. sock pattern, this time from her book knit.sock.love.  Take a look.

And then there’s my Les Miserables scarf.  Hey, I can’t only work on two projects at once, can I?  This one’s pretty cool.  It’s an alpaca-silk blend that you knit up on big needles, almost like lace, then felt.  The pattern calls for you to drop stitches (and unravel – scary!) every tenth row or so, which means that when you felt it, you get long rectangular holes that create a chic ragged effect – as in, a street person from Les Miserables.  Get it?  One of the women in my knitting group made this, and it’s spectacular.  I’ll try to add a photo here of mine in progress.  Meanwhile, though, it’s a free Ravelry download, so if you’re a Ravelry person, search “Les Miserables” and take a look.

For the uninitiated, fiddleheads are the immature, unopened fronds of a fern that, when harvested at infancy, make a yummy vegetable.  The season is short, really just a matter of weeks in early spring, but that’s one of the things that makes them special.  Another is their scrolled shape, another their nutty taste.

Needless to say, I wasn’t passing that bin by.  Using the tongs Whole Foods provided (those measly black things in the picture above), I patiently placed three or four little fronds at a time in my bag.  Eventually, I gave up on the tongs and scooped with my hands.  Clearly, Whole Foods hadn’t expected a lover like me.

I have special reason to be excited about fiddleheads this year.  They’re in the opening pages of Sweet Salt Air, served at the Chowder House in Quinnipeague Harbor.  How does the chef prepare them?  The same way I do, which is very simply.  After carefully washing and patting them dry, I saute them over a medium-high heat in a light mix of olive oil and butter.  Stirred occasionally, they soften up in six to eight minutes.  You don’t want them too soft; a little crunch is part of the treat.  Add a sprinkle of salt and a squeeze of fresh lemon, and you have yourself a healthy side or snack.

Being from New England, where fiddleheads have a certain springtime caché, I’ve seen them served any number of ways.  IMHO, if you bury them under bread crumbs or cheese, though, their taste is lost.   Simple is definitely better.  Again, though, strictly MHO.

Have you ever cooked fiddleheads?  Got a recipe of your own that you’ll share?

What makes a good public speaker?  A strong voice?  Lotsa guts?  The gift of gab?

If you guessed any of these, you’d be right, but they’re the tip of the iceberg – literally, only the part you see.  When I talk before a group, there’s much more involved, and since I’m flying across the country to keynote a women’s breakfast in California this week, I’m in the midst of it right now.

First, clothes.  This heads the list because, if I have to buy something new, it may take a while.  Most venues suggest business attire, though for a large evening event, I need something more dressy.  Whatever I wear has to be flattering and comfortable.  In the case of my talk this Friday, my hosts are going with black, yellow, and red, and suggested I not wear, say purple (which means my purple nail polish has to go, see below).  I’m good with that.

Second, hair and nails.  I hate to say it, but appearance matters when it comes to these engagements.  Some groups actually rank you on it in a post-event report, meaning that it can affect future bookings.  Hair and nails are part of the package, and they take pre-planning.  If I have to head to the airport at two, a noon hair appointment is calling it close.  In this case, I have one booked at nine in the morning, with nails the day before.

Third, speech.  This is actually the most demanding part for an author.  The host gives me a theme – sometimes relating to my fiction, sometimes breast cancer, sometimes a combo of the two.  When I am limited to a specific time frame, say twenty-five minutes, I write out the entire speech to assure the right length, then read it over once or twice a day for several weeks until I can talk without actually reading word by word.  California will be different.  They’ve asked me to talk for an hour, and the atmosphere will be laid-back and fun, so I’m talking from a combination of a script and a detailed outline.

Fourth, travel arrangements.  How do I get to and from the airport in Boston, then again in Los Angeles?  How and when do I fly?  Who meets me where?  What’s a good contact phone number?  My speaker’s agent actually helps with these plans, though I have to coordinate.

Fifth, packing.  Since L.A. is so different from Boston, I’ve been monitoring the advance weather forecasts for weeks.  Do I wear open-toed shoes or pumps?  Stockings or leggings?  A blazer, sweater, or shawl?  And what to wear on the airplane, six hours each way.  I never check luggage for this kind of trip, since I’m traveling on such a tight schedule that if luggage is lost, it’ll never catch up with me before my speech.  Hair-dryer?  Check.  Make-up?  Check.  (You see my priorities.)

Sixth, what I leave behind.  I’m talking about paying bills, buying fresh food for DH, prescheduling blogs, and madly working to add extra pages to Sweet Salt Air as compensation for missing two days of work.

Speaking of which, I’d better get back to it.  Think of me Friday.

Pro.  You don’t risk forgetting; the book is on your doorstep the day it goes on sale.

Con.  If forgetting is a problem, you may preorder the same book twice; I’ve actually done that.

Pro.  You can be in the literary forefront, the first of your friends to read a book.

Con.  If you end up hating it, the letdown is worse.

Pro.  Bookstores get a leg-up on how many copies to order.

Con.  If you preorder at one store, then find the same book selling for less elsewhere, you feel gyped.

