What Makes A Hero, Part 1: Who Is He?

Okay, first. I'm sure a lot of you know already that author Caitlin R. Kiernan is having a bit of difficulty with her health these days, and could use some help. This livejournal post tells how you can help, and links to what's going on. So if you can, do.

Second. I want to reiterate (geez, I'm really nervous about this, I totally feel like I'm overstepping myself) that this post isn't intended to say how everyone should write heroes, or that my way is the only way or the best way or that this is a foolproof way. It's just my own feelings, how I do it, and what I've learned from several years of writing. (And several years of reading advice about writing.) So please, don't take my word as gospel--it's simply intended to A) Make you think about your own process; B) Help you distill that process; and C) Entertain.

Third, I should make clear that by "Hero" I mean Hero as he relates to heroine, not Hero as main character. I'm talking about romantic heroes and love interests, in any genre where there's a romantic plot or subplot. Of course these traits are gender-neutral and are generally found in main characters as well, but this is about building chemistry and romance in your books specifically.

So...what makes a man a hero? Who is a hero? How is he different from other characters?

Well. In a lot of ways he's no different. Obviously the reader will learn more about him than about secondary characters, because our heroine and thus we as readers and writers will likely be spending more time with him than with others.

But in some ways...he's worlds apart. So what separates him? Who is he, that he's so special? Why does the heroine--and (hopefully) especially the reader--fall for him? (Remember, this is the first post of several, so this is simply an overview. The next posts will cover how to express these traits, when to do so, and what makes a hero perfect for that particular heroine.)


1. He's smart. A hero cannot be stupid. We need to respect people in order to fall in love with them, plain and simple, and it's hard to respect people who we see doing dumb things. Making mistakes is okay. Everybody makes mistakes. But a hero's mistakes should never come from lack of forethought, whereas a secondary character's mistakes can come from anything.

(Example: Julian in Blood Will Tell keeps a secret from Cecelia, the woman he's falling in love with. It's a secret he knows could destroy everything he's trying to build with her, and he knows it's a mistake to keep it. But he does. Why? Because he's gambling on being able to fix it. This of course becomes more and more of a problem the longer he keeps it secret, until telling seems impossible. His mistake comes from his heart, not his head, and the heart is almost always a hero's downfall.)

2. He knows who he is. A hero is self-aware. He may see himself as less than he is (a hallmark of tortured heroes), but he never has delusions of grandeur. His faults may cause him pain or they may amuse him, but he knows they're there, just as clearly as he's aware of his strengths. And he'll generally admit to both, although he often won't admit his fears or insecurities until much later in the book because he's being manly and stoic and all that good stuff.

(Example: This is a snippet of dialogue from Personal Demons, between Greyson Dante and Megan Chase.

“One thing I’m not,” he said, in a voice cold enough to make her shiver, “is a liar.”

She stared at him. He relented. “Not about stuff like this, anyway.”)


3. He knows what he wants. And he'll generally do whatever it takes to get it. Whether it's money or power or love or a cause, or even a sandwich, a hero doesn't waffle. He sees, he wants, he takes. It may take him a while to get there, but he never wavers.

(Example: Julian in Blood Will Tell starts a war and kills someone he once saw as a father figure in order to save Cecelia's life.)


4. He is fearless. Or at least, he never lets his fears stand in his way. There is of course a class of heroes--usually in comedies or more lighthearted romances--who have hearty senses of self-preservation and can be afraid of all sorts of things (snakes, anyone?) But when it comes down to it, a hero will face those fears and work through them in order to accomplish his goal. Where secondary characters decide to head for home, a hero always gets the job done--even if it means sacrificing himself.

(Example: Gruffydd in Black Dragon is on a spying mission when the woman he loves is captured. Despite her begging him not to give himself up, he does, knowing full well he'll probably be killed--and more importantly, that his death will be meaningless, coming not in battle but by an executioner's axe. But protecting the woman he loves is his goal, so there's no choice to make.)


5. He's got a plan. Always. Even when he doesn't have a plan, or even when his plan is simply Get There, Kill Everybody, he's got a plan. He's got it covered. He's working something out in that head of his. The hero is always a half-step ahead.

(My best example here is spoilery, so I'm not posting it. But Gruffydd in Black Dragon has studied the enemy's movements and castles well enough to quickly formulate an escape plan. Julian in Blood Will Tell sets up an elaborate distraction on the highway to outrun the bad guys.)


6. He is observant. It's not just brains that make him capable of dealing with whatever life and the plot throw at him. The hero pays attention, above all else. He pays attention to the heroine (and I'll be covering this in a lot more depth later in the week, as I actually think this is one of the most important traits of a hero) and he pays attention to the villains, and to anyone else who pops up too. Because he knows himself so well, he's able to understand other people too, and this is always useful. He's also good at noticing details others miss (it's not an example from my work, but look at how observent Adrian Monk is.)

(Example from Personal Demons: Scene in a nightclub.

“Keep your voice down. Ugh, we can’t talk in here. Let’s go.” He slid out of the booth and stood, slipping on his jacket and nodding to Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud, who sat in the booth next to theirs downing oceans of beer.
Was he going to fit her with some cement boots? “Maybe I don’t want to go.”
“Yes, you do. You hate these places.”
Damn it, was she that obvious? “Maybe tonight I like them.”)

7. He is complex/he has secrets. Obviously this is part of simply building good characters, no matter who they are or what their relation is to the protagonists or plot. One of the most noticeable amateur mistakes is to create characters who are all good or all bad (although I admit it doesn't bother me when villains are evil simply because they're evil; I don't always need them to have Big Motivations, although I'm happy when they do). We all know what a Mary Sue heroine is; the same can be said for Gary Sues, heroes so perfect, handsome and charming and rich and instantly in love with the heroine, that there's no conflict. These characters are difficult (at best) to identify with. They're essentially bland. And worst of all they provide no conflict, and conflict is what keeps a relationship and a story interesting. You can create secondary characters who are less complex, and that's fine. But for sparks to fly you need to make sure there's a lot under the surface of your characters. Secrets they want to keep, memories that shame them, insecurities they're aware of but do their best to hide. They may get defensive or prickly, or simply change the subject, but the reader feels that reaction, and both identifies with and becomes more curious about the character.

(Example, again from Personal Demons:
He glanced at her. “...We are who and what we are, Meg, and there’s no point wasting time wondering how it might be if things were different.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You were raised with demons. You were never different from everyone around you.”
“Don’t make assumptions. You should know better.”
“Sorry.” He was right, and worse, Megan hadn’t even thought of it. Without being able to read him, she didn’t know anything about what went on under his skin other than what he told her and what she learned by observation. “You’re so self-assured. Most people with your confidence had very nurturing upbringings. Overcompensators read more like arrogance. But you—”
“I’m not one of your patients. Please don’t analyze me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. His withdrawal upset her more than she would have thought. Sometimes it was hard to remember that just because she couldn’t read someone didn’t mean they didn’t have depths, or secrets to keep.)

8. He has faith in the heroine. First and foremost. He believes in her and her abilities to solve her own problems, however much he might like to solve them for her. He knows she's a great partner for him, and a partner is what he wants--even if he's a dyed-in-the-wool Dom, he wants a woman who can take care of herself too, who can stand up to him when it counts.

9. He is honorable. No matter what he is or what he does, whether he's a pastor or a hired killer, he has honor of some kind. He may kill, steal for a living, lie to get out of whatever problem there is, break into homes, hack computers, whatever he has to do, but a hero never cheats at cards. NEVER.

10. He is generous. Whether it's money or time, the hero will give, even begrudgingly (depending on him or the situation), once he's found his heroine. A man who forces his ladylove to count pennies while he takes expensive vacations is not a hero. A man who forces the heroine to beg for his attention or time is not a hero.




Okay. Notice there are several things I didn't mention there:
1. Looks. Yes, heroes tend to be handsome, but they don't have to be. The only thing they have to be is physically attractive to the heroine, and that can happen over time (again, we'll discuss chemistry later).

2. Wealth. Again, heroes tend to have money, but they don't have to. A poor artist can be just as clever, dominant, and appealing as a robber baron, if he's written properly.

3. Morality, as it differs from honor. This is a matter of personal taste. My heroes tend to be criminals, often fairly violent ones too. Usually they've killed people and it doesn't bother them. They often kill more people as the story goes on, and sleep just fine. Other people would never stomach a hero who didn't go to church every week, or who stole, or killed, or whatever. The only things a hero does NOT do, not ever, are hurting animals or babies and cheating at cards (see above). A hero who cheats at cards or kicks puppies or hits babies is irredeemable in my eyes. Any hero, no matter if he's a fireman or a rabbi or an international jewel thief, can be sexy and appealing if he's written properly.


What are your rules for heroes? What do you look for, and what is unimportant? Do the heroes you write or the heroes you like to read tend to have certain traits in common, and what are they? How many of those must-have traits do you think you could eliminate from a character and still have him be appealing to readers and your heroine?

*fans self*

This is the uncensored version of the cover for Marvel's Ultimates #3, done by Frank Cho. (In the newer version, one of several variants, there's a sheet or something covering the Scarlet Witch's butt).

