Ive been gone - but I have a great reason...

Its been a while - yup.
In addition to exciting personal changes - I have also just completed a new novel. So stay tuned for new info about (working title) Caroline Starts Over.

Ebookmall

EBookMall interview Randi Sherman and Paula Takes A Risk

http://www.ebookmall.com/author/randi-m-sherman

Epoch Times Review

*The Epoch Times. *They posted a link reviewing Paula Takes A Risk in their latest issue.
The review is in Chinese but my publicist did tell me the reviewer recommended the book.
Here is the link:
http://e-paper.epochtimes.com/?Qwd=./Houston/20120601_875E&Qif=djyhou_875E_20120601_17.jpg&Qiv=thumbs&Qis=FS&Qtmp=popup

Recent interview with eBookmall

Interview with Randi M. Sherman

How much do you have in common with Paula?

Although Paula is a bit more trusting that I was, she shares traits with a younger version of me, both resigned to a prescribed life until we learned we could do or be anything we wanted. It just takes bravery with a little naivete sprinkled on top. I am taller than Paula.

When you were little did you ever imagine being an author when you grew up?

Never. I dreamed of being a famous actress or maybe a cowgirl, or a ballerina or a nurse, but never an author. Being a writer seemed to be too much like having homework ALL of the time.

Would you go back to being a stand-up comedian if you knew you could make a lot of money doing it?

Yes, but only if I could change my name to Ellen DeGeneres. Making a lot of money and being good at your job are two completely different things – just look at congress.
Although going back to stand-up comedy is not currently on my to-do list, I will never say never. And, given the circumstances I’d probably do anything if I could make a lot of money doing it. Please don’t tell my mother.

Name a book that you'd be embarrassed to be seen reading.

I’d probably be embarrassed if I was standing on a street corner somewhere, looking at street signs and referring to a tour book for another city.

Do you ever write while intoxicated?

I have poured myself a glass of wine at the end of the day but truthfully, I simply lose interest in writing at that point. I’d chose crackers and cheese with my cocktail over spellcheck any day.

Did you ever read a book and then wish you had all that time back?

Not really – If I don’t like a book, I put it down. Life is too short to be bored on purpose.

What was the book that most influenced your life and why?

Surprisingly enough the book was Real Moments by Barbara De Angelis. I guess I read it more than twenty years ago. The idea of living for the moment and not worrying about the past or what may or may not happen, simply allows us to enjoy things for what they are.

What was the biggest challenge you had to overcome when writing Paula Takes a Risk?

The biggest challenge was taking that final step to publish and release Paula Takes A Risk. I love all of my characters, and releasing them into the world, making them vulnerable to criticism was one hardest and possibly the bravest things I have ever done. When I sent them off, I wanted to tell them to hold hands as they crossed the street.

Are you working on any new books now?

I am, I am about 80% done with a new humor novel – it has a fabulous twist. I am so excited about it. The publisher will have to be very daring.

I also have other outlines waiting in the wings.

If you could be any character in fiction, who would you be?

Wonder Woman, she was smart, beautiful, had an invisible airplane and she looked good wearing boots with a bathing suit.

How old do I look?

The other day - I received a note from an old friend who found me on facebook.
She wrote "I cant believe it. You look exactly the same as you did in high school."
Then I thought - "Oh my god! I looked like I was 50 years old when I was in High School"

enjoy chapters

Paula Takes a Risk is finally available - read about it and the author.
Hey - order a copy

Also -Enjoy chapters form The Grumblings of a Chronically Single Woman

Poisoned

 

Paul, I thought, was a dream come true.  Everything I had ever hoped for, seemed to be embodied in him.  My heart soared every time I thought of him.  Zing!

Paul invited me to his beach house for dinner.  He was going to cook.  Wow.  When I arrived, fresh cut flowers were on the table, the wine was breathing and mood music filled the air.  I was impressed.  The meal was incredible.  The Cabernet tasted as if the grapes were grown for the soul purpose of creating a wine that would compliment our dinner.  I was being wooed and I liked it.

