Last Sunday, I was parked in front of my television watching my favorite team come back from a deficit score to win against the Colts. It was great game with a lot of great plays and Tom Brady was in top form. But the play that I will remember most from that game was made by a lesser known player, Jamie Collins, a 6 foot, 3 inch, 250 pound linebacker. As the Colts lined up to kick the point after, Collins timed his leap perfectly to clear the entire front line of men and block the kick while still in the air. Not the sort of spectacular play one sees very often. But then, neither was the interception by Malcolm Butler to clinch this year’s Super Bowl win for the Pats. Or Brady’s lateral hand off to Julian Edelman who then executed a 51-yard pass to Amendola for a Touchdown. I love the Pats and Tom Brady, but believe me, those spectacular, unexpected plays are what I remember best.

But the real heroes in our sports crazy world are the ones you rarely hear about except in occasional local news coverage. Like a young woman named Meghan Vogel who modestly claims others would have done the same for her. When she saw a competitor collapse near the finish line in the state championships, instead of glancing at her fallen opponent as she passed by, she stopped to help the other girl to her feet and guided her toward the finish line, making sure the other girl crossed the line first.

Just recently on the evening news there was a heartwarming clip about 7 Olivet Middle School football players who decided that one of their teammates, who had a learning disability, should have his chance to make a touchdown. Without their coach’s knowledge, they put together a play to make that happen and Keith Orr carried the ball across the goal line to a standing, cheering crowd. Keith’s mother was asked how she felt about her son’s touchdown and she answered that she was excited, of course, but more than that, she was touched to know that his team mates had his back and he knew it. Where are stories like this when we keep hearing about bullying?

These stories are more numerous than you might think. Kevin Grow, who has Down’s Syndrome was allowed to play in the last two minutes of his fourth year with Bensalem High School after four years of faithfully serving as team manager. He was given the ball for a free shot and missed the hoop, but then in the remaining minutes of the game, managed to score 4 3-point baskets in less than two minutes.  Cornhuskers Rex Burkhead befriended 7-year-old Jack Hoffman who was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Burkhead wears a bracelet with Team Jack on it when he plays and he checks on his small fan regularly saying he wishes he could do more. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRHRvMlFWdk) 

The Cincinnati Reds auctioned off a one-day position as Bat Boy and then stretched their age limits to allow 29-year old Ted Kramer to have the position. He did so well, he was invited back and the joy on his face says it all. WWE star Daniel Bryan invited 9-year-old Bryan Connor into the ring to fulfill the dying child’s last wish and after winning his own bout, stepped out of the ring to go to Connor and tell him that he was his inspiration.

So, the next time you watch your favorite team play and cheer when they win, think of the hundreds of truly decent sportsmen and women with hearts of gold who make time in their busy star-level schedules to bring joy and inspiration into the lives of others. That’s who you should be admiring. It’s easy to be great when you are blessed with abundant talent, it takes heart and commitment to make the time to be great for someone else. 

Brianna Reagan married her high school sweetheart, and she was proud of him and his decision to fight for his country, but as the years and deployments went on, she realized that he enjoyed the life of a soldier living on the edge in a war zone more than he loved her. Then he was killed, and she was heartbroken.

But she’s put her life back together again. She’s happy and busy, she has friends and a great job, and she’s sure her eight-year-old son Sam is all the man she needs in her life. 

Then Sam joins Cub Scouts and Brianna meets his new den father.

   A tall, blue-eyed hottie full of charisma and swagger.

Excerpt:

  Brianna Reagan stood beside her car with her cell phone to her ear, surveying a very flat tire.

 Come on, Sam. Answer the phone. Where are you?  Her son should have been in the apartment by now. The bus would have dropped him off ten minutes ago.

If she hadn’t tried to squeeze in a trip to the grocery store before heading home to meet Sam’s bus, she wouldn’t be where she was now. And just maybe she wouldn’t have had a flat tire at all. Sam. Where are you?

“Hello?”

Relief washed through her. “Sam. It’s Mom. I got a flat tire and that’s why I didn’t get there in time for your bus. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

“I came straight home, just like you told me to if you weren’t at the bus stop.”