Pro.  Since preorders consolidate several months of sales into a single day, they can propel a book onto the bestselling lists.

Con.  If preorders inflate a book’s popularity, an author may be devastated to find that those first-day sales are as good as it gets.

Pro.  Healthy preorders may drive the publisher back to press for a second or third pre-publication printing.

Con.  If the publisher is overly optimistic, books in those additional print runs may sit unsold.

The bottom line?  Speaking as a writer, preordering is the best thing in the world.  Please, please, please do it.

But I’m also a reader, and your friend.  Speaking in those capacities, I’d say that if I like the author enough, I’ll preorder.  If I want to support her, I’ll preorder.  If I’m going on vacation and am desperate to take the book along, I’ll preorder.  Otherwise, I’ll wait until I’ve read a review.

Okay.  In the case of your choosing to wait, I’ve shot myself in the foot here.  But at least you know I’m honest.

Speaking of honesty, did I miss any arguments, pro or con?  If so, what?

In a single stretch of dialogue, how often should the characters call each other by name?  I’ve been hypersensitive about this lately, because I just read another book that, IMHO, did it very wrong.

Here’s an excerpt from Sweet Salt Air in which Charlotte and Nicole are discussing Cecily Cole.  Cecily is the legendary island herbalist, alternately feared and adored.  Her herbs, which are particularly strong, are what makes island food so special.

Charlotte starts the discussion.  If I were that other author, it might read something like this:

“Nicole, is Cecily still doing her thing?”

“Oh, Lord, Charlotte.  You don’t know.  Cecily died five years ago.”

 Charlotte stopped walking.  “Died?  But, Nicole, how can we do this book without her?”

 “Her herbs are still around, Charlotte.  Didn’t the chowder and clams taste as good as ever?”

 “Yes, but, Nicki, you can’t talk about island food without talking about Cecily.”

 “Oh, Charlotte, we can still talk about her.  We just can’t walk with her.”

Does this bother you as much as it bothers me?  Like we don’t know who is involved in this dialogue?

So when do I repeat the names of the characters?  Here are four thoughts.

First, I repeat them for clarity, when there’s a question about who is talking to whom.  This is especially true if more than two people are involved in the discussion.

Second, I repeat them for emphasis, as in times of stress, when there is heavy-duty emotion at play.  This last line of the above dialogue is actually a good example of this.  It might have worked, had it not been for all the name-calling before it.

Third, I repeat them for love, i.e., as an endearment.

And the above excerpt as it appears in my book?

She squinted, trying to penetrate the fog and spot the boulder that marked the start of Cole land.  “Is Cecily still doing her thing?”

 “Oh, Lord,” Nicole said in surprise.  “You don’t know.  Cecily died five years ago.”

 Charlotte stopped walking.  “Died?  But how can we do this book without her?”

 “Her herbs are still around.  Didn’t the chowder and clams taste as good as ever?”

 “Yes, but we can’t talk about island food without talking about Cecily.”

 “We can still talk about her.  We just can’t talk with her.”

Is that better?

BTW, the herb above is mint, and Cecily’s mint is something to behold.  Ever had mint brownies?  People on Quinnipeague (the island in Sweet Salt Air) have.  Yummm.

Surely by now you’ve heard friends talk of this book, and if you haven’t yet, you will.  Consider me a friend.  And here’s my talk.

I love the characters.  Ana may be sexually naïve at the start of the book, but she has spunk and wit.  She takes on Christian as no other woman has; the email between them is priceless.  Christian is flawed, but for a reason.  Discovering that reason is cause enough to read on.

I love that this book is, at one level, about the empowerment of women.  Despite Christian’s need to be the Dominant and have Ana as the Submissive, she has control from the start.  Moreover, Christian falls so hard for her that she actually has the ability to change him.  Isn’t this every woman’s fantasy – to take a flawed man and help him grow?

I love the sex.  It may be kinky, but it is consensual, erotic but gentle and intriguing, with built-in safeguards and care.  I love that it has none of the violence of, say, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.

I love the psychological elements here.  If you’ve read my books, you know why.

I love that this book is getting women reading again – and not in the YA fold, as in Twilight and The Hunger Games.

I love that it is creating buzz.  It has us talking.  We’re big girls; why not?  What was the last women’s book you can name that had us so chatty?

I love that this book is waking up a new generation of female readers.  My parents’ generation had Peyton Place.  My generation had The Joy of Sex.  My kids’ generation hasn’t really had anything, what with the explicit nature of today’s movies and tv.  This may be theirs.

I love that it’s available as an e-book.  As one of the members of my book group pointed out, the e-reader is a “virtual plain brown wrapper.”

Mostly, I love that it’s a page-turner, a fast, fun, and interesting read.

Fifty Shades of Grey is the first of a trilogy.  Having breathlessly finished it, I’m into the second, Fifty Shades Darker, and am fascinated both by the growth of the characters and the evolution of the sex.  The third, Fifty Shades Freed, is on my iPad.  I suspect I’ll be reading it within the week.

Can we talk about these books?  I’d love to know your thoughts.

