Barb Meyers's Blog

The Forbidden Bean Origins

Barbara Meyers — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 21:43:51 +0000

Ever wonder how authors come up with ideas? I’ve worked in a chain coffee store for years, and don’t get me wrong, it’s a great job with great benefits, but after five years there I kept thinking, there’s got to be a way to make money from this. Hmm. Wonder if I could write a book incorporating some of my experiences. One day I took the “what ifs” I’d been fooling around with and sat at a table in a local Starbucks (with a caramel macchiato as I recall) and started exploring the possibilities. Transcribed below are the actual notes I wrote that day:
Urban Fantasy 4/8/08
Starbucks – espresso – reaction – gives special magical powers.
Short stories?
Darrell’s check.
She solves problems of customers.
But what gives HER the special powers?
An allergy?
Her body chemistry?
Something she adds to the espresso in the right combination?
Her apron becomes a cape
She finds a bag of beans buried in the back room – that says DO NOT TOUCH or DO NOT USE.
Peaberry blend
The glow? The sparkle?
Maybe she eats a coffee bean and when she does she’s magically transformed into Super Barista.
What problems can she solve? She can help her other barista co-workers as well as customers.
Lots of short stories here.
What are problems?
Maybe she creates connections for people w/problems who can solve them. Or does she solve them herself? Is she the conduit/catalyst?
Job loss
Illness
Infertility
Loneliness
Depression
Death/Grief
Accidents
Divorce
The Economy
Foreclosure
Unemployment
No money for college
Natural Disaster
Car Trouble
Gas prices
Starvation
She finds struggling people and finds a way to help them.
No, she gets severe ESP so she knows things about people she shouldn’t know. John Edward type stuff? Death related. She can see ghosts or angels. Communicates with other worldly beings (make them up?)
She becomes other worldly temporarily. Solves crimes? Brings criminals to justice? Must be a downside for her. After effect is either detrimental to her physically or emotionally. Maybe she disconnects from her “real” life and becomes more and more involved in other world. Why doesn’t she stop? Because she’s addicted. Maybe a weekly or monthly addiction? What happens if she doesn’t get her fix?
This is how the book that became The Forbidden Bean began. It took almost four years, feedback, rejection and criticism from fellow authors, agents and editors before I said, “Screw it!” and published it myself.
I now have pages and pages of notes and ideas for subsequent books in the series I call Grinding Reality. (Tee is assistant manager of a coffee store. Thus the series title.) I am working on the second book in the series which might be entitled Cool Beans. There’s a preview of it at the end of The Forbidden Bean.Looking for something different to read? Here it is.
Grinding Reality Book One: The Forbidden Bean by AJ Tillock
An excerpt and buy links are on my web site: www.barbmeyers.com
#theforbiddenbean

Addiction to The Forbidden Bean

Barbara Meyers — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 16:18:46 +0000

What if you had an addiction to a substance for which there was no rehab? What if you couldn’t tell anyone about your addiction?

In Tee Rutledge I may have created the ideal fictional addict, but there are many correlations to real life addiction. First of all, she has no idea that swallowing one forbidden coffee bean will addict her to them. She doesn’t even realize she is hooked until some time later. She tries to fight her addiction, but she can’t. The lure of the bean and the transformations they cause while she’s under one’s influence are stronger than her will.

She hides her addiction (sound familiar?) and covers up what happens during her transformations because she’s quite certain no one would believe she’s addicted to coffee beans, of all things, or that after swallowing one she temporarily turns into…something else. A fly on a wall, or a butterfly or a cockroach. The power she gains through her addiction is addictive.

She was warned, however, by the package before she opened it, but she didn’t heed the warning. Like a kid picking up his first cigarette, the caution that it is hazardous to his health goes unheeded. Just one won’t hurt me. Next thing you know he’s hooked and it’s a pack a day.

In spite of all the warnings about drugs and alcohol, all the “preventative” measures we take to inform children in this country about the negative impact of even trying them, we are a nation full of addicts.

I come from a long line of addicts, alcoholics mostly. My father told me the story of experiencing his first beer at age ten when his father took him into a bar and bought him a bowl of beer. This was after they’d driven the wagon from the farm into town. Can you imagine how my father must have felt after that beer? Warm and woozy and spending time with his dad one on one. My dad was the eldest of five children and grew up on a farm in the Midwest during the Depression. Of course he must have associated drinking beer with one of his best, happiest memories. Nearly everyone on his side of the family drank beer. Some of my cousins and some of my siblings are or were alcoholics.

