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That Summer Place: Old Things/Island Time/Private Paradise by Debbie Macomber, Susan Wiggs, Jill Barnett
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Product Details
- Pub. Date: July 2005
- Publisher: Mira
- Format: Paperback, 313pp
- ISBN-13: 9780778321194
- ISBN: 0778321193
Synopsis
Rainshadow Lodge may be on a secluded island with blue skies and crystal waters, but surely that isn't enough to make three mismatched couples jump over their differences and into each other's arms. After all, what could a socialite and a handyman have in common? How could a workaholic and a free spirit ever compromise? And why would a perfectly nice woman overcome a bad first impression made by a grumpy stranger? Must be in something in the air.
Biography
When Debbie Macomber started out, she was a young, dyslexic mother of four who wrote in her kitchen on a rented typewriter. Years later, she's the blockbuster bestselling author of dozens of heartwarming novels that celebrate love, laughter, and the bonds of family and friendship.
More About the AuthorFact File
Name:
Debbie Macomber
Current Home:
Port Orchard, Washington
Date of Birth:
October 22, 1948
Place of Birth:
Yakima, Washington
Education:
Graduated from high school in 1966; attended community college
Biography
Publishing did not come easy to self-described "creative speller" Debbie Macomber. When Macomber decided to follow her dreams of becoming a bestselling novelist, she had a lot of obstacles in her path. For starters, Macomber is dyslexic. On top of this, she had only a high school degree, four young children at home, and absolutely no connections in the publishing world. If there's one thing you can say about Debbie Macomber, however, it is that she does not give up. She rented a typewriter and started writing, determined to break into the world of romance fiction.
The years went on and the rejection letters piled up. Her family was living on a shoestring budget, and Debbie was beginning to think that her dreams of being a novelist might never be fulfilled. She began writing for magazines to earn some extra money, and she eventually saved up enough to attend a romance writer's conference with three hundred other aspiring novelists. The organizers of the conference picked ten manuscripts to review in a group critique session. Debbie was thrilled to learn that her manuscript would be one of the novels discussed.
Her excitement quickly faded when an editor from Harlequin tore her manuscript to pieces in front of the crowded room, evoking peals of laughter from the assembled writers. Afterwards, Macomber approached the editor and asked her what she could do to improve her novel. "Throw it away," the editor suggested.
Many writers would have given up right then and there, but not Macomber. The deeply religious Macomber took a lesson from Job and gathered strength from adversity. She returned home and mailed one last manuscript to Silhouette, a publisher of romance novels. "It cost $10 to mail it off," Macomber told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel in 2000. "My husband was out of work at this time, in Alaska, trying to find a job. The children and I were living on his $250-a-week unemployment, and I can't tell you what $10 was to us at that time."
It turned out to be the best $10 Macomber ever spent. In 1984, Silhouette published her novel, Heartsong. (Incidentally, although Heartsong was Macomber's first sale, she actually published another book, Starlight, before Heartsong went to print.) Heartsong went on to become the first romance novel to ever be reviewed in Publishers Weekly, and Macomber was finally on her way.
Today, Macomber is one of the most widely read authors in America. A regular on the New York Times bestseller charts, she is best known for her Cedar Cove novels, a heartwarming story sequence set in a small town in Washington state, and for her Knitting Books series, featuring a group of women who patronize a Seattle yarn store. In addition, her backlist of early romances, including several contemporary Westerns, has been reissued with great success.
Macomber has made a successful transition from conventional romance to the somewhat more flexible genre known as "women's fiction." "I was at a point in my life where I found it difficult to identify with a 25-year-old heroine," Macomber said in an interview with ContemporaryRomanceWriters.com. "I found that I wanted to write more about the friendships women share with each other." To judge from her avid, ever-increasing fan base, Debbie's readers heartily approve.
Good to Know
Some outtakes from our interview with Macomber:
"I'm dyslexic, although they didn't have a word for it when I was in grade school. The teachers said I had 'word blindness.' I've always been a creative speller and never achieved good grades in school. I graduated from high school but didn't have the opportunity to attend college, so I did what young women my age did at the time -- I married. I was a teenager, and Wayne and I (now married nearly 37 years) had four children in five years."