“What terrifies me,” Charlotte said in a measured way, speaking from the heart as she couldn’t with anyone else, “is falling hard, getting hurt, and having to put my life back together again.”

“Like you did growing up.”

Charlotte didn’t reply.  It would be easy to blame her parents, when she was at least partly at fault.  She had lousy taste in men, dating ones who turned out to be either chronic playboys, profoundly needy, or married.  Maybe she went for the bad ones to keep from falling hard in the first place.

She had thought about this.  She had analyzed it in depth.  When you live alone, travel alone, exist solely on the outskirts of other people’s lives, you do have time to wonder why what you want most in life is out of reach.  You also have time to tell yourself that you don’t want it at all, though whether you can ever be completely convinced is something else.

Is this kind of analysis something I learned as a psych major in college?  Whenever I talk with groups about my writing, I am asked about that.  The answer is always NO.  I went into psychology because I’m intrigued by the workings of people, not the other way around.  Yes, psychology does enter my work, but simply because my books are about understanding my characters and helping them understand themselves.

Apparently, the same goes for readers.  In The Summer I Dared, for instance, Julia Bechtel, a previously obedient woman, was able to turn the shock of surviving a horrendous accident into the courage to free herself from a bad marriage and make a new life for herself.  I can’t tell you how many readers wrote me to say that this book was itself their “horrendous accident,” and that after reading Julia’s story, they found the courage to make profound changes in their own lives.

So, do you ever make like Charlotte when you face something that’s scary and new, and tell yourself that you don’t really want it at all?  More to the point, do you believe it?

Several sticking points.  First, there’s a medical angle to this story, and though I’ve been working with a doctor in the Midwest since last summer, it’s suddenly showtime.  That means re-reading everything he sent, making (another) list of questions for him, and, most importantly, firming up my timeline.

Second, I have seven items on my Sweet Salt Air edit list.  I’m talking about threads that I may have started, dropped, and now need to either revive or delete – or threads that aren’t yet in the book at all, but that I feel will add flavor.  When to do this editing?  My initial thought was to finish the book, then go back.  Then I rethought.  Maybe it’s the OCD in me.  I want things to be neat and clean before I tackle that final leg of the book.

So I’m re-reading.  Again.  I have red-line edits and post-its all over the manuscript, and am making separate lists of where each thread appears and what it says.  In a case or two, I’m catching repetition and tweaking timing.

Some of those threads?  Bear, for one.  He’s the dog.  Knitting for another.  Just bits here and there for anyone who’s ever struggled with cables.  Sex, for a third.  Think of long nylon shorts hanging at just the right place on a pair of leanly masculine hips.  And chewy chocolate almond candies, homemade and individually wrapped, for a fourth.

Focus.  That’s been my mantra this week.  I’m focusing on the whole book, not just one scene.  And when it’s done?  When I have a clean hard copy of these three hundred pages, I’ll re-read yet again, this time straight through as you all will do.  Then I’ll move on.

I’m often asked if writing a novel is linear.  For me with this book, it is not.  I’ve gone back and forth, cutting, pasting, rewriting – the good news being that I do love the end product.  The bad news, of course, is not blogging.

Actually, though, there’s another reason for that.  Spring.  The weather’s been gorgeous here, meaning that the time I might spend blogging, I’m outdoors.  Warm sun, dry air, not-quite-pollen-time here in Boston – what could be better?

Of course, I crowed about this to my main medical resource for Sweet Salt Air this week.  He wrote back to say that it was cold and rainy where he was.  Why do I fear that’s headed our way?  Maybe because it’s still only March, when the temp should be 40, not 70, and because April is rain-rain-go-away month.

What’s it like where you are?

So there you go – one reason why I blog.  I blog to vent about something, be it civil discourse, airport security, or plastic bags.

But there are other reasons.  I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting around with nothing to do.  I have to put blogging on my calendar, or else it gets lost in the shuffle of the daily writing, in this case, of Sweet Salt Air.

I blog to share news about this work-in-progress, because you all deserve to hear, since you’re so good as to go out and buy the book when it’s done.  So I tell you about shaping characters, or I share the challenges of picking a title, and come the day when I have a cover, you’ll see it here.

I blog to get feedback from you.  If you hate that cover, you can let me know, so I can let my publisher know.  You’re my test audience.

I blog to share knitting tips – because I think knitting rivals yoga when it comes to relaxation.  I like encouraging people to learn to knit and engaging those who already do.

I blog to tell you about things I’m learning as a grandmother.  The learning never ends, and I think many of you out there, mothers and grandmothers alike, can identify with that.

I write to give you something to read during this long stretch between new books.  Escape came out in July of 2011, but Sweet Salt Air may not be out until July of 2013.  That’s two full years later.  And yes, older books of mine are being reissued in the interim.  But read my blog, and you have brand new content.

Finally, I blog because it’s fun.  I do love writing.  But adding pages to Sweet Salt Air is my job.  Blogging is fun.  It’s short.  It’s finite.  It gives me instant gratification.

About which you all know.

Because I blogged about it last month.

So, do you read these things?  Are you a blog aficionado?