Authors wage a constant battle—besides the one going on with the characters living in their minds: the battle of balance. Keeping life in balance while making a living and getting those pages written.

This struggle isn’t exclusive to writers. We all fight the same thing: the family needs more time today, but your schedule is already full; or the baby is sick and the only time the doctor can work you in is 3:05pm, but you have a critical meeting at 3pm; or you haven’t written a word for two weeks, you’ve taken a day off to write, and your boss needs you to cover an out of town presentation. You get the idea.

Writing fiction is my job and I love it. I get to make things up for a living – how great is that?! But my neighbors still have a hard time understanding that I can’t take a two-hour drive just to try a new place for lunch. I really am working up here.

I just returned from a weekend trip that combined a writing conference with visiting friends. While I had a lot of fun, and made some great contacts and new friends, I lost four writing days. And I can’t just turn off the world for the next couple of weeks to get caught up. So I end up spinning my creative wheels and beating myself about the head and shoulders for not getting more done, which doesn’t help my productivity OR make me feel any better. lol

The toughest challenge for me, as a fulltime, self-employed writer, is keeping my priorities in what I consider proper order – family, then self, then work. (That second one is always the toughest one!)

There are days when the order of priority changes. Sometimes work has to take the lead, and putting myself first on occasion saves my sanity. But for the most part, I try to remember what’s really important.

I’m learning to set my daily goals and expectations so I can keep things in perspective. And I try to remember that it’s okay to be selfish sometimes – it helps keep me ‘on the level.’

How about you? Are you successful in keeping a balance between work, play and family? What do you do to take care of yourself?

I am a writer who appreciates a good critique group or partner. I was in a critique group for a few years before I was published, and have been in one all the years since I’ve been published—and most of those years in a group that meets every single week. My group goes through stages. Stage of productivity, members moving away, and our process of screening a replacement.

Every January we each buy a datebook or planner and use it as a tool for the coming year. We share our goals and hold each other accountable. My friend *lizzie starr has a couple of great blogs on goal planning and using a calendar if that interests you. CLICK HERE and HERE

It’s serious business, this critique group thing. You don’t invite anyone who isn’t compatible. You have to respect the people who are going to offer comments on your work. For me it has nothing to do with published or unpublished; it has to do with work ethic, knowledge or willingness to learn, and enthusiasm. I especially love having a new person or a beginning writer in the group because of their energy.

And frankly another brain ain’t nothin’ to turn your nose up at. I love my other brains during the brainstorming process or when I’m stuck. Sure, I get the ideas on my own, I put the pieces together and make all the decisions, but I only have one brain and one life experience. Getting feedback from other writers who have different perspectives AND understand the process of story writing is invaluable to me.

I know some writers who don’t like anyone else meddling in their stories—some find it changes their story too much. I go into the process with elements I’ve chosen that I won’t budge on, so the possibility of taking my story a wrong direction isn’t a problem or a possibility. I’m flexible about everything else because new perspectives keep me fresh. If someone in my group makes a suggestion that isn’t considered, it’s not because it was a bad suggestion; it’s just because that idea didn’t work for that writer’s story. We all understand that. Nobody gets her nose out of joint.

Our noses are all in joint, thank you.

Last year my RWA chapter started a different critique as well. Once a month, one of the members, Teryl Oswald, hosts an evening critique session to which all chapter members are invited. The members break up into brainstorming and critiquing groups and spend the evening working on each other’s stories. I enjoy it because it’s a terrific way to work with a more diverse gathering, hear other people’s ideas and stories and get to know chapter members I otherwise wouldn’t have otherwise had the opportunity to know. It’s a great place for beginners to find help and instruction.

I got my author copies of my April Mother’s Day anthology, To Be a Mother. My story is called Montana Rose, and it involves a school teacher, an orphan, and a stubborn rancher. Today I’m offering autographed copies to three readers whose names I’ll draw from the comments. Since I won’t be blogging here again before Valentine’s Day, this will be my Valentine offering.

Smooches!

I hunted down the covers you mentioned and added a couple more of my own. The Jane Goodger book I bought purely for the cover, and it was the first book of hers I ever read. Now I enjoy her stories and might not have discovered her if not for the white cover. I had never seen a snow scene so striking, and because it was different it caught my eye.

