Oh blah blah blah

So it's the whatever anniversary of Princess Diana's death, and we're all supposed to be weeping and gnashing our teeth in misery because the world lost such a wonderful, sweet, kind, person.

Fie! I'm not glad she's dead, but I thought she was a dumb bitch. A woman who went on national television to talk shit about the father of her children. A mentally unstable woman who tried to manipulate and change a thousand years of tradition to suit her own ends. A woman who used people, made bad judgements, expected everyone else to feel sorry for her, and generally created her own hell.

It's a shame. I do feel bad for anyone who makes their life such a misery. But a saint? Come on! The best thing that woman ever did for herself was die before people could realize what a vacuous fame-whore she really was. The cult that's built up around her (and c'mon, she wasn't that pretty or stylish. Catherine Zeta-Jones has more flair and flatters herself better in clothing. The only reason people think Diana was so stylish is that British women in general look like overly fussy schlubs all the time. Even Diana's famous wedding dress was frumpy and unflattering, I thought) makes me ill. Dodi Fayed was a dumb ass rich kid playboy bent on star-fucking his way into the National Enquirer, and Diana wasn't much better. Am I the only one who looks at that famous interview done back in '80,'81, the one where Prince Charles said something like "Yes, I love her, whatever love means"? And everyone says what a horrible thing that was for him to say...but if you look at Diana standing next to him, she looks smug. Like she's about to go phone all those kids who were mean to her in school and shout "Nyah nyah nyah!" It's not the face of a woman in love, that's all I'm saying. If you can find the video (and with all the Diana-madness we have to endure every year at this time I'm sure you can) have a look at it again with that in mind. You'll see what I mean. (Update--I found the interview online here. It's a bit grainy, so I don't know if you'll get the full effect.)

People who knew her as a child say how she always insisted she was going to marry a Duke at least. People who knew her when she was dating Charles say she totally changed her personality in order to nab him, making him think she was a different person, one who actually liked him and shared his interests. After they married, she went out of her way to upstage him and make him look stupid whenever possible. And we're supposed to think she's a wonderful person?

Does a good mother expose her children to the kind of scrutiny and negative public attention she subjected hers to, in her media war with their father? Does a good mother fire their beloved nanny because she feels threatened by their affection for her? And then publicly accuse said nanny of aborting a pregnancy caused by the children's father? Not last time I checked. I always thought that was the type of action only a selfish, manipulative egomaniac would perform. Oh guess what, I was right.

Don't even get me started on that fucking Elton John song. I remember when she died, and for the next couple of weeks at work, the soft-rock station we were forced to listen to played that goddamn thing like twice an hour. Every hour. All day. And we had to hear celebrity-worshipping morons call in to the station too, sobbing about what a "special person" she was. Just like they thought if they ever met her, she wouldn't look right through them because they couldn't throw her expensive parties or write songs about her.

Sure, she did some good. She touched AIDS patients when nobody would. She deserves credit for that, although I've never heard of any other member of the Royal Family who refused to do the same. But her later causes were a bit facile, weren't they? As Hilary Mantel said in her novel Beyond Black (and this is from memory because I'm too lazy to go upstairs and get the book) "Campaigning against land mines isn't exactly controversial, is it? Everybody is against land mines. It's not like she took a big stand and came out against dolphins or something." Prince Charles created the Prince's Trust as a young man, an incredible charity that helps teach young people valuable skills, get starts in business (including financial aid), earn school qualifications, all kinds of things--practical things--that Diana never went near because it wasn't high profile enough. He also championed organic goods and farming methods long before they were fashionable (Diana laughed at his environmental interests). His Duchy Originals line of organic foods donates all profits to charities (including rural housing projects and international Red Cross appeals) and champions organic, earth-sustaining methods both of growing produce and raising livestock.

It won't surprise you, I'm sure, to know I'm a fan of his, and of Camilla, who I adore. C'mon, the woman introduced herself to him in the 70s with the line, "My great-grandmother was the mistress of your great-grandfather. So how about it, then?" That takes balls, my friend, a streak of banditry we would all do well to emulate. That's a woman with real style, no matter how cruel people might claim she's "not pretty enough". (I've heard she's very pretty in person, and as someone who generally looks like a moonfaced ogre in pictures but am actually okay in person, I believe it.) I'm also a monarchist and so dislike her attempts to "liven it up" or whatever. I also really like the Queen. I even have a soft spot for poor Prince Phillip, a man destined to shove his foot right into his mouth any time he gets the chance to speak.

But Diana...bleh. I didn't want her to die, but I didn't like her one little bit, either.


*I should hopefully be getting some good news very soon, and I'll post it when I do!*


princess diana

Where's the Sex?

You know why my life is so amusing? Because last night at midnight someone called our house, propositioned my husband, then when he handed the phone to me, asked if we would like to have a threesome.

I politely declined.

Is this what people are doing now? After I hung up we thought we should have said yes and told them to meet us at the convenience store across the street, then watched to see if anyone showed up.

My goodness.


It's especially ironic because I've been having a very strange form of writer's block the last week or so. I'm tired of writing sex scenes.

I know, I know. You gasp. You're shocked. How could I--sexy writer extraordinaire--ever get tired of writing steamy stuff?

I don't know how it happened, but it did. Somewhere in between the fifth and sixth sex scene of one of my WIPs I realized I was getting a little bored. Then when I was on the second scene of a different project I just couldn't get it going. My prose kept leaping into purple. I felt like it needed to heat up but I just couldn't seem to get it there.

Re-reading it, it was fine. But I didn't care. I could not bring myself to be excited about these two people and their outdoor lovin'. It was even worse because the hero is a kick-ass dark medieval man, my favorite kind, all tortured and misunderstood.

Maybe it's my fault. Maybe I'm just not feeling the short story format these days. Maybe I'm just experiencing a lull. I dunno. But I'm really getting tired of writing more and more and more sex scenes.

So I'm working on something else, something I'm really excited about--I mentioned it a few weeks ago when I first got the idea, remember? I wrote a query for it. I'll be sending that and the beginning to the Crapometer. It's about 7k words right now, but I'm setting aside several hours a day from now on to get going...because I love it, because I feel good about it, and, honestly, because the sex won't happen until the last half of the book (as I have it planned, anyway) and I'm kind of looking forward to that.

Anyone else ever have writer's block in a specific area like that?

Thanks for the stories of clumsiness. ("And now...Stories of Clumsiness...brought to you by Band-Aid.") They made me and my poor bruised finger feel much better.

Also, does anyone know any therapists (not physcial therapists, but head therapists) who would be willing to give me some info on their working routines? Their education and qualifications? General background stuff?

The Mysterious Disappearing Week

I had two more blog entries planned for the week, but since I'm a pantser not a planner, you're getting this whinging little rant about the days I lost this week.

I was up all night Monday. See, I was trying to place an order on Amazon US. My brother gave me a gift certificate for it for my birthday, and I had no idea what to get but since shipping takes so long from the US I thought I'd better get to ordering. So I browse around, la la la, and have a genius idea. I can't get my face soap here, but they have it on Amazon. I find it. I put it in my cart. The prices are so good I throw in another bar of soap and a lip gloss. Yay! Add a couple of books and I'm done.

Go to checkout. My item total is like $47. They want an extra $50 for shipping. Huh?

Turns out, the Burt's Bees soaps don't come strictly from Amazon, they're in conjunction with Drugstore.com or something and they obviously don't want to ship internationally. So I tried to change the shipping addresses to have them sent to my mother. Then she could ship them to me. (Trust me, this was exactly as exciting to actually do as it is to read about.) I changed the address on the wrong items. I couldn't fix it. I finally did. Shipping costs down. All well.

Until it hit me that the whole point of ordering the stuff from Amazon was so my Mom wouldn't have to go ship them to me.

So I cancelled it all. Meh. I'll fix the order later. It was 4 am.

And the Faery woke up, and didn't want to go back to sleep. So I put in Season Three of Nip/Tuck and ended up watching five episodes--I'm only two away from the ending of the season and finally, finally finding out who The Carver is! I have my suspicions, oh yes. And when did Julia become such an idiot? Your ex husband says your son's girlfriend is a racist, and the girlfriend stands in front of you and says he's a jerk for giving nose jobs to "Jews", and you tell your ex he's out of line? Huh? If one of my girls ever has a boyfriend who says something like that to me I'd kick the little bastard out of my house and tell him never to come near my child again. Anyway.

So basically, I was on my third or fourth wind, and finally went to sleep at like 1 in the afternoon, napped till 5 or so there you go. Tuesday's, as they say, gone with the wind.

Yesterday I almost broke my finger. I was trying to kill a fly. Since there are no screens on the windows, we occasionally get these little flying bastards in the house. I was getting ready to start dinner and nobody likes to cook when there's a fly around, right? Just like nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee. The fly landed on the ceramic-tiled kitchen floor. I grabbed what was handy, which turned out to be a semi-empty cigarette pack. I snuck over to within slamming distance of the fly. I slammed. The cigarette pack fly from my hand and I slammed my middle finger hard on the tile. The fly, of course, buzzed away, laughing, while I screamed and tried not to pass out. He got his, though. The hubs came in and got him with a rolled-up magazine. Ha! Ha!

Meanwhile I can barely move my finger. We had dinner. It still hurt, and I realized I couldn't really bend it well. So I went to the hospital. Digging up change to pay for parking was fun, as I could barely use my right hand (yes, you have to pay to park at the hospital here, which must be great in a real emergency.) The nurse in her frumpy blue dress prodded my finger, asked me to bend it, then told me I probably just overextended the ligaments and so should take ibuprofin and flex it a lot. So that's what I've been doing. Flexing, taking Advil, and watching an amazing bruise blossom under the middle joint of my middle finger.

Ow.

Please make me feel better, and tell me about something clumsy and stupid you've done?