As we sat there gazing into each other’s eyes, everything seemed so right until I began to ramble.  I couldn’t help myself.  My mind raced as I tried to think of clever anecdotes about myself to impress Paul.  Instead, I blathered on with inappropriate and self-deprecating stories about my childhood pudginess and thick glasses.  Besides, I was trying to picture him naked and was having trouble concentrating.

I was dying for him to touch me.  I executed a combination hand-half-way-across-the-table with an interested lean.  This particular maneuver is extremely difficult to do successfully.  Precise angling, attitude, and timing are essential.  You must lean your upper body inward, at just the right angle (approximately forty-five degrees), while maintaining hand placement and eye contact.  The weight is shifted laterally onto one buttock.  It is crucial that the correct buttock is selected. Optimum head and face placement to receive a kiss is the goal. For maximum benefit, lower the eyelids, part the lips slightly and execute a single heavy inhale-exhale combination. 

Finally, Paul took my hand, drew me close and kissed me.  I nearly fell off of the chair and under the table.  I suddenly felt flush.  My palms got clammy, my heart was leaping and my stomach was churning.  Wait. I began to wonder. Was this supposed to be happening?  Was he the one?

Paul suggested that we go for a walk along the beach.  As we removed our shoes and placed them on the porch, I began to fantasize about the movie, “From Here to Eternity.”  Paul would be Burt Lancaster, I would be Deborah Kerr and the gentle waves would roll over our entwined bodies as we kissed in the surf.

We walked hand-in-hand as the surf rushed over our feet.  Everything seemed so perfect.  The fresh air snapped me back into reality and I realized that my stomach was feeling unusually queasy.  Was it the romance?   No.  It was the dinner.  Nausea began to overtake me.  I felt dizzy.  I started to cramp and broke into a sweat.  Oh no. I tried to think it away.  The gurgling from my stomach and the hot flashes were eventually overtaken by the crashing waves of nausea.  I fell to my knees and proceeded to pollute the ocean in my own special way.

            When I came to, I realized that I was sprawled out and the surf was lapping up my, now ruined, suede dress.  I was soaking wet and covered with sand, seaweed and various non-biodegradable items.  I lifted my head and searched for Paul.  He was sitting on a sand dune about thirty feet away.  When he saw me moving, he stood up and walked toward me.  I was hoping for compassion.  Instead, he was disgusted and angry.

 In a sarcastic tone he asked, “Now, was that necessary? You certainly know how to ruin an evening. I suppose you’re too sick to have sex tonight.”

What?  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  What a Jackass!

Without help from Paul, the king of concern, I pulled myself to my feet.  I stumbled down the beach in an effort to catch up with Paul, who kept pace about ten feet ahead of me.  I felt my body becoming chaffed by the wet suede and sand.

When we arrived at his house, Paul handed me my shoes and told me to wait outside while he got my purse.  He didn’t want me to “drip” on his carpeting.

After receiving my purse, I walked, alone, to my car, as Paul went inside the house, dead-bolted the door and turned out the porch light. He acted as if I had maliciously and intentionally become violently ill in an effort to destroy his sex quota.  Of course, at that moment, I wished that I had.  I felt another wave of nausea come over me.  I desperately looked around for a place to heave.  Then I spotted it.  With my hand covering my nose and mouth, I made a mad dash for the porch.  I took careful aim and then vomited in Paul’s shoes.

Purse Patrol - by Randi Sherman, The author of Paula Takes A Risk

Purse Patrol

There is no discussion about who will do it.  It’s an unwritten, unspoken rule. It’s a fact.  The one person who is considered the homeliest or most antisocial one of the group is designated to watch her friends’ purses while they enjoy themselves.  She has been assigned to purse-patrol, the purse monitor is relegated to the table, disallowed from going to the ladies room and unavailable to accept invitations to dance.  Her main objective for the evening is to loyally stand guard over her friends’ belongings while they socialize and have a good time.  Purse patrol is the grown-up equivalent to being invited to teenage function because her mom will drive.

