Keri Stevens's Blog

While readers of romance can answer this question in great detail, folklore has another answer: The stork.

In southwest Germany, storks do indeed make huge nests on top of buildings but only for their avian babies. Thanks to my new fascination with old relatives and their graves, I dragged my husband to two small villages in Wagshurst and Gamshurst, Germany (If you get on Google maps and zoom in-in-in-in, eventually you will see the dots). This quest required bicycling through cornfields on gravel farm paths and waving our cell phones in the air to catch a whiff of GPS.

But we made it—and found this adorable church for our troubles. At the top of the turrets you can see the stork and its massive nest—two to three yards in diameter. 7b

We didn’t see any babies (nor, for that matter, any eggs), but one person in Germany is guaranteed to find eggs: The Storchenbeauftragter (STOR-chen-bay-owf-trahg-ter. Say that 5 times really fast—or just use the English translation, “Stork Commissioner.)

Imagine have the job of Stork Commissioner. All day, every day, you climb up to count eggs in nests, check in the bird watchers to get a handle on local populations, and get called to the scene of the crime when some poor stork is found dead and wrapped in plastic trash. A career both thrilling and heartbreaking, and rare and real.

What jobs have you only recently discovered? Anything as cool as Stork Commissioner?

Last month, I had the privilege and pleasure of joining almost two-thousand of my closest writing friends in Manhattan for the Romance Writers of America annual conference. My personal goals were to learn more about the state of the publishing industry, strengthen my craft and productivity, and make real connections with other writers (because this lifestyle, after all, is quite a solitary one). But besides these professional goals I had a personal goal: I wanted to find my way through the New York subway system to a specific street performer, the Saw Lady.

Thanks to the magic of twitter, Natalia Paruz herself let me know where and when she performs (up to three hours a day, several days a week). The moment I stepped off the Q line into the 72nd Street station, I heard the eerie wailing of the instrument she has taught herself and mastered: the musical saw. Some women walking beside me noticed the music, too. “Is that someone singing?” “It’s weird—why aren’t there any words?”

I followed the sound to Natalia herself, who was very generous with her time. She told me a bit of her life story—how she’d come to New York to dance, but a car accident cut her first dreams short. While she was in Europe afterwards, she saw a street performer playing his saw, and it captivated her. She asked him to teach her, but he refused, telling her to pick up a saw and do what he was doing. With a newfound dream and determination, she did.

It’s not easy making a living as a musician on the streets of New York. While playing in Times Square, Natalia was ticketed because her saw was considered a weapon. So she had the teeth removed. She also customized the saw with a specific handgrip and knee grip because playing for hours straight requires endurance and can mess with your musculature and posture. Despite the occasional setback, the Saw Lady has performed with international orchestras, on most major television networks, in film, and has even received the Medal of Honor in Paris, France.

After several minutes of letting me pick her brain, the Saw Lady gifted me with a song—a beautiful tango from the 1940s that she has rediscovered. And she gave me permission to share it with you.

Enjoy her magic!

Making Our Own Magic

Every year, my husband’s family visits for the Independence Day long weekend. We’ve had as many as 40 guests staying in our house and local hotels, although this year it will be quieter—only 20 guests, all told.

That doesn’t stop my husband from making a little magic for our friends and family in our backyard. We set a theme, and try to build the weekend festivities around that theme. Last year’s theme was American Cryptozoology. We had Bigfoot footprints in our backyard. My boys built a huge Piasa Bird and flew him from a cable strung tree-to-tree.

This year’s theme is the Wild West. We’re expecting a bank robbery from the Dalton Gang of Kansas. Our guests just might find some treasure in the mine my husband has built in the backyard. We’ll cap off the weekend with a visit to the Old West Festival in Greensburg, OH.

Is it a lot of work to host an event like this for a few dozen of your closest family and friends? It sure is. I think of all of the Regency romances I’ve read in which our heroes attend week-long (or longer) house parties. In my opinion, the real heroes in those tales are the wives and housekeepers who plan the events and keep them moving.

If you’re not panning for gold this holiday, may I recommend a few good regencies from a few great authors? Find a hammock, some shade, and some lemonade and make some magic for yourself:

Goddess of the Hunt by Tessa Dare

His at Night by Sherry Thomas

Bedding Lord Need by Sally MacKenzie

Silent in the Sanctuary by Deanna Raybourn (note: Book 2 in the Lady Julia Grey series. Seriously—read them all. They’re fabulous!)

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Of the various sites in Washington, D.C., I admit that the LOC hadn’t been high on my list. Perhaps it was because I figured a library built up by cranky old white men would be a boring place. Perhaps it was because libraries are, well, quiet—sedate places for sitting and reading and working. Perfectly lovely if you’re at home, but on a travel adventure? Find me mountains and monuments, please.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Of all of the places we visited in D.C. this building is far and away my favorite. There are artworks and treasures on every column, stairwell and ceiling, many of them dedicated to the authors I’ve loved (and quite a few cranky old white men who’s works haven’t held up). “Romance,” of course, was one of my vary favorites.

We entered the building because it was there and stayed because it was glorious. 

Have you ever been surprised while on a travel adventure of your own?

