Orgasm takes 20 years off your life. In a good way.

I turned 41 on June 16th of this year.

A curious thing happened on June 20th. I got proofed at the door to roller derby. No one else around me did. Once I got over my initial shock, I promptly told the young man I loved him. Tim had a great laugh. But it all left me wondering, now how exactly did that happen?

I deduced it had to be the NARS ‘orgasm’ lip gloss I purchased at Sephora. The clerk said it was amazing, and boy, he was not kidding! So amazing it knocked 20 plus years off me. That’s more than amazing, that’s freaking voodoo.
Here are comparison pictures, with Orgasm, and without. Proof, I think, that the big O is good for us all.
You be the judge.

The night in question (Wearing Orgasm lip gloss, and among other things, Sex Kitten eye shadow. Sort of had a theme going. I mean, come on, it was Roller Derby after all.)


One week earlier, signing books at my local RWA chapter’s annual writers conference. Not a speck of orgasm in sight, unless you count all the sex in the books. But I was signing that, not wearing it. I think the evidence speaks for itself, don’t you agree?

In the Stars - Check it Out

This is a quickie. For all you astrophiles, and astro-curious, here are 4 sites I go to all the time.

Astrologyzone (Free, monthly, my total favorite)

Truth Star (Free. Yearly, Monthly, Daily, Weekly, Love, Career, Everything but the kitchen sink. Lots of fun.)

Cafe Astrology (Free, same assortment as Truth Star, but more of a Western approach. Truth Star is heavily Indian influenced, which makes it really fun. Cafe Astrology is a little more run of the mill, but very well done. Also has Yearly.)

Tomorrow's Edge (Partial monthly is free, and posted about mid month the preceeding month. The rest of the report is available for a few bucks. Well done, and very dramatic as only Brits can be.)

If Men Really Ruled the world...what color would the pool be?

Immortal Protector,(my book, not a new Trojan product – though technically I lived in a town called Troy when I wrote it so I guess you could say it was produced by a Trojan and therefore a Trojan product, but it would be in poor taste) is so TOTALLY available for sale. Pop over to my website for more info.

Right now, I am on my deck, staring at a pool that is a pleasing, yet completely opaque, turquoise color. And smells like New Jersey, because it’s a currently classifiable as a chemical waste dump. (I don’t think that will change any time soon.) See, the pool did not come with instructions. Supposedly, we had instructions from the men that ‘opened’ it for us. I wrote them down. They were man style instructions. Getting them was uncomfortable for all involved. They seemed precise at first glance, but upon further inspection were vague and unpredictable.

So I started to think, gee, this is like men getting lost and not asking directions. So the husband is searching the net and stuff for info, all while we conduct experiments in better living through chemistry by dumping this and that and hoping for something approaching an optimal outcome. It occurs to me this is very much like life. And the writing process too. You know where you would like to be. Any instructions you have may or may not fit the scenario, and you wind up dumping this and that and hoping you will get where you think you need to be. I have my fingers crossed. I am made hopeful by the fact that today I can see the second step in the shallow end. Again, like life, we need to be aware of and celebrate our victories, no matter how big or small.

My husband however, taking the man approach, has declared war on the 20 thousand give or take gallons of water that reside in our pool. As much as I joke, I really do love men. For all they are and are not.

And in honor of that, I’m posting something I found funny on The Romantic that is in that same vein: (Give the Romantic a visit, folks, there’s other very funny stuff there too.)


What Would Be Different If Men Really Ruled the World

Any fake phone number a girl gave you would automatically forward your call to her real number.

Nodding and looking at your watch would be deemed an acceptable response to "I love you."

Hallmark would make "Sorry, what was your name again" cards.

When your girlfriend really needed to talk to you during the game, she'd appear in a little box in the corner of the screen during a time-out.

Breaking up would be a lot easier. A smack to the ass and a "Nice hustle, you'll get 'em next time" would pretty much do it.

Birth control would come in ale or lager.

Each year, your raise would be pegged to the fortunes of the NFL team of your choice.

The funniest guy in the office would get to be CEO.

At the end of the workday, a whistle would blow and you'd jump out your window and slide down the tail of a brontosaurus and right into your car like Fred Flintstone.

Lifeguards could remove citizens from beaches for violating the "public ugliness" ordinance.

Tanks would be far easier to rent.

Garbage would take itself out.

Instead of beer belly, you'd get "beer biceps."

Instead of an expensive engagement ring, you could present your wife- to-be with a giant foam hand that said, "You're #1!"

Valentine's Day would be moved to February 29th so it would only occur in leap years.

On Groundhog Day, if you saw your shadow, you'd get the day off to go drinking. Mother's Day, too.

St. Patrick's Day, however, would remain exactly the same. But it would be celebrated every month.

Cops would be broadcast live, and you could phone in advice to the pursuing cops. Or to the crooks.

The victors in any athletic competition would get to kill and eat the losers.

The only show opposite Monday Night Football would be Monday Night Football from a Different Camera Angle.

It would be perfectly legal to steal a sports car, as long as you returned it the following day with a full tank of gas.

Every man would get four real Get Out of Jail Free cards per year.

When a cop gave you a ticket, every smart-aleck answer you responded with would actually reduce your fine. As in: Cop: "You know how fast you were going" You: "All I know is, I was spilling my beer all over the place." Cop: "Nice one. That's $10 off."

People would never talk about how fresh they felt.

Telephones would automatically cut off after 30 seconds of conversation. (This one's for Jack the Realtor)

And my submission:
Pools would clear instantly with a single additive of a 20 ounce beer of your choice.

Scandal anyone?

I usually take the fall and winter off. And start back up in Spring. But Spring, in my neck of the woods, doesn’t start up till well into May. So there it is, my official excuse for not blogging. The real life truth would raise hairs, in bad places, so I’ll leave it up to your fertile imaginations.

I had plans to talk about noble things, and I will for a moment: Check out Brenda Novak’s auction, man is there some FINE stuff for sale, for authors and readers alike. All to benefit Diabetes research. So Go Go Go to Brenda’s auction, but after you read the blog.

Second, I thought to pimp my book. Immortal Protector is now available in print. Amazon, Borders, Barnes and Nobles, and all your favorite Indies can get it. It’s on Ingrams. So go forth, and shop, but after you read the blog.

Third, for a kick off and a catch up, let me say, that the Great House Hunt in Wonderland has concluded in that (a) we purchased a new house and finally, after six months, managed to finish our move and (b) we sold our old house. Without Jack, we’d never have put the old house on the market. Here’s how it went down. We’d bought the new one, and were still ‘working’ on the old one. Two weeks after the closing, Jack calls and says, “the house is going on the market”, to which I say, “I’m almost done, I just need another week”, to which he says, very clearly and without any room for debate “No more extensions. I’ve given you enough. I will be over to take pictures Tuesday at one. You better be ready.” End of conversation.

Worry not. It is US, and of course, there are stories, dear reader, like you would not, and dare I say, even I would not believe, and yet, they all happened, around the sale of my modest little home. We came into it with a bang, and so we left it such. Which means, that the story of the final walk through shall soon be told. As will, one day, the story of what happened on picture day. Suffice to say, it put the S in scandal.

But first I want to ask you a question. What do Walgreens, The Vermont Country Store, and Adam & Eve (The store, not the couple) all have in common?

Think on it. I certainly did. See, I was walking through my local Walgreens, from Pharmacy to the front desk, and looking around as I always do, because it’s rather a Turkish bazaar in there and you never know what kewl stuff you might find. And my eye, as it is wont to do, was caught fast by a fancy little bright blue item with five attachments, heaped with other similar items, in a sort of quasi shelf bin. Naturally the adventurous sort, I had to explore, and went for a closer look. And what to my surprise did I find? (So did the attachments give it away, yet? Yes, I thought it might.) A vibrator. That’s right, friends, Walgreens, The Vermont Country Store, and Adam & Eve all sell vibrators.

For all you social scientists out there who were wondering what changes the baby boomers would have on society as they aged across the continuum, stop looking at the predictable ones and check out the fun ones. Marketed as a ‘personal massager’ it was the same item I’d seen featured as something else entirely, right down to its bright blue jelly finger attachments. Because a rose by any other name, still smells as sweet, and with a watch battery...well...you get the picture. But it doesn't stop there. Nope. I live near Vermont, like spitting distance near, and the Vermont Country Store was a little more front and center in the marketing of said vibratory devices. They decided to add it as a product line, and raised quite the ruckus doing so (Some good ruckus, some scandal ruckus, but it all amounted to increased sales.)What was funny about that - the owner's son or sons, I believe, were agahst that Dad wanted to add this product line. Not the other way around. I swear. And that's what makes it cool.

I don’t know why I’m blogging about this, other than it all makes me smile. Kind of the way those Sponge Bob Square Pants Burger King commercials make me smile. Surely it’s not because I write romance. Perhaps it's because I don't feel as crazy when it seems the world is buying into a little crazy itself? All I know is that it is proof that the sexual revolution is still game on (and I for one am thankful!)

Mars - Smells like sin...or stale pizza?

I do not wear make up much. And I don’t really like men’s cologne.
But I admit, when Polo came out with Black, it smelled like sex in a bottle to me. Good sex, too. And I like Sephora, the cosmetic emporium. It's like a trip to an alien planet, with cool theme music.

When I found Polo Black, I promptly bought the dear husband some and forced him to don it for my pleasure. (He’s a good sport.) He doesn’t like cologne, but he likes me. And I like Polo Black, or did, for a while. In nice, controlled doses.

Now it was nice, don’t get me wrong, but it was still lacking something…I don’t know what…something I couldn’t put my finger on. Then, an old business associate started wearing it. Heavily. At that point the scent kind of lost it’s charm. So it was dead to me. Cut out of the will and everything.

Advance a few months. Sephora sends me a catalog. This is funny, because all I get from them is skin care products. But I like all the pretty colors of the make up and such even though I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with any of it. I open it preparing to be dazed and confused by the glorious technicolor and all the ways I can make myself beautiful. Instead, my attention is instanty grabbed by this darkly masculine scent, all potent and earthy with the barest hint of spice and promise.

All thought, and I am dead serious, ALL THOUGHT short circuits. Something primal and wild and lusty comes screaming up from deep inside of me. I locate the source of this delicious scent: it’s a men’s cologne sample. Vintage by John Varvatos.

I tear it from the catalog, which I throw to the floor, and rip open the sample. And holy freaking Gods, it is nothing short of the scent of PURE MAN. All man, like they bottled the best parts of Mars and sent it out to all unsuspecting women to mess with them.

You and I both know that Mars has had a contingent of scientists laboring in a secret lab somewhere trying to come up with “The scent that will drive women wild and make them yours”, and Gods be Damned, they finally got it right. Screw Spanish Fly, Vintage is the new rufi, never fails pick up line, and self-assured hot male fantasy guy all rolled into one. What human female could resist? Certainly not my middle aged self.

Immediately I get a hot flash that burns up my spine. Hello Handsome, I NEED to get my hands on you. They must have Batman’s pheromones in there or something. I don’t know, but I know I must secure some. Because if I don’t, I’m sure I’m going to die. Reader, do not even TRY to tell me you haven’t ridden that razor’s edge of desperation before.

I promptly go out and score a bottle of this magic potion, and tell the dh, ditch the Polo Black, baby, ‘cause mama’s got a brand new bag, and it’s called Vintage. (Per the write up it contains: Top notes of rhubarb, quince, absinthe and spicy notes; a heart of lavender, cinnamon leave, jasmine, orris and fir balsam and a dry down of patchouli, oak moss, tonka bean, tobacco and suede accents. I LOVE the scent of Oak Moss, it has a very masculine, heady aroma.)

Ever my affable companion, he indulges me and wears the stuff. In fact, the whole thing amuses him, perhaps because it is so out of character for his stoic, hard core, tom boy wife. We’re out on a Saturday afternoon shopping and I swear he’s turning women’s heads. I am close to a swoon. It really is this visceral, uncontrollable thing. Incredible.

If Vintage had a song, it would be Magic Man by Heart. Ladies, you know what this is all about. It’s the bottle version of the come hither stare of a sexually confident and powerful male: the slow knowing hint of smile, the steady, hot look in the eyes - kind of possessive, kind of predatory, kind of irresistible and full of erotic promise. You look away, because if you don’t you’ll melt, but you look back a moment later because that’s the sign of consent, and whether or not you should consent is immaterial because you do and you know can’t stop yourself, nor could any ten armies.

Ages ago I joked about the copulatory glance and what in the hell was that anyway other than a load of propaganda? (Even though having experienced it as we all have, I knew very well how toe curling and heart racing and absolutely terrifying it can be when done correctly and with conviction.) Well guess what? It’s now been aresolized for faster, wider and even more effective application. My sisters of Venus, we are doomed.

Seriously, dear Reader, it does hit some wanton, primal cord. I am no pushover, but hell’s bells, you catch the scent and it tells your inner female in no uncertain terms: “I am Mars hear me roar, see me beat my broad and strong and well muscled chest, and watch me do those manly things you Venus types just love. By the way, I have a really nice cave with clean soft furs, and can swing my club all night long.”

We’re talking about the phenomena later, and I tell him again, “I don’t know, the only thing I can tell you is that this is pure man. It’s like they describe heroes smelling like in the romance novels. You smell it and it cuts right to the damn chase.”

So, my dh kind of gives this snort/laugh, and says “No, this is not what a man smells like. Not really. This is what a women wishes a man smelled like. It’s like “women’s man’s smell. ‘Cause if it was what a man REALLY smelled like then it would smell like beer, stale pizza, and farts.”

Ah Mars, and you wonder you are at odds so much of the time with Venus? Perhaps the beer, stale pizza and farts? Dont' worry, it's nothing a little splash of Vintage won’t cure.

John Varvatos, you are either the strongest aly ever to support the Sisters of Venus, or the most devious super villian ever spawned by the Sons of Mars. Either way, I salute you, sir!

Summer Break is O-V-E-R

Summer Break is over. Certainly, reader, it was jammed full of adventures, or should I say misadventures? I think the difference between the two is merely a matter of perspective.

Now that it's cooler, my brain works a little better, and as per usual, it's back to the blogosphere for all the overflow churning up there.

Some wild stuff has transpired, like buying a house, and then putting one on the market. I know, backwards, yes, but considering the pace we move at here in Wonderland, the only way to manage a move without incurring prison time is over a LONG span of time, so it couldn't be helped. That means, soon, I will need to account for the infamous Final Walk Through. It's my swan song when my first place goes under contract, my fare thee well, so to speak. The new place, so far, has been international incident free, however, we have niether occupied it, nor held the housewarming. I anticipate at the very least, someone calling the law, and as to why they'd call, the options are limitless.

I've also been pondering next steps for the next book. I tend to get going in August. It's pretty intense. The hero is a classic Alpha, way old school romance take charge kind of guy. If I had to describe him I couldn't really, but, thank the Gods, the cheezey 80s can do it with a song; In the Dark by Billie Squire. Now, the Sentinel by Judas Priest would fit too. But his internal landscape, the fire that burns within, it's all In the Dark.


So I'll leave you with the lyrics to that song. Ah, yes, and one other thing. For those readers who recall my discussion about mad science, and the gentleman involved at the local university in growing carbon tubes for some unknown purpse - well, gang, a few months ago, a purpose was discovered and disclosed. The carbon tubes bend light in such a way as to appear 'invisible'. I swear to any God you name, that's the truth. The current plan in progress is to attempt to modify them into a fabric like structure, that when worn will bend light and conceal the wearer from view. For the RPG folks out there; yes, Virgina, there is a cloak of invisibility. Gods bless the nerds, and the twenty-sided dice, and Gary Gygax.

And now, back to the hero. Long story short: On the surface, he's quiet, calm, deadly ice. But inside, he's intense man wih a dangerous past, and a volcanic passion that's been bottled up and locked down for way too long. And as to this guy, and what's raging inside, it's In the Dark, so to speak. When I hear this I think about him, and it makes me wonder, who is it he's calling to in his darkness?

In the Dark, by Billie Squire
*****************************
Life isn't easy from the singular side
Down in the hole some emotions are hard to hide
It's your decision it's a chance that you take
It's on your head it's a habit that's hard to break

Do you need a friend?
Would you tell no lies?
Would you take me in?
Are you lonely in the dark? In the dark? In the dark. In the dark...

You never listen to the voices inside
They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide
You're never sure if the illusion is real
You pinch yourself but the mem'ries are all you feel

Can you break away from your alibis?
Can you make a play?
Will you meet me in the dark? In the dark? In the dark. In the dark...

Don'tcha need me...hey, hey
Don'tcha need me...oh yea
Don'tcha leave me...hey, hey
Don'tcha need me...oh yea

You take no int'rest no opinion's too dear
You make the rounds and you try to be so sincere
You guard your hopes and you pocket your dreams
You'd trade it all to avoid an unpleasant scene

Can you face the fire when you see me there?
Can you feel the fire?
Will you love me in the dark...

Book Expo Buzz...or not?

Book Expo happened recently in L.A. and here's the buzz.

Which, if you read the article, is not a lot of buzz.

Subdued. Concerned. "Caught in a Time Warp" or "revoultion".

I think the old models are giving way with a serious fight, and the new models that are emerging are taking hits at the anger of the need to reinvent and stay current with the shopping public.

And I agree that the real estate location location location addage applies to independents: these book sellers traditionally can't compete with big box retailers in terms of locale, and co-locating with other shopping stops. If you support an indie book seller, it's by design not by accident. One I support sells most used books via internet to supplement what they have with new and used. They also support our local RWA and are doing our conference book signing, so there's a mutual support there. But the book seller really hustles.

Check it out, see what you think. It's probably the first of many write ups on the event.

Excerpt 2: Immortal Illusions

As promised, here's another excerpt from Immortal Illusions, the latest release in the Eternity Covenant. It's all about my favorite burned out Sorcerer, Mad Jack Madden, and takes place during one of the many hell-raising, ahem, I mean hair raising adventures.

Coming soon, for the house hunting in wonderland fans - pictures of the great homestead. The yard and exterior is 99% done, all in bloom, and looking fab.

Enjoy!

*******************************
Excerpt 2: Immortal Illusions
*******************************

Jack jumped into the abyss and rode the enchanted spider-silk grapple line down into the darkness with Raine clutched against him. The rush of magic burned through him. Tapping Raine was like reliving the glory days.

And kissing her? Nothing in memory, recent or long past, could compare. Certainly his dick thought as much. It was ready to explode. Sex. Danger. Magic. Raine. He wanted more of it all than was smart. He wanted more of her. All of her. It struck him the very second he realized Gia Malinov planned to kill her. The adrenaline and fear mixed with a primal surge of protective energy that propelled him into summoning the last of his magical personal reserves. It had been ten years since he’d last pulled the sword out of the ether. Thank the Gods he’d remembered not only to pack that particular charm, but how to use the damned thing. He’d spent himself then and there, but the kiss made it worth the effort and risk.

She clutched him tighter as smoke plumed up the shaft. The energy connection surged and his dick leapt with the thrill. He’d kill a thousand vampire queens for her, he realized. For the connection. And for the chances and the pleasures she promised. Just like the old days, he thought as they slowed in descent. But better.
It was the vengeance, he reasoned. Had to be that. It made everything sweeter. More intense. He’d had women by the score, but this one, tied as she was to his retribution, made it crazy better. It explained the protective urges, too. Any threat to her was a threat to him and his plans. He liked the neat package. It explained all these weird, uncomfortable emotions she seemed to dredge up.

The spider silk wound down, leaving them hanging in front of the doors to the third lowest level, the staff’s quarters. It would be mostly deserted at this point in the assault. Perhaps they’d pass a roving patrol, but the majority of forces would be concentrated up top and in the two lower levels. Minus the ones dispatched on the auction floor to find him and Raine, of course.

He tapped Raine’s seemingly endless supply of juice. Lust and magic made him dizzy. He’d pay for it all, probably sooner than later, but right now he gloried in the magnificence. Beneath the simple sorcery, the doors parted. Jack swung a bit on the spider silk and was able to propel them both into the shadowy landing. Raine broke free of his hold and her absence left a keen longing. The fatigue from using his own meager internal supplies of magic hit him like a brick to the skull, and he staggered.

“You okay?”

Her soft, throaty voice, full of concern, rallied him. He couldn’t let her guess the extent of how little of his own internal source he had to use, and how much he depended on the external magic of the items he constructed with spells and rituals and rudimentary wizardry in his laboratory. All his parlor tricks were now the paltry sum of who he was. The true days of sorcery were lost to him. Except with her, it was as if they never left. She knew he was tapping her magic, but she had no clue how dependent he really was.

“That kiss was killer.” He straightened and drew two of the stolen modified pistols. The truth was always better than lies to distract. Besides, she was way too smart to be taken in, even by him. “Promise me there’ll be more.”

She sized him up with a dark look, a mix of suspicion and speculation. “You always want more.”

“Of you, yes. Does that worry you?”

She opened her palm, spoke the words of summoning, and the soul blade appeared. She angled it toward the ground, then reached out and brushed a stray lock of his hair back behind his ear. He shivered from the contact. The picture of her, powerful, brave, terribly female, was beyond arousing. She’d be the ride of his life.
“You’re the one who looks bothered, Madden,” she whispered.

He wanted to throw her to the ground and show her just how bothered. Patience, Jack. Timing is everything. He smiled. “I think I like you, Raine Spencer.”

Pomegranate Cosmopolitan

So, I had this long blog planned, but you know, I saw two houses today, and it kind of wore me out. So instead, I’m going to share something dear to my heart: my favorite cocktail recipe, good for what ales you. (*snicker*): Pomegranate Cosmopolitans.

Here’s the trick. The ingredients are in ratios to one another. You’ll need:

Contreau
Vodka
Poma (Pomegranate Liquor)
Lime Juice (splashes to taste)
Cranberry or Pomegranate Juice


Here’s the mix ratio:

Equal parts Vodka and Poma
½ the amount of vodka in Contreau
Lime juice to taste
Cranberry or Pomegranate juice = to the above ingredient amount

Here’s the example: (I mixed it in a wine glass. Don't have martini glasses. I know. I'm so low rent!)

1 shot vodka, 1 shot Poma
½ shot Contreau
Healthy Blast of lime juice (tablespoon or more)
2 ½ shots cranberry or pomegranate juice

Make sure it’s nice and chilled. Goes done nice while slouched suggestively, listening to Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot, or even better: Damn, Wish I Was Your Lover, by Sophie B Hawkins. If you're going to do it with Sophie B. playing, opt for the ratio mix that starts with a cup each of vodka and poma. Somehow, I find mixing the batch vs. the single glass winds up with a way more satisfying brew.

Go ahead and get decorative with a lime slice, or some floaty bits like cranberries or sugar cubes. Yum Yum Yum. I love this cocktail and I hate vodka so that says something! Enjoy! (Just be responsible!)

Men's Health Magazine - Mars gets an Operator's Manual

I have a confession to make.

I read Men’s Health. Faithfully. I even have a SUBSCRIPTION.

Here’s how it started.

I wanted to learn more about men. I write about them, so I figured, the magazine targeting them might tell me a thing or two that I could use to enhance the writing process. And maybe help me understand the enemy, ahem, the Martians a little better. Let’s face it, my ancestors may have been dinosaur slayers, but we’re still fascinated by those strange, amazing creatures: Men. We’re also devious. So why not study up, right? Exactly!

To be fair, I also purchased Women’s Health. The scientist inside of me, the mad one of course, had to do a comparison. Or perhaps it is the crazy Gemini. Who knows. So side by side I read. I think in a way I did it also so I could say: well, Women’s Health is representing with X percent accuracy, ergo I can apply that same level of accuracy to Men’s Health. I know I know: you true scientists out there are cringing right now at this completely spurious and unfounded extrapolation of mine. But bear with me. Wild ass and anecdotal it all may be, but the results were interesting to say the least.

First, I learned a bit about what the magazine creators believe is the receptive communication style of Mars and Venus.

Venus likes it busy. When Venus gets a recipe, it’s big, brilliant Technicolor pictures scattered artfully across the page, amidst which resides a raft of semi-complex directions, all in way more agonizing detail than simple sentence structure or bullet point style.

Mars cuts to the chase with the kindergarten equivalent: flash cards pictorals of the ingredients, which tend to be five or less. Each picture is separated by a plus sign until you reach the finale, which is preceded by an equal sign and shown in it’s completely assembled state.

Venus gets in-depth nutritional articles about what and what not to put in the physical temple/power plant.

Mars gets more flash cards. Two pictures topped by the words “Eat this, Not that”, along with directional arrows similar to the ones you see on the shopping mall map that announce “You are HERE!”. In fact, Mars has a cook book comprised of the flash card and This not That approach.

Venus gets articles filled with words. Lots of them. No one word more important than the other. A symphony if you will, that when deconstructed is atonal and no where near as pleasing as when taken all together, lingered over, savored. There are points, there are asides, there are considerations, even in the short sound byte style factoids. Venus has her chaise lounge, her mineral water spiked with lemon and mint, and time to relax and ponder the larger mysteries and smaller mysteries and all in between, so let her have at it and enjoy.

Mars gets yellow highlights. Sure, he gets words too, but no where near as many as Venus, and certainly not in such complex, lengthy, languid fashion. Mars, laconic, has a need to know basis only, recognized by the editors and pandered to in the form of “Dude, this is what you need to extract – the main point of all these words boiled down to a single handful of words”. So, you can sum the whole mag up in the highlighted portion, like crib notes. Mars, obviously, has to take care of business, and has time for only the important things to land on the radar.

Mars has some other things to focus on as well. There’s a section, well, not a section, a page of assorted short sentences in instructional format similar to what the army manuals have: it’s culture class. Read this, see this movie because chicks like it, talk about this on a date. Oh yes, and there was even a section that discussed why good personal hygiene is important and makes an impression on a women. So, Mars, wear your deodorant. Because if you don’t, Venus will notice, and though she may not say anything, the date will most certainly end at the front door. If you want to venture forth to the temple, thou must smell clean and comely. That includes the Venus you're married to, Gents. Wow.

I confess, the highlights blows my mind. But, the magazine is targeting an audience they believe wants salient points. So they make sure it’s there, in a format that applies to the preferred communication style. Yes, I am making horrendous gender based generalizations, but you know what: sometimes, most times, where there is smoke, fire is sure to follow. So take it for what you will.

I’ll say this: Men’s Health has better recipes. I’ve used many of them already. They’re simple, easy, quick, and tasty. They’re spicy and we’re a spice based household. And, I find it more readable. I also thing that the Eat This Not That is an excellent tool to help people make real world based nutritional decisions. Let’s face it, every day we’re not lunching at the Bistro, nor do we have our personal chef in tow. I like the reality base, the level set Men’s Health operates from: it knows you want the burger and it will help you pick the best one. Amen, brother. I’m converted.

This last issue of Women’s Health revealed something curious. Venus is taking pages from Mars. Eat This Not That appeared, and the recipe sections were far less Byzantine, though they still have a ways to go. Speaking as the modern Venus who rules the kitchen as well, like Mars, I need to take care of business too, so give me something tasty, give me something I can expand on and diversify (Like this last issue’s info on sauces/salsas/rubs) as opposed to some fussy pork wrap weird crap deal. Healthy, fast, tasty, I’m all over that.

But, I noticed that in this issue, Men’s Health started including the stink bombs. Boo to those, the perfume adds. Unless it’s Polo Black – that stuff is wicked hot, scorching, lusty, piratical, porn star sex in a bottle, and I’d breath that over air any day.

And here’s the other thing. Women’s Health, take another page from Mars. Today’s Venus is sexually liberated. There are all kinds of nifty adds for fun adult entertainment merchandise, and always good info on sex and intimacy in Men’s Health. Mars likes to get it on, and wants to know how to do it better, longer, and with more memorable flair. They also want to know which are the right tools to use for that job, including furniture. (I stand impressed, dear reader. That is dedication! I can respect a man for taking all that to heart and using it to woo and wow his partner. Bless you Men's Health, for Venus shall reap the rewards of your dilligance to the topic.)

Women’s Health ventures into the sex and intimacy realm, but not in the frank way like Men’s Health. And there are no cool adds. Certainly no specifically designated furniture options. Last I checked, Venus liked to knock boots too. So what gives? Dare I say there is still that Puritanical taint, or Victorian purity surrounding Venus? I hope not, but anecdotally, the evidence is damning. You know, I'll give you that some of the presentation might be percieved by some of the Venus tribe as vulger. Okay, great, give me some usefull book reviews then. We like to read. Cover something topical, relevant, and USEFULL, Like Passionista. (To all the Venusians out there, TOTALLY worth every penny. Tells you all about Mars's favorite equipment and hot spots, and how to work it to bring him screaming (happily) to his knees. I came across it by accident on a table at Borders. Someone had abandoned it there. And where were my peeps at Women's Health? My sisters, I know not.)

So, Mars and Venus, they have their magazines, and each has a pronouncedly different focus. Is that design true to each demographic target? Is it reflective of the audience?

I can’t say just yet as the experiment is still joyfully in progress.

And yes, it did impact my writing, particularly in writing Jack, a throw back libertine with a chronic case of the hot pants. Maybe more in how the heroine perceived him, as different from the average contemporary mortal male: he was kind of Mars meets Casanova, with a dash of Peter Sellers mad cap style.

So, Men’s Health, I, a representative of Venus, salute you! Keep up the good work. My subscription renewal is in the male…

The First Time: The Good Idea, The Psychic's Prophecy, and The Realterminator

Author’s note: A while back, I had to name our Realtor, to tell stories, disguise identity, and preserve my bodily person from harm at his hands, so I selected Jack, a la Jack Bauer as Tim once remarked he was the Jack Bauer of Real Estate. Then I wrote my second book about Jack, the Sorcerer from Immortal Protector. The two are NOT the same. Jack the Sorcerer, is crazy and imaginary. Jack, the Realtor, is terrifying and very, very real.

Anyway, I noticed I've been putting in all kinds of serious stuff in the blog lately. So I decided to balance it with a dose of reality, silliness, and hopefully, a little bit of fun. Here’s the long promised tale of the first time. I need to start it this way, because to tell the story of the final walk through, and have it mean anything, you need to start where it all started: the fateful beginning…

***************************************************************


I’ll tell you what I remember about my first time. No. I’ll tell you what my first time taught me, and can stand as a general lesson about life. Two things really I draw from it. Well, three.

1. When you least expect it, expect it. Don’t forget to duck and cover. Don’t be surprised if you take one for the team. And try not to laugh so hard you nearly pee on yourself. No matter how funny, or absurd, or frightening. (Or all of the above)

2. The Gods do indeed watch out for fools. What they do when they find them is debatable. There were a lot of fools that day. None of the fools, though, included the Realtor.

And the most important realization about that first time I learned:

3. It is a proven, indisputable fact the root cause of every great and truly spectacular disaster is an idea that seemed good at the time. This would echo loudest on the day of the final walk through, and you could argue the case successfully that the fateful walk through (and you have no idea just how literal walk through is) had it’s initial root firmly entrenched in that first time which began with an idea that seemed good...

To make this really ring true, you should read it while playing Habanera from Carmen. No musical score says “Things are about to wind up and get weird and troublesome”, except perhaps, the theme from The Twilight Zone.

For the sake of closure, I realize, I’ll need to include the beginning of the second time, but not the whole of it. That adventure stands all on its own, as do, oddly enough, all the adventures in house hunting in Wondeland the first time around.

OK. So here’s how it starts, actually a few days prior to the event.

It’s hot. One of those obscene, humid summers designed to drown, suffocate, melt and incinerate the average mortal all at the same time. Unrelenting, this heat and humidity reigns terror over our little dirty industrial north eastern city that time has abandoned to the stealth of urban decay. The DH and I have been searching for a home. We THINK we want mixed use. We THINK we want the down town. We’ve gone through horrendous Realtor after Realtor. It’s bad. Here’s how bad.

Though outwardly groovy, I am inwardly a Type A. One drill sergeant in the military described me as Type A Plus, that’s how Type A. I am also very good at communicating my needs. In fact, I’d been in sales for most of my life at that point. So one Realtor, after getting the list of what I want, sends everything but that. Everything under the sun but what I ask, in every town and conceivable location other than the one I want. Then, she gives out my unlisted number to all and sundry so I am barraged by obnoxious telephone solicitations. Another got into a screaming match with my DH, one of the most quiet men on the plant, he the former bouncer immune to getting riled up. I’m not sure why it happened, but it was Sunday, early, and the guy was stewed to the gills. We’d had almost two years of this and worse. Far worse. So. Long story short, I was ready to give up. Throw in the towel. In fact, I had vowed I was NEVER calling another Realtor at all that year. EVER.

Enter my psychic Larry. He does this reading and tells me to hold out. The next one I meet will be the Emperor. Literally. I say to Larry “Oh, come on. Seriously.” “I am serious,” says he. “The guy will physically resemble the card. You’ll know the minute you see him in action that he’s the one who’ll get your house. But it will be the second time that will make you believe it. You can’t quit now. There’s one more. Just one. I know there's another house you want to see, isn't there?”

I am always game when the universe throws down the gauntlet. It’s one of my fatal flaws. “Well, I did see this place in the Harmon Homes today. It’s up two blocks from where I live now and sounds perfect. The Realtor is unfamiliar to me.” Which at this point is a HUGE plus. “I’m afraid, though. If we have another bad experience either my husband or I will end up doing jail time.”

“Call the number.” Larry is the soul of confidence. At the time, I did not know it, but the root was forming, as they so often do, from nothing more than air and fairy dust and whimsy. “Trust me. It will all work out.”