And I located a couple with Nathan Kamp.

Some of us probably got bookstore or amazon gift certificates for Christmas, didn’t we? How many new books have you purchased so far this year? I’m guessing you already had books on your wish list and that you were waiting for them to be released. But sometimes those books just leap off the shelf at us. When I saw the cover for Her Montana Man for the first time, I was ecstatic. I didn’t think my good cover fortune could get any better. And then I saw the cover for Her Colorado Man. I experienced a moment of pure cover elation. Cover love. Cover adoration. I love that cover.

When I fill out my cover suggestions for the art department and marketing team, I select two or three key scenes from the book and describe the characters’ clothing and the weather and the time of day. And then I hold my breath. Sometimes the resulting image is nothing like I imagined, and other times it’s even better. This romantic depiction is from a scene during the Denver exhibition when Wes and Mariah dance under the stars, away from public view. You can even see the decorative lanterns in the background.

So imagine this: You’re standing in the checkout line, and the books catch your eye. One book in particular holds your interest. You pick it up, turn it over, and open to the first page. You must have this book. Into your cart it goes.

What was it that caught your eye? Something about that cover made you reach for the book. Maybe something about the back cover lured you in. Maybe you didn’t even look at the price

I’ll bet you can remember more than one time that you’ve picked up a book for the cover alone. I know I have. On the other hand, I’ve passed by some terrific stories because the covers turned me off. I can think of one in particular. I got the book in my stack of entries to judge for the RITA awards. I even put it off until the last, only to discover it was an incredible story that hooked me from the get go and never let up. I liked the author’s voice and style so much that I hunted her backlist and read as many as I could get my hands on. So what was it I didn’t like about that cover, you ask? It was a cartoon cover. I have never purchased a book with a cartoon cover—well except the others by that same author.

I think most of us have auto-buy authors – an author you buy simply because you know they’re going to deliver a story you will enjoy, no matter the subject or the cover. For me there are several of those: Sharon Sala, Anne Frasier, Janet Evanovich, Robyn Carr just to name a few.

I’ve purchased books based on reviews – sort of like movie reviews that tempt me. Not because the review was glowing, but because the synopsis told me the book was about a subject or character I knew I would like. I’ve bought books because someone recommended them to me. I have purchased a book because of an ad. That could have been because of the cover or the blurb. I’ve never bought one because of a quote on the front or because I saw the book trailer.

If I had to say where most of my book buying was done over the past couple of years, I’d confess it wasn’t done in stores, but online. Convenience is the reason – and because –sadly — the chain stores carry less and less of the mid-list books. At least one huge chain store near me (Target) no longer carries Harlequin or Silhouette lines!

Online book shopping is a whole different beast. You pretty much need to know what you’re looking for, or at least I do. amazon has that clever suggestion feature that shows what they think you’d like based on your previous purchases. And you can subscribe to any number of newsletters by your favorite authors to be prepared for their new releases.

But there’s something about looking at those covers…something about picking up that book, seeing it in person…up close and personal, covers are enticing. For me — If it has a western or an Americana look, I’m a sucker. There was a day when many readers would buy any book with Fabio or John DeSalvo on the cover. I’m probably in the minority of romance readers who aren’t impressed by cover models. In fact, if I recognize the guy on the front, it’s a complete turnoff for me. He has become a model in my eyes, not the fantasy hero I want to meet for the first time and fall in love with.  I guess that’s it–a recognizable face spoils the fantasy.

I also prefer cover people with heads, thank you very much. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t like to stare and stare, trying to figure out where the story peoples’ faces are. I’m a bigger fan of bare backs with laces falling away than of legs and high heels, but that’s probably my historical preferences coming out. I will always buy a cowboy or a cowboy hat. And I don’t mind flowers.

And FYI: Desceptive cover, Catherine Anderson’s newest book Early Dawn is a western!

So what type of cover attracts you?

Have you ever bought a book just for the cover?

Do you buy books for the author’s name, no matter what the cover looks like?

What are your criteria for spending your cash on a new author’s book?