Two of my favorite artists are Hieronymsus Bosch and Pieter Breughel the Elder. Instead of single-focus artworks, they created vast landscapes people with all sorts of insanity. In Bosch’s case, I’m fairly certain he just woke up in the morning and painted out the previous night’s nightmares.

Although I love them both, however, no Bosch or Brueghel reproductions hang on my walls, nor will they. I like my “household” art to be much more common and accessible. Pictures of my family and ancestors. Paintings of flowers and landscapes and the ocean. At the end of a long day, I’m not of a mind to stare at a cluster of brawling peasants or a giant head with a snake tail.  I use art, like music, as a form of visual drug, lulling me to a more peaceful state.

What about you? Do you hang up what you love? Do you love what you’ve hung up? 

Welcome to the Paris Catacombs. If you’ve ever wanted to be surrounded by walls of bones, this is the place for you.

But these bones are special—they are stacked directly beneath a light bulb (because no sunlight can reach them, nor has it in centuries). Thanks to the breath of thousands of live visitors and this light, these lovely, bright green fungi grow on the illuminate bone.

You’ll see dozens of signs warning you not to touch the bones, because no one wants you to damage the stacks and structures. Even if you’re feeling rebellious, I recommend you especially avoid brushing against these stacks: Biologists have sampled the velvety-green surface and determined that within this mass grows at least three species of bacteria found nowhere else on the planet.

Nowhere else on planet Earth.

What could those bacteria do to you and me? Oh, but the possibilities are deliciously horrifying.

Have a kiss in the catacombs if you dare!

Welcome to the Paris Catacombs. If you’ve ever wanted to be surrounded by walls of bones, this is the place for you.

But these bones are special—they are stacked directly beneath a light bulb (because no sunlight can reach them, nor has it in centuries). Thanks to the breath of thousands of live visitors and this light, these lovely, bright green fungi grow on the illuminate bone.

You’ll see dozens of signs warning you not to touch the bones, because no one wants you to damage the stacks and structures. Even if you’re feeling rebellious, I recommend you especially avoid brushing against these stacks: Biologists have sampled the velvety-green surface and determined that within this mass grows at least three species of bacteria found nowhere else on the planet.

Nowhere else on planet Earth.

What could those bacteria do to you and me? Oh, but the possibilities are deliciously horrifying.

Have a kiss in the catacombs if you dare!

With my love of cemeteries, it’s no surprise that on our vacation to Key West last fall, I dragged my husband through the town graveyard. Like most American cemeteries, we saw mostly basic, bland headstones with a few surprises.

Including…her. She’s bound at the wrists, her head tossed back in ecstasy. Of course, she’s well-weathered so I may be misinterpreting her expression, but in any case, I didn’t expect to find so much sexy on our walking tour. Of course, we went straight to the map and printed tour guide of the cemetery, but they had no information about why she sits there.

Is this piece of funerary art reflective of the life and times of the man below the stones? What does this BDSM angel say about who he was?

My fondest wish for him and whomever he encountered is that they all enjoyed the ever-loving heck out of themselves while they were on this planet. And, frankly, there are few places as suited to a life of hedonistic pleasure as Key West!

I have a special, fun, fabulous talent I use to annoy my friends and irritate people: I can “sing” my part of conversations to the tune of Gordon Lightfoot’s classic, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” Once I get going, it’s almost impossible to stop:

“How are you doing? I am doing well, and I’m very much happy to meet you!”

“Please give me a six-piece box of nuggets, and a large Diet Coke would be lovely!”

Seriously. I can do this all day.

But the Edmund Fitzgerald was more than the 70’s greatest earworm: It was an actual shipwreck off the coast of Whitefish Point, Michigan, not far from Mackinaw Island. You can learn all about the tragedy at one of my favorite museums and parks, The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.

The museum sits on what is known locally as the Shipwreck Coast, but you can’t tell it by the beach just beyond the building. It’s a quiet, rocky shoreline and you can slip right into the water if you care to. Or you can find a perfect seat of driftwood, carved by one of the kinder gods of the lake, as my son did a few years back. Pack a picnic, a journal or your e-Reader and sit awhile: When a god gives you a gift, it’s rude not to enjoy it to the fullest. 

I have a special, fun, fabulous talent I use to annoy my friends and irritate people: I can “sing” my part of conversations to the tune of Gordon Lightfoot’s classic, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” Once I get going, it’s almost impossible to stop:


“How are you doing? I am doing well, and I’m very much happy to meet you!”

“Please give me a six-piece box of nuggets, and a large Diet Coke would be lovely!”


Seriously. I can do this all day.


But the Edmund Fitzgerald was more than the 70’s greatest earworm: It was an actual shipwreck off the coast of Whitefish Point, Michigan, not far from Mackinaw Island. You can learn all about the tragedy at one of my favorite museums and parks, The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum. 


The museum sits on what is known locally as the Shipwreck Coast, but you can’t tell it by the beach just beyond the building. It’s a quiet, rocky shoreline and you can slip right into the water if you care to. Or you can find a perfect seat of driftwood, carved by one of the kinder gods of the lake, as my son did a few years back. Pack a picnic, a journal or your e-Reader and sit awhile: When a god gives you a gift, it’s rude not to enjoy it to the fullest.