Sneak Peek Day!

Okay, I promised you an excerpt from my upcoming Samhain release, The Matchmakers...and here it is!


****

Nick didn’t remember going to bed. He barely remembered inspecting his truck by flashlight and finding his cell phone on the floor under the passenger seat, then running his hands along the paint job as he looked for the scratches and dents that couldn’t have disappeared without a trace. He vaguely recalled his third beer and the four times he’d picked up the phone to report his wingless, green-eyed faerie to the police. Now, it all seemed like a dream that could be easily forgotten.

During those first few minutes of partial amnesia after he’d pried his leaden eyelids open, he thought again about leaving town. He’d been in Bayerville for eight months. That was longer than he’d stayed anywhere since he’d left home about twenty minutes after he turned eighteen. Twelve years of roaming the country, seeing the world, had taken him as far south as Acapulco and as far north as Nova Scotia. There were dozens of places he’d promised to return to and hundreds he’d vowed to stay away from.

Bayerville, Pennsylvania was a pretty little place that presented itself at a time when he needed a break. He’d found a furnished apartment with a month-to-month lease and started taking carpentry jobs to pay the rent. He’d gotten comfortable.

He’d begun to think “comfortable” might be a good place to be for a while, and that made him nervous.

Settling down meant it wouldn’t be so easy to pack up and leave when things got sticky—and they always got sticky eventually. When the wanderlust hit him, he might be torn up about leaving certain things, or certain people, behind, and that was something he definitely didn’t want.

That thought chased away the pleasant blur of sleep, and the events of the previous night settled in his conscious mind like a lead blanket.

He had a stalker. Or maybe a real faerie. Come on. She had to be a magician of some sort. There must be a reasonable explanation for everything he’d seen last night.

“Matchmaker. Right.” He laughed as he rolled out of bed and drew up the window shade on a cool, breezy Friday morning. All that crap about true love. There was no such thing. Love came and went. He’d been in love once or twice. At seventeen he’d been desperately in love with a girl in his twelfth grade homeroom. Sandy something. She’d had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and kissing her made him feel like Superman. At the prom, he’d suggested they sneak out to the parking lot and spend a little time in the back seat of his dad’s car. He’d brought a blanket and a fresh box of rubbers just in case.

She’d slapped him and called him a worthless, horny dick. Not surprisingly, that desperate feeling of love had faded before final exams were over. The next girl, to whom he’d made a similar suggestion, thought it was a great idea, and he’d never given Sandy what’s-her-name a second thought.

At twenty-five, he’d met Clair Bainbridge in Tallahassee, Florida and spent four months high on endorphins. The aspiring dolphin trainer had the body of a sea goddess and she could swim like a mermaid. Hell, maybe she was a mermaid for all he knew. She sang like a siren and made love like it mattered. She was the girl of his dreams, and he’d walked away forever after she asked him to move in with her.

That desperate feeling went away again in the months that followed, and Nick never questioned why. Love faded. That was a fact. The newness wore off after a while. None of it was real or “true”. He’d made damn sure all the women who had come after Claire knew that.

Tinkerbell was crazy. Nick had nothing to lose. Life without having to worry about falling in love didn’t seem like a punishment at all.

When the doorbell rang, he shot a nervous glance at the bedside clock. He hadn’t planned on sleeping until ten-thirty, but since he had nowhere in particular to go this morning…what if she’d come back early?

Damn. He’d planned to be long gone by noon. Now he’d have to make up some new excuse to get rid of her. He grabbed a t-shirt from the bureau and slid into yesterday’s jeans. Raking his fingers through his hair, he headed for the living room but stopped to snag a piece of cinnamon gum from the nightstand before he left.

At least this time she’d rung the bell.

He opened the door a cautious crack, and Miranda threw herself into his arms. “Nicky!”
He backed up, clamping one arm around her waist to steady her, then swung her around and deposited her on her feet in the middle of the living room. He kicked the door shut as he let go of her.

“Hey…there, Miranda. How are you?”

She thrust one curvaceous hip forward and gave him the look he knew so well. That dark, mysterious, brown-eyed come-on that said, “What, me married?”

It had been his undoing three weeks ago when she’d hired him to build her new pool house. Now it just made him miss the open road.

“Skip and I are separated.” The announcement came with a triumphant smile, which faded a bit when Nick didn’t immediately respond in kind. “Aren’t you happy? He moved out last night. He’s on his way back to Boston right now. He’s got some little bimbo there, I just know it. But I don’t care. What’s wrong, Nick? You look like you have something caught in your throat.”

“I just—I’m surprised he left. From the way things sounded last night, I figured you’d be the one moving out.”

She shrugged, did a pirouette and plopped on the couch. “I just reminded him that our pre-nup requires proof of infidelity, and he’s got nothing on me. I’ve got copies of his cell phone bills and his credit card receipts from all his business trips this year. He wasn’t on the phone with the Boston office fifteen times a day, and the firm isn’t sending him to Pompano to get three-hour massages and shop at Victoria’s Secret. If the slut in Boston finds out about the slut in Pompano, I might just end up a wealthy widow.”

Nick had that tight feeling in his chest again that came whenever he felt a female net starting to close around him. Miranda jumped up and sidled into his embrace. She ran her fingers over his chest and up to the stubble on his lower jaw. Her dark hair tickled his chin.

“I’m writing the checks now, and I’ve got a lot of projects for you, Nick. Come finish the pool house, and then we can pick up where we left off last night.” Her lips, painted a sugary shade of pink, drew into her trademark pout.

Sex on a pile of two-by-fours suddenly didn’t appeal to Nick. He put his hands on Miranda’s shoulders and pushed her back just an inch or so. Her sweet pout flattened into a frown.

“What’sa matter, Nick? I promise Skip won’t be back.” Her fingers moved over the skin around his eye, which he just realized didn’t hurt a bit. “He must’ve pulled his punch. You don’t even have a bruise.”

“Miranda, it’s not…I don’t? Oh…uh, if you want me to finish the pool house, I will, but…”
But what? Yesterday, she’d told him she loved him. Why was that knowledge such a turn off? It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive anymore, he just—

“Nick, baby, aren’t you coming back to bed?”

The familiar voice had a sexy, sleepy purr to it that sent Nick’s blood rushing to his extremities. All of them. He backed up a full four steps away from Miranda.

He turned and saw Calliope sauntering out of his bedroom, and his heart thumped once, hovering on the precipice of the next beat. She wore one of his work shirts, open to the third button. The tails of the plaid flannel swayed around her bare thighs as she yawned and blinked languorously at him.

Jesus! His bedroom windows were locked. Where the hell had she come from?

Miranda’s gaze turned to ice cold daggers, and she came at him, fists balled. “Who the hell is she?”

He caught Miranda’s wrists and held her while she showered him with a mix of Italian and English expletives.

“I…just met her.” That didn’t come out right, but he couldn’t take it back.

“You picked her up on the way home from my place?” Miranda struggled against his grip. She kicked his right shin, but he held her off despite the pain.

“No!”

“Well, actually, yes.” Calliope winked at Miranda, then leaned on the doorframe and stretched. The movement raised the hem of her borrowed shirt barely an inch, but the distraction cost him. Miranda broke loose and cracked him across the jaw with her open palm. It stung, but not as much as Skip’s punch had.

“Miranda, she’s a stranger—some girl who followed me home. She’s crazy!”

“Mmm, that’s right, lover. Tell her how crrrazy I am! Meow!” Calliope did a sexy shimmy and clawed the air.

Miranda growled. “I can’t believe you! You said we—I thought you—” Miranda sputtered at him, obviously at a loss to pin any promises on him.

Nick gaped as Calliope turned and glided back into the bedroom. “When you’re finished out here, cowboy, I’ll be waiting for another ride.”

****

And from the 'You've got to be kidding me' file...

