Monday, November 29, 2010


Come join me at my new and probably not much improved blog at:

Thank you for your patronage. ;)

Monday, November 22, 2010


This post is dedicated to my daughter.

She's thirteen. Unlike most thirteen-year-olds, she has taste. Her take on the Twilight series is as follows:
"Bella's a loser. Her entire existence revolves around a guy. She needs to get some goals and get a life." (If you can't feel the glow of fierce maternal pride radiating from your monitor, please check again.)

That being said, she's got posters and pics of Taylor Lautner hanging on the inside of her closet. (How symbolic! She's a closet werewolf fan. This is fine. He's not out in the open and the center of her existence, but is contained and an afterthought. Yay!)

Anyhow, I found this video by accident on You Tube, and since I'm pressed for time (mother of three--when am I NOT pressed for time? Anyone? Anyone?) I thought I'd share it. Jenna B, this one's for you.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

'Twas Nice to be Naughty

'Twas a few weeks before Christmas
and one night on the couch
only Brenna was stirring; she needed release.

She wished for the Santa she'd seen earlier that day
wearing boots and his hat and ready to play.
All naked and randy, wearing only a bow.
Young, sexy and hot, and ready to go.

When what to her wondering eyes should appear
But that very same Santa, very much bare.
His abs! Oh so tight, and his bod, oh so lean.
Brenna was thankful for such a nice dream.
With a wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
He let her know he was ready for bed.

His hands were so talented, his mouth was a dream
And Brenna bit her lips to hold back her screams
Santa knew what she needed and just what to do
He fulfilled all her wishes and her fantasies, too.

Because Santa knows when you're nice
And then when you're naughty
This night, Brenna was a bad girl and Kris Kringle was bawdy.

But wait, there's much more; it's Christmas, after all.
And there's more to Santa than a good time and balls.
There's love, there's redemption and there's sacrifice.
And Santa is willing to give up his life.

For the dreams of a child and one very dear
Who Brenna loves greatly and holds very near.
Will Santa return to love her again?
You'll have to read this to find out, in the end.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Free photos? Only three credits.

Like many writers, I'm trying  to take advantage of every opportunity available to promote my book for free.

So far, it's cost me $40.00.

You see, I'm trying to make a book trailer. A two minute book trailer. And you can't do that without photos. So I've been going to different sites, looking for free images and then--of course finding the "perfect" photo, which is not free.

And it's only one image. But you must buy a package of credits. And it's only $, you do. But then, you've got these other credits to use. So you begin to scroll through the other photos. And you find more. But then, you're short one you have to buy more so you can round out your collection of images. And've got these extras, so...

I'm telling you, it's all a scam. Does anyone besides the friends and families of writers watch those book trailers, anyway?

But then again...sometimes you just can't help yourself. Could you resist using this sweet little face in your Christmas book trailer? That sweet little smile just melts your heart. Feeling grinchy? Not anymore.

I got Cindy Loo Hoo here from Dreamtopia. (Damn it, I'm gonna make sure I get use out of these things.)

Where do you go to spend money on free photos?

Tuesday, November 16, 2010


I suppose it's unusual for someone to say they had a wonderful, relaxing time shoveling shit, but  I did.

Last night I helped my daughter take care of her riding instructor's horses. They live outside and don't have stalls in the barn like some of the animals at the farm. And one of them, thoroughbred Will, hurt his foot and needed to stay alone in the round pen for a few days.

So the paddock needed to be de-pooped and Will needed to be hand-walked to graze for a bit. We dumped his water tub and hauled out buckets of fresh water to re-fill it and then took care of getting Shooter, Tonka and Damien out of their field and fed.

Not very exciting. For you. For me--it was nirvana. If you're a horse person, the smell of hay and horse and even horse manure is the very scent of heaven. While Shooter munched his hay and tipped his feed bucket (goof) I pressed my face into his neck and inhaled. I could have stayed there forever. He was big and warm and so alive. The tension held inside my body melted away. Peace.

I was reminded of so many quotes about horses.

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.  ~Pam Brown

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears.  ~Arabian Proverb 

And Allah took a handful of southerly wind, blew His breath over it, and created the horse.... Thou shall fly without wings, and conquer without any sword.  Oh, horse.  ~Bedouin Legend

And then Shooter lifted his head and sneezed on me.

But it was still the best kind of therapy...

What brings you bliss?

Monday, November 15, 2010

Nanowrimo: National Novel Writing Month

"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!"
~Robert Burns, 1785
It's ironic that the poem about destroyed plans is about a mouse. Because part of the reason my nanowrimo is a no-no is because of a mouse. Well...mice, specifically. 

My mother told me this last spring, when I mentioned I'd seen a mouse in my garage (which is attached to the house). "The thing about mice is...they breed."

She's right. We're overrun. Not only did that cute little mouse find her way into my house, she and her progeny have set up residence. They're turning up in interesting my daughter's bedroom, where uneaten Halloween candy resides spread out on her desk, under the stove, in the silverware drawer and even in the toy box where they leave their dark bits of evidence behind. I've found a mouse in my recycle bin, in the dog's food bin (it had fallen in and spent the night there, probably trying to eat it's way out), and even, in my three-year-old's shoe.