"I'm a yarnaholic. That means I have more yarn stashed away than any one person could possibly use in three or four lifetimes. There's something inspiring about yarn that makes me feel I could never have enough. Often I'll go into my yarn room (yes, room!) and just hold skeins of yarn and dream about projects. It's a comforting thing to do."
"My office walls are covered with autographs of famous writers -- it's what my children call my ‘dead author wall.' I have signatures from Mark Twain, Earnest Hemingway, Jack London, Harriett Beecher Stowe, Pearl Buck, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, to name a few."
"I'm morning person, and rip into the day with a half-mile swim (FYI: a half mile is a whole lot farther in the water than it is on land) at the local pool before I head into the office, arriving before eight. It takes me until nine or ten to read through all of the guest book entries from my web site and the mail before I go upstairs to the turret where I do my writing. Yes, I write in a turret -- is that romantic, or what? I started blogging last September and really enjoy sharing bits and pieces of my life with my readers. Once I'm home for the day, I cook dinner, trying out new recipes. Along with cooking, I also enjoy eating, especially when the meal is accompanied by a glass of good wine. Wayne and I take particular pleasure in sampling eastern Washington State wines (since we were both born and raised in that part of the state).
Feature Interview
In the spring of 2005, Debbie Macomber took some time out to answer our questions. What was the book that most influenced your life or your career as a writer?
The one book that has had the strongest influence on my life, without question, is the Bible. God's Word has been the guiding force behind all I do. I read the Bible each and every day and gain inspiration, encouragement, and joy.
What are your ten favorite books, and what makes them special to you?
Before I answer this, I feel it's necessary to mention that I read widely, across the board. In compiling this list I discovered several of my favorite books are nonfiction. I have not noted the Bible a second time, although as I indicated above, it is the most influential book in my life.
What are some of your favorite films, and what makes them unforgettable to you?
I'm a big film buff, although I'm not fond of movies with excessive violence. I've always enjoyed musicals. My first exposure was with West Side Story. I memorized all the songs and belted them out for months afterward. I almost entered the convent after watching The Sound of Music. Thankfully, I didn't; it wouldn't have been a good fit for either of us. In recent years I've enjoyed The Princess Bride and the Star Wars series. I like movies with what I call a zinger -- Collateral and The Replacement Killers are good examples. And comedies, too. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard as when I watched The Gods Must Be Crazy, It's a Mad, Mad, Mad World, and The Hallelujah Trail.
What types of music do you like? Is there any particular kind you like to listen to when you're writing?
I don't listen to music while writing. It's not that I need silence in order to create. I started out writing when our four children were small and I needed to keep my ears tuned to them in case one of them decided to play Superman and fly out a window or start a campfire in the middle of the living room. When it comes to listening to the radio, I prefer the oldies stations. When I'm on the treadmill, I play Christian CDs and make a joyful noise. Correction: It's a joyful noise to me, but I doubt others would think so.
What are your favorite kinds of books to give -- and get -- as gifts?
There's a bookstore directly below my office. It's hard to believe but I write above a bookstore and an ice cream parlor. This, my friends, is a writer's nirvana. On average I buy a book a day, and that's no exaggeration. Mostly I purchase nonfiction for gifts. One of my favorites is Gifts from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindberg. For my writer friends I've bought Goals by Brian Tracy, and for friends who are animal lovers I've bought The Dog Who Rescues Cats by Gonzalez & Fleischer.
Do you have any special writing rituals? For example, what do you have on your desk when you're writing?
I have a cherrywood desk with a glass top to protect the wood. Over the years a number of things have made their way under the glass. There's a picture of my dad and his brother, who looked so much alike that they were often mistaken for identical twins -- only my dad was a full foot shorter than his brother. Then there are pictures of my grandchildren (by far the cutest grandkids in the universe), and there's a slip of paper on which I've written four words. They are: "provocative," "relevant," "creative," and "honest." When I decide on a plot for one of my big hardcover stories, I weigh the story against each of these words. I want to provoke my readers to think. I want the story to be relevant to them and to our times. My goal is to tell this story in as creative a way as possible and to be honest with my readers and with myself. As you might have guessed, I'm a lover of words. As for rituals, I really don't have any.
