New Stuff from the New Book

There's this program where you put in text and it says who you write like. So I popped in an excerpt from the book I just finished writing in June. It's a contemporary romantic suspense in a gothic setting with paranormal elements.(Ghosties and psychics and a creepy old great camp in the Adirondacks, old cold murder case with very much alive killer out for more blood, and serious heat between two people who couldn't be more wrong for one another. Plus lots of lies and even more secrets.).

According to the ghost in the machine, I write like Stepehen King. So I guess for my target, I hit the mark. Here's the link to the site so you can test your own stuff, and below is the raw, unedited excerpt I used as a sample. Don't know that it's King-esque, but hey, that's cool too!
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His touch was firm heat and sparked up the slow burn that had been building all day night in his presence. She hated being close to him this way. All her senses went wild, and all her better thoughts and intentions go into the trash. Emma put her hand on his broad chest. Stifled the urge to let it roam and instead pushed back lightly. “You brought me here. You might want to trust me. I’m not a con anymore.”

Sam didn’t release her. Instead he grabbed her other arm and pulled her close. Slanted a piercing gaze at her. Made her want to be held forever, even though she was spitting mad at the same time. “I’m trying to do the right thing. It’s hard when you don’t know what that is. I’m in unfamiliar territory.”

The moment spun out between them as tension and desire escalated. Her heart was so loud hammering against her rib cage. He must have heard it. Did he see what he was doing to her? Did he care? She drew an unsteady breath and met his gaze head on. “We’re both out of our element.”

The smile he flashed was boyish and at odds with the predator lurking in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

He was sexy as hell right now. And he was hiding something. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Then prove it. Tell me what’s really going on.” That would do the trick. If he told her, then he was worth her time and bother. If he held back, or worse, lied, she’d do the job she came to do, but other than that, write him off. She didn’t have time for players. “Tell me what you’re holding back.”

“Keith isn’t haunting the lodge, Emma.” Sam’s wide chest rose enticingly as he took a deep breath. “He’s haunting me.”

Amaretto Cake

For all those Amaretto lovers on Facebook - You KNOW who you are!!!!

Amaretto cake (4 Miniatures, or one regular 6 cup size)
(from Better Homes and Gardens New Baking Book)

¾ cup butter
3 eggs
1 ½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
¾ cut granulated sugar
¼ cup amaretto (for cake)
1 teaspoon finely shredded lemon peel
½ teaspoon vanilla
1/3 cup granulated sugar
¼ cup cold water
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons light-colored corn syrup
½ cup amaretto (for syrup)

1.Allow butter and eggs to go to room temperature. Generously grease and flour six 4 inch fluted tub pans or 1 6 cup fluted tube pan (the bundt cake pan)

2.Beat butter till creamed, then add the sugar and cream until mixture is fluffy. Can use a motorized hand mixer for this, unless you are old school (like me) and have a killer arm.

3.Stir in ¼ cup amaretto, lemon peel, and vanilla. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating for 1 minute after each addition and scraping bowl often. GRADUALLY add flour mixture to egg mixture, beating on medium-low speed just until combined.

4.Pour into pan(s)

5.Bake in 325 degree oven 20 – 25 minutes for 4 inch pans and 40 – 45 minutes for the 6 cup pan , or until toothpick near center comes out clean. Cool in pans on wire racks. Remove after about 10 minutes (should fall out easily). Cool the rest of way on wire racks. When cool, pierce generously with tines of fork.

6.For syrup, in medium saucepan combine the ½ cup granulated sugar, the water, brown sugar and corn syrup. Cook and stir over medium heat until bubbly and most of the sugar is dissolved. Remove from heat and stir in ½ cup amaretto. Cool for a few minutes, up to 5.

7.Dip fluted top and sizes of small cakes into syrup. Spoon or brush any remaining over tops of cakes. FOR 6 CUP: spoon or brush syrup over top and sides of cake, reusing syrup on the tray.

Chill. If wrapped or in container and chilled can last up to 3 weeks.

Now, picture this cake, warmed, with a small side of Bryer’s All Natural Vanilla Ice Cream, and an amaretto sour chaser? Yes. MMMMMmmmmmmm!!!!!!!

Writer Myth, Writer Magic

I had a weird week, so I decided to take a break from my ‘normal’ every day world, and do a full day of being a writer. Immersion therapy. I needed to freshen up, and get going with finishing my current book. Only 6 – 10 chapters to go, so really, what was the obstacle other than life itself?