When my friends and I arrived at the club, we found a vacant table and sat down.  Then the inevitable happened, I heard the phrase, “Will you watch my purse for me?”  Before I could answer, clutches, backpacks and evening bags were all piled up on the table in front of me.  Oh my God!  I had been caught completely by surprise.  I had been appointed as the purse-monitor for the evening.  I quickly whipped out a hand mirror and began an assessment to determine what had gone wrong.  Was it my hair?  Was it my choice of clothing?  Had I been too quiet in the car on way to the club?  Did my friends perceive my silence as a bad mood?  Whatever the case, there was nothing that could be done now.  Unceremoniously, I had been assigned to purse-duty.

As I sat there, I called upon my improvisational skills and tried to act as if my obvious solitude didn’t bother me.  I attempted to appear as if I enjoyed watching all of the socializing that was going on around me.  With faux confidence, I attempted to look enormously interested in some activity going on near the bar.  I tapped my toes to the music, snapped my fingers, and even attempted some chair dancing.  I mindlessly sipped at the drink that quickly became melted ice and eventually an empty glass. 

Along with purse-duty, I also had the responsibility of guarding the chairs around the table.  Many attempts were made by other clubbers to commandeer the empty chairs. “No, someone is using that chair,” I snapped.  “My friends will be back in a minute.”  Finally, after I realized that I was behaving like a rabid Rotweiller, I conceded to a couple. “You can use them until my friends come back.” 

The woman gave me a “Yea, sure” and chuckled as she and her new friend proceeded to sit down.  It didn’t take long for them to forget that I was there.  They began to perform hands-free tonsillectomies on one another.  I sat there, the purse-lieutenant, and attempted to ignore the foreplay that is happening just two feet away. 

After about an hour, a man approached the table.  He introduced himself as Jim and asked me if I would like to dance with him.  I wanted to, but I simply could not.  I was on purse-patrol.  Abandoning my post would have been met by the social equivalent to a court martial.  Jim was forced to make the decision to either, accept the apologetic “no” and walk away or sit down to converse with me.  With a look of defeat on his face, Jim looked around the room, shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Oh, what the hell…” and sat down.

I was having trouble focusing on our conversation because I was trying to catch the eye of one of my friends.  I tried waving my hand at her.  I tried staring at her.  Finally, I attempted to telepathically connect with one of them.  I hoped that she would feel compelled to relieve me of my post.  No luck.  Once Jim realized that I was not going to be excused from purse-duty, he excused himself and left.

I felt defeated.   I decided that I now hated the people who assigned me to purse-duty.  And, as soon as I had the opportunity, I would give them a piece of my mind.  Suddenly, one of my friends, Karen, approached the table.  I perked up.  I smiled wide, hoping that her feet were tired from two hours of dancing.  But, the purpose of her visit was only to reapply her lipstick.  Then she announced that she was going outside to grab a breath of fresh air and that she would be back in a minute.  Yeah, sure.  Every so often, my other friends glanced over and waved at me from the dance floor.

All hope of having a conversation with anyone other than with the busboy was gone.  The “lovers” who were borrowing the chairs, had by now moved onto the button fiddling, caressing and moaning portion of their evening.  They were now practically sitting on top of one another and had freed up a chair.

I sat there and casually looked around the room.  I wasn’t really focusing on anything but it was something to do.  I rocked back in the chair a few times. Checked my watch.   During the next visual sweep of the room, my eyes settled on the purses that were on the table in front of me.  “Hmm,” I thought.  “I wonder what’s in there.”   I rationalized,  “I have the right to know what I’ve been asked to guard with my life.”  Besides, I was bored.

I looked around the room again and quietly reached for the clutch bag.  The clutch bag belonged to a longtime friend, Karen, who was on a constant, unrelenting search and conquer husband-finding-mission.  Because the clutch was so small, I didn’t expect to find much. I was just going to take a peek.  In addition to a redder-than-red lipstick, a comb and a kissing-fresh breath spray, I unraveled the continuous roll of twelve condoms.  Wow, someone certainly is optimistic, I thought. I can understand one, possibly two, perhaps three, that is, if he’s young and sober.  But, a dozen? Whoa!  Go girl!  I tucked everything back into the clutch and replaced it on the table.