Oooh, this is nice. It's probably as close to posting scantily clad man photos here as I'll ever get, but I couldn't help it. It's gorgeous. And it's hot. So, so, so hot.



Okay. Scroll down one and read my review of Mark's book now if you haven't already. :-)

In which I plant a big wet slickery kiss on Mark Henry

There are certain things in this world that make me feel...well, bad about myself. Like when some hot young twentysomething guy ignores me because I'm a thirtysomething Mommy with two kids in tow. Or when one of the girls wants me to play with them, and I can't because I'm making dinner or something, and they cry. That's bad.

But the big one is when I read a book that I know, without a shadow of a doubt, is so much better than something I ever could have written in a million years. When I'm in the presence of a talent so large, a mind so twisted and original and fascinating, that there is no way I could hope to match it.

So yeah, Happy Hour of the Damned made me feel kind of bad about myself.

But the thing is, it's almost impossible to feel bad about yourself when you're laughing so hard tears pour out of your eyes and your three-year-old is patting your knee and saying, "What's wrong, Mommy? It's okay, Mommy. Take a deep breath."

If I were as talented as Mark, I could probably come up with a dozen analogies as to how much I loved this book, each more clever and amusing than the last. But I'm not. So all I can say is I loved it. It's the most fun book I've read in years. Not just fun as in a fun story or fun characters (although it has both), but fun all-around. It's the kind of book you race through like a NASCAR driver, then when you're done realize you should have slowed down and savored it, so you turn right back to the beginning and start it again, but you can't make yourself slow down even the second time because it's just too involving. It's the kind of book you take into the shower with you and read one-handed (while you wash your hair with the other, get your minds out of the gutter.) Where you beg your husband to go to McDonald's for dinner because cooking would mean you might have to put the book down for even one minute.

And it has recipes! And footnotes! I love footnotes. And these are hilarious footnotes. Pratchett-esque footnotes (yeah, I'm comparing him to Pratchett. You will too once you've read it.) All of which serve to make Henry's heroine, Amanda Feral--who would, let's face it, be the villain in a lot of books--into someone we love and identify with so much we want to snuggle up to her and hope some of the glamour-glitter rubs off. Except she would probably eat us if we did.

I've heard it described as "Sex and the City with zombies". And that's kind of true, or would be if Sex and the City was more about characters like the woman who only allowed white food and drink in her home because of the carpet, or that guy in the first season who only had sex with models and secretly videotaped them, and less about Carrie and her endless emotional whining. (And, okay, yes, I LOVE Sex and the City. But even I have to admit Carrie got on my nerves sometimes.)

I know this isn't the greatest review in the world. I haven't even told you what the book is about, really. But so what. If you're that curious you can look at the Amazon listing or head over to Mark's blog or website. I'm just telling you to buy the book. Because if you don't you'll regret it.



I start my "Writing heroes" series next week, so make sure you don't miss it!

Some exciting things!

Oooh! I'm so excited about some stuff, and you get to hear all about it, isn't that great?

1. I have a tentative release dats for The Demon Inside, the sequel to Personal Demons! Paula and I have edited the first three chapters to excerpt in the back of Personal Demons (not sure if the entire first three will be excerpted or just the first one, but I suspect all three) and we're looking at a January 2009 release! It's not set in stone, but I don't think it will be released any later than that, so that's good. I'm just hoping that the time-setting of the book--one week before Christmas--doesn't turn people off right after the holidays. :-)

2. This is very exciting! We're focusing on spec-fic written by African-American authors this month over at the League of Reluctant Adults, and have some great guest bloggers and interviews lined up. Tomorrow be sure to check the blog for Carole McDonnell, author of Wind Follower. Wind Follower is a Carl Brandon Society Recommendation, and if you are interested in speculative fiction and don't know who the Carl Brandon Society are, you should check them out.

We will also be doing an interview with--and I am so excited about this--Tananarive Due, a multi-published, award winning author who, if she wasn't impressive enough already, has also shown her great taste and style by being a fervent Dolfan. Tananarive's book My Soul to Keep is also a Carl Brandon recommendation. (She also contributed to the awesomely funny Naked Came the Manatee, which I think is required reading if you live in South Florida. Really. It's on a list somewhere, I swear, along with Edna Buchanan's Never Let Them See You Cry.

And, last but certainly not least, Seressia Glass will be blogging for us! Seressia is a multi-published author of African-American paranormal and interracial romance, and a really, really cool chick to boot. I can't wait to see what she has to say!

In addition, we have some great Book Club stuff planned with the fantastic Mark del Franco, and guest blogs by Jim Hines and John Levitt!

So please, everyone, make sure you're stopping by the League and making all of our guests feel welcome. In fact, maybe I'll give out some prizes or something to the person who makes the best comment. Maybe. :-)

(And if any of you ever know of any authors--AA, Hispanic, Asian, anything--who aren't getting the exposure they deserve, please let me know. We're always looking for interviewees and guests.)


I guess that's about it. The hubs and I watched Zodiac over the weekend, and it was FANTASTIC. I'm stunned it didn't get any Oscar nods. What an amazing, gripping film.

I have some background with the Zodiac Killer anyway, odd as it sounds. See, my ex-boyfriend was really into true crime (well, we both were. I like true crime, especially Ann Rule. Anyway.) He got a copy of Robert Graysmith's book Zodiac, and became semi-obsessed. Not in a "This guy is cool" way; he was pretty freaked out, actually. Because the Zodiac was never caught. Anyway, in a couple of the letters the Zodiac sent to the papers, he suggested people have buttons made for him and he wouldn't kill anyone wearing a Zodiac button. So, um, yeah. We all wore Zodiac buttons for a while. And there was a creepy picture of the Zodiac, a police artist's sketch, that hung on the back of our bedroom door. So I slept every night with the Zodiac Killer pointing a gun at me. I am not joking. (And no, the ex was not a freak, he was a nice, normal guy and still is.)

So certain bits of the movie were almost amusing to me, as I'd worn the buttons and seen the sketch. But seriously, this is not an amusing movie. There are a couple of edge-of-your-seat scary moments. It's a very dark film. A quiet film, with outstanding performances. Seriously, the lack of Oscar noms is inconceivable to me, especially for Gyllenhaal and Ruffalo. But anyway. Definitely worth a watch.

I am so Meta

I've blogged about blogging over at the League of Reluctant Adults blog.

Cover and stuff

This is my newest cover, for my novella Day of the Dead, coming March 28 from Ellora's Cave. Nice, huh? (And blogger is still not letting me upload photos! The little upload window comes up but there's no "Upload" button in the lower right, is anyone else having this problem?)

Here's the blurb:

Seventy two years ago Santos Diaz's fiancee died two weeks before their wedding--two weeks before he could turn her into a vampire like him. Now, on the Day of the Dead, Santos has a plan to bring her back. He'll sacrifice his honor to Baron Samedi, the voudou guardian of the land of the dead, in exchange for his love's return.

Yelina heads for the cemetery to honor her father's memory and finds herself in a passionate clinch with her handsome boss, Santos, with whom she's been in love for two years. She's never experienced passion like this before, but when a few vampires threaten to turn the day of the dead into the last day of her life and it looks like Santos himself might be a vampire too--one who still carries a torch for a dead woman--she thinks her happy ending may vanish into the darkness of the grave.

And an excerpt, which is mostly worksafe but honestly, it's hard to find an excerpt for this one that's fully, um, clean:



Chapter One

The scent of rose petals hung heavy in the air as Santos lit the final black candle. The altar was ready. It was as perfect as he could make it.
From outside came the sounds of the neighborhood in celebration. Normally Santos would be there too. Dia de los Muertos wasn’t a big celebration in Miami, not like the Calle Ocho Festival or even Three Kings Day. Not too many people bothered to honor their dead in the old way.
Even fewer chose to do it the way Santos Diaz had planned.
He wasn’t simply going to honor his dead love. He was going to bring her back.
He hit “play” on the tape player behind the altar. The voudou Lwa would only appear if you played the correct drumbeats, had the correct sacrifices. Tonight he was going past the Lwa. He was going to the Baron Samedi himself. The god guarding the gate between life and death. The Baron could bring Esperanza back.
Naked, Santos knelt and picked up the bottle of peppered rum. The first sacrifice. He poured it carefully into the bowl.
“El baron,” he muttered. “El baron, acepte for favor mi sacrificio.” The words felt alien on his tongue. He hadn’t practiced his own religion in years, let alone tried a ritual as exotic as this one.
And yet…the two worlds were not so very different. They practiced Dia de los Muertos in Haiti too, just as they had in the Mexico of his youth. Wasn’t that how he’d met Jean-Baptiste? How he’d learned of the Baron and how willing he was to aid those whose sacrifices were worthy?
The cool stone floor made his knees ache a little, He shifted position, aware with every bit of tingling skin and vampire sense that the atmosphere in the room had already changed. The Lwa were listening, the Gede was listening.
He stared at the cross on the altar, at the dried flowers and the doll he made from straw and cloth. Skulls adorned the cross, their eyes shadowy hollows in the flickering candle light.
In the center was the Baron in his top hat and coat, his face stretched in a skeletal grin. Santos had pasted a photograph of Esperanza’s grave in his hand.
Don’t think about her grave. Think about her alive, about her body warm against yours, her smile, the spicy sweet taste of her lips. Think about her wet flesh, about her body made just for you. The scent of her skin.
His cock didn’t need more than that and neither did Santos. He lost himself in the memories, his mind calling her back with such clarity that he wondered if his prayer-spell wasn’t working already.
When he slips his fingers between her legs, he finds she is wet, ready for him, even though he’s just walked in the door. “I couldn’t wait for you, papucho,” she whispers against his lips, her hips lifting, encouraging him to delve deeper, to rub soft circles over her clit the way she likes. “I can’t wait now.”
“El Baron,” he said again. “Acepte por favor mi sacrificio.”
The handle of the blade was rough in his palm as he held his other wrist over the bowl, but he barely felt when the sharp blade slipped through his skin. Blood dripped from the wound, falling into the bowl, blossoming red in the pool of spicy rum. The air around him grew, shrank back. The Lwa were greedy tonight, the dead wanted their due.
Leaving the wound to heal on its own, Santos ran his hand down the flat muscles of his stomach, his heart already pounding. The air around him seemed to whisper and move as he found his cock, thick and hard, jutting out from its nest of soft black hair. A shot of pure electricity ran through him as he slid his fingertips over the top to the end, then back down the bottom. Air hissed between his teeth.
“El baron, acepto por favor mi sacrificio.” He gripped his cock in his fist, sealing the bargain.
Seventy-two years ago, Esperanza died. Santos had not touched himself, or allowed any other woman to touch him, since that day. It was his vow to her, his last gift. Now he broke it, broke it as an offering. To get her back, he would break any promise, commit any sin. He would turn to el Diablo himself if it would ease the ache in his heart.


AND....

1972 DOLPHINS RULE!!!!! 1972 DOLPHINS RULE!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Ohmygod, Sweeney Todd

Okay, well, I was going to show off my new cover, for Day of the Dead, but Blogger isn't letting me. And I was going to write about Sweeney Todd, but honestly? I loved it too much to even write about it. Just go see it. I can't even elucidate how much I loved it, or itemize what I loved about it, because nothing stands out, if you know what I mean. It was all so good. Perfect. Every scene, every performance, every shot, perfect. I was freaking out by the end. You know how, when you get really into a mocie, and you're bouncing in your seat and clenching your fists because you so want things to happen and you so want it all to work out and you so want to see what's going to happen but you're afraid to see, too? That's what I was doing. Then I freaked out some more at the end.

I always love Helena Bonham-Carter but I especially loved her here, like on the level of Fight Club love. She was...beautiful. Johnny Depp... You see from the ellipses how at a loss for words I am. And you know how rare that is for me, ha ha. The thing is, you have two people who you shouldn't root for, particularly Carter. You root for Depp's motive, but when things change, you shouldn't be still gleefully cheering him on and wanting to throw him down on the floor and tear off his clothes. But you do, anyway. Completely. You love them both. You want this crazy bloodsoaked world to become permanent.

Go see it. SO good. So good I want to see it every day.

I forget what I was going to call this one.

I am so forgetful, I swear I would forget my head if it wasn't attached. I'm also a little behind on emails, so if you've emailed me recently and haven't gotten a response, I'll get to it. If you don't get a reply by the end of the week please email again, because my gmail is acting up a bit and has been, actually, for a couple of weeks. (I love the way we say that. Like our emails are toddlers who get cranky and just sit and scream and refuse to tell us what they want.) Rumor has it we're in a Mercury retrograde. :-)

An email conversation with Mr. Fabulous, also known as Mark Henry, (hey Mark, did you know there's a professional wrestler with your name too?) has started me thinking. Would anyone be interested in my thoughts on writing sexy and/or interesting male characters, especially heroes Using examples from my own books)? I know I'm not usually a writing advice giver, and I know I've said before that I probably wouldn't give writing advice. But this is a little different, because it's basically just going to be about how I personally do it, how I create male characters I love, and not a "This is how you write sexy men" type of thing.

Anyway, if you would be interested, let me know, and I'll do a short series on it week after next or so. It's about time we do another post series around here, isn't it? Ooh, and I just realized, it would coincide with Burt Reynolds Day! (Remember Macho Week? Ah, good times.)

There's lots going on at the League, too! Come check our blog, where we're in the middle of our book club discussion of C.E. Murphy's Heart of Stone. C.E. herself is stopping by to chat with readers, so please come on over!

We're also lining up tons of fun for next month, including a plethora of guest bloggers. And possibly some special V-Day fun, too. Tell your friends!

I'm also going to have two fun guest bloggers here at my blog next month. Boys!! So get ready. No points for guessing who, it's really not that hard if you think about Men I Know Who Have Books Coming Out Next Month. And two more in March! Along with more teaser snippets from Personal Demons! I feel like a cheerleader on speed with all these exclamation points!!

Another review has come in for Demon's Triad, from Literary Nymphs (fun name, huh?). Reviewer Chocolate Nymph says:

"...December Quinn and Anna J. Evans created a phenomenal plot of intricate events, a sprinkle of humor and scorching sex scenes with enough variety to intrigue most readers. This story has a publisher's rating of Extreme, yes it is that and more, I enjoyed Demon's Triad immensely."

You can read the full review here.

And I have a release in February too, that I'm very pleased about because it's the re-release of The Black Dragon (which has now been retitled simply Black Dragon) February 21 from Cerridwen Press. It's already up on their Coming Soon page! With its lovely new cover, without some of the scenes I decided ran on too long, and with about 6-7k words of new stuff. The original release didn't do very well--although I have of course had reason to doubt that after we learned so many authors were lied to about the extent of their sales with that publisher, and after more people claimed to have bought it than I was actually paid for (which, oh well, I'm just glad people read it)--but I'm hoping it will in its new home, even though it's still not an erotic romance. It was certainly a different book for me, although my basic themes--alienation, self-hatred, personal responsibility, that stuff--are all there. Anyway, I'm happy about it.

And I guess that's it. The hubs is off for the next six days, so we're looking forward to having some lazing-around time.

Playing with the boys

So, I've always liked men better than women.

That isn't to say I don't like women. There are several women I like a lot. (Hey, some of my best friends are women...Actually they are. But still.) But I tend to shy away from friendships with women, and always have. Finding a woman to be friends with has always been difficult for me, whereas I've very rarely met a man I don't like.

Maybe because I have a big brother? Or because on the street where I grew up there was only one girl my age but three boys, and we all played together? (I was always Daisy Duke.)

I don't know. But I dig the men. It's always been easier for me to make friends with men. Not as easy now, of course, when I'm married and so are they, for the most part. It's a little wierd then to be always hanging around with some other guy.

The point is, though, that today I want to say a special thanks to the men who read my blog. Who even read my books, which absolutely blows me away. I guess because we think of women as being the ones who mostly read romance, when I hear a male reader say he bought and read one of my books--like Bernard did, a few weeks back--and even liked it, it's special. Like I managed to write a female character or a story well-rounded enough to appeal to people beyond those who would automatically "get" her.

So thanks, men. It totally brightens my days to have you guys here.

(Not that the ladies don't deserve special thanks too. Everybody who actually takes the time to read my random thoughts or my books deserves thanks--and gets them, in my head, every day. I just wanted to say something special to the guys today.)


And apparently it isn't just the guys who like my stuff! Mrs. Giggles reviewed Demon's Triad yesterday, and gave it an 85! The review made me laugh out loud. I especially liked this last line:

Demon's Triad is like the no-holds-barred B-grade sexy horror movie after my own heart.

You can read the whole review here. I highly recommend you do, because Mrs. G is extremely funny.

Simply Romance Reviews gave the book a grade A and said:

Wow!!! Demon's Triad was a great, fast-paced book! With two authors writing this book it was seamless! I knew there would be some dark parts but they were well written. They weren't dwelled upon but they were explained and out of the darkness came something wonderful. Bravo!!!


You can read that whole review here.

(I know there was another review somewhere but I can't find it, darn!)


Oh, and those of you who've been following the saga of my dry, sensitive skin (and I know there was another post or two in there somewhere) might be interested to know I've found a new soap that I think is quite nice. It's Malki Dead Sea soap and so far it's working very nicely. Over the last couple of months my skin has gotten so dry and sensitive that even the Burt's Bees Green Lettuce soap I usually use and love has been making it go red. The Malki soap lathers really easily and thickly, and my skin isn't red at all when I've rinsed it off--it hardly feels like I need to moisturize. (I still do of course). It's loaded with a bunch of oils, so it might be too heavy for warm weather, but so far I am terribly pleased. I got it at the Whole Foods Market in Bristol a few weeks ago. So we'll see if it continues to please.

My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon

First, I must confirm the rumors are true. Evil Editor and I got engaged last night, at the release party over at the Church Lady's blog.