Apparently, there are a lot more people with too much time on their hands than I first suspected.

I came across THIS article today about a growing movement to ban the use of the Comic Sans font from everyday use.

The font, which I can't recreate here without a lot of switching back and forth to check styles, was created to mimic the typeface used in comic books. It's a casual font, which it seems, many people acutally find offensive when it's used for things that are not casual in nature.

As someone who believes the world would be a better place if we all just walked around in our jammies, I have to express my dismay. While I might look askance at a college acceptance letter written in word bubbles [or the font most commonly used in word bubbles] it would still be an acceptance. The crippling pain of a rejection letter might be softened a bit by a big, flowing, unpretentious font, and you can bet I wouldn't bat an eye if the million dollar check for my lottery winnings was written in any kind of type at all. [I'd even accept crayon as long as the check was good!].

So tell me, how do you feel about Comic Sans? Do you find it breezy, fun and happy or just plain ridiculous?

Being a contrary person by nature, I think I might like to spearhead the movement to keep Comic Sans alive and well, maybe have it declared the national font, or the official font of the Olympics. More so, I think I'd like to spearhead the movement to encourage people to get over themselves and not worry so much about fonts.

Balance

The art of balance. [Awesome picture huh? I found it on Photobucket under 'balance']. The reason I looked up balance was because I was just over at Romance Divas in a thread about the difficulties of balancing all the things we have to do in our lives.

The general consensus was that something has to give. When you feel overwhelmed, it's not because you are a failure and aren't managing to do everything in the right way, it's because you've taken on more than is humanly and sanely possible to do.

As I said on the thread, women especially have this problem because we tend to believe we have to be all things to all people. We must be good mothers and wives to start with, and beyond that we have to be great students, excellent employees, dedicated writers, expert promotional gurus, advocates for our own careers, partners in our health care, matriarchs of our extended families, BFFs to fistfuls of people, active PTA members and class moms, charter members of professional organizations, chapter presidents, contest judges, critique partners, captains of the neighborhood watch, concerned citizens, conscientious voters and healthy eaters.

It's nice work if you can get it, but it's also totally unrealistic and [imho] the fault of our do more, be more society.

The bottom line is we need to learn to say when enough is enough and we need to learn to be content not only with having less, but with doing less because less IS actually MORE.

Think about it. Would you rather be really good at one or two things that you love, or adequate at ten things that you hate?

Practice saying no. Practice slowing down. Balance will follow.

So says me.

Have you ever...

Written to a writer?

I’m just curious. I get fan mail on occasion and I love it. I haven’t written very much fan mail myself – not because there aren’t writers I love and whom I believe deserve lots of praise for their wonderful books, but because I always had the vision of writers as being far too busy to read my letters.

Silly me. I’m a writer and I'll make time to read fan mail. Really, I will. [That’s not a hint, by the way.] I don’t consider fan mail an imposition at all and I don’t even have an assistant whose job it is to mail or e-mail back boilerplate replies.

Nevertheless, knowing this about myself, I still don’t send out a lot of fan mail. If I happen to read a book by someone I know, let’s say having met them at a conference or through an on-line writer’s group, I will usually drop a quick note. And early on in my writing career when I was reading books by potential publishers I did take time to e-mail authors and tell them how much I enjoyed their books. I always got lovely replies and I like to think [having now been on the other side of the addy] that I brightened their days a little bit.

So my question today is, do you write a lot of fan mail? Now in the time when writers are easily accessible – most have their e-mail addy up on their website, which is easy to find with a Google search, and many have blogs where you can leave a quick comment, do you? If you do, do you tend more toward commenting to small press authors than best-selling NY authors? Do you think they’re more accessible and more likely to respond?

If you’ve ever written to a mega-best-selling author, what kind of response did you get?

Hoppy Easter!

I'm hanging with my peeps today.

What are you doing?

Just 'cause it's my birthday....

I thought I would post the cover for my upcoming Samhain release - The Matchmakers!

I know I may have said this about other stories I've written, but this book is really, honestly, truly my all time favorite. This is my sweet, cute, funny romance full of characters I love to spend time with.

Here's the blurb:

The Matchmakers by Jennifer Colgan

Coming June 2009

Nick Garret is flypaper for females, and he likes it that way. Women stick for a while, and when it’s over they fly away. So does he. Then one rain-slick night a young woman steps in front of his pickup truck, and his jaded, cynical life takes a sharp swerve toward trouble.

Calliope did the only thing she could think to get Nick to steer his truck—and his life—in a new direction. Banished from the Fae realm for granting a wish gone bad, her punishment is an impossible task; redeem the unredeemable Nick Garret. If she fails to help him pair three couples in everlasting bliss, he’s doomed to never experience real love. And she will share his fate—as a mortal.

Nick can’t decide if this charming, exasperating woman is a dream come true, or a saucy, sexy nightmare sent to drive him insane. Yet something about her makes him want to rise to her challenge. He’ll do anything to make her stick around a while.

Besides, how much trouble can one half-naked, seemingly wingless faerie be?

Stay tuned for an excerpt!

Catastrophe #142

Don't you just hate those stubborn sink clogs?

The best-laid plans of mice and men

So the saying goes. The universe cares little for the things we wish to accomplish, as I learned the hard way this weekend.

First my plan to actually get ahead financially and pay off as many bills as possible went screaming down the crapper when my car decided it no longer wanted to go in reverse.

Transmission rebuild = big bucks
Transmission replacement = sell your first born

Having no car until Tuesday the earliest meant a flurry of phone calls to work out Monday's bake sale plans. Not my biggest worry, mind you, but still.

I breathed a sigh of relief late Friday night, figuring I had everything now marginally under control. Saturday was all about editing and catching up on laundry. I had just realized that there might be an end to the laundry monster if I worked non-stop until dinner [one load an hour in between editing]. It was looking good until DS tripped in the basement and landed on his arm.

We arrived home from the ER four hours later with his arm [two broken bones] in a fiber glass cast.

I would like to state for the record that I have spent entirely too much time in hospitals over the past ten months. [Hence why I did not watch the final episode of, nor do I mourn for the demise of ER.]

Huge sigh. So, today is all about revisions - and if I finish those, back to editing, and then figuring out how to keep the boy's arm dry while he takes a shower.

Let's see how well these plans hold up.

Romancing A Cause

Help my friends from Romance Divas support a romance writer who is struggling. She and her husband have lost their home, both lost their jobs, and we don’t want them to lose hope.

Be a Diva and have a ball with these awesome books. A new auction every day! From April 1 through April 7, you can bid on print books, ebooks, writing critiques, banner creation, jewelry, baskets of soap, and other goodies galore! All of the authors are part of the writing forum Romance Divas, and include Robin L. Rotham, Gemma Halliday, Jennifer Lewis, Kate Pearce, Jennifer Colgan*, Nell Dixon, Sage Burnett, Delia DeLeest, KB Alan, Debbie Mumford, Dara England, Cassandra Curtis, Ciar Cullen, Stephanie Adkins, and many more! If you can't afford to bid on these items, even $2 will help. Paypal address for direct contributions is kbrunori@paypal.com


http://ciarcullen.wordpress.com/romancing-a-cause-auction/

* My book has already been auctioned off, but please check out all the other cool items available!

PG Post - I swear!

So DH and I are in the supermarket the other day, and he turns the corner into the soup aisle. I was following behind and when I caught up to him, he's hanging over the cart laughing.

I give him the curious eyebrow and he says look at this - even the supermarket isn't PG any more:

He of course snapped a picture with his cell phone. Another man in the aisle is also laughing and he says to DH, "I took a picture of it last week." Men.

Yesterday DH is telling a co-worker about it and the guy starts laughing. He'd seen it and taken a picture too.

Now I wonder if any of them had the...meatballs to buy it and taste it.