“And you’re alone?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m alone.” Condescension and sarcasm dripped from his young voice.

“And you locked the door behind you?”

Sam sighed loudly.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re safe. I’ll be home as soon as someone comes to change my tire.”

“How come you can’t change your own tire?” Eight years old and already Sam sounds like his father.

“I know how to change a tire, but I’ve got my work clothes on.” Why am I defending myself? “Never mind. Just stay inside until I get there and don’t let anyone in. Got it?”

Sam groaned “Got it.”

“There are fudge pops in the freezer. Why don’t you have one and get started on your homework?”

“Can I go upstairs and see if Mr. Cameron is home? I want to show him the new signs I learned.”

“Mr. Cameron is probably at work. But,” she added hastily to ward off another round of dramatic sighing. “You can go up and see if he’s there as soon as I get home. Okay?”

“Kay! Bye.” Sam disconnected leaving Brianna feeling oddly alone on the only deserted stretch of roadway between the grocery store and home.

She began hunting through her contacts for C.J.’s Auto Shop. The sound of a motorcycle pierced the late afternoon quiet. The rumbling grew, still out of sight around the corner, but loud enough to be either a big machine or more than one.

A nervous fluttering began in her stomach. Not all bikers were a threat. But still.

Then the motorcycle rounded the bend and began to slow. She relaxed. It was a North Carolina State Trooper. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and waited for him to reach her.

The big silver and gray bike pulled up behind her car and rumbled to a stop. The trooper swung his high-booted leg over the back of the bike and flicked the kickstand down. Then he unsnapped his chinstrap and removed his helmet.

Will Cameron!

Brianna swallowed hard.

That was something that had been glaringly missing from the list of things she thought she knew about Sam’s new idol.

He grinned as he approached. “Not your lucky day, I guess. Or maybe it is your lucky day considering I’m standing here.” Everything about him was overpoweringly masculine. Even the slightly overgrown hair that had been mussed by the helmet.

“I was just about to call C.J.,” Bree said, trying to ignore the effect Will had on her libido.

“Pop the trunk. I assume you’ve got a spare?” This manifestation of Will Cameron was definitely larger-than-life. He seemed taller than usual. And broader. Maybe it was the uniform. Or the bike. Or the fact that he was a trooper, and he was in rescuer mode.

“Of course, I’ve got a spare.” She pressed the trunk button on her key fob and the lid clicked open.

“Then I’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

He reached into the trunk, spun the big nut that kept the spare in place, then hoisted it out as if it weighed nothing. Which it didn’t. A fact she knew because she almost hadn’t been able to lift it enough to retrieve an important slip of paper that had managed to slide down underneath a week earlier.

The play of muscles rippling beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform shirt evoked the same breathless fascination she’d felt while watching him disassemble cardboard boxes wearing no shirt at all on the day he’d moved into her building. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She wanted not to be impressed, but couldn’t manage that either.

This was not a man it was safe to fall for. He was a cop. And cops led lives almost as dangerous as soldiers. He might be an easy-going Cub Scout den father, but there was no denying the pure animal magnetism he exuded. That confident grin of his with a deep dimple in one cheek and an extra lift to one corner of his sensuous, kissable looking lips would charm any woman with a pulse. But she didn’t want to be charmed. Not now that she knew who he really was.

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A long time ago, I was part of a prayer chain at my church. Whenever someone in the parish needed prayer the telephone tree went into action. Whether our prayers were answered as we hoped or in ways we never understood, we always did hear sooner or later. Although I did have one friend named Carole who said she felt a calling to pray at times for people or even outcomes she didn’t know. Driving down the road, she’s suddenly get a feeling that she needed to pull over and pray. She always answered that call and rarely ever knew who she was praying for or what.