EE, quite taken by my charm, wit, and beauty, proposed* and pursued me relentlessly, until I, overcome by his ardent, tender onslaught**, said yes, blushing and giggling***. It was a beautiful moment.****

Even the hubs is pleased for me. When I bashfully informed him of my engagement, he said, and I quote:

*yawn* Congratulations.

Seriously, if you didn't make it by there yesterday you missed a fun party. Hanging otu with EE and everyone else was a good time, and I needed to have a good time yesterday.

Now, I have a review! For you! And you! Yay!

I fially got my slim little exiled-in-England hands on a copy of My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon, a collection of short stories by, as the Amazon listing says, "[an] all-star collection" of today's hottest paranormal writers. Nine stories, to be exact, which are pretty evenly split between ones I loved and ones I didn't love so much, with only two not really working well for me.

Y'all know I'm not generally a short story fan, so I wasn't sure exactly how well the book would work for me. But I really enjoyed it.

It seems only fair that I add a disclaimer, because I'm about to rave about Caitlin Kittredge's story Newlydeads, that not only is Caitlin my fwend but I was lucky enough to read the novel she's written about the characters in this story. I personally don't think knowing the characters made much difference in my enjoyment, but of course I can't say for 100% sure, so there you go. All I do know is the story was creepy and fun, extremely well written (of course) and atmospheric. One of the hardest things to pull off in a short story is to give us a fully rounded sense of character and setting, and Newlydeads managed it neatly. Plus, not only was there some fun personal conflict in there too, which I liked, the hero is soooo sexy. Really. So, so sexy.

I also particularly enjoyed Jim Butcher's Heorot. I'm ashamed to admit I've never read and Dresden novels--hey, this stuff isn't easy to come by where I live--but had always meant to. Now I have to! Again, time and place and character were all there, there was a bit of spark and innuendo, some action, some twists. Most of all, it felt like a complete story, which I appreciated (as did all the stories I most enjoyed).

The other standouts for me: Where the Heart Lives by Marjorie Liu. Beautifully written, haunting, lovely. Apparently it's a sort of prequel to a series, and on that level--as well as others--it worked extremely well. Lucy was a character I understood and felt for from the first page, and I was completely drawn in.
Half of Being Married by Lilith Saintcrow. I wasn't 100% crazy about this one, but I think that was more a personal quirk of mine. It certainly wasn't the fault of the writing, which in typical Saintcrow fashion is superb. Just superb. That woman can write the paint off a fence, folks. I also loved the little twist at the end, because I love twists like that. (There were two twists, actually, one I saw coming and one I didn't. I especially love it when I don't see it coming.) Charming characters and a fun setting, too.

I also enjoyed Katie MacAllister's Cat Got Your Tongue, which was a surprise for me because I'm not really a fan of her novels (personal taste, nothing against her work itself). I liked Kelley Atmstrong's Stalked, but not as much as I like the novels of hers I've read. Perhaps some of this is because I'm simply not a fan of weres and never have been. I'll read books with weres, sure, but they don't usually end up as my favorites. P.N. Elrond's Her Mother's Daughter was also a lot of fun. Not my favorite in the collection, but definitely a very good story.

So there you go! Absolutely worth a read, grab your copy today and see what you think. Come back here and let me know! We don't talk about books enough here, do we?

You know, it really is harder to write good reviews. Sheesh.


* I proposed to him.
** He said no because I'm a Conan fan, then finally agreed when I told him I thanked him in the Acknowledgements for Personal Demons. Which is true.
*** I squealed "Yaay!" Because EE is, as we all know, the Sexiness. Even if he actually looked like the gray-headed, mutton-chopped Ben Franklin character whose image he uses. As whats-her-face said in Amadeus, "Looks don't concern me, Maestro. Only talent interests a woman of taste."
**** Especially when he was gallant enough to imply he thinks I'm pretty when he saw my pictures on Livejournal.

Contest!

Today, for those of you who haven't checked over at the League, is Anton Strout's birthday! And to celebrate we're having a little contest.

Pre-order Dead to Me today, or if you already have, let me know. Email me with a copy of the relevant part of your Amazon or B&N receipt (I don't want or need your credit card or home address details, of course), and I will enter you in a contest for another of my Yezer magnets!

****And Mr. Mark Henry is chipping in a signed copy of Happy Hour of the Damned! So c'mon! Enter!****

You've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain, so preorder now!


(This is what I'm looking for:


Dispatch estimate for these items: 3 Jan 2008 1 "Flunkeys and Scullions: Life Below Stairs in Georgian England"
Pamela Horn; Hardcover; £14.00

So send it along! You can use my League contact email, or Staciakane AT gmail.)

2008 Hates Us All

Wow.

So the first month of the year is barely halfway finished, and we've had a major plagiarism scandal, more major floods here in England, the death of a beloved TV star (Suzanne Pleshette), and the deaths of two talented young actors. I am stunned.

I was going to do a book review today, but I was too busy watching all the coverage last night to read. How sad. The hubs and I were really excited about Dark Knight; we still are, but this is going to make the experience very different.

Not to mention the total creepiness of the fact that I bogged about celebrity deaths and book character deaths yesterday at the League.

So I actually don't have much to say today. It's just sad. I've honestly only seen one Heath Ledger film (10 Things I Hate About You, which I believe my best friend loaned me along with a few other movies once when I had a horrible toothache. It was okay, I think. Certainly not as bad as one of the other films, which was American Pie, which I thought was absolute crap. Perhaps my toothache kept me from seeing the humor in it, but I've never been a fan of grossout humor. Anyway.)

I didn't intend to blog about a subject already being covered everywhere, but the day has gotten away from me so I'm still not done reading the book I was going to review, and I'm kind of zonked with all the heavy coverage everywhere anyway.

I will say this, though. It really bothers me when there is a death and everyone immediately assumes it was related to drug addiction. Especially in this case when it's beginning to look like a tragic accident. Everyone has to one-up each other and be more cynical and snarky than everyone else. It's depressing. Perhaps that's what's bothering me so much about this--it's tragic that a talented young father lost his life, but it's even worse when vultures start swooping in and saying he deserved it because he was a junkie or "everyone knew this was coming" or whatever. You don't have to care. Heck, if it weren't for the Dark Knight I probably wouldn't care that much either, because like I said I'm not terrifically familiar with the man or his work. But it bothers me to see the gleeful schadenfreude spreading like rancid cooking oil all over the internet.

And that's it. I may blog tomorrow, but if not I'll be back on Friday with some cheerful things to say, I promise.

All sorts of fun stuff

Why are you looking at those pictures, you might ask?

Because when I think of Evil Editor, those are what I picture him looking like. Either-or, depending on my mood. Or maybe a combo of the two.

And why am I posting that?

Because The Man himself will be over at The Church Lady's blog this Thursday to promote "Novel Deviations 3", and everyone should stop by! All the cool kids are doing it. And really, what's more fun that hanging out with EE?

Next is that meme everyone's doing. I'm a follower, so...


1. Your genre(s)?
Urban fantasy. Scary things. Crazy things. Sexy things.

2. How many books have you completed?
Oh, boy. Um. Okay. Nine. Nine that have been or will be published. One more I have my fingers crossed on big-time. Plus a few novellas and shorts.


3. How many books are you working on now?
Right now I'm working on a novella I owe EC, plus vaguely plotting a new historical UF series and the next two Unholy Ghosts books (so I have something if there's actually interest from someone in an agenty capacity.) Depending on that I'll know what to start next.

4. Are you a linear or chunk writer?
I am not chunky. I've lost sixteen pounds and I wear size 4 jeans (okay, from Old Navy, so actually they'd be a six anywhere else. Still.)
I write start to finish. I only allow myself to skip if I am absolutely stuck for more than a couple of weeks. It's only happened once.

5. The POV you're most partial to?
Third. I don't like to write in first. I don't read much in first either, although I won't not read a book I'm interested in because of POV. But a book I haven't heard anything about that I pick up in a store...if it's in first, chances are I'll put it back down.

6. The themes that keep cropping up in your books?
*rubs hands together* Oooh, this is fun! Isolation. Loneliness. Depression. Rejection. Emotional damage. Self-hatred. Self-medication. Self-injury. Self-reliance. That love means wanting people to have their independence too. That being happy isn't as important as being strong.
They're fun books. :-)

(Actually I think they are fun, really. They're not as depressing as that makes them seem. It's just that's sort of what I always come back to. I can't write happy people because I don't understand happy people; there's no conflict.)

7. How many days a week do you write?
I try to write every day. Lately I've been on a little break, after doing two books back-to-back while simulatenously doing several novellas and shorts. So I've taken a few weeks off and I'm just about to get back in the saddle.

8. What time of day do you get your best writing done?
Late morning, and at night. Really, I've had to learn to work any time I can because of the kids. I can't always work when I want to or when I feel most productive.

9. Who are your inspirations?
I hate questions like that. It sounds kiss-assy. Pass.

10. Who are your favorite authors to read? (different from mentors)
Barbara Michaels/Elizabeth Peters. Stephen King. Herman Wouk. Neil Gaiman. Jeph Loeb. I used to love Elizabeth George but I won't read her books anymore. Same with Patricia Cornwell, although Cornwell didn't betray me like George did. Florence King. Sharon Kay Penman.


