The tao of booksignings

"Excuse me. Can you tell me where VC Andrews is?"
And so begins another adventure in the wonderful world of booksignings. Here I am at a major chain bookseller, sitting at the little table they've set up right in the pathway to not only the information booth but the bathroom--because people WANT you to interrupt their mad dash to pee for the chance to buy a suspense novel about New Orleans(they're probably just sneakinging in from the arcade down the hall anyway). Even better, right in front of me is the package-wrapping booth, which means that a shopper doesn't see me through the snaky line until she barks her knee against the aforementioned table. But me? I'm smiling.

"Hey," I say, trying very hard not to sound like a carnival barker with a waxed mustache and a megaphone. "Do you know someone who likes suspense?(I assume you know somebody who likes books, because you are, after all, in a bookstore). This is a really cheap Christmas present. The autograph is free(if I could have figured out how to charge for it, I would have)(only because I'm supporting pagan babies in Africa)."

Rubbing at her sore knee, she checks out the geometric patterns of the ceiling lights rather than make eye contact. She might have the courage to shake her head as she scuttles past, obviously afraid I'm going to take her to the floor and force her name from her so I can personally inscribe a book she'll then be forced to take home.

Me? I smile. First of all, because I know exactly how she feels. I'm not any happier than she is. I am TERRIBLE at promoting myself. Every time I even think of saying, "I highly recommend this book. I think you'll love it and want to take it home," I can feel Sr. Mary Alice, my gradeschool Dominican nun teacher standing over my shoulder all set to smack me for the sin of pride. Now, I can promote anybody else. Sit me at that table with another author and I'll sell them til they don't have a book left.

That's actually the secret to any booksigning. Bring friends who are also selling books. It's amazing how much more fun it is. There's someone else you can talk to in the lag times, so you're not just watching the crowd like a drowning woman hoping for a rope. You have someone else to play fashion police with(one of my favorite pasttimes at signings. For instance, today what I notice is that about a third of women over the age of 30 are wearing the wrong size jeans. And I'm praying that I don't look like that from the back). And there's somebody there in case you're the one who desperately needs to pee, so you don't miss even one customer.

Never forget. No matter how happy and relaxed we look, most of us would rather be dancing naked down Fifth Avenue than sit at that table(well, there are some of us who really would rather be dancing naked down Fifth Avenue. That's another topic altogether). Not because we don't want to meet you, the reader. Dear God yes, we want to meet you. We love book people. We positively yearn to talk to book people about books, about authors, about genres or LIT-rature, about anything. The problem is that not even Nora Roberts gets to spend all of a signing visiting with book people. Well, okay, maybe she does now. But I've actually been to a signing with her(my job was to clean off the clump of ink from the end of her pen), when not ONE person showed up.

It was my most important lesson in booksignings. Murphy rules. Just cause you're there, just cause you've done everything to let other people know you're there, maybe even unto radio shows and TV and newsletters, it doesn't mean you're going to have a good showing. That part really doesn't bother me at all. I still get to talk to the booksellers who are, after all, book people. But there is still that part about sitting at a table right in everybody's way waiting, hoping, PRAYING somebody just comes up to talk to you so you don't look like such a big loser. And then, finally, somebody comes up to you, smiling. You smile back. Your heart flutters. Your palms sweat. You straighten and hope you don't have any foam on your lip from the latte you've just scarfed down instead of lunch. And then, she opens her mouth. And she says,

"Excuse me. Can you tell me where VC Andrews is?"

And I say, "She's dead. Buy my book instead."

Okay, not really. But it would have made the time go faster.

Cristophe the cab driver

To preface this, let me say that when I set out to write SINNERS AND SAINTS, I knew that my heroine was going to be a classic fish out of water. A certified forensic nurse who worked in St. Louis, she has to wade through the good old boy network of New Orleans politics and police to find her missing sister. Well, I love writing both a heroine and a hero. The dynamics are always fun, and each brings a unique perspective to the story. And I didn't want to fall into the cliche "she's dating a cop who can get all her info". But who would she--a trauma nurse--trust in a strange city? Easy. A firefighter. Only this guy couldn't be on the job. He had to have lots of free time. So I created James Guidry, a scarred ex-firefighter-turned-New-Orleans-cabdriver. He's a native, Chastity can hire him to help her, and he knows the city. Voile! The problem was, I didn't know any cab drivers. I knew forensic pathologist, forensic nurse liaisons(that's another entry), cops, authors, artists and tarot card readers. And it seemed not one of them knew a cab driver either. So I went searching.

It was 2AM on a weeknight that I hit the jackpot. My friend Karen and I had been doing research out at one of the lakeside bars that probably isn't there anymore. A great place with beer and boots and a surfeit of Dwight Yokum. After a few hours, we needed a ride home and called a cab. And who we got was Cristophe.

Yeah, just the name probably says it all. A man of more than one race, although I didn't closely quizz him on which ones, he was slick and sleek and handsome, with long hair tied back in a queue, skin the color of cafe mocha and a delicious New Orleans accent. He had statues of saints on his dashboard and jazz on the radio. And he said he'd be happy to answer my questions. We went over schedules, maps, routines, problems. We reached my friend's house. Cristophe wouldn't let us out. Not yet. "I cannot tell you all about my beloved N'awlins in ten minutes," he protested. "I'll tell you what. Let me take you to my favorite restaurant in the Fauberg Marigny, and we'll talk, and I'll tell you all about my life, and we'll watch the sun come up." And that's just what we did.

Of course the longer we talked, the more I learned about New Orleans. Not just what Cristophe said. What he didn't say. The statues on his dashboard weren't saints. They were his loas of voodoo, there to ensure him safety, money and success. He wasn't really from New Orleans. He was from Queens. And I have a real suspicion that his name wasn't Cristophe(it was a while later before I found out that Cristophe was also a character in an Ann Rice novel). But he was the epitome of the best of New Orleans; its whimsy and creativity and bravado. The fact that anybody(but a local, evidently) can remake themself into whatever image they please there. A lot of the flavor of SINNERS AND SAINTS came from that cab ride. And not a little of James Guidry. I have two grease-stained place mats from La Peniche,crammed full of notes. I have material for more than one book. And I have the satisfaction of knowing that I mortified my daughter.