In today’s world of interconnectedness, it often seems very much like that, except in a far larger way. In a brief Tweet or a status posting on Facebook prayers are solicited for everything from a missing child, to a shooting, to the loss of a soldier or the illness of a parent. More often than not, even when I do take a moment to answer that request, I will never know the outcome. This past weekend was rife with requests. A ship lost at sea with 38 souls on board, flooding in South Carolina, survivors of the shooting in Oregon and the families of those killed. And closer to home, a neighbor told me she’d just been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. Some of those prayers already have answers. The ship sank and people died in South Carolina, but many more were rescued even though they may have lost their homes and livelihoods.

I know that some of you will read this post and scoff. You don’t believe in God at all, or you don’t believe in prayer. Some of you once did believe, but when you needed God most, He seemed far away and not interested in your problems. I’ve been there. I know. I prayed for my husband’s cancer to be vanquished. I prayed for my mother when her mind was slipping away. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed in my life when my grandsons were fighting for their lives. I even tried to bargain with God – offering my life in lieu of theirs. But that’s not how prayers work.

My husband died at peace, at home where he wanted to be with all his family about him, even his son who had been half a world away serving in the military just a few days before. My mother found unexpected enjoyment in the social life of the assisted living home where she spent the last two years of her life. There were blessings in both those events, but I am still struggling with why the innocent lives of two precious little boys were not spared, and I have to have faith that one day I will understand.

So, today I light my prayer candle and I ask God to bring peace and solace to the families of those who have lost someone they love, in Oregon, at sea in a hurricane, in the fighting in the Middle East, or anywhere else in the world. For the parents of babies and children fighting for their lives in hospitals everywhere, for those who feel so overwhelmed and sad that they are considering suicide, for healing for soldiers who have been wounded in mind or body, for law enforcement officers everywhere who put on their badges this morning and went to work in spite of the vendetta being waged against them, for refugees, the homeless, addicts and the ill and those who care for them. I will never know, nor do I need to know if or how my prayers are answered. It is enough to talk to God and leave my burdens and those of everyone who struggles in his hands. I don’t need to understand the answers – I need only have faith. God does not bring evil into the world, but he does grant us the strength to cope with whatever mountains we face.

So, to those of you who do believe in prayer – take a moment right now to thank God for the blessings in your life and ask Him to comfort those who need Him most.

There were a lot of things I expected to happen in retirement. Fun things I was looking forward to, like traveling and more time to write. And not having to dance to someone else’s piping or get up to an alarm clock. And, honest to God, it started out that way. My first move was to downsize my home which was a herculean effort and often a big nostalgic, but I did it with enthusiasm because I was headed off on another great new adventure. I moved to a fantastic little neighborhood in the oldest city in the US – which provided a whole new venue for my interest in history. I have a cozy little bungalow by the sea and I get to go for a walk on the beach any time I like, which is often and a whole raft of new friends, neighbors, fellow history enthusiasts and authors.

My bungalow isn’t new and there were lots of things to paint, repair, replace and fix up when I got here, and I got right into doing it. In between writing and visiting the beach. I got involved with the living history museum downtown and sewed myself several colonial outfits, learned how to do leatherwork as it was done in the colonial period, played a tavern wench at the fantastic little taberna that felt like you were literally stepping back in time and several other activities connected to historical reenactment. But then the Spanish Quarter was turned over to new management and volunteers, living history docents and any real feeling of being in another era was lost. I still love the downtown, but feel disenfranchised.

I still have a ton of neat things I want to try. I have lots of projects I want to get accomplished and, of course, I’m still writing books – especially now that four of them have been published and a fifth is on the way. I don’t know if it’s because I finally figured out that retirement is supposed to be leisurely, or, God forbid – I’m getting old. I still have places I want to visit, but lately I seem to do more talking about going than actually packing the suitcase and getting on the road. I have a huge tub of old photographs that need to be sorted and organized and Michael’s had a sale on photo files so I bought several. And there the project sits, right were I see it every day, but it’s not getting done. I promised my daughter-in-law I’d finish embroidering her Christmas tablecloth and it’s not done yet either. It’s a good thing I respond well to deadlines because she’s going to need it come December. I have another grandchild on the way and that means creating another teddy bear, but what do you want to bet, I’ll get to it two weeks before the new grandbaby is due?