Have you ever bought a book because you’d met the author and liked him or her?

Picked up any beautiful books lately?

For my first blog of 2010, I must wish you a blessed new year. May 2010 bring you every good thing, and may all your Christmas dreams come true.

No holiday season would be complete at our house without a gander at the Tournament of Roses Parade, long called “America’s New Years’ Celebration.”

In my early days, I ooohed and aaahed a ‘plenty in front of a black and white TV set, and as a teen, I spent a New Year’s Eve sleeping in somebody’s driveway for a first-hand experience. However, these days I relax in front of my big screen with a mimosa.

As a kid, I remember Christmas cards from the Kansas kinfolk who couldn’t wait to see the flower-bedecked floats on TV on a bleak winter morning. Not until I lived through my first Midwest winter in college did I understand their awe.

In fact, for that very reason, the first Tournament of Roses parade was staged in 1890 by members of Valley Hunt Club, a social club in Pasadena, California. Most of them were former residents of snow country who wished to showcase the mild winter weather of their new home.

 ”In New York, people are buried in snow,” announced Professor Charles F. Holder at a Club meeting. “Here our flowers are blooming and our oranges are about to bear. Let’s hold a festival to tell the world about our paradise.”

 The first parades included various horse-drawn transports covered in local flowers, and eventually came to include ostrich races, bronco busting demonstrations, and a race between a camel and an elephant. (The elephant won.) Eastern newspapers began to take serious notice of the event, and history was made.

In 1883, the Never on Sunday rule was instituted, to avoid frightening horses tethered at churches along the parade route. This rule stands today. If January first lands on a Sunday, the Parade is held on Monday the 2nd. And only twice in almost sixty years has there been rain..the parade goes on nonetheless.

In 1902, the Tournament of Roses decided to enhance the day’s festivities by adding a football game – the first post season college football game ever held. The Rose Bowl, granddaddy of them all.

The Tournament of Roses has come a long way since those early days of horses and wagons. On the five and a half mile route, floats today can exceed 100 feet in length, although they must watch out for a 90 degree turn in the road and a freeway overpass. They feature high-tech computerized animation and exotic organic material from all over the world. Each visible inch of the float must be covered with natural materials and these include much more than roses and flower petals. Ground rice, pinto beans, seaweed, poppyseed, and coconut bark are just a handful of the materials used. Who woulda thunk orange slices make good fish scales?

After the parade, floats are parked on display for two days, and a couple of years ago we got some great photographs.

 Although most floats nowadays are built by professional building companies and take up to a year to construct, a few floats are still created by volunteers. The post-Christmas week flurry of activity is something I clearly remember from my teen years when our church group, the “Pedal Pushers” worked frantically to get our entry finished.

This year my favorite of the 40 floats was  Donate Life which featured 76 “floragraphs” in memory of organ donors, the beautiful portraits done  in flowers and seeds.  And on a lighter note (I have two grand-pup bulldogs), the Guinness-record longest single-chassis float at 113 feet was sponsored by Natural Balance Pet Foods and featured snowboarding bulldogs. Tilman the star bullie, happens to be a hometown hero. Since the ski slope couldn’t be covered with plant material, it needed special permission to participate.

I hope you got to enjoy this year’s parade. And I hope you’ve gotten to enjoy my current release, Marrying Minda, or soon will. I’m thrilled the follow-up book, Marrying Mattie, featuring Minda’s sister will be released later this year. So, tell me about your parade experiences. Any Rose Paraders out there? How about Macy’s? Hometown charmers? Harbor Parades of Lights?

A Christmas Memory…

For the second time in her life, our daughter Christi wasn’t here with us on a Christmas Eve. Four days ago, she was in Arizona with her new in-laws. However she and her hubby kept the promise to fly back home in time for Christmas dinner. Prime rib, fun stuff, and family.

The first time we spent Christmas Eve apart was Christi’s first on earth. Two weeks old, she spent it in a neonatal intensive care unit hooked to every wire and tube imaginable. I still get shivers at the memory.

Thing is, she’d been born a hearty nine-pounder, healthy and content after a short easy labor. As I held my newborn daughter, I knew my life was complete with a handsome hubby at my side and a precious two-year old son waiting at home.

