Nicole Locke - A Year of Change

Here we are at the end of 2017, and I still don't know how I feel about it. I can point at nothing truly horrific and yet, I look at this year warily. Like a child does when it's not sure if the thing before it is a friend or foe.

Like that big friendly dog that nipped my hands and then slurped my entire body. Or that balloon that was so shiny...but then popped in my face.

2017 was a big friendly year, and I had moments of sheer joy. Then there were those moments it nipped and popped. When it hurt and scared me, too.

We moved, you see, and even as an adult I wasn't prepared for the full ramifications I would stumble through, but I did learn some things along the way:

1. Inefficiency is your first, last, and middle name. When you move homes you will not be as productive as you were before. That's just a fact of life. Why? Well, there's more to do...more than you can possibly conceive or prepare for.

2.   You are a creature of habit and you don't even know it. Oh, boy was this something I truly fought against. For eleven years, I left my bedroom and turned left, now I'm suddenly turning right. I hadn't driven in over a decade, now I have this vehicle that I'm supposed to park. My earrings can't go in the little tray by the front door,  my t-shirts are hung instead of folded, etc. Everything must have a new place. This, of course, escalates your inefficiency, but also it's jarring. Like having to learn how to breathe differently.

3. You will grieve. Some loss you will expect to hurt like friendships and family. I can't even write that sentence without tearing up.  But some loss you won't expect. Simple things such as certain foods (cheese!), or a way a place smells, or even the ease of a transport system. I miss these little things as well.

4. If you move and you have a husband and two children, points 1,2,3 above will all be amplified by 3x.

5. 'You will make it.' That was one of my grandfather's favourite sayings.  I made it through 2017. It was bumpy and I often got lost or a bit more wary. Other times, I had joy in my heart.

It's that joy I want to carry into 2018. So I intend to embrace the changes, the big friendly dogs and all the popping balloons. That way, I can make it like my grandfather taught, but make it with a happiness that comes not from the absence of inefficiency or grief, but because of it.

I wish you all joy and happiness as well, and thank you for sharing 2017 with me.

Nicole

Nicole writes the Lovers and Legends historical series for Harlequin. Check out her website and follow her on Facebook , Twitter,  Google+ and Pinterest.'

 

Nicole Locke - Are we having fun yet?

As you know, my family moved to Seattle from London at the end of December. Things have been crazy, an adjustment, perplexing, and chaotic ever since.

First, there’s the culture shock which I didn’t expect. I was born in this country; how could I be flummoxed by drive-thru menus? But it’s been a while since I lived here. Time’s change.

Second, add in work, kids, renovations, and trying to unpack. Yep. There’s chaos here. And as a family, we’ve been chained to the house, to school, to our desks. We’ve been trying to navigate school announcements and shopping. The myriad of government forms is astounding, and I still second guess myself when crossing the road.

So why are we here?

Ah, because we’ve reached that time in our life when we realize…Time. We want our kids to know their extended family. Also, they’re missing the culture we grew up with. We knew that if we didn’t seize this moment, our son may never know how to kayak, ski, or ride a bike. Our daughter will only know city life, and not the blisters of hiking in the woods for miles because she’s lost.

This gets to the crux of the matter. My fear is that we may have returned too late. The way we’re going, it’ll be a year before any fun happens. We bought ski clothes…and then missed the ski season. The drastic change in daily living has been one hurdle after another. Our kids are young, but habits have already been created.

It took weeks for my daughter to learn she can approach a car differently than her brother. You see, she only knows taxis. And in taxis you all pile into the vehicle from one side. She kept piling in after her brother until he pointed out she could use the other door. My son still shows no interest in driving, and as for that kayak? His nose continues to be buried in books or on his phone.

But this must stop; otherwise, what’s the point of moving? I may have lived here before, but it’s all new to them. They need to see the world with their young eyes, and with all the possibilities of youth. So when they grow up they can embrace what culture they want, and where they want to live. 

When I can, I force myself to stop with all the work needing done. My house is a wreck, and I’ll have boxes to unpack in December. Renovations? I need to pick out paint samples still. The kids should see the open water, and not just the house in shambles.