So a day goes by. The heat turns up another degree. I can’t get the house out of my mind, or the prophetic words of Larry. I’m at work. On a whim, I pull out my mini deck of Tarot cards I kept at my desk, crack the deck randomly to see what I should do, and what pops out: The Emperor. WTF. I’ll call. My heart is in my throat. My palms sweat. I want to breathe, but I can’t figure out how to make my lungs work. I am light headed, and glad I’m seated, because otherwise I think I might pass out. This is crazy, I tell myself. I am crazy. My fingers punch out the number. There is a single ring. And the line goes live.

It all happens fast. I start talking to someone who reminds me a bit of Joe Friday from Dragnet. All professional, all business, polite, efficient, and uses less words than I’ve ever heard anyone use to get the whole thing over and done with in a record three seconds. I get off the phone. I don’t feel so bad. Ruthless efficiency is one of the Emperor’s traits. Dare I think this is it? No. Not yet. I need proof. Serious proof. The kind of proof that this one can get the job done. Like, I don’t know, aliens land and he fights them off bare handed without getting his trousers dirty or hair mussed. Or maybe, bringing villains to their knees with naught but a menacing glance.

What ever it is, this magical proof I’m looking for, it needs to be over the top, ass kicking spectacular. I must be converted, because otherwise, despite Larry’s prophecy, I’m giving it up. Shelving it and moving on to other things. Tim is Tim. He doesn’t want to have to kill anyone. Because he’s close at this point. That’s his only criteria. It is do or die time. Not too much pressure, right? Oh, you have no idea. And neither did we. But we were about to find out. Because that good idea had taken root, and the outcome, as we’ve established, was thus preordained.

A few days pass. The appointment is 11 am sharp. The world is so hot at this point the face of the earth is melting off like those clocks in Salvador Dali’s art. I'm in worse shape than when I made the call. And I'm not a morning person. Or a heat person. Naturally, we decide to walk the two blocks, which is more like swimming in boiling soup. We arrive at the building, ratty and drenched. I’m going to puke I’m so nervous. I really want a house, seriously, and have no idea how to make it happen. Back in the day we were so busy with businesses, commitments, jobs, family, and nothing but ignorant on how to get out of our own way and figure this whole Gordian knot out. I had no clue how to bring it all together. How to stop all the horrible experiences and turn them around to positive ones, so that maybe, possibly, we can find this mythical home and settle down at long last. I want to believe but at the same time see the dream slipping away into the void.

So this is all swirling through my head for the one minute we malinger at the entryway to the imposing three story brick townhouse, each second ticking like an axe fall. Around me, the haze of summer is about as thick as white smoke from the grenades I used back in my military days. Inside this house, this dark, mysterious structure, lies the path to my future – one that will lead to a domicile, or the ending of a long held dream. Dramatic, I know, but hey, that’s how it was. And then, the police show up.

A lot of things have gone from bad, to very bad, to totally worse, to completely ass end F%*ked up, and that ass end part is usually preceded by the phrase “And then, the police showed up.”

So yeah, I pretty much nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Because this wasn’t just any kind of cop. It was the Feds. This big black Ford Expedition rolls up smooth and silent to the curb, tinted windows and giant, overly clean tires, paint so shinny I could see my own sweat reflecting. (For those of you unfamiliar with the G-men, the Feds like black Expeditions as they are able to hold 4 large men in tactical gear, and can take a beating.) It wreaked of government authority and trouble.

The engine cuts. The door opens. And out steps the prototypical G-Man. Crisp white button up shirt (every button latched down tight), dark slacks, dark shades, dark hair neatly buzzed and all standing on end. Tall, serious, carrying a clip board. Okay. My heart eases up on the throttle a bit. Maybe he’s only here collecting information. Canvassing or something. Besides, it’s not like I’m who I used to be. I’m married. Respectable. Well, marginally respectable. And I have not done anything illegal that I’m aware of. I draw a breath. It’s more water than air, but I’ll take what I can get. The Fed approaches us with this long legged, ground eating stride and I realize this guy is about as tall as the average tree, and looks rather stern. I take several steps back. He is impervious to the heat, the atmosphere, as if daring it to try and make him sweat. He advances. I retreat. Right into the house. The corner of the door to be precise. No where to go at this point. He steps into my personal space, and brusquely introduces himself.

And is it the Government come to call? Ask me if I’ve seen this man in the picture, participated recently in any felonies?

Nope. It’s not the Feds. Not the Man, either. Nor the Fuzz, the Law, the Rozzers, or any other such agent of justice.

It’s the Realtor.

Yes. The Realtor. The guy who shows you houses. The dude I'd called.

Dimly, I extend my hand as I’m trying to put it all together in my head and make it add up, which it isn’t. He pretty much crushes all the bones in my hand as we shake (and here I thought I had a firm grip). The pain rallies me. I snap back to my senses and give him a good once over. Larry’s words drift through my head. The Emperor. Well, hell, this guy so far fits physically. Right down to the slight ruddy complexion and sheer imposing figure.

He’s giving us the once over too. We look like we just drug ourselves out of the gutter after a three day bender. But, he doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he judge. Not that I can tell. Then he takes off the shades, revealing cold eyes that do not blink and see everything, and I mean everything. Like 360 everything. While betraying no inner workings of the mind. He is completely self contained. Now I’m not so sure I believe he isn’t the law, but I follow him into the dark cavern of the building. Part of me thinks perhaps he’s a cyborg from the future, awaiting the order to complete his mission here in the past, and marking time by selling houses.

My thoughts crash to a halt as my senses are assailed by the darkness, and the raw stench of noxious chemical solvents. Tim comes in behind me, and the door closes. Jack (the name changed to protect innocence of course) the alleged Realtor throws the light switch. The first thing I see after the flash that temporarily blinds me is a giant orange and red face screaming in torment. It’s a portrait of a man, the size of a wall. Stacked in front and beside other similar paintings. It’s horrific. Angry. Vengeful. Surely a harbinger of doom. I struggle to get a breath and capture composure.

“An artist uses this as his studio,” Jack remarks, dead pan. “He lives upstairs.”

Are you sure we won’t find him hanging there, I think to myself? Luckily, some wild strain of self preservation kicks in , and an internal editor for speech I did not know I possessed throws itself into action. I sense that this is a fragile state. I need to observe, to find my proof, but if I spook the guy, or worse, piss him off with one of my mouthy, ill-considered comments, he might just kill me and toss my body in the near-by river.

We follow him deeper into the dark, behind a curtain, down the rabbit hole. He leads with confidence, while I follow, waiting to find the artist pulling a Van Gogh, or worse. The other rooms are much the same. On the old style gas heaters are heaped open jars of solvent with brushes askew, tossed like bones around a char pit. Ah, I get it. The artist doesn’t want to end his angry phase with something as banal as a hanging. He wants to go out in a blaze of fire and glory, because placing accelerant on an open gas stove is pretty much the equivalent of lighting the fuse on a pile of dynamite.

I notice a brief flash of motion from Jack. A quick tightening of the already tight mouth. A barely perceptible shake of the head. What he sees does not work for him. But he hides it well. Onward we go, upstairs to the second floor apartment. I find my voice and begin to ask questions and to my surprise, he answers with absolute conviction, truth, and a dearth of excess verbiage. There is no discussion of crown moldings, or, charm of an era gone by. There is frank disclosure, and a strange, placid patience with what I now know were very naive questions on my part. The artist’s lair is empty, thankfully, of dead bodies and severed ears, but full of papers piled on the gas heaters, echoing the theme of the studio. We venture further to the third floor, where we are met by a closed door.

Jack knocks and announces: Realtor.

No response.

Jack turns his fist. No light knuckle rap this time. He hits the door three times and I think: Holy Crap, he’s going to bust this thing down. Indeed, the door rattles dangerously on the ancient hinges.

“REALTOR,” says Jack. Flat, but with gusto. It’s then I realize that when he normally speaks, or what I take for normal, he’s actually suppressing a natural volume that could best be described as BOOMING. Yes, bold in all capitals. I’d never heard anyone with a booming voice, but our Jack has a deep one, in spades. My nerves rattle with the door, and I almost laugh. From the profile I observe the jaw tighten, the chest rise and fall as a deep breath is drawn in and released, and I know Jack is pissed. He grips the clip board a little tighter, then turns to me, and apologizes in a lower, completely, icily, eerily calm voice. It's also a polite voice. I realize I am, for the moment, his client and main priority, and that I'm getting respect as a result. I am so floored by this treatment his words buzz by and don't impact. He’ll get us in another time. Let’s go see the warehouse in the back, he suggests, and on we go.

This is the Emperor. In total control at all times, I think, no matter what.

I am starting to believe. To get drawn in. We go through the house, the yard, discuss the boundaries, the owner, the neighbor who owns the vacant lot next door but will not sell. I’m impressed by the depth of his knowledge, the ease of his manner, the courtesy, and I’m still pretty sure that beneath it all is the Terminator. Then we near the warehouse, a large garage with a storage area on the back, it’s own bathroom, and it’s own address off the alley.

I smell it first. And it’s purely illegal, that smell. A second later, Jack, who’s half a step behind me, catches it. And comes out in front of me with purpose and a hard step. I can sense trouble. We round the corner. Heavy Metal radiates from the inside. A key ring in jammed in the entry door. A panel is missing from the garage door. Every muscle in Jack’s body tenses at once, then relaxes. This, I realize, is the equivalent of what that gunslinger all in black does the second before the bell in town rings high noon and the shoot out begins. The one where he fires a single bullet before the other guy’s gun can even clear the holster. Then it’s all over, peace is restored, and the dark hero rides off into his next misadventure.

Jack and I are shoulder to shoulder at the door. He pounds on it with his fist and booms “REALTOR!!!!!!” (Yes, with the exclamations this time. They heard us for five miles around that morning.)

For a moment, nothing happens. He bends down to me and says soft and tight, “They’re having a little party.”

I want to laugh, dear reader. So bad. I don’t know why. This house, it’s gone from weird to bad to worse, but nothing, and I mean nothing, is getting this guy riled. He's so professional, so polite, treating us like we're the Kind and Queen of England instead of the deadbeats we looked like. I don’t know if it’s sheer relief that perhaps we have found our man, or true humor over the absurdity of it all. I hold it, though, because I want to live, and I think I want this guy to work with us again. Oh, the shred of hope at the very end of that frayed rope, what a lure it is. I know I’ll explode for sure.

A car starts up, the engine revving. I think, gee, I hope no one inside decides to pull a Dukes of Hazard and run through the garage door. It would be correct for the day’s idiom, that’s for damn sure.

Jack must have had the same thought, because he has at the door again, nearly knocks it into the garage, booms Realtor, and it opens.

Jack comes in somewhere in the vicinity of a hulking 6'3. The kid opening the door is at best, 5’4”, and if he was 90 pounds, I’d be shocked. He cracks the door, and is staring at Jack’s waist band. I watch as a myriad of emotions and thoughts race across his face, as reality crashes into the cheeba monkey and things go up in smoke. Fear is the main one, and it deepens, etches itself into his face as his blood shot gaze travels up to meet Jack’s. And Jack takes off the shades. Hits him with that unblinking icy stare. This kid did not hear Realtor. He heard Narc, and Posession, and Jail Time and holy crap, dude, you are one dead SOB. I saw it in his eyes.

I know this kid has soiled his pants. I’m about to lose it myself. Tim is barely contained behind me. And Jack is Jack. Completely in control.

“Reatlor,” he says one more time, with finality. And in it is an unspoken command to shut up and stand aside. Which the kid does. He joins the other miscreant, they crowd into a corner, and stare at their shoes. They will not, under any circumstances, meet Jack’s eyes. In fact, it looks like they’re trying to crawl through the bricks to get as far away from him as possible.

He turns to me. “Let’s go.” It’s up there with any drill sergeant I know issuing marching orders. I fall readily into step behind him. We tour the garage, the storage area, etc., then, as fast and as unexpected as it started, it’s over. We’re back on the street, out of the rabbit hole, and we are forever changed. Jack gives us the contact information, climbs back into the Expedition, and is gone.

I’m standing there, in the street, holding his card, the only physical proof something transpired that day. But even then I’m not sure it happened for real. Did I dream it all? Because it sure as hell feels like it, and it’s no where near like any house tour we’ve ever taken, and we’d seen a hell of a lot up to that point. I’m not sure Jack’s real either. But I’ve got the sense that he’s our ticket home.

I tell Tim I think we’ve found him. He reminds me Larry said we’d know the second time we met him. So we need to wait. To make sure. Damn sure. We go back to our apartment. I tuck the card away in a safe spot and settle in to wait. To see. But I burn a candle. For luck. To hedge my bet.

Two months later, the second time came.

I found another house that I wanted to see. The only one since the building we’d seen with him that had caught my eye. Not a single house in all the pages of the many house magazines I'd reviewed betwen then and now had grabbed me. As fate would hve it, the listing was Jack's. First I tell Tim, who likes the place too. We remark who's listing it. He suggests I reach out and get us an appointment. I take several days to think on it. Finally, I gather my courage. From work, I call. Introduce myself. Here’s how it goes:

“Hi, it’s Ursula Bauer, I don’t know if you remember me, we looked at a house in the city with you in July.”

“Yes, I remember you and Tim,” he says, all business. “How are you?” (This more of a challenge than a question or pleasantry.)

“Fine. Thanks. You have a listing in this issue of Harmon Homes I’d like to see.” I am tentative. If everything was riding on that first time, then ten times everything is riding on this interaction. It is the mythic second time.

“Which one?” No extra words. Not Jack. Cut to the chase.

I tell him. There is not even a pause between where my words end and his begin.

“That place looks good in the picture, but there’s a lot wrong with it. Needs work. You should know that.”

I, dear reader, am rendered speechless. Something I am never, EVER, rendered. I open my mouth. No words come out. I don’t even know what words to say. I am stupefied. Such raw, blatant honesty from a Realtor? Then I remember, he is no average Real Estate Professional. For all I know, he might be the Terminator in disguise. In fact, I’d give even odds on that.

The pause lengthens. Jack does not fill it with words. Speaking is not his style. Any other Realtor would be blathering on at this point. Nope. Ball’s in my court. It’s all on me now.

I shake off the stun and cast around for something, anything to say. What is the protocol at this point, when the Realtor warns you off his listing? I don’t have a clue. I blunder onward. “Uh, well, okay. Can I still see it?”

“Sure.” There is the barest hint of emotion. Perhaps reassurance? No. I am imaging that. “When?”

I give him a few dates, next thing I know, three seconds have passed, the call is over, and we have the second meeting, the fateful second meeting, scheduled. I pull out the tarot deck, crack it randomly. The Emperor flys out and lands face up on my desk. It is the proverbial glove, slapping me in challenge, demanding I name my seconds and meet up at dawn for the duel. And I am powerless to resist.

The prophecy is fulfilled. I know. And the fateful final walk through, has firmly rooted in the soil of our collective future. Stemming all from that idea that seemed good at the time: make the final call, take one last chance, see one more house.

And so began the adventures of first great house hunt in wonderland.

Excerpt 1: Immortal Illusions

I decided to post the excerpts I keep promising to post. The first set are from Immortal Illusions, and here's installment #1. Seth, by the way, is the Egyptian God of Chaos. And if you want to read chapter one, follow the links from my web site, or the link on the sidebar. (I plan to post three more, and one of them is full of men. Actually, most of them are full of men. What can I say. I must be addicted or something.)

Oh, and guess what...book #3 is taking shape. Trust me when I say you will be as surprised as I by the hero.

Ah, enough digression. Here, read about what happens when you start doing what ever you think you need to do to get the thing you think you most want to have...

**************************************
Excerpt 1: Immortal Illusions
*************************************

Ramon laid a well-manicured hand lightly on her shoulder. “When you agreed to act as Jack’s mystical surrogate, the bargain included certain terms.”

Rain’s throat went dry. Oh no. Oh Gods no. What more did they want of her? “It did, yes.”

“Your awakening was incomplete.” Ramon’s voice was soft, almost caring. But she knew him to be as self-serving to the cause as any of the Elder Wardens. “Jack has requested you be fully opened and Seth has agreed to perform that task.”

The bottom of her world fell out from beneath her feet and she dropped into a dark, endless abyss. “Do I have a say in any of this?” she ground out as she struggled to gain control over the fear exploding inside of her.

Jack stirred. “If you say no, I’ll be forced to find another surrogate. Your bargain, including your shot at knighthood, would go down the drain.”

The fire in his gaze had chilled to ice. Her own blood cooled and her palms started to sweat. Panic curled tight in her gut. “I can’t be a knight if I’m running magic in my blood.”

Jack straightened and leaned forward. “How bad do you want this, Raine? Remember what I told you earlier, about how I play?”

She remembered, like it was burned into her brain. She should have expected this of him, to ask for every last ounce of everything she possessed, and then come back for more. To ask to awaken the worst of her Elven side—to turn on the dormant sorcery residing inside of her, it was beyond reason. She’d be hard pressed to hold back the Elven insanity in her, to remain herself, under her own control. She turned to Ramon, knowing she couldn’t trust anyone in the room, but knowing at the same time he was the one most likely to give her a straight answer. “Will I become one of them?”

Before Ramon could answer Jack erupted like a nuclear bomb hitting ground zero.

“One of them?” He snorted with derision, a look of disgust curling his sensuous mouth. He leaned even closer, pinning her with a gaze that cut her to her very core. “I have news for you, sweetheart. You are one of us. There is no ‘them’. You can run from that, but you can’t hide. Not even with the clipped ears and the prissy manners.”

The sound of her slap rang in her ears. She’d acted on pure impulse, giving into the rage his words provoked, and whacked him. Nothing could be more repulsive, more Elven, to act without thought, to indulge whatever whim crossed the mind or riled the blood. She drew back her hand and stared at it, mortified, as if it belonged to anyone but herself.

Jack sat back, a satisfied smile on his handsome face, her handprint a red streak on his fair, otherwise unblemished skin. “That felt good, didn’t it?”

“No,” she said more to herself. What had she gotten into? It was starting already. The madness…

“It’s human to feel, Raine. And Elven. You’re both. You shouldn’t be ashamed.” Jack’s voice penetrated her thoughts. “I’m not your uncle. You don’t need to hold back with me.”

“I’m not holding back.” She stood and stepped away from the men. How far would she go, how far would they push her, to gain her dream? “I’m not one of them. I’ll never be.”

Elves were hedonists. They did whatever they pleased to indulge their whims, regardless of consequence. All that mattered was the moment. Wasn’t that what she was doing now? Giving in to fancy, living in the moment? No. This was no whim. She was doing what she needed to better serve the Covenant, to realize her dream, and prove to everyone once and for all she was more than her ill-fated birth. After this, she’d no longer be the outcast half-breed.

There really was no choice. “When?”

Seth shoved his hands in his pockets. “Now.”

Raine sat down again, defeated. “Ramon, I think I’d like that drink now. Scotch. Neat.”

The occupants of the room fell into a stiff silence while Ramon poured her drink. Only once had Hugh mentioned the sorcery in her bloodline, when she was very young and he was very, very drunk. It was her birthday. He’d railed against her mother, his brother Edward, and the evils of sorcery that some Elves seemed to possess by virtue of inheritance. Then he’d cried into his empty whiskey glass, and passed out, the blade of his dagger clutched in his hand as if he’d planned to use it in defense, or, attack. They’d never discussed the incident afterwards. So much went unsaid between them. Sometimes that was good, mostly, though, it made her sad.
Ramon handed her the cut crystal glass and she downed the liquid fire in one shot.

“Why?” She looked to Jack. She suspected he needed her as much as she needed him. “The truth, Madden. You have one chance to get this right. Lie to me and I’m out of here.”

“Thanks to Kerr, I can’t touch the power that was once mine. Not only will I never ascend beyond demi-God, the best of my sorcery is lost to me.” His words were laced with raw pain and blatant truth that hurt to hear. “Even the simplest of tasks requires new methods for me. I have learned to use bush magic to aid the mystical-seeking exercises that we’ll need to find these artifacts. To be most effective, though, I need you, Raine. All of you. One hundred percent, not the fifty you’ve decided to show the world.”

“It’s so easy for you to be who you are, Jack, consequence be damned.” She put her glass down harder than expected. “I don’t have that luxury.”

His next move surprised her. He reached for her, held her hand, and covered it with his other in a protective gesture. His gaze held hers for a moment, searching for something, and when he spoke, it was as if she was the only person in the world who mattered. “You have the luxury to be complete with me, Raine, as long as the op lasts. It’s not as sexy as knighthood, I’ll grant you that. It’s not even something you’ve ever considered desirable, but I guarantee, once you’re whole, you won’t want to go back to living in pieces again.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She shut her eyes for a moment, steeled her courage, and pulled free of his grasp. If she was to do this, it had to be on her own. “I’m ready.”

Spring 2008 Tarot-Scopes

Tarot-scopes are predictions for the zodiac sign based on Tarot cards pulled and related back to that sign given it’s element, and, the general configuration of the cosmos at that moment. Here are my predictions for Spring, with interpretations based on 20+ years professional reading experience. Enjoy!

Aries
General OVerview - The Moon - Spring is your season, fire your element, so nothing is more frustrating than water drowning you out. From the local drama queen, to all kinds of your own emotions rising out of the deep, water will be your challenge this spring. Learn to work with emotions and the past, make peace, and where you can’t make peace, try to reign in the temper. On the plus side, the moon will add a burst to your already potent sexuality, and all pleasure will be a great outlet for you. Perhaps a way to work with all that wild, wacky moon energy. The last thing to keep in mind, is that this spring, not is all as it seems, so be careful making decisions on what appear to be facts. Dig deeper and trust your gut, no matter how strange the belief is: you’ll be right, the facts wrong.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – The High Priestess – Despite the sexual energetic charge of the moon, you’ll find yourself taking a very cerebral approach to all your relationships. The Priestess can act as a tempering influence for you, giving you the distance you need if things get too close for comfort. The Priestess also aspects learning, which means all relationships this season, no matter how intense or frustrating, have something important to show you. Important enough that they are worth the struggle. If there’s anyone you need to ditch, you’ll be able to do so with clear conscience by the Summer Solstice.

Career, Money, Finance – The Ace Of Cups – Spring is your time to get reacquainted with beauty and fun, and that will cost you but it will be well worth the price. Spend your money on things that look pretty, speak to your inner child, allow you to beautify your environment, and you will be rewarded in a lightening and brightening of spirit. Use your eye and your heart to guide you. Don’t worry, the money will be there when you need it. Not in excess, but just enough to achieve the changes you need. Also, don’t discount spending on mini-vacations.

Taurus
General Overview – Two of Cups – Healing, relations, friendships, these are the themes for you this spring. If there are issues from the winter, it’s time to see them in a new light. Forgive, if you can, it will lighten you all ways around. The attitude of gratitude will also get you far this spring. Many of your gains will come from others, so if you’ve been there for someone, they’ll now be there for you. Many times this energy manifests in being a social gadfly, so if you’ve been hiding in your cave, toiling away at your own daily grind, time to get out and enjoy a bit. Parties are favorably aspected, especially afternoon or brunch style gatherings, cocktail parties, picnics and yard parties. Small, intimate, fun gatherings are what you need more of, so go ahead and invite, or, accept those invitations. New friends are on the horizon, but you need to get up and leave your comfort zone a bit.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Three of Wands – This modifies your general card of the Two of Cups, and the modification in this case is a reinforcement of the need to go beyond your front door to seek satisfaction and success. The things you need to sooth the spirit and bring love back from the winter doldrums lies far afield, and even next door. Refreshment is key, unusual for a Taurus who values routine. This spring will be an unusual exercise for you, in breaking the old and embracing the new, so don’t be surprised if you have some days where you look in the mirror and ask “Who am I”? When you have this happen, next ask yourself, “Who do I want to be today, tomorrow, the next day, and what experiences might help me make that happen?”

Career, Money, Finance – The Four Of Swords – The Spring is a time for holding on to what you have. Expect a financial flat line, which will repeat in any investments and career. I think that’s because the energy of this season is really focused inward on your self, your soul, your desires, and human connection. Again, Taurus, a sign usually concerned with wealth, is ‘otherwise occupied’ now. Enjoy this mini-revolution, just make sure you don’t over extend yourself. All these experiences can be had human to human, without going beyond your means.


Gemini
General Overview – The Fool – This Spring brings the fresh breath of air you’ve needed after a long and dreary winter. And even if it doesn’t, you’ve pretty much decided it has anyway. Time to get out and enjoy. Let out that eternal child that seems to possess your breezy spirit, and give it full reign. Adventure, excitement, maybe a jedi doesn’t crave it, but Gemini certainly does, and you won’t be held back. Imagination will take you far if you let it, so go for it. Just remember, while you’re being the eternal optimist and happy wanderer, your friends and family might not be as supportive. Keep in mind what’s most important and try to communicate it to those who matter the most. The rest of the crowd doesn’t require an explanation, nor do you have to ask permission. It’s a great season to try something new.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – The Three of Wands- Matching this with the Fool modifies that wander lust and need for the new, and magnifies it ten fold. In particular, new destinations hold fascination. Particularly places where people gather, like bistros, open air cafes, street fairs, anything colorful, new and full of noise, color and a chance at the unexpected. The only thing you need to watch is nags and nay-sayers. While you’re out following your latest bliss, others might try in earnest to rain on the parade. Keep the umbrella handy. It will pass.

Career, Money, Finance – Ten Of Wands – So, with all this need for wild abandon pulling at you, some might be saying, ‘but wait, I have all these obligations…’. I’m sure you do, however, you can find a way to finesse it if you apply a little focus and organization early in the season. You can beat that schedule into submission, and no matter how many projects, things that need funding in time or money, and obligations you have, you can order them and allow yourself the breathing space to get out and run amok. Just do it early in the season. The longer you wait to get control, the more a chance what you do might try to get control of you. Career can be good for you if you’re willing to give it the all the way, particularly in April.

Cancer
General Overview – Strength – Spring will require both discipline and gentle strength from you if you want to accomplish goals. The discipline will come in recognizing what is a need to do vs. a nice to do, and focusing first on what must be done and leaving the rest for another time. The gentle strength will come in handy when your inner critic gets riled up and tries to ride you for not being Superhuman. If you examine what is most important to you, then those close, you’ll be able to filter out what’s getting put on your plate of ‘things to do’ that can be passed off or dispensed with entirely. If you give personal projects the energy and attention they deserve, and stick with them through the season, the rewards you reap will blow your mind. If you don’t and spend your time on to many tasks for others, you won’t get anywhere, except exhausted.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Four Of Cups – Stop trying to do it all and accept some help. It doesn’t speak less of you or your skills. Don’t be afraid to delegate. If you don’t pass off some of the work, you’re going to sour on everything and everyone, and get yourself into a funk that will take you through the entire season. Recognize you have needs that need time to be tended to, or else you’ll really get crabby. (No pun intended!) And when Cancer gets crabby, everyone suffers. If you give yourself the break you need, you’ll cruise into summer on a total high cresting wave.

Career, Money, Finance – The Wheel of Fortune – You have some excellent chances to make key changes, and grab hold of opportunity for abundance, but you need to recognize them when they arrive. Things are moving fast around you, which explains the above guidance and need to focus and give yourself the TLC you need to stay on top of your game. I sense that Spring is a season to position yourself for a quantum shift in prosperity. I also sense the changes you need in prosperity energy will come your way finally, on all fronts, so if an investment has been a disappointment or something relating to property held up, what happens this Spring sets it up for a rebirth and movement when the early Summer srikes.

Leo
General Overview – Eight of Pentacles – Add this much earth and work in earth to your fire, and you get yourself a regular kiln, Leo, where all kinds of wonderful things can finally come from dreams, transit through effort, and then manifest in reality. Achievement of personal goals is your mantra this season. Spring is for perfecting your work, and getting it out there to the world. Let nothing, and seriously, I mean nothing, stand in your way this time, including your pride. If someone offers constructive criticism, take it, because it will make you better, or your product/project better. But not uneducated criticism, take advice or guidance only from those you respect, or that are respected in their field.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – The Eight of Wands – Wow, fire, fire and more fire, all coming at you. Your ability to attract attention will be at an all time high. Especially if you take trips, or go to conferences, or large parties. What does that mean? Your time to shine might get eaten up in all that dramatic commotion going on around you. Normally I’d say you were in your element here, but based on the above card, you need your time and your fire to focus on manifestation. So keep things light, and watch getting sucked into arguments that you either can’t win, or, are the kinds of fights that have been raging in the family for centuries and will continue to rage whether or not you participate in the Spring round.

Career, Money, Finance – Eight of Cups – If you want more abundance, better job, better cash flow, you need to cut your emotional ties with the old ways. Take a look at what has ceased to work for you, with a very critical eye. Do not spare an ounce of emotion. You’ll be able to break free of things this season, but only if you can admit to yourself that what you really want lies elsewhere, or requires new methods, or a new way of operating. If you take the high ground, though the path be rocky, you’ll find all you want and more at the end of that journey. In your case, however, that journey may take you through the fall, and perhaps all of 2008.

Virgo
General Overview – Temperance – Spring is your personal quest for balance, and not the kind where nothing moves, but a fluid state of dynamic equilibrium that will allow you to move out of your old skin and into a new incarnation. Moderation will help, and so will releasing the need to be perfect. Temperance has balance but also fluidity where the equation is not fixed, meaning, the elements don’t need to be perfect, and neither do you. This is a perfect time for you to implement any body, mind or spirit changes because you’ll be more focused on the process as opposed to the outcome. What that means is you can embrace a lifestyle change holistically.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Knight of Pentacles – Slow and steady wins the race. And if you’re looking for love, look for stable, rational and reliable. If you embrace Temperence above, you’ll see a general improvement in any difficult relationships, because you’ll have better perspective, and not be so all or nothing in your approach to conflict. Spring isn’t a season of great emotion or love for you, instead, it’s one of quality over quantity, and it begins with cutting yourself some slack.

Career, Money, Finance – Three of Pentacles – A VERY good season to get ahead in your vocation, or avocation. Your reputation is better than you think, and so is your skill set. You can parlay your past into new opportunities for a better future. And, if you complete projects this season, they will have a higher level of finish and attract more success than you anticipated. Manage your deadlines, and you’ll get top notice. And don’t be afraid to toot your own horn. You have a lot to offer the universe, and it is willing to pay.

Libra
General Overview – Two of Cups – Spring is your time to shine, and to be recognized. Stay away from contentious people (you know who they are). Your ability to see all sides of a story or argument will be in high demand, so make sure what you get involved with you do for the higher good and not for the drama. You will be in love with love this Spring, and your emotional intuition will be dead on. Go ahead and give yourself permission to enjoy. I also see flirtation coming your way – it doesn’t need to get any more serious than you like – but it will be refreshing. Put yourself out there, and you’ll get great energy in return.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – The Star – Did I say Spring is your time to shine? Double that. You will be like a bright star. The Star is first and foremost a card of hope, dreams, and secondly, a card of learning. That means even the most dire of situations has something to teach you, and a way for you to find hope, or achieve dreams. Sometimes that means the hope gives you strength to walk away from what no longer serves your higher good or enriches your spirit, other times it means that hope gives you strength to go for your dreams, or to pursue the learning or training to evolve to a higher level. Your mantra is: “Yes I believe, Yes I can.”

Career, Money, Finance – Nine of Cups – Ah, the fat and happy merchant card. This tells me that you’ll be happy if you focus on including things that you enjoy and that enrich your spirit, and kicking things out that door (and people), if they don’t enrich you. As a result, the universe will make you feel abundant, and pleased. Money, even if tight, will be so fluid, you’ll feel blessed. But if you keep the bad mixed with the good, you’ll feel as insecure as ever about the future. It all comes down to choice. What will you do?


Scorpio
General Overview – Ten of Cups – Been waiting to exhale, Scorpio? Well, let it rip. Because Spring will bring in that happiness and beauty you so need around you to feel your best, and it will bring it in spades, if you allow it to happen. What could block it? All that residual winter stress. That frozen ice water really cooled you down to the world around you. Let it go. Let the Spring melt cleanse you, and bring in the good times. You need to PARTY, shake off that stink, enjoy the friends and family and life around you without any ulterior motives. Get out and shake that groove thing, and let responsibility coast for a bit.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Three of Pentacles – Given the above card, I’m not surprised to see an earth card in the realm of relationships for you. What does this mean? To support the happiness and beauty, folks and situations involving love, emotions and relations need to stand the reputation test. If they have an ugly reputation, or don’t live up to your expectations (What ever they are), don’t bother with them. That’s right. I’m giving you permission, and so is the universe, to have as high standards as you like and to enforce them without guilt. Don’t spend minutes you can’t get back with people or things that don’t give back in return.

Career, Money, Finance – Seven of Swords – Your mind is so over micromanaging money at this point! Even if it isn’t, let it go. You need peace of mind, and going over the same ground again and again won’t get you that peace of mind. Career – keep your eyes on your game and your game only, and don’t share your game plan with anyone, even if you trust them. It’s a season for your own counsel – because you need to build back your belief in yourself. As to money, it will be there, but it’s more about energy for you. Marshall your resources, cut out a few things you don’t really need anymore, and you’ll find you have exactly what you need. Last caution, lend no money this season, for if you do, it won’t come back your way for at least five years.


Sagittarius
General Overview – Nine of Pentacles – Spring is a season to grow, grow, grow. Figure out what you want, and where you want to be by September, and implement the plan NOW. No time left to wait. Get going, and don’t stop until Fall. Particularly where housing and money are concerned. If you need extra cash, yard sales and E-Bay can get you a bundle. So can very limited short time jobs. Oh, the cashola payout can be good for you, but you have to get on it now, for the time is upon you.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – King of Swords – Don’t worry if you find yourself holding back from the crowd and emotionally disengaging. Given your abundance energy, you might not have the normal amount of time to indulge your fire. You also will find intuition high, as well as the B.S. meter and folks that used to be able to skate around you will be revealed for their true selves. You will be a tough task master, high on truth, morals and reality this spring. Expect to make people mad, but don’t worry, they’ll have no chance at all to suck you into the drama.