As Cristophe dropped us off, we exchanged phone numbers in case there were any more questions. The next day, my daughter called me from St. Louis. "Mom," she said, sounding truly bemused. "Some guy named Cristophe called? He said he has some great places to show you?" You can imagine how confused she was by a hot young guy calling her MOTHER. "Yeah, baby," I said. "That's right. I'm cool." I'm not sure she's gotten over it yet.

Next I'll tell you about the lovely, inimitable Kareena Boudreax.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to the blog

I swear I was going to be posting sooner than this. But you see, an ice storm hit last week, and I was without power or access to my internet for five days. FIVE DAYS. Did I tell you I'm a lousy refugee? I spent all that time rotating through siblings and trying to keep my house warm(temps dropped near zero each night) with a barbecue grill(I told my husband I was NOT going to tell my firefighter friends that I burned down my house with a barbecue grill in the living room)(then, of course, he decamped to Chile, the rat bastard--on business. Uh huh). And, of course, right in the middle of all that, SINNERS AND SAINTS hit the bookshelves. I'm just getting around the St. Louis area to do drive-by signings (that's when you stop in the store, sign stock, gab with the booksellers and then run on to the next place). And here I'd promised to tell you a bit more about SINNERS. Well, and so I will.

Here's the thing. I've been fascinated by New Orleans my whole life. When I finally got to go, I fell madly in love with the city. There's just something there that makes me feel at home; an energy, a unique spell the city casts over you. I love the color, the characters, the lazy, kind pace of the place. Yeah, okay, and the food and music and architecture and...you get it. Well, finally I had the chance to set a book there. That was about three years ago, when I first started collecting research information. Now, I'm a rabid researcher. I don't want any of those emails that say, "You're such an idiot. Don't you know that it's the MIssissippi that runs through New Orleans, not the Missouri?" (not that I'd ever say that). And, of course, it gave me an added excuse to spend time in New Orleans. Which was just fine. Can you think of a better way to research a book then singing in the back room of Jean LaFitte's Blacksmith Shop at two in the morning? Or driving to every cemetery in the city limits? Or driving through the good and bad streets with one of New Orleans finest(all cops tell great stories. New Orleans cops are in a universe of their own. You can read one of the best stories in my OUTTAKE section of my website). I almost didn't stop researching at all. In fact, I ended up taking out over a hundred pages of the finished manuscript."Eileen," my editor said with great patience. "This is a suspense novel. Not Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." Fine. Just fine. I cut some of the stories.My cop friends and nurse friends and CSI friends have told me I got it right anyway, which makes me very, very pleased.

Fast forward to last summer. The book comes out--five days before Katrina hits. Yeah. I have great timing.It absolutely killed me. Not just because I'd just written a love poem to a city that had just been destroyed. But because I felt that destruction like the grave injury of a loved one. The good news is that all my friends are now back home and working. The bad news is that the city still struggles. But I do believe in her. I believe in her people, who are the greatest survivors I've ever met.

But now, the paperback is out, and I hope you'd enjoy visiting with me in the New Orleans of my heart--okay, even though there are some grisly murders happening, a heroine who is in terrible peril, and--did I mention this?--a level 5 hurricane bearing down on the city. (considering when the book first came out, I've decided to take contributions to NOT write about earthquakes in California). Next blog, I'll introduce you to the inspirations behind one of my very favorite heroes, James Guidry, and the unique, the wonderful, the lovely, Kareena Boudreax. Til then, stay warm. I'll try and do the same.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

feeling MUCH better now....

So there I was about to go on the offensive about promoting my SINNERS AND SAINTS, which should appear in paperback any minute now, when Thanksgiving happened. Now you have to understand that Thanksgiving isn't just a holiday in my house. It's a sporting event. Because my lovely husband's grandmother was a collector of note--the note being that she had no money and still ended up with enough Limoge to hold a state dinner-- I always end up with Thanksgiving dinner at my house for my entire family; that was, this year, 34 people, all at linen tableclothes(on permanent loan from my sil who loves estate sales), crystal(mismatched) and Limoge plates. The place looks like a British officer's mess, with tables taking up every square inch of available non-kitchen space, and my family taking up the rest as we cook two turkeys, and lashings of dressing(my mom's basic depression dressing) and various other starch-ladened classics. We have a fabulous time, that usually ends with somebody getting whipped cream, if not an actual pie in the face(this year I was so honored. My 16 year old neice nailed me--and then teepeed my tree).

But since there can't be a holiday without some kind of disaster(when my kids were teens and insisted on using my oven for pizza, we never quite got the dinner rolls cooked, because my oven would catch fire from the grease and turkey stuff---the good news is that my kids now have great disaster-related reflexes) this year my one brother managed to make my toilet overflow--right through the floor to where my son has rigged up all the various equipment that makes our internet run. Yeah. Hiss. Crackle. Meltdown. So I spent five days trying to replace it while hoping nothing big happened on email(good news. it was mostly spam).

So, now that you know my holiday trevails, I hope you understand the slight delay in my schedule of gushing enthusiastically about my book. And talking about the fairy series. As for the Unfortunate Miss Fortunes,with Jen Cruise and Anne Stuart, check in on Well Behaved at All Times. I'll be back tomorrow with more on the background of SINNERS. I'll also try and explain why I had to cancel the auction I'd hoped to do for the New Orleans police. I'm waiting to hear from them, and hope to have a fund that is equipment specific to replace it with.

Anyway, I hope you had a great Thanksgiving, too. And you'll stop by again soon to hear about SINNES AND SAINTS. I swear it will be worth it.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

back to work

It amazes me sometimes how the rest of the world can be so organized. I just looked up from the Silhouette Nocturne book I've been writing as Kathleen to discover that it's November, and darned if I don't have a November book coming out(as Eileen). And not just any book; my beloved SINNERS AND SAINTS. If you've been with me, you know that the hardcover for SINNERS came out two weeks before Katrina hit. And that the book is about a forensic nurse who searches New Orleans for her missing sister---yeah. As a level 5 hurricane bears down on the city. Not good timing at all. And the reviews on the book were really glowing(I usually don't say stuff like that, but this book meant an awful lot to me). Even more important than the book reviews, were the reviews I got from the cops and docs and other New Orleans natives who helped me research. They told me that it was absolutely true to the city, which is the most important opinion I think you can receive on a project. I can't think of a US city I love more, even St. Louis, which is my native town. And I can't think of more generous, inciteful, gracious, funny people than the ones who went out of their way to make sure I could tell my story.