Still, there was no sign of “my friends.”  I would continue my purse inspection.  The next item of inspection would be the Barbara’s backpack.  Barbara is known to her friends as “Ever Ready,” the woman who could be ready for anything at anytime.  Spontaneity seemed contrived compared to Barbara’s “whatever” attitude. The backpack was heavy.  When I unbuckled, untied, and unsnapped the flap, I found a cell phone, make-up, a Swiss army knife, comfortable shoes, safety-pins in a variety of sizes, a scarf, pantyhose, a simple yet classic black dress, a highway flare, a travel toothbrush and a package of trail mix.  Barbara isn’t out for the evening, she’s running away from home.

 Finally, I dragged Marcia’s bag across the table by its ornate shoulder strap.  When I unhooked the clasp of the purse, an artillery of anti-man paraphernalia was uncovered. I was reminded of the Viet Nam documentaries I had seen on PBS.  I found a canister of pepper-spray, a personal alarm (push button activation) and a key chain with a self-defense baton, and a small flashlight with a whistle attached to it.  I carefully checked the side pocket for a hand-grenade.  I was expecting the Leslie Stahl and a 60 Minutes camera crew to appear and interrogate me.  “Can we ask you a few questions regarding concealed weapons?”  

I would, of course, act shocked.  Leslie and a cameraman would chase me as I ran to my car.  I’d pull my jacket over my head in an attempt to hide my face.  No doubt, they would catch up with me when I arrived at my car only to find that I had locked the keys in it.  I’d be forced to cover the camera lens with my hand and recite the customary, “No comment.”

The evening had dragged on for what seemed to be an eternity.  I had had enough time to evaluate every person in the club, determined what they did for a living, and how much money they made.  I also figured out which men lived with their parents’, who was cheating on a spouse and who was out just for sex.  By the time my friends were ready to leave, I had worked myself into a major tizzy because I had been ignored for several hours.  I was furious. 

Karen, Marcia and Barbara were giddy.  They were waving around business cards and crumpled paper napkins that had telephone numbers written on them.  They hardly noticed that I was seething. 

During the car ride home, Barbara looked at me and said, “Wasn’t that fun? Did you meet anyone?” 

Even though I had mentally prepared an lecture about the responsibilities of friendship that would, no doubt, leave my friends reevaluating their behavior and begging for forgiveness, I kept it to myself.  I realized that I was just irritable because I was forced to take my turn at purse duty.

“I met Ivan, the busboy,” I said, “but he works nights and weekends.  It just wouldn’t work out.  So, we decided to just be friends.” 

Whats it all about?

PAULA TAKES A RISK, AND SO DOES HER AUTHOR

We all hope for a dream life.  However, most of us are afraid or overwhelmed to make changes necessary to have a beautiful dream life. This is the reality for the lead character in PAULA TAKES A RISK by first time author Randi Sherman.

Paula’s life is a disaster.  She loses her job and boyfriend on the same day, and has no future prospects or plans.  Life just isn’t working out for her.  Having only done what was expected of her, not making any waves, reading celebrity magazines, and believing the dream life is for everyone else but her – she now finds herself lost in her tiny, musty apartment without a clue of what to do.

Life drastically changes for Paula, when she is unwittingly drawn into an adventure by her neighbor Larry, who is broke and deep in debt. She naively goes along with his plans and poses as a successful business woman to carry out an elaborate money making scheme. Too desperate, too afraid and too involved to step away, she lives a lie as she takes on a persona of the person she always wanted to be. Paula blossoms as she navigates her way through complex business and social situations until the whole plan starts to unravel. The scheme and lies are uncovered and what happens next will delight the reader.