Farewell Lorne

Andy Hallet, Lorne from ANGEL, has passed away. May he rest in peace.

So what sucks you in?

I mean that in a PG way of course. I'm asking because lo around 12:30 am this morning [though it seemed like last night] I got sucked into curling on one of the sports networks.


Curling? You say. Are you serious? Why yes. It's one of those things that, for some reason, I just can't look away from.

The much maligned sport is an Olympic event which has it's origins in Medieval times. Wikipedia has this to say: The game of curling is thought to have been invented in Scotland, with the first written reference to a contest using stones on ice coming from the records of Paisley Abbey, Renfrewshire, in February 1541.

Apparently it's a game of strategy which involves sliding granite stones along sheets of ice. For some reason it effects me, DH and DD like a trainwreck. If we see it, we can't stop watching.

It might not have been so bad to stay up late and watch curling, except I was awakened very damn early this morning by characters. These are the ones who have been begging for a story for years - well, they already have stories, tons of them, but the stories need to be re-written and updated and at 6:30 AM this morning, the ring leader of the gang knocked on my brain and told me he'd finally figured out how to get the ball rolling in their universe and what I need to do to tell the tale.

So I'm up - of course I can't actually start writing because I need to go food shopping and then we're going to to try to take in an early show of Monsters vs. Aliens. Then I can write. But with all these ideas swirling around in my head, I'll probably go crazy before then. I could really use a nice, quiet came of curling instead.

Is it Friday yet? Yes?? Oh, good.

I kind of feel like this little guy looks. It's been a hell of a week on several fronts, but every time I sit down at my computer, I look over at my wall calendar which displays a picture of two blue-footed boobies for the month of March.

You just can't stay depressed when looking at a blue footed booby. You can't stay depressed when saying the words 'blue footed booby.' Even if the blue footed booby himself looks depressed.

I think the world would be a better place if there were more blue footed boobies.

After all, any creature that walks like this must be having a good time.

I'm off to get some sleep, and dream about blue footed boobies and hope that next week is a better week.

The one that never gets old

Edits...revisions...revisions of edits, edits of revisions...sometimes it seems like a story is never, ever done. There's always tweaking, even down to the final few weeks before a release, sometimes there are still changes to be made.

Now and then I get to the point where I can't bear to look at a story again. I've read it through so many times that I can't see any errors, I can't conceptualize a change, because in my mind, the story is written in stone. It's been on the page for so long, how can it be any different? Those are the edits that make me crazy - not because I don't still want to improve the manuscript, but because my creativity is all tapped out. It gets to be like watching a movie you've seen a gazillion times and now trying to picture a classic scene with a new element in it...it can be practically impossible.

Then there's this one story - the one I've just completed edits on for Samhain...this is the one that never gets old. I've read this story just as many times as I've read all the others, yet I don't cringe when I have to haul it up to the desk top again. In fact I look forward to revisiting every scene. Don't get me wrong, having to make major changes would bum me out, but I still haven't reached the point where I want to sent all the characters on a one-way trip to Siberia. With this one, adding a new scene was like finding an Easter egg on the movie DVD - one of those things that now that you see it you say, gee, that was good. Why wasn't that in there before?

It's nice to have edits that don't leave me pulling my hair out...not that they're ever easy, but sometimes they're actually fun.

150,000 years in the making

Okay, BSG fans, spill it. What did you think of the finale?

SERIOUS SPOILER ALERT!!!

Overall, I thought it was great. It was fast moving, poignant in the extreme and it left me with a sense that they story had been told. So many finales don't do that, so kudos there.

BUT...I was also left with a lot of questions, maybe because I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes. Maybe you can enlighten me...

1. If Baltar is not a cylon, how come his 'ghost/angel' kept showing up? I kept saying to DH, "So Baltar has to be a cylon, right?' and he just looked at me like I was nuts. Was he there because he's the 'human' half of the equation?

2. So once Caprica Six lost her baby, Saul lost all interest in her? [I get that he had his wife back, but still, this bothers me.]

3. What the heck was Starbuck? Was she a Cylon? Why was her body on old Earth and why did her father teach her the Cylon music? How did she just disappear when Lee was talking to her?

4. How come Lee/Apollo seemed to age backwards? Was I the only one who thought he looked about ten years younger in the finale than he'd been looking? [And I don't just mean the flashback scenes to when he WAS ten years younger, I mean the ending scenes on 'new' Earth.] And what was with that hair?

5. How come they never unveiled the 'Daniel' cylon? I was sooooo hoping to find out who he was. 13 colonies, 13 cylon models...hello?

6. So 'mitochondrial' Eve was Hera? This means, humans have always [or nearly always] been part Cylon anyway.

7. I have to say, I love the 'long time ago in a galaxy far, far away' idea. Soooo much better than, dare I say it, Galactica 1980. LOL. The writers really outdid themselves by tying the whole story back to human history on Earth. Very nice work.

8. So we suppose the people who will spring up on Gaelen's island in the northen highlands will be speaking 'Gaelic'? ROFL.

9. Did we need to see Adama throwing up in the street after drinking too much with Saul? Bad form. Not necessary. Why waste the audience's time with crap like that?

10. Who's going to be watching 'Caprica'? And how come the people in the 'prequel' series have more advanced technology than the people in BSG?

11. Are you a Cylon? Apparently we all are...just a little.

I blame the daffodils

This is actually supposed to be yesterday's post, but I just didn't have any spare time yesterday to blog.

I decided it had to be the fault of the daffodils that the first day of spring began with a snow storm.

It was one of those where the flakes are big and wet and gloppy and they stick to everything. It happened, I assume, because the other day when I pointed out to DH that my daffodils had begun to bloom, he said, "That means it's going to snow, just for spite." Well, lo and behold it did. Winter basically said, "I'm not finished here yet."

I was in fact, all ready to be annoyed the whole day - BUT I have to say, winter redeemed itself. Not only did the snow not have to be shoveled, it looked absolutely beautiful on the trees. My drive to work was stunning, especially when I caught sight of a line of just-starting-to-bloom weeping willows in a corporate park. Covered with their layer of snow, they were the prettiest shade of pale, pale green. They looked like they were glowing.

So, yes, I blame the daffodils for the snow, but they had the right idea. It was a nice way to say goodbye to winter [hear that, winter? I said GOODBYE now! Be on your way, thankyouverymuch.]

Next up: Tomorrow, let's dish about the BATTLESTAR GALACTICA finale!

The Non-Hero Strikes Again

I spent last night glued to a book. You might think that's a good thing, but I wasn't reading it because I loved the characters or because the writing was especially moving.

I couldn't put the book down because I was desperately hoping the heroine would kick the hero in the gonads and send him packing.

SIGH. This was a book I had heard about and have been waiting with bated breath to read because it sounded really interesting. I suppose on some level it was because I read it in two sittings - [would have been one but I had to make dinner and it was an ebook so I couldn't read while I was cooking.]

I knew going in that the hero was one of those 'arrogant bastard types' but I've read books where that type of hero redeems himself, so I kept an open mind. Alas, I was disappointed in him. He sunk to quite low depths in his quest to dominate and 'claim' the heroine and it was her humiliation at his hands that seemed to spark his falling in love with her. No time was spent on him actually discovering her as a person or becoming enamored with who she was - his feelings seemed to spring from his own remorse at being an arrogant bastard.

I kept hoping she would really hand him his head, either literally or figuratively each time she suffered for his actions, but of course, she fell in love with him instead.

I've heard men like this called Anti-heroes - the bad boys who take no prisoners in the game of love and who require a skillful and special woman to tame them, but this characters was not that. To me, he was nothing more than a non-hero. A man who fit the iconic definition of 'romance hero' - the brooding gaze and dark eyes, the impressive physical attributes, the money, the power, the self-confidence to do and say anything that pleased him. He starts out seeing the heroine as a prize to be won and he wins her by leaving her so emotionally unbalanced that she clings to him for safety when she should be kicking him in the nuts.