Career, Money, Finance – Six of Swords – Okay, I know I told you to work work work, but towards the end of the season, you’ll need a break. Crack open the piggy bank and take a few short trips. Even a few hours at a spa will be worth the expense. You don’t need to worry, the job and money status will hold without problem, and you’ll have refreshed engines to greet the summer.


Capricorn
General Overview – Four Of Pentacles – Spring will be a tug of war for you between cleaving to the old ways and what you have, and giving up a little of the old to gain something new and exciting. In the end, take it slow and you’ll feel better. Don’t rush, even though that crazy seasonal energy may make you restless. Go a step at a time, and make sure you preserve the things that are most important to your security and who you are. Moves are not favored at this point, rather, rework existing things. Any kind of renovation to existing property, or relationships, is favored. Things will feel like they take longer, but you’ll be really attentive to detail and as a result, won’t have to do any rework on projects.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – The Three of Cups – May will be a bang up month for you, offering you a kind of catharsis that’s been missing in your life. Get out on the weekends and enjoy the earth as it wakes. Go to a Cinco De Mayo party, or, visit a May Day celebration. Enjoy fun for the sake of fun. Take relations lightly. Don’t get entangled in anything that is too serious, or a downer, or not fun. That’s right, if it isn’t enjoyable, it isn’t on your dance card. You need this, you really do, to give you the level of emotional rebirth and release that will set you up well for the summer.

Career, Money, Finance – The Empress – Make your home and surroundings beautiful. You don’t need to spend a lot of money, even a simple clean may help. Put money into things you already own rather than trying for new, and you’ll be surprised at the increase in value. If you do plunk down cash, it needs to go into things that will grow in value over time, or, offer you beauty and comfort. Finance and career indicate time to enjoy, and if the job is not giving you the level of comfort you need, start to look for a new one. Just be careful about moving at this time – you may have more going for you where you are than you realize, perhaps in reputation alone. If you look, by summer’s end you’ll be prepared to make the leap.


Aquarius
General Overview – Two of Swords – Spring will bring things that will test your patience, your confidence, and your belief in your dreams. Don’t let the environment and those around you, as well as any challenges psych you out. Tune inward, find your center, and visualize success. Spring is all about honing that visualization ability, about tuning out from the distractions and negativity and tuning into what is most important to you on many levels. People will really work your nerves this month, don’t let them get to you. You have important internal personal growth to attend to and no one can get this job done but you.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Page of Pentacles – Relationships are serving as teaching tools for you this season so be prepared for those around you to test your limits. Relationships are also key to new earning opportunities, so try to keep your cool when dealing with others. Love this season is more about what you’ll get if you work, vs. all that spun sugar and bubble gum stuff – you’re almost hyper-realistic and that’s not a bad thing. Why? Because if you’re not, you stand the chance of being a door mat.

Career, Money, Finance – Seven of Cups – Again, more internal work. What do you really want to do? What do you dream of doing? What is a crazy idea you can’t get out of your mind? Spring is time to go inside and test out dreams in the landscape of the unconscious. Don’t think you need to have answers or solutions right now. Let things play out for a while and avoid final decisions unless pressed. Float, close your eyes, dream.

Pisces
General Overview – Ten of Wands – Your normally a dreamer, at your best in the murky moonlight, or deep ocean of emotive intuition. But all this fire of ten wands is going to heat you up to a boil. You can make that energy work for you, if you want. This season you can accomplish amazing feats, complete ten times the work or projects than normal, but you need to be willing to implement a plan. Yep. A plan, with steps and coordination and all that kind of stuff. Give some structure this Spring, and you can conquer the world.

Love, Emotions, Relationships – Knight of Wands – More fire, and you’re finding it attractive. You have many chances to connect with people, but the best ones come via writing and the written word first. Learn more about people and yourself before letting them in too close. Internet relations are prominent now, so word your posts carefully. Take all new greetings and meetings at face value, but again, don’t go too deep, until you learn more.

Career, Money, Finance – Ten of Cups – This is a very good card. It tells me that the Ten of Wands will work for you, and as a result, you’ll be rewarded in tangible results. It also tells me that happiness should be your gauge. If something doesn’t make you happy, time to let it go. It doesn’t hold you back any longer. Family and friends hold many keys to success and abundance opportunities. By the end of the season, if you’ve played your cards right, you’ll be doing the Snoopy happy dance.

Spring, Mating, and Men

Spring, at long last, is here.
I swear, I can’t remember a more grey winter. Or maybe it was just the intensity of it that makes it stand out? While I normally like this season, I must confess I’m happy to bid it a hearty ‘fare thee well’.

I welcomed Spring in a few days back, and then today, at long last, got out to play in the park near by my house. First, I got to try out the real football. Last year we played “Catch”, or should I say “Miss”, or perhaps “Drop” with the all-weather nerf, but today, I graduated to the “REAL DEAL” - a regulation pig skin (or clever dupliacte). While my husband is playing catch, I am sure I’m still playing Miss and Drop, but either way, it was a hell of a lot of fun. So much so, DH is planning a ‘Stuporbowl’ – three rounds of touch or flag with us and a few of our friends. Our very middle aged friends. Hopefully, everyone has good insurance. The saving grace, we are no more than a handful of blocks from two hospitals. (whew!!!!)

We followed up with Frisbee, hands down one of my favorite games. I am MUCH better at it, too! The park is a cut through for town, so we got some strange looks, as we have in the past, from motorists. I can’t help it, I may be over the hill, but I’m a kid at heart. And playing around like that is a great way to send your cares away on the wind.

Afterwards, we took a walk by one of the little lakes in the park, where we observed a spring mating ritual at work. It started with one female duck swimming the lake. A male showed up and started following, and posturing, which drove her off a little further and attracted two other more competitive males. They came swimming onto the scene and the bigger one starts what can only be described as ‘macho posturing’. The first male bowed out almost immediately to the superior competitors. The macho antics attracted the female who swam to them, clearly indicating preference, but then, at last moment, pulled back and began the 'hard to get' swim away.

The two new comers started up the competition, and attracted TWO more males!!!! The show off duck of course, managed to hold her attention, but the other was left in his wake. She lead him on a merry chase, and when we were ready to leave, was considering interest in the two newest arrivals. Ah, the mating dance. It is the same through out the animal kingdom, is it not? The lady drives the chase, and the man can and will be easily provoked into increasing feats of daring, machismo, and acts of stupidity, all in the name of getting some. Yes, love is in the air. Beware, lest it catch you off guard, and make you (as they say) 'mad as a march hare'. And if it does catch you, well, suffice to say it has made fools of the best of us before and will do so again at a time to be named sooner or later in the future.

The madness is not limited to the unattached. Nor is it the province of the young. Indeed, machismo for the already coupled, can take place in terms of what your male deems appropriate when ‘providing’ for your needs. Here’s an example. I’ve recently moved into corporate training. My new hire class was going to take a test this one day, so I asked my husband the night before to pick me up a bag of Jolly Ranchers. The sugar is brain food and would help them on the test. It’s also an excellent anxiety reducer. (Besides, it's not like I can serve cocktails at work.)

He was out at the time, and dutifully went forth into the great wooly bush to secure what he female demanded in tribute. To demonstrate prowess, he returned with a single bag of Jolly Ranchers weighing in at 3.75 pounds. It was the biggest one he could find, in a few locations. All they had were those ‘little’ bags, he said, and ‘I wanted to make sure you had enough.’ Yes. Based on student ratio, it’s about ½ a pound per student. His woman would have no meager bag of sweets, no, she would have the fullest fruits his labors and hunt could produce. Proof that even when domesticated, the male still has those delightful macho tendencies that make us ladies swoon and love them all the more for the antics!

Ursula Bauer Priate Radio RAEB- O- RAMA: Save the date

Hey all! I'm going to host a late night hour on the Yahoo Groups Samhain Cafe.

It's reader appreaciation week, timed to occur with Read an E Book week, so Samhain Publishing is going all out.

My personal hour of power:

Date: Friday March 14, 2008
Time: 10:00 pm - 11:00 pm Central Time (11-12 for us east coast folk)


Location: The Samhain Cafe


Come celebrate the late night and e-books pirate radio style with Ursula Bauer. Cruise the after hours bandwidth where we'll talk tarot, dish on immortal hotties, get to know a hero or two up close and personal, even do a give away contest for Immortal Protector, or, Immortal Illusions.

This runs all week long folks, so don't just stop by for me and the wierd report. Swing by for all kinds of fun, shenanigans, contests, give aways, dish and fun, any time during the week.

????????????? (Your answer, or not, here...)

These days I find myself reading mysteries. And I find myself thinking a lot about questions, for a variety of strange and stranger reasons.

I have one of ‘those’ brains: it never seems to shut off, it’s ever searching for answers whether or not the questions being broached are the kind that even have answers. I think that’s my Type A self. The mechanical side that sees the components and pieces them together handily, and should something not fit, discards it without another glance. But I’m a Gemini, and despite that Capricorn ascendant, I can’t ever completely escape the madness that is both the blessing and curse of my birth sign.

There are some questions that ever remain questions, and the purpose of them lies in the exploration. They are the art of the moment, held to the light, fascinating and unique for themselves alone, and not valued on the outcome, or the anchor of meaning. I think they scare my Type A, that says, “Now, Ursula, something is either THIS, or THAT, And if it is THIS, then it has attributes and characteristics you can not escape, meaning you can’t change. And if it’s THAT, well the same holds true.” But really, there are some questions, that you can’t seem to adequately answer, except perhaps to say, ‘well I’d know it if I laid eyes on it’. I think these reflect the ultimate subjectivity of reality, like the accident scene viewed through many eyes, except all those eyes and views are in the head of the same person.

Perhaps that’s why I write? Because it’s a good vehicle for these conundrums that are both pleasing, and maddening? At one point, in Immortal Illusions, Seth, the Egyptian God of Chaos (who, curiously, according to myth, has red hair. Makes you wonder, but, ah, a story for another day) says to the heroine, Raine, about humans, that we are so black and white, that for us things are either this or that. He implies that there is an entire universe contained between those polarities. I think he might be right. I also think that this universe of strange and spooky potential is what really grabs me in good fiction. McKee says story happens in the gap. More than story happens in the gap, though. Life happens in the gap.

I have a few very favorite mystery authors with series I love. Let me tell you, they have some weird shit going on, questions of the above ilk, that either have no answers or too many, or the answers are really not the things the right and proper self wants to examine past a cursory glance lest it feel it needs a hot shower, and a gallon of hand sanitizer. Charles Todd writes about Inspector Ian Rutlidge, post WWI, shell shocked, and carrying around the ghost of a dead soldier that he was to kill, and who shielded him with his dead body and kept him alive while those around him perished in one of the final horrific battles. For those unfamiliar with the English approach to rousting a German machine gun nest, here’s the plan: line the men up, and send them into the fire. Oh, they’re dead? Line up another hundred, and if they don’t go, shoot them as cowards. And, while you’re at it, shoot those wounded who refuse to return to the front to face the same, or whose minds are too bent to properly wrap around the current fashionable die-for-Queen-and-Country version of War. WWI was responsible for wiping out a generation of young men, unlike any war seen to at the time. So it’s not a pretty thing, and it raises so many questions the main character just can’t answer. Neither can the Ghost he carries in his mind, as he goes into these remote British countryside towns, and unearths more unspeakable crimes that happen without adequate answer. Except of course, to answer to the darkness that all human souls carry deep inside.

I’m a history buff, so I find the setting and attention to detail wonderful, but more than that, I’m a character buff. I love characterization that takes you deep into someone who is so imperfect as to seem so human. (Charles Todd by the way is a Mother Son team). I love these books, can’t get enough. Because so many questions don’t have neat answers, or when they do have answers, they’re not always the P.C. answers. These stories, like life, are not clean. They’re messy, fraught with human frailty, error, and at the same time, that wild streak of hope.

The next author I really enjoy is Julia Spencer-Flemming. How the hell I picked her first book up is a totally mystery to me. It’s nice to know after nearly 40 years on this planet I can still surprise at least myself. Anyway, the heroine is an ex-army helicopter pilot turned Episcopal priest. Yeah, I know, I was a little freaked out by it too. Oh, but it gets WAY better. She’s at her first priestly post, in this little Adirondack town. Perhaps that what drew me: I love the Adirondacks. If any place on mother earth is full of magic and foreboding and all things mysterious and wonderful and edgy, it’s the Adirondacks. So there’s this Sheriff, and he’s a former local boy, did a tour in Nam, became an MP, married, crawled in and out of a liquor bottle, and ultimately came back to his hometown. You get the impression his marriage is kind of a mystery to him. And as the story winds up and gets going, the chemistry between the priest and the sheriff is unbelievable. Now this continues through out the rest of the books. Soon, the wife appears. And you know, you’re thinking, here’s this guy who wants to get busy with this priest, and she wants the same, so of course he’s going to give you the impression that his wife is a cold, self-centered bitch when you’re in his mind (except he doesn’t, he decides he’s the heel, which makes you think that something more than meets the eye is going on and that perhaps he is not a reliable narrator of his own life. Which is later confirmed.)

I think we’re all conditioned as women to instantly loathe the man who strays and the woman he strays with, and I’m no exception. But here I am reading this, and cheering when the guy kisses the priest, only to think, what the hell is wrong with me? Trust me, this goes from bad to worse, and at one point, all these people in this one book are dead and the wife says to the sheriff “well, see, it took all this to make you figure out how much I’m worth” or some other sanctimonious garbage, and I tell you what, every answer you thought you knew to be right to those questions, they vanish in an uncertain puff of smoke and you are left with a world that is somewhere between THIS and THAT: hell: a whole universe: populated by people who are real, making mistakes, trying to get by and doing badly sometimes, and then, in these rare moments, finding light in the darkness, or deciding that questions maybe don’t have the kinds of answers they should, or the answers they do can vary from moment to moment.

I don’t condone, but I don’t judge either. I just surf the alternate realities, and I’m anchored for a time in that strange universe because at the heart of the machine are people. And, when I escape into the gap created by a good storyteller, I can for a while, put my own unanswerable questions on hold, or maybe come out of Oz with a better understanding of them. Even if that understanding means the questions stay unanswered, held up to the light only for the sake of curiosity, or accepted in that the answer is random, fatalistic, or nonsense, and any of those outcomes is okay.

So, at this one house I lived in with friends, we used to collect lightbulb jokes. And this is the one that fits: How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb? A fish. Yep. Sometimes that's the outcome. It just is, and that's all there is and all you can do about it, so you accept it and keep on moving. And that is more real than any of those books out there with perfect superheroes and superheroines always doing, saying, wearing, thinking, feeling the right and proper and perfect thing. Screw that. Let me linger a while longer between THIS and THAT, in that imperfect moment where everything is merely improbably and never impossible.

Yes, I know. No more blogging after cold medicine.

Go read these guys, if you like mysteries. I promise, you’ll be hooked. And it will be worth every second.

So Many Men...

(I posted this last Friday over at Samhain Publishing's Blog.)

Mad Jack Madden, the man from Immortal Illusions was a great hero to write. Balls to the wall, a sinful, sexy rouge who never said ‘die’. He talked trash, played the game like a master, and knew his way around women. My modern rake, he really showed me a good time. And Gideon Sinclair, from Immortal Protector? Dark, daring, and dangerously hot. My first hero, he was a challenge I'll never forget.

You’d think I could show some loyalty, but right now I'm too busy wondering about that next man. Call me fickle, and you might be right. But you must admit, there’s something to be said for the novelty of masculine mystery, the allure of enigma, and the certain promise of passion found on untried ground.

I think that’s one of the things I really enjoy about reading, and writing romance. Love abounds. Over and over, you get to relive the thrill of the hunt, and savor the bliss of the fall. Each time from a new angle, with a fresh twist.

You wonder: who will he be, this new hero of mine?

Is he an All American blonde with a killer smile and bedroom eyes, or the dark man of mystery hell bent on seduction? Will he sear your soul with a single, inescapable glance that melts you where you stand? Is his voice rough, or smooth, or a pleasurable mix of both? When he stands beside you, does the air charge? Can you feel his heat wash over you as he lingers, just inches away, far closer than is proper for people who are not intimate? You’ll wonder: does he realize he’s in my personal space? Is he doing this unknowingly, or by design? Did he hold my gaze, my hand, a bit too long, or did I imagine it all because my libido is torqued to the max and ready to snap me in two?

You won’t get the answer directly, his eyes are inscrutable, his actions quixotic and mysterious. Maybe he’s doing it, knowing he’ll pay a price later on, but he just can’t resist. Even if he can’t touch, it’s so close, it might as well be skin to skin. And when he can touch, he takes his time even though convention dictates otherwise, because it feels so damn good.

He’ll make your breath hitch in your throat. Sometimes, he’ll catch you with that stare, and you’ll wonder, where could this go if I let it? And is hell to pay too big a price? You start out thinking yes, but the more time you spend in his deliciously wicked company, the more you think, sure, I’ll pay hell, I’ll give up the world, chuck everything I own out the damn window, if it ensures that toe curling kiss is followed by more of the same. So close for so long, you can’t help but give into the attraction and all else falls away.

Is he laconic, or mouthy? Mad cap, mad, maddening? That kiss: was it lazy, demanding, tender, possessive? And what kind of lover will he be? Slow, and sure, taking his time to make time, knowing things about you even you didn’t know? Or will he come on strong, and fast and hard, burning every well planned defense to dust, pushing you so beyond every wild limit you’re consumed and reborn a thousand times in his blaze? Either way, he’ll blow your mind, so everyone wins.

Yes: Everyone wins.

That’s the best part. No matter who he is, what skin he walks in, how he deals out that first kiss, and every one there after, we all go home happy.

And some people think romance sucks.

Weenies.

As promised: Cinnamon Sugar Cookies

As promised, here is the most amazing cookie recipe.
I'll be posting a regular blog mid week, and then I'm over at Samhain again (but worry not, I'll cross post that. I already wrote it and it's killer.)

Let me start by saying there are a thousand snickerdoodle recipes out there. The name sucks and so do a lot of the recipes, but this one rocks. The cookies are crunchy and spicy on the outside, and smooth and butter creamy sweet on the inside. They're sex for your mouth.

Cinnamon Sugar Cookies (a.k.a. Snickerdoodles)

BATTER
2 3/4 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup butter, softened
2 eggs
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspons vanilla extract (preferably the real stuff)
1/4 teaspoon salt

SUGAR MIX
3 tablesppons sugar
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (more, or less, to taste)

Instructions
Oven preheat to 400 degrees

Combine the sugar mix in a wide mouth, low height bowl, mix with a fork, and set aside. You'll need this when it's time to roll your cookies.

Combine all dry batter ingredients, mix with a fork, and set aside.

Beat butter to smooth texture, add sugar. Add eggs and vanilla together, and blend in. Dump in the dry ingredients, and mix. This takes a bit of elbow grease. Strokes along with punches, until the batter is well mixed and rolled into a giant ball.

Break the ball (heh!) into two smaller balls. (Stop snickering! Perhaps this is why they call it snickerdoodle?)

Wrap in saran wrap and stick in fridge for 30 minutes. Remove.

On a lightly floured surface, with floured hands, roll each ball into a tube that is roughly 1x1 inch. Use a sharp unserated knife, like a filet knife, to cut disks that are about 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick. Roll these into balls. Then roll them into the cinnamon sugar mixture until well coated, and place on cookie sheet, about 1 1/2 inches apart.

Bake for 8 - 10 minutes, or until the edges (the very bottoms) are light gold brown. Do not overbake. I find 9 minutes exactly to be the magic number for my oven.

Take out and cool.

These keep really well, but you won't have much because they are so tasty, they'll be gone in the blink of an eye.

Back

Hola, all.

I apologize for the protracted absence. I could say I was kidnapped and held hostage on another planet, or, journeying in the Amazon with a band of hot mercenary soldiers, but no, the sad reality remains: I had to get Immortal Illusions completed in the midst of all kinds of other life related adventures. None of which, by the way, were particularly adventurous. Well, some were. But more on that later.

It’s 2008. You know I’m not one for resolutions. But I’m making one anyway. Regular blog posts.

As to 2007, here’s a quick summation of what happened, what I learned, and all kinds of other stuff, in no particular order.

From the Hard Knock School of Old Home Improvement:
If you have a house older than 50 years of age, with wallpaper of the same generation or older, wear a damn particulate mask when taking it down. The alternative? The nasty mystery virus that knocks you on your ass for 6 months and freaks out your doctor, family and friends. Yes. 6 Months. Expect to sleep a lot. Like 14 hours a day. It’s easier to wear the mask, folks. Trust me on this.

From the Realtor:
“Women came to earth from an alien planet years ago. They survived. The dinosaurs did not.”

The unspoken message in this? Volumes. I guess now I can say not only am I descended of Cossacks and Vikings, but dinosaur slayers as well. Not too shabby, and may go a long way to explain the aggression and temper issues. And here I thought it was an unfavorably aspected Mars in my natal chart.

From my DH:
The cinnamon sugar cookies are the best. Ever. I’ll post the recipe this weekend. They’re also called Snicker Doodles, but that is a lame name. And they are really super good.

From House Hunting:
When it’s right, it will be right. When it’s ready, it will be ready. When it’s time, it will be time. Until then, enjoy the ride. Because it’s only getting crazier. And no one is on the polite company list anymore, so strap in and hang on.

From my latest book, Immortal Illusions:
If the spirit wants to move you, for God’s sake, don’t get in it’s way. It packs one hell of a punch.

From my readers:
Hands down, House Hunting in Wonderland and the Mars Venus Conspiracy Theory threads that transpired as a result are the favorite reads. Look for more wild tales of the great house safari, as well as dark and curious ruminations on the state of the sexes in 2008. Since we'll be listing our house as well, we should have some very cheeky stories when it all gets up and going. (I just hope there are no arrests.)

And, last, but not least, to my oldest friend, Bryan Anthony Sierra, may he rest in peace:
Yes, we were both the kids our parents warned us about. I’d love to post all the reasons why, but we both have reputations to consider, and I don’t mean the ones we’ve spent our lives trying to live down. By the way, I know it was you behind the Giant’s Super Bowl victory. Via con Dios, amigo. See you on the other side.

Yesterday, you could find me...

Here, at Samhain's Weblog, posting about my addiction to Asian cinema, and how that snack feeds my head additional creative juice and helps my imagination stay outside the box.

So, check it out if you've a mind to!

Guest Blogger: K.A. Mitchell

Today K.A. Mitchell's my guest here at Muse Unplugged. K.A. is the author of Samhain's steamy erotic m/m novella: Custom Ride.

She's going to let us all in on how to find your niche, by way of how she found hers.

Please give her a warm welcome, enjoy the post and excerpt, and check out Custom Ride.

**********************************************************************************
*clears throat* I’ve never done this before. I’m sure you’ve heard that one a million times. It’s got to be part of that triumvirate of all-time lies: “The check’s in the mail,” “I’m from the government and I’m here to help,” and “I’ve never done this before.” But really, I haven’t. Be gentle, okay?

While we’re on the subject of true confessions, hi, I’m K.A. Mitchell and I write male/male erotica. Ursula thinks telling you how I found my niche will be interesting enough to keep you from clicking away, and she ought to know since she’s an important part of how I got here.

So, how does a girl like me come to try to make a living writing about two hot men getting it on and falling in love? The easy answer is I don’t know, but if you ask Peggy’s mom why I couldn’t come over and play Barbies again in second grade, she might tell you that I kept insisting that Ken and Chip looked way cuter in bed together than Ken and Barbie. I guess you could say I’ve always had a thing for boykissing. (If you want to see how my “thing” has evolved, check out this excerpt.)

Long before Brokeback Mountain and Queer as Folk, I nurtured this passion in secret, quite certain that I was the only girl in the world who considered two guys together the hottest love story possible. I grabbed anything I could find at the gay bookstores, anything with a plot, hoping for the happily ever after I craved. I used my imaginary mind control on the bored male clerks, trying to psychically convince them I was buying it as a present for my gay male cousin lest I be exposed as a freak--until I got old enough to stop caring what other people thought as long as it made me happy.

And it does make me happy. What could be more powerful than the explosion of passion and love when you have strength against strength, locked down emotions against locked down emotions? When something finally gives, the heat meter goes all the way to the red zone—if the needle doesn’t snap right the hell off.

When I sold “Custom Ride” to Samhain, I called my sister to tell her the news. She was thrilled. Then she cleared her throat. (It runs in the family.) “Uh—you do know you don’t—uh—have much experience with—uh—those.” What my sister was politely reminding me of is that I live in a fairly cloistered world. I have no male siblings, even 90% of my cousins are girls, and while I’m married, there’s no man in my house. (I’ll let you work that out.) Even at my day job, the only time I see a male face is if my sole male coworker sticks his head of his room to look for help.

After I announced my childhood intention to be an author (it sounded much more important to my child self than being a writer), legions of English teachers counseled me with the old chestnut: “Write what you know.” That never appealed to me. I already lived what I knew. I wanted to write what I didn’t know. I wanted to go to the very different worlds that books took me to, not to stay in my boring old life. I wanted to use my imagination.

I don’t suppose I could have gone farther away from writing what I know than writing male/male erotica. And I found my niche. Reading the first draft of “Custom Ride,” my critique group was kind enough to point out that for a lesbian, I know a lot about dick. Aside from having two awesome brothers-in-law who are always able to remind how men talk, how on earth did I manage to write convincing male characters? No, I don’t have one of “those,” as my sister mentioned, but I do have an imagination. I’ve never been a man falling in love with another man, but I do know how amazing sex can give you an unexpected connection, body and soul, with the one you share it with. I do know what it’s liked to be judged for who you sleep with. I do know what it’s like to fall, to be in love and how hard that can sometimes be. I know what it’s like to be the only girl in second grade who thinks Ken and Chip ought to get married.

Now I’m thrilled to be able to share my imagination with readers. I hope people find Jeff and Ryan, the characters in “Custom Ride,” a lot less plastic than Ken and Chip (they certainly have better working parts), but they’re no less deserving of a happily ever after.

If you’re interested in part two, I’ll tell you how I found out that I wasn’t alone.

Thanks to Ursula for hosting me, and thanks to you for taking it easy on me my first time,

K.A. Mitchell


*****Custom Ride: excerpt*****

When he got to the garage, the Camaro was parked in front, and Ryan couldn’t resist getting out to check the edge of the hood for his handprint.

“Might need a touch up.” There was amusement in the smoky voice that spoke behind him.

Ryan turned and leaned back against the hood. “Think the owner will mind?”
“Don’t know. Doesn’t have one yet.”

Ryan looked back over his shoulder at the glow of wax, the shine on the windows.
“It’s a junker I fixed up to sell. I saw you looking at it before, thought you might want to try it out.”

The activity Ryan had had in mind involving the Camaro wasn’t anything that could be done in the front of the lot, but before he could explain, Jeff tossed him a key.
“Want to drive it? I’ll be right back.”

Ryan transferred the cooler to the backseat of the Camaro, and Jeff came back out with a pizza box and a wide smile. Jeff had changed into a plain blue T-shirt, one Ryan was sure he knew set off his eyes and hugged the definition of his biceps and pecs and—Ryan bit his tongue back into his mouth—lickable abs.

Ryan wanted to tell him he really didn’t have to try this hard considering Ryan could already taste that thick head sliding over his lips, but it was kind of sweet that Jeff was making the effort.

“You can drive, really. We’ve got insurance that covers cars taken off the lot.”
Ryan eased into the leather seat, the trapped heat warming his ass and thighs through his worn-thin jeans like skin-to-skin contact. “If you’re that worried about my driving…”

Jeff swung in and leaned over to murmur in his ear. “I thought you might like the chance to drive—at least for now.”

Ryan’s dick seemed to catch Jeff’s double meaning before his brain did, a quick kick of warmth spreading out from his balls. He turned the ignition and was startled by the deep rumble of the engine. “Where are we heading?”

Jeff’s directions took them out to the state park, the car responding so smoothly and powerfully beneath him that Ryan could finally understand why people viewed cars as something besides a way to get from one point to another. Power vibrated up his spine, tingled in his fingers.

They didn’t talk on the way, just let the force of wind through the open windows and the purr of the engine fill the car. Ryan was almost disappointed when he pulled off in an out-of-the way picnic area after more than an hour.

Three slices of pizza and two beers later the sun had faded leaving behind a comfortable heat to match the growing one in his stomach. Jeff was good company even without their dicks involved. Ryan was kind of surprised to find Jeff cared little about any of the popular sports—even racing—but that they shared a passion for martial arts movies, the good, the bad and the idiotic.

“If I ever have time to get back into a dojo, I’m going to see if I can finally finish my brown levels.” Jeff set his empty down on the picnic table and tapped his foot where it rested on the bench.

“I still say Pai Mei in Kill Bill could handle Tony Jaa.” Ryan reached back into the cooler for a third beer.

“Because you’re an old man yourself.”

“Do not insult the master. I’d hate to think of you losing one of those beautiful eyes.”

“Beautiful?” Jeff’s lips twitched.

“Uh—” He shouldn’t have been so stupid on just two beers in a little less than two hours.

“You think I’m pretty, is that it?” Jeff leaned in, brows raised over the eyes in question. In the dark those eyes shone like a lake in starlight.

“Can I change my answer?”

“To?”

“Hot.”

“Depends.”

“On what?” Ryan forgot about the beer in his hands until the cold wet shock hit his stomach, and he shoved the bottle to the other side of the table.

“Which one gets me laid?”

Ryan licked his lips. “Pretty.” He caught Jeff’s head in his hands. “Beautiful.” He leaned in until his lips were resting against Jeff’s. “And hot.”

Jeff laughed against his mouth. “Guy’s gotta have all three, huh? And here I was hoping you were easy.”

“Try me.”

Artist Alert: Bring the Universe to Heel and Make it Do Your Bidding

One of my good, very crazy friends, a former housemate I lived with during what is classified as “the ten ninety eight years” (picture animal house circa late 80’s early 90’s - 1098 was the addy), was full of excellent observations on life.

A favorite of his “You’ll sleep when you’re dead” was applied often when someone would complain that they just couldn’t stay up any longer and continue on with what ever questionable, insane, dangerous, or all of the above, activity was taking place.

Another one he is fond of, which I paraphrase, he arrived at after a long conversation one hot summer night. It concerns August. He determined that August is truly the weird month of the year, and the most dangerous. So, per Matt "Fly low under radar, starting a few days before August hits your shores, and stay low a few days after it supposedly leaves on the slow boat to next year, just to be safe”.

This is a truism. Every year, August comes around, and the world gets crazy.

You’d think it would be December, the month full of tension raising holidays and such. Or even March. We've all heard Mad as a March Hare. But no. It is little old August.

Perhaps because it’s a combination of the fire sign Leo, big and loud and brash and not too careful about who’s guts get eaten by Lions. Perhaps its because Virgo kicks in next. You know, Virgo, the sign where nothing is ever right enough, or perfect enough, and every compliment they issue comes with a disclaimer. I don’t know. I always assumed it was the heat. Just ask Icarus. You get too close to the sun, bad things happen. Like your wings melt and you fall out of the sky to the hard earth below. Sunscreen won't help here folks, no matter how high the SPF.

Well, I’ve learned my lesson. And I fly nice and low, at a cruising altitude, and my Augusts have been pretty good most years.

But this August is special and it's making me break the pattern. I'm sending this to all and sundry, a message that you can make this month shine for you.

Mars, it would seem, the feisty red planet, is traveling in Gemini air space. Gemini, the God of thieves, liars, salesman and politicians. The sign that can’t shut up and can’t sit still, and thinks way too quick for all the fail safes and filters in the brain to kick in. The sign that rules all communications, and creativity surrounding communications.

Mars, this planet of aggression, and action, and feisty get up and go is traveling through the air space of the spacey, quick silvered tongue sign of Gemini. What does that mean? It means there’s going to be a lot of communication, and it’s going to stir up commotions, and there’s going to be a lot of excellent energy to put behind communication and create a commotion that can lead to greatness.

So all you writers and artists out there, get cracking. This is an astrological boon, despite the fact that it’s happening in dangerous, sly August. All the astrologers agree, that this is the month to really get out there, get your name going, or, to tap the deepest parts of the creative well, and come up with some amazing finds.

In addition, Jupiter, the planet of rewards and success just went direct again in August, meaning actions you take now will yield excellent results and sometimes bring in way more than you expected.

Don’t believe me? Check out my favorite astrologic site: Astrology Zone
For even more, try Star IQ

Japanese business men and Nancy Regan can’t be wrong. Make the forces of the universe do your bidding for once. Take advantage of what energies are swirling out there. So even though this is August, and Matt’s First Law of Survival dictates to fly low under the radar this month, I am a Gemini and impacted by Mars: I say get out there and move and shake and rock and roll. Because in September, Venus goes direct again, so not only will you get rewards from Jupiter for August Mars inspiried activity, you’ll get tons of love coming back at you from the planet of hearts, flowers, romance and beauty.

NOTE: I’m hoping to lure author K.A. Mitchell over here to do a guest blog. K.A.’s newest release is part of Samhain’s “A Midsummer Night’s Steam” collection. Custom Ride will be available this Friday, and it’s a slamming hot story, for a slamming hot month!

Back from the rabbit hole

Hi all! I’m back from my trip down the rabbit hole. Needed to take a few weeks to prepare a presentation for my RWA group, and get my proposal for my second book of the Eternity Covenant series off to the publisher. I’m happy to announce it looks like Book II: Immortal Illusions, is a go!!!!