I have become so proficient at procrastination if there were trophies for it, I’d have one. Not that I’ve been completely without achievement. I did publish four books since I retired. At the beginning of the year, I bought a FitBit and since have traveled over 2 and a half million steps since then - that's over 1,000 miles. In the six years since I retired, I've been to Ireland, France, New Zealand, San Francisco, San Antonio and Tonga, and that’s not counting my annual trips to New England in the summer and about three dozen jet-setting trips for family events. But there are still so many places on my bucket list to see. I want to go, really I do, but it seems harder and harder to get my butt in gear? Is this normal? Not that I’ve ever been what you would call normal, but still. It would be nice to know if there’s a club for procrastinators out there I can join. Somewhere, in a box of odds and ends somewhere, I have a Genuine Round Tu-It. Now if only I could find that box I might get around to all the things I want to get done.

   What current issues are important to you?   

Today’s Round Robin topic is what current social and global issues are important to me and do they show up in my writing. There are a number of current issues that I feel very passionate about. But, as a writer, knowing that more than half my audience is probably in the other camp on any given issue, I try very hard to keep that passion off my social media and out of my books. If I didn’t care so much about those issues that really touch home, it would be easy to take a middle ground approach, but more often than not, because I do care passionately, keeping my opinions to myself is the only way to avoid alienating half my readers. I do love a getting involved in a debate with people who take the time to understand the issues and who are able to weigh all sides of the argument, but far too often today people are driven by the media, have done little or no real reading or research and don’t really understand the ramifications of their own views never mind, keeping their mind open to the possibility that they might be wrong or that the opposing view might have some legitimate points to be considered. And in the social media of the internet, not much thoughtful debate takes place, so I do my best to stay out of it.

That said, there are a number of issues I feel deserve serious thought: Immigration, the economy, unsustainable debt and entitlements, the threat of terrorism, and a political process that has begun to fail the promise this country began with, thrived and grew strong on. But what most distresses me today is the disintegration of the moral fabric of our society. Every time there is another horrific shooting, the media goes crazy with talk of gun control, completely ignoring such facts as the city with the toughest gun control laws in our country has the highest gun death rate. Clearly gun control does not work there and it seems to clear to me that making new laws that will be kept only by people who aren’t about to commit a crime anyway is not going to change anything yet the clamor to create these new laws completely overshadows all the other aspects of what is driving this problem. When I was growing up everyone in my neighborhood (and I didn’t live in Texas) had a gun of some kind. Just about every man had been in uniform in WWII and some of them surely were suffering from PTSD. We had our neighborhood bully and kids had far less supervision out of school than they do now. There were killings now and then, but nothing like what we are experiencing today. So what has changed? That’s what I wish people would start getting serious about. Personally, I feel that a lack of discipline and respect is a big factor. The notoriety a disgruntled person can gain from perpetrating mayhem via the media circus is certainly another aspect. Maybe violent video games and movies and TV are partly to blame. Maybe we don’t have the right approach to mental illness. Maybe, as a society, we have turned so far away from God and having any kind of moral compass in our lives that evil has mushroomed. And just maybe it’s partly due to having created a populace that has come to expect certain entitlements. Instead of the work ethic of 50 or 100 years ago, far too many people grow up feeling like they are owed something they don’t have to work for and when they don’t get it someone somewhere is to blame. And someone needs to pay. Our country was founded on the principle of life, liberty and the “pursuit” of happiness - but not the guarantee of anything we weren’t willing to work for.

But do I put this passion into my novels? Sometimes. My first book, Whatever It Takes, includes a peek at some of the issues of our day and I was pretty even handed in my treatment of them. It is mainstream fiction: Blurb: The photo caught Matt Steele off guard, jerking him back to a time he’d done everything to forget, to emotions he never wanted to relive. In the midst of a hotly contested three-way race for the White House, the photo and the man who brought it will challenge everything Matt thought he knew about himself. The choice he faces to put honor on the line could change the outcome of the election and the fate of a nation. Considering the background is a presidential election, it was imperative to include some of the major issues of our day, from gay lifestyles, to immigration, to the economy and the US at war.