Anyway, the paperback version comes out in a week or two, and I need to take a bit of time and announce it. I'll add more in the next few days. Tantalizing you, if you will, with a peek into the twisted mind that created it(and I look so cute).

Til then, back to work.
eileen and kathleen, the evil twins

The Inimitable Sister Krissie and the Power of Envy

I'm afraid I'm always a day late and a dollar short on industry news. But I just caught wind(and a pretty foul one) of the crap that was posted on the blog of an anonymous hack who calls herself Ms. Snark about Anne Stuart. I say hack, because even her writing is insignificant. If you want it taken apart bad cliche by bad cliche, check out Jenny Cruise's Argh, Inc. I thought of answering on the Snark comment page, which is filled with the kind of vitriol Ms. Snark was hoping for, I'm sure. But I just don't want to give her any validation at all.

What this blog by the anonymous Ms--and other of her blogs I caught--reminded me of was Rush Limbaugh. Nobody plays the schoolyard bully better, making uninformed, often cruel accusations about his enemies for the sole purpose of catering to that small, mean part of the human spirit that says, "yeah! You're not better than me!" And how much easier is it to indiscriminantly accuse behind a mask of anonymity. It isn't just petty, it's cowardly.

But when this would-be pundit incorrectly accuses someone who is not only a friend, but a colleague and, truth be known, one of my role models , I don't think anybody needs to be polite back. Anne Stuart has been in this business longer than I have, over twenty years. In that time she's been the consummate professional: talented, responsible, exceedingly generous, and, okay, she looks great in a habit. Not only that, she's made a hell of a lot of money for the houses for which she's worked. As my brother the Marine says, she's definitely earned her stripes. I consider it an honor that she is a colleague.

Yes, as Ms. Snark says, there are those whiny authors nobody wants to deal with. But as Jenny Cruise said, the ones who will end up working for no one are the ones without talent, and without the ability to bring in money. How many ways can you say that Anne Stuart is a New York Times author? The idea that because after twenty years she told a truth in the industry,she should be vilified, is absurd. Who has more right? The anonymous Ms. Snark, who, for all we know is a fat, fifty-year old accountant in Pacoyma? Even if this person actually is an agent, would you sincerely wish to be represented by a person whose message is, "Shut up and be a good girl?" Gee, thanks. No.

Every author has been through what Anne talked about. It's that kind of industry. And for anyone who compares it to, say, selling washing machines, trust me. There really is no comparison. And would you rather this kind of thing remain our secret? Would anybody who wants to survive in publishing really wish they weren't told the truth? Or would you rather be surprised that it's a hard business? It's hard when you begin: it's hard as you go on; it's hard no matter how famous you are. If it weren't, Hemingway never would have shot himself.

So I hope Ms. Snark enjoys her fifteen minutes of fame. That's all she's worth. Because, if she could write like Sister Krissie, she wouldn't waste her time slinging mud from behind a fence.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

Oh, and one more thing....

Did I tell you I'm from St. Louis? Did I happen to mention I'm a Cardinals fan? Well, my son has told me he can never put me in a nursing home, now. I took him to a World Series game. And if I can finally figure out how to post pictures, I'll put up a shot of us at the stadium. Cause, WE WON!!!!!!!!!

So, Hooray Cardinals! And now that the series is over, I can concentrate on my books again.
eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

and now for something completely different...

This is a political post that isn't. I just had to comment on the election. Not who won. That's almost incidental. The fact that so many people came out to vote. Now, you have to understand I'm an child of the 60's, when we were all involved. When the vote was the most important thing in the world, and we were happy to wait, because we could change the world(okay, that didn't work so much, but we did manage a few things...oh, say the end to the war in Vietnam). Anyway, it's not been since then that I've seen what I saw Tuesday. I stood in line for an hour and fifty minutes. In an area that's chockful of old, cranky people(older and crankier than I). And not only did everybody stand without complaint outside for at least an hour and a half each, but everybody--EVERYBODY was talking about how excited they were to be voting. Old people, young kids, everybody. I felt like I was in a Frank Capra movie.

Now, I love what I do. But it ain't brain surgery. I've seen brain surgery, and this isn't it. And as much as I'd love to say this isn't true, it isn't nearly as important as what we did Tuesday. We reinvolved ourselves in the national debate. We reclaimed our right and responsibility to have a voice in our future. Hooray for us! And now, hopefully, we'll remember that our responsibilities last beyond election Tuesday. Oh, and one more thing. I brought a book while I stood in line. And when somebody commented on what a good idea it was, I handed them one of mine. I'm not completely altruistic, after all.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins.

the rules of writing

Okay, I just had to say this. I just saw where yet another author put on his\her blog the rules of writing. And I think of the years I struggled to consider myself an author, because I didn't obey any of the rules that other people--who knew they were right--laid down. Oh, I could write. I'd been doing it non-stop since I was ten. I have a big lock box full of the stories I'd written, and I thought they were good. But I wasn't an author, because I couldn't follow the rules.

Most of the books I read on the subject were written by people with left brains. Outline, character charts, routine writing hours, etc, etc. Well, not only do I have a vestigial left brain that is all used up with punctuation and spelling, I'm so dominantly right brain that not one of those suggestions worked for me(okay, and I was diagnosed last year with ADD. It's the hat trick of disorganization).

I felt like a failure because I couldn't write an outline to save my life. Not that I can't write a synopsis. I can tell you who my characters are, what the conflict is, and many of the scenes that are within. But to do it in a linear fashion before I actually write the book is, literally, impossible. Every time I try I can feel my head hit the wall. I'm frustrated, I feel like a failure, and my creativity shuts up like an irritated clam. It took me years of study on brain function and some wonderful books on using the right brain to finally understand that the way I wrote, which included laundry-listing items in the book, doing a free-association character study that just let the character talk for herself, writing my books in what we lovingly call the binge-and-purge fashion(more on that later), was absolutely right. For me.

Here's the best word I've ever heard on the subject of rules of writing. It's by Somerset Maugham, who said, "There are three hard and fast rules to writing. Unfortunately, nobody knows what they are." In other words, whatever gets words on paper in a timely fashion is the right way. For you. Yes, I can give suggestions. Anybody can. Just remember they're suggestions of what works for me. You have to take those and see if they fit into your way of doing things. If it energizes you to write better, more easily, more comprehensively, great. If they stop the words like big clots in your chest, then they're the wrong suggestions. Keep looking.