A Heroine Needs a Hero Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle

A few years ago--2003, if I'm remembering correctly, which my husband says I am--he, our friend George, our Princess, and I went to DragonCon in Atlanta. Yes, that's right. Where once I'd made the 12-hour drive from Ft. Lauderdale to Hotlanta in order to see the mighty Supersuckers play live (and they fucking rocked, baby), now I was doing it to see a bunch of grown men dressed like Mr. Spock (and a lot of grown women dressed as Drusilla, complete with creepy baby doll, too.)

Anyway, having just completed the shiny new manuscript for my very first novel, a piece of shit whose details I will not shame myself into admitting but which I still have a secret fondness for, especially since I still believe it contained three very good scenes. Unfortunately, as it ended up tipping the wordy scales at about 114k, those three scenes did not do much to redeem the book itself.

I actually agreed to go to DragonCon not just because my hubby and George like to go to comic book conventions, not just because I was dying to buy myself some cheap Buffy-inspired jewelry. Not even because in the almost ten years the hubs and I have been together, I've developed a fondness for comics and the attendant geekiness that go with them. No, I was going to DragonCon because Luke Perry was going to be there.

Oh yessss. I was gonna meet Dylan McKay if I had to beat someone over the head with my then-20-month-old's very heavy diaper bag to do it.

(Okay, I am one of the hugest 90210 fans ever, really. And I have this creepy ability to recognize a 90210 alum, no matter how bit the part, at 20 paces. "Look!" I'll say, as a face flashes across the screen while some bad Sci-Fi channel film is playing. "It's Steve's crazy girfriend, the one who tried to kill herself because Brenda got the part in the play and she didn't!" Or maybe, "Look! It's the guy Kelly had a crush on who turned out to be gay so they were just good friends instead!" Or even, "Look OUT-it's Donna's stalker, Garret Slan!" Unfortunately, I have never seen Brandon's Bigoted Girlfriend ever again, which is a shame, because she was really funny.)

Anyway, so I agreed to go to DragonCon to bask in the glow of Mr. Perry. And, let's face it, probably to attempt to touch him inappropriately. And as part of the information they give when you you arrive at DragonCon and get your roadie-esque plastic badge, you get a booklet that lists all of the panels and groups and plastic toy-making workshops and Special Effects on Your Home Computer for Guys Who Will Never, Ever Get Laid if They Don't Manage to Build A Computer Woman A La Wierd Science workshops.

In the booklet is a fiction panel discussion. Women in Fiction. Hey, I didn't have much else to do but wait for Mr. McKay--I mean, Mr. Perry--to show up to discuss his Showtime show Jeremiah (Or so he thought, ha ha ha. I planned to spend the entire hour finding out if Shannon Doherty was really as bitchy and evil as Brenda Walsh), so why not?

So upon my hour, I trotted to the Marriot Annex basement room B or whatever, some dingy cell in the warren of similar cells, far away form the action, to sit in on this panel discussion. I'd already seen Richard Kiehl and Lou Ferrigno, so there wasn't much point in standing around.

Among the panelists were Betty Ballantine and Sherrilyn Kenyon. Now, Sherrilyn Kenyon meant nothing to me, but I realized as soon as they introduced the panelists to the whole twenty of us girls in the room that Sherrilyn Kenyon was also Kinley MacGregor, whose book Born in Sin I had just finished the day before we left for Atlanta. Yay! (Okay, stick with me. There really is a point. I promise.)

Ms. Kenyon's appearance at the con had not been publicized at all. There were only a few other people in the room, I think, who knew who she was.

Most of the women on the panel were sci-fi/fantasy writers. This was DragonCon, after all. I wish I could remember their names but honestly I can't. I only remember Betty and Sherrilyn/Kinley, who was perhaps not quite as young as in her photos but was still a very sweet, pretty lady.

One of the audience members asked a question, about what had drawn the panelists to fantasy in particular. Why did they write SF/F? What did they like best about it?

One by one, the panelists answered. "The heroines". "The strong heroines." "The tough heroines." And so on. They each explained how much it meant to them to read those books, because they hadn't realized women could be strong and capable or whatever and apparently each and every one of them had been raised in some cuddly pink gyno-world where no one ever let them see any movies or TV more strident or interesting than The Sound of Music, or read any books aside from Barbie Buys New Clothes. Seriously. I mean no disrespect but I have a hard time buying that "Nobody told me women could be interesting or smart or strong in real life" stuff from any woman born after about 1950, and even that's stretching it. You guys had Katherine Hepburn movies, FFS.

Until it got to Kinilyn (which is what I will call her because I am tired of typing out Sherrilyn/Kinley). She looked a little embarassed, a little shocked, as she explained that she frankly couldn't disagree with them all more, that she liked the tough manly heroes who got to fight with swords and beat people up, and that the female characters were basically uninteresting to her as long as there was an alpha male in the story.

The other women were horrified. How could Kinilyn say the girls weren't important? Werent's SF/F books all about--should be all about--

The Kick Ass Heroines?

They rather visibly shunned Kinilyn for the rest of the discussion. They weren't overtly rude, but you could see them dismiss her. She writes romance. She's not smart and brave like us. I doubt any of them consciously thought it, or deliberately tried to shut her out. They were just less interested in her after that.

When the panel was over, I had the chance to go talk to Kinilyn, and proceeded to act like a complete and total idiot. Eagerly, I explained that I'd just finished her book and how I loved it. So far so good. Now, in my defense, there was a very rude, very large woman in a wheelchair trying to cut into the conversation the whole time, even though I was there first and there were only three people in line. I stood aside and let them go, but by that point the room was essentially empty and I felt stupid. So when I had a chance, and I am still horrified by this, I explained to Kinilyn that I was a writer too, I'd just finished my first book, and wouldn't it be neat if I ended up with her publisher, too! Like we could be Publisher Pals or something.

I would have eased into it if I hadn't felt so pressured, but I did. I said it really fast and shy, with my face flaming.

I still cringe. I still bless Kinilyn, who must have thought I was a total and utter moron, and who I swear hid her pity well.

I don't remember exactly what she said, because by then my sanity had returned and I wanted to beat myself over the head with the hardcover copy of Born in Sin propped on the table, so I scuttled away as fast as I could.

The point of this? The point is, kick-ass heroines have their time and their place, and it ain't in frigging romance novels!

Expect Part 2, babies. I'm only getting warmed up.



Oh, and would you believe, Luke Perry cancelled at the last minute?

I Wrote a little Article

For the Erotic Romance blog, about a certain very graphic word that starts with c and ends with t. I use the word several times in the article (I lost count, but it's a lot) and hopefully managed to use it in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way (although I decided not to mention tongue-in-cheek in the article itself, all things considered.)

If you have any interest in reading it, I'd love it if you'd comment here or there or both and let me know what you think.

It's here.

I've been work, work, working and my fingers are sore. Not much happening in romance blog-land that I want to touch. We still have some whiny asses bitching about "unproductive" and "personal" bad reviews--apparently mentioning the name of the author in conjunction with the badly-reviewed work, as if-gasp-holding the author responsible for the work, makes it a personal attack now--and there's some rumblings about race and black romance writers that even I am not brave enough to go within several blogs' distance of. Or rather, I am that brave, I'm just not that stupid. (Okay, now I have to say something or you'll all think I'm hiding an evil, racist secret. But all I will say is that I don't care if you're black, blue, or green, if you write good books you deserve to have it acknowledged, and if you don't you deserve to be panned or ignored, but readers have a right to not read books with plots that don't interest them--I wouldn't read a "secret baby" book unless my life depended on it, personally. Pleasedon'tkillmeIhavetwochildren.)

Sorry this is so short, but I really have been playing in Blogland a little too much over the last hour or two-that c-word article took some time-so I should get some actual work done. It occured to me recently that if I want to be a writer I do need to actually do some of that pesky writing, so I shall go do that now.

Scot Wha Hae, or Glencoe Part 2

As one of my birthday gifties, I had £15 worth of book tokens for Waterstones. Which is seriously like the best kind of gift you can give me (not that you should all be giving me gifts. Several de-lurked and introduced themselves, which was lovely lovely, and again, if you're now linking to me & want a link back let me know. Anyway.)

I decided, as I do every time I go to the bookstore, of course, to see what kinds of romances are on the shelves. This particular Waterstone's (Exeter) even had a section titles "American Romance". Cool. So I had a look. Let's see...contemporary paranormal, Regency, Regency, Regency, Victorian (ooh! But I won't get it today), Georgian, contemporary paranormal...ah! A book with "Knight" in the title! Just the kind of thing I like...oh.

It's set in Scotland.

So I put it back and look for another. Oh, there's a guy on the cover with a sword! Oh...and a kilt. The shelves are full of kilts these days, just like how all over America there is the smell of burning dinners.

You know, rumor has it historicals are coming back, and nobody could be more pleased than me. I love historicals, love love love them, because I love history and this way I have my two favorite subjects all in one.

But enough with Scotland! Please! How many of you people saw Braveheart and decided to write a frigging book?

Of course I'm sure most of these books are not written by Braveheart fans who consider the movie research, although I have noticed a lack of research in a large portion of Scottish romances I've read (sometimes, you just want a historical and do't care that buying the book means you're going to be stuck with 380 pages of phonetically spelled accents-hae, havena, noo, etc.) And a large portion of them conform to Gabriele's Rules of Scottish Romances, which isn't always a bad thing--some of those Rules are Rules because no matter how many times we read them we still enjoy reading them.