In my Camerons of Tide’s Way series, which is contemporary romance, the social issues are not as prominent, but they do appear. In Loving Meg, my heroine is a female Marine returning from a year in a combat zone, struggling with the issues so many of our veterans experience. Similar issues facing our military men and women is a major theme in the current book in progress, this time a career Marine who has been injured and is facing the possible loss of his career and the only life he’s known as an adult. While not as divisive as gun control or immigration, our veterans and the way we support and care for them is one of the issues I am passionate about. So much so that 50% of my proceeds from Loving Meg goes to a non-profit (K-9s for Warriors in Ponte Vedra, FL) that provides service dogs to veterans who are struggling with their re-entry into civilian life.

Maybe someday I’ll get brave, or really fired up and tackle a major social issue in a major way in a novel. But for now, amidst the turmoil of our times, most people read fiction to escape and readers want the good guys to win, so I’ll continue to write happy-ever-after stories and try to avoid writing about issues that divide us as a nation instead of uniting us.

Take a hop on over to some of these other blogs to see how other authors feel about the social issues of our day and how they handle the inclusion of them in their writing.

A.J. Maguire  http://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/
Beverley Bateman  http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Margaret Fieland  http://www.margaretfieland.com/blog1/
Marci Baun  http://marcibaun.com/blog/
Victoria Chatham  http://victoriachatham.webs.com/
Connie Vines  http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Bob Rich  http://wp.me/p3Xihq-vQ
Rachael Kosinski  http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Judith Copek http://lynx-sis.blogspot.com/
Rhobin Courtright  http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

We all have moments that remain stark and fresh in our minds no matter how many years may pass.

Some of those moments are personal: The moment you hold your newborn child for the first time, look into its eyes and know you will never be the same person again. Or the moment you clasped your mother’s hand in yours as she passed from this life to the next and realized there would always be a hole in your heart where she had always been. Some of us have unspeakably painful memories of an event so awful that it took our breath away and made us feel like our hearts were breaking. Those are moments that made you a different person, moments that live in your heart. Moments stamped in startling clarity and incredible detail      

But there are other moments shared by many that change us as well. Moments that are indelibly etched in our hearts and minds. If you are as old as my dad, you can still hear the echoes of FDR’s radio announcement of the day that would down in Infamy.” For my generation, we often ask each other, “Where were you when JFK was assassinated in Dallas?” I can’t answer for my dad, but I can most certainly answer exactly where I was on the day JFK died. I can “hear” the gasps that greeted the announcement over the school PA system and I will never forget the sound of clanging locker doors in halls where no words were spoken because we were all in shock. My daughter remembers the day the Challenger blew up because she was home from school due to illness and watching the launch on TV. Her disbelief is as strong now as it was when the replays of the disaster insisted the impossible had happened.

And now there is 9/11.

Each of us has private memories of that day. Some of us more poignant than others. For some it was personal – a loved one was on one of those planes, their mother worked in one of those offices, or their firefighter husband was in the tower when it collapsed. Or the woman whose husband left the message on her answering machine ending with “…I want you to know, I absolutely love you.” How she must have ached to have been home to tell him the same thing.

For each of us there are both personal and shared moments from that day that changed who we are as Americans. Watching the mushrooming cloud of dust and debris as the towers collapsed. The unbelievable horror of people jumping to their deaths. And in the days that followed, the images of firefighters and search dogs desperate to find survivors. Discouraged men and women, exhausted and filthy but not willing to give up. All those images and more are as fresh in our memories today as they were when they were happening. They were defining images that changed us all. Some young people who had never considered a life in the military were eager to enlist. Many installed flagpoles in their yards – people  who had never flown flags before. Some people learned to pray that day. Others have never prayed since.

But these are the moments that make us or break us, as individuals and as a nation.