One of my brothers explained addiction to me this way: There is no gray area for him. It’s all or nothing. He’d been through rehab for alcohol and drug addiction. He kept his nicotine addiction because it was the last vice he had left and he wasn’t about to give it up. If he found something he liked (frozen lime fruit bars, for example) he’d consume an entire box. He couldn’t have just one.

Working in a coffee shop, I am surrounded by addicts. I don’t know if it’s the caffeine, the ritual, the cup, the flavor or what exactly the customers are addicted to. Perhaps all of those and more.

If you’ve ever watched Intervention or read accounts of drug addicts, part of the addiction is the ritual, the needle or the pipe, the preparation. It’s almost better than the high. I think this is true of many coffee customers. It’s the ritual of waiting in line, moving closer to the counter, exchanging cash for a cup of fresh brew. It’s fascinating to watch the interactions that occur on a daily basis. Tee, also, is weirdly mesmerized by those forbidden beans with their unidentifiable coating. She develops a ritual of hiding in the storeroom, opening the bag of beans, withdrawing one, examining it, tasting it, rolling it on her tongue, despising her inability to stop consuming them.

In later blogs I’ll try to explain how the Grinding Reality series idea came about. For now, I hope you enjoy reading The Forbidden Bean. In fact, I hope you become addicted to it.

I love hearing from readers.
Contact me at barb@barbmeyers.com
#www.barbmeyers.com
#The Forbidden Bean
#Grinding Reality
#AJ Tillock

The Forbidden Bean

Barbara Meyers — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 13:11:56 +0000

THIS IS NOT A ROMANCE NOVEL! I feel I should state that clearly up front because I’ve been writing romance and women’s fiction for so long and that’s where my publishing career started. For the Barbara Meyers romance novel fans, there will be more of those, but this is something so completely different, I decided to write it under a pen name.
After years of working as a barista in a coffee store chain I decided I should be getting more out of the experience than all the free coffee I could consume along with my not very impressive paycheck. (An aside here, the health insurance and other benefits make it all worthwhile.)
I had noticed the urban fantasy section of my publisher’s web site was virtually wide open at the time (2008) and once I figured out what urban fantasy entailed I thought, “I can write that.” The Forbidden Bean isn’t quite right for them, however, and positive comments from other editors aside, no other publisher was willing to take a bite, or a sip as it were.
So, here we go again, as part of my grand indepent publishing experiment, with a ninety-nine cent price tag, The Forbidden Bean, the first book in the Grinding Reality series is now available on Amazon.com and will soon be available in iBookstore and on barnesandnoble.com.
Love the cover art? That’s the work of an amazing artist, Lindsey Beach.
Look for more about the creation of the cover and the book in later posts. But for now…I have to go put my apron on and create a few lattes.
Enjoy the power of the bean!
Visit me at www.barbmeyers.com
Remember, positive reviews help authors AND readers. Authors love readers and want the readers to love their books.

Blitzed by Bejeweled

Barbara Meyers — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 14:02:03 +0000

On December 23rd I made the mistake of asking my daughter what game she was playing on her iPhone. “Bejeweled,” she replied. “Want to play?”
Frankly, she should know better than to entice me into something so addictive. I had been perfectly happy up to that point not knowing what Bejeweled was. Oh sure, I saw the posts of my Facebook friends and their scores of this and various other games. I’ve had my ups and downs with Facebook anyway and tend to hide my friends who do nothing but post their game scores, because frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. And I’d much prefer they not know my pathetic Bejeweled scores, although whether I successfully blocked it, I’m not sure.
That first night I played long after my daughter left for the night. She kindly left her phone with me, but eventually it ran out of juice. Like a true addict I dug through her suitcase searching for her phone recharger, only to realize her phone recharges through her computer. I now am amused by the thought that even if I had been able to successfully recharge the phone, how would I ever have navigated through her apps to find the game on my own?
She later explained the game is available on Facebook and don’t you know I downloaded it ASAP. On Christmas Eve, long after gifts were opened and family had departed, I stayed up until 2 a.m. playing this ridiculous game that I don’t understand and am not very good at. Why, then, am I addicted?
I do believe we all have some form of addiction. For years I was addicted to crossword puzzles courtesy of my friend Sandy. Then, after my friend Lynn explained Suduko to me, I did those puzzles constantly. I still attempt the daily one in the newspaper when I have time. But now I’m on to something new and I have no idea why.
I justify it by telling myself it’s no worse than watching TV for hours at a time, which frankly, I do only if I’m reading as well or playing a card game on my laptop. Sometimes I even work out while watching mindless entertainment shows.
But now that I’m addicted to Bejeweled, I just sit in front my desktop computer and play again and again and again. I think I’ve worn out the hint button because much of the time I can’t see the big picture. I have this idea that the gremlins inside the game are laughing at me when they hint at a possible move. They are saying things to each other about me. “What an idiot.” “Man she’s slow.” “Why does she bother?”
These are all the things I say to myself. I don’t understand the coins system, the explosions, what makes all those extra points add up after the game is over. I honestly haven’t a clue why I can sit mindlessly playing such a ridiculous game while telling myself I could be doing so many other things with my valuable time. Yet there I sit.
Good thing each game is only one minute. My morning so far has gone something like this: game of Bejeweled; sip of coffee. game of Bejeweled; sip of coffee. Last night it went something like this: game of Bejeweled; handful of caramel corn; game of Bejeweled; handful of caramel corn. My daughter evidently has decided to encourage all my bad habits. Where do you think I got the big tin of caramel corn?
I keep thinking Bejeweled is a metaphor for my life: Most of the time I don’t understand what’s going on, yet I keep muddling through it, trying to figure out my next move. I receive helpful hints along the way although I’m not always quick enough to pick up on them. Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, a big sign is going to flash and tell me time’s up.