I just don't get the appeal.

How about you? Do you see the anti-hero and the non-hero as two different entities? Do you enjoy the redemption of the arrogant bastard and how much or how little does he need to redeem himself to become a true hero in the classic sense?

What kind of luck are you having today?

I'm over at Star-Crossed Romance talking about luck. Drop by and tell me about some good luck you've had!

Ode to DH!

It's done! My new room is finished - and let me start by giving kudos to DH who worked for 12 straight hours yesterday to make it happen.

We started about 9:00 AM, hauling stuff out of the room which looked like this:

After we cleared everything out, we painted, let it dry and then DH assembled my new desk and book shelf. Then we hauled everything back into the room and it ended up looking like this:

Today he hooked up all my cables and what not so I can use all my stuff and here I am, back in cyber world! The cats have already taken over the chair, but later I hope to evict them and actually sit down and relax in my new space. Saber has been moved to the living room - he's not happy there, though, so we may end up getting him a new bed and moving him back into the den once all my junk is properly dispersed.

Now we both need a week of rest to recover, but it was well worth all the effort.

Tecnhology rocks...but...

Here I am taking a break from painting my den/home office. [Don't worry, pictures will follow shortly. I took before pics and some during pics of the room completely empty with the new paint on the walls.]

Anyway, I'm sitting in the living room with my laptop [the rest of the slackers are playing Wii] and I'm even on battery power! I'm connected via the WiFi we just had installed. Who would have ever thought back when I was my daughter's age, that computing would be this easy and this much a part of our everyday lives.

I remember back when we had to save data on cassette tapes and the only programs the computer could run were written in basic. Now I can instantly publish a blog entry with photos and everything from the comfort of my lap on a computer I can carry around in a book bag.

And yet, I still have to slap paint on the wall with a roller and a brush. Can someone explain to me why computer technology has advanced from the stone and chisel era to warp drive in my life time, and yet painting a 10 x 12 room is still an all day process?

Oh well --- and here's an update on the color - Arabian Sand...think of a box of Crayola Crayons - remember the color they use to call Flesh, and now they call it Peach?? Yeah. That's the color.

Not sandy at all.

But it still looks nice. Now wish me luck getting DH to assemble my new desk and book case.

Doing my part for the economy

Last month I kept the economy alive by dropping $250 at the vet's office. [Topper had an eye infection which required two visits to the vet and four prescriptions - two of which he turned out to be allergic to.]

This month, I'm keeping the economy alive by redecorating my home office. It's been sea-foam green for a while now and I'm soooo tired of it. Not just the color but the arrangement of furniture, the accumulation of junk etc.

So over the weekend I dragged DH to Wal*Mart and bought a new desk - it's a sleek corner model that should free up a whole wall of space. I also bought a taller bookshelf to replace the too small one I have.

My plan was to get rid of the big, bulky desk and the old credenza under the windows and the little bookcase and go with s much smaller workstation, then put a chair in the opposite corner where I can acutally sit and read, write, work on my laptop [where I do most of my work these days anyway] and relax. I'm tired of feeling like I'm trapped in the living room when I want to relax or do anything other than watch TV or watch the kids play video games.

DH shocked me by offering to paint the room! So tonight we went out and picked up the paint. I went with a color called Arabian Sand. I plan to go with white curtains now instead of the matching sea foam ones, and hopefully by Sunday I will have a whole new space to call my own!

This may mean I'll be off line completely on Saturday and Sunday, but what the heck, it will be worth it to have a comfy place to plop my butt and relax. Wish me luck! Home improvement projects are always scary at my house. Hopefully all goes well.

And the winner is...

First I'd like to thank everybody who stopped by for my blog contest. I hope you all decide to read more of GOING DEEP!

The winner of a free download of Rogue Heart is:


Debby Creager!


Thanks for posting, Debby! I have your e-mail addy and I'll be contacting you. Have a great day, everyone!

Release Day! GOING DEEP

Check out my new release at Ellora's Cave today!

Going Deep is one of my spiciest stories - and since I'm in the mood to spice things up even more - I've decided to run an impromptu contest this weekend!

CONTEST!!!

I'll leave this post up until Monday and between now and then, read the excerpt below and leave me a blog comment! I'll choose ONE WINNER on Monday to receive a free copy of my EC book Rogue Theta. [Though each book is standalone, Going Deep takes place on the space station featured in Rogue Theta].

The Excerpt:

The lead male stopped, only inches from Del. His eyes smoldered and Celia stared at him, cowed by the anger in his expression.

“Are you going to defy Meydala’s wishes, Del? We do this on her orders.”

Meydala? What could she have to do with this intrusion?

“In time she will see that this will only increase our suffering in the end.”

“What suffering? Del, what’s happening?” The one he’d called Arnav reached around Del and gripped Celia’s arm so tightly she winced. The other drew a long, bone white dagger from behind the belt of his enviro suit and brandished it at Del.

“We were instructed not to harm either of you, Del, but if you resist, we will have no choice. I can spill your blood or hers. Who will cooperate better if the other is injured?”

Del and the nameless one stared each other down and Arnav wrapped his arms around Celia. Finally, Del relented. His shoulders slumped, but he held his fellow UMEs with a look of such contempt it made Celia shudder. He turned his back on the intruders then and grabbed a breather from the wall. With deft fingers, he removed the cartridge and slipped it into the atomizer.

“Del, what are you doing?” Celia’s blood pounded in her ears. Dear God, could Captain Ganesh have been right about him?

“Last time the mix was incorrect. I’m responsible for your accident and I beg your forgiveness. This time, you will sleep and wake up with no ill effects.”

“Del!” Cold terror laced through Celia’s limbs. She struggled against Arnav’s vice-like grip, but he only squeezed tighter until she began to have trouble breathing.

The other UME stepped back, tucked his blade away and made room for Del to stand in front of Celia.

“You should have run,” Del said, regret thickening his voice. “I wanted you to be safe.”

“Del, please, tell me what’s going on.” She writhed in Arnav’s grasp, desperate to break free, to find answers and to locate the man who’d left her panting his name in ecstasy a few hours before.

Del replaced the newly refilled breather cartridge and fit the device over Celia’s nose and mouth, effectively cutting off any more conversation on her part. Wide eyed, she glared at him, but he refused to meet her gaze.

“Just breathe deeply, Celia. I’ll see that you are not harmed.”

Celia held her breath in defiance. She couldn’t resist for long, though. Del brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I give you my word, your life is my responsibility and I will not allow anyone to hurt you.”

With that, he placed a hand in the center of her chest. A deep rumbling vibration emanated from his body, through his arm and into her rib cage. The inner pressure on her lungs increased as though a two-ton weight were pressing on her heart. The sensation made it impossible for her to hold her breath, and finally, defeated and terrified, she gulped in huge amounts of the tainted air hissing into the faceplate of her breather.

Del dropped his arm and Celia sagged against her captor. Her body became steadily heavier until she could do nothing more than hang limp in Arnav’s grasp. He and his companion lifted her and carried her to the moon pool.

Celia wanted to scream. She would have panicked but whatever sweet-smelling concoction flooded her lungs left her without the will to fight. She forced her tired eyes to follow Del, who slipped into the pool, then turned to help the others lower her into the water.

“If all goes well, Del Mar, perhaps you can petition the queen to allow you to impregnate this one. I hear human females are quite willing and well skilled when their legs are spread.” Arnav chuckled as he adjusted his grip around Celia’s waist.

Del glared over Celia’s head, and the steel edge in his voice made her shiver. “Speak of Dr. Weston that way again, Arnav, and I will kill you in your sleep.”