Thus far, I may have managed only a handful of these moments, but they do exist. Like glimmers of light at the end of a very long, crazy, perplexing, and chaotic tunnel.

How do you stop the hectic schedule of everyday life to have fun?

Nicole :-)

To celebrate the upcoming release of The Knight's Scarred Maiden, I'm attempting to bake Medieval food! Come join me all month at the Unlaced Book Club and guess what food I'm making for a chance to win a signed copy. https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheUnlacedBookClub  Or join me at the Harlequin Blog May 25th, June 2nd, June 13th and chat with me about my failures! http://harlequinblog.com/



Nicole Locke is the author of Harlequin Lovers and Legends series. For more information about her and her writing, check out her website and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest.

Nicole Locke - Get Me Out of this Car!

I’m a stay-at-home mom. Doesn’t that sound divine? To be fair, I know I have it easy. My husband makes the majority of the income, so I’m able to do the other stuff.

The other stuff is enormous. Huge. It’s so big, my husband has to help, too (the garage does not clean itself). I work as well. I do this writing thing, and it has deadlines, and some days it’s incredibly hard.

Add in this moving thing I did in December, and well…. My ship is sinking. In fact, I’m typing this at 10pm because it can’t wait until tomorrow, or the next because I have deadlines looming, and my 7yo daughter has this concert, oh wait, two concerts, and my 14yo son is in need of clothes because I’ve shrunk everything (or is he getting bigger--again!).

In truth, maybe if I had this home schedule all along it’d be easier because I wouldn’t know any different. But I’m in culture shock. London school life was so different.

There, I walked my daughter the half a mile to school every day. That got in my exercise and times-tables quiz time. All moms brought their kids to the gate, we visited, and then got on with our days.

 

My son had been getting himself to school and to his after-school activities by age 12. Other than making sure he did his homework, I didn’t have to worry about him at all.

In America, my son starts school at 8:45am. The bus can’t get him there on time unless he leaves much earlier. Since we are new, I’m not putting that burden on him. So I schlep him out of the house at 8:20. Unfortunately, my daughter has to come with us. Really unfortunately, her school doesn’t start until 9:30. So she’s stuck in the car an extra 45 minutes (we do her homework and run errands).

I’m not even going to mention that my son gets out of school at 3:15pm, and my daughter at 4:10. Or that some days he can’t get himself home. Like Tuesdays, when I have to pick him up, and drive him to the library for volunteer time. Then drive to pick daughter from school, only to return to the library (while she eats in car) to pick up son. Continue driving to another school so my daughter can have orchestra practice and where my son can take a bus home. She and I don’t return home until 7:30pm when we eat dinner (maybe…if I prepared it earlier).

I can’t start work until 10am and on good days I write until 2pm. And I don’t want to think about my house, that I’m living in a suitcase still or the fact our container full of clothes hasn’t arrived yet (though the moving company has had it since December 6^th). It’ll be Spring and I’ll still be wearing my winter wools….

Am I crazy. Is this driving all around schedule normal for parents in America? How have you been doing it all this time? And why is the image of stay-at-home moms all about eating bonbons? It’s not that way in the UK. Here, I feel I have to justify my day with people I meet. Do you?

Whew. I’m glad I can share this. I truly do want to know how you do it, and if I’m missing a trick. Please tell me there’s a magical time bending necklace I didn’t know about….

Nicole :-)

 

Nicole Locke is the author of Harlequin Lovers and Legends series. For more information about her and her writing, check out her website and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest.

 

Nicole Locke: Where's the Choice?

There’s a poem I read years ago. It was about ice cream and a little girl. When presented with a choice between two flavors, the girl replied, ‘Both!’ If anyone knows of this poem, I’m desperate to read it again.

I’m not desperate about grocery store choices. Holy Moly are there a lot of food choices in America. And for a person who doesn’t like to shop, I am deeply flummoxed with the food here.