visit me at www.barbmeyers.com
#postaweek2011

My Oldest Friend

Barbara Meyers — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 15:04:07 +0000

“Write about your oldest friend.”
I am interpreting this to mean someone with whom you’ve had a friendship of long duration, not someone you’re friends with who is a senior citizen or close to it.
My oldest friend is Cathy. We met in secretarial school and soon discovered we lived down the street from each other so we started car pooling.
My initial impression of Cathy was, she was well put together and nicely dressed. We were learning speedwriting in order to take dictation and as a left-hander, Cathy had to turn her notebook upside down so the wire binding wouldn’t be in her way.
On our brief break during morning classes, Cathy, this other girl Charlotte and I would drive to the nearby McDonald’s for Cokes and fries. Cathy would pull out a box of fancy French cigarettes. She liked them because they had a gold band around the filter. She had to go to a special tobacco shop downtown to buy them.
Cathy had a plan. She was attending secretarial school so she could work as a secretary while she attended college. Soon she found a part-time secretarial position. On paydays, she’d have an assortment of envelopes earmarked for various purchases. She’d divide her cash up into each of them. She drove a little yellow car her father who was a doctor had bought her. She was still dating her high school boyfriend, but they eventually broke up.
I remember the first time I went over to her house and saw her bedroom. She had a can of Dr. Pepper open on her desk along with a big bag of Cheetos. Cathy was pretty slender, but right then and there I thought, “I can be friends with this girl. She eats junk food.” She had a bulletin board crammed with mementos. Cards and ribbons and ticket stubs. All kinds of stuff.
I’d had a relationship that ended badly and I moved away from the area for awhile, but Cathy called me on Christmas. I think that’s when I knew she was going to be one of those forever friends. We hadn’t known each other for very long, but the fact that she missed me or thought of me enough to call me on Christmas meant a lot. When I moved back we started hanging out all the time.
We’d haunt the cosmetic aisle at the nearby Albertsons and practice applying individual fake eyelashes on each other. We were regulars at a local pub that sold cheap pitchers of Sangria.
Our lives took different paths. She did go to college and got her degree. We followed each other through our various romantic relationships and we were in each other’s weddings. In fact, she was the only person I asked to stand up with me at my wedding.
For years Cathy collected Hummels. I never did understand their appeal. She went on to make a career in the world of scrapbooking which was perfect for her since she was doing it long before it became big business.
Cathy was always a champion multi-tasker, but she honed her skills even further homeschooling five daughters. She may still be struggling with her addictions to M & M’s and Pepsi.
We haven’t lived in close proximity to each other for years, but we manage to see each other at least a couple of times a year. In between, there are long telephone calls, occasional texts and Facebook. We used to randomly send funny cards to each other for no reason at all.
Together, we’ve pondered the reason we became such good friends. I’m not sure we ever know why we click with one person and not with others. I can say now, with so much history between us, that Cathy is one of those people who simply gets me. We often think alike and have the same reaction to things. We are always there for each other, even if it’s just a phone call to vent to someone who will understand when we’re upset. There is something to be said for having at least one person in your life to whom you can say anything.
Years ago we talked of taking a trip to Paris together. Then 9/11 happened and we put it off. After that there were other reasons we didn’t go, kids and college expenses and scheduling conflicts. Instead of funny cards we started randomly sending each other small Paris-themed items just for fun. We both have quite a collection now. My passport is about to expire and has no stamps in it. Sigh.
I suggested perhaps a trip to Paris, Tennessee might be doable, but Cathy has yet to respond to that idea.