That poor little mouse met with an unfortunate end; the dogs knew he was in the place by the door where we put our shoes when we come in from outside, and they pursued the tiny creature relentlessly until the hound caught him. The terrier took it from there; only after a struggle was I able to wrest the minute carcass away. 

The thing is...I don't like to kill anything. Even spiders, one of the oogiest creepy-crawlies on earth, are caught and placed outside. So I purchased some live catch mouse traps, baited them with peanut butter as per the instructions and placed them around the house. 

So far, I've caught five mice; two of them in the same trap at the same time. Once captured, they must be released--and that means taking them someplace where they won't come back. Which involves driving. Of course, being the softie I am, I take them someplace where they can find shelter and hopefully food--like by the barn where my daughter rides--to continue their mousie lives in relative mouse prosperity. Unless, of course, they're eaten by coyotes.

Anyhow, all this mouse catching has distracted me from my Nano. I've managed to write seven pages. Woo-hoo! Titled, Your Wish is My Command, it tells the story of a museum curator who finds a genie in a bottle while going through the unused inventory. Or it would, if I'd ever get her off the ladder and into the box where the bottle is...

Since it's possible no one will ever read this story, I might as well share the first page with you:

Only Dara's life could come to an end with a memo. And she only had a month to save it.
    "Due to the recent economic downturn as well as the loss of donations and, more importantly, the downturn in family and group memberships, the Board has decided that the Heffenpuffer Museum will close its doors, effective the last day of  February of this year."
    She clutched the memo until her fingers cramped. Close? The museum was going to close? "But…what about the exhibits? The artwork? The fossils? The Native American crafts?" A horrific thought struck her. "What about the mummy? He'll deteriorate if he's not kept in the correct climate. What's going to happen to Hachepcet?"
    "Forget him. He's already dead. What about us?" said Francie, her friend and gift shop manager extraordinaire.
    "What about us?" Dara looked up from the memo.
    "We'll be out of a job. That's what." Francie flung a bat puppet onto the display rack; it fell to the floor. She looked at it but didn't pick it up.
    Dara had never seen Francie not care about the placement of merchandise. The reality of the situation slowly occurred to her. "But where I am going to go? I love this museum."
    "I love my paycheck. Whoopedy-doo." Francie spun her index finger in the air.
    "But…but this museum…it's…it's…" Home. She'd grown up here among the exhibits. Daddy had been curator then, and so proud of each of the museum's items. He'd inspired her love of all things historical and beautiful and she, in turn, had committed her life to them. Each item in the museum's catalogue was a friend to her. Family,even. But now…
    "I have no where to go."

Poor Dara. She's sort of like my mice, come to think of it. About to be displaced. If I ever finish her story. 

I plan to...unless something else goes aft agley. 

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Reality vs. fantasy

I wonder if people--readers, specifically--think that romance and erotica writers live charmed lives of love and awesome sex? (Maybe wearing a feather boa and sexy clear acrylic platform mules.)

The answer?


Most romance and erotica writers have the exact opposite existence. Instead, we're trapped in our imaginations, pushing away the real people with whom we might be having fantastic, loving sex to watch those with whom we never could.

Picture this: woman, in wrinkled sweats (or jammies). There's a stain of indeterminate origin on her shirt. Her hair is a nest of tangles. Her eyes are red. She smells like coffee--possibly worse. She barely speaks when spoken to, but responds in grunts or distracted mm'hms because she's not listening to the voices in the real world. She's listening to the voices in her head, and watching a movie of her own making. Her fingers are itching to write it down. She wishes her loved ones would go away and let her work.

No one, not even her husband, wants to have sex with her.

And to be honest, she's not interested, anyway. She'd rather be a voyeur, a transcriber. A writer.

I think writers prefer our imaginary lives to our real ones because we can control them. True, it often feels as though our characters are going off on their own journeys, dragging us along for the ride. But the writer knows that, in the end, there will be a happily ever after and everyone will have a fantastic time.

So much better than real life, with its messiness, its arguments, its awkward moments. Think about it. Romance heroes never have belly button lint. Or worse, clip their bed. (Ack!) Or even worse than that--fart in bed. (And if they did pass gas, they certainly wouldn't hold the heroine's head under the covers until she screamed.)

Romance heroes rarely watch The Three Stooges.

Ah...the realities of living with a man.

Anyhow, we're in this for the same reason readers are--we just have a better view of the action.                                                        

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Waiting for cover...

I didn't want to start blogging and promoting until I got my cover for Naughty Can Be Nice, but...well. Bleh.

I received word that the publisher of two of my books, written by my alter-ego, has closed. I offered them to Breathless Press and, once I get the rights back (whenever that is), they will once again be available.

I won't promote those guys until...I get contracted for them. And covers.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out what path this blog will take. Is it for readers or for writers, or both? Any ideas? Anyone? Anyone? Buehler?

I'd really like your input. What do you want to read? What will make you come back for more?