Many writers are hardly "overnight success" stories. How long did it take for you to get where you are today? Any rejection-slip horror stories or inspirational anecdotes?
In my humble opinion, there are a lot of writers out there who haven't suffered enough. I suffered plenty. When I first started writing, I didn't know another writer in the world. This was back in the late 1970s before Romance Writers of America was formed. For nearly five years I wrote and submitted my manuscripts. My work was rejected so fast it practically hit me in the back of the head on my way home from the post office. At one point in my lonely sojourn, an editor read and reviewed my manuscript, and with the utmost sincerity told me there was no use in revising it and the best thing I could do was throw it away. Thankfully, I didn't take her advice, because that same manuscript sold to a rival publishing house and launched my writing career.
What tips or advice do you have for writers still looking to be discovered?
I would suggest that writers pay close attention to the market -- read the bestsellers, analyze each story and look for the key element that is drawing an audience. Who would ever have imagined that Life of Pi by Yann Martel would command the audience it has? Or The Da Vinci Code? As writers, it's important we not follow trends but observe and understand life -- and start our own. It was when I saw a lot of angel figurines turning up in catalogs that I wrote the first Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy Christmas book.
From the Publisher
Rainshadow Lodge may be on a secluded island with blue skies and crystal waters, but surely that isn't enough to make three mismatched couples jump over their differences and into each other's arms. After all, what could a socialite and a handyman have in common? How could a workaholic and a free spirit ever compromise? And why would a perfectly nice woman overcome a bad first impression made by a grumpy stranger? Must be in something in the air.
Product Details
- Pub. Date: July 2005
- Publisher: Mira
- Format: Paperback, 313pp
- ISBN-13: 9780778321194
- ISBN: 0778321193
Read an Excerpt
That Summer Place
By Macomber, Debbie/Wiggs, Susan/Barnett, Jean
MIRA
Copyright © 2005 Macomber, Debbie/Wiggs, Susan/Barnett, JeanAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0778321193
San Francisco, 1997
Catherine Wardwell Winslow spent a week last winter at a time management seminar where the experts stood up on a big stage and told her that Wednesday was the slowest day of the work week.
They lied.
Catherine rested her chin in her hand and stared at her phone. It was a Wednesday, barely nine in the morning, and already four of the five phone lines were frantically blinking. She didn't know which one to answer first. So she didn't answer any of them.
Her life would be so much easier if she were one of those robots you see in the cartoons, the kind with slot machine eyes, a ball-bearing nose, and those spindly metal arms and slinky legs that jerk with every movement.
Like Rosie the Robot in The Jetsons.
But Catherine wasn't in a space-age home that looked like the Space Needle. She was in her San Francisco office on the third floor of a restored Victorian. The building was just one of many candy-colored, gabled houses on a steep and narrow street that now held offices for dentists, attorneys and other professionals.
The last line buzzed obnoxiously and began to blink like the others. She groaned and closed her eyes to escape. Her imagination took over. In her mind's eye she was Catherine the Robot rolling around her office on feet made of rollers that looked like brass sofa balls. She jammed report folders under her robot arms with the clawlike hands of a carnival toy machine, then she spun around her messy office, grabbing files and reports, adding up cost sheets and filing.
But the more paperwork she handled, the larger the piles on her desk grew. So the faster she rolled, here and there.
Hectic. Hectic. Hectic.
The desk phone suddenly morphed into an old fashioned black switchboard. The switchboard was filled with little glowing golden dots that blinked and buzzed and only stopped if she stuck one of a hundred black spiderlike plug cords into them. No matter how fast she plugged in the cords, the telephone lines kept flashing away like those warning lights at railroad crossings.
Warning overload! Warning! Warning!
Then…
Pow!
She suddenly blew up in a cloud of springs, bolts and flying nuts.
"Are you all right?"
Catherine sat upright in her desk chair, startled. She blinked. Myrtle Martin, her secretary of fifteen years, was standing in the doorway, staring at her.
"I'm fine." Catherine quickly looked down, embarrassed. She busied herself by shuffling the papers all over her desk.