But come on, people! Why Scotland? Why does it seem to be the only setting medievals are still published in? (I should have written, "in which historicals are still published", I know. But you know what? I've just been doing edits in which all of my imperfect grammar has been ruthlessly excised, so fuck you. I'm ending with a preposition. As Churchill said, "That is the sort of English up with which I will not put.") Why not give us some loveable strong alphas fighting for Richard I in France, or John in France, or go back a little further and involve our H/h in twisted doings during Stephen's reign? There's plenty of intrigue and delight in early medieval England--my beloved Planatgenets aired their family greivances across several continents--and still later. The Hundred Year's War! Medieval pirates (yes, they had them!) The frigging Spanish Armada! (Notice I'm not mentioning the Wars of the Roses. That is because I hereby claim them. I will be writing about them for at least my next two historicals. I also claim medieval Wales. You guys can have the rest. Except Jenn, because I know she's already got something medieval and Welsh cooking in her bookpot.)

I love Scotland. Hubs and I spent our honeymoon in Edinburgh and it is hands-down my favorite city I've ever visited. Scotland is truly beautiful. It's a fabulous place, and I think you should all go there because you will love it, too. I'm all for Scottish Independence and think it's wonderful that they have their own Parliament. We've even talked about moving there at some point. But it's not like it's the only place to set a historical romance (outside of London and the ton, of whom I am sick to death of reading.) There were wars and people being fiery all over England and Wales, too, and Ireland! (And I am really interested in reading about medieval Ireland, btw, and thinking of it for a book. My next medieval hero is Irish.)

But medieval Scotland was not this perfect land of milk and honey, either. And they DID NOT WEAR FRIGGING CLAN TARTANS, people! Not in the 13th & 14th centuries! Scottish history is rich and beautiful enough! Quit futzing about with it, quit stealing it and changing it and exploiting it. If you want to write kilts, write about 18th century Scotland, a rich and fertile time and place that nobody seems to want to touch for reasons unfathomable to me.(For that matter, the time of Mary Queen of Scots had enough intrigue and excitement and strife to fill Loch Ness twice over, with murdered bishops and exploding Prince consorts and all. Write about that!)


But Scotland is not the end-all be-all of medieval history. It's not the only place where men were men (again, more on that very soon. I'm formulating that rant, which will probably be a two-part rant but I can't promise anything) and ladies were ladies, or weren't ladies as the case may be. And honestly, I'm a little tired of seeing the poor Normans and English get the short end of the stick. They had their good points too. They weren't all murderous rapist baby-killing thieves. I swear.

So let's write some other times and settings, okay? Please?

Give me a Birthday Present

Okay, I wasn't going to say anything, but today is my birthday. And so you know what you should do?

Delurk.

If you've been reading here and not commenting, or if you've commented once or twice but not often, or whatever, comment now. Tell me something about yourself. How you found me. Things you like or don't like. Your favorite food. Whatever you want to say.

(This doesn't excuse anyone from commenting about my post below, btw. It's an additional duty you must perform because today is my birthday, and as we get older those days get considerably less special, don't they?)

More About Heroes

I was going to discuss those irritating "kick ass" heroines today, and I do plan to very soon. But I was thinking about a question someone else asked somewhere else (if I can be any vaguer than that, please tell me and I will try) and decided to discuss that instead. Mainly because I'm not feeling very ranty. I'm tired and a little pensive and my MIL arrives tomorrow for the weekend so I'm apprehensive about that.

So here's what I was wondering. When you write a hero (or, if you are a man, when you write a heroine) do you fall in love with them?

I do, at least to some extent. I have to. I can't write a hero effectively if he doesn't have at least some qualities that I admire or am attracted to or, you know, obsessed with or whatever.

A while ago I had a story in mind. I had an opening scene. It was a pretty good scene. It was a pretty good story. But the hero...I just couldn't get into him. He was too much of a crusader. He cared too much about the poor and unfortunate. I just don't find that sexy.

Which makes me sound kind of shitty, I guess, but I can't help it. It's not that my heroes don't care about stuff, but the way this guy kept coming off was like some sort of Francis of Assisi or something. The kind of guy who would follow those silly permission guidelines that some college (I keep wanting to say Oberlin; am I right?) instituted in the early 90's. You remember, the one where anytime anyone wanted to touch anything or remove any clothing they had to ask first?

This isn't yet another discussion of manly heroes, though. It's more about what kinds of characters we write and why. I think there can tend to be an idea that if you're writing romantic heroes that you're in love with, you're basically writing a Mary Sue heroines to go with them, a thin stand-in for yourself so you can have this fantasy relationship with your perfect hero. That a real writer doesn't fall in love with their hero because they're writing someone who is perfect for their heroine, not for themselves. (And this is just the way my thoughts ran, it certainly wasn't suggested or implied by anyone at this other place.)

I don't think that's true, though, at all. Perhaps I'm just not talented enough, but to write a character really effectively I think I need to either love them or hate them. I need to feel strongly about them in order to convey them strongly on the page, if you know what I mean.

I fall in love with the heroines a little bit, too, though. Not in the same way, of course. But isn't making a new friend a little like falling in love? First you're interested in the other person, then you want to get to know them better, and you get together, and then maybe start talking on the phone, and at some point you do go through that same "falling in love" thing where they're basically the only person you want to talk to because it's so much fun to talk to them, as you learn all about them and they learn everything about you.

That's how it is with the heroines. Some of the things they do might irritate me but generally I admire and like them. I want to hang out with them. And--and this is something I'll go into another time--I get a little irritated when people say writers inject too much of themselves into a character. I'm a pretty complex kind of a lady. I have a lot of interests and a lot of opinions, and when you get right down to it, how many character traits are there out there that we don't all possess in ourselves?

So in a very roundabout way I guess that's the crux of the thing. When you write, how much of yourself are you investing? Do you have to love or hate your characters-does it make it more fun when you do?


And I almost forgot: a big huge Congratulations! to my great friend SW Vaughn, who sold a romantic suspense novel to Wild Child Publishing! No release date yet, but I'm very excited for her!

Happy Birthday

Today was my older daughter's fifth birthday. I know I was supposed to do a real post but it will have to wait until tomorrow. The day totally got away from me.

Quickie

1. The second chapter of my short story is up at Indulge. (Note: I neglected to mention there is a sex scene in this chapter. It's relatively mild compared to some of my work, but still explicit. You may want to be sure your boss or child or whomever is not around when you read this one. Sorry for not saying it earlier.)


2. Looks like The Black Dragon, my medieval romance, will be released in December as an ebook. No word yet on wther or not it will also be released in print, or when. Fingers crossed!

3. I have a Library Thing now! Look under my links on the right!

I'll do a real post later today or early tomorrow.

It's Real Literature! (Part 2 of "Old School")

I had a little epiphany the other day. Someone posted a comment about romances on another blog and I said something like, "Oh, you're judging all romances by one" or whatever. And I was actually a little irked. Not a lot irked, but a little irked.

Then I saw that article I linked to (which is turning up everywhere, btw.) And I started thinking about it. Cue epiphany.

Who cares?

Why do I care if someone thinks romances are crap? Why do I care of someone thinks they're easy to write, or dull, or stupid, or Not Real Books?

In other words, why do the opinions of the rude and pretentious matter to me?

A lot of people I know were pleased with that article. They thought this might be a step towards getting romances somehow recognized as art or something. And you know, that's fine. If it's important to them, that's fine. But for me it's a little like being good in bed. As long as the person who shares that activity with me (that would be my husband) is pleased, I don't care what people I've never slept with think about my performance.

And ultimately, I do believe all this "We're serious artists" stuff is bad for romance. Why? Because, as I said the other day, romances should be fun.

I think there are a lot of people who are trying so hard to prove that romances are smart and well-written and Worthy of Serious Consideration, that they've forgotten to write fun stuff. I've read some dull-as-dishwater romances, believe me. And I really think this is the reason why.

Romances have gotten so politically correct. So safe. So bland! You rarely see, for example, heroines who throw china and heroes who punch holes in walls and people who scream at each other and then start kissing and have angry, tearful sex on jets flying to their private island, where they'll connive to take over the corporation of some hapless fool who is the heroine's real father but she doesn't know it. Or whatever.

Part of this may be because such characters became a little cliche by about the early nineties (although one thing that does piss me off is when current writers pick on those 70's romances. Those writers had it a lot harder than we do, writing on typewriters all day and not having communities or blogs or email. They were published authors in an age where a woman having a career that she cared about was still an anomaly. So quit talking about how much better you are than those hacks, okay? Or how dumb and cliche their books were. They paved the way for you, and you should have some respect.) Part of it may be simply that such stories aren't fashionable at the moment-market trends do change. But I firmly believe there are a lot of women out there who are bored by the romances coming out now, who would jump all over something like that were it published now. Something big and blowsy and fun. Like The Crimson Petal and the White was touted as being before we all read it and realized it wasn't that sexy at all, not was it especially fun, and the ending sucked.

I think this is why paranormals have become so big. Because vampires are allowed to be sort of smooth and sexist (mmmm). Werewolves are allowed to be rude alpha males (in fact, it's pretty much a requirement, isn't it?) Erotic romance is part of this, too. Lots of action, lots of sex, lots of excitement. Not page after page of the heroine's crusade to help the poor, or whining about the man who left her when she got pregnant, or whatever.

The point is, I'm tired of hearing about and reading about and seeing articles about how romance writers should be taken seriously and look how good these books are and what modern topics they cover. I realize it's necessary in some places to keep new readers coming into the fold. But the people who we seem to be trying so hard to impress are never going to care. They just won't. A romance could win a Pulitzer and they'll still say romance is crap. So why bother? Why not just say, "Yeah, and lots of people love reading my crap, so there."

Let's all try it, shall we? Let's be proud to write fun stuff, to write books people enjoy reading.

It's like that guy Miss Snark overheard talking about his Life of the Mind. Screw you, you pretentious weed. It's probably easy to live a life of the mind when nobody wants to talk to you because your head is so far up your own ass you're practically a gordian knot.

People like that aren't worth my time, and they shouldn't be worth yours.

