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I recently started watching Mad Men, a stylish, sexy, moody period drama set in 1960s New York. The main characters work in an advertising agency and are sharp, complicated, and competitive. They cleverly weave words, spin stories, and invent images to sell deodorant, cigarettes, and laxatives, in between slamming vodka tonics and Rubenesque "gals" from the secretarial pool. There are many themes woven through each episode like sexism, ambition, adultery, social mobility, cultural shifts, but the one that fascinates me the most is the notion of identity. Each character is fleshed out and wholly believable. In fact, they are so believable they are almost caricatures . The unfulfilled housewife, struggling to maintain her position in a changing society. She struggles to manage her conflicting desires: the desire to fulfill her familiar and expected role as wife and mother and the desire to be a bolder, modern woman. The ambitious young ad-exec who is so oily he leaves a...

(I wrote this article several years ago. It first appeared in Writers Digest's annual magazine Writing Popular Fiction. And then reran in two other magazines. ) It's a shameful fact, but I encounter no difficulty in writing about evil. What that says about my psyche, I don't even want to know. But the simple truth is, I find it frighteningly easy and enjoyable to create the blackest of villains. Give me any plot and I can think of a plausible and truly menacing bad guy to go with it. Maybe part of the reason I am adept at developing evil characters is because I think stories are more interesting if good must struggle to triumph over evil. In my mind, the blacker the evil, the brighter and shinier the triumph. When the golden moment finally arrives, when the heroine races through the field of wildflowers to embrace her conquering hero, it is all the better if she must first step over the battered and broken body of her nemesis. Golden scenes are great, so long as there...

Big, small, young, old, firm or flabby. The French are completely undiscerning in their love of the breast. They plaster boobs on posters in the Metro Stations. They sculpt firm and pointed breasts on their many statues. Even their history books are filled with images of their aristocratic ladies breasts. No matter where you go in Paris, you are assaulted by ta-ta's. Strolling down the Champs Elysees, I nearly collided with a life-size poster of a naked and boob-jiggling dancing girl at Crazy Horse, one of the popular clubs in town. At Luxembourg Gardens, former home of Catherine d'Medici, there are statues of the Queens of France lining the garden paths. Many of the queens are flashing a tit...or two! Mothers on the Metro literally pull their shirts off to breast feed their babies. Call me a prude, but I am not comfortable sitting next to a strange topless woman on a speeding train. I am a mother so I perfectly understand the desire to, and benefits of, breast-...

Perhaps I am biased, but I think women are the most remarkable creatures on the planet. We have been queens and slaves, mothers and warriors. If every woman in the world was gathered together in a Venti sized Starbucks, seated in comfortable chairs, and instructed to hold a gab session, I am sure we would discover that no two were completely alike. The life of each woman would be singularly interesting. From Eve frolicking and tempting in the Garden of Eden to Eleanor Roosevelt spouting words of incredible wisdom, famous women have lead fascinating lives and kept shocking secrets. Here are some shocking facts about some of the world's most remarkable women. The Virgin Queen Most people know Elizabeth I inherited her father's flame-red hair and his fiery temper, but they are usually surprised to learn her explosive nature once prompted her to stab a fork in the hand of a waiting lady who displeased her. Elizabeth frequently slapped the face of the person who made her vexed, s...

If you have been following my articles and blogs, you know that I am a believer in the magic of serendipity . Accidental discoveries are the greatest, aren't they? I think so, especially when they involve chocolate. Last weekend, my daughter asked me to make her some brownies. I'll be honest, I had to stifle a groan. You see, I am not a big believer in boxed desserts. I make almost everything from scratch because I think it tastes better. As I looked into her wide-blue eyes, I mentally rolled up my sleeves and forgot about the extra work her request entailed. I decided to try a new recipe though. Actually, to be precise, I decided to tweak an old recipe. I got out my copy of Martha Stewart Living Cookbook and turned to page 541 - Double Chocolate Brownies. After making certain I had all of the necessary ingredients, I got to work making the brownies. Palms sweaty and pulse racing, I decided to mess with Martha. I made several daring adjustments to the recipe. I slid the concoct...

What’s so great about America? The unemployment rate in the United States has hit a 26 year high, with 14.9 million Americans out of work. Our national debt recently hit a record $11 trillion. President Obama's approval rating has fallen more steeply than any other newly elected president (ABCNEWS.com/Tapper/09/02/09). And nations all around the world believe we are big, bad bullies. Newspapers, magazines, and the airwaves are filled with stories about “America’s demise.” Hollywood directors and stars spend more time on political soapboxes, often spouting unpatriotic or idiotic statements, than in making quality films. Many disheartened, disgusted, down-trodden Americans are looking around their neighborhoods and noticing rows of repossessed homes and failed businesses and they worry that America has lost her edge. They read about policemen posted in elementary schools, elderly folks too poor to pay for prescriptions, and homeless freezing to death on the streets, and they wonder...

I sat on the beach for an hour today and marveled at the infinite beauty of the ocean. It stretched along the horizon, endlessly, seamlessly; blending hues of emerald and seafoam, like a Monet painting. The powdery sand sparkled and winked in the sunlight. I stuck my hands in the warm grains, then lifted a handful and let it sift slowly through my fingers. As I watched the silvery sand spill to the ground, I wondered how many millions and millions of grains made up this one beach. I realized I was like a grain of sand, one of many in a wide, wonderful world. I looked back out at the ocean. It was clear and smooth and vast and empty. No boats bobbed along the surface, no swimmers splashed in the surf. It was then I noticed a single sea turtle struggling against a wave. Watching it reminded me how very small we are in this universe. This knowledge made me feel at peace and, yet, a little sad.