Celia had no doubt Del meant every word. She closed her eyes to block out the heartbreaking sight of him and blackness stole over her like a shroud.

***

No questions to answer, nothing to buy, just leave me a comment about the excerpt, or just say hi and you'll be entered to win! I'll announce the winner on MONDAY, MARCH 9th.

To find out more about Going Deep visit EllorasCave.com!

Pieces of a writer's brain

I tend to leave half formed thoughts all over the place. My brain leaks all over any blank page I find and then sometimes I forget why I wrote something.

Case in point today - I was filling up a notebook with the novella I'm working on and I got to the last page in the book and found this snippet of something:

A strip of yellow police tape adhered to the scratched inner surface.

That's it. Just that on a page. I have no idea when I wrote it or what I was writing about. It must have been important since I bothered to write it down, but I have no idea if it ever made it any farther than this scribbled note.

I'm bummed because any time there's police tape involved, you figure the story has to be interesting on some level. Now the question is, do I save this page and hope someday to find the story it was supposed to go to? Or do I let it go, and assume that whatever the scene was either got written or didn't but that either way, it really doesn't matter?

Little Treasures

My post today is about the fun of finding something unexpected. As an epilogue to yesterday's cleaning frenzy, DH decided to rummage in the kitchen cabinets and you never know what you'll find up there.


Now in addition to our regular cabinets, we have a row of small, rectangular cubby holes on top of our cabinets. They are covered by magnetic panels rather than hinged cabinet doors. They're hard to reach, so I use them only to store those few things that I don't want to part with but that I rarely use.


DH found a container of old silverware up there, which was a good thing, because we actually could use some extra silverware. He found cookie cutters and a bag of old kitchen magnets and all the extra serving spoons I keep on hand just in case I have to do a lot of serving.


Plus, he found something that had to have been up there for more than a decade. This little bench was sitting in one of the cubbies - never found before in all my excursions up there. I wonder if a little Faerie might have placed it there?



I have no idea where it came from and I certainly wished I'd found it back when I was making doll houses. It would have been perfect on the porch of my ranch house.

In addition to this little treasure, I got another nice surprise today:

Strange New World received an 85 from Mrs. Giggles!

Strange New World, I feel, is the perfect nibble-sized read in between action-driven romantic urban fantasy romances...


I think I'll imagine myself sitting on my little bench, basking in the glow of a great review.

I'm in Bizarro World

I have crossed into an alternate universe this weekend.

I don't know how I got here, but I know I never want to leave.

You see, as I sit here blogging, DH is scrubbing the kitchen floor!

I know! It's like...so weird. He's been on a bender all weekend - it started with a trip to Home Depot on Friday night. He came home with a can of paint and roller covers and plastic drop cloths. He proceeded to clean the stove and the microwave, then yesterday morning he painted the ceilings in the bathroom, the hallway and the kitchen.

Now, for some of you, this might seem commonplace. The husband doing chores and home-fix-ups on the weekend is practically an American institution, but in my house my husband touts himself as the 'Anti-Bob Vila'. He is not a do-it-yourselfer by any means, unless he's fixing a computer.

As he was soaking the knobs from the stove and polishing my vegetable plaques from the kitchen wall, I asked what got into him...well it was more like: "Which alien took over your body?"

He told me it was Gordon Ramsay, the F-word chef. Ever since we got BBC America he's been glued to Hell's Kitchen, Kitchen Nightmares and the F-Word. He can't get enough of Chef Ramsay's explitive laced tough-love and he's suddenly realized that cleanliness is next to impossible in a home with two cats, two kids and a large dog.

I've been trying to help by staying out of his way.

I don't know how long this trip to Bizarro land will last, but I plan to enjoy every minute of it. I'm off now to write a thank you to Chef Ramsay and invite him over for dinner.

Life imitates art!

For a wonderful real life love story, drop by Star-Crossed Romance today to read about the engagement of my fellow writer/blogger Skylar Massey!

Bonus for the week!

In addition to having a new release this week, I also just received the cover art for my next Ellora's Cave release and it ROCKS!


Coming in March - GOING DEEP by Bernadette Gardner


BLURB:

Forbidden desires plague Dr. Celia Weston, head of the Underwater Maintenance Engineering project on Gavrel Space Station. Celia’s fascination for the bio-engineered aquatic humanoids who care for the habitat’s ocean grows each day. Sleek, strong and graceful, the UMEs have begun to develop patterns of behavior and beliefs that their creators had not planned for. When her attraction to a UME male named Del leads Celia to finally indulge in her long-suppressed sexual fantasies, she endangers her job and the future of the UMEs aboard Gavrel.

In order to save their species and secure the rights they deserve, Del is urged by the leader of his people to use Dr. Weston as a pawn in a political coup. Celia risks everything for the ecstasy of Del’s electrifying touch, but can she convince two races to accept their relationship and work together to save the doomed ocean?


*Going Deep takes place in the same universe as my previous EC releases Rogue Heart and Rogue Theta, but is a standalone story.

New Release Today!

I'm a little late in posting today - had to work both jobs and take DD to the orthodontist. Now I'm sitting down and trying to generate some code to update my blog and my website with details of my BRAND NEW RELEASE!


Available today from Samhain Publishing - is my sexy adventure novella:


Blurb:

While photographing wildlife and landscapes in the stark Nevada desert, Chase Calder is caught in a sudden electrical storm. He awakens a prisoner in a high-security Air Force base under the care of seductive microbiologist, Martina Sanchez.

Calder’s accidental exposure to the Acheron beam—designed to decontaminate areas of overgrown plant life—is supposed to have no side effects, but Martina soon discovers Chase Calder is much more than he seems. His touch not only melts her cool professional resolve, it also melts steel walls. Finally having found the proof she needs to expose Acheron for the danger it presents, she risks all to break the sexy photographer out of the base. Together they flee to safety and find something more dangerous than a super weapon when their passion ignites.

***

A short excerpt from Strange New World


Long, feminine fingers caressed the tense muscles of his neck, and Chase’s heartbeat ramped up in response. The sweet, musky scent of a light perfume teased his sleepy senses, and warm breath laced with mint tickled his ear.

His mind rebelled, too weary to think of anything except dark oblivion, but his libido began to stir.

His cock thrummed to attention when those soft hands grazed his thigh. Sleep could wait. If his woman wanted him…his woman?

“Brett?” The moment her name passed his lips, he remembered. Their divorce had been…acrimonious and mostly his fault, but he still missed her now and then. More so now, with a hard-on straining against his Jockeys.

“Who’s Brett?”

The voice brought him instantly and completely awake. He stared up into mocha brown eyes rimmed with thick, black lashes. Soulful. Sexy.

Before Chase could focus, she brought a pair of thick-rimmed eyeglasses down to rest on her nose, as if she were erecting a shield between his curious gaze and hers.

“Who?”

Her lips, painted a tempting shade of coral, pursed in consternation. “You called me Brett.”

“Sorry. I was dreaming.” Bit by bit, Chase’s senses returned. The warm, fuzzy feeling of arousal lingered, but cold fingers of reality crept into his brain as he took inventory of his surroundings.

Long, fluorescent lights stretched across the stark, white ceiling above him. Square tiles in a familiar shade of institutional green lined the three visible walls. A metal door, set with wired glass, held a heavy locking bar—the kind they put on walk-in freezers. The place smelled like a hospital, but something distinctly sinister flavored the chilly air. Where the hell was he, and how had he gotten here?

“Who are you? What happened to me?” Chase craned his neck to get a better look at the woman. Waves of chestnut hair fell to her lab-coated shoulders. Trim lines of a delicate sapphire blouse peaked out beneath the starched white lapels. A laminated ID badge came into focus, and she answered as he read her name.

