Friday's Harbor, a sequel to Hannah's Dream, hit the stores on October 8, 2013!
This is my first book release since I moved to St. Paul, Minnesota in Spring 2011, and I'm a little nervous about it. After 25 years in the Pacific Northwest, I'm comfortable with many of the bookstore owners and the people who work for them. Here, I'm a stranger. Which reminds me to mention that writing a book is one of the most solitary pursuits there is. That's what makes the transition from writer (hermit) to public writing persona (citizen of a larger world) so difficult. Ask anyone at Amore, our local and favorite coffee shop, and they'll tell you they hardly heard a peep out of me all last summer, when I was writing Friday.
Listen to a radio interview with Diane on Community Forum, KNPT AM, in
Listen to Bill Kenower and Diane talk about the writing process during an online interview on Author2Author, Author Magazine Online.
Read a feature article about Diane Hammond in the Pioneer Press, St. Paul's daily newspaper.
Read a lovely review from Ageless Pages reviews.
Read a fantasy casting call for Friday's Harbor.
See Friday's Harbor's "Page 69 Test."
Recent ponderings on Facebook:
October 29, 2013: This page didn’t make it to 1,000 likes this weekend. I’m still hoping we’ll get there soon, though. Maybe by Friday? This is the way bestsellers are made—one “like” at a time. Won’t you help keep them coming?
Now, you may be asking yourselves how, and why, I can so brazenly petition my Facebook followers to make "Friday's Harbor" a bestseller. I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Here’s what I’ve come up with.
Mama needs a new pair of boots.
Those of you whom I've met in person almost invariably hear about (and see) my boots, each pair more over-the-top than the one before. In which case you also know about my nearly paralyzing fear of public speaking. Admittedly, after five novels it's getting easier, but not enough to abandon the juju of my footwear-with-attitude.
Here's the thing: I'm a New Yorker, born and raised. I have neither attended nor participated in a rodeo; nor have I asked little doggies to git along. I do not own a bolero tie, silver concho belt, chunky turquoise jewelry, or high-waisted jeans with no back pockets. I don’t own a single bandana. I am in no way entitled to wear western boots.
And yet, that’s the point: who could possibly have more moxie than a New Yorker with my credentials striding into a book event in over-the-top cowboy boots? Someone with shoe-courage and buckets of attitude to spare--or at least someone who would never need drugs and hypnotherapy to face her readers.
Meet my author persona.
She has served me well through the events launching "Friday's Harbor." But either she needs shoring up, or I’m looking for a rationale to go shopping. Which usually I hate—all except for shoes. My feet are a perfect size 6.5. Everything fits. Everything. Don’t you agree that only a goddess could have such feet? But that’s a different persona, a story for another day . . . .
October 26, 2013: Have you seen my glasses—the progressives with tortoiseshell frames, the first ones I’ve ever really loved, never mind the only ones through which I can really see? Because I somehow managed to lose them today in a Barnes & Noble or Costco, take your pick. We were in three of the former plus the latter, signing store stock and, in the case of Costco (shhhh, don’t tell), stealthily rearranging the paperbacks so “Friday’s Harbor” was front and center on the table.
And here’s where I keep getting stuck: how in hell could I have lost them when I NEED THEM TO SEE? Wouldn’t you expect that at some point I would have realized everything around me was blurry—especially because much of the time I was surrounded by books, the very things by which I gauge the effectiveness of my prescription?
But no; there I was, one block from home as the terrible realization dawned, frantically patting my pockets, opening and reopening the overhead glasses-receptacle, patting my face like an idiot—fooled you! You’re wearing them!—certain the glasses had to be there someplace; but alas, no. All I had—was wearing, in fact—were my sunglasses, the ones without the reading correction I was too cheap to get, and in which I might otherwise have staggered through at least the next week or so, surrounded by the dual darknesses of grey lenses and deep denial; as though, magically, the beloved progressives might reappear.
And to think that the day had begun with such hope—books to sign, table displays to rearrange, dogs to pamper on this beautiful crisp fall day. So if you see them, the glasses that are probably, even now, winging their way to that forever place, the Land of Lost Eyewear, won’t you persuade them to come back to me?
October 22, 2013: A blogger recently asked what I consider the highest compliment a book can get, and my answer was, "I gave this book as a gift."
A reader just commented on "Hannah's Dream," (which precedes "Friday's Harbor"): "This was the best book that I have read in a LONG TIME! . . . . I purchased a copy for my mother & friend.I also suggested the book to my physician and she purchased one also.It was great reading the book when I did,because I only had to wait a couple weeks for the sequel to come out . . . . "
So I say to reviewer "U", I will treasure this!