BTW, if you head over to my livejournal there's some pictures of me in the next-to-newest entry, portrait attempts for my Juno bio.

Busy like a bee

I've posted an interview I did with the lovely and charming Heather Osborn, acquiring editor at Tor, on the League of Reluctant Adults blog, so make sure you check it out!

And I am over at Plot Monkeys too!

Your Homework

(or, some links and random stuff because I'm tired and lazy and can't think of a good fun post.)

First, a cautionary tale for those of us who read or write the erotic stuff:

The Fabulous Book Bitches did a post about a man with a, um, 9.5-inch appendage. There are no pictures of the appendage on the actual blog post, but there's a link. The link didn't work for me, so, purely in the interests of authorial reasearch and for no other reason, I did a (NOT WORK SAFE) Google image search. Ladies and gentlemen, if you choose to click on the link (the ones you're looking for are all, um, of the non-excited man, particularly the one where he poses so as to show how it and his forearm are roughly the same size), pay close attention. THAT is 9.5 inches. It almost reaches his knees. (Apparently when aroused he hits 13 inches.) Let's consider this for a moment, next time we read a scene where this number is mentioned, and it's mentioned more often than we think. Let's doubly consider it if we are writers and are tempted to place an exact measurement on our hero.

Personally I never give an actual size. It destroys the mystique. I'd rather use adjectives like "huge", "gorgeous", "thick", that sort of thing. The closest I've come of late is borrowing Mrs. Patrick Campbell's famous assessment of her new husband, "Six feet four and everything in proportion". (I didn't directly attribute my source, btw, but mentioned that it was a famous quote. In case anyone is interested.) (Even six feet four was an estimate.)

But seriously. Let's be more realistic. Let's not go down that dark, dark road.

Okay, next. Has everyone gone over to the League of Reluctant Adults blog and Suggested a book for our next Book Club? Because you need to do that.


Also, don't forget I will be guest blogging tomorrow at the Plot Monkeys blog, about choosing a publisher and warning signs and all that good stuff, and I'd love it if you guys could stop by. Please?

So lookie, a blog post after all! Yay me!

Release Day!

The super-dark, super-sexy, X-rated erotic romance Anna J. Evans and I wrote together, Demon's Triad, releases today from Ellora's Cave! (You'll be able to buy it later in the day when the page updates.)

I had a bit of a difficult time choosing an excerpt for this one, because did I mention it's X-rated and super sexy? But I'm also mindful that a lot of you read from work, and after a gentle reminder from some of my beloved men readers that, ah, reading explicit material at work can cause problems, I wanted to grab something a little less...well, a little less erotic.

Blurbage:
What’s a witch to do when her coven has been cursed with a celibacy spell?

Break it. By any means necessary.

Aleeza dips into grey magic to scratch the itch that’s been driving her crazy. She never dreams deviating from the ‘white magic only’ policy of her coven will land her in the middle of a serial murder investigation…or in the arms of two magnetic men.

Ferrin and Dorand plan to find their woman’s murderer and make them pay—with their lives. But when a spell to communicate with her spirit awakens a forbidden lust, their quest to catch a killer becomes even deadlier.

A legacy of demonic evil two thousand years in the making is about to rise. One misstep and innocent passion becomes tainted desire, and three true lovers…a demon’s triad.

ADVISORY: Contains scenes of male/male sexual contact. This book is not for the faint of heart and contains non-gratuitous scenes of rape and incest.

The scene I've chosen takes place the morning after Aleeza breaks the celibacy curse and, coincidentally, loses her virginity to a man in the Amiantos forests. Now she's with the head of her Coven (Gunera) to be briefed about a new investigation...


“Gunera Bounty and Investigations has its second job. At this rate we’re going to need more people certified, pronto. I’m putting you in charge of finding volunteers. And don’t tell me you can’t find them. Let them know how much cash you’re getting for this and they’ll be jumping at the chance.”
Aleeza hadn’t even finished closing the door behind her before Gavyn spoke, waving a thick manila folder in her direction. “Here.” The sunlight streaming in the frosted glass window behind him cast an odd whitish glow around his dark head, like the glow of Dorand’s energy the night before had made his skin gleam. Aleeza shivered and hurried to take the file from Gavyn, making sure their fingers didn’t touch.
“Good morning to you too. And how much money am I getting for this job anyway?”
“What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” Gavyn’s smile faded and his green eyes narrowed. He held on to the file more tightly.
For a second Aleeza thought he might pull her over the desk into his lap and make her sit there and say “ah”. Gavyn was their coven’s strongest healer and had basically been her pediatrician when she was growing up. Aleeza had learned every healing spell she knew from him and had known he would be able to sense something off with her energy. She shouldn’t have come here, should have made him fill her in over the phone and picked up the damn file later after she’d had a nice long nap.
“Nothing’s wrong. Give me a break, Gavyn. I haven’t been sick in ten years,” she said, rolling her eyes and pulling the file from his grip with a firm yank. Play it off, she just had to play it off and get out of here ASAP.
“Don’t bullshit me, there’s something wrong,” Gavyn said. “You seem different somehow.”
Aleeza sat down in one of the cracked leather chairs and shrugged, keeping her eyes down, scanning the words on the folder without reading them. “Nothing. I guess I’m just tired. I had a late night.”
“No, your energy feels off, like it’s been tampered with. Maybe—”
“What’s the case, Gavyn? The sooner you tell me about it, the sooner I can start, and the sooner we get paid.”
“I like that you’re eager.” Gavyn gave her another hard look, then leaned back in his own, much nicer chair, and put his feet up on the mess of paper covering his desk. Every Gunera Aleeza knew had offered to help him organize the office at least once, but Gavyn insisted he had a system. “But this is a challenging job, and if there’s any question about your health—”
“Cut the crap, Gavyn. You’d send me out while I was in the middle of giving birth if the job paid well enough.”
Now why had she said that? Giving birth? Idiot.
Gavyn smiled and rubbed his own ever-rounding belly. “Funny you mention that, Al. I’m sending you up to the Pekora Forest for this one.”
Only the powerful shields Aleeza had built up since heading for the office kept her from betraying her emotions. Did Gavyn know where she’d been last night? She wouldn’t put it past the old man to fuck with her a little before he dealt out a punishment. But surely he wouldn’t be so blasé if he’d known what she’d been up to in the woods. Best to keep playing dumb and give out as little information as possible. “Oh? What’s up there, except a bunch of Amiantos?”
“That’s right. The Amiantos have hired us for this one. I’m sure you can’t wait to get better acquainted. Might be your chance to finally meet that special someone.” The words were ripe with sarcasm. If Gavyn had ever been married, Aleeza didn’t know about it, and he certainly knew how she felt about the undefiled coven.
“You know I don’t want to meet any damned Amiantos. I’m surprised you even took a job from them. Are you sure it’s not a trap? They might be working with the human police.”
“No, the job is legit. The question is, are you? I don’t want to send a frustrated virgin up there to be swept off her feet by some blond god and make our company, and our coven, look like a bunch of fools.”
“What are you talking about, Gavyn? I still feel the same way I always have about them,” Aleeza said, her heart beating fast in her throat. He knew. Shit, he had to know, and now she was going to be in the biggest trouble of her life. She might be kicked out of the coven or worse, she might be—
“Really? Because I’ve been hearing some things. Like maybe you’re getting a little too frustrated with celibacy. I heard you ended up on your ass in an alley last night so desperate you were going to let that living dildo Keller into your pants.” He stood up, all six feet of him looming over her from behind his desk. He was a big man in every sense of the word and the closest thing she’d had to a father since her own disappeared. Looking into his angry face and not spilling everything wasn’t the easiest thing she’d ever done, but she met his green eyes with her dark brown ones and willed a look of complete innocence onto her features.
“Not to mention, you reek of male. How many guys were you with last night?”
“W-What?” Goddess help her, she’d almost said, “only one.” “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know what I’m talking about.”
Shit. Shitshitshit. “Fine, Gavyn. Yes. I tried to pick up two different guys last night. I thought maybe if the guys weren’t supers I could make it work. It didn’t. The experience left me drained so I did a spell to charge back up and it’s made me a little high. Then my mom pumped me full of herbs this morning to ‘even out my humors’ and I’m about to throw up on your desk. I just need a shower and a nap, and I’ll be ready to go. I don’t want an Amiantos man any more than I ever did, and I’ve never, never, embarrassed this company.”
He gave her a hard look, then took a deep breath and sat back down. He’d bought it, at least for now. “No, you haven’t, but I’m warning you, Al—”
“Can we just get to the briefing so I can go home and clean up before I head into enemy territory?” All that training paid off. Lies came so easily to her now.
“They’re not my favorite coven either, but they’re the client and I expect you to treat them with respect. Amiantos might not be our friends, but neither are they the enemy.”
“They might as well be.”
“You can’t really believe that, Al. Sometimes it works out between the Gunera and the Amiantos. Just because your father—”
“Damn it, Gavyn, are you going to brief me or not?” She stood up, anger suddenly boiling in her chest. How dare he, how dare he talk like this? Who did he think he was? She wanted to hit him, to punch him, to slice his throat with her nails and let his blood run—the desire was so strong for a minute she thought she’d done it. She saw Gavyn’s limp body on the floor, saw herself standing over him, laughing, sucking his power into her body…
What the hell?!
“Aleeza? Aleeza! Are you okay?” Gavyn’s hands squeezed her arms so hard it hurt. Her vision cleared and she saw that his face, only inches away from hers, was thankfully unmarked. Had she really seen that? Goddess, had she really imagined doing something so terrible to Gavyn, her coven leader, her friend?
Her legs shook as she sank back into the chair. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am, I’m just…I’m just tired. Could you get me something to drink, please? Preferably something with caffeine?”
“Caffeine might not be a good idea if you’re unbalanced today,” he said, actually looking as if he might regret having given her such a hard time. “I have—”
“Just anything. Please.” Please, let him leave her alone for a minute. He needed to leave her alone for a minute. Because the image of his broken body still shone in her head like a bright new penny and she had no idea why, but the thought of hurting him made her throb.
Something was definitely wrong, horribly wrong.
The feeling of foreboding didn’t disappear when Gavyn brought her some orange juice and started briefing her on the new job.
“Three witches murdered,” he said. “All on Fire Festivals. The first was Rimer Lorcan, at the Spring Equinox. Rimer was a loner, a petty criminal. He’d been covenless for years, and pissed off more people, super and human, than you can count on two hands. Everyone assumed it was a revenge killing until they did postmortem.” The picture she pulled from the file was so lurid with blood Aleeza had to close her eyes for a second. “They found evidence of ritual murder. Magical symbols carved into his organs—the ones they didn’t take, anyway.” Aleeza swallowed hard.
“Next was Carantha Smoler, on Beltane. This one was better documented than the first, more pictures, close ups of the symbols in the organs.” A picture of a woman’s battered, broken body seemed to leap out of the file at Aleeza. Tears sprang to her eyes. The woman was lovely—had been lovely. For a moment it was almost as if she could see her smiling, laughing…Aleeza shook her head. She was more tired than she’d thought. She’d never had psychic flashes like these before.
Unless the sex spell had opened her up somehow. She didn’t even want to think about that, couldn’t think about things like that until she was far away from Gavyn.
Whatever that odd flash was, it didn’t happen with the next picture.
“Lymera Brown.” Gavyn shifted on the arm of her chair. “Lammas. The Amiantos have no leads. Since the murders all took place in the forest, they’ve been the ones responsible for investigating, even though only two of the victims—Rimer and Carantha—were theirs. Lymera was Phillias coven, but she was going to marry an Amiantos, so they feel she was theirs too.”
“And now they want us to find the killer?”
Gavyn nodded. “Not only that. They want us to prevent the next murder, which if the perps follow their pattern will take place on Samhain…not quite a month away.”