I took a day off from work, woke up with a plan and set it in motion. Feed the Muse. Part of the menu? Visit a local café in downtown, a very bohemian place with outstanding atmosphere, tea and cofee to die for, and cupcakes. Yes. BIG CUPCAKES. Flavour Café & Lounge is in a brick brownstone, filled with local art, a lot of yummy stuff, a bunch of off beat things, a fab couch, and just a good overall vibe. I grabbed a spot at a big table in the second room, sipped my Mayan Chai tea, sugared up on my enormous cupcake (This was my lunch. I had to feed the muse, right? Well the muse is a damn picky eater!) Got the lap top out, and went to work.

The goal was to get out of my normal environment and cause a jolt in the creative pattern, get the juice going to get the words on the page. Now what is weird, writing in a café has NEVER held appeal for me. In fact, it’s been sort of standing joke. Only tortured literary writers go to cafes to write. They write long epic stories that go no where, and lament the unbearable lightness of being. They write poetry no one gets. They drink lots of coffee but it never perks them up. These are the folks who write in cafes. Besides, writing in the café, that is the stuff of writer lore. Like part of our writer collective unconscious. A story carried from generation to generation of writer since stylus found clay tablet. The writer’s myth. Not the writer reality. Or the writer truth. And yet, I decided to do it anyway. Falling back on some primal author instinct, and I had to wonder why?

If the draw was so strong, then beyond the cliché, there must be fire beneath the smoke. Always up for a challenge, I put it to the test. And I have to say, I understand now why it is such an enduring part of the author's mythic schema: because things got going, words got down on the page, the story trotted along nicely, and I got a sugar rush that could power ten space shuttles and a runaway bus.

The café is busy at a steady pace, people in and out, at tables, at the couch, talking, eating, working on computers or cell phones, but I found it a soothing blend that allowed me to drift out of the heavy reality of the world, and relax into my storytelling. This writer’s myth, it is passed on the way it is passed on because it has merit and bears fruit.

Now, I got it going on for about an hour, when life came to call. Had to meet with my contractor about renovations. So I drove back up the hill, had some fun picking out what would be done to the master bath, and then decided I’d had such success earlier– let me try the writing in a café experiment, but this time in another café. This was an uptown café, or more appropriately, a suburban glam café. Set in a strip mall, very chic décor, nothing rogue going on. I had a cup of decaf, not so great. I sat in an overstuffed chair with a candle at my table, but somehow, the atmosphere was thin. I did get words on paper, the right ones too, and the story marched on, but I suspect I was working off the previous buzz. I found the surroundings a distraction I had to work through.

Part cliché, part mythic act, writing in the café taught me a valuable lesson today: In finding a place that is not the normal place you create, yet one that allows you safe passage into the headspace writers enter when they need the words to flow, the spark of creation ignites. I imagine for some writers, Flavour would be a bad fit, and the place up the hill, Nirvana. I learned too, that on coming home, the perceived block wasn’t an obstacle anymore. I bet you can get the same in a library, a park, a corner bar. But the café has that enduring mystique, and it stands as marker for all those other places that are not your normal haunt, but carry a certain allure, charm and cache, and allow you to duck, if only for a few hours, the slings and arrows of the normal mortal world for a far more satisfying adventure in the land of your story.

There is merit to our writer’s myth, and sometimes we need to go into that innermost cave of creativity via an entrance located in a café off the beaten path, where the tea is always hot and the cupcakes always at the ready.

Guest Blog: Keeping It Real

Author Carol Storm guest blogs on a slice of writers life, keeping writing real, visceral and engaging to your reader. Enjoy!!! And when you're done, check out Carol's blog The Storm Report or, go to Facebook to find and friend her.

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KEEPING IT REAL
By Carol Storm

First off, a huge thank you to Ursula for inviting me – and what a fabulous place to spend St. Valentine’s Day!

Have you ever heard the saying about giving a man (or a woman) enough rope to hang themselves? For me the hardest thing about writing erotic romance is that we have so much freedom! We can write about passionate, beautiful, uninhibited men and women. We can create characters that think sex, talk sex, and have sex nearly all the time . . . and yet, when we want to grab our reader by the heart (and not lower down on the anatomy) we have to dig . . . deeper.

We have to keep it real.

Let me show you what I mean. I set my new work in progress, BUCCANEER’S BRIDE, at the decadent, pleasure-filled court of King Charles II of England. It was a time and place where the king and the high nobility could wallow in sexual pleasure not only in private, but in the public eye. And bold Anthony Hawkins, my buccaneer hero, is very much a part of that world.