Visit me at www.barbmeyers.com

#postaweek2011

Working Girl

Barbara Meyers — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 16:39:34 +0000

Just a few of the encounters I’ve had with customers in the past couple of days:

“I’ve Got a Lot of Nerve”
May I use your phone?
Yes, if it’s a local call.
Why are you taking the phone over to that comfy chair to make your call? Why are you keeping the phone on the table next to you?
Why, when the phone rings, do you think it might be for you? Seriously?
Um, no, it’s the district manager and it’s for me. We’re running a business here.
Oh, well, I just have to make one more call at 2 p.m. What time is it?
It’s five to two. What am I? Your secretary?
I repeat we’re running a business here.
It’s on behalf of the mentally ill. I’m disabled.
I’m sorry about that but…we’re running a business here.

“I Am Not A Liar”
Do you have blueberry frozen blended beverages?
No, I don’t think we’ve ever had blueberry frozen blended beverages.
Maybe not in this location you didn’t but I assure you at one time blueberry frozen blended beverages were available.
I’ve been here for eight years. I don’t believe we ever had blueberry frozen blended beverages.
I’m not making it up. I’m not a liar.
I didn’t mean to imply that you were.
(It is entirely possible we had blueberry frozen blended beverages at one time and I’ve completely blocked it out of my memory. But we’re talking years ago.)
P.S. Thank you for purchasing $20 worth of drinks even though we didn’t have blueberry frozen blended beverages and you clearly thought I had insulted you by implying you were a liar.

“I Am Helpless”
I’m driving to Tampa from the East Coast with my friend. How far away am I?
About 150 miles.
It will take us ten minutes to order two drinks and two sandwiches.
Can you cut those sandwiches in half?
Can you carry them outside for us. My friend has weak hands.

“I Don’t Have My Receipt”
My cup broke and I want to exchange it for another one.
We don’t do returns or exchanges on merchandise without a receipt.
Fine, can I speak to your manager?.
He’s not here. I’m the manager at the moment.
All I want to do is exchange this cup for a new one. The lid came off and I dropped it and it shattered.
We don’t do returns or exchanges on merchandise without a receipt.
No one told me that.
Did you buy it here?
No, I bought it at another location a couple of miles further down the road.
Maybe you can take it back there and they’ll exchange it for you.
Why would I do that? I live a minute away from here.
I’m sorry ma’am. I suggest you try the other store.
I have my child with me. Why would I drive twenty minutes (it’s not a twenty-minute drive) to another store and subject my child to that?
No comment. Roll eyes. Feel blood pressure rise.
You can call corporate customer service. Maybe they can help you.
Why don’t you call them for me?
Fine.
Corporate customer service is only open weekdays in another time zone during these hours.
Can you call your manager because I’m not leaving here until you do what I want you to do.
Fine. Manager says if you’re being that big a pain in my ass to exchange your cup.
Bitch.

“I Have My Receipt”
I need to exchange this cup because the person I bought it for has one already.
Do you have your receipt?
Yes, I do.
That’s lovely. I got into an altercation with a customer the other day who didn’t have a receipt.
I would never try to exchange something without the receipt.
What a pleasant surprise. Would you like a beverage today?
No, thank you.
Okay. We refunded the full amount to your credit card. Is there anything else we can do for you?
No, thank you. Have a nice day.
You have a nice day, too.
Why can’t all the customers be like you?

It IS good to be employed. But this is also why I write fiction.

Visit me at www.barbmeyers.com

Is This My Scattered Moments Blurb?

Barbara Meyers — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 00:23:02 +0000

“A picture is worth a thousand regrets… Scarred by childhood abandonment, Amanda Heinrich is trapped by vows she made to her husband, Martin, her child and herself. Even after she meets her soulmate, Hart Michaelson, she sees no escape from the life she’s created.
While she fights her connection to Hart, her focus drifts from her marriage leaving Martin open to seduction by a woman Amanda considers a friend. Photographer Lyla Decker has an agenda all her own and a camera trained to do her dirty work.
When Hart is accused of murder, photographs surface to tell their own version of the truth: Martin was not the honorable man he was believed to be, nor does Hart and Amanda’s relationship appear at all innocent.
Every choice Amanda has made is cast in a sinister light and Hart’s freedom, as well as her own, hinges on her ability to expose a deranged killer’s secrets.
A camera may capture scattered moments in time. Soulmates capture each other for life.”