Some questions, some news, some stuff.

Some questions:

What would you do?

Something occurred to me yesterday, while I was thinking (as things often do.) I've done my publishing posts and I've expressed my opinions about newbie publishers and ineffective agents, but I've never really thought about what to do when someone you know sells to a bad publisher or signs with an agent with no sales (or no sales to publishers who don't require an agent). What do you do? What if it's someone you don't know well, is that different from when it's someone you do?

Do you say something? If so, what?

Also, I have a question for the ladies. Do you sleep in a bra? I always have but apparently that's wierd.


Some news:

Anna J. and I have a release on Wednesday, our X-rated menage novel Demon's Triad. So I'll be posting an excerpt on Tuesday or Wednesday, in an attempt to get people to buy it. Because seriously? We're really proud of this one. It's very dark. It's violent. It's very, very sexy. We want people to read it.

We're playing with our posting order this week at the League, shaking things up. Oooh, who'll be posting today? Tomorrow? What about? You'll have to go check and see!

Speaking of blogging, *I* will be guest blogging this Saturday at Plot Monkeys, a blog hosted by these fabulous ladies: Julie Leto, Carly Phillips, Leslie Kelly, and Janelle Denison. I'll be doing a slightly revamped version of my very first "Choose the right publisher" post, and sticking around all day to answer questions. (I'll do it again next month, too.) Maybe some of you can stop by over there? I'm terrified readers are going to say "Who the hell is she?" and click away from the page. :-)

Is that it? I thought I had some stuff too. I guess not. Oh, wait, yes I do! I created some Personal Demons web icons and put them on the website here. I've also enlarged the fonts and added an excerpt, basically the same one you saw but the new edited version. So there's some stuff.

Grr...

I have no idea why the banner image is all messed up, and refuses my attempts to fix it...please bear with me...

Weekend interviews are back at the League!

And to finalize getting the League up and running for '08, we have a new weekend interview! Mark Henry interviews Richelle Mead, a great author and person both, at The League of Reluctant Adults blog.

So go check it out!

The End of Reading is at hand...*

*or so they want you to think.


Someone over on Absolute Write posted an announcement that Annie Sprinkle's long-running erotic anthology series, The Best American Erotica, is ending. It seems sales have been dropping, etc. Ms. Sprinkle--whom I respect and admire, just want to get that out of the way--has written a long blog post about her feeling about this, and why she thinks it's happened.

It's a good post. But I think it's wrong. Just like I think those five-times-a-year articles by some AP stringer about how books don't ever make money anymore and the book industry is collapsing are wrong, and I'm tired of seeing them.

Nobody is denying people might read less now than they once did. And certainly I see things like the recent financial troubles of Borders Bookstores and get nervous. Nobody wants to see bookstores disappear, least of all me.

But I don't think a lack of reading is necessarily at fault for Borders--I think it's stores like Sam's Club or Amazon that create problems for bookstores. I would even go so far as to guess that some people are buying more books now because of the discounts offered by those places.

I have a few problems with Ms. Sprinkle's post in particular. I certainly don't appreciate her assertion that modern writers of erotica are simply bandwagon-jumpers with no style. I don't agree with her that independent bookstores were king in 1993 and it's their death that has lead to the death of reading, short stories in particular. I'd certainly been to quite a few Barnes & Nobles at that time--in fact, they bought out B. Dalton in 1987 and so went national then. I know that any independent bookstores I went to as a kid were likely used bookstores--we had Waldenbooks and B. Dalton nearby, and that's where we shopped. Granted I was a kid, but I don't even remember seeing any independent bookstores anywhere.

I also don't agree that people no longer discuss books and/or reading. Yes, she's correct when she says newspapers are shutting down their book review sections, but I think, as I have always thought, that those pages don't attract attention because they're not reviewing books people want to read.

All I have to do is look online to see hundreds, if not thousands, of people who care about books and reading. Are we the only ones in the country? Somehow I doubt it. I just think people are buying different books now, and they're buying them from other places. They're buying them online. They're buying ebooks (I absolutely and strongly disagree with her assertion that file-sharing isn't a threat to authors.)

If anything, I think readers--at least in some genres--have grown more intelligent. Ms. Sprinkle mentions how in the beginning there was a "sense of urgency and movement,of this type of writing being on the edge of social change..." and how that's missing now.

To which I say, so what? Maybe I don't want to read erotica With A Message. Maybe I don't want political or sociological opinions force-fed me when I sit down to read a sexy story. Maybe that's why collections of erotic romance sell so well--nobody is Making A Statement. Maybe the American public--and the greater world public--is Message Fatigued, and would rather read fun books and enjoy themselves. If we have less leisure time than we used to for reading, is it any wonder we're choosing lighter books to read?

Yes, the short story seems to be doing the way of the dodobird. But maybe people these days simply like longer works. The assumption that only short stories are truly literary bugs me. Personally, if I'm reading something erotic I like it to be longer. I want to know the characters better. I want a stronger story to go with it. I want to spend some time there. I'm not good at writing short stories and never have been, because to me an erotic short feels a little like a quick anonymous hump in a back alley--over too soon and not as emotionally satisfying as it could have been. I don't agree that the short story is the foundation of storytelling. That doesn't mean I never enjoy them or that I think they're inferior to anything else, it just means I don't agree they're the foundation.

Basically, I just don't agree that the book industry is dying, and I'm tired of being told it is. As long as there are people who read, and pass that on to their children, there will be books.

I agree people are reading less. But maybe they're enjoying it more. And I absolutely agree that we need to take steps to encourage more people to read. But I'm tired of seeing stories of doom all over the place about how nobody makes a living writing books anymore unless they're Stephen King, and 99% of books only sell two copies (never mentioning that they're including textbooks and every self-published book and every academic micropress book about Cow-Tipping in the Eighteenth Century [which I would totally read, btw] in their statistics.)

It may be hard to make a living as a writer, yes--especially depending on your version of "a living". But I'm tired of reading that it's impossible so we just shouldn't try. How many articles do you see about how nobody goes to the doctor anymore, so going to med school is a waste? How nobody goes to see plays so don't bother acting? Why is it only writers and writing that get picked on with such frequency?

Don't sell the public short. They're still reading. At least that's what I think.