Brianna Reagan's life fell apart when her husband was killed in combat. Now, three years later, she and her son have started a new life in Tide's Way. She loves her job, and she’s convinced that eight-year-old Sam is all the man she needs in her life.  Then Sam joins the Cub Scouts and Brianna meets his scout leader. Will Cameron has a smile that could melt her socks off, and he isn’t shy about his interest in her or her fatherless boy. Unfortunately, he likes living life on the edge, and he’s a state trooper: another fearless hero willing to put his life on the line every day for the sake of others. As she struggles to remain "just a friend," Will offers so much more.

But how can she risk putting her heart in harm’s way again? Even for Will?

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite:

~~~~~

Will placed his remaining five letters on the board covering both the triple word and a triple letter squares. Gripy

“That’s not a real word.” Bree scoffed. She began to remove his tiles.

“Sure it is. Look it up.” Will covered her hand with his and flattened it over the letters on the Scrabble board. An unexpected jolt of excitement shot from the warmth of his palm to her heart. For a long moment neither of them spoke while their eyes were eloquent with so much that wasn’t being said.

Bree slid her hand out from under Will’s and snatched it to her chest.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” Bree’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for the dictionary and tried to ignore the way her body had reacted to his touch.

Will took the dictionary and set it aside. “Are you afraid of me?”

She shook her head. She was more afraid of herself.

“Then why do you pull back into your shell like a turtle every time I touch you?”

“We’re friends. I’d like to stay friends.” And his touch made her feel things that were a long way beyond just friendly.

“Friends can be lovers too.”

“No. They can’t. Someone always gets—” She stood up and moved away from the table. Away from him.

Will got to his feet as well, but didn’t try to close the physical gap she’d created between them. “Someone always gets what?”

“Hurt,” Bree whispered. “Someone always gets hurt.”

“I have no intention of hurting you. I just want to l—”

“But what if I let myself care too much and something happened that you had no control over?” Bree fought the rising tide of confusion, alarm and desire.

His blue eyes widened. “Is that what all this has been about? You’re afraid to fall in love again because of what happened to your husband?”

Bree tucked her hands beneath her armpits to keep from reaching out to him.

Will took a step in her direction. She hugged herself tighter.

“And I’m a trooper so that makes me off limits?”

He loomed over her now. All six feet plus of him. He raked his fingers through his blond hair and left it standing on end. Tears abruptly swamped Bree’s eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to make them go away.

He cupped her cheek in his palm and ran his thumb across her lips. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to live every day as if there were no tomorrow?”

Having no tomorrow is what I’m afraid of.

“Would you change everything if you knew what would happen to Ed? Do you regret loving him?”

Stricken, Bree shook her head.

“We could be so good together, Bree. Getting hurt sucks, I know. But shutting out love is worse.”

Then he swept her into his arms. There was nothing fleeting about his kiss. Nothing that could be misinterpreted as just friends. Just so much tenderness that her walls began to crumble. He didn’t try to force her lips apart, but she felt the yearning desire in him and opened of her own free will.

The kiss became a hot, fiery spiral. She clutched at his shoulders and let herself be overwhelmed by the sensations of Will’s mouth on hers and his body coming to life, touching hers in ways she hadn’t experienced in years.

It was Will who pulled back first. His eyes were closed and his jaw taut. His breathing as labored as hers. Then, he dropped his arms and stepped away.

When he opened them, passion still darkened the bright blue of his eyes. “Think about it, Bree. Think about how good we could be for each other. If only you can stop being afraid.”

Then he stepped around her and walked to the door. He let himself out and closed it soundlessly behind him.

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Do you feel certain genres stereotype men and women? Why do you think that happens? How do you prevent it in your writing?

Some genres do stereotype both men and women. Sometimes, especially in the case of books with a historical setting, it’s hard not to stereotype because it is the stereotypical man or woman of that era that gives the story its historical flavor. In real life, Deborah Sampson, who disguised herself as a man in order to join the army and fight in the Revolutionary War is an exciting exception to what women were like in the late seventeen hundreds and while it’s within reason to write about a heroine in her mold, it doesn’t show what society was really like at the time. So most authors stick to creating heroines more like Abigail Adams. The same goes for their heroes. A man who bathes the children and reads them stories might be typical of fathers in today’s world but he would have been an oddity in, say, Regency England.