So, expect the regular posts to resume.

I’ll also be including links to the amazing reviews folks have been writing about Immortal Protector, as well as some updates on the house hunt front and all the other goings on here in wonderland.

Hope all are enjoying the hazy lazy days of summer.

And to all my readers, thanks again for being so generous with your time and praise!

Mars and Venus: Not a Zero Sum Game

Sometimes, when I’m at the supermarket waiting in line, I read the magazines they have displayed to pass the time. I grab one and open and random, just to see what I can see. What’s the world at large up to?

Emotional affairs, it seems. I don’t even know how to go into this all because, while the concept of an affair is easily understood, the underlying principals of this one article seemed to be that 1) Love is finite. You only get so much. Once you use up your day’s supply, you’re s.o.l. & 2) Adults of the opposite sex can not be friends. Ever. As in never ever ever ever.

A very big W.T.F. moment for me.

It starts like this: an article written confession style about this woman who realized she had entered into an emotional affair with a gentleman at work. Okay. What’s an emotional affair, I wonder, intrigued. I read on and learn that, according to the author, it’s when you spend all your emotions on someone other than your primary partner, and you have no more left to invest in that primary partner. Love, it would seem, is finite. You get an allotment, not sure if it’s each morning, or night, or week, or month, whatever, but apparently, once it’s gone, you don’t get no more, son. Now, I later did research to confirm this and apparently, this is not the widely accepted definition of the emotional affair. That has a far more complex set of criteria and equates to roll playing As the World Turns primarily over the internet, i.e. engaging in a fantasy affair with a person who must first fist your fantasy criteria, be into your brand of drama, and should you two ever meet, would fall seriously short of the fantasy stats of the characters you both portray. Which, dear reader, is certainly fodder for another blog. But let me not digress.

'Love is finite' struck me as patronizing, and simple minded. Does that mean, if one day I love my cat too much, my husband gets less of my love? Do I have to save my love for special occasions? The author was female in name, but there was something strange weaving through the narrative. I thought to myself, it’s like a subtle brainwashing. From what the person described, she exchanged emails with this man in a professional environment and went to the odd meeting with him. They never did the horizontal bop nor did they even consider or hint at that. They exhanged the occasional laugh, over the span of a year. And yet it read as lurid as any dime store pulp novel of outrageously tawdry sex and deprivation.

Okay. I’ll admit it. I was hooked. I had to know more, if only to understand what in the hell this author was raving about. I stepped out of line to finish the rest of the article. It was like watching an accident where you can’t turn away. At the end here is what I concluded: if I buy into the concept that should I dare use any emotions on another during the day I am shortchanging my primary partner, in this case a husband, and that this behavior would most certainly lead to something dangerous. Having a friend of the opposite sex. For you see, there is one thing we need to know, by virtue of this author's experience.

Men and women. Can. Not. Be. Friends.


Speaking as a woman who had a best man at her wedding instead of a maid of honor, I was a little stunned. Who knew? Mars and Venus could not be amicable, in any way, shape or form. And if they thought they were, they were just lying to themselves.


The author had a very conversational style, as if she were gossiping with you over a cup of tea and crumpets between vacuuming the living room in her pearls, and garbing herself in saran wrap and nothing else to greet her man at the door after a hard day in the trenches. If you are a woman, and you are married, and you should run across a man either in professional or personal circles, and you should dare venture into the realm of friendship, you are letting the devil in and allowing him to steal the small coins that are your limited emotional currency. He’s mowing your man’s lawn, so to speak. If a man is behaving in a friendly manner, he wants to get into your pants. I think that’s the sum total I came away with. Now, years ago, that worked as a great sex ed talk from my grandfather, and it did stand the test of time through the hormonal years, but, I also managed to come away with a number of male friends where there was never anything other than friendship, and those friendships continue to this day. So I'd say sometimes there's fire to that smoke, and other times, there ain't. It's hardly an always situation, and any good mathemeitican worth her salt would tell you them's a sucker's odds. 50/50 is pretty much anyone's game.

And, my stars, I’ve acquired other male friends during my married years. And female friends that prefer women to men. Do they count in this equation? Gods it’s all so confusing. And then you start with the math, adding, subtracting, percentages, haves and have nots. Sheesh!

I have genuine affection for my friends. I have professional acquaintances that have evolved into friends. We have couple friends, where I can speak on intimate terms with either. And still, I somehow manage to have enough emotional coins left to spend with my spouse. How is all this possible, given the world view of the author, I think?

Now, a lot of this starts off with funny emails and business emails, she cautions. Well, I guess I’m fucked then, because most of what I write with folks are either funny emails, business emails, or some combination there of. In fact, I even put the little face pictures in those emails to make sure everyone knows how much emotion I’m running when I write them. Oh dear! And yet, my bank balance doesn’t seem to run down.

I don’t mean to minimize the significance of the emotional affair. Given the actual definition in other articles, it’s a very real thing. They’ve caused very real, very painful situations and dissolutions of unions.

This article, however, took something that is real and warped it into this twisted diatribe the likes of which blew my simple little mind. I think what caught my attention was the belief that love and emotions can’t be infinite, and that woman, read 'Eve', can not be trusted with another snake in the garden. It put me in mind of the old romances where the other woman was the big black moment. And it put me in mind of how important in writing it is to ensure your heroine is not that woman: you know: too stupid to live? To stupid to make decisions. Too stupid to be friends on equal footing with a member of the opposite sex. *snort* Could you just puke? Really!!!! Perhaps this Eve, she's a snake charmer, or snake wrangler, and can handle herself just fine? There's some outside of the box thinking for you.

I think what it came down to was the claws of the old trying to hold onto the fast evolving future, where woman is a decision maker with a life outside of the household, and one that is not on hold for anyone. Because the flip side of this author not having enough for her man was her man not having enough for her, and that underlying threat of abandoment. I think what I love most about romance novels is that love and hope abounds. There’s enough for everyone to go around, so much so, it bleeds into other books. Romances are not stingy. The characters, like anyone living a rich, full, complex life, give it 110% without worry that they'll wake up the next day without enough to get them through. And romances are modernizing now, so that our heroine has a full rich life, that she lets the hero into, and does not dispose of so she can keep the him by her side. The hero stands taller still because he doesn't need to sweat that independent life she has and enjoys. Sure, he gets jealous, he gets possesive, however, he gets it. He gets her. And he doesn't try to lock her away, or lock away love and dole it out only on some banker's schedule.

Mars and Venus. They can be friends. They can be lovers. And they don't play a zero sum game.

Value of a smile? Priceless.

The week I had some great things to smile about. Here are 10 in no particular order.


1. Immortal Protector – Great reviews including a 91 from Ms. Giggles. Yes. A 91. And I’m a keeper. I’ll post all the reviews tomorrow. I can’t resist. Makes me tingly all over.

2. Someone very serious that I respect and find very entertaining as well sent me a wildly inappropriate email. (How wildly inappropriate? Like screaming dildo at the top of your lungs in a crowded theater. Or farting at a funeral.) It was completely hilarious. Both the fact that they sent it, and what it contained. I laughed for days, once my heart restarted, that is. Hell, I’m still laughing. And I have no idea if it was intended, or an accident. That’s the best part.

3. My cat’s obsession with the bed, and it’s being ‘made’. It’s been war every day, a race to get the binkies in place before my OCD 17 pound 14 year old Main Coon scrambles ungracefully onto the bed and settles in for the king of the mountain match. I swear, faced with that kind of single minded feline mania, it’s hard to keep a straight face.

4. Tim’s text messages.

5. My first EVER fan letter. I am floored by this. My writing touched someone else, and they touched back. WOW!!!!! I'm still reeling!

6. My first EVER royalty check.

7. Great press over at No Limits Ladies.

8. Reading this weekend in the summer breeze on my three season porch.

9. Cocktails and tarot with good friends in the heat wave complete with rolling brown outs.

10. My handyman: I discovered quite by accident that not only did he mud the newly framed and built out tub surround, but he repatched several areas of issue on the walls of the rear parlor - the walls I've stripped of years and layers and layers of wall paper and other unknown substances. Patching was not on his list, either.

Here's hoping I can pay some of this forward and send a few smiles out of my own. It's top on this week's list of 'To Do'.

Man 102: Mars Finds A Lair

It started innocently enough.

4 bedroom custom designed home, 17 acres, secluded yet close to it all. 3 car garage, multiple decks, 2 fire places, hot tub. Open 12 – 2.

My tip off that something was beyond the pale here should have been the sheer amount of things: 17 acres, 3 car vs. the standard 2 car garage, decks too numerous to count. Men have that thing, you know: If some is good, more is better. But no, blissfully unaware, I said over our lunch at Chili’s “This one sounds good. Let’s add it to the open house tour today.”

"Sure, whatever." Tim's stock response.

After lunch, we follow the directions that lead us finally to an unmarked, dirt road, bordered by wilds on either side. So we turned up it and drove. And drove. And drove. And drove some more. We went through 3 hair pin turns, something like the old Check Point Charlie on the Soviet side of the Berlin wall. I started to get this weird, very unwelcome feeling. Like there should be a sign saying “Turn back – here there be dragons. Manly dragons. Manly Manly dragons.” I turned to Tim and he had this rather interested look - so unlike him when we go house hunting. So I kept silent about my misgivings.

Then, the trees part, the road ends and we see the beast at last: a vertical wooden sided two story structure, so boxy and bullish, a brute amidst the bucolic beauty of nature, with decks truly too numerous to count, and a barren landscape much like a kill zone clearing you'd find surrounding a fort. An unattached muscular three bay garage stood along side, a squat companion to this lone ranger of a house in the middle of nowhere. I started to itch.

“Gee, looks kind of strange,” I thought, as my dear husband sighed in delight at the garage.

The truth emerged quickly when we crossed over the threshold of the almost afterthought of a living room. The miniscule gathering area was painted a dirty blue and dominated by a two story tall, eight foot wide, dark grey& black stone-faced fire place. Big enough to roast two wild boar and a small child, it was, and burnt around the edges. There was a single love seat shoved in a corner opposite, positioned so you could sit with your rifle, and alternately watch the fire, watch the main door, or shoot out the window as the mood struck. No other furniture filled the hallway sized space. No other furniture could, if you wanted to be able to walk in the room. And all the walls were bare. Something was very wrong in Oz. Very very wrong. At least for me.

I could hear voices I thought, telling me: “Get out while you can. Fems not welcome.” It was unreal.

I glance at my husband, and he’s looking up with this expression on his face I can’t really describe. Maybe like he’s seen his version of paradise, and it comes with 24/7 pro-wrestling and all the coffee cake you can eat? What is he looking at I wonder.

So I look up, and see the three pronged cat walk. It reminds me of the cat walks in Star Trek that you find in engineering. Or perhaps those you find on a prison block.

I swallow hard. My palms begin to sweat. Dear Gods, is that actually covered in wrap around filthy white shag? And are there really TWO staircases heading to the verge? Like you need two stair cases? Like you need a three pronged catwalk? Couldn’t you have just put in a regular stair case and not wasted time and money cutting away valuable floor space?

The tour continues. It runs by me like a nightmare. Different color muddy toned shag covers all the floors except the boomeranged shaped two level kitchen, which has big white tile and disgusting parquet.

What, you say? Boomerang shaped? Surely you jest. Sadly, I do not.

The kitchen was a giant Boomerang. And in the vertex of the boomerang, on the lower level, was built in bench seating with a custom made trapezoidal table. (That’s right. A trapezoid – the shape were no two of the four angles are the same, and no two lengths of any of the four sides are the same.) The realtor told me if we bought the place, the table came with it. Good for kindling, I figure. I want to run screaming at this point. The work area of the kitchen is raised three feet above the seating area, reminiscent of the bridge on the star ship Enterprise. The space to walk between the rows of cabinets lining the raised work area is the width of an air plane isle. I am suitably horrified.

We tour the bathrooms, all with inset tubs and low ceilings. We tour the Spartan bedrooms. All the walls are painted as if someone mixed dark dirt brown in with all the other colors creating a uniform cold war drab environment look, or, perhaps something nearer to a military barracks. Upstairs, we tread the cat walk. Tim is smiling. Radiating. Beaming. I want to vomit. I am dizzy. I think I might pass out if we don’t escape in the next few minutes.

“This is a really nice house,” he keeps saying, over and over.

I am quiet. I now know how Jack felt in the Yellow Lillies house. I want to get out of there. Fast.

The worst, by far, is the basement. Multiple little built-in rooms like catacombs, including a hot tub room, in the far back, with more hideous bulky white tile, paneled wood walls, and a low hung, dark ceiling. There are no windows. No windows at all. It’s like a hot tub detention room. Perhaps they use it for some weird kind of interrogation. Or, initiation?

We finally get outside. In the garage, Tim is near ecstasy – it is three bays wide, but each bay is twice as deep as normal. Positively gargantuan.

We walk the land. I notice there is poison ivy growing rampant along the tree line. We get in the car. I am far quieter than usual.

“So, you hated it, didn’t you,” Tim says to me.

I nod. “It was a total testosterone fest in there. They’ll never sell that house to a woman.”

He puts the car in gear. “Yep,” he says, as he backs out and heads again for the long and winding dirt road. “I loved it. That was the best house I’ve ever seen. It was a man cave, except it was man cave everywhere. I’m ready to go home and call Jack and pack my bags.”

“Good. You and Jack can live here. I can’t. There may as well have been a sign: NO GIRLS ALLOWED.”

“Yeah,” he says, his deep voice just a little wistfull, “it was a dude house, wasn’t it?”

So I have experienced what the boys experience so many times when we go to tour homes. And now, again, I think the universe has blessed me with a lesson. We will not be making an offer on the Dude house, but perhaps I am more sensitive to the needs of a male when seeking shelter. I get the man cave, the dude barn. It just can’t be the whole house. But neither can the whole house be estrogen central. I also think this helps me understand character better. My husband is very hip to women, but even a sensitive guy is still a guy. So if you write a more sensitive character or even a rakish type who well understands females, they are still guys, and still need to have that edge.


My only regret was that we didn’t have Jack there with us. His reactions are priceless sometimes.

However, he was with us in spirit when we went to the next house, where the Realtor, a man he does much business with, was able to recognize us out of all the strangers wandering through that day and say “You’re the ones who didn’t like Pineview. You’re also the ones who liked Skyview.” Then he stared at us like he expected us to do something crazy. Really crazy. And he kind of followed us real close when we were downstairs, which I suspect ties back to the infamous ‘final walk through’ incident. (I will tell that one some day. We almost killed Jack back then. And, he almost killed us. It all went down about three hours before the closing. It was quite entertaining except when we were in the midst of the scene - then, for just a moment or two, it was terrifying.)

Of course, this Realtor could have been waiting for me to scream dildo at the top of my lungs, perhaps thinking he would need to wrestle me to the ground to shut me up. He did have a discussion regarding vibes and houses, and he was very nice and ultimately was able to watch us more discretely: once he got over the initial shock of recognition, and the either fear, awe, or suspicion that followed.

So, like me, I suspect Jack has been telling tales out of school. Perhaps Mars and Venus, we are not so different after all, then?

For the writer and the financier in all of us...

Check out No Limits Ladies, a woman’s financial freedom blogging community. Kimber Chin of Client K kindly gave me a chance to spout off on the top five things I did to gain enough time in my life, while working a corporate management job and managing a home & marriage, to get Immortal Protector written, submitted, and published.

I’ve been reading K’s blog for about a year now, stealing all kinds of tips to help me in the corporate world, so it was fun to be able to repay the favor. Now I'm hooked on No Limits Ladies as well, working to build a solid foundation and future.

Go take a peek. Besides my post, there’s a ton of great information on both No Limits Ladies and Client K. Business and finance are important considerations for everyone, especially women, and ESPECIALLY writers. Achieving comfort, and security, can be part of the ticket to open you to creativity without feeling too much risk. Who doesn't have the desire to be financially free to follow their bliss? It's not too much of a distant dream, but it takes drive, sacrifice, moxy and know how. And you can find all that and more on both blogs.

On the back burner: more house updates. Mars has his revenge when I tour a DUDE house. I’ll post on that in a few. Still trying to get my bearings after the visit to that strange world.

Men 101: The Secret Lives of Men (or, More House Hunting Down the Rabbit Hole)

Here I thought we were looking for a house and I find that I am instead getting an up close and personal lesson on the inner workings of the male psyche, via the metaphor of the continual house searchings in my neck of wonderland. Sure, I'm a romance author, and many of my friends are men. Hell, I'm even MARRIED to one, so you'd think I'd know a thing or two. Apparently, I don't. But I'm learning. As you'll see. Though not in the venue or way one would expect. Then again, life lessons have a way of creeping up on you when you least expect. Anway, here goes...

First let me preface: I’m the prime contact for the Realtor. For sake of anonymity, I’m going to name him Jack. If he ever read this, he’d get a kick out of that. Then he’d come find me and kick my ass. But, as always, I digress.

Though I usually don't resort to the phone if I can use emails, we do have some telephonic contact at times. Here's a typical phone conversation:

Me: Jack, it’s Ursula. I need info and have a number. Are you ready.

Jack: Yes. Go ahead.

Me: (Rattles off a string of numbers. These are MLS numbers, used to identify houses).

Jack: Okay. (He repeats the number without error). Got it.

Me: Thanks. Bye.

Jack: Bye.

End conversation. (Now, for some reason, when I do call there are always crazy sounds in the background, like he is smack in the middle of Bedlam and none of the inmates have taking the correct meds that day. This is his office I think. I always imagine folks running around yelling, waving arms, heads or other body parts on fire, because I can't figure out what else could account for all the madness. But he is steadfast, straight and steady regardless of the madness he sounds like he is in.)

So, I had called in a few of these while I was observing a new training class at work during breaks, and at one point, the new staff in training confront me and ask: “Who are you always calling like that? Do you work for the CIA on the side? Are you a spy?”. First, I laughed, then I realized they were concerned about what I might be up to. I tried to explain that I don’t need to use a lot of words if I don’t want to when I work with Jack. They all took it in but I’m not sure they really believed I was calling the Reatlor.

Our emails are far more spirited on occasion, and sometimes we exchange interesting messages on voice mail (like about the dildo, or his call about how I owe him at least one fight before all this is over– again, a story for later) or, the occasional conversation that lasts about a minute, maybe two. But for the most part it’s very efficient, gets the job done without tying anyone up too long. Very 'man' style commo.

So our Jack, he’s a man’s man. No fuss, no muss, high speed, low drag. He has a house full of women at home, a good family man to boot. So trustworty, it's frightening and refreshing.

Now, my husband is the quiet man, the dangerous devil with the most twisted sense of humor on this green planet. This is our second go around with Jack. Jack and my husband, both previously quiet in each other’s company, are starting to bond. (I know this because they now directly engage one another without too much caution, and because they do the ‘dude’ shake, a more animated, powerful version of the traditional hand shake.) In doing so, we’re seeing more of Jack’s sarcastic, ‘dude’ side. (I also think he's relaxing a bit around us, as much as the Real-terminator does relax) And I am getting an education on real men in action. I am planning to add into my writing, of course, but to what extent remains to be seen. I had this epiphany at our last house tour, and what happened afterward. So onward we go.

A few days after touring this last house, my husband, frustrated that I thought he and Jack were dancing the hokey pokey around the fertility idol at that one house finally breaks down and says it was a man thing. The woman had trouble with something, the men zoomed in on the problem and applied force to solve. I have a bit of a light bulb moment. Our usually conservative Jack is oft the quiet, mono-sylabic voice of reason, but faced with this problem, that conservative, well mannered façade is stripped away, and he gets in touch with his inner MAN. Now man, all lower case, is the socially acceptable man who can handle the company of women, be polite, entertaining, engaged, civilized. Our Romance heroes, the ones we love so dearly, are rarely ‘men’, they are usually MEN. MAN is what happens when you scratch the veneer. MAN is what happens when our romance heroes can’t keep their hands to themselves and get all primal with things and tap the inner Alpha. But for a man to keep the lid on MAN, he needs certain things, or so I have learned. And one of those things is a place to escape to, where the women folk will not be there to chide them for doing MAN things. Here, he can lead the secret life. (Now, the Hero who comes in as the hard core Alpha, like the soldier/mercenary, or Gideon, come in from living the Secret Life. The heroine enters that life, and brings them out, but there's always a wild part of that secret life lurking inside his veins, and he needs his space for this side to stretch every now and again once he becomes part of the regular world.)

Now, how do I know about this? Lessons again, from the dh, and Jack. Back to the last house.

So there Wwe were touring this cape where the interior, dated as it was, had been decked out to every feminine frill imaginable. Almost every room was the same cheerful yellow as the exterior. By the time we reached the master bedroom, it culminated with a large (like GINORMOUS FREAKING HUGE LARGE) boquet of yellow lilly shaped flowers draped invitingly across the bed. I’m not sure what the message was supposed to be to prospective buyers, so I turn to Jack and see him staring (with his patented thousand yard stare) at the bed. He shakes his head once or twice, then rumbles “They really like yellow.” Then he leaves. Fast. It's as if something is just TOO much for him at this point.

Outside, we discover, is a grand shed built like a mini-barn. We enter, and inside, the air is suffused with testosterone. There is not a spec of yellow, nor any lilies to be seen. DH and Jack immediately begin to talk. I am distinctly uncomfortable. I feel ‘unwelcome’. Jack and my husband are joking about beer. I go to explore the pool at the other end of the yard. Jack and my husband later join me, we continue the tour. I decide the house needs more work than we want to do, including building a garage.

A few days later, I learn my husband considers it number three in our short list. We discuss the mini ‘guy’ barn. I write Jack an email about something unrelated and say the following:

“By the way, Tim has that house as his number three. He mentioned how great it would be not to have him underfoot. He’s never been underfoot before, so I’m curious. I think it’s the mini ‘guy’ barn that caught his fancy. Must be a guy thing.”

My response from Jack is succinct, and impassioned:
“Definitely a guy thing!!!! Stop picking on us!”

And when I told Tim, he agreed.

Oddly enough, or maybe not so odd, as Alpha as Gideon was, there were a few points where he was glaringly "un-dude like". Thankfully my editor noticed them and told me to remember, the hero in this case is a guy. So I've been extra attentive to what REALLY makes a man, vs. what makes a fictional man, and all the nuances in between. I'd like to give good fantasy, and if my readers are not blowing smoke up my skirt, I do give good fantasy, but the best of the fantasy has the critical elements of reality that bring home the story and make you feel it in your blood.

So, what have I learned?

Men need the mini ‘guy’ barn get away sometimes so they can be MEN without impunity, even if being MEN means sitting around, drinking a beer and watching a ball game, or passing wind, without anyone to interrupt or judge or chide. Because if you scratch the façade, beneath are those primal energies. And, if you watch carefully, you will see men acting very much like MEN, when they are consumed by a challenge, no matter how seemingly mundane. MAN, you see, is the secret life of man, and he needs places to live this secret life. But if you have the right set of circumstances the secret life can, and will be exposed. And then you get one of two things: 1) disasters you can’t explain (like broken fertility idols that belong to other people); or, 2) emails chastising you for picking on guys because they have/need a certain amount of secret life guy time.

As a writer I can use this. As a wife, I imagine I can use this too. As a customer, I wonder what my next life lesson via the house hunt in wonderland will be. It scares me a little, but I am coming to find that house hunting down the rabbit hole is anything but ordinary, safe, or, without unexpected events.

And I do have more house stories to come, though none are quite as off the wall and funny as the first ever house tour with Jack (5 years ago), or as bad as the tale of the dildo. Ah, another day.

Brave New World, or, Bait and Switch?

I went to hear an author speak the other day.

The book she had was billed as romance, but she spent time explaining repeatedly, romance it was not.

So I sat there, kind of confused. Then the dh and I discussed at length over lunch.
I’m not fond of the bait and switch, and at first that's what it seemed. The plot is not traditional romance though there are romantic leads and interests and sub-plots for the main character. But it is not summed up with an HEA (Happily Ever After). The main character goes on into other books.

It was the publisher who elected to bill it as romance. The author was explaining not to let the billing throw you (to her customers). The publisher is one among many struggling to attract the younger audience into the genre. Yet they know folks will buy based on spine billing of 'romance', and may experience disappointment.

I think this boils down to a calculated risk. “The first taste is free” strategy,a way to get folks to break out of the normal comfort zone without too much fuss, more so than bait and switch. Yes, there is romance, though no, it is not 50% + 1 of the book, or more. Yes, the protagonist experiences the rollercoaster ride expected, but not with the anticipated ending. The arc moves over several books. It’s a lot like a manga style series, or, something you might see in a season of Buffy, or Angel, or, Supernatural (to be more timely). Also similar to some comic books. It’s relatable to the younger crowd, yet it has the elements of romance. It lures them in. And, it lures in the seasoned readers as well. The first taste is free for them as well…maybe they find something that is not quite the normal fare, yet, tasty never-the-less? Are we really looking at the brave new world of romance, where you're not restricted to telling the story in one single book?

I guess for me, the jury is still out. I have to read the book cover to cover to determine if it’s something I like. But it’s cross genre in nature, so is it such a stretch to see the blending? I think some of the more modern romances first bent the Happily Ever After Ending rule by dispensing with the obligatory baby and ring on the finger epilogue. They moved to a ‘potential to continue on in some kind of blissed-out togetherness’ for the couple. And truth be told, that was a breath of fresh air for me.

Maybe this is a further evolution, particularly since the heroine is quite young in her first book, and growing into her particular role? Now, we have the HEA to be determined later, down the arc road, maybe book three, maybe book five. Is romance evolving? More, are the veteran readers who account for the bulk of the spending, ready for that evolution? Or, are the publishers thinking that they can switch out some veterans and bring in fresh blood just as ready to part with disposable income?


So, bait and switch, or brave new world? I like to think brave new world...best of intentions and all that. It will be interesting to see if other books/publishers follow suit, or this experiment doesn't yield the expected results.

What ever the truth, it’s worth considering, both as reader, and author. As reader, caveat emptor. If you’re going for comfort, test your product more than the first three pages or you may not get what you started out to find. If you don’t mind pot luck, have at it. And if you’re an author, you may need to do what this woman did and be clear to your audience about what your product is, and is not. Or, you could be daring, and take the risk, and give your characters room to grow across a multitude of books, rather than shoe horning all the action and satisfaction between two covers joined at a spine.

Immortal Protector in Top 10

Immortal Protector has been in the Top 10 sales at Samhain publishing for the last three weeks.


Wow! My first book. Double Wow! This calls for an opening of the Dark Chocolate Stout Wow!

To all who purchased it, a big THANK YOU!!!! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing the story.

I just started reading over what I've done for book two: Immortal Illusions (formerly Nobody's Hero). I'm surprised at how much I miss Meg and Gideon, though, from I.P. I guess you never forget your first. (*wink*)

Okay, enough mooning. Back to the regulalry scheduled dose of bawdy, gaudy, or just plain weird drek I normally blather on about.

You can't take the sex toy back

So...it seems as if the dildo will live in infamy. I can't take it back. And I can't escape it.

Like the other day, when I told our Realtor in casual conversation that I didn't want him holding any open houses for us once we put our place on the market because 'I'll clean out all the pentacles and naked pagan God statues and all, but I can't have people in unsupervised because there's no telling what you'll find in my drawers." And conversation kind of froze up for a moment, then skipped merrily on.


Tomorrow we visit another house. Got the warning about what I can and can't say.
Gods help us all. I blame it all on the fact that I write romance. All of it. (Well, perhaps some of the blame rests on the gin and years of wicked living, but only a very small part.)

Your future in the folds of a cookie

Heed these words, oh foolish mortal, else the cheff will be mightly pissed...

I’ve been reading Tarot cards, professionally, for a long time. So long I don’t want to date myself, but let’s do it anyway. Over 20 years. I’ve taught groups and individuals. Read privately, at parties, in my store, and at charity events that included a Hair Ball, a haunted hay ride (which later came to play into my fate when I entered the field of Real Estate, but again, a story for another day), and at the Mardi Gras where I read Captain Morgan’s fortune for naught but a kiss on the hand and a wicked little smile.

But as much as I know about the cards and other peoples fortunes, I am blind to myself. Any reader worth their salt will tell you “Can’t read for yourself”. So, I am relegated to using my regular psychic via phone (he’s good, a 95% accuracy rating), and relying on random portends, signs and omens. Lately, I’ve been saving fortunes from my cookies that I get each time I visit my favorite Chinese buffet. The food is great. I usually go for the stuff marked up with Chinese characters and no English explanation, because half the fun of going to a buffet is taking your fate in your hands and doing risky things with it. But I digress.

I started saving these fortunes, to look over at later dates to see how they apply, or if they applied, or if they were just so much assorted words that were essentially meaningless in the grand scheme of the universe, and the small scheme of my life.

So here are the last three visits, since Mid May, in order.

1. Many Successes will accompany you this year.
True. I survived revisions. My book was published. I have many other successes in my life in addition to those. But anyone with any kind of background in sales will tell you that each success costs you about 10 failed meetings, and each of those 10 failed meetings cost you about 100 contacts. So they should have added to this : many successes will accompany you this year but so will a whole lot of other baggage to, so bring a caddy. Or at least a little red wagon to hold it all. All in all, I’d say this is so far holding true.

2. Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine out deeds.
Yes. Out is a typo. I’m sure someone meant to say ‘our’. This is kind of existential – if you want to be it, do it. And if you do it, make sure you’re ready to do the time for it, just in case you get caught. I can buy into this. What I do determines who I am. I think, then, I need to pay more attention to what I’m doing. This isn’t really a portend, it’s more like a slap in the face and snap out of it warning. Then again, perhaps it is a portend. Don’t do something stupid, or you’ll wind up being stupid. Oh well, too late for that. I should have paid more attention to this one.

3. Without knowing the force of words, it is impossible to know men.
Well. We all know the force of my words, and if not, revisit the post on Sex Toys, Realtors & Pagan Rites. So you know me by the force of my words. I am a writer, so okay, I can get with this one too.

Now being a writer, I think I would combine 2 & 3, and wordsmith for a little more effectiveness: Our deeds determine us, and can really get us into trouble. And if we’re not careful, the force of our words will make the situation even more impossible, particularly in the company of men. So shut up and behave yourself.

Yeah, right. If I can’t after this many years, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able.

So we're at about 85% accuracy. Not bad considering the percentage of randomness in the exercise. (For you math fiends out there wondering how I arrived at that number, I took a wild ass guess.)

Note: The lottery numbers on the bottoms of these fortunes do not work. At least, not yet.

Thunder and magic

I would love to blog about something witty and terribly entertaining.

But all that’s on my mind right now are storms.

Even though I live in an urban area, my house is located in a spot that affords you an up close and personal experience with storms as they pass by. The house sits on a small dead end, that drops off in a gentle cliff fall with a valley below and then a river. The trees up here are all at least three stories in height, and as old as my house if not older, which puts them somewhere in the 100+ range give or take. Our house faces north, and when the wind whips down the valley and through our trees, it comes screeching like a Banshee, clawing at the house, rattling the windows and rafters like brittle, musical bones. And when the thunder starts, you can feel it in your blood. Trees sway and bend, and sometimes, when the power is really high, they shatter and break.

The two houses that remain on the maybe list were both viewed beneath a canopy of brewing storms. I have to wonder if that’s what really keeps them at the top despite their unique issues. Every time I picture them in my mind's eye, the skies above are dark grey, fast moving, and I can hear the thunder, soft but promising.

One of the things I love to do during night time thunderstorms is open the windows to the upstairs, sit in the darkness, feel the unsettled air dance across my skin, and soak in the rumbling energy as it passes by. A primal part of me wants to run wild with that storm, head outside and dance in the rain as it falls. Where I am now, you are part of the storm when it comes through town, unprotected and unfettered.

The houses appealing to me, other than these two, are all located in high spots, and at first I thought perhaps I liked that because I was perched above things, safe from all that could rise up from below. But now I wonder if it isn’t the need to be close to the sky, all that crazy wind, cold northern or charged electric, sweeping around me like pixie dust and magic.

This is something I need where ever next I hang my hat: to be so close to the action I can feel the thrill in my veins before the front brakes and comes crashing through the neighborhood.

Sex Toys, Realtors, and Pagan Rites - or - more house hunting adventures in wonderland

These are both parts of a two post series I put up, removed, but decided to put back up. Bad taste be damned, it's just too absurd to let go un-documented. *********************************************************************************
Part I: A Realtor & A Client walk into a backyard with a fertility idol...

The week leading to the full moon is always weird. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but like the ‘don’t drink and drive warning’, it bears repeating. So the full moon lead in is weird. It seems to get me to thinking things over. This time I was thinking about things my psychic has told me, and if they’ve fit into life yet, or are circling the runway waiting for tower clearance to take on the tarmac.

So, most recent and entertaining in a weird way:

Psychic:
“Look for a sign to know which house is yours.”

Me, and how this might relate:

There’s this house we’ve visited twice that we’ve kind of liked. The second time we returned was just after the last full moon.

So this house, it’s set in the flat spot half way down a not so gently sloping 1.8 acres of land on a rural road. It perches like some pagan temple overlooking the land below, unapproachable by obvious means, and somewhat intimidating to the uninitiated. We, however, have been once before. We are no longer new, we are seasoned adventurers here to unlock it’s secrets and learn all it has to offer. And believe me, gentle reader, whilst attempting to unlock, we did learn. Or at least, I think I did.