My Top Ten

Top Ten Signs that a book was written by me:


1. Third person. I'm not a fan of first person and don't write in it. My romances are, of course, written from third omniscient, but my urban fantasy is strictly from the heroine's POV.

2. Absent Families. Either they're dead or they're just a bunch of jerks, but not one heroine I've ever written has had a warm family relationship. Fathers often sell their kids out. Mothers are cruel and distant.

3. Everybody drinks like they're trying to keep up with Dean Martin. And they drink all sorts of things. The heroes might have a preference for Scotch, but basically, if you show a bottle of booze to a character in one of my books they'll drink it.

4. Twist endings. Not all of my books have them, but the large majority does. Either the villain's motives aren't what they seemed, or the guy we thought was the bad guy isn't. Even if it isn't a major plot point (it usually is), at some point we're going to be surprised.

5. Smoking. Yeah, I know. Not everyone smokes, but enough people do that it's safe to say if you pick up one of my books chances are somebody, some time, is going to smoke a cigarette.

6. Smooth dialogue, everybody is smart. Nobody is stupid (at least nobody we're supposed to like), not even the characters who never had an education. They may not know algebra but they have agile minds, and their dialogue tends to be quick and clean.


7. Manners/the man pays. Oh, yes. My characters use each others' last names regularly and often wait to be invited to use firsts. My men open doors, believe in "ladies first", prepare drinks, and always pay for meals (unless the heroine specifically does the inviting.) They get a little anal about it, too, sometimes. Even my poor uneducated men know how to treat a lady, and that's how they see them, too--as ladies.

8. Everybody has great sex. Like I said, my heroes believe in ladies first.

9. Heroes are dark/heroines are slim. Both personally and physically. I'm another one who just doesn't find blond men terribly appealing as a rule, so my heroes have dark hair and dark eyes. Most of them have Deep Secrets too, or if they don't they're just plain criminals. Also, my heroines tend not to be curvy. They're slim, small-breasted, probably not particularly tall, and average pretty.

10. Violence/stuff explodes/car chases/infernos. Oh how I love action. People in my books are always running, away from the crazy guy with the knife or the evil spirit they don't yet know how to defeat. They're in the car breaking laws as bad guys shoot at them or hordes or vampires chase them. Fire is everywhere. Houses catch fire, warehouses, corpses, heroes are fire demons who can burn stuff to a crisp just by thinking of it--now that I'm thinking of it, if something isn't burning yet in one of my books it's probably at least been foreshadowed. Just give it time. Everything burns.


I have also done a preliminary Stacia Kane website. It's here. If you have a minute, check it out. I think it's pretty blah, but as I said on livejournal last night, I really find GoDaddy's "Web Site Tonight" web builder to be difficult and painful to use. It's slow, it's not very customizeable...argh. Just a pain in the butt. So please be kind. :-)

The Elvis Edition

My subject at the League of Reluctant Adults blog today is my Top Ten favorite Elvis songs, in honor of Elvis' birthday.

My love of Elvis is not ironic. It is not post-modern or post-punk or tongue-in-cheek or any of the above. It comes in part from the same place as my adoration of macho men, from my childhood spent at the racetrack while my Dad ran quarter miles or spending most of my summers playing baseball in the street or travelling extensively throughout the South.

Even the excesses of Elvis love don't bother me, the glittery pillows or bad embroidery or black velvet paintings. I don't smirk a superior smirk or laugh at the tackiness (okay, sometimes I do, but I'm laughing at myself too, the little girl who wrote her crush's name all over her notebooks in lurid glitter inks or Outliner metallic markers and put Duran Duran posters on every available surface of her bedroom).

Because when we see greatness we want to honor it. We know something has walked among us that never will again, and we mourn its passing--worship its absent presence--with the intensity and devotion we reserve for all gods in no matter what arena.

I'm not getting into Elvis as a person, the drug addiction or apparently kinky sexual preferences or the was-he-racist-or-a-product-of-his-upbringing-and-shouldn't-he-have-overcome-it debate. I'm talking exclusively about the performer, the voice that crashed over our heads and wrenched emotions from the depths of our souls. The man who even at his overweight worst, when he had to read lyrics to songs he'd sung hundreds of times from a sheet of paper, could still make us cry, all of us, together. My adoration for that man comes from my earliest childhood, and is implacable. I will never stop loving that voice, those songs, and I will never stop wishing it had not been silenced so soon.


(Note, this is how I get when I'm homesick. Feel free to make fun of me, but don't you make fun of the King, lol.)

Hi-larious!

This is probably not work safe, as it requires audio and repeatedly uses the word "fuck".




And while I'm at it, this one is specially for Mark Henry, and I need to add a disclaimer, which is that this video is in no way a political statement or a commentary about anything political. I just thought it was funny, and I would think it was funny no matter what politician was being spoofed, I promise (and those of you who know me well KNOW how true that is):

*Hope nobody hates me*

I have some things to say. Some things which I would normally shy away from saying but I'm seriously reaching a breaking point here.

Okay, first. I am so incredibly sick and tired of hearing any sort of sentence which begins with "Americans are so..." and ends with any of the following: "hung up about sex/Puritanical/repressed."

First of all, I really genuinely have to wonder where the people who say such things get that idea, considering how thriving the pornography industry in the US is. Considering how raunchy the humor in US TV shows and movies can get. Look at our magazines or newspapers, listen to our radio shows. You'll find sex, I promise. Hell, look at me and what I write for EC.

Second, will someone please explain to me what exactly is so wrong with believing that maybe, just maybe, we should keep our genital urges private? That perhaps it isn't a good idea for young children to be exposed to explicit sexual images? That, to use the most common example of American's Terrible Puritanism, some people don't want their kids seeing, in the middle of a sporting match, a white man tearing off a black woman's clothing and exposing her nudity in a humiliating and aggressive fashion before thousands of people? Did anyone else wonder why the racial issue wasn't discussed, why the uncomfortable allusion to slavery implicit in that little moment was never an issue? Why wasn't Janet Jackson allowed to be the aggressor? Why wasn't she allowed to rip off JT's shirt and make him her bitch? Why was the power in that moment placed explicitly in the white man's hands? (Perhaps I'm wrong for seeing the racial side of this. Perhaps I'm way off base. And I do see the other side of that coin, where it's a good thing nobody discussed it because it means the idea of interracial sex wasn't even an issue, which is great. But I always found that interesting and wondered why more people didn't discuss that as another reason people had issues, even subconsciously, with that moment. Hell, even if they'd both been white or both been black I would have had an issue with the way the woman in question was forced to be the sexual submissive while the man stayed calm and fully clothed. I find that hot in books, but in public I think it might be better not to have our impressionable children think The Way It's Done is the man tears at the woman's clothing apropos of nothing.)

But honestly, (and I can't believe I'm digressing into this incident so far when it's years old) I believe the biggest problem with that wasn't the Wardrobe Malfunction. Heck, Lucy Lawless fell out of her top one night singing the National Anthem and treated everyone in attendance to a view of her own Ramparts, and nobody said a word.

I think the difference is, the intense sexualizaton our children are exposed to and the pressure we put on our daughters, girls as young as ten, to be "sexy". And this is why I get angry when the US is derided as being Puritanical or Hung Up or Prudish.

What's wrong with wondering, and debating, whether or not it's a good thing for kids to be exposed to such things? What's wrong with questioning our direction? With talking about what we do and do not value, and what sorts of values we want to pass on to our children?

Isn't it better that we do that, instead of just saying, "Ah, they'll be okay," while we show them pornography at age seven (or whatever)? Isn't it better to examine our changing values and our society as a whole than to just shrug and say "Whatever"? Isn't that sort of debate what a responsible society does?

Here's a prime example (this is where the whole rant comes from). Britney Spears. A sixteen-year-old girl paraded around by her own mother in tiny halter tops and mini-skirts behaving in an overtly sexual manner (yes, I realize I'm skating dangerously close to sounding like the Church Lady here). A GIRL. A GIRL who could barely drive a car, being told over and over again that the most interesting and valuable thing about her was her (admittedly fabulous) body and to what degree she flaunted it. A GIRL thrown into an adult world at an age when most girls are still confused about just about everything, when the slightest bit of criticism is incredibly painful.

Is it any wonder the poor thing is having a nervous breakdown, stage by stage? Is it any wonder she was so desperate to really feel like the grown-up everyone kept pushing her to be that she jumped into two ill-advised marriages at age twenty (does anyone else wonder if she got pregnant so quickly and consecutively in an attempt to finally NOT have to be sexy all the time)? That when her parents should have been guiding her into real womanhood they instead urged her into tighter and shorter outfits and left her to fend for herself? That being young, beautiful, and wealthy, and thus able to do whatever she wanted, was too much for a girl barely out of her teens? That her own parenting skills are appalling? Are we surprised by any of this?

Is it so prudish and narrow-minded to say, I'd rather my daughter be valued for something other than their breasts and flat stomachs when they hit their early teens, and to that end maybe we could step back on the intense emphasis on sex and sexuality that seems to be everywhere? Is it so prudish and narrow minded just to say, hey, maybe this isn't good for our kids, and maybe we should think about how our actions affect them?