But beyond the need to make a time and place believable, breaking out of the stereotype makes a hero or heroine more memorable and sets the story apart from hundreds or thousands of others. Action/Adventures nearly always involve an Alpha male, short on introspection and long on smarts, courage and physical prowess. While I’m a huge fan of Jack Reacher and Mitch Rapp (Lee Child and Vince Flynn) how much more impressive and memorable would be a man who not only doubts himself, but whose friends and colleagues see as a Beta personality, more likely to follow than to lead. And suddenly this man is faced with the unthinkable and he rises to the occasion. He possesses more ability than he knew, more determination to get the job done in spite of his self-doubts, and triumphs against all odds. Wouldn’t this hero stand out in the crowd?

As for romance – stereotypes have been and still for the most part, are the norm. How many slightly overweight, less than drop-dead gorgeous or over 40 heroines have you seen in a contemporary romance? Most heroines are spunky, smart, brave, slender and beautiful. And how many heroes are not Alpha males? Most often wealthy, or titled, or wildly successful in their careers? And tall, muscled, and handsome? They are CEOs not salesmen, Navy SEALS not Navy cooks, cowboys rather than clerks at the feed and grain store.

In my lifetime I’ve read hundreds of romances and of all of them one of the few heroes I have never been able to forget is Jesse Best, from Simple Jess, by Pamela Morsi. I’ve fallen in love with dozens of wonderful heroes in books by so many different authors, but days, or weeks or sometimes months after I’ve put the book away, I can’t even remember the hero’s name any more, never mind the plot. But Jess stands out. He’s not smart, or wealthy or accomplished. An accident of birth has left him with less than average intelligence, but he has been blessed with good instincts, pure intentions, excellent work ethics, enduring patience, and gentleness. As the story begins, his most pressing need is to prove that he is a man worthy of being called a man. He has the desires and dreams of a man, to have a wife and a farm and a family, but no one in his community believes that’s in his future. And that is what makes him stand out in my memory. Ms. Morsi colored so far outside the lines that I’m convinced only her reputation got this book into print back when it first came out, but by deviating from the stereotypical, alpha male in the romance genre, she created a totally wonderful hero. Check out the reviews now that the book has been re-released. I’m not the only one who holds this opinion. Which leads me to believe that other readers are just as eager for heroes and heroines that don’t fit any stereotype, who finagle their way into our hearts and memories because of they are different.

I’d like to believe I might one day create a hero or a heroine as unforgettable as Jesse Best, but in the meantime, I strive to fashion my characters from the bits and pieces of ordinary people. I admit to devouring all of Suzanne Brockmann’s books featuring Navy SEALS – all of them brave, strong men who loved the heroine the way all women want to be loved - but today I cannot recall a single one of those bigger-than-life heroes’ names, or any of the storylines. They were all stereotypical Alpha male romance heroes, but they were not memorable. The more authors think outside of the stereotypical box, the better and more lasting the impression their characters will leave in our hearts. In my efforts to create this kind of character, I consider people I know and like. Men who may be attractive, but not handsome, strong but don’t sport six-pack abs, men who have ordinary jobs that they do well and faithfully and women who aren’t all legs and slender bodies, but who manage to juggle motherhood and careers with humor and success. And I ask myself, what is it about these people I admire? What makes them special? Then I start building my characters and pray that someday someone will tell me they loved one of my characters the way I love Jesse Best.

Check out how these authors view the stereotyping of characters in today's world of publishing:

Beverley Bateman http://beverleybateman.blogspot.ca/
Connie Vines http://connievines.blogspot.com/
Rachael Kosinski http://rachaelkosinski.weebly.com/
Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/
Fiona McGier http://www.fionamcgier.com/
Helena Fairfax  http://helenafairfax.com/
Rhobin Courtright http://www.rhobinleecourtright.com/