If you want to write, and you want to improve, you'll always find something that resonates for you. I do all the time. But always keep in mind this simple fact. Not every rule is for every author.

Happy writing!
Eileen\Kathleen, the evil twins

The Fairy Child

Back in 1991, when my daughter was eight and my son eleven, my family got to go to Ireland. Since it was my children's first trip there, I wanted it to be special. I wanted to stay in special places. After much research(half the fun of travel for me), I stumbled across a castle in Ireland that had a B&B. Called Castle Matrix, it was about twenty miles south of Shannon, and had been renovated from a 15th century tower castle by a mad Renaissance man named Sean O'Driscoll. We were so lucky on that trip. Sean was still alive, and he spent our trip enchanting us with tales of his land, which had originally been a sacred site to the goddess Matres, and later the site where the first potato was planted in Ireland. He''d restored the castle to amazing condition, and collected not only an astounding library, but incredible artifacts(I held one of Napoleon's death masks in my hand). We sat at his table in the old hall--with no electricity--until three in the morning talking about how one of the secrets to the true Holy Grail was hidden in the walls by the old Templars. Yes, that holy Grail. I heard the theory behind DaVinci Code years before the book hit.

Anyway, at the time of our first visit, Sean had a three year old son named Kieran my childen immediately named "the fairy child." It was easy to see why. He was small, delicate, with flaming red hair, and ears that had just a bit of a tip to them. Most amazing, he had the oldest, wisest dark eyes that were just a bit slanted. It was as if he'd seen it all before and was vastly amused. My kids adored him. I adored him. In the years since, I've been able to visit my friend Liz, Kieran's mother and Sean's widow when I've been in Ireland(sadly, she can no longer manage a B&B, but if you're near the Castle, see if you can get a tour). The second time I visited, after a lapse of about five years, I admitted to my friends and authors Karyn Witmer and Kimberly Cates, who went with me, that I couldn't wait to see how Kieran had grown. And then we got there, and I swear to you on my mother's grave, that he hadn't. Not a bit. Oh, he was taller, but he looked not at all older, except for those amazing quiet, watching eyes of his. He'd developed a very sly sense of humor and a passion for basketball. But he was still the fairy child.

I've been since, to see him gain even more height, but otherwise stay the same fairy child. Liz spent all her time preserving the castle that was Sean's gift and Kieran's inheritance. It's been viciously difficult. But Kieran was her life.

I went back to Ireland this May, after not seeing Liz or Kieran for about three years. As usual, I called beforehand. The phone was disconnected. I tried the email. No. Then I just googled the castle. And that was when I found out that my fairy child, that fey, wise, charming child of Ireland had died the year before of ravaging leukemia. He was eighteen. I was distraught. I called my friends and my children who had known him, and they couldn't believe it either.

Actually, I could. I believe in reincarnation, because as a nurse I've seen that the children who don't remain with us all, to a child, have the oldest, wisest eyes I've ever seen. I truly believe that they've learned the lessons we were sent here for, and are simply finished with their journey. We weren't meant to have Kieran long. But I'm still grieving that bright spirit. So I asked Liz's permission, and then I inserted Kieran into the Daughters of Myth series. This way, Kieran has just returned to the land of faery, from which I knew he'd come to brighten all our lives. And I think, when I think of him, of the brilliant WB Yeats poem The Stolen Child

Come away, o human child,
To the water and the wild,
With a faery hand in hand,
for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

after a brief delay...

I just looked at the date on my last post and said, "No, there must be some missing. I couldn't possibly be quiet for this long." Evidently, I could. I didn't mean to be so quiet for so long. But, you know, life got in the way. I'm caught in what is affectionately referred to as the sandwich generation. But as a friend of mine said, 'I hate it when they call it the sandwich generation. Sandwiches are nice things. Call it what it is: the mammogram generation. You get squeezed from both sides until you scream." Ah, yes. Okay, I was also writing, and well, I did get to go to Italy. Yes,(if the picture actually did download), that is me sitting outside in a lovely piazza in Matera. But I'm back now, and hard at work. We're in the final stretch of the Miss Fortunes, and it looks as if Dangerous Temptation is out. In my next post I'm going to tell you a bit about the dedication of the book, and a very important character in the Daughters of Myth trilogy; The Seer, Kieran O'Driscoll. But not now. Now I'm going to head to bed, hoping I can get some good writing done tomorrow so I can post again tomorrow night. Remember. I'm going to have a story to tell.

Eileen\Kathleen the evil twins

The revision process

Well, it's fourth of July weekend, and if it weren't about a hundred degrees out, I'd be at a county fair looking at 4H exhibits. But I'm a delicate flower, so I'm inside working on revisions on the Miss Fortunes book. The basic way I go about revisions is this. I get through the first draft on one big wave of energy. Then I collapse. For at least three or four days I sleep a lot and do no more than read or sit in my garden. Then I wonder what it was I did put in my manuscript. So I go back and reread. That's when I find all those little continuity inconsistencies(like picking up an animal and then forgetting it's there for the rest of the scene, or making sure my heroes eyes stay the correct color--Caribbean blue, this time) and those pacing problems. And I do the final chiseling.

Chiseling, you say. Ah, it's something I've been thinking about as I've worked with Jenny and Krissie. I've never really looked too closely at the process of how I put a book together. I'm an organic writer, pretty much working on instinct. I've long forgotten the rules of why I do something (as opposed to Jen who can list them off like the commandments in a revival meeting), but I know if the words work or not. It's like they clot up in my chest and make it hard to breathe if I'm doing it incorrectly. Anyway, this time I actually saw how I put things together, or take them apart, or whatever, to make a complete manuscript, and I realize that I'm most like Michelangelo.

No. I'm not saying I'm a legendary renaissance artist. How I equate myself to him is in his own description of his work. He said that he took a chunk of marble and kept chipping away at it until he discovered the form that had been waiting inside to be seen. I think that's what I do with words. In my very first draft, I throw every word I can onto the page, just to get it down, to see where the story is going, where my character is going, and what it means that she does. It is my chunk of marble. In successive drafts--which really aren't as well delineated as they sound. I do edit as I go. I go back at least three times from the beginning even as I construct the first draft--I begin to chisel away the excess words and ideas until I get to the book I think is waiting inside.