But four days before Christi’s first Christmas, disaster struck. Her unusual irritability and sudden fever of 106 brought about the fearsome diagnosis of bacterial meningitis, and my perfect world began to unravel. She went into isolation, and I went into full panic.

“She’s in good hands here,” said the pediatrician, also a mom. “Come here whenever you want to, but remember, it’s Christmas, and your little boy needs you, too.”

Good advice. Although our hearts were heavy, we took her brother to see Santa, shopped and cooked and pretended, laid the tiny red velvet dress from her Uncle Mike across her empty bassinette at home. We saw our baby whenever possible, but it was total agony not to touch her, to only see her through the transparent confines of a tiny temperature-controlled isolette. The nurses hung a little white Christmas stocking on it to add some cheer.

Tears rarely stopped although we did our best to hide them, and nights were long and sleepless. We prayed without ceasing.

On the second hospital day, the report was half-comforting: She’s a big, strong baby. The antibiotics are powerful, so she could possibly make it.

Okay. But what if she doesn’t? How could I ever celebrate Christmas again?

Day Three: Your baby girl will live, but…meningitis is a very bad thing and it can bring about many bad things. (We knew this. Blindness, deafness, seizures, crippling, mental retardation.) We don’t know how much residual damage yet…

When will you know? Terror flamed again while everybody else sang Joy to the world.

Day Four: Christmas Eve. Christi will suffer no residual damage. We’ve run tests and consulted. She’s fine, she’s perfect in every way! Have a Merry Christmas!

Talk about a Christmas miracle! The timing couldn’t have been more perfect! I still get shivers.

Both as precaution and to complete the antibiotic protocol, Christi stayed in NICU for five more weeks. However, the day did come when we could hold her, when I could nurse her, when her “big” brother could peek in through the inner sanctum NICU windows and be reminded he had a new baby sister. Here they are the next Christmas and skiing in Yosemite a few Christmases later.

 In February, she wore that tiny red velvet dress at the family party following her baptism. (She wore my little white baptism dress to the ceremony.) And she’s had a ton of cool Christmases since then, including 2009 as a happy newlywed.

Well, I learned first-hand on that long-ago Christmas Eve that the Lord lives…and that the Lord loves. Christmas miracles are real. May all your Christmas dreams come true, may all your Christmas prayers be answered, and may God bless you all, everyone, in 2010.

There are definitely plenty of things a writer needs to know before she starts to write her book. Characters don’t exist in a vacuum; they have occupations and homes and families and histories and nationalities and all number of things we need to know to make them three-dimensional and bring realism to the story.

My current book, Her Colorado Man, is set just outside a town I used in a previous story. Once I’ve done all the work for a setting, it only makes sense to get some mileage out of it. Colorado is a common setting for me. I own picture books, reference books and maps as well as books on plants and animals. I had another reason for the location, other than its convenience, however: I made my heroine part of a large German family who own a brewery, so I had to select a location to support the operation. The cold-water streams that flow from the mountains were perfect.

And then I had to know enough about brewing beer to decide which method they used and why, and which year would be workable. I chose a year when bottling was first being introduced and also a year that there was a huge Exposition in Denver. So my actual location and the brewery are fabricated, but everything about the people and production and operation and the time period are factual. Keeping facts as close to real as possible makes the reader believe.

I also had to know something about my hero who comes to this town from Alaska, where he’s been delivering mail between tent towns and postal stations. That research was probably the most difficult, because all the facts easily found about Juneau and the Yukon pertain to the gold rush, which didn’t happen until after my time period. So that part of my education took more searching.

So besides looking up breweries, their operation and types of brewing methods before I started, I searched for information on sled dogs, Alaskan temperatures, modes of travel and traditional Bavarian foods. I ended up with a binder full of facts and pictures. Sometimes I have to make an additional folder on one subject, like say liveries or beer making. In my opinion, you can’t ever know too much about your location or your topic or the cultures of your people.