So bring on Lady Sheba St. John and her mortal enemy, the handsome Lord Devlin, and their forbidden passion!

Famine to Feast--for the moment--and a little end note

If the length of the title doesn't clue you in, I have words, words, words all over the place. ("Because I was afraid of worms, Roxanne! Worms!")

Ever have one of those days where it seems like you get a million story ideas, each one better than the last, so good you're tempted to abandon your current WIP and the work you planned to start next and start on the new idea?

I've had two days like this now. Last night I couldn't get to sleep I was so excited. Now I am literally bussing like a cokehead over a different idea. (Also maybe caffeine is involved.) Seriously. I was reading something and a random sentence jumped out at me and a whole book fell into my head.

It's great. It's also really, really bad and dangerous. You know why?

Reread that second paragraph. See the part where it says, "you're tempted to abandon your current WIP and the work you planned to start next..."? Get it now?

I would be more excited about this burst of creativity, but part of me is convinced it's that nasty little sneak, the Subconscious Fear of Failure, working in combination with Old Lazy. If I never finish another book, I'll never sell another book, but I can keep writing newer and better ideas! The next one will surely be the one I finish, right? Of course! Why wouldn't I finish a book with such fantastic potential, the book sure to rocket me to the top of the NYT bestseller list?

I'll tell you why. Because halfway through that-once I'm through my clever opening and the story is really getting going, I'll get a little bored because that first burst of excitement will fade, and I'll decide it all sucks, and instead of working through it so I can get to the point where I know it doesn't suck again, I'll start something else! Something better! Something...shiny.

Plus...there's The Shield on DVD to watch. I'm a much better writer after I've watched Vic Mackey kick some ass for a couple of hours, right? Or after a little snack. Or maybe a movie. Then a cigarette. Then they might show a good rerun of Frasier or something. And next thing you know...thassright. I've writte 200 words and wasted my whole evening.

So while part of me is way, way excited about this new story, I'm not going to hurry up and start writing it (except for as much of the plot I can get, written in longhand--which is how I always do my synopses before starting work) until it's had some time to sit in my head and I can be sure it isn't just my Sneaky Sub trying to distract me, magpie-like, with Shiny New Story Ideas.

Some Random Notes:

So excited! I almost hit 30 comments on my last post (and I haven't forgotten about Part 2, or the Kick Ass Heroines, or any of the other stuff. It's all written down where I won't lose it, I promise, and besides, that shit's in my head all the damn time anyway.) I know it's actually more like 27 because I had that lame-ass spammer show up, but still. It's more than I've ever had. Simple minds, simple pleasures, you know. That was a very cool simple pleasure for me.

And on that note, sometime in the next few days I plan to update my links (adding, not removing). SO if you want to link to me and would like me to link to you, let me know. It might be good to keep in mind that I do read the blogs I link to every day, and that generally they are the only blogs I read. I go through them one by one (although, as I say on the sidebar, in no particular order). If you're not there, I probably won't check yours, just because I either have to dig through comments every time or I have to bookmark you and I always forget to bookmark. So either comment or shoot me an email.

Kickin' It Old School

So, this article on MSN got me thinking. For those who are too cool to click, the article is titled "Can't judge romance novel by its steamy cover"--Audience expanding as genre is no longer all about smut, shirtless heroes. (Thanks for the link, Sybil).


From the article: ATLANTA - Strong women and edgy plots about relationships are replacing the heated passion and ripped bodices of swooning damsels in distress traditionally associated with romance novels.

You know what? I like books about heated passion and ripped bodices. I like damsels in distress (granted, mine usually aren't swooning, but still.) In fact, I just wrote an almost-genuine bodice ripping scene the other day, in which the hero tears the heroine's dress off, and damn, I enjoyed that!

I miss romances like they were in the 70's and 80's (and if anyone ever wants to buy ol' December a giftie, I collect 60s/70s gothic romances, the ones where the heroine is always wearing something diaphanous and running away from a large looming mansion with her hair flying in the wind behind her. I love those books.) I miss shirtless heroes and those luridly colored old clinch covers--I love those covers. I miss the huge, bloated, sex-filled romances I read when I was a young teen. (Many of those, btw, were my mother's. I'm not THAT old, okay? I'm only almost 33.) The ones where the couples fight and fuck and have adventures across three continents, and there's very little worry about how they're growing as people.

This is one reason why I love Connie Mason's books so damn much. So Connie isn't the best writer in the world. So some of Connie's dialogue passes the verge of ridiculous and plunks itself right down in the middle of stupid. So her characters are sometimes a little TSTL (Too Stupid To Live). So what? How can one resist prose like, "His mouth took hers once more as he spread her thighs and fondled her, his drugging kisses turning her to putty in his arms" or "Their bodies were all but glued together, and she felt his man part prodding ruthlessly against the secret place between her thighs." Who doesn't love that shit? C'm ON! Connie's books are just sex scene after sex scene, and the spaces in between are filled with pretty people having dumb-ass arguments and doing dumb-ass things. But they're good books. They're FUN. Romance should be FUN.

Can I get an amen? Romance should be fun. I'm really rather tired of these romances that are all about social issues or how people learn to grow and change. They take themselves so seriously! If I want to read about people growing and changing, I'll read literary fiction. I like literary fiction. I have quite a lot of it. But I read romance to escape and enjoy myself. I write it because I love writing it.

I'm not saying issues and romance don't go together. Of course the people have to be real people (although this is one reason why I prefer historicals, both reading and writing--because I don't have to hear about nuclear war or the environment or whatever in a medieval.) Of course they have to have their issues. You guys know I love heroes with dark secrets and all kinds of damage done to them. Nobody's saying romance shouldn't deal with people and their lives.

But I'm so tired of socially responsible romance. I want some hairy alpha males, attempted rapes, forced seductions, life-threatening danger, virgins wondering at the strange new sensations in their bodies and turning into sex slaves, all that good stuff. I want to feel like I'm really having FUN when reading a romance.

And I think the fun has kind of been forgotten as everyone tries so hard to prove that romances are Real Literature.


I'll probably do a part 2 to this post. I'm planning to start blogging more often but with my sd here I'm not having much chance. She leaves end of the week so hopefully I'll have more time then.)

My Beautiful Cover!

As I mentioned before, Nancy Donahue from WCP (she also has her own art site, Cottage Magic) designed this, and I really do think it's beautiful. I'm extremely pleased with it, and excited!

The book will be out in January in ebook and trade paperback!

Here's the blurb:

They called him the Prince of Death...

Wa is coming, and Prince Cynwrig's enemies the Cliothens will do anything to have victory. So when he finds Ayani Suntwister, a Cliothen warrior woman, lying beaten and near death in the road, he knows she's dangerous. When he allows her to seduce him, suspecting there is more to her sudden appearance in his lands than meets the eye, he knows he's risking his life.

What he doesn't know is that the danger isn't just to his body, but to his heart as well. Will the Prince of Death find a reason to live in the arms of a woman he cannot trust-but cannot resist?

Is it A Record?

I'm still in a good mood!

Even the latest RWA bullshit can't dull my high spirits. In fact, I had actually planned to do a tiny amount of ranting about that, but I'm too cheerful. Besides, a lot of other people have already said what I would have said.

Well, okay, except this. The idea that gay people falling in love is somehow unromantic is fine. (No, it isn't, of course, but stay with me.) But according to the same types of people who would say something like the above statement, sex doesn't really belong in romance anyway. They prefer their romance squeaky-clean and sex free. These are generally the same people who remind us over and over that romance novels aren't about sex, and the physical aspects of the relationship aren't so important, it's the people and their sweet kindness and the way they manage to find each other and blah blah blah anything that doesn't involve cocks. Sex in romance is shameful! What sort of person wants to read about such things? They have loftier interests, they do. They're interested in people's souls, much like Satan waving those contracts around.

So that being the case, what difference does it make if the people falling in love are a men/woman combo, or man/man or woman/woman, or man/woman/man, or whatever? If the filthy little sexual aspects are unimportant and don't belong in a romance novel, what difference does it make? Information about people's dirty bits and how they fit together has no place in romance anyway, right, because somehow sex is not romantic. So why not just submit a novelization of Lethal Weapon or, my favorite, John Woo's The Killer? If romance novels are basically just man/woman buddy movies, why not?

I'll tell you why not. Because romance is for adults. If it wasn't, we'd call it YA. It's for grown-ups, and grown-ups not only have sex but sometimes like to read about or see other people having sex. (Remind me to rant about porn sometime, and how if the porn industry would film some erotic romance novels--not the books themselves, you understand, but scripts based on them--women would probably enjoy porn more. I'm not a fan of porn, but I'd sure watch it if it was costume porn, with knights and lots of ass-kicking in between the graphic sex scenes. Make that romantic graphic sex scenes, that is. Oops, guess I ranted about porn when I wasn't paying attention. My rants have developed a life of their own.)

Anyway, romance novels are for grown-up people, by grown-up people and about grown-up people. If you want to read books where nobody has sex and only pretty ladies and squeaky-clean men fall in chaste love, read inspirational romance or shit written for teenagers, and get your nasty little hands off my sex scenes.

But, as I said, I'm not going to write about that. I'm too happy. Why?

Because I just saw the cover art for Prince of Death, and I am really, really, REALLY pleased with it. I love it. I think it's beautiful, I think it's romantic, I think it's just a little sexy. The artist, Nancy Donahue, did a smashing job and was more than willing to fix my little nitpicks to make it perfect. I'm not allowed to post it until we get the okay from WCP's EIC/Publisher, but the minute I do I will put it up. I really love it and hope you will too, and all is right with the world (except those damn RWA bitches and their pissy little letters. But screw them--I have a pretty cover!)

And Now For Something Completely Different

I've been ranting a lot lately, and I fear my righteous anger and propensity to use "fuck" a lot has perhaps concealed the true sunny goodness of my personality.