I'll say one thing about those Chastity Balls everyone was discussing a while ago--at least the girls attending those parties knew their fathers cared how they comported themselves, and valued them as people and not as sexual objects, and most importantly wanted the girls to value themselves as more than that. I'm not saying the Balls didn't squick me out or that I didn't find it creepily vagocentric. But how many girls out there might be glad to know that at least somebody wants them to value their bodies as more than some hormonal teenage boy's sex toy? That someone will think they're good and honorable for saying no to sex, instead of an idiot, because sex is No Big Deal? Sex is a Big Deal, it's a big huge deal, as any girl who's waited in vain by the phone after letting some guy into her body can attest, and I don't see what's wrong with acknowledging that and trying to teach our kids that.

I don't want to sound like some "Turn back the clock to 1955!" incendiary. And I don't want to imply that such incendiaries don't exist, or that there aren't people out there who hold dangerously backward views on a lot of issues.

But I don't think the majority of Americans are like that. And I don't believe that simply wanting to make sure that our progress is positive and not precipitous is a dangerous and reactionary thing, but a good and responsible thing. I'm tired of hearing Americans described as stupid, homophobic, puritanical, racist, etc. Some of them are, sure, and it's a terrible shame, but no more than I've seen in any other place.

I am certainly not for censorship, or outlawing porn, or anything of that nature. I like my adult things and want to keep them, and I don't want children to think sex is dirty or bad or anything either. I just like the idea of balance. I think they should know about birth control and protecting themselves but would also prefer to teach my own daughters to wait (at least until they're in a long-term relationship, and by long-term I mean more than a few months), rather than have them be told "Everybody's doing it, it's great!" and pushed into the world of adult sexuality before they're ready. I think adults should be able to do whatever adults want to do with each other but would prefer they do it where I don't have to watch, and find it interesting that while we refuse to allow people to smoke in public because a child might be in the vicinity it's considered horribly backward to worry at all about children when, say, people are having oral sex in a park. Isn't that a bit odd?


So there you go. I guess I'm all fired up politically because of the primaries happening. I used to love politics, especially election years. I used to stay up late to watch returns, I'd take the day off to watch the Inauguration, have parties, all kinds of things. So much hate has crept into politics over the last eight years I've been weary of the whole thing. But the primaries so far have been fun, the debates have been fun, and I'm hoping it stays that way. I'll even go so far as to say there is one candidate in each party who I'd vote for in a minute, and if they both end up on the ticket, as pundits are predicting they will, I will have a very hard time making a decision (this based on what I've seen so far, of course.) It feels good to think, "Boy, that would be a hard choice." It's been a long time since I've thought that.

And that is the last political post you'll see here, btw.

*Flabbergasted*

Blood Will Tell has been nominated for Preditors & Editors "Best Romance 2007". (Scroll down to the Bs.)

WOW!! Thank you, whoever nominated me!


Of course I don't stand a snowball's chance of winning. But that's pretty cool.

Just like the poltergeist...

We-re ba-ack!




The League is up and running again, blogging for your delight and edification five days a week (and posting interviews at weekends!)


And I'm back too.

I was thinking earlier about cookbooks and such, and cooking in general. I love cookbooks. I read them like literature, and they're the only books whose pages I dog-ear (so if I'm looking for something to cook one night I don't have to page through recipes that don't interest me.)

But I tend to dislike modern cookbooks (with one exception, which I'll get to later.) Most modern cookbooks are for hobbyists; people who have money to spend on exotic ingredients and cook once a week, or do a special brunch sometimes, or whatever. All attractive and often looks great, but not very practical for someone who has to get dinner on the table at least six nights a week (assuming the hubs takes pity and we go to McD's or something once.)

(Actually, "takes pity" sounds bad, because I genuinely enjoy cooking. I just don't always want to do it by the end of the week.)

I simply don't have the time or the inclination to faff about the kitchen for hours julienning vegetables or infusing things (unless it's a special occasion, in which case I am happy to faff), and we certainly can't afford to buy a whole shelf full of exotic foods.

That's why I like old cookbooks.

In Ft. Lauderdale there was a used bookshop that had a whole section of old cookbooks, mostly from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and I used to clean that place out when I went. They usually only cost a couple of dollars each at the most, and are great. Fun to read (I have recipes for sweetebreads and whole roast suckling pig, y'all, right at my fingertips). They have a lot of basic information that's useful--a lot of these books assume you're a SAHM looking to branch out or looking for new ideas, so it's all non-fussy and with detailed instructions. Lots of casseroles. Lots of stuff you can freeze (I hardly ever do, but you get the point). I have a pasta cookbook from the mid-70s that is one of my favorites of all time, though it's missing two pages which irks me. Best of all for someone with a sensitive stomach like mine, there is very little emphasis placed on "International" (which usually means spicy) cuisine.

I have an "Antoinette Pope School" cookbook that uses MSG in almost every recipe (I omit it) and explains how to can foods and make jelly (I have never tried it, nor will I. Are you kidding? Me, with my pathological fear of food-borne bacteria?) I have an entire cookbook of fish recipes--good ones, with fish you can get at any supermarket instead of exotic ones you have to find a fishmonger for. I believe I literally have recipes for just about anything. Steak tartare? Got it. Tripe? Got it. Brains? Head cheese? Oh, yeah.

I also adore those cheap pamphlet-y cookbooks you can buy at the checkout lane in grocery stores. "Cooking With Beer" is my favorite (like I wouldn't buy a cookbook titled that) but I have some fun Halloween ones and local cuisine-type ones too.

I use those all the time. My modern books? Not so much. Except Nigella Lawson's "How to Eat", although I usually have to adapt her recipes because she's overly fond of peppers (to which I am violently allergic) and spices like cumin which I just plain don't like.

I actually started writing a cookbook once. It's got about thirty recipes in it but I never finished--I keep telling myself I need to keep going, so I can offer it as a free download or something. That's one of the reasons I post recipes at the Overflow blog, too, just in case someone cares. Nobody seems to, but that doesn't stop me! Oh no!

What do you cook from, if you cook? Do you like to cook? Got any recipes to share? How do you feel about modern cookbooks? Have any cooking tips? Bring 'em on!

New Year's, etc.

I was supposed to do a better NY post, but I just can't think of anything to say. Resolutions? Yes, blah blah, I want an agent and a multi-book deal, blah blah blah. What else is new? I'm going to try to be better at doing the vacuuming. I'm going to try to do more promo. Have more fun. Go places and do things instead of sitting around all weekend every weekend (of course, my lack of adventure in the past year wasn't entirely my fault, seeing as how it rained, um, almost every fucking day). Sticking to my diet isn't really a resolution, it's just something I'm going to keep doing. Maybe I'll try to get more sleep, too. That would be good.
I want to write at least three full-length novels, which shouldn't be a problem. Four would be better.



Tagged by my sweet friend yeyo_x:

* 8 Things I’m passionate about
1. My family
2. Writing
3. My friends
4. History
5. Booze
6. Movies
7. Shoes
8. The need to keep non-cigarette trash out of ashtrays, particularly food items

* 8 Things I want to do before I die
1. Agent/contract/blah blah
2. Become fluent in a foreign language
3. Go to Vegas
4. Own a nice home with more than two bedrooms
5. Own a convertible
6. Climb a mountain
7. Road trip across the US (again)
8. Top of the Empire State Building

* 8 Things I often say
1. Fuck
2. Like I said
3. Girls, be quiet!
4. Blah blah blah
5. I said be quiet!
6. Clean up in here
7. Because I said so
8. Girls, please be quiet!

* 8 Books I’ve recently or currently reading
1. The Hell-Fire Clubs: Sex, Rakes, and Libertines by Geoffrey Ashe
2. English Society in the 18th Century by Roy Porter
3. Flood by Andrew Vachss
4. Hard Candy by Andrew Vachss
5. Happy Hour of the Damned by Mark Henry
6. The Word Museum by Jeffrey Kacirk
7. Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
8. Waiting to Exhale by Terry McMillan

* 8 Songs I could listen to over and over
1. Ruby Baby by Dion
2. Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
3. NYC Tonight by GG Allin
4. Let It Be by the Beatles
5. Born With A Tail by the Supersuckers
6. Baby I'm a King by the Devil Dogs
7. Sound System by Operation Ivy
8. Drift Away by Dobie Gray (the original one, not that wierdo cover whoever-it-was did a little while ago)
(and a bonus: Don't Fear the Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult. Because everybody needs more cowbell.)

* 8 Things that attract me to my best friends
1. Sense of humor
2. Brains
3. Similar outlook to mine
4. Understanding
5. People who just "click" with me
6. Common interests
7. Kind to me, cruel to others (that's sort of a joke but not entirely, but my friendship-seeking process really doesn't include this many steps))
8. See? Can't think of any others.

Posting from the future

It's 2008 here, while it is still 2007 in the US. Therefore, I am posting...from the future!!!

Wooooooooo!


*shrug* It's okay so far. Buzz helps. More tomorrow.


Happy New Year!