But is that all there is to the Hawk? Here’s my first draft opening:

“Anthony Hawkins had been too long without a woman. After seven years of plundering the Spanish Main, he was back in England – with an invitation to the royal court at Whitehall Palace. The Hawk’s newly-won gold would open doors. He pictured the king’s wanton women, all willing and waiting.”
Now that’s a pretty sizzling opening, if I do say so myself. It promises the reader pleasure and passion – but it really tells us very little about the Hawk. Let’s try to dig deeper:

“Anthony Hawkins had been too long without a woman. After seven years of plundering the Spanish Main, he was back in England – with an invitation to the royal court at Whitehall Palace. The Hawk’s newly-won gold would open doors. He wanted an audience with King Charles. He wanted an end to all the killing. But the king cared only for pleasure, and the hardened buccaneer knew all too well the need for pleasure – the need to forget. He pictured the king’s wanton women, all willing and waiting.”

This opening isn’t as short and snappy as the first one. But now the Hawk is a more interesting character. Instead of being just a fool with money to spend, he’s a man who’s seen a lot, suffered a lot – and who has a goal to end the suffering of others. His own lust is still very much a part of the picture, but now there’s a conflict between indulging mindlessly (like the king) and finding a way to make his sex drive lead to something more than pleasure.

And of course, that’s where our heroine comes in!

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all my writing, it’s that you have to keep writing and writing and rewriting. It’s the only way to open yourself up to all the emotions your characters feel. When they feel, they become real, and then the reader wants to hang on for the whole ride . . . and savor every minute of the incredible, fantastic sex!

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Carol Storm is the author of HUNTED WITNESS and HIALEAH HEAT, both available from PHAZE books, and GLORY AND THE CLEVER CAT, available from NOBLE ROMANCE. Visit Carol’s blog at THE STORM REPORT

Best Spam of 2009: INTERNPOL wants YOU!

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Spicy Shredded Beef - Slow Cooker Recipe

Thought I'd post my newest Hell Beef recipe. It is fast and easy, and super tasty, especially on a cold day. Even better after a day in fridge, or when defrosted as left overs. Perfect for the busy holiday season. Will make your house smell FANTASTIC!!!!!




HELL BEEF
Slow Cooker recipe for a spicy shredded beef suitable for burritos, soft tacos or plain as a meat main dish.

Heat Category Varies: this incarnation is about a 5 – 7 depending on how used to spicy food you are.

Difficulty level: Very Easy

Tools: 5 -6 qt crock pot , food processor, ladle and medium bowl for reserve use

Serves: 4 – 6 people. If cooking for 2 makes about 3 servings. Freeze unused portions in meal servings for ease in defrosting. (ex: 2 people get 3 servings, one that day, and 2 to freeze for 2 add’l meals)

Time: 7-8 hours

Ingredients
(2) Large Jars store brand salsa – Hot, thick and chunky (want less spice, go medium) You will need at least enough to come ¾ up the way of the roast. So if it’s bigger, use more.
(1 or 1 and 1/2) 7 oz (aprx) can of Chipotle Peppers in Adobo Sauce (Goya is best)
(1) 3 – 3.5 lb Top Round or Bottom Round Roast (don’t substitute, these shred like a charm)

Steps
1. Put about a jar and a half of salsa and all of the chipotle peppers and sauce in food processor, and pulse until you have ground down all the large bits and the mix is a uniform sludge. (the more chipotle, the more smoky/spicy warm the mix will be. I usually go for one and a half)

2. Throw this in the crock, and taste PRIOR to adding raw meat. (Saftey first!) If you want to spice more, add red pepper in ¼ tsp increments. Otherwise, let it be.

3. Throw in the roast. The liquid should come up almost ¾ of the way to the top, if not a wee bit more. It’s okay as it will get very watery as it cooks. You need the larger pot to accommodate the liquid without having to ladle out during the cook process. If you want more liquid, puree the other 1/2 jar of Salsa and throw in.

4. Crank to high and cook for 1 hour, medium 6. Or just use High to 6 hours or so. (if you are home during this, mid way flip the roast. It’s optional, not critical)

5. At hour 7 or there about, you pull the roast out to cut and shred. These style of roasts shred along the long grain, so first, cut across the long grain, if possible into three sections. This will give you a 2 – 3 inch sized shred piece.

6. Once cut, take a fork and knife and pull beef apart into shredded clumps. Not too thick because you want folks to be able to wrap in soft tacos, and for it to cook all through with the sauce.