I can always tell if I haven't had enough time or focus for a book, because there are, simply, too many words. But the better I can follow my own process, the tighter and more precise the story I'm telling. So now, since the weather is awful, I'm going to sit in my office and pull out my smaller chisel. And I hope I can get my story to be just what I'd envisioned when I found my chunk of marble. And that it's worthy of the two lovely creations I get to share space with.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

I'm feeling MUCH better now

There's nothing like the end of a deadline. First, you feel as if you must be mistaken. You know that can't be enough words, that the plot is wrong, the characters insipid, the theme obscure. Then you go back over the last chapter or two one or more time more just to make sure, and you sit there. You have nothing more to do. You're free.

I keep thinking of that line about if you open a cage on a bird who's been inside a long time, it won't know it's free. Same feeling. No, I must continue to feel obsessed, pressured, frantic, pumped up and high. No. There's no need. It's like coming off the biggest high in the world. The good news is that before you realize you don't need the adrenaline anymore, you've cleaned your office, caught up on correspondence, done your grocery shopping and wallpapered the bathroom(not really. Certainly not in my house). Then, I thought, I'm going to treat myself to a morning in bed. A lunch at a restaurant with a book. A slow meander through the garden center of my choice so I can actually plant something in my garden.

Instead I spent the day in the dentist's office getting an emergency root canal. "Have you been under inordinate stress that caused you to grind your teeth to splinters and provoke mind-searing pain?" he asked. "Why, no. Why should you think that?"

But I'm feeling MUCH better now. I'm off deadline. For at least a week.

I think I'd better put a bite guard in my office.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

back at 1

Deadline. Writing. Words. Many, many words. I go now........

words are my life

I got to use the word concupiscent today. Okay, you might say. So what? So I've been wanting to use that word since I first read it in Wallace Steven's poem "The Emperor of Ice Cream" in high school. The actual line is

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.


The poem goes on to reflect a wake. But I found myself stopped dead at that word, at the way it clattered off my tongue. At the lovely round vowels and sharp consonents. I had to find out what this wonderful word meant. And yes, it means kind of what it sounds like. Great sexual passion. Works for me.

But the sound of it! I don't just love writing words. I love saying them. I love poetry and romance because there are few things more fun than alliteration. I mean, come on. Kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Say that fast three times. Even better, dig out Poe's poem "The Bells." By the end you're shouting the words so fast you sprain your tongue. At least once a year I read it out loud to my empty house (okay, and my cat. But she's not so much a Poe fan) just to hear it.

But I got to use concupiscent in a book. Specifically in The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes. Even more specifically, about Aunt Rellie, who enslaves men and feeds off them until they're dust and blow away. Which is just about what her niece Dee wishes would happen to her. We'll find out if it does. But in the meantime, I got to say concupiscent. What a cool job this is.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

Busy, busy, busy

I'm back on the road again. I spent the last four days in New York with Jenny Cruise and Anne Stuart wrestling "The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes" into shape. God bless Jen, she has the other side of my brain I'm missing. I'm so right brain wind whistles through the left side(that's the linear, logic side of the brain....you see my chronic problem). Jen actually posesses a left brain. So I have great ideas and Jen has great ideas and then organizes them. She did so by putting sticky notes all over the kitchen cabinets in the apartment where we stay(yeah. It really is living the good life, ya know? Having to go to New York because you have to write a book with two of your best friends). So by the time I left, my brains were smoking. And then I had to come to Topeka and give an all day seminar today. No brains left at all. I'm mute. Which is a fairly cataclysmic event for me. But I have tonight off before I head out tomorrow to the family cottage on Lake Michigan with my siblings, so I"m going to have a nice margarita, some protein, and a look at Miss Fortunes to clean it up before I go on. I just have to remember what we agreed was going to happen.
I just did the line edit on "Dangerous Temptation", the first of the Daughters of the Myth trilogy. And I have to admit, I really still love this book. There's danger, there's magic, there are enough horny fairies to populate a strip bar. I mean, who knew? The best part is, the sexiest parts take place in everybody's head. Shows you that it's true that 90% of sex is in the brain. Poor Zeke. His brain was quite overloaded. I can't wait to see what you think, especially since, except for a story I did for the old Shadows line anthology, this is the first paranormal I've done. I hope I didn't break any of the fairy rules...although my friends assure me that they're like the time travel rules. Pretty much what I decide they are.
I hope you don't mind. I'm off to the bar now. I need to plug my ears so the rest of my brains don't simply drain away.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

back to work

So, here I am back home again after a lovely three weeks in Ireland and Scotland. I got to walk Edinburgh(did you know it's all uphill?), ride a pony over the Gap of Dunloe in Ireland(I have to kiss my horsebackriding instructor full on the mouth for preparing me. Ponies trot, too. Badly. And considering I was on a steep mountain pass, I wasn't interested in falling off), I got to see two horseraces, one at Limerick, where the son of the B&B where I was staying(the recommendation is going up on the new website) was racing his first horse over hurdles as a trainer. It was a Dick Francis book. Then I got to live a scene from Quiet Man. In Dingle, they still have thoroughbred races on the strand when the tide is out. Wow, it was fantastic! I hope to have pics on the travel for fun page.
But what I really am is back to work. Zeke is in, Silhouette is happy, and now I'm off to start the next book in the trilogy. If you remember, Zeke falls in love with the heir to the throne of Mab, Queen of Faerie. Well, when Nuala(our intrepid heroine) leaves, the job is left to her next sister, Sorcha, who'd rather have her fairy toenails plucked than be queen. So she's sent on a quest, and runs across a dark, brooding human, who'd rather have HIS toenails plucked than admit that there are such things as fairies. Hopefully the real Mab won't mind. I said hello to her when I was in Ireland. Purportedly, she's buried under a 40 foot high cairn on top of a mountain called Knocknarea. I'll let you know. In the meantime, I have fairies to torment.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

the road to tipperary

this is going to be quick. i haven't posted for a bit, because i've been in deadline fever--or, as my daughter so lovingly calls it, deadline psychosis. But the best news. Zeke is in! He's FINALLY gotten his story, and i love it. The question will be, of course, if Silhouette will. I'll let you know. for now know that I've spent a lovely week in rainy, cold Ireland, and am now strolling pleasant and warm Edinburgh(sounds like a typo to me, too). i'll fill you in on the trip when I get home. And also on the updated webpage. Wait til you see it! i think it's smashing! now, children, i'm off to sample a few more single malts. my favorite so far is, balvenie. if you have only £6000, you can buy the 50 year bottle. i'm going a bit younger. slan abhaile!