Nah, not really. But I would like to be a little light-hearted today, so I'm going to talk about something fun. (No, this isn't the Snakes on a Plane post. That will come later. Can't wait for Snakes on a Plane!)

Instead I'm going to talk about Reno 911! and Encyclopedia Brown.

How are the two connected? you may ask. I'll tell you how they are connected, and in so doing will reveal the reason for this post, too.

Okay, first, I love Reno 911!. I think it's hysterical, the kind of funny that, like Office Space or Free Enterprise, gets funnier every time you see it. I love the characters-Lt. Dangle and his shorts (so he can move like a Cheetah); Jonesy and his seemingly insatiable sexual appetite; Raeneshia who likes being a cop so she can push men around; Wiegel the racist idiot; Garcia the boob; Junior the white trash petty thief; and Clemmie the whore. (I know they added someone new to the show in Season Three, but being in England I haven't seen it yet.) Every character is so perfect, and so perfectly funny. The show is a gem, and if you are a writer who likes to do comedy, you could do a lot worse than studying this show, because the humor is so character driven.

Where the show fits in with this blog is in one particular classic episode, I believe from Season 2. (I have the first two seasons on DVD but I'm too lazy to go hunt for it.)

The Sheriffs of Reno respond to a 911 call and arrive at the scene of a fire in an apartment building. A man is outside in his robe, begging them to let him go back in to rescue his manuscript. It's his only copy of a novel he's been working on for several years.

They ask him what it's about, which is funny in itself. He tells them it's about a man whose father died, and twenty years later he starts getting letters, and they're from his Dad, and his Dad was murdered...

"Oh, it's that movie," says Dangle. The Sheriffs argue about whether it was Randy or Dennis Quaid in the film (Frequency) for a while, blah blah, all very funny. They tell the author it sounds derivative, it's already been done. Then Lt. Junior shows up. The writer begs him to go get it. Junior starts to go but is called back by Dangle, who says, "Nononono, don't bother. It sucks."

The plot is explained to Junior, who insists that's an Encyclopedia Brown story. Meanwhile the writer is freaking out.

The Fire Dept. arrives. The writer begs the fireman to go get his book. The sheriffs tell him not to. The fireman asks the writer what the book is about. The frustrated and upset writer mumbles some half-assed response. And, in one of the best moments ever, the fireman says:

"You know, if you can't get excited about your work, how can you expect anyone else to?"

At which point I collapse into giggles and decide Reno 911! is one of the smartest, funniest, bestest shows ever.

Becuase it's true. You need to be passionate about your work. You need to believe in it. Passion is a good thing. Loving your book is a good thing. If you can translate that passion onto the page, readers will feel it, and they'll be passionate about it too. Love like that, excitement like that, is infectious, and translating it to the page is half the battle.

Personally, I tend to dislike my work until it's done, as I've mentioned before. I'm about 15k into a new book at the moment that I'm really enjoying, but I know that I'm almost at the point where the whole thing will start to seem like useless drivel to me. I'll push on, because I love to finish a book and I'm just a deicated kind of a girl, but when I finish it I'll put it aside with a sigh of relief and a determination to never show it to anyone, that it sucks and blah blah blah.

Then I'll go back and read it a week or two later and fall in love with it all over again.

I'm reaching a point where the only books I want to read are my own. Am I the only one who gets that way?

That episode reminded me of somethng else, though, too. How much I used to really like Encyclopedia Brown I loved those books! I loved trying to match wits with his enormous intellect. Just like those One-Minute Mysteries or Five-Minute Mysteries you used to be able to get. Can you still find Encyclopedia Brown books in the stores? Or has he been totally phased out by Girls Who Are Smart and Have Adventures While the Boys Bake Cookies or Feminist Retellings of Every Kid's Book, Myth, or Legend You Ever Loved As A Child books?

That's one of the things I love most about Harry Potter. The cast is largely male (with the exception of Hermione, who is more interesting now than she used to be but who I still wouldn't care to spend a lot of time with.) It's about boys doing boy things, and I love it.

End Notes

I am out of town again this weekend.

Are my posts too long?

Should I post more often?


reno 911

Why do Women Suck so Much?

No, this post isn't about that. It's actually sort of an addendum to my earlier post about the to-do at Romancing the Blog.

There's another little mess a-brewing. Some woman posted a negative review of Jennifer LaBrecque's Blaze book, Highland Flings, on Amazon. So Jennifer, in a sweet, classy move, offered to refund the reviewer's money at the RWA convention.

It should have ended there.

Of course, it didn't. Why? Because the Everybody's Special Especially Us Romance Writers Crew had to leap on in and start bitching. (I'm making these up, because I don't want to quote anybody, so these are composites, if you will):

It takes a lot of talent to write a book. That reviewer doesn;t know what we go through. It's hard work.

If you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.

It's a good book because it's a published book.

The value of the book lies in the work the author put into it, not in how good one person thinks it is.

Oh my GODS. Shut UP you miserable, whiny little soft-porn Pollyannas! Every time something says something bad about anyone or anything, you all have to leap in like a bunch of frigging Southern Baptists at a gay wedding and Put A Stop To All This Meanness Before Somebody's Precious Feelings Get Hurt.

Instead of pulling out those dumb-assed platitudes about how special we all are, why not remember an even better, more valid life lesson, about how to be a good loser? About how not everyone is your friend (I'm sure as fuck not)? About how not everyone likes the same things?

See, the thing is, I know you bitches. I went to high school with you. We all went to high school with you. You insisted then that we all conform and like what you liked, and you're still fucking doing it now. It's shit like this that totally stifles intellectual debate, that makes it impossible for people to disagree but still appreciate the value of another person's opinion. It's shit like this that reinforces the stereotype that romance writers are a bunch of miserable, PMS-ridden morons who wear nothing but pink and teach their kids that if they get the answers wrong, they've still succeeded. Well no they haven't, and I'll be damned if I'll let you people turn the public image of romance writers into some simpering, babyish Niceness Monitors in fluffy pink cars, surrounded by hair-bow-wearing minions like the fucking Stepford Scribes or something.

Ladies (and I use the term loosely, because where I come from a lady allows other people to think independently), when we write a book we have to expect there will be people who don't like it. More than that, if all we ever get from readers is "nice things" then we never know how to reach a bigger audience. This is how people actually learn. Do I expect that everyone will like my work? Fuck, no. Does it hurt when they don't? Of course it does. But, as I have pointed out so many times before, my work is not me. Just because someone doesn't like my voice or my story doesn't mean they've said they don't like me. And you know what? Fuck 'em if they did.

I put my work out there. I hope people like it. If they don't, I wonder why. But that's as far as it goes. Frankly, I'm a little too busy to spend my days chasing them around cyberspace to tell them how mean they are. (Although I do agree that if you're trying to get published, criticizing the work of the house you're subbing to may not be the best idea.) And really, I don't have the right to insist they keep their damn mouths shut if they don't like it. Because once I put it out there, it's not mine anymore. It becomes the property of the readers. (Yes, technically it's mine, but you know what I mean.) They can use my book as toilet paper if they so desire and it's none of my business.

It's the arrogance of these people that stuns me. Once we start insisting that readers don't review our books unless they're going to be positive, where does it end? "And don't read my book if you haven't showered yet. Or if you're...answering nature's call (that's as close to a toilet joke as you're ever going to get from me, btw). Or if your hands are smudgy. Don't read it if you don't watch Nip/Tuck, because I like Nip/Tuck and you'd better like it to if you expect me to deign to allow you to read my precious words. If you are over 40, don't read my book. If you are a manual laborer, you will likely not understand my book so I would prefer you not read it." (That isn't my opinion, just to clarify.)

Contempt for the readers and their opinions? Fuck you. The readers are why we're here. If you don't like it, why don't you pick another career, you pussy? Why not take your own sage greeting-card advice and keep your mouth shut?

Jennifer LaBrecque has style. She took it on the chin and kept smiling. That's the way we should all be.

Part of Today's Post

The first part of my first short is up at Indulge. I'm not sure how much I like it, unfortunately, but there it is, so give it a read and tell me what you think.

More later.

Real Post Tomorrow

Just a quick note, I made it home safely but I'm up to my shell-pink little ears in work, so no blogging for me. :-(

Historical paranormal won. I'm hard at work on it as we speak and will post the first bit tomorrow. (I will of course post the link here in the nice post I promise to do tomorrow.)

On the Fly

I'm just getting ready to walk out the door-we'll be in London for the weekend so I won't be around until Sunday night.

While I am gone, it would be great if you could help me out with something. Starting Monday I will be writing a short tory for the Indulge blog-one short "chapter" every three weeks.

Is there a particular setting you'd be interested in? Historical-maybe medieval or Victorian? Or a paranormal? A combination? Might be fun to do a paranormal historical.

Let me know. Most popular option wins.

Am I Jumping on the Bandwagon?

Maybe a little, but I'm gonna do it anyway.

So lately there's been lots of lalala happening in Blogland. Bloggers being snarky, writers stepping in and being downright shitty, publishers threatening everyone. Romancing the Blog had a post about this the other day (the link will take you straight to said post. If you feel up to it, read some of the comments. Specifically mine. Here's what I said:

"I think it’s about time we all started saying something about this. Romance has a bad enough reputation as it is, the last thing we need is for readers to start saying, “And the romance writers act like whiny children when criticized, too.”

If your boss criticized your performance, would you start calling him/her names? Not if you wanted to keep your job, you wouldn’t.

The readers are my bosses. They’re all of our bosses, no matter how much a few writers would have us believe they’re somehow superior to those pesky readers."

Guess which part of the comment I thought might get people talking? That's right, the bit about how shit like this spoils the reps of romance writers in general. Because it does. Publish America doesn't get reviews, in large part because they're shit, but also because the few places that took pity on their writers and did review them found themselves knee-deep in nasty letters if they didn't give the book a glowing, five-star recommend.