Myrtle gave Catherine's desk a pointed look, then shifted her gaze to the blinking lines. "You aren't answering the phone."
"I know." Catherine spent an inordinate amount of time fiddling with an already neat stack of the papers. She felt as if she had just blown up, like her nuts and bolts were scattered from here to kingdom come.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for my nuts," Catherine muttered.
"You divorced your nuts eight years ago," Myrtle said without a beat, then closed the connecting door.
Catherine shook her head and bit back a smile. She picked up a handful of papers and tapped them on the desk until their corners were neatly aligned.
Myrtle was staring at her.
She glanced up trying to look calm and collected and in complete control, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Her secretary just stood there with her rigid back pressed against the door jamb, a knowing look on her face.
It was impossible to ignore her. Impossible because Myrtle Martin had a new hair color. Orange. Blindingly bright orange.
Catherine never knew a hair color could actually hurt your eyes. For just one instant she had the sudden urge to whip out her sunglasses.
Back in January Myrtle had dyed her hair jet black, painted a mole on her cheek and drawn on thickly-arched, Night-ofthe-Iguana eyebrows, then wore animal prints and huge faux diamonds. At the time she was dating a Welshman named Richard.
Myrtle walked toward her with one of her "you -needme -to -tell -you -exactly -what -you -need -to -do" looks. She had been gone for two weeks and the office looked as if she'd been gone for a year.
Catherine braced herself for a lecture, but instead Myrtle just hitched her hip on the desk corner, picked up the phone, and began pressing buttons. "Ms. Winslow is unavailable today."
Poof! Line one was gone.
"Ms. Winslow is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed."
Line two gone.
"Ms. Winslow will get back to you as soon as possible."
Line three gone.
Line four got the same treatment.
She punched line five. "Yes? Uh-huh. That's right. Who? Oh, hi! Yes, I'm just fine. Uh-huh. Uh-huh… I changed it last night." Myrtle smiled and patted her French twist. "Red Flam-beaux. Yes, it's very vibrant. I like color, too. Catherine? Yes, she's right here." Myrtle studied Catherine for a long moment. "She's wearing a suit…of course. Black," she added as if she were describing cockroaches.
Catherine glanced down at her tailored black suit and frowned. She liked this outfit; it fit her mood.
"What's she doing?" Myrtle repeated, then gave Catherine a wicked smile. "Your daughter is looking for her nuts."
Catherine snatched the phone out of Myrtle's hand and glared at her.
Ignoring her, Myrtle just sank into a chair opposite the desk and began rifling through the papers on Catherine's desk.
"Hi, Mom. Myrtle was just being funny. No, I don't need any almonds. Yes, I'm sure."
Catherine paused, listening to her mom because she was her mom. There were some things you never outgrew.
Finally she took a long breath and said, "I know almond oil is good for the skin." She covered the mouthpiece and made shooting noises and gestures at Myrtle while her mother listed all the reasons nuts — almonds in particular — were good for her.
Five minutes later, when her eyes were glazed over and she now knew the complete history of the almond, she said, "Yes, I heard the whole thing. Every word, Mom." She took a deep breath and spoke rapidly to sneak a few words in, "I have to go now. Have a good trip, okay? No, I don't want any smoked almonds."
She winced and rubbed a hand over her pounding forehead. "I remember they were Dad's favorite. I love you, too. I promise I won't forget to tell the girls." She paused and added more softly, "Almonds make me cry, too, Mom."
She sighed. "You don't have anything to worry about.
They give out pretzels on planes nowadays." She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't know why." She stared down at her desk blotter. "I know Dad hated pretzels.
"No!" She jerked upright in her chair. "Don't cancel your flight!" She looked up at Myrtle, panicking. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, then said more calmly,
"Please, Mom. You need to go. This trip will be good for you."
There was a long, drawn out pause. Catherine sat still, holding her breath while she listened to the silence on the other end. Then her mother agreed.
Continues...
Excerpted from That Summer Place by Macomber, Debbie/Wiggs, Susan/Barnett, Jean Copyright © 2005 by Macomber, Debbie/Wiggs, Susan/Barnett, Jean. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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