Confession: I’m a paper person. I’ve learned to use PBWiki, personal online storage, but even though I have that ability and I’ve bookmarker the online information, I still want to be able to flip through my binder and put my finger on that list of names I was going to use. I need to see the paragraph about the competitive advantages of lager brewing over ale. That’s just me. If you are a writer, maybe you’ve got a smarter way to store your research, and if so, I applaud you. The important thing is that your method works for you, and you’re not losing writing time searching for something you’ve lost.

Now just because I have all that info doesn’t mean I will ever need to or that I ever should use it all. A writer knows far more about her subjects than she should ever use in a story. But she needs to know it, because if she didn’t, she’d make mistakes. I have many writer friends who love the research part so much that it takes on a life of its own. Once they start, they can’t stop.

Here’s how to know when to quit researching: If your study is cutting into your production, you’re researching too much. If you get caught up in the fact-finding and aren’t tallying a page count, you’re doing too much research. If you’re not putting words on pages, you’re avoiding writing. Give your study a rest and write the story. You can learn the rest of the details as you need them. I learn enough to get started and then I begin. When I get to something I don’t know, I simply google the subject. If I’m on a roll and need to know something, I leave an asterisk and come back to it after the muse is burned out for the day.

So, yes there is a lot a writer needs to know, but the wise writer knows when to call a halt get down to business.

Her Colorado Man is in stores now. It’s also available in hardcover through Doubleday and Rhapsody book clubs.

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If you’ve known Charlene Sands and me for longer than five minutes, you’ll find out we’re both In Love with country music super star Tim McGraw. Our hubbies know all about it and are in full support. After all, Tim’s a real good man, with the heart of a man’s man and a poet’s soul. Besides, this way our hubbies don’t have to drag themselves to concerts along with us.  By last count, we’ve been to six concerts together. Or is it seven?  

Here’s our view (right) of Tim from our catwalk seats a few years ago. Sigh. 

     A while back, we met him up close and personal, at his book signing in Pasadena California. (below)  I still remember him saying, “It’s so nice to meet you.” Whew.  

And Charlene and I confess to numerous occasions of having him with us at critique sessions. Well, this life-size cardboard figure of him, that is. One of Charlene’s pals gave it to her as a wonderful joke. Whew again. It is amazingly realistic.

Most recently we drooled over him at the San Manuel Indian Casino showroom in San Bernardino, California, about a hundred miles from our homesteads. Heavenly angels so guarded us on that excursion. First off, we didn’t get lost once. Second, we parked miraculously on the perfect parking level, just steps away from the 1) restaurant; 2) casino, 3) showroom. In fact, as we hurried forth in our glee on a raised walkway into the casino, we saw ahead what appeared to be a decorative square of tiles. But we stopped as if an invisible force field held us back…because the tiles were glass and a river raged three or four stories below. Neither of us could garner courage to walk across it and instead walked around it.

     Now this isn’t the best picture of Tim, but it’s the best I could do that night  in a very dark showroom. This was our first time rockin’ with Tim in such a small venue, maybe 2,500 people. Most times, it’s Hollywood Bowl or Staples Center with more than twenty-thousand. So this night was even more special than usual.

     Pictures all around the casino piqued my curiosity about this clan of the Serrano Indians indigenous to the San Bernardino area of California. I thought I’d share today what I learned about them.      Their original name is Yuhaviatam which means People of the Pines. For centuries, they lived in a self-sustaining, independent community before the years of change brought by Spanish explorers. As did most tribes, the People of the Pines lived in harmony with the environment, holding sacred everything the land provided for them. Life was good in the highlands, passes, valleys and mountains of the San Bernardino region. 

     The origin of the name, San Manuel Band of Serrano Mission Indians, derives from the intrusion of Europeans and Americans. The first Spanish explorers gave the tribe the name Serrano, the Spanish term for highlanders.  The term Mission Indians originated from the 21 missions established by Spanish clergy and soldiers along California’s coast from 1769-1823. 

     Not surprisingly, Spanish soldiers soon invaded Serrano villages and removed the People from their ancient homelands, placing them into the mission system as workers, or to be accurate and unpolitically correct, slaves. Here, many died from disease and changes to their diet. 