eileen/kathleen, the evil twins

scoring a book

I was talking to somebody the other day about music. Not in a general, "Don't you like music" kind of way, but in a "What music do you play while you write a book?" kind of way. Each author finds a different source of inspiration. Some need absolute silence. Some tv's. Some only music without words, or only baroque(my critique partner Elizabeth Grayson-Karyn Witmer).When I'm writing my books--especially the character-driven books-- I use all kinds of music. The interesting thing is, I usually find one CD and then play it non-stop throughout the whole book. My children have been known to run screaming from the house the minute "Last of the Mohicans" hits the sound system.
For my Kathleen Korbel "Some Men's Dreams", it was Nickel Creek. Over and over and over again. For my Eileen Dreyer "Sinner's and Saints", which is set in New Orleans, you'd think it should have been jazz, blues. Maybe a little Winton Marsalis or Harry Connick. Nope. Evanescence. For six solid months. If you haven't heard Evanescence, it's a dead cross between Puccini and Linkin Park. Brilliant stuff. Evocative. Rawly emotional. The soundtrack for Sinners. I tried using Braveheart once, because the music is beautiful. But I coudln't concentrate on the book, because I got so depressed. "Oh, there's where his wife dies" I think, then, 'Oh, there's where he's betrayed by the Bruce". It really interferes with the writing.
Right now I'm working on two different, but very similar projects. Both involve paranormal, and both are fairy erotic. I find that I'm using similar music, although changing a bit. For the fairy book, which right now is entitled Daughers of the Myth: Dangerous Temptation, I have a selection on the 5 disc CD changer. Two Loreena McKennitt. Nobody puts me in a celtic mood like Loreena.( And on Elemental, I get to play along on my bodhran, the Irish drum that is a very nice stress reducer) . Those are slotted between Evanescence(Never assume that you wear yourself out on only 6 months of the same CD. Especially if it's good stuff), Dave Matthews Some Devil(SO evocative for me) and Melissa Ethridge's first album(raw sexuality). It's the perfect mix for what I'm doing there.
Now for The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes, I just skip the Loreena. That's because Loreena brings a softer, dreamier edge to my work, which just doesn't work in the Miss Fortunes. So it's Evanescence (raw emotion) Dave Matthews (I have no idea, but it makes me write better) and Melissa Ethridge(raw sexuality). I also on occasion throw on a little Chris Isaacs(I did mention that I was using a lot of sensuality stuff) or Fiona Apple(read previous parenthesis).
I never know what the music is going to be until I get a ways into the book. I try a lot out, like the Braveheart. But once I'm settled, it never changes. For up to six months.
Well, it's back to work. Well, actually, the bodhran song has come up. So I'm going to whack at a goat skin for a while, and THEN get back to work.

eileen/kathleen the evil twins

erin go bragh

Okay, so I'm really not posting exactly on March 17. You really don't think that a girl named Mary Eileen would have time on the exact holy day to sit at her computer, do you? Actually, my day isn't as wild as it could be. It's mostly a family day, where my siblings and I meet at any non-Irish establishment in the city. Non-Irish because St. Louis excells in St Patrick's Day, and none of us want to mingle with all the amateurs who are out tonight. We eat, we have a few, and we raise a toast to my mom. And then, any other day of the year, we visit the hallowed halls of any of the several pubs in town that have an O' in the name. Or a Mc. My favorite of these(and impossible to even get within a city block of today) is a lovely place in the Soulard area of town called John D. McGurk's. McGurk's is a music pub. And not a "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" kind of place. More a collecting for the widows and orphans fund for Sinn Fein kind of place. In fact, it is legendary for its music. Wherever I go in the world, if I find a music pub I would like to sing in(finding the pub is the problem. There's never a question of my singing.), all I have to do is tell the musicians that I've sung at McGurk's in St. Louis, and I have carte blanche. And there's nothing I love more than sharing music in a real Irish pub. In fact, Tess Gerritson, who plays the fiddle, and I are thinking of forming an Irish equivalent of the Rock Bottom Remainders. Now all we have to do is convince Erin Hart's husband Paddy O'Brien(one of my very favorite Irish musicians in the world--a legendary button accordian player whom I knew long before I knew Erin) to join in.
For now, though, I'll just sing to myself as I return to my lovely fairie, who have astonishingly turned into quite a randy lot. Amazing how little time it takes to get back in the habit of writing love scenes after a hiatus.
So slainte, everybody. And may I share with you my favorite Irish prayer.
May those who love us love us,
And those who don't,
May the lord turn their ankles
So we'll know them by their limping.

eileen\kathleen, the evil twins

a side note

This will be quick, because I'm behind on my deadline due to a rash of thunderstorms and tornadoes that interrupted my work for two long days(no, I wasn't affected. I can't remember that many tornado warnings in one day through one state, though. It was overhwelming). Anyway, I thought I'd drop in a quick note about an anthology I'm in that will be out soon. I haven't had a chance to put it up on the web page, since I'm in the middle of a redesign, and can't seem to get anything else done.
The anthology is called Deadly Housewives, and it's coming out from HarperCollins. I was asked to submit a story that didn't involve dead husbands or neighbors. As a matter of fact, the editor, Christine Matthews asked for something different. Maybe, she said, a romance, since she knew I wrote them(she didnt' know it had been four years since I'd written a love scene, but there are some things you don't share with any editor. The mantra in publishing--and acting, from what I've heard--is, "Sure. I can do that." Christine was on a time crunch and asked if I could do a 20 page story in a week. I'm happy to say that an hour later while in the shower, the whole story came to me. It's called "Vanquishing the Infidels", and it is more a fictional memoire(nods to James Frey) based upon not just my family, but my mom.
I decided that I couldn't think of anybody more deadly than that five foot one inch Irishwoman. And so I wrote of an incident that happened when I was six, and she defended me against a crazy adult who shoved me off my bike. The story is family legend, which I think should be immortalized. It is wrapped in much of our family lore. All of it true--as true as an Irish storyteller can make it. I've only changed a few names--like the English war bride down the street, and mistaken one thing. I've always remembered the final confrontation, but I always thought I"d made it up. That I couldn't have been there. So I wrote it from another point of view(also absolutely true). I found out from my brothers last week, that I was right in the first place. I was there. Go figure. But that's how memoirs go afoul...well, and the natural need to make a story as interesting as possible(the big surprise for me when I did family geneology was when the story turned out to be TRUE).
So now I go back to deadline. I'll have more on the fairy book later. Just know that I'm having one of the most fun times I've ever had writing. I just love world building! Especially since my fairies(with apologies to Nickie Hilton) are hot!
eileen and kathleen, the evil twins