“I’m Dr. Sanchez. Martina Sanchez. You’re safe, Mr. Calder, and apparently uninjured. As for what happened to you, I’m hoping you can tell me.”

I’m naked. Chase ruminated on that for a moment. Except for his underwear and a thin paper sheet that covered him from knees to nipples, he wore nothing.

His heart rate increased again when he realized his wrists and ankles were secured to the chrome rails of the bed on which he lay. Instinct forced him to test the bonds. The bed frame rattled, and the sexy doctor stepped back.

A face that made Frankenstein’s monster look friendly appeared in the cross-hatched square of glass set into the metal door. The doctor waved one delicate hand at the apparition, and it disappeared.

“What the hell was that? Why am I tied down?”

“Relax, Mr. Calder. Nothing can hurt you here. The man outside is Sergeant Baker, my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard? Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of. I’m not going to hurt anybody.” As long as they don’t hurt me first.

Dr. Sanchez placed a cool hand on Chase’s shoulder. A teasing whiff of her perfume momentarily drew his thoughts away from his predicament.

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Now, if you would answer some questions for me, we can keep Sergeant Baker in the other room where he belongs.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He wanted to add that he had nothing to hide, but that would only make it seem like he did. Whatever was happening here was serious shit.

“Good. Now, what were you doing on restricted land?”

To read another excerpt visit Samhain Publishing!

*Warning: This title contains explicit sex, molten metal and a clingy, wet nightgown.

Anyone looking for British Bachelors?

Apparently I am. According to my bank records anyway.

Yesterday I went into my online bank account to check my balance. I have a small checking account that I use just for fun stuff and DD had given me some money because she wanted to purchase something on line and I told her I would use my account. I noticed a slight discrepancy in the balance from what I had in my records so I looked at the transaction history and discovered two charges from Match.com – fortunately along with two credits from Match.com – however, the credits were for slightly less than the charges.

I called the bank immediately and of course now they have to close my account number, give me a new card and start a dispute of the charges – which ultimately amount to $1.22 thanks to those credits, but still, that’s $1.22 I don’t owe Match.com.

The bank rep I spoke to told me in order to find out why the credits are for less than the charges I have to call Match.com...so I asked her if there was a phone number associated with the transactions and she said yes...but it was out of GREAT BRITAIN.

Yeah. I’m not calling England. As much as I like the mother country, I don’t need to be put on hold during an overseas call so some customer service rep can tell me ‘We have no record of your account.’ Since of course they don’t, since I’m not registered with them.

The bank is sending me a form to file a dispute of the charges so I can get my $1.22 back, which should take something like 6 to 8 weeks. Yay! Until I get a new card, the balance I have in the account is, of course, frozen. Sigh.

My feeling is, Match.com of Great Britain at least owes me $1.22 worth of a cute British Bachelor. I’m off to look for one.

I'll be here

Until winter is over. My cell phone will be OFF.

It feels like a bummer even when it's not

You know that old saying, Be Careful What You Wish For?

I usually abide by it – being careful to examine the pros and cons of anything I might want. I more often than not decide getting something isn’t as much fun as wanting it.
Except when it comes to romance.

Let’s face it, the reason I write romance is because I’m a frustrated shipper. There have been so many love stories I’ve rooted for, then been bitterly disappointed at the way they played out...Mulder and Scully, Sam Carter and Jack O’Neill, Chloe Sullivan and Clark Kent...the list goes on.

Yesterday I was perusing the new TV Guide and I found out that I will be getting something I wished for. And now I’m not sure I’m happy about knowing.

The Guide let spill [and I do have to question why?] that Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan from BONES will finally be ‘hooking up’ in this year’s season finale. When I read this I said...Oh yay!...oh. Yay?

First of all, what’s the point of dragging out a shippy relationship if you’re just going to spill the beans to TV Guide before it gets fun? Half the enjoyment of being a hopeless shipper is tuning in each week with your fingers crossed that your favorite couple will take another baby step closer to third base.

Don’t get me wrong, for once, it will be nice to get to see a couple actually become a couple rather than having to write fan fic about it. But seriously – now that I know, the hoping, wishing and wanting isn’t as much fun anymore. They might as well just air the finale now and get it over with.

Small BSG Rant

As if we weren't on the edge of our seats wondering who the 'FINAL' Cylon was - now that we know, they tell us, oh, wait...there's still ONE MORE DAMN CYLON!!


So, who do you think the No. 7 Daniel model will be??


If I had my way -- it would turn out to be Daniel Jackson.



Just sayin'.

The perfect gift!

The perfect Valentine's Day gift has now been invented. It covers all the bases a woman looks for in gifting, so all you guys out there listen up and take notes.



Two simple words.





CHOCOLATE DIAMONDS.

Have a good one!

The Devil broke the clock

I figured this might be an appropriate post for Friday the 13th – a day steeped in superstition.

Yesterday I had to take DD to the doctor. She’s had a really bad cold that morphed into a disturbing cough, so yesterday we spent the afternoon in the pediatrician’s office. In the office they have a very cool playscape where the kids who are not sick are allowed to play. {I’m so glad my kids have outgrown this – I was tired of bringing them home from the doctor with rug burns on their bellies from sliding backwards down the slide which is covered oddly enough by carpet}. Anyway, there were two little boys playing in the playscape where a large wooden clock dominates the back wall of the lower section. The hands on the clock don’t work [never have]. They just flop around lazily because I imagine none of the doctor’s office staff can climb into the small space with a screw driver or a wrench or what have you to tighten the bolt that holds them on the clock.

One boy was trying without success to position the clock hands and when he realized nothing he was going to do would work, he announced: “The Devil broke the clock.”

I chuckled to myself because there are a lot of things a four year-old could have said that would not have been as cute and I thought it was funny that we often blame the Devil when we do things wrong [The Devil made me do it] but you hear it less invoked when something else goes wrong. Like maybe the Devil broke the economy?? There’s a thought.

Anyway after my laugh I started to wonder if this was just the ramblings of a little kid’s mind or if this poor child was being brought up to believe that anything that goes wrong must be the work of the Devil or similar evil forces. Society over the centuries has been obsessed with assigning bad deeds to evil spirits. It explained all types of bad mojo like comets, plagues, shipwrecks, physical and mental illnesses. It was easier than finding out the true cause of a hardship or tragedy. Blame it on evil spirits. Of course many have suffered over the years for those beliefs. After all, if you are possessed by evil spirits, it’s long been considered all right to torture, kill or imprison you. So I had to wonder what kind of disservice is a parent doing to a child by teaching them that the Devil, or evil spirits of any kind is responsible for bad things that happen. Doesn’t that prevent the child then from developing a curiosity as to what is the real cause behind a problem and possibly discovering how to fix it?

Blaming the Devil when things go wrong is, in my opinion, counterproductive since it provides no recourse to prevent them from going wrong in the future.

Do you tend to believe in an evil force in the universe that causes bad things to happen or do you instead believe that things happen in a random manner that is sometimes good and sometimes bad but never actually planned by any intelligent force, whether good or evil?

I know that’s a heavy question for a Friday. Call it mental calisthenics. If it gives you a headache to think about it – blame the Devil.

I can't get enough

Get yer mind outta the gutter! I’m talking about dish washing liquid.

Now you’re thinking – oh no. She’s really lost it this time.

You may be right. But in losing my mind I have learned something and for that I must extend an apology to my old friend, Robin.

Years ago on an occasion I was visiting my friend at her home, she was showing me around and we ended up in her finished basement where, like many people, she had a set of shelves for keeping non-perishable supplies – you know, canned goods, paper goods – the stuff you buy when it’s cheap so you don’t have to buy it when it’s expensive. I recall to this day seeing that she had several DOZEN bottles of dish washing liquid on one of her shelves.

So I had asked her, “WTF with all the detergent? Do you like doing dishes that much?”
She laughed and explained that she couldn’t help herself. “When it’s on sale, I have to buy it.”