     The passage of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848 and the California Gold Rush of 1849 brought major changes to California. New settlers came and Serrano lands became ranches, farms, and timber camps. In 1866, militia forces from San Bernardino settled unrest by killing Serrano men, women, and children in a 32-day campaign. Yuhaviatam tribal leader Santos Manuel safely led the remaining People from their ancient homelands in the mountains to the valley floor. 

     In 1891, the passage of the Act for Relief for Mission Indians established the San Manuel reservation and recognized the tribe as a sovereign nation with the right of self-government. The reservation was named in honor of the courageous Santos Manuel and is officially known as The San Manuel Band of Serrano Mission Indians.

     Their reservation originally consisted of 657 acres of steep foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains, to near the top of Mount McKinley. Today, the reservation is just over 800 acres and is located in the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains in California, just north of the city of Highland. Today the tribe sponsors a beautiful resort and casino and showroom. 

     Did you know the day after Thanksgiving was Native American Heritage Day? Here is President Obama’s declaration.  

     NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim November 2009 as National Native American Heritage Month. I call upon all Americans to commemorate this month with appropriate programs and activities, and to celebrate November 27, 2009, as Native American Heritage Day. 

     What is your heritage? Any special history of your culture? Have you visited a reservation or attended a “rock” concert?  Today, share however the spirit moves y’all.

With Thanksgiving behind me, I’m turning my thoughts toward Christmas. Nothing to me says the holidays quite like the Salvation Army red kettles outside the stores. I don’t know about you but I can’t pass one without dropping something in. But in these rough economic times I’m sure many organizations’ coffers will see a decline. By the way, I saw in the newspaper that the Salvation Army is installing debit and credit card machines at some of their kettles for those people who want to give but carry little cash with them. That may sound strange but I suppose they’re fighting tooth and nail to be able to keep their doors open to the homeless and less fortunate. Desperate times call for desperate measures I guess.

We’re all familiar with the generous hearts of Oprah, Bill and Melinda Gates, and Warren Buffett. But there are thousands of ordinary people who do their part to touch lives.

I saw on T.V. the other day where a man in California is going around passing out money to homeless people. That’s a true American.

In the Old West there were notable people like Molly Brown who took up various causes and not only donated her own money but got others to do so as well to help the poor.

The giving wasn’t confined to society’s wealthy though. One story in particular that I read lately told of Molly Burdan (or Molly b’Dam as she came to be known,) a prostitute and madam who lived in Murray, Idaho in the 1870’s. Molly worked tirelessly for those who were destitute. The beautiful woman had a heart of gold and a penchant for giving. And when the town had an outbreak of smallpox, she rolled up her sleeves and treated the sick and dying. She even recruited her girls as nurses. When Molly died, thousands of people came from the surrounding area to bid her farewell. The entire town of Murray shut down for her funeral. They still celebrate Molly’s life every August and she remains their most illustrious personality.

Then there was a scarlet lady by the name of Silver Heels in Buckskin Joe, Colorado who carried food and candy to the orphanages. She also nursed the sick and was willing to grubstake miners. And when the Chicago fire happened in 1871, she held a benefit and raised almost two thousand dollars to provide food, money, and clothing for the victims.

Who says charity is limited to those whose lives are aboveboard?

I have favorite charities I give to every year without fail–Hospice, the Salvation Army, and the Children’s Home of Lubbock.

Will you give this year? Do you have your favorites or just give wherever your heart leads?

And don’t forget our Cowboy Under the Christmas Tree that ends December 6th.

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. ” ~C.S. Lewis

I’m not an expert on types of teas. I just love tea and everything related, like china cups, chintz pots and pretty sugar bowls. We always associate it with the English, but tea originated in China over 5,000 years ago. The Chinese were aware of the health benefits we’re only beginning to recognize today. Later, Buddhist priests carried tea seeds to Japan. The first European to personally encounter tea and write about it was a Portuguese Jesuit Father in1560. The Portuguese developed a trade route by which they shipped their tea to Lisbon, and then Dutch ships transported it to France, Holland, and the Baltic countries. As far back as the 1600s tea was tremendously popular in France.

The first Queen Elizabeth granted permission for the British East India Company to begin trade routes and ports, which later led from spices to tea, cotton and other commodities. Coffee tea and chocolate were exotic beverages, which caused a revolution in drinking habits.