That wasn't the part that people responded to, though. Instead they all had to leap on my to tell me how readers aren't their bosses, they would never see the readers as their bosses, they work for themselves and I'm just wrong to the nth level of wrong for daring to suggest that we keep our readers in mind when we write, and that we not pop into their blogs to call them names if we don't like their response.

Okay, it was an analogy, folks. That's all. The example worked. I suppose I could have said "You don't insult your customers if they hve a complaint about your service" but the fact is someone would have said something pissy about that too (aside from the fact that I worked in Customer Service and retail for years and regularly insulted my customers. And no, I wasn't a dominatrix.) The problem with the customer analogy is that it is easy to insult one customer. You know if they want your product they'll probably be back, unless you spit at them and call them horrible names. We've all had bad service somewhere and still gone back because we really do love the food, or because the store is right near our houses, or whatever.

But readers aren't like that, and you don't fuck with your boss. Your boss is sacrosanct to his face. To tell your boss what a flaming dillweed he is to his face is career suicide. So should it be with our readers. To have your boss assign you to a project on, say, development of a new sales script, and you turn around and give him a project on the way fountains would brighten up the building's grounds, is a perhaps less serious form of career suicide, but a bad idea just the same. So it is with readers. Yes, we write for ourselves. But once we're published, our writing for ourselves--or rather, our livelihood therefrom--is governed not just by our own whims, but by those of our readers.

The other ranty thing happened on a different blog. Contracts were being discussed, and some brave anonymous popped in to say how any writer who signs a contract with a certain publisher (I think I know who it was) must be desperate because the contract is so bad. They turned it down, because their work is better than that and they want to find the right home for their baby. Arguments ensued, which I followed with great interest.

While I understand that mindset (except for insulting writers who made different choices than you did), I don't agree with it. You know why? Because while each book I write is my baby, it's not my only baby. I know I will write another one, probably an even better one. (Like, for example, Prince of Death, out Jan 07 from Whiskey Creek Press-Torrid! Which to be honest I thought kind of sucked, but last night I reread it and was pleasantly surprised. It's not bad. So you should all buy it. Anyway.) Selling a manuscript is selling a manuscript to me. So the contract for this one or that one isn't the best. So I wish I had found a bigger publisher for that one or that one. Whatever.

There will be other books. My books are not me. They are not full of my precious, golden words that only the exalted may gaze upon. They're stories, and I love them, but I'm also in this business to try and earn a living. I've chosen to start at the bottom and work my way up. I have complete faith in my writing and my books, this has nothing to do with that. But if I can go to an agent or editor with some credits, I might have a little leg up. I might be less of a risk than someone with no credits.

And if not, I'm still earning money as a writer while they wait for That Perfectly Author-Friendly Contract, because they won't sell this book until they find it. Which means they will probably never sell the book. Why? Because they've gotten their egos so wrapped up in it that they think it's their only chance. I know each book I write is not my only chance. Not by a long shot. I'm in this for the long haul, which means I'm working as hard as I can and selling what I can. An unsold ms is not a precious baby who still needs a home. It's however many months of my life wasted. And yes, maybe one day I'll sell it, when I'm a huge bestseller and people are desperate for anything by me :-). But until then it's still months of my life wasted. (And btw, when I hit that bestseller list, you better believe I'll be buying out my less-than-perfect contracts, baby.)

Well. I have really rambled on. I had some questions for yall, but I think I'll post them tomorrow.

The Pirate's Family Jewels and the Same-Sex Lovin'

Got your attention now, eh?

I owe you all My Exalted Opinions on several different manifestations of same-sex sex, but first I had to relate my silly titles.

I was thinking of writing a highwayman story. Cuz I'm all about the highwaymen. What could I call it? I thought. The Highwayman's Treasure? Well, no, because highwaymen don't really have treasure, per se. The Highwayman's Gold? Eh, no...what's a good word for stolen stuff? Booty? The Highwyaman's Booty? Uh...yeah.

Which got me thinking about a series of tongue-in-cheek pirate stories: Stolen Booty, Hidden Booty, A Big Pile of Booty, Stealing Booty, Booty in the Chest, My Beloved Booty? How about The Pirate's Hidden Treasure? The Pirate's Stick of Gold? Oh, does the hilarity ever stop?

Okay. Now for the sex stuff. First, I do have a very strong opinion about men having sex with each other in the World Cup locker rooms. I am totally against it. Because I am a fan of old-time sports superstitions, or really any kind of semi-obsolete thought on anything, I don't think footballers should be having any kind of sex during the World Cup, heterosexual or homosexual, in the locker room or in their luxurious hotel rooms filled with champagne and performance-enhancing drugs. (I'm just kidding about the drugs, of course. Ha ha!) No sex! Sex steals their life force, or makes their muscles weak, or whatever the reason used to be for why athletes should keep it in their pants before The Big Game. You want pent-up sexual rage on the field, baby!

Now according to everything I've read and seen lately (all my insider info, y'know), the Next Big Thing in the erotic romance game is man-on-man love. Especially when that love is, ah, penetrative. Menage books are big, m/m books are big. Girl-on-girl not so much. I've written (to some extent) both.

There is a girl-on-girl scene in my vampire novel (it involves a vibrator, too!) It's a show being put on for the bad vampire, who is no longer capable of "performing" and so comes up with more and more interesting things to watch. Nobody is particularly tunred on by this except for the bad vamp, but I imagine if you were turned on by that sort of thing, it's a pretty hot scene. I mean, it's supposed to be, although it is short and a little less detailed than my other scenes are.

Keep in mind that's erotic erotic romance, though, meant to be strictly for the over-18s. I wouldn't put a scene like that in all my stories--it fit this one and gave us some insight into the motivations of Mr. Bad, but apparently readers aren't big fans of the g-on-g.

M/m, on the other hand...I've seen a lot of articles about this lately. And I just wrote my first menage story, along with my excellent crit/writing partner Anna J. Evans. We've been wanting to do something together for quite a while, and the opportunity came up.

It isn't a full, full menage. Technically there is no man/man penetration, although there is some oral and hand interaction. I'm proud of the way we did it, actually, and I love the book (and fingers crossed will have some news soonish!)

What's my point? I'm not really sure. I definitely prefer to write straight one-man/one-woman stuff. (If for no other reason than keeping your pronouns straight when you have two "he"s and they're both doing things to each other is really a bitch, and if you're not careful you sound like you're describing some sort of man-beast with three hands who's watching the action in a mirror.) But writing the man/man stuff was fun. It was something different, a bit of a challenge, which is always good.

I'd be sad if the world of erotic romance becomes exclusively women reading about men touching each other. I actually think that says a lot about men today, if you think about it, that women are so desperate for forceful men that they're now looking for men who spend their time skewering other men in the ass. But I guess that's a blog for another time...

Hose Me Down

Okay, unlike the fabulous Sherrill and Jenna, I don't post eye candy here. Mainly because I have no idea where they find all those lovely photos. So if you are looking for hot men in very little clothing, those are the links to click, over there ---------->

But I have to post these. I saw them a few days ago and fell in love.

The photos are probably copyrighted. I just hope His Imperial Hotitude doesn't mind me using them. Maybe he won't if I run my naked body all over his.

Can I? Please?

Ladies...(and a few gents)...

I give you Russell Wong.

Being Bert

Note: So I Googled pigeon mating habits. I found a site called Pigeons! They're pretty obsessive over at Pigeons!. It's like Bert created the site. I kept expecting to see a little cartoon of him doing the pigeon across the bottom.

Anyway. Pigeons seem to have sex just like most other birds. They're not interesting like bald eagles tumbling through the sky trying frantically to finish before they hit the ground and die. Afterward, though, the male claps his wings.

So, in an attempt to make this more interesting, I've written a little story. What would happen if people mated like pigeons?

Lynn (ha ha) wiped sweat from her brow, deciding that after this song ended she would take a break. Her throat was dry from the smoke machines. A nice cool drink was what she needed, maybe a cocktail, something to finally and completely wipe away the last vestiges of her crappy day.

It had been a bust, from the lousy breakfast-on-the-fly, to the meeting at work where the promotion of that miserable bitch Jane was announced, to the stop-and-start traffic on the way home. All she wanted to do was dance, work off some steam.

Out the corner of her eye she spotted a man, working his slow, sinuous way towards her through the crowd, his head bobbing up and down, alternately exposing and hiding his strong neck. His tawny skin gleamed in the flashing colored lights of the club. He looked like a man who spent a lot of time outside, maybe worked with his hands. Whatever he did, he was fit and strong. Her dry mouth dampened as he approached, his knowing smile as his dark eyes looked her up and down incredibly sexy.

Just watching his head move excited her. She knew what was coming.

He leaned back, showing her the muscled column of his throat, and dropped down, letting the ass she was certain was firmly muscled hit the floor, before raising it again. This was too much. His intentions were so clear, so frankly unembarrassed. Lynn felt like prey, like he would not rest until he had her, and the feeling made her hot.

He started circling her, sliding her smoothly away from the crowd, pausing as they moved to slide his bottom along the floor. She managed to sneak a peek at it while he moved. It was everything she'd hoped for, and the bulge in the front of his gray trousers told her that her instinct was right. This man meant to have her, and she was just about ready to give in.

When he'd separated her from the rest of the crowd, he smiled, moving in closer to her, inviting her to place her lips between his so he could nibble them. This she did, throwing caution to the wind. She hadn't expected this, hadn't planned on it, but deep down she had to admit she was always ready. There was no particular season or time of the month that was best for her. She could do it anytime.

His lips tasted tantalizingly of bread and lettuce as they started bobbing their heads up and down, holding each others lips with their own. They quickly found a rythm, moving their heads as if they'd done this together before, had been doing it for years.