It was one of those images that stayed with me, and for a long time I wondered why. Then, this weekend as I was trudging downstairs to add my TWELFTH bottle of dish washing liquid to my stash, I realized why it all still seemed so fresh in my head. I’m doing it too.

Of course, how can you resist? This week, Shop Rite had Sun Light on sale for $0.99. PLUS I had a coupon for $0.25 off which they doubled – so it came out to $0.49. You can’t go wrong! Anything that only costs $0.49 these days is worth buying, even if you already have 11 of them.

Yes, I know. I could have put that $0.49 in a high-yield interest bearing account and at today’s rates I’d have...let’s see...$1.50 in 200 years. But if you calculate the average rate of dish liquid usage in my house, in only three short years I could be enjoying that bottle of Cucumber Melon scented Sun Light. Assuming I follow proper stock rotation procedures of course.

You have to weigh your options. So the point is, I’m sorry, Robin. All these years I’ve harbored the secret belief that you were a little bit nuts. Now I know the truth.

Off to wash some dishes.

This week on: Bargain Hunters!

Originally I wasn't going to blog today - I've been working on an 'every other day/ odd day' schedule that's been working pretty well, but I just had to post about today's big bargain...well one of them.

My friend K and I went to the Dollar Store - can't go wrong there, and lo and behold she came across a bin of trellis yarn.
It's a very thin ribbon-like yarn that makes nice shawls and scarves. Normally it sells for [I kid you not!] $6.99 a skein. At a dollar a skein, you can't go wrong, so I bought six!

I had bought one skein a while back just to try it out in the blue ice color and made a really cute scarf using my Knifty Knitter. The scarf goes with my blue sweater - this time I bought the dark jewel colors [shown in the picture] and a lighter rainbow color and some super thin black and silver color. Here's a picture of the scarf I made:

It comes out very stretchy and mesh-like. It's a bit scratchy so it's not anything you wear for warmth, but it sparkles so it's a nice accessory.

I'm going to try for some thinner, longer ones that maybe DD can use as belts with her jeans.

And no, I didn't do any of that WIP work I was going to do today. But in my defense I DID think about writing on the way home from food shopping. Know what that got me? Thoughts about another WIP to work on. I'm going to go clear my head with some knifty knitting.

It's a conspiracy

Sometimes I have to ask myself why I bother trying to get the laundry done? Clearly some higher power doesn't ever want the day to come that I can say, "Gee, all the clothes, towels, sheets, etc, are finally all clean!"

This weekend was supposed to be one of those 'catch up on everything' weekends. Everybody is out but me - and I actually like it that way. DD had a sleepover which spilled into a birthday party today. DS and DH are at the NY Comic Con and I'm home with BIG plans to do the laundry and sit down with all my WIPs spread out around me and decide which one deserves to be finished first.

So I started by taking down the kitchen curtains to wash because the cats have made a mockery of them. Did that load, straightened up the house, went through all the superfluous paperwork on my desk, paid a few bills. Then I tossed in another load of laundry and folded towels, checked my e-mail etc. Now comes time for the third load and as I'm walking down the basement stairs I see wet cat footprints.

Hmm.

So I have to wonder, who has been doing what and why. I follow the wet footprints to a puddle on the basement floor. A big puddle. Great. Something is leaking and it has to do with the washing machine. Which means I can't do any more laundry until I find out what's wrong or buy a small canoe for getting around in the basement.

Hugh SIGH.

I suppose I should look at this as the universe telling me to forget the laundry and sit down and work on my stories...but really it just seems more like the universe is laughing its butt off at my expense - and by expense I mean whatever I will have to pay the plumber to fix the frakkin' leak.

Another clunker in the romance department

So why can't movies seem to get it right these days?

I know - I shouldn't really complain about any movie that was nominated for a Razzie award (nor should I have watched one) but when something is billed as a romantic comedy, it should at least warrant a look see.

Not so for My Best Friend's Girl with Kate Hudson and Dane Cook. I'm not going to mention the crude humor or vulgarity as negative points because these are in fact listed on the DVD cover as enticements for people to plunk down their hard earned cash. I'm going to just concentrate on the structure of the 'romance.'

The story revolves around Cook's character, Tank, who makes a nice side living terrorizing women into running back to the boyfriends they've dumped. He shows them how good they had it by being the date from hell. When his best friend/cousin Dustin asks for his help in getting the girl he loves, Alexis, [Kate] to realize he's marriage worthy material, Tank is reluctant, but he finally agrees to pull out all the stops.

What follows is the predictable part - Tank meets Alexis, woos her and discovers she's hard to scare away. She likes his vulgar music, doesn't balk at spending the evening at a strip club, and meets him insult for insult. She also ends up in bed with him. Naturally Tank falls in love with her.

Here's my beef - in the beginning, Dustin tells Tank that Alexis is his 'angel.' He adores her. Okay, fine, maybe he does - but later Tank comes to agree with Dustin. He sees Alexis as an angel, a girl so special he's willing to change his whole way of life to be with her. Sounds nice - BUT - I had to ask, what, why and how? Alexis is never shown as being anything special. Aside from being blond and perky she shows no 'angelic' qualities. Her relationship with Tank revolves around her texting him for 'booty calls' then kicking him out so she can get her beauty sleep before work in the morning. He seems to find her endearing because she's so much like him.

My next complaint is about Tank himself. Sure the redeemed hero is a great theme. Take a bad boy and humble him by throwing him together with the woman who turns him into a different man. That works. Except when it doesn't. You can make a hero too unlikable. Trust me, it's been done many times. Tank has made a career out of treating women badly for the sake of the men who want them back. He's not used to being a hero - and in this movie, he never gets a chance to be. His big 'redemption' comes when he takes Alexis on a proper date, then leaves her chastely at her door at the end of the evening, showing he can be a gentleman even when his date doesn't want him to be.

Poor Dustin is left in the dust by his 'angel' and his 'best friend' and he doesn't even get to pick up the pieces when Tank decides Alexis is too good for him and therefore he must work twice as hard to push her away. Tank descends to his lowest depths when he ruins Alexis's sister's wedding and that debacle accomplishes his goal. Now we've seen the 'hero' at his worst. Digging himself out of this hole is a monumental task that, trust me again, he's not up to.

How does the whole thing resolve itself? In typical movie fashion - SPOILER ALERT - the plot is wrapped up in the last few minutes. Tank tries talking to Alexis. That doesn't work. So he gives up. In the Epilogue scene which takes place 3 months later, Alexis locates Tank in a resturant, seemingly on a date with another woman [way to get over the love of his life] and she makes a ruckus which ends with them falling into each other's arms. Roll credits.

There you go. Would this fly in a book? I can't say it hasn't been done, but seriously - a true romance hero needs something serious to redeem him after he's hurt the heroine. He needs a grand gesture, a major sacrifice. He can't just be sitting around waiting for her to decide he's not so bad. A romance heroine needs a special spark that makes her worth all this sacrifice. Having pretty hair and nice legs isn't enough to make readers [or an audience] like her enough to care if the hero falls in love.

I know there are plenty of romance novels that get turned into movies - but mightn't it be a good idea if anything billed as a 'romantic comedy' was required to have a romance writer on staff? At least then we could hope for some true romance and real redemption.

Questions for my cats

1. Why do you follow me around the house, then when I try to pet you, lie down just out of arm’s reach?

2. Why do you sleep in doorways?

3. Why, when you have access to a twin, a double and a queen size bed, do you prefer to take naps on the kitchen counter?

4. Why do you like to chew on plastic bags?

5. Why do you like to lie on the printer?

6. Why will you only drink from the dog’s water bowl?

7. Why do you ignore the scratching post?

8. What have you done with the three dozen toy mice we bought you?

9. What's so great about sleeping in the sink?

This was the answer I expected.