7. Before you put back into crock, ladle out about 1/3 of the liquid into a near by bowl. Add the shredded meat back in. Mix with liquid so that it just barely reaches the top of the meat shred pile. You should have some sticking up, a very thin layer of beef rising just above the fluid level. Add or subtract as necessary, and put the lid back on.

8. Cook for one additional ½ hour with lid on. Toss reserve liquid.

9. Pull lid off after ½ hour and let it cook uncovered for about half hour. This reduces the liquid again.

10. Tong out beef into a separate container to serve or put in fridge.

To Serve:
Can be very juicy, so if necessary, drain. Use tongs as it allows you to drain as you take from the serving bowl. This is a great crowd pleaser.

Lost Scene from Immortal Protector: Ramon, the man with the plan

I'm avoiding working on a proposal, so I was touring all kinds of things I had set aside, and decided to take a page from other author's books and post a lost scene from Immortal Protector. This is early in the story. It's main character is Ramon, the consumate master of the game of Gods, and takes place just after Gideon is dispatched to take care of the Eternity Covenant's most pressing problem: Dr. Meg Carter. Ramon gets a visit from a Goddess, and decides he needs to set things a little more in motion and turmoil than they already were. I cut the scene because it wasn't needed in the end, there were better ways to get the story across: but it was fun to write, because Ramon is fun to write. And he has a history that you'd never expect. What makes a man this much of a player? That's for another book. Meanwhile: enjoy. (PS it's not edited at all. As unplugged as the muse gets...)
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Ramon Salazar poured himself a snifter of golden hued brandy, then sat in his favorite velvet chair before a small fire in his cherished library. The scent of the brandy was a familiar friend, a lover's touch to his senses that heralded a pleasurable burn to come. He knew it was important for a man like him to enjoy such moments as these: stolen pleasures, seconds and minutes taken from the chaos of the game, much needed breaks that recharged the body and mind of a being who could, if he played wisely, live forever.


Gideon was not playing wisely, in his opinion. But Gideon played by his own rules, and still managed to get results. Ramon swirled the brandy and drank down a savored swallow. A shadow appeared before him, blocking the fire. Slowly it took form, until it was a woman, lithe and honey-skinned, with dark, cat like eyes and a knowing look that only a Goddess could pull off.

“So I was right.” Bast purred the words more than spoke them. “The mystics missed part of the vision.”

“Perhaps.” Salazar’s natural caution kicked in. He didn’t trust any of the Gods. They all had their own motives, and they all believed them to be of pure intent. Much blood had been spilled in what passed for pure intent over the centuries. He’d spilled enough himself through many of them. “It’s still early. We can’t know for sure if the mystics missed something in the vision, if it was deliberately obscured, or, if it was insignificant to the time and divergent point and therefore not even on the radar.”

Bast laughed, a feline sound that made his toes curl. “I’ve observed Horus, and Seth. Neither has made a move to make me think they are involved. I want to believe this bears the mark of Seth.”

Salazar raised a brow, and drank again his silken brandy. It warmed his belly, though his soul remained as chilled and untouched as ever. “We think he stands to gain. We’re early yet. Let the game unfold.”

She began to pace, a measured yet restless movement. “I took a calculated risk getting Gideon assigned to this operation.”

“We both took a risk when we decided to assign a tribunal champion instead of a paladin. Free thinkers are unpredictable. All we can do now is wait and see what we gain. Or, what we lose.” He finished the brandy, and set the glass aside upon the polished marble surface of the occasional table. “Gideon knows the woman is the key, just as he knows he may need to put the protocol into play at any time. Lets hope we have our answers before the wrong decision is made.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and fixed him with a piercing, dark eyed gaze. “I prefer to rely on more tangible things than hope.”

“That’s why you have Gideon, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Gideon. My favorite. Through all the centuries, who’d have guessed a misplaced Britton would come to be my right hand?” Her lips curved in the faintest hint of smile, and her body appeared to shift and loose solid form. “Keep your eyes open, Ramon. I think it will get dangerous from here. For both of us."

He nodded and watched her vanish into the shadows of nothingness. Then he thought. Gods played the game all the time, but those on the Tribunal tended to stick to the rules. That Bast was bending them worried him, more than Gideon’s radical departure from orders.