Lynn was ready. She broke the liplock and turned around, leaning her hands against the wall. Her mystery man lifted her skirt and slid his erect manhood into her, so hard and fast she thought she might die from the pleasure. He started moving, quickly, the incredible friction building inside her. She felt him swelling, heard him gasping in her ear, as they both quickly found their release in the dark corner of the club.

It was over. Lynn turned around in time to watch her mystery man run away, clapping his arms together loudly in the age-old celebration of pleasure that always made her smile.

She guessed it hadn't been such a bad day after all, she thought, and she smiled as she went to the bar to order that drink.

With Love From Me to You

This is totally off-topic. It's not about writing, or sex, or books, or publishing in any way.

This time, it's personal...

Yesterday I left an online community I've been part of for over 4 years. It was a really hard decision to make. Basically, I felt the people there had changed. The parameters had changed. What was once a really fun place to be had become a den of vipers, a place where people were just waiting to snipe others for any reason, where free discussion and repsect for other people' opinions were not to be found.

I'm still wierded out by this.

But I thought about it. And I realized that right now, I'm part of another online community. Whether we're all Snarklings or Minions or Cowlettes or whatever...we're all here.

I like writing messages to you guys. I like reading yours. I like not feeling like I better keep my mouth shut because who knows who'll pile all over me if I say something.

So that's basically it. You guys have made me feel better, without doing anything but being you.



I'll do a real post later. I just wanted to say that.

Blaaaah!

I don't know where all my lovely friends went. I had such a happy little bunch, and you've all disappeared. :-( I'm feeling awfully rejected (and not just because nobody else wanted to condemn stupid PC romances either. In fact, not just because of anything blog-related.)

I just feel bad. Not sad bad, angry bad. (Okay, maybe a little sad, but just sad enough to add a piquancy to my crankiness.) I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and no matter how many times I climb back in to start over the day is just not improving. I'm grumpy, I'm tired, I'm impatient--just generally pissed off at the world.

I'm having a little bit of a crisis of confidence. I can't seem to get cracking on my WIP. Doing a major edit that cost me over 5k words might be partly responsible, but just in general I'm having something of a slump. Which really pisses me off. I don't know if I'm putting too much pressure on myself or what. All I know is the head-to-hands link is just not working the last few days, I've gotten maybe 2k words done, and that is nowhere near where I need to be. I'm considering starting a different project just to see if it's some kind of slump. (I've had slumps, so I know. I used to play baseball with my brother.)

What do you do when things just aren't happening for you?

(And by the way, the stupid ugly-ass new Yahoo homepage isn't helping. Not only is it horrible to look at and confusing [I have to go through three steps now to check the US headlines] but the fucking thing moves. Every time you come back to it, the image slides down as a bar at the top widens. It is so fucking IRRITATING I can't stand it. SW I tried the company you recommended but just got an ad for some program. I need a new homepage!)

What Makes A Hero?

Yes, I know. I need to blog about all the ramifications of gay sex and pigeon sex. And I will, I promise. I have some thoughts on all of it. (Okay, except the pigeon sex. But I'll come up with something.)

But there's something I need to discuss first. Look for the gay posts in a day or two (aside from the fact that I frankly can't bear to blog about the World Cup yet.)

The other day over on Smart Bitches, they were discussing smoking, and how in the 60s and 70s, virtually everyone in romances smoked-the heroes, definitely, the heroines often (but not heavily.) But how it's become so rare now for anyone in a romance to smoke, and how strange that is considering there is still a chunk of the adult population that does smoke.

I smoke. I drink. I love to write heroes who smoke and drink. None of them are heavy smokers--A)because writing someone who is smoking constantly can be a bit dull, and because when you have someone who doesn't smoke much suddenly smoke a lot it's a good way to indicate stress-more on that later, and B) I guess, because I'm not a very heavy smoker. My heroes also do not generally smoke indoors or around my heroines. I am ever mindful of the large population for who this is a turn-off, but the fact is, some of these guys smoke. Especially since they're paranormals. Why wouldn't a vampire smoke? It won't hurt him. Likewise my demon hero from my current WIP. Smoke is actually fairly healthy for demons in my world.

Anyway, this is all beside the point. Someone commented to the Smart Bitches post about how they could never stomach a smoking hero because smoking is socially irresponsible and therefore unheroic.

This absolutely stunned me, I have to admit.

With all due respect, what kinds of frigging milquetoasts are the heroes you like?

There's a reason Batman is more popular than Superman, hon, and it's because-and corect me if I'm wrong, but I'm not-"socially responsible" isn't sexy. Dark and dangerous is sexy.

Yes, it could be a fun challenge to write a hero who works at a charity center and is always nice and acts like a hero in every aspect of life while also being modest and self-affacing. There must be an audience for that sort of hero, too. It's just I'm not part of it.

I sat down and started thinking about my heroes. They're not the nicest men in the world. They're fairly prickly and--with one exception--they're dmaaged. I like writing about damaged people. I like writing about people who genuinely believe it's not possible for them to find love, not possible for someone to love them, and who fight it when it happens.


Funny thing is, The Black Dragon's hero, Gruffydd, is actually as heroic as they come. He is socially reponsible-to a point-so I guess he fits that definition. But he's also rude, standoffish, defensive, a little arrogant, sometimes downright mean, impatient, and overly suspicious. I adore him.

Cynwrig from Prince of Death is selfish, completely reckless, oversexed, and emotionally unavailable. Julian from Blood Will Tell is sarcastic and sometimes cruel, arrogant, snide, secretive, and egotistical. Now Nick from my WIP is secretive, rebellious, antisocial, oversexed, overconfident, and a criminal.

None of them are "socially responsible"-again with the slight exception of Gruffydd, but that's a little different. You'll understand when you read the book when it comes out (no date yet.) Certainly none of them are socially responsible to the point where they would not smoke because they consider it their social responsibility not to. All of them would laugh at you if you said something like that to them.

Writing a romance with Suoerman isn't interesting, not is reading one. Because Superman is so worthy of love. Superman is perfect-kind, loving, socially responsible (there it is again), handsome, respectful, etc. There's no challenge in a man like that being loved, and the book starts to feel like "which lucky girl is right for him?"

What makes a hero interesting are his flaws. What makes a romance interesting is the moment when a hero decides he needs to do some work to make himself good enough for the heroine. Not when they realize they're both so perfect they belong together.

Just my 2p.

Oh, this is long!

Because I'm Lazy and Drunk

I don't have a blog topic at the moment. So why don't you tell me what to blog about?


G'head. Ask me a question. Suggest a topic. Anything you want to hear My Illustrius Opinion on.

Unromantic, unsexy sex

So I just finished reading an erotic romance from an author I've never read before, a very popular best-selling-type writer (whose name I will not reveal.)

Eh. It was okay, I guess. I had some issues with the idea of someone who'd time-travelled from the particular time and place using modern expressions. I had issues with some of the background because it was not historically accurate (not as bad as the person who thought medieval men's hose were actual pantyhose, and so put a waistband in them, and had the man wearing them under a kilt. But whatever. The inaccuracies weren't that bad. It's just that I don't think Dark Age Druids would use "For the love of Christ" as an expleteive. I'm just saying.)

But something really, really bothered me about this book. Once I got past the initial stuff anf the story moved to modern day, it was fine. I enjoyed it. I was getting a little tired of the way the H/h kept making out all over the place and never actually even getting to third base, but whatever. Sexual tension is just dandy, and it was perking along quite nicely.

Then we got to the Big Scene. The one where I, the Reader, knew we were in for one fantastic sex scene. I was ready to read this scene. I thought the hero was pretty sexy. The heroine had, like all good little romance heroines, been "saving herself" and so was a virgin (a fact the H/h discussed several times), but that didn't bother me. I don't mind the defloration so much.

So here we go. They're making out all over the place in an empty room in a castle. They've had the romantic little talk about how she wants him to be her first. Lalala.

And then...

he bends her over a desk and takes her from behind.

Yes, you read that right. The romantic first time for the heroine is frickin' doggie-style over a desk.

Isn't that romantic?

And he made her talk dirty, too.

Now, don't get me wrong. Having characters bent over furniture is fine. Dirty talk is fine. Believe me, my characters get up to all kinds of things in all kinds of places.

But you know what? That's not romantic. It's sexy, sure. But the first sex scene after the "I love you"s should not be from behind! He couldn't even look at her! She couldn't look at him! Who the hell thought that was a good idea?

There is a difference between romantic sex and erotic sex. Wait. That came out wrong, like I don't think they can be both. They can, of course. What I mean is...some moments in a book call for a tender, loving sex scene. The first sex scene after the "I love you"s is generally one. The heroine's First Time is definitely one.

The sex should evolve and change just as the characters and their relationship do. It's fine to have all kinds of crazy sex all over the place. But when we finally have an emotional connection, when the H & h are finally truly baring their souls to each other, they should be looking at each other.

That scene-the only truly detailed sex scene in the book-lost me. I don't even remember it very well. I skimmed it, because I was so irritated that in the author's Big Emotional Moment she got scared, and skipped the emotion, and instead gave us a fairly clinical description of two bodies having sex, not two people making love.

Not to mention that as a woman, I couldn't imagine the heroine wouldn't feel pretty upset and cheated that at this very important moment for her, her man doesn't even want to look at her. That he doesn't kiss her once while the action is happening. That her first time is being turned into some porno movie and not the special moment she obviously always wanted it to be.

Nothing's wrong with writing scenes where that position is used. It can be pretty hot. I've done several, every erorom writer I know has done them.

But pick your moments, please.

What's the worst sex scene you ever read? One where you would have gotten out of bed (or the car, or the room, or whatever) because somebody's actions in the heat of the moment were such a turn-off?

And In Other News

It seems convicted child rapist Victor Salva managed to get himself another job directing a movie. The film is called "Peaceful Warrior" and is open in select cities now.