In the rear yard is this thick black plastic circular pipe that is about 2 feet in diameter. It rises about 4 – 5 feet out of the earth, straight up towards the sky. It has diagonal corrugations twisting around it like veins. And it has a rounded conical hat, that, despite twisting, can not be removed. We believe it is the cap to the well. So there I am, twisting the cap. (And no one tries to stop me. Which may or may not be wise. I don’t know if the Realtor and my husband didn’t try to stop me because they both know me well enough to know that nothing they say will deter me when I’m in pursuit of something, or because they know me well enough to know not to push buttons by appearing to order me in any way, or because they’re just plain scared to interfere with the crazy woman. Which ever reason, they leave me alone for the moment while I do something I most likely should not be doing on someone else’s property that I do not own.)

Now, I’m ‘strong like bull’ (no lie) and I’m crafty in a devious and persistent way, but no matter what I do, the top doesn’t come off.

“What is this?” I wonder aloud, working to see if there is a trick to removal – a spot where the tube corrugations give way – to no avail.

This acts as a signal that it is now ‘safe’ to get involved in what the crazy woman is doing, and add your input. I step back while our Realtor gives it a go. Tim joins in when after a few seconds no results are yielded. It’s a stormy day, and one is rolling across the sky, spitting out thunder like surly applause.

It hits me suddenly: this pipe looks supiciously like some pagan fertility idol, even if it is black plastic. And the way they're fooling with that thing is strangely similar to some male fertility rite. I know at this point, I should turn away, but I can't. (Come on, would you?) So for a moment or so, I watch while two strapping, burly men wrestle with this giant fertility idol. At first I’m thinking “Hey, this is good stuff!!! Keep it up boys, this is better than a Lifetime movie any day!” and I’m wondering why I never have a camera with me at times like these.

These guys are strong individually, together, they’re trouble looking for something to wreck. I realize this, and like a strike of lighting, sense returns and I warn them “Guys, be careful. Don’t break that. It would be REALLY hard to explain.” And I’m an expert on getting stuck with things that are REALLY hard to explain. It is usually not a pleasant exercise. Tim and I are also notorious for doing things to property while in the company of our very patient Realtor that goes against better advice, and has yielded what can only be classified as ‘less than optimal results’. Now previously, he’s been the one warning, not the one participating, except perhaps by going against his better judgment. This time, however, he’s in it up to his eyeballs with Tim. That’s a dangerous place to be. Kind of like the point of no return.

Anyway, my words hit home. They both immediately cease and desist. (I’m sure they both readily recall the last time we collectively created a situation that was ‘REALLY hard to explain'. It happened during our final walk through in my current house, a story for another day.) The men step back and move onto other things. But I am left wondering: Is this my sign? The phallus protecting the feminine spring buried deep beneath the earth? Perhaps we could paint it peachy pink, leave it offerings of fruit and cheese, ring it with ribbons and flowers on Beltane. And I’m a romance writer, so having a phallic symbol as a lawn ornament is correct for my idiom. Some people have lawn jockeys, others garden gnomes, we like big plastic sex idols. Now come on, can you blame us? The only thing better would be to attach a motion sensor activated vibratory motor, and Bob’s your uncle. (Well-cover my ass!)

So today, at my local RWA conference, I shared this with Tim, and some of the girls. We had a good chuckle. I don’t think I’ll let the Realtor know, though. He’s a fairly open minded, sarcastic yet good natured guy, but I suspect even he has his limits. I’m not sure if this is my sign, or not. It seems damn obvious, and you know where there is smoke there is fire. And I dread what the Gods might send my way if I ignore the first, seemingly overly obvious sign. Then again, the full moon may be clouding my judgment. We go to see another house tomorrow, this one again, connected to water, as it overlooks a large reservoir in a rural, idyllic setting. And I will be ever observant, looking for my sign, all the while asking myself, ‘what can beat two brawny dudes who know their way around life going mano-a-mano with a giant plastic fertility idol?’, and thinking ‘do I even really want to find out?’, and knowing that whether or not I want to find out, I will. There’s something worse lurking out there, waiting. I can feel it like trouble tingling in my blood. Gods help us all.

Note to self: “No more house tours during the full moon.”

**********************************************************************************
Part II: Revenge of the Dildo

So last night’s post turned out to be fairly prophetic. Here’s what I ended with (keep it in mind):

We go to see another house tomorrow, this one again, connected to water, as it overlooks a large reservoir in a rural, idyllic setting. And I will be ever observant, looking for my sign, all the while asking myself, ‘what can beat two brawny dudes who know their way around life going mano-a-mano with a fertility idol?’, and thinking ‘do I even really want to find out?’, and knowing that whether or not I want to find out, I will. There’s something worse lurking out there, waiting. I can feel it like trouble tingling in my blood. Gods help us all.

Note to self: “No more house tours during the full moon.”

Okay. So I said we had a great RWA conference. 52 writers, 2 days, non-stop uncensored conversation that is wildly inappropriate in any other setting. My little fertility idol story was one among many discussions, and no where near as racy as some of the topics covered. All I can say for coming out of that world into the normal, sane, moderate world of the average joe: re-entry is a bitch with a guaranteed wipe out every time.

Fast forward: breakfast at the firehouse, with our friends. They just came back from a kayaking convention, and bought new kayaks. They also attended a class. Says my friend . “Yeah, me and the wife took a class on paddling. Then I bought this new paddle and a wet suit.” Says Tim, about a mutual acquaintance with a B&D dungeon who we’ll call Pedro : “Gee, I think Pedro’s taken a few too.” And out come some comments about the rubber suits, paddles, and such.

So I don’t think I can really be held responsible for what happened next. (Remember, it's still a full moon.)

Tim and I go to look at another house a few hours after breakfast. Again, a storm is brewing, just like when we saw the place below. The dark clouds are rolling in. Thunder's rumbling restlessly. In the back of my mind I think, 'Oh dear, not another one just like the other one', make the appropriate associations between this place the last place and the plastic fertility idol, and have a nice internal chuckle.

I shift gears (I foolishly believe). I’m focused on the house as we tour, but a big part of my brain is still stuck in conference mode as we wander. And apparently, an even bigger part of my brain, unbeknownst to me, is still stuck in some of those more entertaining discussions. So I’m a time bomb without a fail safe shut off, and I’m still looking for my sign.

After a bit of tour, we walk into the garage. Tim enters first and gets deep into it. I am chattering away with the Realtor, the long suffering Realtor, about something that is no longer being done. My mind supplies the right cliché – “gone the way of the do-do” except, somewhere along the line, the conversation taking place in the rear lounge of my head, jumps the track. Instead of saying “gone the way of the Do-Do” I say “gone the way of the dildo”.

So it’s out. And I’m loud, remember, in an empty garage. It is SO out there at this point, there is not turning back. I hear my Realtor give his famous ‘snicker’, with a bit more gusto than usual, and I can’t even look at Tim, who is mercifully quiet. Some how, by the grace of what God or Goddess I know not, my brain is able to pre-empt the next sentence ready to fire. I almost followed up ‘gone the way of the dildo’ with “oh, did that come out of my mouth?”. Instead, I said, politely, ‘I’m sorry. I meant to say Do-Do’ and proceeded onward.

The tour continues, ends, we go our separate ways. We go to lunch. I say to Tim “did you hear what I said to the Realtor in the garage?” which opens the flood gates, and out spill dildo jokes galore. In fact it’s raining dildos all the way to the next open house. We see it, the realtor hosting the open house feeds us some line about clients to see our house, I tell her call our Realtor. Out in the car I worry she just might call, and I feel horrible about not being able to contain myself in polite company. So I call him and leave a message, though I’m laughing so hard I don’t know how he understood a word I said. While I’m leaving the message, my dh is muttering ‘dildo’ under his breath. So I warn our Realtor about the potential call, and apologize for the ‘sex toy’ comment. My return voice mail message says something to the effect of ‘the other realtor is blowing smoke, and don’t worry, I love it when people are honest. The comments are not inappropriate. Keep them coming. I enjoy them.’

Okay. The comments are inappropriate. But the guy is offering me a graceful out. I am thankful that at least I managed not to say the first thing that popped into my mind after such an awful social gaffe, and that’s about all I can count on. Then I start to think: what am I being honest about? I blurted out dildo while we were walking into a garage. So does that mean all the while we’re looking at peoples houses, I have unclean thoughts swirling through my head? I guess so. See. I knew the Gods would give me a far worse sign the second time around if I didn’t wake up and smell the coffee.

New Note To Self: No more full moon house tours, RWA conferences, visits with Realtors, talk of paddling classes, rubber suits, and Do-Do birds, all in the same 48 hour period. The combination is far too volatile.

Immortal Protector - from there to here...

So the journey to publication culminates today in my official first release!

Immortal Protector is finally out. You can read about and buy it here, and read an exerpt here.

Talk about a wild ride.

Took a year almost to the day to realize, from concept to creation to release.

I think what surprised me the most was the work that followed the acceptance by Samhain.

Yes, I knew intellectually I’d have revisions, and stuff. But I had no basis for comparison, so going through each step was a very unique experience. I guess a part of me thought I'd get accepted, and then sit on my lounge popping bon bons and drinking dark beer while the book elves did the rest of the work. Yeah, right! Actually, there were book elves who did an incredible amount of work: the art department, my editor, and the line editor. They all put so much energy into getting this book ready for publication, I am forever in debt to them, and completely amazed. I don't think I realized how much of a team sport publishing, good publishing is. And I'm glad. I'd hate to be in this crazy storm alone.

So far, my favorite part other than the acceptance email, was was receiving my cover art. Tim read the email first. I was in the living room and all I hear from his office is “Holy S%*T, your cover art is amazing!”. Thank you Annie Caine. I had to describe to her what I was looking for in a cover, and I am terrible when it comes to art. But somehow she read my mind and when I saw the picture for the first time, I almost swooned.

Edits were great. Angela James took the time to write detailed instructions and comments through out the entire manuscript that helped really beat the draft into shape. I’ve seen other writers go through edits where they get a general letter and are left to their own devices. I never would have managed to get to this point if it were not for the help of Angie. What I liked best was that the comments were specific, detailed, and always positive.

I had a first revision, followed rapidly by a second that was far less intensive. Then came the line edits. Again, I was fortunate. I had a great line editor with great comments, and an excellent eye who found a host of loose ends that needed policing up.

I thought I was done, but no such luck. The weekend of my RWA chapter’s annual conference I had to select exerpts. This was hard for me. I wanted to pick the right pieces, without giving away the good parts of the story. That is easier said than done.

Now, I think for the moment I can catch my breath. No more work on that book, except for publicity. I'm not sure what I'll do - maybe beseech the pagan Gods (like Seth, the Egyptian God of Chaos who makes many appearances in said books) to bring me much fertility in terms of readership and orders? I'm sure my neighbors would enjoy that. Perhaps I'll invite the Realtor, too? He was funny: we had him over to look at our house, and he saw my cover on the 'fridge, hung by a magnet. He's a very professional, very earnest, yet 'sarcastic in a good natured and subtle way' guy. He peers at it, looks down at me, and says softly and with some confusion "Who's Ursula Bauer"? So I explain the pen name, the first part, and he brightens. "Did you get Bauer from Jack Bauer on 24?" "You bet!" I answer, which seemed to make his day.(The guys in his golf league are all obsessed with the show). And I did steal it from our boy JB. I love that crazy guy. Nothing says action, trouble, conspiracy, and romance under pressure like Jack Bauer. Somehow, it just seemed to be correct for my prefered idiom.

Okay, you’ve read enough of my blatherings, go check out the website, and read a bit of the next NYT best seller!!!! while I search around for more trouble. (*wink*wink*)

And now, a word from our sponsor

It’s been a while.

I could say all kinds of inventive things for excuses. Aliens abducted me. I was off working a double black ops mission for the NSA. I fell down a rabbit hole. But the truth is: the house. The house has consumed me. Not just this one, but two others - one that exists and one who's existance I have yet to discover. It’s like some weird vortex. And in the midst of it, I switched jobs and went through my first ever ‘edits’.

Which reminds me: THE book will be out in about a week. Immortal Protector. I had a great compliment from the folks in my RWA chapter. We were passing the cover around, and when it hit one corner of the room, it caused a ruckus. Next thing I know they’re all demanding protecting. Sweet! The revamped Web Site, MuseUnplugged, is also up. How both of these things happened, I can't really say, as it all seems a blur.

Anyway, it’s been, as always, interesting times for me. I think in the last few months I’ve learned a few things. Here they are in no particular order.

1. Wallpaper was created by Satan, and engaging in it’s removal is akin to taking a vacation in the tenth level of hell. Yes. I know you’re saying “But there are only nine levels to hell”. Well, you know how in the movie This is Spinal Tap, the Amps go up to 11 (as opposed to 10), for when you need just that little bit of extra power? Well, in Hell, the tenth level is like the amp setting in that movie: it is that little bit of extra suffering for when you need it most, and it’s reserved for, amongst other things, wallpaper removal.

2. As ugly as the siding is on your house, what’s under it is worse than you can possibly imagine. (I don't care how much acid you did in the '80's) Remove at your own risk. And gaze not upon it for more than a handful of seconds lest ye turn to stone.

3. Even if you’re a few hundred feet above the River, your basement still can, and will, flood. It will just wait for the year you decide to sell, so you have to declare it on the disclosure statement.

4. Believe it or not, love scenes that read like the XXX feature down at the local porno bunker are not always the ticket. Yes, there are things like feelings that must be accounted for during sex. Who’d have thought?

5. No. 10 Gin is indeed a superior elixir that aids in restitution from all the troubles caused by #’s 1 – 4, and can greatly assist you with #6.

6. You are never too old for trouble. And you can always find trouble. But it’s worse if trouble finds you. So take the initiative.

7. There’s an amazing Chinese food place on 9th Ave in lower Manhattan. And the local crime boss eats there, so don’t just take my word for it.

8. The Cross Bronx expressway is embarrassed about being exposed as a time sink and tear in the normal space/time continuum in one of my previous blogs. I know this because on my last two trips, I passed through without a hitch. In fact, I passed through them in record time. Next time, I will bring my tin foil hat. Can’t be too careful with these things.

9. Sometimes, no matter how much caffeine you ingest, you just can’t seem to wake completely up to the surrounding reality. These are the days that trouble will find you. Refer to #6 for further instructions.

10. If you think you’ve figured it out, you haven’t. If you think you know it, you don’t. And if you believe the opera isn’t over (so to speak) until the fat lady sings, you’ve never seen a Hong Kong action flick. Or, lived one.

Do you know the code?

I’ve been coding reports. Yes, I know. I’m an RN and a writer. Not a techie. But, you do what you must to make your way in the universe.

So in between these manic episodes of staring at really weird stuff for way too many hours trying to decide if it will wrest the correct data from the evil system lords who hold sway over all metrics, I get up and shake off the dust. And lately, when I do this, I think about how each world I’ve been a part of has it’s own special code. In language, we’d call them expressions, perhaps colloquialisms, or words or phrases that hold deep meaning specific to the environment in which they’re used. Some of them are really entertaining. And when you go beyond trying to understand them and can use them unconsciously in speech, it is one of the markers that you have undergone rites of passage and gained entry to that specific world. It’s also a way to recognize a true denizen of your particular realm over a poser, or, a tourist.

I think the Army by far, had some of the most interesting turns of phrase. A few come to mind:

Get down and beat your face: Place your body in the front lean and rest position and execute numerous push ups until the drill sergeant gets tired of looking at you, or becomes distracted by the antics of another idiot in their line of sight.

Deuce and a ½: a 2 and ½ ton truck, in camo, green, or desert beige, with a standard transmission. It doesn’t sound like much, but nothing can rock and roll over hard terrain at unsafe speeds quite like one of these babies.

Read you Lima Charlie: I hear you loud and clear. Most times used sarcastically if in conversation. If used during Radio Telephone procedures, it’s okay.

FUBAR: Used like “this s&*t is FUBAR!”. F#$ked Up Beyond All Recognition.

Hurry up and wait: what you do any time you have to do anything involving the government, not just federal, not just army.

Ate Up: I love this one. It’s full use is “Ate up from the feet up”, but is normally used “this s%$t is ate up” or “private, you’re ate up”. It’s a more polite way of saying something is screwed up or messy, or some combination there of. I hear it started in California but this remains unconfirmed.

Case of the Ass: My personal favorite. Used “I’ve got a case of the ass about that schmuck”, or, “she’s got a case of the ass”. It means someone is pissed off about someone or something, enough to hold a grudge, and use that grudge to grind and axe and make that someone or group of someones pay for what ever it is that caused ‘the ass’ in the first place.

You’ve got to be smarter than your equipment: The first time I heard this used, I laughed so hard, I was immediately ordered to ‘beat my face’. We were pmcs’ing a radio set up that included slaving off a power line vs. a battery: (PMCS = preventative maintenance checks and service.) Anyway, one of the testing station teams couldn’t figure out what was wrong with their radio set up. The instructor had unplugged the set up. So, nothing other than no power. One of the team just couldn’t get it so the instructor, in frustration, told him he needed to be ‘smarter than his equipment’.

Corporate speak, damn, I could write volumes about that. It changes frequently, and you can tell what meetings and projects someone is in by the code phrases that inject themselves into daily speak. For the big projects, you all start to use the lingo because it identifies you with the project ‘tribe’. Other phrases and words are more universal to the company, or, the corporate mission of the day.

Lately my personal favorite is ‘leverage’. Used like “we’re going to leverage our resources to do x, y, or z.” OR “We’re going to leverage our unique perspective to gain market share”. Archimedes said “give me a lever and I can move the world” (At least I think it was him. Which is strange, because isn’t he the guy that officially discovered ‘volume’? Perhaps it was another one of the Greeks. The same guys who stole geometry from the Egyptians (who got it from the Atlanteans who came from outer space) and then claimed it as their own.) So in the corporate sense, leverage has now acquired additional meaning beyond a physics equation of mass, and motion, and is now equal in value to (or synonymous with) ‘use’. But ‘use’ doesn’t sound sexy. That’s why cars owned by someone else and sold again to another person are no longer used but ‘pre-owned’. I see leverage lately in a lot of adds, mostly print, or press releases, from a variety of companies big and small. Someone in marketing used their thesaurus, and it caught on like an STD in a port town.

One of the phrases I like to use when what I really want to say “You have no idea about what we’re dealing with, what we’re doing, what we just discussed, what you’ll need to do in response to this, do you?” or, when someone is bald face lying about something is “let me level set”. This is then followed by a bullet point iteration of the straight facts. I picked that up from a very assertive Vice President. It reminded me of in Le Femme Nikita, when she’s trained to use a nonsense sentence to mask the fact that she’s completely appalled but what’s just happened around her. Her sentence was “I never did mind about the little things” and was said in a smooth, yet firm manner, and followed by a bland, non-committal smile. Mine is “let me level set”.

Another key phrase along the same lines that really means “WTF are you talking about?” is “Help me to understand”. This is used in meetings where someone has gone off the deep end and is just about to start taking in tongues, or puking green vomit. You can’t really get a fix on what it is they want, or what they want is completely insane, so you’re trying to reel them in and figure out WTF is going on in their head.

“Talk me/him/her/them/off the ledge.” It’s what you do to your fellow workers when the pressure is too much, the higher brain functions kick off, and monkey brain takes over. They become all impulse, usually fueled by rage and frustration. You usually do this to them before they do something along the lines of committing career suicide.


And, let's not forget the gastroenterology department, where I learned such usable phrases as:

Code Brown. Used, “I’m calling a code brown” – meaning that what is happening or being said is a load of ‘guess what’? Or, that you have a code brown, meaning the bed pan is too damn late.

And
FOS. Many things in medical short hand are pared down to three letters. CHF – congestive heart failure. RAD – reactive airway disease. LFT – Liver Function Test. SOB – Short of Breath. And, there is FOS – Full of s@#t.


How many worlds have you been a part of enough to learn the code? I bet if you sat down, you’d be surprised. As an author, I think you can use this to enhance character. Even for a fantasy, or, space opera world – in these cases you’d create your own code specific to the characters. I think it’s this sub-text that shows authenticity, that there is more to the world you've built than just the bright facade. I recall a TV show called Space where they'd nick named the aliens "Chigs". That was world code and it worked. How many codes have you learned in your life time, how many worlds have you lived in? How might you use code to add layers to your writing, a way to further enmesh the reader in the 'ass in the grass' experience. (Ass in the grass, military, Viet Nam era. Meant you were on the ground, in the thick of it, getting the job done, so to speak.)

Upon waking...

Can someone tell me where February went? And the beginning few days of March for that matter?

Time hasn’t moved this fast, or in such a distorted way, since the mid-nineteen eighties!

Damn, but don’t I feel like I just fell out of some cosmic black hole. Don't you just hate when that happens?

It's offical: I have a release date!

Immortal Protector has a release date: June 5th, 2007.

Talk about an awesome birthday gift!

The Betweens

I was wandering in the bookstore the other day, in the sci-fi fantasy section, and I picked up a book and read the blurb. It started with concepts like ‘the only pure remaining’ and ‘more powerful than anyone…ever…no really…I’m serious g’damnit’ (okay, I paraphrased here). So it was talking about magic. Potent magic. And, as a magical practitioner, and a writer currently working on something that has a little bit of something to do with magic, it got me to thinking.

The most powerful places and times to make magic, and I’m talking big mojo melt the moon kind of magic, are the betweens. The betweens are places and times were space and time are neither this, nor that. It’s not a concept restricted to one cultural specific mythos, either. The most powerful beings are the ones who can shift between planes, or realities, or, the two worlds (mundane and magic: waking and dream: living and dead). These beings are considered ‘betweens’ themselves.

So for places, think the shore: where earth and water and air meet. Add a fire and you have all four elements. Think of the lyrics from Scarborough Fair: “Tell her to find me an acre of land…Between the salt water and the sea strand”. To the average Joe this sounds impossible, yet it hints at the powerful nature of the betweens: in the area between water and earth exists a magical place – more so, a magical potential.

And crossroads: often called “Where three roads come together and join as one”. Picture any of the three, and then they go on as one. You can summon all kinds of things at the crossroads. Hecatae was rumored to roam the back roads, and would visit the crossroads if called, especially to guide the dead home. The thing is, all the roads merge, and it depends on your perspective which are the three, and which is the newly formed one that rises from the union of the others: again: a vague state, an uncertain state, a state of ‘neither this, nor that’.

The most powerful times for magic: not the dead of midnight. Nope. Dawn, or dusk. Neither this. Neither that. Some of one, some of the other, neither more than it’s counterpart.

And the most potent of dreams, where all manner of doors in the psyche can open? Not so much the deep REM state, as that surreal moment when you have not yet emerged from the land of Morpheus, but, you are somehow awake in that very same moment.

For my more science inclined compatriots, this is mirrored in an eminently reproducible experiment with : the magnet. A magnet has two obvious, definable poles – north and south. If you had a longish shaped one, like a pencil, at some point each direction becomes the other. And if you snap it in two at the most precise half way point, you do not get one half that has two ends as north and two ends as south. You get two halves, each with a north and south pole.

This, I believe, is also expressed in science as the dynamic equilibrium of life, or any garden variety chemically balanced equation. To balance on that singularity of the change state, where nothing is certain and everything is possible is to know and to be able to use the most powerful of magic. You are at the ultimate potential point. You are standing in the center of that acre of land, perched between the salt water and the sea strand.

And these people of magic. Would pure this or that make as good magic as someone who embodies the concept of the ‘between’? If the balance point is the singularity we call ‘potential’, where nothing is definitely one way or the other and all possibilities can occur, would not a person or being who is the living representation of the balance point be a more potent magical operator than say, a ‘pure breed’? Perhaps it’s that the ‘pure this’ is good at ‘pure this’ things, which is limiting in scope. But your ‘potential this or that’ is good at harnessing the wildest of magic and making all kinds of crazy things as a result because they themselves are in harmony of dynamic equilibrium. And doesn’t that belief feed the glimmer of hope when all odds would otherwise favor something other outcome? Don't our heroes stand on that point and emerge victorious because they are able to summon the power simply with belief alone: I believe I can do this, beat the odds, maybe because I have no choice, but maybe, maybe because I really do believe I can affect change no matter how unexpected that change will be. (Remember Han Solo: "never tell me the odds.")And isn't that one of the cornerstones of magic: the use of will to shape and move energy to create a desired outcome? Hmmm. I'm seeing some ties ins here: hero or heroine, agent of change, is in essence a person of power because they recognize the infinate potential in the moment, and they brave fear and reason to seize that moment and create an outcome.

It ties back into the Order and Chaos thing, as well. One can’t exist without the other, and to be powerful is to master transmutation and to stay fluid in the magical moment.

So in the end, I put the book back.
Pure reminds me of absolute zero: it’s a point we move towards, but never reach. Like hell freezing over. And magic: real magic: that is firmly wedged in the between for me because I like the thought of all things possible, and I like the thought of hope, no matter what the critics, odds, and scientists say.

25, 10, 10, Hike

More tracks added to weird chill:

The Killing Moon – Echo and the Bunny Men
Sweet Jane – Cowboy Junkies version
Blue on Black – Kenny Wayne Shepard Band
A Thousand Kisses Deep – Leonard Cohen
Wicked Game – Chris Isaak

More things to ponder:

I keep buying more books with that cyber punk, dark future edge. I keep buying more books period. Except I’m not reading books. Time’s a bit of a premium with competing agendas such as take home projects from the corporate imperium, and Nobody’s Hero. But I bring them in anyway, believing perhaps that when I reach a certain density in the TBR baskets, it will trigger a universal shift. Maybe create a pocket, or membrane dimension. As a result, I’ve upped the insurance on the house. Just in case.

I know I could use the library, but then I’d be forced to read on someone else’s timetable, and that makes it considerably less fun. Also, I find having so many different titles to chose from in so many different genres comforting. It’s my anchor in the mad tussle of day to day life.

And:

Go out, get yourself a copy of Guns and Talks, a Korean dark comedy/drama, and enjoy. I promise you will not be disappointed.

The beauty of the movie is the blending of genres and characters and agendas – making it feel both bizarre and strangely real all at the same time. Plus, it’s hilarious. (But it’s subtitled) You know, if you sat down and thought about the last 25 days you’ve lived, and ten of your closest associates, and ten of your immediate coworkers, and all the things they’ve said and done and looped you into, you’d see that life is far stranger than fiction and that if you tried to write real life as fiction, I’m not sure it would be believable. Then again, why not try? Think about it; last 25 days - what you did, saw, thought about, tasted, smelled, touched, avoided, hid from, and embraced. 10 folks you're close with, and 10 folks you work or worked with. Little freaky, right?

If I were a book trailer, what kind would I be?

I’m back on the book trailer thing.
I want to like them. I really do.
I found a place to purchase royalty free music, and did. Not because I have plans for a trailer, but because I liked the music. And I’m into art and such. We know I love reading.
So if I like all of this, what’s the deal with the trailers?

So I went back over to Circle of Seven productions, and I watched a few.
I also visited Book Trailerpark again.
They’re getting better, I think, or I’m getting my head around them, not sure which.
Some of them remind me of PowerPoint presentations set to interesting music.

Perhaps because I’m a sci-fi geek, I have too high a visual expectation for these trailers. They’re not supposed to be feature films. Admittedly, the bigger the budget the better the production. I do like the ones with real people in them, though.

I recently heard an uber-agent talk and he remarked on how they’re good promotional tools, and how they’re made, in part, for a writer’s fans more than anything.

I can’t imagine what kind of trailer I’d like for Immortal Protector, but it would need explosions and fantastic stuff. Except there are no explosions in my book. But I like that: big flashy bangy kinds of stuff. And dark, creepy freaky stuff. Now dark, creepy, and freaky, that is in the book. Along with super hot sex. But if my trailer had some of the super hot sex it wouldn’t be a book trailer and might be classified as something else that may or may not get me in trouble with the law.

I think if I were going to get one, I’d go to someone who did films. There’s a fair amount of those folk in my area, believe it or not. But how do you know what to show in your trailer? I’d need someone who looks like a cross between the Terminator and the Lone Biker of the Apocalypse for Gideon. And Meg? Christy Hemme with curlier hair. I’m seeing big budget here.

What scenes might I show? Since zombies are on my mind, definitely part of the last battle. That would help settle the craving for combustion. Of course, this IS a romance novel, so I’d need to show romance. First kiss would work, but I think the kitchen scene with the bare-chested hero would do nicely as well. And Ramon Salazar, a.k.a. The Spaniard, I’d like him to be in it. He’s not a major character, but he’s cool. Ditto for the Egyptian God of Chaos, Seth. Okay, we’re talking a LOT of casting. Sure, I live near NYC and actors will work for French Fries and a bag of magic beans in that town, but still.

Then again, perhaps I’d start with a panoramic vista of the hot Egyptian sands as the sun sets, and flash to a picture of the 5 canpic jars and the missing artifact: The Buckle of Isis. Then cut to Gideon, all dark and dangerous, in the creepy fog of the parking lot scene, and Meg, blissfully unaware of the future about to get up close and personal with her. Then Zombies. (I know, they’re stuck in my head). Battles. The kitchen scene where he’s bare-chested, and she’s, ahem, impressed. Another fight scene (so many to chose from. I did say this was romance, right?) Then another desert vista at night: Las Vegas. The pool. Ooopps. Can’t show that. So cut to the final battle, flames and demons and old hospital equipment and all. And then an explosion. Just because if it’s my film, and I’m paying, I get to see something explode. Perhaps this is a metaphor for the passion and love they share. Yes. I like that. An explosion of love, timed with a climatic and powerful crescendo to my royalty free music.

I just hope none of the actors get burned. I’m not sure my homeowner’s policy would cover that kind of event. Better check the fine print.

Week two and counting

The full moon is on the wane.

But the world is still on the run, like a werewolf on crack, clothes torn, hair sprouting from every pore, baying with abandon at the silky, white orb malingering in the night sky. I am no exception. Then again, we are fast moving through the third quarter, and before long, the madness will fade. Which is sad, because I'm kind of enjoying the unsettled feeling. It's like when you're straddling two boats in a churning sea: one foot in each of the worlds - real and unreal. In the between times like this you get to feeling, as the E man says, nothing is impossible, just improbable.

Tonight I discovered that Rhapsody finally has Tarzan Boy by Baltimora, except it is the karaoke version. All music, no words, except for some unusual moaning mid-way through which I’m fairly certain was not part of the original track. While it’s an inventive cut, it just doesn’t do it for me. I know the universe is screwing with me at last. The fact is now inescapable.

On the other hand, perhaps it’s a trade off? I found an amazing version of Mad World done by Sara Hickman. The original Tears for Fears is excellent, but this is plaintive and menacing and far more alluring. I started a new play list, pairing it with Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit. Somehow they seem to go together. Kind of like the same theme, played out in different eras. Then I added Fade Away and Radiate from Blondie. Cyberpunk before cyberpunk even existed. For some reason, the song always makes me think of Blade Runner, even though it was crafted before the movie. And before I knew it, Slowdive by Siouxsie and the Banshees found it’s way there: pure 8th avenue tunnel if you catch my drift. So far, the tracks all have a dream like tempo, a sultry pulse like a slowing heart touched by shifting senses, and beneath it is this kind of gritty edge.

I’ve titled the list Weird Chill. Not sure what comes next.

But you know, I think the tracks have something to do with the next book. The characters were speaking to me earlier this week (see, what did I say about baying at the moon?). And I kept hearing the White Rabbit in my head. Then I was scribbling in one of my notebooks about something else entirely and not paying so much attention and my hand began writing the lyrics to White Rabbit. Once I realized what I was doing I began to suspect something was up. Add in the dialogue, and the emerging sound track, and that something can only be the next big thing. Which means I need to hurry up and finish Nobody's Hero, because Zombies Are Forever (my working title so far) won't wait much longer.

2007: Proceed at your own risk.

When the new year starts out with a full moon mid-week, you know you’ve entered the land of the damned.

2007. Holy crap. I’m eight days into this adventure, lost in the jungle, with neither sun nor stars nor DEET: or perhaps it’s the desert? No, the surface of Mars. Yes. That’s it. All of the above, please. And hold the sanity, we will have none of that, thank you very much.

Have you ever woken up and felt like a visitor to this planet and your own life?

On the other hand, this is a good thing, all the strange arrangements taking place right now because I’m getting perspective, up close and personal and it’s all about chaos and order and running the spectrum successfully without tripping over your feet and falling into the abyss. Nobody’s Hero is certainly benefiting from it all.

One of my goals for 2007 was to feed my head. Watch interesting movies that are not necessarily main stream, read interesting books, do and see interesting things: kind of follow my imaginative bliss wherever it may lead. Sort of an antidote to 2005 where I was Type A to the grindstone and such, an awareness arising out of my cogitations in 2006 about what I need to do differently. I don’t think you can be an effective writer if you give your imaginative side short shrift, yet you can’t completely immerse yourself in imaginative oblivion either: well, you can if you’re Oscar Wilde or, perhaps, Tom Cruise: but I’m neither. So it’s a matter of balance. I look at my head as Cerridwen’s cauldron, and I’m filling it all with seemingly unrelated things, and it’s a wildly chaotic stew: but the distillate: the three orderly drops of inspiration that emanate from that cauldron, that’s what I’m striving for.

And I find my life mirroring this intent, surprise surprise. I have my usual detailed scene outline for Nobody’s Hero. I have my book math and my road map. The other day, I looked up at 20K words and I discovered that I had reached that milestone: completing chapter 4, with the anticipated word count, events, details, flavor BUT I had arrived in a much different way. The most obvious is the chapters: they’re coming in at different scene counts and length, but they’re the scenes I meant to have in the order they’re supposed to appear, and yet I look at it and think that there is someone else writing it who is not me. I checked my basement for a large, green alien pod, but could find none. Ditto for the garage. And other stuff is different too. I have tacked things to my wall, instead of keeping them arranged in neat and sensible order within a binder, or binder clip. And, I did a kind of storyboard for inspiration. I used Tim’s video game books, and found pictures that reminded me of Raine, Jack, and the Bad Guy and his Minions. (Can’t be a good bad guy without an evil minion, or two).