When there's no story...

...what's the point?

To fill up some of the boring hours between dinner and the airing of tonight's post-Superbowl episode of The Office, I watched The Duchess starring Ralph Fiennes and Kiera Knightly. The movie runs 109 minutes and feels like about 3 hours. Perhaps I missed some important part, but in my estimation it also seemed to have no point.

Don't get me wrong, the costumes are fabulous, the locations dazzling. 18th Century England is a period of pageantry and fascinating social structure - but beyond the hsitorical value of the film, I found nothing.

The story follows the dismal marriage of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. A well-known figure in politics and fashion of her time, she seemed to be a foreforunner of the modern celebutante...loved by the public for her clothes, her charm and her defiance of certain social conventions. Interesting enough...but what left me feeling bereft was the evolution of the character. She's cited on the cover of the DVD as being 'fiesty, cool and scandalous' and in the 'special features' that come with the film, principals discuss how courageous and triumphant she was as a character.

And I said, huh? Throughout the story, the Duchess seems to be little more than a victim of the stringent rules of the ton. Basically sold into marriage to the joyless, emotionally stunted Duke, she spends the film alternately trying to please him and doing her own thing, which of course leads alternately to wrenching heartache and private disgrace. She never enjoys a defining moment in her life when she puts her 'power' or her life experiences to good use. She never truly prevails.

It's movies like this that make me appreicate romance novels - because in a romance novel, it's inherent that the heroine's struggles amount to something in the end. To follow a story where the main character merely subsists is truly disappointing.

Mountain or Molehill?

In the news this week, best-selling author John Grisham is under fire from Duquense University for using their name in his latest book. Because the reference to a fictional event was not flattering, the university is decidedly unhappy.

The story made me think once again about an author's responsiblity to the public, to readers, etc. I'm aware that many publishers will strip out references to 'brand' names et al in manuscripts in order to protect themselves from liability. Some simply require credit to be given to trademark holders etc and yet others seem to make no distinction at all.

I can understand as an author, if you're using a sentence like: "My car is a piece of junk," said Mary. "It's a Ford and they're all crap," you might draw some criticism. On the other hand if the sentence were: "I love my car," said Mary. "I'll never buy anything but a Ford," would you need to take the same precautions?

Are authors to be held accountable for writing something [fictional] that could be construed as insulting to a particular product or institution? Does it infringe upon the right of free speech to make an author change a reference in a novel so that no aspersions are cast on a certain type of cola, or a brand of toothpaste, or a particular ivy league school?

I'm all for fictionalizing everything. I like fictional towns, fictional stores, fictional types of beer etc, but when you're shooting for realism, shouldn't you be able to invent a fictional incident and have it take place in a real location? Would it be the same if Mr. Grisham's crime took place in New York City and the Mayor of New York called him up to complain that such a thing made the city look bad?

Does an author deserve complaints if they describe a robbery at Wal*Mart or a murder at MacDonald's? Should publishers make every effort to strip out any adverse references to real places or products so that no one is offended, or should everyone just take a chill pill and get over themselves?

What do you think? Does John Grisham deserve a raspberry or should Duquense put on it's big girl panties and build a bridge?

4.5 and 4.5 equals 9!

That's 9 RIBBONS all together for my latest Amber Quill releases.

Romance Junkies has given A Rogue's Reward and A Rogue's Redemption 4.5 blue ribbons each!

Read the reviews HERE and HERE.

Ms. Colgan more than fulfilled my expectations... - Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

Cow puppy and other things lost in translation

I've recently noticed that my kids don't speak the same language I do.


Communication in my house has always been a tricky thing - my son has been telepathic since a very young age, and by that I mean when we ask him questions, he answers them in his head, assuming we can read his mind.


My daughter was born with a Boston accent and sometimes used French words instead of English ones when she was a toddler. [Past lives, anyone?? Seriously.]


They both speak fluent Pokemon.


I've learned over the years when it's okay just to nod and smile and when it's not. I also usually insist that they look directly at me when speaking so I can read their lips. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't. Tonight was one of those instances when the nod and smile wasn't good enough.


My daughter just waltzed into my office and said, "Cow puppy?"

At first I thought she was talking to the dog. But the dog didn't answer, so rather than agreeing with her, I asked, "WHAT??"


"CAN. I. PLAY. WII?" she repeated slowly, in that 'I'm speaking to an elderly, deaf foreigner' way.


"Oh. THAT's what you said?"


"Yeah."


Sheesh. "No. Sorry. I'm going to be watching Fringe in a little while and I want the TV. Cow puppy? What the heck is a cow puppy anyway?"


Apparently they do exist.

The state of being constant

Okay, let me see if I can express this concept in a way that will make sense since I haven't really thought it all through yet...

I've been thinking a lot about the writing life and the drive to constantly produce. The old addage goes: Writers write. And I certainly agree with that and believe it can get lost in the laundry list of 'other stuff' writers are supposed to do.

However - in order to be considered a 'writer' does one have to write consistently? We talk a lot about writing every day and treating it like a career, having specific times to write, places to write, ways to write in order to get the job done, but...is writing a job or a calling? Can one still be a writer if one writes one great book, then doesn't write at all for years?

Writing is an art after all, and art can't be rushed. It comes from the moment, the circumstance, the inspiration that hits the writer at any given time. It doesn't come from punching a clock; it doesn't start at 9:00 AM, knock off for lunch at noon and then work straight on until 5:00 with weekends and holidays off. Writing is whenever, wherever and however.

I'm wondering if the true key to success as a writer lies not in creating a workaday schedule that allows one to turn out three novels a year or one novella a month etc, etc, but in really just following the muse, creating the best, most inspired work you can when the muse moves you and being, doing, living something else the rest of the time.

Yes, writers write, but when they're not writing, when they're just living, aren't they still writers?

Hits and Misses for the week

I'm in the mood to be semi-controversial today, so I'm going to blog political. Agh! Dare I? Yeah.

So let me start with a big MISS for the week.

The headline: The President lifts ban on Overseas Abortion Funding

Okay, so this is part HIT, part MISS

While I am unabashedly pro-Choice and I believe the ban was stu.pid. to begin with, I have to wonder why any time would be wasted lifting a ban on funding NOW? Don't we have more pressing problems? Aren't we in a terrible recession? So how does lifting a ban on funding to overseas groups of any kind benefit US? Because you know the first thing those overseas groups are going to do, now that the ban on their funding has been lifted, is stick their hands out for, guess what? FUNDING! Which we can't afford at the moment because we're too busy pumping money into the failing banking system so financial CEOs can buy new cororate jets. So the new administration gets 1 point for lifting a stu.pid ban. Minus 1 point for doing it at a bad time.

On the other side of the coin, I give a big HIT to our First Lady for giving the thumbs down to Ty, Inc for fashioning dolls with the names and likenesses of her daughters. The Beanie Baby company now conveniently denies that their new dolls, susiciously bearing the same names as the First Children, were patterned after them. [Iguess it must be a big owie when the First Lady calls you on your stupidity and insensitivity, huh?]

And a huge HIT for the week: M&M Premium Chocolate Raspberry Almond

Not only are the M&M Premium candies gorgeous [I wish they made beads that looked like this!], they're really tasty too. M&Ms have arrived in the 21st Century.


So in all it was HIT week. What are your HITs and MISSes for the week?

Need friends? Make some!

I added two sock dolls to my growing army of minions this weekend. Hoppy Valentine Bunny and Jeremiah Was [A Bullfrog]. You can see them here hanging out with the Contessa on my dresser.

Don't get the wrong idea and think all I do these days is craft. I did also write 9000 words on my WIP AND today I got the release date for my next Ellora's Cave book - Going Deep will be available on March 6th! {More about this later}.