For example, I went to the store for coffee. There were 50 brands staring back at me. I’d like to say thank you again to that kind lady who approached me slowly, and now that I reflect on it…a little warily, and suggested a brand though I never asked her. Did she see my panic? Did she wonder if the store would close and I’d still be there?

I’d also like to say, I’m not crazy Mr. Laughing-At-Me in the candy aisle. Yes, every woman talks to herself while choosing chocolate bars. When did America get so many choices in chocolate bars?  Did I want chocolate with natural mint, with quinoa and black rice, with bacon? No, I simply wanted plain dark chocolate, but that was in a different section altogether. And let me tell you, you don’t want natural mint in your chocolate. There were leaves in it. Leaves!

Don’t get me wrong. I understand about different flavors. And in that, I want choice, but when the choice means there is bacon in my chocolate bar, I think we’ve gone too far.

Or have we? Should there be limit on choice? Because, obviously, marketing was done with a panel of people. They liked chewing leaves while chocolate melted in their mouths. So maybe choice is okay.

Maybe it’s not the novelty foods I find the most frustrating. Maybe it’s just that all the novelty foods have replaced the staple food.

It’s not the choices of food I’m missing, but the variety. Why does my store have 50 brands of coffee, but I had to find a clerk to show me where the green lentils are? I’ve been to many stores. Either the pulses are on a shelf in the back on the bottom and covered in dust (true!), or they are put in fancy bins.

Why are spices so limited? Where’s the yogurt? And why is staple food in bins with gasping prices?

I’m not a gourmet cook. One of my favourite ‘recipes’ is spaghetti, butter and marmite with parmesan cheese (thank you, Nigella). I’m not picky. I’ll happily eat those eggs and ham.

I simply want to be like that girl with the ice cream. Not with two choices of ice cream, not with only novelty, I want staple food like it used to be, too. But I wonder if I’ll ever get that choice….

I know I’m new back to America and shopping, but what's the strangest food you've come across?

 

Nicole :-)

To find out more about Nicole Locke, visit her website, and follow her on Twitter.

 

Celebrating the Release of The Knight's Broken Promise, the first book in the Lovers and Legends series!

 

 

 

 

 

Nicole Locke: Are You Settled Yet?

Are you settled yet?

I can’t say how many times I’ve been asked this question since arriving in the US on the 17th of December. I'm sure people are simply being friendly and making idle chat. I'm sure they don't truly mean it.

Do they mean it!?  Because that sentence is equivalent to asking a new mother if she’s sleeping through the night. Isn’t it just assumed she isn’t sleeping through the night?

There is no way I am settled. What does that even mean? That I have a routine, that I’ve formed habits?

Because I don’t…I haven’t. I’m sleeping, I’m not. The kids are getting to school on time…they’re not. I don’t even leave my bedroom the same way yet.  I can go straight or turn right to get to the kitchen. Which way should I go? Which is faster, convenient, more scenic?

Does being settled mean my house is furnished because let me share some pictures with you. One is of the living room, and the other of my daughter's room.

These pictures are of the house right now. This is after copious amounts of shopping. Way more shopping than I ever care to do. Going to any store once a month is too much for me. Now I have to go food shopping two times a week, plus the hardware store, and the paint store. Don’t get me started on the online purchases. This is…this is death by shopping for me. And what do I have to show for it? Three mattresses, some bed frames, and a few rugs. Oh, I may have bought some bath towels, too.

But that’s all that people are going to see when they come in. They’re not going to see that I had to change my daughter’s rug three times only to realize none of them worked, so her floor is still bare. That her bed frame came, but the feet were all broken and I've been waiting weeks for replacements.

People aren’t going to come into my house and say: 'Nice paperclips and envelopes!' Or: 'Wow, you really agonized over that toothpaste brand didn’t you?'

Because I did. Absolutely. And that’s a story I’ll share another day when my shudders have lessened, and the store clerks aren’t alarmed anymore by the mumbling.

Quite simply, I can’t seem to have a routine if there’s nothing to routine with. My house is bare.