It’s weird, because there’s this whole subversive process taking place when I work on this latest book, like pirate radio. The book is getting written, and it’s really working well, and it’s really enjoyable, and it’s happening in a way that is in line with my intent and outline, and yet, is not. The reason lies in the core of one of the themes: Order and Chaos can’t exist apart. Jack is chaos’s favorite son. Raine is order personified. They each take on elements of the other in order to succeed. I think this is the writer’s equivalent of method acting. It’s certainly different. Kind of transcendent and kind of exciting and kind of spooky all at the same time. Sort of like 2007’s been so far.

End of Year Musings from the Unplugged

I recently went through a business seminar at work, the main theme of which was culture change, complete with a mantra: Be Here Now.

So this holiday season I decided to Be Here Now, and pay more attention to the moment than normal. Considering I’m type A and analytical, it was an interesting experience, as I already focus way too much on things sometimes.

Here is what emerged. A montage. I was in this movie with the family, and we fell into roles and went through scenes. I arrived at my aunts to find my one cousin, in his pajamas, slaving away over the stove. My aunt was assisting, until I showed up, at which point she abandoned post to try and locate the CD with the song Baby’s First Christmas to play for her arriving new grandson. So my cousin and I did the meal: he orchestrated, I assisted, mostly with dervish dish cleaning and the occasional burning of my fingers when transferring things from heat source to bowl and back again. As family arrived, we cooked, my Aunt searched for the song, we ate. I hung out with my other cousin’s wife and her mother most of the night, and drank some red wine. After the after dinner scene, Baby’s First Christmas was found. The baby, however, had already left. We played it, put on TV we didn’t watch, and drifted through conversation : my aunt, uncle, and grandfather and I. The funny part: I wore old jeans and a knock around shirt because I knew the minute I entered the house I would be conscripted into kitchen service. I liked it, it helped pass time. Then there were the marathon drives, also helping to pass time. But I paid attention to my details.

And what I noticed most are the comfortable rhythms families have, no matter how functional or dysfunctional, and how it’s hard on the new entrants to find a part in the melody. But, if they are given time and chances, they can ease into it and find their own complementary riff. Still, you can see them, listening for the subtle tones, and the main theme, as they work to find their own comfort range. I think of some of the family-saga-esque books I’ve read and enjoyed, and they all display the atonal symphony struggling to find itself, and ultimately scoring. Be here now. Okay. I can work with that, I’m learning.

I also learned I don’t really want an infant child. The DH and I are planning to adopt down the road, we know international, but that was about it as far as knowing any other clues about where we’d head. While hearing stories from my cousin’s wife about being a new mom after being a long time professional working woman, and after holding her son, it hit me. Infants are fine as long as I can hand them back to mom. I don’t want one. Really. I like them when they turn to toddlers, or, even older. It was being in the moment that helped me to clarify this, a crucial point. It helped explain why when everyone I know has little babies and they try to hand them to me, I cringe inwardly. Now, I’ve just thrown the gauntlet out to the universe, I’m certain it will find a way to confound me on this, but only time will reveal how and when.

I realized, while being here, now, on the drive back, that 2007 is the year of home improvements. 2006, particularly the last few months, was a marathon of craziness, illness, death, disruption, so everything went undone, or half done. I knew driving home from another state yesterday that I had to get my hands back on my home, and bring it round to right. That means completing everything from the upstairs bathroom to living room renovations. I realized this because I kept passing all these homes under various stages of construction, and even though I’ve done this drive many times in 2006, for the first time, they came out of the landscape at me, begging for attention.

And, it’s time to be rid of the anchors. Like all the fabric I won’t ever sew. All the furniture we’re not using. And, all the assumptions I hold that I let hold me back, or lock me in the box of thinking and interpreting my world and my options.

Then, I lapse out of Be Here Now, and fall into thinking about the recent past, and all the tarot readings I have had lately with the Two of Pentacles and the Seven of Pentacles as key cards. Earth dealing with security, material possessions, and, manifestation of thoughts dreams and ideas on the earthly plane (when you realize dreams). The Two deals with harmonizing seeming opposites, and finding a way to identify your internal needs and harmonizing them with what is external. It’s a balancing act all the way, and often requires continual clarification as to what is important and requires energy and attention, and what is not worthy your time. The Seven comes into play when the universe tests you to see if you’re serious about what you want, and also involves working over several seasons and areas of activity (like a farmer managing his fields), to bring about what you want around you and in life. With the two and the seven come many challenges to be identified and managed, to reach what you want. So it leads me to believe that I’ve got serious work to do in 2007. Mostly with my security, ie: job and craft/ work and writing. This will be a formative year, with doing and disregarding, mapping and making happen. But I’m lucky: The Mage continues to land in my personal house in readings, or in hopes and fears. The universe tells me I have all the tools I need to make my dreams reality, but most of it will be solitary in nature, as the Mage works alone. Which means many of my changes will be on my own internal landscape, but at least I’ll have the energy to do it, as the Mage has incredible stamina and power. Good. Because 2006 kicked my proverbial and real ass.

So I go forward into another year, Being Here, Now, but also acting as the farmer of my own fields. What to plant, grow, harvest, and let lie fallow for another time…twos and sevens…Mages abounding…security and realizing dreams. 2007, bring it on.

The Last Templar (review) and the menace of history

I’m pondering this new phenomena: the pseudo-mystical historical artifact hunt conspiracy thriller. It’s history out to make trouble for modern man. Seems to be centered primarily around Christian mythos, but there’s a fair amount of Egyptian tapping as well. When did history and speculation become such a threat to the current day, and what is the mind set of the current day reader making such things plausible, interesting, and believable? It’s sort of like Zombies. Zombies freak people out, more so than say, the Boogey man. Why? What is it about the living dead that makes a rational person so ready to accept they’re a threat? It’s always interesting to me, what things worry the modern psyche.

I guess part of my interest is academic. The Eternity Covenant has elements of the conspiracy thriller, and artifact hunting, though the stories in the series are more overtly mystical and assume that all Gods of myth exist as does magic in it’s many forms. Nothing pseudo about it. So it’s interesting to see how others handle similar things.

I read an older model, Cleopatra’s Needle. It caught my eye in the bookstore because of a certain element of the current WIP I’m involved in, and held it because it used elements of Jewish mysticism. The book itself started off okay, but got far too bogged down in details. I finally put it down midway through because it had so much backstory there was no front story anymore. That, and I couldn't really care less about the characters. Always the kiss of death for a book where I'm concerned.

I did try to read Da Vinci code. But as my earlier review attests, it was not my cuppa. Too much info dumping left the real story, and me, by the side of the road.

Now I’m reading The Last Templar. This one is working for me. The info dumps are there, but instead of dumps they’re done in terms of the story, one person advising another, or a team of the FBI, or correcting something. Or, a shift for a few pages to the past events and characters that have shaped the pseudo-mystical historical artifact hunt conspiracy in the current day. I’m not sure you can write a book of this ilk, with so much historical minutia building to a conspiracy, without info dumping. How much obscure history and heresy can you expect the average reader to know? It’s a trick, though, getting it out without sacrificing the story. I have to say the Last Templar, by Raymond Khoury manages to bring in the victory on that account.

The pacing is a little choppy, but it’s interesting. Still, it’s based in Christian myth. I wonder, am I missing the main stream books of this new sub-genre of thriller that explore other elements of history? Or, is this the main thrust of the sub-genre in that it’s what the major publishers are pushing?

Either way, the book itself is enjoyable. The Templars, wow! Couldn’t get more religious-mythic fodder for conspiracy then them. It’s worth picking up. Even more so because the author handles facts well. Definitely a good holiday read.

The Wookie has no pants.

So life is running at it’s normal pace, and things are taking place all at the same time, and you are left wondering: what do I spend my limited time and attention on? What’s important? What REALLY matters most?

Not only is this the subject of many people’s inner dialogues, it’s an old favorite of management gurus the world over.

And you know, it is a useful skill: to be able to discern what is really worthy of your time and effort, and what is not worth the brain waves, let alone the rise in systolic and diastolic blood pressure points.

But how many times do we so totally NOT do the above? We toss that out the window and throw ourselves into the fray, letting the drama and petty crisis grind us, steal our precious mortal moments. How many times do we, wihtout really thinking, take a front row seat in the theater bizarre and let the absurd take over our lives? A lot, I bet. It’s hard not to, right? The worst is the aftermath, when hours, days, months, years have passed and we suddenly rouse and wonder what happened to all the things we should have done, should have paid notice or heed or mind too, but let fall to the way side. How did we let the idiotic become our over-seer?

Now I’ve heard it said that large organizations, be they 'for' or 'not for' profit seem to have this struggle play out day after day, but that the higher up you go, the more the tendency to be subverted by the absurd, the more the propensity to let the totally so not important be the sole focus of your radar, concentration, and artillery.

The above has been expressed in so many different ways, but I really saw the point drilled down recently by Mark Hamill, on this ‘Making of Star Wars’ retrospective. And I have to say, it hit home for me. So much so, I have this line he said posted on my white board to remind me what gets my attention, and what is just so much fluff and balderdash.

Seems during the making of the movie, a lot of things went wrong. More wrong than right. And production was delayed multiple times, special effects were needed that didn’t exist, money spent over budget, and then more money spent over budget, and just a general total f’ing panic towards the homeward slide. In fact, Lucas even got admitted for chest pain, told to wind down or else, and checked himself out A.M.A. and went back to the war. Meanwhile, the Fox executives were very busy issuing each other memos and holding meetings over one very salient topic of grave concern: “The Wookie has no pants.” That’s right. Amidst all these ‘blue chip’ issues, i.e. things that are serious heavy duty, they were completely tuned into the totally ludicrous: do we clothe this alien, are we skirting decency by allowing him to appear unpantsed? Gawds almighty: “The Wookie has no pants.” And that's what Mark really remembered, what stuck in his mind. "The Wookie has no pants."

So that’s it for me now: my absurdometer. I look at everything coming across my desk, across my life, all the things I think I should have a nice little melt down over, everything that demands some commitment of time and energy, and ask my self if it boils down to “The wookie has no pants” scenario. If it does, then it's just too damn stupid to warrant any more brainwaves than it took to make that classification.

And you know what? There are an awful lot of Wookies running around with no pants in this world. Who knew?

People are strange, places are stranger

There are places in the world that somehow are not part of the world. There’s something in the atmosphere, perhaps the ionization, perhaps the scent, who knows. There's something 'not right' about them, and you know this on a visceral, primal level. You enter these places, and somehow, the normal rules of time and space and many times, all that is holy in any ten religions of your choice, cease to apply. NYC seems to have an abundance of these, but a few stand out.

There’s the 8th avenue tunnel. It’s this connecting tunnel for a bunch of subways. I had not been back in years, and yet, on one of the recent biz trips to our Brooklyn office, there I found myself, back in the tunnel, and it still had that creepy, alternative universe feel. Your step slows. The light is yellow bright, but you always feel shadows behind you. Sound dulls yet echoes at the same time. You move through it at your normal pace, and sometimes you speed up, and still it takes far longer to get from end to end than it should. I used to think that the tunnel was a portal to other worlds. That has not changed. Imagine, all the strings of dimensions, twisting through the time/space continuum, brushing like charged wires up against one another, sharing currents and other things they shouldn't. Things passing through worlds they were never meant to visit, perhaps staying long enough to subvert the natural order, if only for a few hours.

Then, there’s the Cross Bronx Expressway. No matter the time of day, day of the week, week of the month of the year, you get on the Cross Bronx and you stop moving. There is nothing remotely Express about this stretch of maniacal roadway. The last time I was traveling on it, a few weeks past, a police car was in the far left lane, herding traffic. That’s right. Herding. No other way to describe it, really. Traffic had come to a dead halt in that lane for no reason. There was no accident ahead, nor was there construction, protestors, or aliens landing. The cars had just stopped. So the cop picked a point and began flashing the lights and sending of the sirens encouraging motorists to actually put it in gear and get it the hell going. Of all the places I’ve been on this Earth, the Cross Bronx is the place I’ve come closest to stroking out. Multiple times. Poor Tim. He had no idea how much rage his dear wife could summon when exposed to the right stimuli. It wasn't really the traffic, it was the blatent disregard for the vaunted: F=M*A (Force = Mass X Acceleration). Until the police came along to enforce the proper laws of physics, that is.

Then there’s the trip between Queens and the 23rd St. stop on the subway. It’s this long tunnel that travels underwater. You usually lose power to the lights intermittently. The conductors always lay pedal to the metal and the train rockets through, swaying wildly, curling and whipping in a frenzy, always on the verge of jumping the track and careening into oblivion. The same freaky power permeates that run as does the loop in the train at Battery park, which leads me to conclude that it is a power related to the River. One run travels under the water, the other run loops close enough to kiss, then turns away at the last second to point back uptown. I can recall traveling down into each, this shiver going up my spine. Something ethereal, laughing, dangerous waiting for me and my fellow travelers.

Perhaps it’s the subways in general. So many tunnels beneath the city, lines re-routed, access ways closed off, things built upon one another, again and again and again, like a hive gone mad. So much forgotten from the conscious awareness, lurking beneath the surface.

Alchemists, all of them, and not a sane man in sight

When you think Alchemy, well, thoughts of madness are not far behind.
Kind of the way when I think scientist, and I mean, hard core, on the fringe of breakthrough scientist, thoughts of madness are not far behind.

Well, in conducting my research through Hermitca and History by wandering randomly through sites and searches, I learned some interesting things.

Sir Issac Newton, the man credited with discovering gravity (at least, recognizing it), was an alchemist. Indeed, chemistry emerged from alchemy, when science decided mysticism and metaphysics had no place in discovery. *snort*( Yeah, right. And if you believe this, you believe that the feud in modern physics will be put to bed with some milk, cookies, and tales of a unified field theory. )

But wait, there’s more: I just HAD to add this clip from Wikipedia. You see, Hermetic magic is concerned with, among other things, transmutation. The change of one element to another (in a nut shell). Most oft this is equated with turning a base metal into a precious metal, the infamous "Lead to Gold" gig. Which, I might add, has been done with the application of wild thinking and a boat load of high end nuclear power. And, mercury has also been turned to Gold (among other things). But I digress. I tracked back from the Emerald Tablet into Transmutation, and came upon ORIGIN, in the Wiki write up. Here’s what they say about ORIGIN, and, what two erudite scientists had to say as well:

Origin
The term dates back to the search for the philosopher's stone. It was applied consciously to modern physics first by Frederick Soddy when he, along with Ernest Rutherford, discovered that radioactive thorium was converting itself into radium in 1901. At the moment of realization, Soddy later recalled, he shouted out: "Rutherford, this is transmutation!" Rutherford snapped back, "For Christ's sake, Soddy, don't call it transmutation. They'll have our heads off as alchemists."


Apparently, calling a physicist an alchemist is the equivalent of making fun of someone’s mother. Them’s fighting words, folks. But what I really want to know, is what the hell was Thorium doing when no one was looking?

And one last parting thought. Remember many posts ago I suggested that the Emerald Tablet had all the hallmarks of an alein artifact, or one brought from the future to the past? Well, if it's the main cornerstone of alchemy and Hermeticism, and both are concerned with transmutation, and said transmutation is happening with our awareness, understanding and use of nuclear power as we head blissfully into the aforementioned future, is my suggestion that out there? I think not.

Chiller Theater: Feed your head

Chiller Theater this season was great! The theme of the shopping trip: Feed your head - with outrageous cinema. Mostly we bought Asian flicks, with a few exceptions. All had over the top paranormal, or action adventure, or both as themes, with one notable madcap exception. I think we wound up with something like 15 or more DVDs by the time the frenzy was over. Midnight Syndicate was set up and I picked up two of their CDs to play while working on Nobody's Hero: Vampyre, and, Out of Darkness. Total mood music. Check them out, they are a rare, and wonderful find: they do soundtrack style stuff, gothic, spooky, intense. As they say, "Music for the imagination". I told one of the composers I played the Thirteenth Hour CD while I wrote Immortal Protector, my first soon to be published novel, and he was totally psyched.

As to the flicks, here are some of the highlights:

Eko Eko Azarak, all three. Misa, new girl in school, teenage witch with incredible supernatural powers faces down ancient evil forces with even more mysterious mentor.

Versus The cover is the back of a man, Katana slung over the shoulder, automatic hand gun pointing down. He’s in black against a white background. This is a tough one to capture, but basically, unnamed prisoner escapes freaky prison into woods where he fights a mysterious, unstopable enemy and learns he is either facing big, bad evil, or is the evil, and I think there may be zombies. I know, I know, I usually hate zombies, but lately, they’ve seemed kind of interesting.

Silver Silver wants revenge against the gangsters that killed her family, so naturally, she infiltrates a Pro Wrestling promotion to achieve this goal. Involves not only karate but coin flipping.

Azumi, both of them. Live versions of an anime series, Asian costume drama with ass kicking heroine saving the realm, and stuff.

Yaji & Kita “Two flamboyant, down and out samurai embark on a journey on their chopper to battle Kita’s drug addiction and contemplate the meaning of their truly bizarre existence. Past and present intersect. Marked with a unique brand of cinematic mayhem, this hallucinogenic gay love story is sure to delight and bewilder all who dare journey with them.” This is from the cover copy. So it’s kind of Pricilla Queen of the Desert goes to Japan, on Acid. Sign me up!

There are a host of others, all along similar veins, except for Yaji and Kita, that one stands in a class by itself, but boy, it looks like a fun movie.

We used to watch a ton of Asain cinema and such, and then it kind of main streamed, and Hong Kong went through a 'management transition'. We kind of fell out of it at that point. Well, the Chinese have finally finished taking over, and now the Koreans are also involved in the movie biz, and there’s Japan still keeping it real, so it was a veritable smorgasbord for theater bizarre, and Tim and I jumped right back in and indulged to the max.

I didn’t do much in the way of getting autographs. Anthony Michael Hall was there. He’s a really big, big dude. Really big. I didn’t meet him, just ‘gazed’ from afar. But he appeared very pleasant. Bill Daley, a.k.a. Major Healy from I Dream of Jeanie, is a riot! A very funny, very pleasant man. Peter Chris, from Kiss, is an ass. He made fans wait for his signing until one pm when the show opens at 11. Then he only wanted to sign until three. I am not a Kiss fan, but one of our travel mates was, and due to all of the nonsense was unable to get an autograph, so I’m hating this guy in proxy for my buddy who was screwed. Solidarity, right?

I’m really liking this promo since they switched hotels.

I’m going to write in and ask them to get Temeura Morrison and Rob Halford as guests. Sure, one comes from New Zealand, and the other is in England recording, but hey, a girl can dream, right?

Supernatural, super awesome

Okay, I sound like a lame fangirl. But Supernatural was really good last night. This whole season’s been spot on for me. But last night, I don’t know: it all came together the way the Brandy, Fruit bits, and Red wine do in Pancho’s sangria. The dialogue does it for me: the script writers get ‘banter’ and the actors know how to deliver it without chewing it up. And, they actors also get the ‘physical’ side of the job. They have good body English. Many actors these days either go overboard, or, are completely wooden or whiney. These guys have the game down.

I think what I enjoyed most about last night’s episodes were the intrusions of real life into the surreal demon fighting. At one point Dean wishes he could eat something that wasn’t heated in the microwave of a quick stop. At another point, someone puts an REO Speedwagon song on the juke box, and he looks up, an expression of utter horror and shock twisting his features. Later, he and Sam are arguing about heavy issues, and Dean says he wants a ‘do over’ and his brother gives him ‘a look’ that totally says “What the F##K” and says “What are you, seven?”. Another character is able to influence minds in this episode, and as he’s telling the clerical worker at the county court records room not to worry about them being there he says “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for”.

Maybe you have to watch it to get it, but it all knit together so well. I was impressed.
Sometimes it’s the little details that are subtle, that combine for one helluva punch.

Web Angst

So after going through the angst of creating very minimal content for my website, and having a very wonderful person get it up there for me, I am now facing the dreaded REDESIGN.

I finally took the FrontPage class, so at least I understand more terminology.

You’d think I could handle this? I was a managing editor of the student newspaper, back in the 'lay it out with a wax machine and cut and paste via scalpel' days. But alas, no. I must have lost that perspective in the late 80s, along with an assortment of critical brain cells.

I drafted out what I think it should look like. This I did after attending an amazing workshop on web promotion, and the NJ RWA conference. My trouble lies in the fact that I love the photoshop art on my entry page, and apparently entry pages are in the top five of the NO NO list. Also in that list is the layout structure of my template. My pretty Lilac Noir template. I’m hoping this can be shrunk down to fill a corner spot on the home page, but it’s debatable if that’s even possible. AND, to top it all off, I may need to change the name. Or not. This is really too much decision making. I feel like if I make one misstep, I am a goner. Oh, and let me not forget: the blog gets an overhaul too.

Tiny Bubbles in my You Tube

So last night I was at a fraternal order’s bar. The room was paneled, lighter than my living room walls, but roughly from the same 1970’ish vintage. There was a large man singing torch songs to a karaoke player, with an amazing amount of style, while folks danced. The bar had captain style chairs you’d find at someone’s home. The bar surface topped out just above my knees. The bartender was in a sunken pit, serving drinks and trading barbs with the singer. Then, they passed out the bubbles. And the singer sang “Tiny Bubbles” while we all blew bubbles into the air. The closest person in age to me was my husband, then the gap went up by about 20 years and climbing, but we all sat around laughing and blowing bubbles, while folks danced and the man sang karaoke. I swear I felt a lightening in my heart, like so much I’ve been carrying around just faded away like the tiny bubbles. I had a great time.

Then the next evening, I made another discovery.
YouTube and Book Trailers, and such.
Wow. I heard they’re increasingly popular as a marketing tool.

What I found interesting was that many had only a soundtrack, and scrolling or fading words over a varying backdrop that might or might not include people. If it did include people, they were usually in stills. I thought if you were doing video, you’d want to show more action. But that would mean using actors. Not always that good a thing. Below is a link to Jame's Patterson's Judge & Jury. I liked this one the best of what I checked out, and I wonder: since it was one actor, no special effects, was it cheaper to make?


I wonder what this produces in terms of real results and if you’re able to track this? Or is it just one of those kewl kinds of things? Not sure.

Anyway, here is another site: Book Trailer Park. They review trailers. Kind of a fun blog, neat links. And, there is YouTube. Man. There is some serious weird fun on that site. Enjoy.

The Unit

I watched an episode of The Unit last night. I really enjoy that show. Tim follows it regularly, but yesterday was one of the few times I watched it without the benefit of the DVR and commercial crowd control. I found myself anticipating the show during each break, because the story line was great and so where the actors. And when it was on, I didn’t multi task. No reading a book, or making notes on my writing. The Unit had and maintained the entirety of my attention span. It’s like Nirvana, because it all comes together well. I like the play between the wives lives and the soldiers lives. The guys remind me of guys from special warfare units I knew back in the day. I’m sure there’s creative license taken, but the way it’s packaged is very attractive, and very alluring. And it has Dennis Haysbert. Who I think is fabulous in anything, even his State Farm commercials. I was very glad to see him as a lead for another show. I missed him after 24.

Houston, it's a go!

Great news!
I just finished inking a contract with Samhain Publishing Ltd. for Immortal Protector.

I am over the moon!

Turkish coffee, Rug Merchants, Cairo Mass Transit, and Mom

I remember when I was in Egypt how different shopping was as an ‘experience’. Here in the states, it’s kind of a disembodied experience. In most stores, you have in-experienced sales staff who are forced to interact with customers, and blather canned greetings and can I help you, or chase you out because they’re on your six the entire time you’re trying to shop leaving the more paranoid of us to think “Ah Ha, they’re really not sales people, they’re Iluminati spies…”

Well, in Egypt, in the bazaar, the sales approach is different. I was there almost 20 years ago. My mother offered me a trip to anywhere in the world as long as it was warm. My grandfather had fabulous pictures of Egypt and North Africa from his time in WWII (he was a flight mechanic crew chief who desperately wanted to be a turret gunner. Each pay period he would ask his CO politely when he could transfer out. They had no intention of sending someone with his level of expertise off to a meat grinder, and finally, one day the CO, out of frustration told him “Settle down, son, it’s a long war.” He never made it to the turret, however, he had amazing pictures and stories that I grew up with and never forgot.) My mom at the time was just learning Arabic. She had an amazing affinity for languages, as do all in our family. Anyway, I’m not much of a ‘lets go lay in the sun type’. I’m a history nerd, and easily bored, so I suggested Egypt. It was fateful, because it cemented her love of Middle Eastern culture, and she returned many times after, including doing a semester at Cairo University. So there we are, not in the Congo, but in Cairo, and one of our adventures was to check out the bazaar. I was determined to come home with a hooka, and very unmindful of any kind of danger. Tim would argue I still am. I would argue that the last 18 years have made me more aware, at least a little.

Anyway, the night before, she had met two guys in robes who were over from Kuwait to party in Cairo. They tried to get into the hotel room, but they gave me the willies, so I locked them out. Then I called security, and my ‘bell boy’. I had tipped him good with American my first day in town, so I always had someone I could turn to if I needed help. See? I’m not a total idiot. He persuaded them to stop the stalking and move on to some other target. The next day, my mom decided, let’s chill, go shopping, since the night before was quite exciting. So we hopped this bus. In Cairo, traffic dances to a chorus of beeps. The drivers all truck along, using this incomprehensible beeping system to telegraph action and motive to fellow drivers. And the busses never quite stop. They slow down. You jump on, you jump off. We do just that, wind up in the bazaar. All the while women are trying to sell us their young female children. I don’t know this of course, because all I know in Egyptian are “Shukran – Thank you”, “Aiwa – which is yes, and yeah, and hell yeah, all rolled into one.” And “Bakshish (bak-sheesh)- kind of like graft and charity– which is what folks ask for when they beg, and what you grease wheels with if you want a good experience). In the bazaar she finally explains what the women are doing. I think this is a little weird. Then we start to shop. First place, a rug merchant’s digs. Everyone’s sitting around this water pipe, smoking and drinking Turkish coffee. I LOVE coffee, but it is seriously hotter than hell. Doesn’t matter. If you shop, and are polite, you have to drink and talk with the shop keeps first. So we go ALL over the bazaar, drinking and talking. I think they were more friendly because we were two blonde women (my red brown bleached out the first day we were in the desert), and because my mom spoke the language so well, and was so enthusiastic about the culture. Thus, I learned here, prior to the Army gig, that drinking warm beverages in the heat helps climatize you. And, here, I learned to love Turkish coffee. I’m also a fan of dark, dark beer. When you can chew your beer, or your coffee, you know it’s been made spot on. The coffee puts me in the mood for adventure, takes the edge off the heat, and the journey continues.

So about the sixth establishment we were in, a jewelry store, we’re drinking and getting some cartouches made while we wait, the guy turns my mom on to a rug merchant who also deals in water pipes (hookas). So we head on over, drink more coffee with a guy who looks like Sala from Indiana Jones. After a bit the owner calls out and this lanky teenage boy appears, and motions for me to go with him. And what do I do? Set down my cup, get up, and follow. We go through this maze of adobe like buildings, down halls, through alleys, up several sets of stairs, emerge on a roof top, and go through another door. At that point it hits me that maybe I should not be doing this alone. Too late, though, I’m already committed. So in this room, thankfully, are hookas and not white slavers. This is Egypt, you know, not Syria. (Which she also visited. I did not join her.) The room is filled with pipes of all shapes and sizes, including the kind they use in the coffee shops that litter the bazaar; the bodies as tall as an average man, long pipes undulating like tentacles from their bronzed bellies. Like Goldilocks, I find something that is just right for my touristy twenty year old needs. I give the boy a pile of the funny money (the brightly colored, different sized bits of paper I am told is Egyptian currency). I then give him a good American tip, since I figure the rug merchant will take his cut from the native, and since I’ve learned the importance of bakshish (I know I am not even close to the correct spelling). We go back a different way, cut through two other establishments, including the kitchen of some kind of café/coffee joint, and finally wind up back at the rug merchants. After some more shopping, we grab some local food: pita, rice, spiced chicken (I think), and bottled water. I feed these two cats who emerge out of no where, sleek and skinny, and awfully friendly. We have more Turkish coffee, laugh about the room full of bongs (could have been a scene from a Cheech and Chong movie), jump on a bus, and head back to the hotel. Our guide is there, furious that we ditched him. I have developed a love for the coffee, and I have my water pipe in tow, so I don’t give a rat’s ass about the guide at that point.

Right before she died a few weeks back, my mom sent me the equipment to make my own Turkish coffee, along with the very fine powdered grains one must use in the brew process. I’ve been a philistine, making it in the automatic drip. Tomorrow, I’m pulling out the ibrik and the blend with the cardamom, and going native. I’ll raise a cup of the thick brew, and remember the good times. And the rug merchants.

Welcome to the Vortex

I am trying to remove the junk from my house, create order out of chaos.
The garage is up and near full, we are moving things from the basement, and the back room is transition. I have to remove all my mountains of fabric, and be rid of them. I just can’t stand being oppressed by it all. And I must go to NYC to get more stuff from my mom’s old apartment prior to the contractors coming to renovate. But wait, there’s more. We planned to put a day bed in the back room, since my grandparents usually stay there, and, they can’t sleep in the same bed due to the blanket wars (he hates them, she uses ten tons of them). So my grandmother, who is getting a day bed for her own home, decided she’ll ship us an identical one for the back room so she knows she’ll be comfortable when she visits. Which means I have to really clean the back room, move the couch out, which means moving the piano in, and ditching the old sewing desk so the piano has a place to go. Not to mention moving the comics. Every weekend is booked in October, I have to run to NYC again next weekend, in fact, I don’t have a free weekend until December. I have a book to write, too. And I have all the estate papers, courts to contact and petition, etc to begin, though I expect it will take me the better part of the year to resolve. Perhaps more.

In all of this is a lesson somewhere. Damned if I know what it is. But I am refusing to book anything else for December weekends except what is already there. (My chapter meeting). I will also finish Nobody’s Hero on deadline. I said I’d take that hill, I’m damn well taking that hill.

I’m glad Tim hung the heavy bag in the garage. Yesterday I went out and pounded it a few times and felt significantly better. Looks like I’ll be needing it. Violence does have a place, you know.

Voice

Tom Erhenfeld wrote a really good post on voice: Your Voice Is Calling.
A must read for writers.

Voice, it seems, is the new buzz word. I’m hearing it at conventions, seeing it on-line. In a world where no story is new, perhaps voice is the critical distinguishing element, then?

Read it. Few words. Big thoughts. Below is a clip that captures the spirit.

"My advice to you, and I assume my audience to be entrepreneurs whose ventures can be very loosely defined, is this: spend more time understanding your voice, and shape your venture to fit. Don’t pursue great wealth, or fame, or arbitrary measures that are beyond your control. Instead of launching an inauthentic business to capture a momentary business pocket; focus instead on recognizing what you’re good at, what you care about, and what you can deliver, and then adapt that to the world around you."

As writers, I think we can take this to mean don't worry about what you can't control. Use your time to hone your ability, to develop your voice, and understand how your voice fits into the world/market around you.

NJ and the Copulatory Gaze

I attended the NJ RWA Put Your Heart in a Book conference this weekend. One of the workshops was Yex& Violence, presented by Bob Mayer and Jennie Cruise (Co-Authors of Don’t Look Down.) I'd say this presentation gave me the most take away, and a close second was one on internet promotion. (By the way, my web site qualifies for 'all the things you should never do with a web site.' I really like my intro art, and since I'm not selling anything, violating the rules is okay. You could argue I am selling myself, but I would argue back.)

So Jenny Cruise is talking about sex as action scenes. (Bob is talking about violence as action scenes). I’m living in my own head as usual and about half a step behind, because as I’m taking notes, I’m reflecting at the same time on my next book and Jack, and the whole shebang is covered by the dark veil produced from the death issue of last week. To top if off, I'm taking notes in 2 notebooks: one on the general presentation, and a second that is for Nobody's Hero (this holds the little tidbits that catch my fancy and trigger ah-ha moments for the work in progress.) So, there I am, in the Congo..ahem...in the front row of the room, wearing my opera beads, mind in fugue state, two notebooks out at one time, and Jennie Cruise starts talking about the Copulatory Gaze (I think that’s it). How we all have used it and know what it is. We have? Okay, I’m intrigued. I take even more copious notes. I’m trying to think if I’ve used it. Supposedly, WE all have, and have had it used on us. I've been married for 13 years, so I have to go back a while. Hmm. I file this away. Other thoughts continue to circle the LZ. I’m still stuck on having an antagonist that needs to be alive in each scene, and conscious, thinking that means there has to be two people in EVERY scene, because by now, I’ve too much drift and internal conversation in my brain. The presenters were talking literally, about the antagonist (read: bad guy that opposes the hero), and I was thinking speculatively and figuratively. I believe this is 'the look of love' (love being used in the broadest of terms). This then gets me thinking about another term, the 'hairy eyeball'. I learned that one in the Army. Then I start thinking how I interact with the world, because I'm sure I know this term (the CG), but perhaps I just don't bring it onto my radar, which then gets me the age old argument between me and the dh. (So all this while, on goes the presentation, and I am taking notes.)