This is a story that is certain to strike a chord in anyone who is wishing for a way out of their present life, and on to the red carpet of their imagination, but is afraid of making the change. Author Randi Sherman is a funny woman, with a history of stand-up comedy, her humor keeps the reader hooked throughout this witty and entertaining story. She eloquently achieves taking the seemingly mundane experiences of life and turning them into a laugh a minute.

PAULA TAKES A RISK is available online through www.FriesenPress.com/bookstore, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and to order through most bookstores.

Movies a la Carte from The Grumbling of a Chronically Single Woman, by Randi Sherman the author of Paula Takes a Risk

Movies a la Carte

At the last minute, one Friday evening, I decided to go see a movie.  I knew that I wouldn’t be giving them much notice, but I called a few friends to invite them to join me.  When I telephoned, the friends who were at home had already made plans for the evening.  I looked at the clock.  It was getting late.  If I wanted to get to the theater in time for the coming attractions I had to abandon the idea of a movie companion.  So, I grabbed by coat and left for the theater.  No big deal, I thought.  I’m just going to be sitting in a dark room, watching a film, quietly.  It wasn’t as if I was going to the theater to have a heart-to-heart conversation with a long lost friend.  I was going to see a movie, plain and simple.  I could do that alone.

I had a slight twinge of insecurity while I waited in line to buy a ticket.  I was surrounded by handholding couples and groups of teenagers who all looked at me, standing alone, as if I had just been crowned Miss Social Pariah, 2012.

The pitying looks continued as I stood in line at the snack bar.  I had convinced myself that people were whispering behind their hands and looking at me out of the corners of their eyes.  “She her.  Over there.” They motioned with a head-nod.  “She’s alone. Tsk-tsk.  What a loser.”  When I made it to the snack counter I considered ordering two popcorns and two drinks, just to throw them off.

I know it was paranoia but I felt as if all eyes were on me when I entered the theater.  All I wanted to do was sit down and blend in.  Within thirty-seconds, I had become completely self-conscious.  When I found a row that had a few empty seats, I quickly shuffled in to sit down.  In an effort to make it look as if I was saving a seat for my date while he was in the bathroom or at the snack bar, I put my coat over seat next to me.  To keep up the illusion, every few minutes, I would turn around and look back at the door.

I tried to kill time until the movie started.  I rummaged through my purse, rearranged my wallet, ate most of my popcorn, read the movie theater brochure that I had picked up in the lobby, and played the riddle game that was being displayed on the screen.  I looked at my watch.  I checked the door again.  Then I noticed the child who was standing on the seat directly in front of me.  He was turned around and facing me.  He was just standing there looking at me.

His look turned into a stare.  An unending-unblinking-see-right-through-to-the-soul stare.  It began to make me uncomfortable.  What did he see?  I looked down.  I looked up.  I looked at my nails.  I looked at the door again.  I tried to ignore it as long as possible.  Finally, I stared back.  I scared him. His eyes welled up with tears.  He whispered something in his mommy’s ear.  She shifted her position to get a glimpse of me.  Uh-oh, here it comes. I was certain that she was going to turn around, wag her finger, and give me a piece of her mind.  But instead, in a voice intended to be loud enough for me to hear, she started to explain what was wrong with the mean lady behind him.

“Ignore that lady.  She’s alone.  She probably has no friends who want to be with her and must be very unhappy.  Leave her alone.” 

I shrank.  Is that how I’m perceived?  After a minute or two of self-examination, I realized that I was reevaluating my entire existence because the parents of a four-year-old boy hadn’t taught him that staring is impolite. 

As the lights started to dim, I could sense the pity from the people who were seated around me.  I had to think fast.  To save face, I looked back at the door one more time and said loud enough for others to hear, “I wonder where he could be.  He’ll never find me in the dark.”  After my subtle announcement I gathered together my snacks, my purse, and my jacket and walked up the aisle toward the door to make it look like I was going to find him.  I walked through the swinging doors, crossed to the other side and came back into the theater through the other set of doors.  Shrouded by the darkness, I walked slowly down the aisle, found a single seat and sat down. 