The horror of it is, you don’t know what you need until you don’t have it. Get out of the bath? Need a bath mat. Want to make fried rice? Buy every ingredient except… soy sauce. Have something stuck in your teeth? Well…you get the picture.

We left some things here in our old home, and are now using our new things, but this doesn’t help at all. There are no habits here. This isn’t the same spoon I’ve been using every day for a decade. I’m not turning on the same hob I’ve used for the last eleven years.

And how am I dealing with the fact I seem to have nothing and yet I’m shopping all the time? Not very well.  In fact, I resent it, am frustrated at it. Just want to set fire and start again. Except, I am starting again and have to buy a laundry basket. 

Does being settled mean what I fear it means. That I feel at home?  Because I don’t. Not at all. Not…yet. But I know something is beginning to happen. I found everyday cheese the family likes. And I think for now, that’ll have to be enough.

In the meantime, I'll keep battling and reporting from the trenches of moving house. Has anyone else moved home? Would love to know how you survived!

-- Nicole :-)

To find out more about Nicole Locke, visit her website, and follow her on Twitter.

The fourth book in the Lovers and Legends series, In Debt to the Enemy Lord, is out now! 

“You have a debt to pay. You owe me your life.”

Chapter 1, excerpt
 

Wales—1290

‘I’m going to die,’ Anwen of Brynmor muttered. ‘And why would that be? Because I climbed a tree and plunged to my death. That’s why.’

She circled the giant oak again. The thick lower branches could easily hold her weight. But it wasn’t the lowest branches terrifying her. No, it was the thinnest sprays of green at the top where she needed to go. She could no longer see her hunting goshawk tangled in the highest branches, but she could hear his screeching.

‘Oh, now you need me, do you? It would have been useful if you heeded me when you broke your creance and flew into Dameg Forest.’

She jumped, reached but missed the lowest branch. Her great blue gown billowed heavily around her legs. She quickly began unlacing the bodice.

‘No, I called and called and you just flapped your little wings, trailing your leather jesses behind you. You care now, don’t you? Now your jesses are tangled.’

Finished unlacing, she shrugged her shoulders until the gown pooled at her feet. Shivering, teeth chattering, she stepped out of the material. It was too cold to be in the forest, certainly too cold to be shedding any layers of clothing. At least it was also too cold for many people to be in the forest at this time of morning so there was no one to protest her lack of modesty. Shaking out any mud or wrinkles, she laid the gown gently on a fallen tree. It was her best dress despite the worn hem and hole in the sleeve.

‘I’d leave you if I could, Gully. But we have England’s fine King,

and Gwalchdu’s arrogant lord, who’d order a hand chopping for losing you.’

The tiny hawk let out a wild screech.

‘Oh, you’re for the death punishment as well, are you? It won’t be me who will be punished, it will be Melun. That kind old falconer never hurt you one day in his life. So I’ll fetch you for his sake, not for your stringy neck.’

Stepping closer to the trunk, she crouched low and leapt. She was rewarded with shredding her hands against the bark and falling on her backside in cold, partially frozen mud.

‘Owwww!’

She sat catching her breath, but not able to catch her anger which bloomed up out of her. Punching the mud, she vented her frustration. ‘Why couldn’t I simply go home peacefully? You know I loathe visiting Gwalchdu village with all its perfectly thatched houses and perfectly cleaned streets.’

Thinking of Gwalchdu angered her more. She sprang up and threw mud at the tree trunk. ‘Then you fly off, making more work for me. And now I’m ranting, you rotten bird!’

Jumping, she grabbed the branch with her lacerated hands. Pain knifed through her arms, but she wouldn’t let go. Swinging her legs, she pushed her feet on to the roughened bark. Her grip slipped and fury arced through her.

It was bad enough losing her pride and yelling at a bird. It was worse yet wanting to sulk. And for what? Only so she could compare Brynmor with Gwalchdu? Her home was superior to Gwalchdu and it always would be.

She bit her fingers deep into the bark. She refused to slip. Strongly Welsh, Brynmor had fought to the end of the war against the English and so would she. Pulling up with all her might, she screamed.