He stood and stretched out the fatigue of too many hours spent awake and in deep thought, poured himself a last helping of his magnificent brandy, and sat down at his computer. As always, no one could be trusted, as always, he was alone in making sure the game played out to everyone’s best advantage. He sincerely hoped Bast was on his side, but he was no fool either. Ramon opened his encryption program and sent several secure emails to cell operatives local to the east coast of the United States, fishing for something he doubted he’d find. Gideon’s op had run up against one hell of a mage. From here on out it was anyone’s guess what would happen next. And Ramon Salazar, more than anyone else walking this earth, hated surprises.

The Biggest Loser – Rudy Pauls - Adios

Here’s a secret: I love the Biggest Loser. Was an avid fan. But this season, I stopped dead in my loyal tracks last week. Why? Believe it or not, it came down to one contestant. The litmus test for me. Rudy Pauls. I can’t stand to watch another minute of his sanctimonious lectures or his blatant duplicity. There have been plenty of heels on this show throughout the seasons, but something about his level of callous disregard for honor and keeping his word, mixed with his insufferable lectures on goal setting and trust, is beyond intolerable. Rather than watch the train wreck any longer, I must vote with the remote.


So here’s one fan, shutting off the show. He may or may not win. It doesn’t matter. I can’t stomach him a minute longer, and I pity the people still left with him that have to interact and deal.

Carina Press: Harlequin Goes All Out for E Pub

Check it out. The future is now. Harlequin is starting an all e press. And it is cutting edge. Not only that, Angela James is an Exeutive Editor with them. (Angela edited both of my books when she was at Samhain Publishing, and I credit her with making me a much better writer.)

Here's the blog. You can get to all info about them from this link.

Enjoy!

Book Signing October 21st 7pm

October 21st (Wed) at 7pm I'll be signing copies of the just released print version of Immortal Illusions.

Where you ask?
At Flights of Fantasy book store.

For directions, click here.

I'll also be doing a reading from the book of Immortal Illusions, probably on life according to Jack Madden, the reckless yet lovable hero.

Contact Flights of Fantasy at (518)435-9337 or (800)300-7323 and pre-order your copy today! It's a great locally owned independent book store, complete with in store kitties.

Safe Passage through the Devil's Crossroad

I had this friend – no, wait – let me correct that – I had an evil twin named Bryan. My twin since the fifth grade. There was so much life in him, and trouble. Mischief really. The stories, they are legion, and Bryan, he is legend.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about life lately. My usual view is it’s this merry go round in a sketchy traveling carnival. It operates at totally unsafe speeds, without safety checks, and if you get too close it sucks you into its reckless orbit, hurdy-gurdy music blaring while the Carnies laugh madly.

Unsafe speeds got me to thinking about my evil twin, and put me in a mind of one of our escapades.

Bryan had this ten speed. And he was tall, a real lanky kid, with an overdeveloped sense of adventure and no awareness of his own mortality. Where we lived, there was this huge intersection, created by two giant major 4 to 5 lane roads that came together. There was a flotilla of traffic lights over head sending signals to the Mothership in code no human could interpret. And there were cars, NYC style drivers, who felt red was optional as long as you honked your horn while passing through.

Unfortunately, the bowling alley was a block beyond this little section of death. And we liked to go there, because it was an underground bowling alley and they had an elevator with a giant red button that had STOP carved deep into the plastic coating and lettered in thick black paint. There was no elevator attendant, so you know, we’d ride this thing up and down periodically hammering the stop button and bringing the rig to a grinding halt between floors. The best part was the clanging alarm that sounded off the minute all motion stopped. For this alone, we’d brave the devil’s crossroad on our ten speeds. Trouble has a strong call, and good sense, well, it just doesn’t speak up sometimes.

So there we are one day, casting about for something to do and we decide of course, it must be the bowling alley. We can ride the elevator and hit the stop button. We hop on the bikes and tear off into the traffic. We’re riding in tandem, gearing up for our approach to the deadly passage, and Bryan leans over to me with precarious balance and says, quite casually as though it’s no big deal at all, “My brakes don’t work.” Then, with a laugh, he pours on the speed and careens into the midst of the churning chaos of cars filling the abyss. His feet are down, dragging the macadam, and at the top of his lungs, between bouts of laughter, he’s screaming “NO BRAKES!!!!! NO BRAKES!!!!!” as the momentum of the speed burst sails him through the dangerous seas. Horns honk, cars skid, Bryan makes it to the other side, unscathed.

Everyone needs an evil twin. And to ride a ten speed, if only once, with no brakes and faith the universe will get you to the other side unscathed.

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.



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
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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!)