Anyway, I'm thinking how Tim always says I tune out of my environment. It drives him nuts. Like once, we’re in a bar/music hall to see Seven Nations play. I am watching the band. He is watching two guys about to fight over a girl. They are standing next to me. I didn’t notice them. I didn’t pay to see them, I tell him. I paid to see the band, and that’s what had my attention. Another time, he was behind me on the road, beeping furiously to get my attention. I was thinking about a problem at work, and had tuned out the background while driving. He has often said I miss things, cues from other people, etc, and can’t figure it out because I’m a nurse, former military, grew up in NYC, so in theory I should be aware. We joke I live in my own head. I guess sometimes I do. Sort of like the absent minded professor. But today I figured out something. I pick up cues he does not. Those vague psychic currents. I’m tuned to them all the time. You don’t ever shut it off, you know. And I think that’s why I’m not always focused on the visual, I’m focused on the energetic. I often know things about people, relationships, problems, long before I’m told. Because I’m surfing the ether. Twenty years in the biz, you know, does count for something. That is my defense, I'm tuning into a different frequency.

Still, I think I pay enough attention to what’s happening around me. I don’t always react. I think that’s the real issue. Just because something happens, or someone acts one way, doesn’t necessitate an automatic reciprocation of action on my part. It’s better to chose to act then to react sometimes. Perhaps this is the result of watching too many esoteric kung foo movies in my glorious and long past youth.

All in all, NJ was an interesting conference. But the moon was full, so it had some very weird moments too. I went through the conference as though I were three people. There was the surface level person who was present in body and fully accounted for. There was the sub surface person, who was hanging back keeping an eye on things. Then there was the diver down, thinking all sorts of weird thoughts about the broader meaning of life, the things left yet to do, of what messages I seem to be missing, and what messages I am catching, and what I plan to do with all this information I seem to be sifting on a continual basis.

I liked being in the hotel, even if I was orbiting the earth for most of the time. It was nice to kick back and chill. Neither Tim or I had to drive, so each night we stopped at the bar to have a few drinks, then we ambled back to the room and relaxed without regrets. Maybe that, more than the copulatory gaze, is my take away from this conference. I need to find more time to relax without regrets.

Take a breath

Life moves fast sometimes. You get down into your groove and you push forward without a breath of fresh air. And then something happens and you grind to a halt, huffing, puffing, wondering where did all the time go? All those good intentions that never manifested? My grandfather always says: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He may be right.

I had a recent grind to a halt incident. A relative passed away unexpectedly. This person was a close relation, and yet, distant at the same time.

So now I’m getting a fresh look around at my own scene.

I think this is a Kodak moment, this entire incident. I wonder what comes next?

Oh, the inconvenience of death, it follows no one’s schedule, does not call the secretary for an appointment, does not ask permission to visit. It comes and goes like a thief in the night. And we are left, standing amidst the debris, empty of all except questions and regret.

This, That, and Lucky Number Slevin

1. The Website is up. MuseUnplugged. Very barebones, for now. We plan to add in the blog as the home page, but for now, just bio and links.

2. If you have a hankering for an almost retro style crime noir film, see Lucky Number Slevin.

The movie was very Asian in it’s approach. There were no real heroes, and yet there were. Very karmic destiny. And done in an engaging, interesting manner. One thing I found appealing was the way they use character viewpoint flashback – al a the unreliable narrator. You’re taking what people ‘remember’ to be true, but this ‘memory’/ ‘flashback’ is simply one character telling another character something that may or may not be true. But because we see it early, and in such vivid detail, the audience assumes it’s truth. When in fact, it’s lie. And we see it happen this way, flashback story/lie imparted by two separate characters in rapid succession, to two other characters, and those moments form the foundation for the rest of the story. Brilliant! I love movies that can twist and turn. This was kind of Hitchcock meets toned down Robert Rodriguez with a dash of John Woo. I can’t tell you the real story line without blowing the whole gig: but basically it’s “Karmic destiny visited upon two crimelords as a result of a case of what appears to be mistaken identity.” You won’t be disappointed. It’s a long, rich flick that doesn’t rely on flash bang to pass the time, and instead rolls up it’s sleeves and gets into some serious story telling.

3. Tim has me hooked on these Collectible Miniatures Game with what else: The Bounty Hunters. Though we have rare Mandalore the Indomitable, we do not have Boba Fett or Jango Fett. I warned him off bringing them into the house, but no, he did not listen. And now I am addicted and won’t be able to stop until I secure the younger and elder Fetts. I suppose there are worse things that I could suffer from. The games seem fun, too: skirmishes set up based on point spreads, with alternating movement of opponents. More wargame than roll playing. I’ve considered running Star Wars RPG for our group, but my time’s so limited I couldn’t do it justice as a GM. Currently we RPG in Savage Worlds once a month with friends, for a Saturday session that starts out with a big meal, good beer and conversation. We go till about six or so. In fact, it’s on today’s schedule. A welcome antidote to reality. I have brownies baking in the oven, and vanilla frosting to add once they’re done. We plan to try and hook our two friends into the CMG as well. What good is an addiction if you can’t share?

Saturday Stuff

Good News!!!!
The website may be coming soon to a URL near you!
MuseUnplugged.com
I have the template and content out with someone who’ll work on getting it to the site.
I want to have my blog as the front home page, but we’re not sure we can make it work. I’m sure there’s a way, though. There’s always a way.

I decided for now the website is more of a business card kind of tool. The blog is what I’m active on. When I ultimately publish, I can reconfigure, and use it more.

We had a great turn out for the chapter meeting today. One thing that came across clear: our chapter is a very active group. Out of 40 people a number are published, and many more are actively seeking publication. A bunch of folks announced completed manuscripts. One is out to a publisher. Four members have books coming out in October. There were lots of reasons to celebrate today. And Gayle Callen did a bang up program on revisions. Then Tim and I went to Uno’s for dinner. I carbo loaded with the Rattlesnake Pasta, and that must be why I feel so relaxed!!!!

This weekend is dedicated to completing the detailed scene outline for Nobody's Hero. Luckily, I have plenty of stout in the house, and very neat strong coffee flavored with Cardamon. Cardamon was used cross-culturally throughout antiquity and is still used in current day in all kinds of spells involving love, passion and creativity. It is also considered a spice that puts 'fire into the blood'. Last, a lesser known use: magical enhancement. Like the color orange, it's a potentiator that can increase the magical power of the other elements in a spell. It's also tasty and smells nice: peppery sweet and mysterious.

Catching Up

OMG!!!! I took my first Access Class today. I can’t wait to get into class two. I’m really getting into this database thing. I’ve always been the one requesting data, now I can create and manage and report. This fits well with all my diabolical plans. Actually, once I’m done with all classes I’ll be more independent from IT resources, and I’ll be able to do some much needed database building that will enhance the work process and make everyone’s lives easier. I’m all about working smarter, not harder.

Work’s busy, but entertaining. Writing is entertaining, but busy.

Tomorrow is the first meeting of my RWA chapter since we broke for summer after the June Conference. I’m excited because I have a copy of my friend’s book a month early. I ordered from Harlequin’s website, so I got an October book in September: A Cowboy Like No Other, by Christine Wenger. She’s coming down from Syracuse, I can’t wait to surprise her!!!!

I’m also excited because we secured Deb Dixon to do Book in a Day for the June 2007 conference, and our 2006 end of year, and 2007 all year program is near complete. We have only 4 slots to fill, and 3 we always do with visiting authors, so in reality we only have 1 slot that we’d like to fill with a member presentation. It’s great to plan ahead, and get the hard work out of the way so you can enjoy yourself!!! This weekend’s presentation is on Revisions, with historical romance author Gayle Callen. And, I’m going out to brunch at the conference hotel before the meeting. So Saturday promises excellence all around.

Weird on Monday

Monday.
A weird day.
There’s an eclipse coming. September 22n’d I think. Eclipses mean serious weirdness. Which means today was merely a prelude.
It’s a corporate America kind of weird, though. That kind of weird is an ever present thing, and I believe some days I notice it more than others.

Lucky Number Sleven arrives from Netfix tomorrow.
I’m ready for a wild action movie. And, for more weirdness, I went to highschool with Lucy Liu. Of course, I had 700+ people in my graduating class.

I’m near about ready to complete the formal outline for book two. There’s no way this book will fit into 75K words and make any kind of sense. I need 80 minimum. Maybe even 90. It’s the damn artifacts. Weird. I know. But hey, it’s Monday. Right? And we’re 11 days out from the eclipse.
You’ve been warned.

Hot Buttons

Over at her blog, Jordan Summers posed the question of what (and I paraphrase) bugged folks about books lately, you know: what were the hot buttons.

One of the folks pegged too much snark, and I had to agree. The more I thought on this today, the more I realized it is far more of a hot button for me than all the other peeves.

I see the forced hilarity and biting witticism mostly in paranormal genres, and it reads like a string of bad one liners from open comedy mic night at the local college rathskellar. It’s a decided turn off. A few other folks came out in defense of snark calling it sarcasm, stating this is how they write, etc. I’m okay with that, everyone has a voice. I’m not dissing sarcasm either. I just don’t elect to read books that are ‘dark’ and then full of line after line after line of alleged clever shots. Farce more than has it’s place. I absolutely adore Terry Pratchett, and Douglass Adams. I like witty dialogue, and I like levity in decidedly heavy situations. But in this case the old adage “If some is good, more is better” does not apply. There’s too much forced farce in paranormals these days, paranormals that are labeled as dark, and contain supposedly tormented heroes. I have a hard time getting into that if it’s written as an episode of Laugh In meets Sex in the City. Angel, okay, like that. But even Buffy got a little too ‘hilarious’ for me at times. Sherrilyn Kenyon and Maggie Shayne do the sarcastic characters well: they have the edge, but they don’t get dopey.

And then, there is the Chapter 4 Curse. Jordan commented that it’s the hardest chapter to write because it’s something of a bridge, and I believe that. But I also think that when the rest of the book uses chapter 4 as the dive into the deep end, it’s symptomatic of weak editing. Someone else commented it could be a result of selling on pitch: strong 1-3, all else, enough to pass the test, but not necessarily make the grade. All of this "What I don't like" makes me wonder what exactly, then, do I like? So I'm going to put some thought into that and try to come up with a list of what I do like in my writers, and what I do appreciate, because I don't like always being focused on negative.

You know, in the end, we all have different hot buttons, right? So much of criticism boils down to taste. As writers we need to be tough, because the readers out there are tough, and they’re not afraid to speak up about what plagues them. I guess that’s why we cleave so strongly to our favorite authors, because they tend to serve up steadily dishes of what we enjoy. And that might explain why we get so itchy when the favorite author breaks out of the mold with something new. Man, and I want to get into this gig why ?

Supernova, Superspacey

I heard the other day that the rock band “Supernova” is coming to the local arena in January. Now, I’m an old metal head, music geek, and I dig some reality T.V., so I got hooked into watching Supernova. The show is a competition between vocalists for a slot fronting the band, and that band is comprised of rockers from other high test bands: Tommy Lee, comes to mind. The main host is this guy Dave Navarro. His band will open for Supernova when they tour. I know the others should be knowable to me: one guy looks like Lyle Lovett, and is the old Metallica bassist. The other guy, lead guitar, is named Gilby, and he looks like Bill Paxton in a cheap black fright wig with fake moustache. They're all serious musical geeks, definately in tune with their art, and that's cool to watch.

Some of the vocalists competing to front this band are very talented, though maybe not a good fit for the kind of R&B garage rock style of Supernova. The band’s original tracks remind me of a cross between early Rolling Stones and glamorized Ramones. Since I’m more of a Zeppelin, Judas Priest, Halford type girl for my rock, I’m not that into their sound. HOWEVER, for some reason, I was drawn into the show. I hope they settle either on the Icelandic native Magni, or, feisty Dilana. I think given the choice, Magni is a slightly better front: his voice is more suited to the music. Dilana has a different sound, more suited to punk, or alternative.

Now, Supernova, Dave N. and his band, and, the house band (the most talented musicians in the entire production) are coming to a local venue. And I am actually considering going to this concert. A bunch of my staff were hooked on American Idol and went to see the production when it blew into town, and I thought, yeah, cool, but was left scratching my head. So why, then, am I considering going to Supernova? I have no idea at all why. Except maybe closure? I’d like to see how they are on stage? (Very different from how you appear on a produced TV show). I have by no means purchased tickets, but I found it amazing that I was considering doing so at some point in the future.

Lately, I’ve been listening to some outrageous stuff. Tim played Dragonforce the other day: some tracks are great, others sound like Speed Metal Polka. Certainly talented, and they’re gamers, I believe. I've been exploring, lots of Gothic electronica, alternative, euro/techno and such: Artists like Nightwish, Cruxshadows, Behind the Scenes, and a host of others. Since Rhapsody doesn't have much more than a sampling, I'm compiling a list of the bands so I can track down the CDs for purchase. What I enjoy about the sound is the intermingling of a variety of instruments and influences: operatic arias and electric violins, middle eastern drum beats and religious chants paired with deep base and fierce guitar. They keys tend to be minor, the composition, vital, diverse and unexpected. Very spacey, and I guess that must be my mood as of late: very spacey. And maybe that's the case. After reading Bloodlines, I find I'm too distracted, or preoccupied to read anything else. It may be because I'm into writing book two, but I think it's also because I gorged in August, and had such splendid fare, that I'm sated, and perhaps a bit jaded. And spacey, definately spacey.

Bloodlines by Karin Traviss: Review

I remember the first time I saw him, a mysterious menace in wildly colorful yet fearsome armor full of wear and battle scars. He stood somehow apart from the others, and indeed, I realized he was something far more than them. Why else would the Dark Lord of the Sith warn him so sternly off disintegrations? Curious, I was eager for more of him, and was not disappointed when he alone succeeds where all others, including the mighty and vast resources of the Empire, fail. He captures his prey, and brings him in for not one, but two bounties. Here was a man above the petty politics of galactic dominance and revolution, here was a man who belonged to himself, and his own code. A clever, calculating, interesting, dangerous man.

But really, who was he? I can’t say as I knew him then, nor in Return of the Jedi. I just knew he did not rest easy in the gullet of the Sarlacc. And then came the books to prove it, and the comics. Rumor ran rampant through the galaxy, and the more I learned of his future and his past, the less certain I became, the more questions I had. Who was the real man inside that armor? What was his past, what effect did it have upon him, what secrets hid behind the T-shaped visor. Did he have hopes and dreams? Did he know love? What did he feel of loss? Did he have any regrets in his life, and any plans for a future? Who was at the top of his most recent bring-em-back-alive-or-dead-list? Who was this enigmatic, lone figure untouched by mere mortal concerns? Who was, and, who is Boba Fett?

Bloodlines took the visor off, and the gloves, and revealed him. The book itself is more than just Fett, and yet, the epic span of his life, his tie in to critical galactic events (if even as a contract player), his reputation, the tragic events that shaped him, somehow these stand out in a stark, simple clarity and overshadow all else. The book begins in Boba Fett’s voice, as a passage from his private record, ten years after the Yuuzhan Von war. It’s a very visceral, intimate way to bring you into the tale, conveying an intensity and an immediacy that puts you for the first time, firmly behind the visor: you become the man on the inside. And you learn that he has some heavy things going on in his head. Fett thinks he’s dying, and identifies three things that he has to do: “Find out what happened to Ailyn. Another is to decide who’s going to be Mandalore when I’m gone. And the third, of course, is to cheat death. I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

Indeed, Fett, more than most, cheats death at just about every turn in what we know of his life. But for all he’s cheated death, there are many things he’s never done, and he begins to consider these, and life in general, as he sets about completing his ‘to do’ list. His doctor has all but written him off, however, Boba Fett always has a back up plan. In addition to searching for his daughter, he determines he’ll need to track down one of the original cloners, a specialist in anti-aging and cutting edge genetic manipulation. Of course, the scientist, a Kaminoan, fled the planet long ago to align with the separatists. No problem. Fett doesn’t have much time, per his physician, but, he has enough time he figures to get his tasks accomplished. Remember, he is the most infamous, and arguably, successful bounty hunter the galaxy has ever seen. And, he wants the galaxy to continue seeing him. So, plan in mind, he kicks into action. He doesn’t think too hard that the Mandalorians he represents are struggling to rebuild after the devastation of the war, or that they are suffering from the effects of mass scale diaspora that’s occurred over the span of many decades. He doesn’t think to hard that the Galactic Alliance is on the cusp of war, facing growing dissent from a variety of fronts, the most pressing, Corrillia. There has always been war in the galaxy, in one form or another. Fett is focused on his objectives, and the rest of the galaxy, if not furthering or contributing, somehow, don’t enter into his radar. Except for opportunities to profit. These are always front and center.

Galactic players the scale of Boba Fett, however, are never entirely out of the mix, no matter how much they believe otherwise. In the midst of his personal quest, he learns a bounty’s been placed on an old associate / prey: Han Solo, and, his entire family. Once again, Fett is drawn into intrigue. He knows his daughter will go for the bounty, and is about to track her down, when he hooks up with another woman, a young girl Mirta Gev. Mirta holds an old token, a necklace Fett gave to his now dead wife, back when he was not so infamous, and, not so cynical. As he returns to memory, we find many explanations for things that have mystified us and left us questioning long into the night. Goran Beviin is back again, serving counterpoint to Fett, a beacon of humanity that has imparted some heat to the stoic Boba, thawing some of the ice, bringing more of the past, and the man to the fore. From Goran he begins to appreciate the dire straits of the residents of Mandalore, to understand they are not just warriors, they are fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, spouses, families, some how trying to keep it all together and not doing a fantastic job. More than ever, the Mandalorians need the Mandalore, to join them, to lead them, to be more than a menacing figurehead. And if not Fett, there might be one who fits the bill.

Mirta, he learns, has encountered a clone who still lives and very well may hold the key to the technology that can help Fett cheat death yet again. Though Boba Fett isn’t exactly a warm fuzzy, he finds himself respecting the tag along Mirta and the disciplined way she conducts herself. Mirta is part Mandalorian, and again, serves as mirror and bridge for Fett and the Mandalorian part of his roots.

The galaxy, and his past, do not rest easy for Boba Fett in this book, and they give him no quarter. At every turn he is confronted with a ghost, at every step he faces a side of himself, new and old, and indeed seems engaged with an internal battle between who he was, who he is, and who he might become. In the search for his daughter, he determines he’ll need to squash the threat to Solo, and in an odd twist of fate, winds up partnering with the old rogue to snuff out Han’s heinous cousin, Thrackan Sal’Solo, the man responsible for the bounty, and the leader of rebellious Corillia. They gain access to the world, Fett, Solo, and Mirta, but as that plan unfolds, darker events are also coming into their own.

Fett’s daughter Ailyn was double crossed by Thrackan, and winds up a prisoner on Coruscant. She is interrogated by Jacen Solo, a man on the edge of the abyss, desperate to control the chaotic galaxy at all costs, so longing for order, so possessed by his emotions, he is considering apprenticing as Sith. He believes he can do the right thing with Sith power, succeeding where his grandfather Anakin/Vader failed.

Fett, Mirta and Solo confront Thraken, where they learn together that Fett’s daughter was sold out. Later, they learn Ailyn died during Jacen’s brutal interrogations. Fett also learns that Mirta is more than your average girl in Mandalorian armor: she is Ailyn’s daughter and his granddaughter. So he does indeed make good on his intent to find out what happened to Ailyn, but he does not get to do what he later realizes he wanted: he doesn’t get to see her, to talk to her, to make some kind of peace with her. Peace, indeed, is made when he and Mirta sees Ailyn’s body. Peace is made when he decides to collect his father’s bones as well and return to Mandalore with Mirta, to bury the dead, and determine what to do about the position of Mandalore, and what to do about the Mandalorians. Peace is made when he determines he’ll teach his granddaughter to pilot Slave I, if he makes it that far. Peace is made for both of them when, in the midst of sorrow and loss and rage, they can at least be human enough to realize they are all they each have left. And yet, the peace made is fragile, new, raw, edgy. In making peace Fett realizes that the Jedi and Sith have torn the galaxy apart time and time again, and time and time again, the Mandalorians have suffered as a result, and he personally has suffered as a result. A new outcome must be forged, a change in tactics, a different approach. The Mandalorians, the Fetts, must rebuild, circle the wagons, sit this one out and let the Sith and Jedi go at it on their own.

Karen Traviss has far surpassed any expectations with this book, and left me very eager for more. I very rarely read a book more than once, but I know I need to read this again, because there’s enough richness to sustain and to demand multiple viewings. The character development of Boba Fett in Bloodlines is nothing short of masterful. The story line of continuation and family, as well as destiny, and fate play in a detail that is epic, tragic, and human. The writing comes across as very frank, and very adult. Major galactic events are brought to an every man level that touches you in a personal, effective way. Boba Fett, while growing, still maintains the quintessential traits that define his core, the same traits that draw us all to him and his legendary exploits. This is more than the attention to detail and continuity by the Del Rey and Lucas team, this is the hallmark of a skilled author who has a genuine feel for and understanding of the character, the vision and foresight for where the character has to go to evolve, and the courage to put the character through the wringer (as well as the fans) to get him there.

Bloodlines of course, is about more than Boba Fett. It’s about the Solos and the Skywalkers, about Jacen and Ben, about Sith and Jedi, about truth and spin, about damnation and redemption. Still, as a Fett fan extreme, I think the most satisfying element of the story, and the most engaging story line is the one about the mysterious bounty hunter. Bloodlines is nothing short of a rite of passage for Boba Fett. He has amazing insight and perspective on the galactic events that are shaping up around him, and he comes to gain some very hard won perspective on his own life as well. He arrives at some brilliant conclusions at the end of this odyssey, a changed man in critical ways, wiser, in pain both physical and emotional, but far stronger, in more in control of his destiny, and far richer for the experience. And, he is still a formidable, dangerous, warrior. As readers we conclude this leg of a most amazing journey with all the bits and pieces pulled together, and a glimpse of what is to come. Indeed, you feel not only that for the first time do you really know Boba Fett, you know he still has a great destiny before him. The road he takes to reach that destiny no doubt will be fraught with danger, trouble, seemingly insurmountable challenges, and a pile of bodies, we would expect no less, but it will be one hell of a trip for us all when we take it with him.

Prismatic Perspective, and other things

Building on last nights madness, Tim and I talked about what happens at the scene of an accident: everyone who sees it has a different view. Same if you have the same overall story, but tell it from the perspective of a different character or characters, or, tell it in a different genre where different elements are emphasized. We talked about Star Wars, Episode IV, and V as an example. If you told IV from Han Solo’s perspective, it might come off as a noir action story of damnation and redemption. Kind of like the washed up detective takes one last job and is converted and renewed in the process. If you told it from the Stormtroopers, you’d get the fan film “Troops” (heh!). If you told it from Leia’s perspective, you’d have a political thriller. I started imagining Star Wars IV, done from Solo’s first person point of view, prior to running into Luke and Obi Wan. He’s sitting in the Cantina thinking: Crap, double Crap, I owe Jabba fat loot, there’s a bounty on my head, I’m stuck on a planet that farms the arid air for moisture, in a bar that serves blue milk. I am so totally screwed. And then, in walks Obi Wan and Luke, where shortly thereafter, the bar patrons are treated to a sign of Jedi Hospitality (read Death and Dismemberment), and then said Jedi hires out the Falcon. I think if you went all first person Solo it would be a riot. It would be the Star Wars equivalent of After Hours, or A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. In music, arrangements and transposition of standard pieces is the norm. Tim told me about this Japanese Film: Rashemon (I ‘m sure I spelled this wrong). It’s a police procedural set in Feudal Japan, and it’s about the same event, told from multiple viewpoints. I’m going to have to get my hands on a copy and watch it, sounds like just the ticket right about now.

I think many of the locked room mysteries, and the Hercule Poirot (I know I butchered that one) stories have elements of many views of the same event, that require convergence to find truth. Deb Dixon, in her workshops, talks about the dual protagonist romance and making sure that the author knows “Who’s story” it is that they are writing. “You can’t love all your babies equally” she continues. Then I think of movies, of McKee, of what message you’re trying to get across. And I think of the difference between a written, spoken, sung, signed message, and that your story could be arranged in many different structural formats – so you pick the one that suits the message the best. Makes it most clear. But like Picasso, it’s fun to play with perspective.

I watch these strange parodies of movies done by a character called Greg The Bunny. He is a plush puppet. Seth Green, the guy who played Oz in Buffy, is Greg’s human roommate. There were some shows about Greg the Bunny, now they just do these movie shorts. Which are amazing. Again, strange point of view, strange arrangement. I’m getting the same when I listen to folks sing on SuperNova, with inventive and often times disturbing cover arrangements.
So I still wonder, what it might be like to take the same macro-story concept, same characters, and mix it up.

Egyptian Artifact, Scientific Paradox, Writer's Brain

I’ve been researching the Emerald Tablet. In short, it is an historically documented tablet that tracks back to the Egyptians, allegedly authored by Thoth, a.k.a. Hermes Tristmagistus, in a mysterious period named the ‘Zep Tepi’ that occurred prior to a great cataclysm. The Zep Tepi refers to a time where god like beings came to earth and made Egypt their base of operations. Thoth, the Egyptian God of Science, was part of that landing party.

The Tablet has bas relief info carved onto it’s surface, and is a rectangular affair similar to a green, translucent crystal like an Emerald. Thus the name. It is the cornerstone for Hermetic Magic. Basically, the 13 bits of info give instructions to harmonize the Macrocosm (World of Diety: BIG) and the Microcosm (World of Man: Small), and has been a mainstay in Alchemy across cultures and through the centuries. Man and God are in some ways oppositional, as is Earth and Fire, Above and Below: yet this text teaches the way to harmonize the two, creating a unified consciousness that possesses ultimate power and the keys to operating creation.

The Tablet was hidden by Thoth prior to this great cataclysm, to keep it safe. Arabic, Egyptian and Hebraic schollars all attribute the tablet to cultural specific mythic figures, but the strongest body of evidence still points back the Egyptians and perhaps, the founding Aliens.

Enter science.
Physics seeks to describe the universe, a.k.a. the cosmos. There is one branch that approaches it from the Macrocosmic perspective: Albert Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, which looks as stars, galaxies, and the like. The other branch approaches it from the Microcosmic perspective: Quantum Physics, which looks at the smallest of the small particles such as atoms and molecules and such. Macrocosm, Microcosm, and never the twain shall meet. Science has been seeking in vain a Unified Field theory. String Theory may be that unification of the two. String Theory proposes the idea of multiple layers of dimensions, many realities, infinite creation. Now science is in a duel, challenges laid at the feet of String theory to proof out, or get out.

Back to the tablet.
Thoth hid it to keep it safe. It leads me to surmise someone was after it, and would either destroy it or use it in a way it was not intended, or should not be used. So, it has power. Because it unites the two levels of existence into one, describes the way to know the secrets of creation of the universe: ie: the operating manual and guide to the life, the universe and everything. Which is what the Unified Field theory should be. So let’s say you had the instruction manual that blended science and magic (and we know that science reaches a point where it is so advanced it becomes indistinguishable from that called magic). You could do some serious things with that information. Good reason to keep it hidden. Good reason to search for answers. Is science, in searching for Unified Field Theory, and attempting to prove or disprove String Theory, reverse engineering the Emerald Tablet?

Why are the letters raised on the tablet and not engraved? Might engraving damage the crystalline structure, or injure information contained inside the body of the tablet? What’s really contained in that tablet? Surely more than just the letters on the body. At the time of it’s creation, the structure, a crystalline green stone, was not the preferred nor popular method for recording information. Indeed, no where else in time and history does that method ever become popular. Emeralds, we now know, can be used in industrial lasers. And, crystals, we know, can be used to modulate and transmit sound energy, as well as light.

What if Thoth’s Emerald Tablet was indeed the blending of the Macro and Microcosm, and did contain what we are looking for: ie: The Idiot’s Guide to the Physics and Operation of the Universe, with forwarding chapter on the fluid nature of time, and trans-dimensional travel. Maybe Thoth was not an alien, but an earth resident of the future, coming to the past to hide information that either damned the earth, or, like Excalibur and King Arthur, would one day be needed, and thus preserved and ready when the time arrived? What if Thoth was an alien, and hid information that showed the way to pass from dimension to dimension. While trans-dimensional travel has promise on the surface, the conservation of energy/matter theory shows that at a deeper level it poses danger. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, merely changed. That’s it. Can’t take it out of the universe, or put extra in. Kind of gives the infinite a limit, in a way. So what if you cram in extra, or take out some from one dimensional universe? I’m not sure, but I doubt it would be good.

The Tablet, the notion of taking two and making something larger than the sum of one and one in the blending of them, they all play out in Nobody’s Hero. Not necessarily as outlined above, maybe not even in the expected way, but they are foundations to the subtext, and the overt plot. But exploring them has lead me into murkier thoughts about my writing, and the many paths that can branch from one single point. The blending of fire and earth, a mutable element and a fixed element, made me think about the twists a story can take, not so much in plot, but, in form.

The Eternity Covenant series is written as category romance (Immortal Protector and Nobody’s Hero). That’s brain waves transferred into words. What form might it take if I took out the romance, or toned it down, and made it more urban fantasy? Have I shifted dimensions at that point? What might it do to the original intent of the story? Not that I want to change it. I don’t because I’m happy with it Immortal Protector as is, and I’m forging ahead into Nobody’s Hero, telling the story in the parameters of the category romance format. But it was a funny idea, and one that held me for a while. I almost wanted to write both books from multiple angles, to see how each would come out and what elements played out as critical from permutation to permutation.

This is how I know I’m weird. And this is how I know I’m a writer. Because this rattles around in my head all too freely, and I’m not even considering calling a therapist.

Sadly, Insane Writers are not an Urban Myth

Once, I faced an interesting question on a written job application for interview: “Describe your communication style, written and verbal, and tell us about what you feel are your strength(s)”. Holy Hand Grenades is that EVER a loaded question to pose to a writer!!!! It's the equivalent of asking a super hero what there special powers are and seems to invite an element of lunacy and mischief. What fun I could have with the answer to that question:

I communicate in Courrier New, 12 point, double spaced, preferring the 75K length, contemporary, paranormal, star crossed lover story line (with or without secret babies). My strength? Why my ability to craft a sensual, entertaining love scene that is twenty pages in length, holds the reader’s attention AND advances the plot line. Did I mention, too, that I am a minimialist with dialogue tags, but I am so advanced with managing characters that you do not need a tag to know who is speaking, so distinct are their lines and actions...
After a few private laughs, I sat back and actually gave some serious thought to the question. It’s rather out there, isn’t it? The answer seemed very self evident to me: just as there is situational leadership, there is situational communication. You vary your method to suit the situation, and the message. Right? What other answer is there? None I could discern.

Funny, the things that make you sit back and really think. SO much we do on autopilot, we don’t really break it down (a.k.a. deconstruct) to analyze on a granular level. And we assume that how we do things is most often the norm, when anything could not be further from the collective truth that is reality. I bet how you respond to a question like that tells a good deal about you as a person.

Lately, some professional literary agency blogs have covered unprofessional responses to query rejections, or, ineffective vs. effective query. I can’t believe some of the nasty grams folks send back after getting a rejection from an agent. I want to meet some of these people and ask them what was going through the old gray matter at that moment in time when they thought a snotty letter or angry tirade was a good response to a professional “thanks, but no thanks” letter? It brings me back to the communication style question. I’d pay good money to see one of the angry rejected responders answer that question, because I bet at the very least it would be entertainint and at the worst, admissible in court when going for the restraining order: What is my communication style? I rather call it the ‘storm the castle with a pitchfork’ method. Does it produce results? Hmm, define results…

I can’t seem to get my head around it all. I always thought these folks were more urban myth than real. Sort of like the people who write a synopsis and end it with, not the ending mind you, but the slapping of the glove across both cheeks: ‘if you want to know the rest you’ll have to buy my book’. But no, this is not urban myth.

Writers. We are a curious lot.

Destiny, what say you?

Destiny is on my mind lately.

For one: Work is changing, and perhaps offering me new avenues that didn’t exist. Do I take them? What destiny will that bring me? You’d think that after all the years spent as a psychic, I’d have an easy answer, but no, Destiny, and that whore, Fate, are holding out on me. If I take on a new role, how might that affect my writing? While this current ship has a difficult helm, the treacherous waters are familiar, and I can handle the storms. Dare I abandon the post for one in another sea where the lanes are yet unknown, untried?

For two: I look at my writing as well, and wonder, what is my destiny? Not short term, but over the long haul. What am I ultimately driving towards? To entertain, yes. To be free of the stories in my head, certainly. I’m writing in romance, but I also have other stories, will I work on them as well? And what is the core of romance that draws me, what quintessential elements of truth am I struggling to depict in that medium? What visions do I need to bring out onto the page, and why? At times I can see so clearly, and then, it’s a wall of fog, and I’m flying blind with only the barest of instruments to guide me.

For three: I am seeing time as limited as opposed to unlimited. What destiny personally do I want to forge for myself, and how does my career and my writing play into it, if at all?

I think this is happening because of some of the things I’ve been reading lately, between blogs and books and such. And maybe because I’m now 38 and facing the next half of my life, and instead of barreling into it headlong with no particular plan, I’m wondering if maybe I should have a bit more forethought.

And last: what destiny is really mine to seize? I think we all have potentials inside of us that can lead us to any number of destinies, both great and small. Which potentials do I work on, which ones must I uncover from my own darkness, which ones should stay hidden for the next life?

Maybe I’m thinking this way because of Raine and Jack. Jack went for a destiny he believed was his for the taking, and lost it all. Now he wants it back. Raine wants a destiny that is denied her, and turns her back on an even greater one. She’ll do anything she must to secure her ideal. Worlds colliding. They are both so clear cut. Me, not so much. The Equinox approaches, and after it, Samhain, the time of accounting, to bury your dead, clear the fields of the final harvest. Destiny wants to know by August 30th, though, because it’s the deadline for the first dilemma. Sometimes, I think I think too hard, other times, not enough. What I need to know, is a sure fire way to figure this destiny stuff out - maybe there is a GPS for it? (DPS - Destiny Positioning System). I'm open to ideas...