PLEASE DO NOT see this movie. Don't go see it, don't rent it, don't buy it when it becomes available. And please tell your friends not to go see it, either.

Every time you buy a ticket to see that monster's films, you send a message.

Think about what that message is. Think about whether or not that's a message you really want to send.

As Bad As A...really bad thing.

So I'm working. Well, sort of working, anyway. My current WIP needs pretty much an entire re-write, top to bottom, which is a little discouraging, but 've realized a couple of things about my characters that means my initial scenes are totally off. So back to the drawing board. Better now than later, eh? Still sucks though.

Anyway, I was thinking about comparisons, about similes and metaphors, and how they're used, and what uses are cliche. Like how "cold as death" is cliche. It still works, or rather, still can work, but it's an oft-used simile and so one to try and avoid.

Coming up with new ones is hard, though, isn't it? Especially when you have a mind like mine that runs to understatement and silliness. Especially when your secret fantasy is to someday write a romance spoof, an anachronistic historical, one that uses every cliche in the business. (Seriously. I dream of this and how amusing it could be if I could do it right.)

Today as I made ready to hop in the shower, I closed the windows. It's a little cool outside today and I didn't want to freeze when I got out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. (The bathroom window is usually closed. I don't trust those people across the street not to peep at me as I brush my teeth. Call it paranoia, I don't care.) I was thinking how cold it was, and the phrase, "Cold as a cold, cold ass" went through my mind.

That's right, folks. Cold as a cold, cold ass.

That's poetry, that is. I should win a Pulitzer for that one.

But really, don't we all think of stupid comparisons like that? Similes or metaphors that just don't work, not in English or any other language? That say nothing, and say it badly?

I once read something about this subject, and the writer used an example from-I believe-Erica Jong. The phrase was, "the dawn sky was the color of fuschianated water in some half-forgotten apothecary jar", or something like that. Sounds poetic, if a bit odd, but it the only word that tells us anything about the actual sky is "fuschianated". (Which I might have spelled wrong.) All the other stuff is wasted, pretentious muddle words thrown in to try and make the line sound smarter than it is.

It's not necessarily the fault of the writer, though, because we all do stuff like that. We all write that stuff, in a desperate attempt to find a way to express ourselves that's original, that grabs the reader, that says what we want it to say without resorting to the tired old standards.

What was yours? What simile or metaphor or whatever did you think of, maybe even wrote down, that you later realized either made no sense or was just plain ridiculous?

Or did you read one somewhere that you want to share? (Please do!)

Me and my cold, cold ass will be waiting eagerly to read them.

I Like Men Who Hit People

I was going to write about my obsession with Cold Case, but then it occurred to me that A)it's probably pretty dull to read about (unless you're a fan, in which case, please comment! But keep in mind I'm quite a bit behind) and B)that would probably only lead me to one of the reason I love Cold Case so much, and it's because I have a geeky love thing for Det. Valens. I loooove him. Why? Well, he's fairly hot, although not in that "Oh my God who is THAT?" kind of way. No, I love him because he bit the living snot out of that pedophile in the park. Just walked up to the guy, presumable led him away into that tunnel or whatever, and beat the man into a bloody pulp.

That's when it occurred to me. With very few exceptions, the heroes in my books tend to be, well, pretty damn violent. They fight with swords or they beat people up for a living or whatever. Why is this? Why did I, as an eight-year-old, form such an attachment to Conan? (BTW they're apparently remaking the Conan movie-the first one, the good one. Blasphemy!) (BTW again I read an article once by a woman who interviewed Schwarzenegger not too long after his election as Governor. He keeps his Conan sword in his office. He let her hold it. I think I would die if I got to actually hold Conan's real sword.)

I digress. My point is, leaving out, of course, men who are violent or abusive towards women (which is so unsexy I don't even need to tell you how revolting it is), what is it about a man who thinks with his fists that's so appealing? Is it because we see it as a sign of virility, because our little hormones were hot wired in prehistoric times to go for the man who could protect us against wild animals or whatever, and so fighting prowess automatically equals sexy?

I would think so, but I've had the sneaking suspicion at times--usually when reading other romance novels in which the hero is supposed to be tough but actually behaves like a friggin' eunuch--that there aren't too many women out there who think the way I do. I've often felt there's an unwritten rule in romance writing that while it's okay to talk about how tough your hero is, and to discuss battles he fought and won, it's somehow distasteful to depict him really and truly kicking the shit out of people, especially if maybe he enjoys it a little bit.

And we musn't dare imply the heroines are turned on by watching Our Hero kick ass. Noooo, they're all supposed to hate his violent drinking roughhousing side, because it means they have to spend more time making poultices from recipes passed down by their grannies, instead of helping sick children or making pies or inventing plaster casts to help a sweet dog walk again. They want him to stop being so darned mean and rough and be all affectionate and looove people, and forgive his enemies, and whatever other crap we're supposed to buy from those godawful Mary Sue-esque heroines who teach Our Hero how to get in touch with his feminine side.

Yes, there are exceptions. But to me this goes with the other unwritten rule about how the hero can never kill the bad guy. The bad guy can die, sure, but he's always beset by bandits or taken ill or accidentally drowns. Blah. We cheer when Mel Gibson kills the bad guys, so why not our romance heros?

What do you think? How tough should he be? What particular form of violence turns you on, if it does, and if it doesn't, why not? Can you think of any good examples of either a real, true, tough guy hero or a real, true, wimpish hero?

The More Things Change...

the more I really, really hate them. Yahoo already changed its homepage in the US a few weeks ago, which pissed me off but I wasn't saying much. I only check Yahoo US once a day or so, anyway, to get the headlines.

Now they're changing it in the UK, too. And they always act like it's such a good thing. "Oooh, we've made special changes! Look! Bright! Shiny!" Well I hate the new homepage. It's ugly and it's (for me, at least) counterintuitive, and I wish they'd just leave well enough alone. Quit fucking with it! It doesn'r work any better or faster, why do you have to mess with it?

Anybody know of a good homepage I can use, with headlines and stuff?


In other news I've been having an absolute blast the last couple of days here. Superdickery. Serously, even if you're not a comic geek or even a mild fan you'll laugh, I promise. Set aside some time, though, there's almost 200 images in the "Examples of Superdickery" alone. The one where Superman explains why he won't marry Lana or Lois (15th in the gallery, but start from the beginning, trust me) made me laugh so hard I literally could not speak, and I was still giggling over it hours later. In fact, I'm still giggling about it now.

So that's what's happening with me. I'm hoping to finish one WIP this week, and that won't happen if I don't get to work. So off I go.

Technorati tags: yahoo superman superdickery

Fun with Nonpaying Publishers

Looks like we have a new publisher to avoid. Ocean's Mist Press has apparently kept one of its authors-one that we know about, anyway-waiting over a month for her royalties, which by contract she should have received weeks ago.

Jade James tells the story of her wait in her blog. Niiice. Nice that an author finally has to ask on her author loop when she's going to get paid. Nice that her publisher keeps sending her double-speak and acting like it's her fault.

This is why websites like Absolute Write(back after the crisis-!) and Preditors & Editors are so important. So that we know when stuff like this is happening, and we can warn others about it.

(Which is another way of saying you can make a donation to Absolute Write, if you wanted to. Personally, Jade, if I were you, I'd take those books you were going to ffer as free downloads to Lulu, make them downloadable for a buck, and donate the proceeds to P&E or AW, just to spite them. :-) But then I'm fairly vindictive.)

I'd love to hear any updates on this, if anyone knows anyone else who's being cheated. Jade says P&E has been notified, so that's good.

All work and no play

Well, it hasn't been that long since I updated last, I guess. It just feels like a long time to me. I've been working my butt off. Seriously. I have two projects going and I think between the two of them I've written about 35k words in the last two weeks or so. Gasp. I haven't been sleeping well, either, and my hubby tries to be sweet by letting me sleep until 11 am but then I'm up half the night again. Whick is fine because I like to work at night, but it would be good to get to bed before three at least a couple of times. Of course, the fact that I've lately been reading a bunch of books about Jack the Ripper doesn't really aid sleep, if you know what I mean.

Nor does the temperature. IT went from cold to hot here overnight, and of course there's no air conditioning for reasons I cannot fathom. No screens on the windows, no a/c, and the carts at the grocery store slide all over the place because the rear wheels aren't fixed. It's like trying to push a cart across ice.

Seriously, England. These are not new technologies. It's not like the US invested millions of dollars into building shopping carts that don't require the strength of a friggin gorilla to maneuver. I watch people wrestling with these things at the grocery store every day. Fix the back wheels!

Nor is the US the only country that cracked that air conditioning thing, and I'm pretty sure the idea of putting a screen on a window so no bugs fly in has been around for a while, too. I appreciate the history here, I do, and I know I have to adapt and blah blah blah. But it's a screen, okay? You're not losing a valuable part of your national identity if you keep bees and flies out of your house.

I can easily adjust to pretty much everything else, but damn, sleeping with the windows open and nothing between me and the outdoors bothers me, for a number of paranoiac reasons.

But then maybe that's just me. :-)

A New Review!

I just got a review for my Teaser from Fallen Angel Reviews!

"Ms. Quinn seems to have an incredible talent for remaking random, ordinary settings into a HOT place for seduction. This flair is more than apparent in The Ice House, which is sure to open your imagination to the erotically raw potential of the wilderness. At the same time, I enjoyed the bit more drama A Fine Line offered. The primary focus of both short stories, however, is on the sexual chemistry between its couples. As such, readers may find the characters a little vague, but overall likeable. With hints of BDSM, this Torrid Teaser is a surefire way to quickly heat up a night. Look out because these pages are scorching!"

Thanks to the reviewer, Jen. H.

You can check out the review and the rest of this excellent site here:


Fallen Angel Reviews