When I was really little, my mom’s mother was cleaning houses for two wealthy families. I never accompanied her, but I knew some things about her job: that she liked and admired her employers and that she had once been a secretary, but during the depression had gotten laid off and in order to feed her four children with her husband gone, had ended up cleaning houses. Usually she walked down the hill to catch the bus to work, but during lent she walked in order to save the bus fare as her Easter offering at church. I don’t recall exactly when she retired, but as an adult, I remember visiting and finding her puttering about what was left of her WWII victory garden or busy in her kitchen, but never too busy to play with her great grandchildren. Retirement for her was truly a retirement from a life of hard work to one of leisure.

All three of my grandparents lived a long life, to 89, 93 and 102 and what I remember most clearly was lives spent reading, watching television and puttering. When my father-in-law retired my mother-in-law complained constantly that his games of solitaire were always in the way of whatever she was working on. He got active in his lodge, but other than that, he, too, puttered a lot. My father was the exception. He went from a lifetime of drafting and machine design to a pastime of building boats, furniture and dozens of other projects in his extensive shop. He enjoyed sailing and we went on some really neat week-long sailing adventures over the years, but I think he enjoyed the actual building of the boats even more than sailing them.

But now I’m retired, and my life looks nothing like that of my grandparents or even my own father. I was eager to be free of the nine to five rat race so I could spend more time pursuing my goal to become a published author. I spend at least as much time as I did working for someone else, sitting at my desk hard at work on my next novel.  And loving it.  A high school friend retired to Arizona, giving up his job with the US Customs Service, to end up delivering newspapers before the sun is even up. My cousin recently wound up her long time career with the US government and turned right around to become docent with the US Park service. I met a man on the beach the other day who introduced himself as the owner of a well known downtown restaurant and confided that he'd turned over the running of it to his daughter. But in the next moment he told me he'd just bought another long time landmark of St Augustine and was now rehabbing that before reopening it. So much for retirement! Half the baggers at the grocery store are my age and retirees everywhere are jumping right back into the working world in whole new careers. Some with paychecks attached but many as volunteers, sharing their time and their enthusiasm in new venues. Some of my friends have turned a life-long hobby into a whole new commercial adventure. And others, like me, have joined the Peace Corps for an unmatchable adventure in a far away place working harder than ever.

So, I’m wondering – does anyone ever just retire any more? Or does our better health and longer lives just give us a second chance at life and new adventures?  

Saturday was one of those rare days that end up standing out in memory as special. Not that anything particularly different was happening on this specific Saturday. I guess it was just an accumulation of little things and the sudden, quiet realization that it was a beautiful day, and I was here to enjoy it.

For the six weeks previous, I’d been on the road: two weeks in a cottage perched on the ocean’s edge in Maine, two weeks on an island in a lake in New Hampshire, two weeks visiting my kids and friends. But now I was home again. Home in my little bungalow by the sea in St Augustine, Florida. I’d unpacked the car, stowed all my stuff where it belonged, gotten caught up on the laundry and the errands. And here it was: Saturday with absolutely nothing on the agenda. No where I needed to be. Nothing I needed to be doing. No one expecting anything from me.

When I woke and took Duff for his morning walk, the tide was out so we continued right on down to the beach and walked more than half way to Marineland before turning back. Considering it was a Saturday – the last Saturday before school begins again in St. John’s County – it seemed amazing that we were the only two beings on the beach – well, us and the sandpipers and terns. By the time we got home, the temps had climbed, but there was still a breeze that made the day feel just right. I gathered up the Wall Street Journal weekender edition and settled into my chair on the deck to read while I ate my delayed breakfast.

Every now and then, I’d glance up, my eye caught by the vivid blue of the ocean. I found myself sighing at the beauty of this place and this day. Now and then my phone would chime to tell me I’d gotten a message or a photo from one of my kids. A neighbor stopped to welcome me home and I chatted with him and petted his dog for a bit before he moved on. By then there were surfers out catching waves and two paragliders buzzed along the shore. But still it seemed so peaceful and perfect. And it suddenly slipped into my consciousness how very blessed I was to be living in this place, to be alive to enjoy this beautiful day. To have color and sunshine, the ocean and the breeze. Neighbors to chat with and children who sent me pictures on my phone of what was happening on this day in their lives hundreds of miles away. It was a very special day, indeed.