changing fortunes

So, why am I writing romance again? The truth is, I never stopped. Well, I never wanted to. I love both suspense and romance. I love to write both. Loren Estelman, a wonderful mystery\nonfiction\western writer calls moving among genres "literary crop rotation." I really like that, because you reall do use different talents in each genre.
I like suspense because I can really delve into the dark heart of the soul. I can have really, really imperfect protagonists(my favorite male lead so far is a sociopathic lawyer in Bad Medicine and Head Games. He's not a bad sociopath, he just doesn't have the moral code of normal people, and he knows it). I also love to write action scenes. In fact, I'm so enamored of them that I find myself putting them in my romances. I mean, otherwise they're just standing around talking to each other....well, almost all the time. I'm terrified my audience will get bored. But put a bullet through the window, and you can keep them busy for pages.
I like romance because I love a happy ending. I love the hope that is the message of each and every book. I love writing about relationships. And I sincerely love writing character based novels, which romances are much more than suspenses. I love romance language. If for no other reason, I'd continue to write romance because I love alliteration. And you simply can't get away with that over in suspenseland.
Right now I'm writing romance because of the vagaries of the industry. My suspense numbers didn't grow the way my publisher wanted me to. So they've asked me to put
a hold on my suspenses for a bit. I'd already had ideas for some romances, so I pitched those to my agent and my romance house--or rather Kathleen Korbel's house-- Silhouette. They said yes(thank heavens. I have SUCH student loans to pay off. The bain of having smart kids), and so I'm settling into a trilogy for them called Daughters of Myth, which used to be called Mab's Daughters until the sales department found they didn't have a clue who Mab was. Ah, well. The first of the books, still untitled, but I think sales is leaning toward Dangerous Temptation(not hugely original, but it gets the job done) to launch the newest Harlequin line, a dark paranormal line that goes by the name of Nocturne(now, that I like). It is also, by coincidence, if you've followed my Kendall series at all, the final book. Zeke's long-awaited visit with the fairies.
So I'll keep you up to date on the progress. And I'll just tell you this for now. I realized the other night that it's been four years since I've written a love scene. At first I was quite stymied. But then, I realized that (if you'll pardon the concept) all in the rhythm. It really is like riding a bike.

Eileen and Kathleen, the evil twins

work hours

If you read this regularly, you'll come to see that I tend to post these things deep into the night, when most of the sensible world is asleep. There's a reason for that. I'm a night owl. Always was. I used to blame it on the fact that when you grow up in a two-bedroom house with ten people, late night is the only time you can control the TV. Then it was my nursing career. My favorite shifts in the ER were evenings and nights. The very best? 5PM to 3AM. That's generally when all the fun stuff happens--and the supervisory staff at home with their families instead of getting in my way.
But when I quit to write--well, I quit because I burned out. I found myself backing a doctor against a wall with a scalpel in my hand and realized I just wasn't having fun anymore--but I was writing full time, I realized that I had no more excuses. I simply don't function in the morning. When I was still working they'd literally have a pool going to see if I showed up with my uniform on inside out.
Now, it's a simpler issue. No matter how hard I try--and believe me, when deadlines loom, I try like a trojan--the only thing that happens if I try and use the computer before at least 3PM, is I sit at the desk until drool collects in my lap. I can't even answer the phone before noon. Usually because I've been up til 4 or 5AM, and am just too sleepy to be coherent. No one in New York is allowed to call me before then. It's not that I'm surly. I just can't remember that I've talked to anyone(if my husband calls, he makes me tape a note to the bathroom mirror with his message).
I tried again today. Yes, I have deadlines, and my husband is out of town, which means my schedule is my own. Drool collected, I clutched my thesaurus like a liferaft as I struggled for words I knew perfectly well yesterday, and nothing happened. Nothing. On the other hand, it's about 1:30AM, and since Midnight I've edited two chapters and written five new pages. And I"m just getting warmed up.
So, while some of my best friends are morning people, I'd much rather bay at the moon. Or have my characters do it.

It's the little things

Well, here it is, zero-dark-thirty, and I'm finishing up my work day. It's been a really good one. Not because I got a lot of pages written. Heck, I spent abotu twelve hours trying to complete my art fact sheet for the fairy book for Harlequin. The art fact sheet, if you haven't met one in person, is the information an author gives the art department about her book so they can create a cover....actually, so they can ignore it completely while making a cover. The new art fact sheets have been computerized, and that was such a successful idea, that if you live anywhere in a five-state radius from me, you should have heard my shreeks(how DO you spell that?) of frustration.
So it left little time for actual writing. However, I overcame a stumbling block today that's important to me. It also will help illustrate how God is in the details in writing. The book I'm doing for Silhouette is the first of a trilogy about an Irish Faerie clan in Sligo, whose queen is Mab, or Maeve, if you will. They have been going along pretty happily until the moment my hero falls down a fairy rath and right into their living room. Drama and comedy ensue, but also an attack by the bad, bad fairies. Okay. That works. I get itchy anymore if I don't have at least one fight scene or gunshot per book. The only problem with that idea is that the only really bad fairies I know about from my research are called air fairies. Yeah. Not particularly scarifying. So I really had to find them a good moniker, or they wouldn't terrify anybody. I do have to say that I've had great fun investigating gaelic names and translations, and, of course using them with impugnity.
So there I am trying to find a name for a clan of fairies who are patriarchal(obviously Mab's clan is matriarchal), and once upon a time, a postive, powerful clan. Recently, though, they have become dark and fearsome( you know what happens when kids hang around with the wrong crowd). So I needed a portentious name, but one that could be interpreted for good or evil. I searched and I searched, and finally I found it. My patriarchal fairy clan is the Dubhlainn Sidhe. The Fairies of the Dark Sword. Cool, huh? Okay, maybe it doesn't send you into raptures, but the minute I had their name, I knew exactly who they were. Tarnished knights who have been influenced by powers beyond their control. Redeemable, of course. The hero of the third book in the trilogy is Liam the Protector.
Symbols are very important to me. The dark sword is my symbol for my dark fairies. The symbols for the series, tentatively called Daughters of the Glen(or the Mists or Myth), are the three Filial Stones which rule the world of faerie and must be in their right place to maintain balance. But that's a topic for another post. Good night, all. It's time to curl up with my cat and dream about the clash of fairy courts. More fun, certainly, than dreaming about art fact sheets. I did that last night.