Before tea, beer or ale was the preferred morning drink. At first valued for their curative powers, they were soon counted among the necessities of daily life, and the utensils used in their preparation and service became essential as well. The practice of tea drinking arrived in colonial America with colonists from both England and the Netherlands and was established by the mid-seventeenth century, evidenced by the number of tea wares recorded in household inventories. The earliest of these were undoubtedly imported from abroad, but American silversmiths began producing teapots by the start of the eighteenth century.

In the 1760s, the British imposed that pesky tax on tea, and colonists took to smuggling tea or drinking herbal infusions. Outraged merchants, shippers, and colonists staged demonstrations, culminating in the famous Boston Tea Party. Paul Revere’s ride and the first shots fired at Lexington were but a year and a half away.
Political hostilities were eventually resolved, and Americans once again enjoyed tea time. Moreau de Saint-Méry, a foreign visitor to Philadelphia in the 1790s, noted the warmth and hospitality of these events. “The whole family is united at tea, to which friends, acquaintances, and even strangers are invited.”

Queen Elizabeth II continues a tradition started by Queen Victoria in 1860 and opens the palace gardens once a year to host three afternoon tea parties, each attended by 8,000 people! I’m all for an afternoon tea party, but I usually plan something a little less grand.

In the late 1880’s in both America and England, fine hotels introduced tea rooms and tea courts. Served in the late afternoon, Victorian ladies and their gentlemen friends met for tea and conversation. These tea services became the hallmark of the elegance of the hotel, such as the tea services at the Ritz in Boston and the Plaza in New York.

In 1904 at the World’s Fair in St. Louis, trade exhibitors from around the world brought their products. A tea plantation owner named Richard Blechynden had planned to give away free samples of hot tea to fair visitors, but a heat wave hit. No one was interested. To save his investment of time and travel, he dumped a load of ice into the brewed tea and served the first iced tea.

Four years later, tea merchant Thomas Sullivan of New York developed bagged tea quite by accident as well. He wrapped samples and delivered them to restaurants for their consideration. The restaurants brewed the samples in the bags to avoid the mess of tea leaves, an a marketing opportunity was born. I must agree I much prefer bags over loose tea, too.

It’s difficult to get a good cup of tea while traveling or eating out, because restaurants serve you a cup of hot water and a teabag. Pooh. Real tea is brewed in a pot. True aficionados will even quibble over the type of pot and the blend of leaves.

How to make the perfect pot of tea:

Unless your tap water has a lot of chlorine, use tap rather than filtered water. Tea adheres to the minerals in tap water for a better flavor.

Make sure your teapot is clean and run HOT water in it and put the lid on so the pot is heated. A tea cozy is a good investment, but several insulated hot pads will do in a pinch.

I use an electric kettle to heat water, but for years I used a stovetop kettle or a heavy saucepan. Bring the water to boiling. (Unless you’re steeping green tea. With green tea, you want to extract the nectar, not cook the leaves.)

The rule of thumb is one tea bag per cup of tea or person. You can estimate by measuring how many cups your teapot holds. I buy family size tea bags and I prefer Luzianne brand. To one family size bag I add one or two flavored bags, such as India Spice Chai, Bengal Spice or Apple Cinnamon, depending on how much flavor or spice I want.

When water is hot, pour standing water out of your teapot, place the teabags in and pour the hot water over. Place the lid on your pot and cover with the cozy or insulated pot holders to keep the heat in while the tea is steeping. This process is known as the “agony of the tea” and is quite beautiful to watch if you’ve ever seen it through a glass pot. Let stand for about 4 minutes.

When you pour your first cup, enjoy the aromatic scent. Sweeten if you like or add lemon or milk (not cream). There’s nothing like a steaming cup of fresh hot tea.

I drink three or four pots a day, summer and winter, and I much prefer it over coffee. Scones are my treat of choice when I host a tea party, but biscotti or a cookie will do. If you want to hold a tea party, simply pick up a few pretty cups and a tablecloth at your local thrift store. Set a vase of flowers on the table and enjoy the company of your friends.

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