Super Villains

I’m thinking about super villains.

Darth Vader was voted in a poll the most evil heinous villain of all cinematic time. Wow. Now that is some serious cache. When you understand where he came from, and what he was trying to do (albeit in a very bad and foolish way), you can sympathize with him – if only for a moment.

Dracula. There’s another one. Dark. Really dark. He sucks blood, he steals souls, he is unredeemable. Yet, there is something inside of him that sparks recognition? Identification? I don’t know what exactly.

But to have a good hero, you need a good villain. A good villain is committed to his path. A good villain is crafty. I’m thinking more here about a thinking villain, as opposed to one acting on psychotic impulse, or the typical fare you get in the average thriller.

I’m thinking about a villain concerned with legacy. Vadar had legacy issues. So did Dracula. They had wives, in perverse marriages, yes, but it shows this desire. The dark hero, as villain, needs to possess. They much control. Still, you can relate. And that brings me to the real uber villain of Star Wars: Emperor Palpatine.

He had a plan. He was patient. He was multi dimensional in it’s execution. He was the phantom menace that manifested his revenge with grace and sly dignity, because he didn’t rush. He was committed to his path. He used the situations around him and the beings around him to his own end, giving them what they thought they wanted when it was really what he wanted. Orchestrated. That is the word I’m searching for: the master villain is a maestro: he orchestrates. And he orchestrates a legacy, an Imperial legacy of order that consolidates power. He did not have a wife, no, but he had an apprentice.

There is something to this sith thing, always two, a master and an apprentice. Short of cloning, it gives the villain the ability to be two places at once. The apprentice is no hireling, no mere minion, he is the image of the villain. If some is good, more is better. To fight an uber villain is bad enough, but, to fight an uber villain and apprentice: there is trouble. I like stories where there is dimension to my villains, and apprentices add dimension. But I also need something else. I need proof my villian is bad. First hand for your eyes only proof.

Today I had to put a book down. It started off strong, but hit the sagging middle, and then relied on implied threat of a villain who was weakly portrayed. He had all the above potential, but was actualized weakly. I can’t determine why. I think it was because everyone kept saying how bad this guy was, too much telling, not enough actual bad happening. And when he was bad, it happened off camera (so to speak) and once again, we as readers were relegated to second hand information about his bad from the other characters. This was in contrast to the short story I just read, A Practical Man, where you as reader got up close and personal with the villains and their unique brand of bad. The immediacy of this produced exellent results, made the villains credible and the heros that much more heroic for their approach to handling the threat.

Anyway, 234 more pages to go in August to reach the 5K marathon goal. I have so many choices in the TBR pile and in my e books file. Then there is Tim's TBR shelves, which contain books that are technically also part of my TBR pile. I wish I had something Gothicy to read - spooky, creepy, disturbing maybe. The air is cold with the coming fall, the skies clouldy and rain soaked: this is great gothic weather.

A Practical Man by Karen Travis: Review

Before I begin the review, let me level set. I approach every book I read with a set of expectations based on a host of things, from the type of book, the genre, the author, the subject matter. Some tales don’t need to work very hard for me, the bar isn’t set too high. Other tales have an impossible task, face insurmountable odds, unrealistic expectations. Those works surrounding Boba Fett are the ones that, like the hunter himself, have the toughest of tasks set before them. I’m pleased to say that A Practical Man, like it’s subject matter, Boba Fett, delivers the merchandise and scores a direct hit.

The short story is a difficult format to master. You have limited space to convey ample information. Retconning is a more daunting task. Doing both in the same narrow gauntlet is certainly a challenge and one well met. Karen Travis succeeds in bringing together many disparate elements into a cohesive whole that imparts unity to the story line of the Mandalorians and Fett, joining them with the larger back story cannon of the rest of the Star Wars novel universe.

The story centers around Boba Fett as Mand'alore, and another Mando warrior, Goran Beviin. Fett, though Mandalore, is not in touch with the culture, while Beviin represents for them. You learn the culture because it influences everything Beviin does, how he acts and reacts. You also see this through the actions of the other Mando warriors, including a young girl of thirteen. She’s gone through the right of passage and is out to fight with the adults. In a way, reading Beviin and Fett made me wonder, had Jango been different, had Fett been adopted into the culture, would he have become more like Beviin? It seemed an interesting contrast, both hard core warriors, but temperament and emotional / cultural connection seemed the thing that set them apart.

The Yuuzhan Vong are first making entry in to the galaxy, and luckily, first contact comes with the Mandalorians. Fett quickly realizes the devastating menace of this enemy, and in the guts of their ship, he begins to see himself as connected to the Mandalorians, if only to protect them as part of his role in Mand'alore. Later in the story another turning point occurs, drawing him to make a connection with his past that joins him to his future and what is to come. Fett bears witness to the perverse idolization of pain and suffering unique to these grotesque invaders, and in doing so, uncovers his own humanity. All of this is done with a deft hand, organically woven into the story, so you feel it happening as the character feels it happen. Very powerful stuff.

The action is well written, the information subtly, artfully communicated. Strange to say, I liked the Mando Commandos (*wink*) more than Fett in this story, though Boba does have solid portrayal. The action was spot on, and there was just the right balance of dialogue, description and introspection. The moments of instrospection that are Fett’s and Fett’s alone are character shaping. The amount of growth he undergoes in this compressed moment in time is phenomenal.

I particularly liked the way the Mando women were handled. They were portrayed as tough, rather than bitchy. A lot of writers attempt to do tough and wind up creating whiny prima donnas. They especially fall flat when they try a hand at women in the military. As a former female soldier I can appreciate the way Ms. Travis handled them. They had both martial and feminine concerns, and maintained a level of professionalism at all times. I’m very much looking forward to reading more about Mandos in general, and the women warriors in particular.

The other interesting thing was the incorporation of Mando’a , in phrases, that are then explained, but not in a pedantic way.

While I would love nothing better than to go on about so many of the high points, and there are many, I couldn’t do that without spoiling the enjoyment other readers will get from making the discoveries themselves during the first read. The download contains extras, as well, including a very interesting interview with Karen Travis. This was an intense, enjoyable, well written, thoughtful tale.

For the die hards, worry not: Boba Fett is in excellent hands with Karen Travis. And you know me, you know what a hard ass I am about such things. I’m playing you straight on this one. A Practical Man is a must read for Fett fans, and well worth the time. It’s also a great set up for Bloodlines.

Friday Update

Wishes for a Happy Birthday to the Metal God: Rob Halford is 55!

Condolences to Pluto. How crass, demoting it from planet. Just goes to show, you can’t trust science. Magic, on the other hand…

Review: The Madman's Tale by John Katzenbach

After capitulating to the muse enough to keep her happy (I did some high level prep work on character: yes, threw the muse a bone), I found myself gazing lustily at the dwindling TBR pile. (Actually, baskets. Two.) I’d set aside some of the original August list, and shuffled others, and in doing so bared some of the planned Autumn reading. At the top was The Madman’s Tale by John Katzenbach.

The haunting title and eerie out of focus cover kept talking to me, begging me to burrow into the depths of this 568pg read and lose myself to the sublime pleasures that awaited. Eventually, I could no longer resist. I’ll just read a few pages, I told myself. I started at the beginning, a sound and safe place to launch. “I can no longer hear my voices, so I am a little lost. My suspicion is they would know far better how to tell this story…”

Power. Raw. Intense. And, yet, subtle, artful and coy. All at once, rolled together, like the tiles in a kaleidoscope, focused not on the light of a bright summer sun, but on the mutable glow of an uncertain moon. This is the Madman’s Tale. All the summer reading so far, blown away by this one read. Stellar. There is no other way to describe it, really. Stellar. The story is so rich, so complex, I’m not even sure how to review it, or that I can adequately capture it’s essence. But I’ll take the risk, because it’s such a wonderful tale, and deserving of praise.

The hero is a young schizophrenic male. The book alternates between past and present. Present is narrated by the hero in first person, guessing nearing mid life. Past is third person, most often through his pov (age 21), but occasionally bringing in other key characters. Almost all action takes place inside the locked ward of a mental institution. Frances is a man lost to his world and the world around him, struggling, like anyone else, to make sense of life and his place in life. He is befriended inside by Peter (another patient who is rational but for one act of madness), two oderlies, and soon, a prosecuting attorney. You see, a murder takes place inside the walls of the hospital. And the attorney enlists the aide of Francis (a.k.a. C Bird), and Peter, to help her investigate. She believes the murder part of a string, and thinks the killer is someone in the hospital. Present day story involves Frances remembering the truths learned, and past involves learning truths. More than truths about murder, but truths about life, the self, others, madness, friendship, heroism, and evil. Pure, dark, unrepentant evil.

I made Tim laugh. After several hours he came out of the office and said “How’s the book?”. I was kind of speechless, then I rallied. “There are so many words! And each one is so intense. This is awesome!”

The unique perspective gives this story a depth and newness rarely experienced in thrillers and suspense today. It is fresh, and dark, uplifiting, and disheartening. There are passages, sentences, so profound, I read them multiple times. At one point, I had to set the book aside and just think, soak it all in. Here is a clip, the one that made me call a hard stop. Judge for yourself the intensity and power:

“He and I both knew that I was far more vulnerable in the silent midnight hours. Night brings doubt. Darkness sows fears. I expected him to return as soon as the sun fled. There’s no pill as yet invented that can alleviate the symptoms of loneliness and isolation that the end of the day brings. But in the meantime, I was safe, or at least as safe as I could reasonably expect. No matter how many locks and bolts I had on my door, they wouldn’t keep out my worst fears. This observation made me laugh out loud.” (Excerpt: TMT, J.K., 2004)

Darkness sows fears…no pill as yet invented that can alleviate the symptoms of loneliness and isolation that the end of the day brings...No matter how many locks and bolts I had on my door, they wouldn't keep out my worst fears..." This is very potent writing. The entire story defies my ability to even glimpse the girders, a stray tool mark, any signs of the work of craft that brought it to the world. It seems wholly organic, as though it came to life one night and was scribbled into being with no artiface or contrivance. Testimony to the author’s skill, and if you read it, and remember my observation, you’ll see the book’s impact still at work in my subtext and my thoughts.

Read The Madman’s Tale. You will not be the same when you’re done. Mr. Katzenbach is a master storyteller. And lucky me, he has a healthy backlist, and another book on the way.

Bleed the Alien and the Audience, Awaken the Hero

Anne Stuart spoke at our June conference, and at one point stated that an author should not hold back when writing. That they should put it all into the work, not save that passion or agony for something ‘better’ down the road. (I am paraphrasing).

All month I’ve been thinking about Raine, what she wants and what she endures to get what she wants.

In an earlier passage I thought of Raine and Jack:
"She is the bitter ice in the North wind that sweeps down from the ancient realm, meets the fire, and births the storm. She is the steel, and he is the flame of the forge."

All month that was on the back burner.

I have the crux of the opening scene for Nobody's Hero, and have had this scene since ending Immortal Protector. Each time I envisioned it from another point of view but each was a poor fit. Each was a shade of the other, never quite the color of scarelt, the coppery smell of blood, each was an ache, a moan, but not a sorrowful cry or a shout of blinding rage. And then recently, Anne’s words came back to me. And I knew the POV should be Raines. Because to know her, and understand her, I can’t lecture. I can't dilute. I can't start from someone else's head space. I need to let the reader feel pain and alienation and desperation with her, because it’s the only way to make it real.

We have all been the alien at one time or another. We have all longed to fit in, and been the odd man out. We have all experienced a desire so strong we can taste it, and we have all desired something our rational mind, or the external body politic has told us we categorically can not have. We have all worked hard at something, trying to be the best, and endured ridicule and cruelty, and capricious decisions rendering us inferior for things beyond our control.

Raine wants acceptance from people who will never give it to her, and she will do anything to get this acceptance, even sit in a room and listen to bigotry and ridicule directed at her. She will use steel and reason and logic to keep her cool, to maintain her façade, she will use desire to hold back and hide her rage and anguish, but on the inside she will bleed. And I want the reader to bleed with her. I want the reader to taste the bitterness, to know the rage and desire, to feel the pain with every nerve ending in their body. I want to take them to the mat with her, and yet, even this seemed not enough.

Always incomplete, this scene, even in her POV, despite all the power it contained. And then tonight I realized why. Jack needs to be there too. Jack, nobody’s hero, will bleed as well, though he won’t recognize it. And Jack: Trickster, Bad Boy, Iconoclast, Outcast, Demon Lover, the Fire who Meets Ice and births the storm: he will strike back. He does not need to maintain silence, he does not want acceptance, and though he doesn’t want to be champion, he will step into the fray. That single, almost unconscious action, will cast the lot from the get go and drive the story inexorably to it’s end.

Monkey on My Back

Planned August Word Count Reads: 4900
August Word Count post-queue change: 2384
# of words put back on shelf: 2516
August Word Count queue completed: 2384
August Queue Replacements completed: 1537

Total August Completed Word Count: 3921

All I need to do is read 1K more pages of books and I meet my target goal.
So I guess Tim is right after all: I do treat reading like a full contact sport.

I didn’t exclude all Sci Fi/Futuristic from the queue: I had read the short, and Dark Lord: the Rise of Darth Vader. I just got sucked in by the Intrigues, and then Kay Hooper’s new single title suspense came out: Sleeping with Fear. I bought it in hardcover, because I like the author and the series, and like Tess Gerritson’s stuff, I can’t wait for the softcover. I could have tried the library, but I like to be able to buy books and support authors. I wouldn’t do this for all authors, only the ones that I’m addicted to. Still, I did shop at Amazon for the discount. Had I a coupon for Borders, I’d have bought it there.

With all the power reading I’ve been doing, I have a good basis for some comparison. I have to care about the characters. To do that I have to connect with SOMEONE. Either one of the protagonists, or, both. If I can’t connect, I can’t care, and then the read is just mechanical. I can gloss over a weak plot if I care for the characters. But wow, give me that too and I’m over the moon!

What makes me connect, I wonder? It seems kind of ephemeral. I can read a similar book with characters that are similar and one reaches me and one doesn’t. It could also be a function of voice. I think it has a little bit to do with what the characters do, and how they do it. I read this one book where the couple was on the run, and it felt like watching a game of ping pong. Too much ‘witty’ dialogue, not enough description, so it was hard to get a fix. And run run run run. I made it to the end and didn’t really have a clue about either character. I read another book where the couple was on the run, and I hung on every page. I had a chance to be inside the characters doing critical action which conveyed a fair amount about them through choice, action and inaction. I cared about them because somehow, in a short space, the author communicated who these folks were at a granular, soul deep level, and I was hooked. Technically both books were well written, but I took to one and not the other. Again, could just be my own personal prejudices. All readers bring them to a book. I think one of the things that didn’t hit me with The Davinci Code was the history. What was new info to a fair amount of people was kind of old hat, so that slowed down the story. But I liked the protagonist, I just couldn’t seem to get to him because of the info dumps. Now, to most readers who aren’t history and conspiracy nerds, that wasn’t info dumps: it was new and drawing them in. Prejudices. Baggage. Taste. Readers are complex beasts.

I think as an author you can’t account for taste, which means the reader’s prejudices: what they bring to the book. Like science recently discovered: every experiment’s results are affected by the person observing said experiment. The results don’t exist in a vacuum. Same goes for books. An author can do a bang up job, go the distance, and still, that damn observer will apply interpretation and the results will vary with each one. I think as an author you can’t focus on that because it will paralyze you. Tess Gerittson blogged recently about pleasing everyone: you just can’t, so get over it. I take the same approach to my reading: not every author will please me because of me, and not for lack of talent or trying on their part.

For example: if they do first person, man, I’m lost, as it’s not my thing. However, if the subject matter is gripping enough, you’ll snare me. Boba Fett’s latest book is in first person. I’m going to buy it because it’s about Boba Fett, and if I had to learn Sanskrit to read about him, I’d cowboy up and get it done because the subject matter is important.

Part of my reason for getting to the nitty gritty of what I like is so I can maximize my pleasure by finding more and more books that offer me that repeat experience of enjoyment. I wonder if other power readers are this crazy about reading? I know some actually catalog what they read on databases. I have not reached that level of OCD, but I did read Sleeping with Fear last night, cover to cover, starting at 6:30 pm and finishing at 10. That's 292 pgs: 83.43 pages an hour. I picked it up right after I finished The Hidden Heir by Debra Webb (a good read, by the way). I wouldn’t say it’s a sign of OCD. More a sign of an addiction. I’d say “Sure I can stop any time I want”, but the reality is, if the book is good, I can’t. And there’s nothing I love more. Yep. Got a monkey on my back, for sure.

Identity

Two things are happening in our world that bring me back to thinking about identity.
1. Astronomers are arguing over Pluto and it’s neighbors, trying to determine if they can be identified as planets, or as something else. )Apparently, Physics is not the only branch that suffers from mutually exclusive foundational principals. Wheh!)
2. Harlequin is discontinuing the Bombshell line.

The astronomical bodies, to be declared planets, need to contain certain elements central to landing the identity of ‘planet’. One of those central elements is being ‘round’. There are more elements, but this one is a major player. Without round, you can NOT be identified as a planet. With Round, you may or may not be identified as a planet.

Harlequin released Bombshell, an action adventure oriented line that did not require an HEA to romance (I think). The books may or may not have been romances. Generally, you can NOT be a romance without some quasi form of the HEA. However, you can be a book with an HEA, and not be a romance. What they all seemed to have in common was a larger amount of heroine screen time, with action adventure plots, and aggressive heroines.

Okay, I’m getting the gist of that identity, but it’s still a little murky to me.

Then, Harlequin shelves them with the rest of the category romances.
So, is this an action adventure lite romance, or is this a straight category romance?
If it’s NOT a category romance, why shelve it there. You’re confusing the identity. Unless you meant it to be traditional category? Or not?

I think that’s the issue. What’s the real identity? We know the guideline identity, but I think the marketing portrayed a different identity, that appeared at odds with what you found between the covers of the book. I don't think this was ever intended, however. I think that you always take risk when you push boundaries. But it does make one think, when you try to determine why the line is ending, why perhaps it was inconsistent, etc.

To me, I think a failure at clear identity may have doomed the line from the start. Had they gone with single title, no rack job shelving, they’d be open to many more potential consumers. And the strict category romantics might not have been confused in expectations either. (as some decried when the books first came out). Then again, single title carries a bigger risk with additional promotional costs built in. So you're in a catch 22.

This is terrible, because a number of talented authors have books lined up for that line, with a readership waiting to read. But, the line is closed after the January releases. Then again, the publisher is a business, and needs to be responsible and make unpopular decisions. What I found interesting were some of the posts on list at the publisher: a few people admitted that while sorry, the either never bought, or bought very few bombshells. They didn't elaborate why, except for an Aussie, who cited poor and spotty distribution down under. Understandable, of course. And, this makes a case for really getting busy with serious e-book distribution of categories, but that's another topic all together. So, folks are sorry to see it go, yet they didn't shop the line. Why? Who can say.

Is it the line’s fault for not producing? Or the producer’s fault for not packaging to a stronger identity?

Perhaps there’s a bit of ‘branding’ in this, to steal a trendy marketing term.

All in all, it makes me think harder on what I can do to maintain strong identity, and in the end, no matter what I do, elements are still beyond my control. Just like Pluto, a round body with gravity, and a moon. It has elements of planet identity, but, in the end, the Astronomers marketing it’s concept have the final say.

Breaking news: Romance Reviews and Submission Progress

I had to pre-empt some of the other August reads. The Intrigues are just TOO GOOD to pass up!

The Cape Diablo series hooked me in, starting with Secrets of His Own by Amanda Stevens. I was swept away by this book. Totally felt like I was there. And I have to say, I loved the treatment of the hero. Now I know this is my second time blogging about it, but it was that good! The pacing was very thriller, yet with gothic overtones. I knew I would love this book when I first described it in my 'Summer Love' August reading list post, and I was not disappointed. An excellent read.

I was driven to purchase book two of Cape Diablo: Undeniable Proof by B.J. Daniels. A completely different tone than Secrets of His Own, yet just as good. The cover on this is completely creepy! Again, like Secrets of His Own, picked it up and couldn’t put it down. Great pacing, and interesting cast. The heroine is a witness on the run from a guy she thinks is a turned cop, and the turned cop is the hero. Stuck on a haunted island with danger at every turn. Total fun. Another excellent read.


Since I’d stocked up on Intrigues and didn’t want the buzz to end, I read Forbidden Territory by Paula Graves. This is her first book, and a sign of good things to come. The description was very fluid and lyrical, and the heroine tormented. There were two children in the book that really amped up the plot. The heroine is a psychic. The hero a cop. Two missing children, one present, one past, and a very evil villain.

I’d recommend all three, especially the Diablo series (an excellent idea). I love the way the island’s sordid history and curses are playing out.

I also read a very intense Intimate Moments: Somebody’s Hero by Marilyn Pappano. This is NOT for the faint at heart. It deals with domestic abuse, but not in the traditional sense. It’s usually the heroine that is the former victim: in this it’s the hero. The heroine is a romance writer post divorce with a young child. They are neighbors. They are so right for each other, but the emotional conflicts tear at them like you can’t believe. This is a very touching, heart wrenching story.

Again, a good read.

I’m getting what I want in romantic suspense far more from category lately than I am single title.

I also finished Summer at Willow Lake by Susan Wiggs. This is the BEST book I have read all year. A keeper. As soon as I finished it I wanted to read it again. I’ll post a review later, so much of it is still swirling around in my noggin.

Dropped from the August Reading List:
All the Futuristics, Sci Fi, and non fiction. I’m moving them into September. For some reason, I'm not feeling all that spacy or futuristic. I was at the beginning of august, but reading the short story futuristic from Jayne Castle sated me for the moment.
Between the substitutes, I’ll probably come out even with page count.
Tim laughs when he sees me devour books. He says I approach reading as if it’s a contact sport. *snicker* It’s one of my great pleasures, so why not give it my all when I can?

AND FINALLY:
I packaged up the proposal requested by an agent and I’m sending it out tomorrow.
I wanted to make sure I had it the way I wanted it, so I packaged, then waited, gave it a final check, and then sealed the magic envelope.

Intrigues, Thrillers, Fire and Ice

Books are one of my weaknesses. Chocolate, Boba Fett, and good, dark beer (stouts and porters) are some others.

I just picked up 4 more Harlequin Intrigues. For the most part, they tend to be consistent in quality and performance, and I have a list of authors that always seem to churn out great reads with plots and elements that I like. I never feel the risk with them the way I do with some single title romantic / mystery suspense. Admittedly, 2005 and 2006 had more bad purchases and half read books for me, mostly in Romantic Suspense. Prime issue seemed to be decent first or second/third chapters, nose dive after that, and/or weak characterization.

So: just bought:
Beautiful Beast by Dani Sinclair
The Hidden Heir by Debra Webb
Vow to Protect by Ann Voss Peterson
Undeniable Proof by B.J. Daniels (the second book in the series Cape Diablo)

I’m planning to buy Tess Gerritson’s The Mephisto Club in hardcover. Yep. That’s right. I just can’t hold out for paperback. I try to think what draws me about her writing and I think it’s a combination of tight plot (which is unusual because she has a very organic approach to book building), and her superb ability at characterization. Of note, she got her start writing Harlequin Intrigues. I suspect that the consistency of editing, and the medium of category helped her hone her skills. Nothing focuses on characterization like a category. (at least, a good category). When I read one of her books I know I am getting the layers and depth that will transport me, and make me not want to leave my seat until the book is complete.

Other things happening: Fire and Ice in 2007
Tim and I are considering an Icelandic vacation vs. a Las Vegas adventure. If we just do a short jaunt to Reykjavik, we can do that, AND, a Vegas adventure. Fire and Ice , we may be able to swing both. I want to go to Iceland in June, around the 17th, as Reykjavik has the Viking Festival going on. Of course, the Northern Lights winter package is equally seductive. Vegas has the spa at the Bellagio, and a high end weapons range to offer as an antidote. And, if we pick a certain time, it has the weekend of hell known as McKee’s Story program. In that case, if I’m under contract, a portion of the vacation can be taken as a write off. Other than the occasional gaming fest, or writers conference, we don't take vacations: something we decided this year to change.

5 Things

This is a quickie: 5 Things I learned this week that were good.

1. Boba Fett is an excellent enforcer for our Crit Group. It’s not surrendering the cash we fear should we not meet our monthly goal, it’s the galaxy’s most infamous, relentless bounty hunter coming to deliver punishment.

2. The 20 page love scene, while ‘wet’, is appropriately ‘wet’, and works in the context. It also shows character growth (no pun intended) and sets up the first black moment. And most people liked sex in the desert gazebo. One crit partner wanted to go there. Me too. Another one ordered two Gideons to go. Mission accomplished.

3. Killing your hero is okay in a romance, as long as you can resurrect him in the next chapter. (However ,you must be more clear about the little Egyptian mummy.)

4. Since your characters really don’t exist, the can not technically posses your soul, so I don’t need to worry about all the strange changes described in the previous post.

5. Clerks II still has me laughing. And, at the heart of the story is a romance. But not Boba Fett. So perhaps it all doesn’t come down to Fett? Nah. (I'm also not sure this qualifies as learning something either, but it is cool to be sitting in the cube farm and break into spontaneous laughter because you recall a clip or a bit of dialogue. It takes the mean out of the average workday.)

Alien Heat

Something strange is happening to me.
It started last week. It was hotter upstairs than the surface of our sun. The air was more still than the absence of time. Night had fallen, but there was a strange ambient glow from no sources I could readily identify.
Instead of turning on the AC and drawing the curtain, instead of firing up the fan, I laid down on the bed. I stayed there just existing in the heat and absence of oxygen, enjoying the way it felt, so real and tangible around me.

Tonight, driving home in the Civic with the arctic a.c., I shut it off and rolled down the windows. It was the darker end of an inky dusk, the humidity was building and a storm growing around me. Night was coming, I felt it in my blood. I had a Rainbow CD on, playing Street of Dreams. I didn’t feel like me, I felt like someone inside of my skin was taking over.

Food I normally like hasn’t tasted correct, or at least not as expected. I’m not listening to my normal tunes. I’m moving out seeking something intangible, subtle, indefinable. I keep hearing undertones in music I’d never noticed before. Lyrics that were once obscured or blurred, or not worthy of notice, are now clear as bells. I’m craving deep, dark heat and charged, disturbed air. I keep thinking I catch motion in my peripheral vision, but when I turn my head I find nothing but what should be there. And I’m left with a lingering sense that something or someone lurks just a half a step behind the normal range of conscious awareness. This is not me. This is SO not me.

I’ve checked my basement and garage. No alien pods. Not a one. Not even in the crawlspace.

I keep thinking of Rob Halford’s song Nightfall and this one line: ‘The spell you cast inside is stabbing through my heart. It reaches deep within, it’s pulling me apart.’ That's kind of what it feels like right now, something inside, filling all the spaces, emerging: an alien consciousness that is wholy different from me. I keep craving fresh mango slices, aged brandy, shrimp, dark cherries, and sweet, soft caramel.
I think this is the next book. More specifically, it's Mad Jack.

I couldn’t connect with writing new work as Mercury was retrograde all through July, so I didn’t try. Just kept up the meditation and tossed it on the back burner.

Then the veil lifted Sunday night. Perhaps it was parted. I feel this creature inside of me that I believe is Jack. He's so different from Gideon. Gideon was all heavy metal and hard edges, concrete thinking and decisive action. Mad Jack is smoke and mirrors, moody electronica, the whisper of fine, black silk caught in the caress of a sultry desert breeze, the urgent, near frantic current that charges the air before a storm breaks free. He is the time just before night, when magic gathers, and anything is possible. Jack is on the edge of the world, watching. And, he is all the secrets you've sought to hide, preparing to break the chains of shadows, hell bent on vengeance and retribution. Nothing falls outside of his gaze, but he can’t touch, or chooses not to touch. Not yet. That’s why the heat and the charged storm winds are so important, they connect him in ways he can’t connect himself. They carry scents and energy his way, and he gets to sample the life that he’s withdrawn from. He's very sensual, able to appreciate pleasure on levels most mortals can only dream. I can’t get a real handle on him yet, but inside me he rises, and it’s kind of frightening. I don’t think I’ve ever ‘felt’ a character this way. Good thing madness and I are old poker buddies, otherwise I might be a little nervous.

Clerks II Review: Almost as good as my first time with Boba Fett

I saw Clerks II yesterday. How does one describe something that moves in four dimensions, existing in a universe that has but three? The same can be said of Clerks II? How do mere mortal words give you the true picture of madness and mania that is Clerks II? It’s power geek quantum zeit geist at it’s best.

Clerks II raises three very important questions that beg answers, and will leave you up long into the night, puzzling them out.

1) Transformers. Sure, they’re more than meets the eye, but : are they gifts from God, or, are they pawns of the Desolate One set upon mankind to bring about our downfall and steal our souls?

2) Can one indeed dance to King Diamond?

3) What the fuck is in the New Jersey water? It has to be some strange shit, because Clerks and Clerks II and Kevin Smith et. al. came from there, and so far, no one’s fessing up to alien hybrid experiments, so what other explanation can there be?


Seriously, Clerks I was one of my favorite movies, so I was nervous about seeing II. Would it live up to the hype? Would it fall flat like most sequels? Or, would it like Empire Strikes Back, stand out as the strongest, darkest and most powerful of the get? All I can say is you will not be disappointed. Seeking Clerks II was ALMOST as good as seeing Boba Fett for the first time.

I also feel compelled to say, that as a total SW geek, I must heartily agree again with the erudite commentary from Randal on what is the ONLY meaningful ‘Trilogy’ and ONLY ‘Return’, and therefore the only ones valid of notice. I also found his review of the collection of LOTR movies both inspired, accurate, and as always entertaining. Joel Segal could learn a thing or two from this man: if he stayed in the theater that is.

Thank you Kevin Smith.

This post’s dedicated to the union contractors who took one for the team on the second Death Star at the hands of the Rebellion terrorists.

History gets Naughty

Okay, I'm a history nerd, and a healthy adult.
I found this site from another blog: Miss Giggiles: http://naughtyamericanhistory.com/index2.php

It's a His/Hers History Strip Pokerish game.
For every question you answer correctly, the 'teacher' takes off an article of clothing.
(Complete with cheesy porn music).

http://naughtyamericanhistory.com/index2.php

Give it a whirl. Or, several whirls.

The Lost Fleet: Dauntless (review)

Fans of military sci-fi, and just damn good sci fi: take note – The Lost Fleet: Dauntless delivers.

I couldn’t resist picking it up. The plot was intriguing. A hero thought dead is found floating in a space pod mixed with debris at the site of the battle that made him a legend. Luck would have it, he’s in suspended animation, and the folks that find him bring him back. Here’s where Luck gets spiteful. The Hero: Captain John Black a.k.a. Black Jack, finds himself in the company of Alliance soldiers who idealize the memory of a man he knows he is not. He was an alliance captain years ago, fighting a war that was supposed to end. Except its 100 years in the future and not only is the war in full swing, his side has lost it’s way when it comes to ethics, tactics, and simple military bearing. He’s left in charge of the rag tag fleet that is surrounded by a vicious enemy, with no perceivable options and an hour’s time to surrender. Black Jack sees outside the box, and gets them out of the A.O. (area of operations), with the enemy one step behind them, and only a ghost of a chance of getting this fleet home. The books takes off from there. Best part, in the process of scavenging materials they uncover a secret that may lead to the end of the war. Had they not followed Old Jack, they’d never have found the planet that held the ‘secret’.

Jack is a great reluctant hero. The book is single protagonist perspective, it’s all told from his POV, but the author, Jack Campbell, is an adept, so it’s easy to get into the other character’s heads from action and dialog. The book has the perfect mix of action, introspection, and dialog. You pick it up and you can’t put it down. I love books like that, it’s what I enjoy most as a reader.

The other thing I enjoyed is that it took a retro approach to the genre. No nano tech, or sophisticated androids: this is balls to the wall, two fisted, down and dirty sci-fi – on order with Battlestar Galactica or Space Above and Beyond. Jack Campbell goes old school with Dauntless, making me remember what first sucked me into science fiction.

Dauntless is the ship he’s on, and this book covers the first leg of what I suspect will be a long and fun ride. I can’t wait for the rest of the series.

Temporal Perspective

I read a corporate newsletter yesterday. Full color separation, glossy paper, with a list of the top executives and bits of information about them. Everyone had a list of their ‘creds’ – BA, MA, MS, BS, PhD, etc, etc, etc; but there the similarity ended. By no rhyme nor reason I could detect in the small sample did a pattern emerge on the next info bytes: there was everything from favorite book to hobbies to favorite quotes and heroes. One executive had the stones to say Lord of the Rings was his favorite book. I was very impressed. Another makes wine on his California property. Well, it’s not moon shine or mead, but it counts for something interesting to do with your time. Another one listed Albert Einstein as his hero, and another, his father. I really liked this update. The last one was interesting from a business perspective, but this one had a human element. The above individuals stood out. Perhaps the pattern to what the copy editors included in the bios was what appealed to them or appeared interesting.

Where’s this leading? Time. These folks are like the borg as far as time commitment to the company. Sure, they’re making bucks, but they’re giving up one of the most precious commodities known to man: Time. Once time is gone, you can never get it up. Nope. Can’t go to K-mart and buy some extra time. Can’t go to your local temporal magician for some