Eileen/Kathleen the evil twins

the business side of show

I was going to get a lot of writing done today. My husband is in South Africa, the rat, so I have no set family schedule to work around, which means I can write, then nap, then write, then nap. The problem is that instead I had to do an interesting thing called an art fact sheet for my next book for Silhouette. It's goint to launch their new line, Nocturne, which is a kind of dark paranormal line. Art fact sheets are a necessary evil, so that the artist at least has an idea of what you're looking for. Not that he actually always follows it, of course. I had a book once called "A Prince of a Guy," about fictitious European royalty. I sent photos of Bruce Boxleitner in a Lauren add(tuxedoed and everything) for the prince hero, and, I think, somebody like Meg Ryan for my secretary heroine. Instead I got a narcoleptic Anthony Newley about ready to fall into a fountain. Fortunately Vanna White holds him up. In return he (and a suspiciously placed rivet) held her dress up.
So giving them physical info may be optimistic, but it's better than nothing. Well, it was until they computafied it. Now I have to pick from a list of traits--giving my character only one--personalities and themes. I ended up wanting to jab a sharp pencil in my eye. So I'm blogging to feel better, then catching another of those two hour naps. Hopefully I'll be able to rejoin Mab, Queen of Fairies and her lovely daughters Nuala, Sorcha and Orla in the morning.

eileen/kathleen, the evil twins

blogging is easy. Writing is hard.

I was just visiting one of the many lists to which I subscribe, this one Dorothy-L. I mostly lurk on lists these days, which is frustrating. I join a list to visit(I'm a great visitor. One of my best traits is that I play well with others). Then I visit and visit and visit, and all that time I should be writing and writing and writing. So I have a choice. I can play or I can work. And think about it. If you have a choice between scrubbing toilets(which bears a striking resemblance, some days, to writing) or answering mail, which would you choose? Naturally, I choose mail. It's like always having presents to open that are just for me. I can talk about anything and everything--the post I want to answer on Dot-L tonight is about Oprah and James Frey. Much more fun ranting about other authors than reaffirming the fact that I'm one. It reminds me of my favorite Ken Kesey quote. "Being a famous author is a wonderful thing. The only problem is that every once in a while you actually have to write something."
So saying, I'm going to end now and go in and actually write something.
But stick around. I know I'm going to need to vent about something, or share a silly "how I collaborated with Jen Cruise and Anne Stuart" story. Just remember. The more often I post, the less often I'm actually writing.

eileen\kathleen the evil twins

The Evil Twins themselves

So, there I was, perfectly happy writing suspenses and the odd romance(yes, all my romances are odd), when I hit a snag in suspenseland. There is going to be an industry-imposed hiatus on Eileen Dreyer's suspenses for a bit. I'm really not happy about that, but all I can do is keep trying. In the meantime, I've gotten back in touch with my inner Kathleen Korbel, and voila! I'm contracted for three romances for Harlequin, and the aforementioned Three Authors in a Book deal with Jen Cruise and Ann Stuart. Since that's the fun one, I'll probably be talking about that for a bit. In the meantime, I'll be tucked in my cozy office--rather than outside in the near zero weather, which I abhor more than American Idol and tofu--working on this new concept of collaboration.
As I do, I hope to give you a better idea of who the evil twins are(I always say that Eileen is reponsible for the phone bill and Kathleen never cleans up her bedroom).

Eileen\Kathleen, the evil twins

Jenny Made me do it 2

I really have been meaning to start a blog for ages. I love sharing information on my writing day, my research, little tidbits of stuff I learn along the way (my kids call me the Jeopardy Queen). But, as anyone who's been near my website will tell you, I'm the world's last luddite. Not necessarily by choice. I think it's a bent chromosome. The good news is I gave birth so that I'd have a computer expert handy(and here I'd always thought I'd done it so I'd have somebody to do the dishes and mow the front lawn). So, since the chatting is never difficult for me, I had my son help with the computer-input side of it, and here I am.
As for the Jenny made me do it, part, that's easy. I sometimes need a bit of a nudge to get off center, and that nudge(okay, my ribs still hurt) was provided by the inestimable Jenny Cruise. She and Anne Stuart and I(or rather, the Kathleen Korbel I) are working on an anthology together. We are really pumped about it--especially the part where we spent three days in an apartment in New York brainstorming. Is this a great job or what?--and Jen, especially. And if you know Jen at all, you'll know that she is genetically incapable of doing anything halfheartedly. So, she and Anne and I are going to be linking our blogs in the future--.as soon as I figure out how to do it--so we can cross talk about the project(Jen's already begun. Check her out. It's a hoot). In the meantime, I'm going to fill you in on what's going on in with my writing, research, the changes in my writing future, and the reason behind the change in my website.
So, stop by any time. I'd love to hear from you. I can't wait to share this odd process of creativity, especially the new experience of collaborating. Never done it before. Never knew it could be so much fun--or so frustrating. Both EileenDreyer and Kathleen Korbel will be posting about their projects(yes, I am evil twins. It'll probably be the official title of the blog from now on), and anything that crosses their devious little minds. Join the fun.

eileen and kathleen--the afforementioned evil twins

jenny made me do it

This is the first in a grand experiment for me. As you know, my web page claims I've entered the 21st century. Blogging, I guess, proves it. I will try and be dilligent and informative and fun. And I can take some of the burden off the rest of my site for fun little factoids, which I love to share.

eileen/kathleen, the evil twins