Don’t get me started on the angst of writing a blurb. Usually it isn’t such a struggle, but for some reason I can’t encapsulize the gist of Scattered Moments in a few simple sentences. I can say it’s about a married woman who meets her soulmate thirteen years too late, which it is, but there’s so much more to the story. Here are some of my other blurb attempts:

Lonely wife of a wealthy man… Amanda Heinrich sold herself short when she married Martin thirteen years ago. Left with the scars of abandonment by her own mother, she swore she’d be a better wife, mother and woman. She vows to honor her commitments to husband and child.
Wakes at the touch of a carpenter’s hand…When Amanda meets Hart Michaelson she discovers her soulmate and what it means to be truly connected to another human being. Amanda fears retribution from her husband which will devastate her daughter and Hart.
Scattered moments, prying eyes… Amanda and Hart’s innocent encounters are secretly photographed by someone Amanda considers a friend. Those images, along with ones of Martin in compromising positions, become damning evidence when Hart becomes the prime suspect in a murder investigation.
Abandoned lover now despised…Amanda and Hart must expose the photographer as the murderer.

And then there’s this:

Amanda Heinrich meets Hart Michaelson and instinctively knows he is her soulmate. She is forced to examine every choice she’s made, including her thirteen-year marriage to a man who barely notices her. She can no longer deny her role in creating her discontent with the life she thought she wanted. The vows she made to herself long ago may no longer be valid.
Meanwhile, someone Amanda considers a friend lures stuffy Martin Heinrich into an affair by offering him a taste of deviant sexual experiences.
Mysterious photographs of Hart and Amanda’s innocent encounters as well as compromising pictures of Martin begin to surface after a murdered body is discovered on the Heinrich’s property. The images cast a sinister light on Amanda’s relationship with both men, forcing her to confront her guilt and regret. When Hart is accused of the crime, Amanda must save him if she is to save herself.
She and Hart must expose the unseen photographer as the murderer before Hart is convicted. In doing so, Amanda becomes the woman she always wanted to be: A woman deserving of love from a man who’s always known who she really is.

At the moment I’m not thrilled with any of them and even less thrilled with the one that appears on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I’ve been back and forth with a couple of critiquing friends who’ve given helpful feedback, but one of the wonderful things about being an independently published author is, it’s up to me.

Can’t I just say, “This is probably the best book I’ve ever written. Read it. You’ll love it?”

Visit me at www.barbmeyers.com
#postaweek2011

Picky Reader – 25

Barbara Meyers — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 14:10:23 +0000

Flirting in Cars by Alisa Kwitney. Sort of a women’s fiction/romance story. I liked it.
Glitter Baby by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. I thought I’d read everything of hers, but I must have missed this one. True to form, SEP never disappoints her readers.
Violet by Design by Melissa Walker. I don’t normally read young adult fiction. This was a pretty good book, although if young adults tend to annoy you, don’t bother. The character of Violet is full of contradictions and waffles between being wise and immature. But that is the nature of young women her age.
A Vintage Affair by Isabel Wolff. I enjoyed this book. It has a lot parallels in it and connections made from past to present through the main character who owns a vintage clothing shop. She heals her own emotional wounds by helping a dying woman put her past to rest.
Fools Paradise by Jennifer Stevenson. I read this on my Kindle. It is a laugh-out-loud romantic comedy about stagehands and union infighting. There is one bedroom scene in particular which I found wildly hysterical. Fun and entertaining.
Here is another book I’m recommending. Scattered Moments. I am still working on a good blurb for it. (Don’t get me started on the angst of writing effective blurbs.) What’s a married woman to do when she meets her soulmate thirteen years too late? Sure there’s lots more to the book than that, a frenemy with her own agenda and a hidden camera, a husband she doesn’t know as well as she thinks she does, and vows she made to herself long ago which she now must re-examine. Scattered Moments is available for 99 cents on Amazon.com and bn.com right now. P.S. I would have posted this blog much earlier if WordPress wasn’t being a pain and not letting me upload my gorgeous cover. I still don’t know how I did it!
Visit me at www.barbmeyers.com
#postaweek2011