The woman who was seated next to me leaned over and said, “I’ve been waiting to see this movie.  It’s supposed to be good.”

“Me too.”  I agreed, “I …”

Suddenly, we heard, “Shush!” from the man behind us.  “If you wanted you socialize, you should have stayed home.  Now be quiet and watch the movie.”

take a look

Take a look at the new website:   http//:www.paulatakesarisk.com

Yup! It Happened

Paula Takes A Risk is now available through Friesen Press

http://www.friesenpress.com/bookstore/title/119734000004536283/Randi-M.-Sherman-Paula-Takes-a-Risk

Log on, read about it - and get a copy - I know you want to.

(Paula Takes a Risk will be available Amazon, and your other favorite distributors in 3-5 more weeks)

Self publishing is not so scary

So, I wrote this book - Paula Takes a Risk. I actually wrote a number of years ago and for many reasons held onto it for years. Sure I think Im hilarious and smart and can tell a story with flair - but would anyone else?  Who knows? Also - I LOVE my characters, Paula Tenenbaum, her mother Dorothy, Larry the slimeball, Brad the narcisist and especially the smaller characters Darla Merriweather, the dunce-y actress and Pricilla Van der Hoven, the celebrity colomnist. They were mine. My creation, my children, if you will. I was afraid to put them out there to be jugded. What if some knocked them down and stole their lunch money?

Then I thought - again (and again and again) how tired and aggeravated I was by working my day to day job in a field that parallels being on sleep aids.  I couldnt believe that I was put on this earth to do what I was spending 40 hours each week doing. 

I dont know if I was stung by something or it was something that I ate, but I had an epiphany - I need to be the ruler of my own destiny, I thought. If I dont take a risk and do something that will truly make me happy then I have no right to complain.  After all, poverty is a problem, cancer is a problem, people who drive with their blinkers on all of the time are a hazard (but I digress) - but being afraid of what people may think of my characters or the daunting task of getting a book published is NOT a problem - its a challenge, but not a problem.

In 2002 I searched and found an agent (for another book: The Grumblings of a Chronically Single Woman) - yet didnt get much traction because it was a humor book and I was an unknown. I ended up publishing it on a now defunct website called Enovel. So this time - I just cut out the middle man (for now) and found a publisher who I could partner with to publish my book - Friesen Press.

The process - so far has been straight forward for the most part - and a little time consuming. I submitted the book - thinking Im a genius - no edits necessary, this will be a breeze.  Well color me wrong - because it took a copy editor and three rounds of review and "adjustment" before I signed off on it.  With some direction I selected ISBN codes, pricing, cover art (not as simple as it sounds) - and now we're about ready to send it for printing.

Next step is some promotion planning .

Paula Takes a Risk is a humor novel, a fun read. Read the synopsis on this site to get more info about the story.
I look forward to sharing this journey with you.

So, now Im the ruler of my destiny...and book pricing - for the novel Paula Takes A Risk

After the book is wrtten and content approved - then comes the pricing.....

After three more rounds of review, rereading my book umpteem times, second guessing my choice of words and story direction, cursing myself for not being a better student and having a larger more impressive, expansive vocabulary,  I finally signed off on the book content for Paula Takes A Risk.  (In my own defense the book with all of the million dollar words has already been written - its called the Dictionary. However, Webster's storyline is weak) 
I added a pithy "About the Author" page.
 
A few months ago I selected, approved and licensed the cover art.  Now were working on the pricing - There are a number of things to consider - page count, trim size - the fact that its fiction...humor....by a virtual unknown... it can be daunting. Sure, to me its a priceless treasure...
There are hard copy prices, softcopy, and ebooks.  
There is one price from the publishers and another for SRP - then there is a difference in royalties based on where readers buy the book.

Im excited. I should be nervous about making these decisions - Will this decision make the difference between a well received book and one that sells copies only to my immediate family?  Im not nervous,  I am so thrilled. Paula Takes a Risk should be available in March 2012