Sunday, April 29, 2012


I know this is a very strange blog topic but let me explain...

I love getting emails from Goodreads that tells me what people are reading, how they rated or reviewed it. I've found some new authors that way and have read some really good reviews.

But the other day I read a review from Goodreads by a popular blogger who gave a DNF (I think it was a DNF) to a book because it contained a rimming scene and then the couple kissed, She was disgusted. She felt the couple should have brushed their teeth or something.

So here's the thing...

Rimming is the act of licking/eating out a person's anus. It is something that generally is gay male preferred (sorry, I only am aware personally of gay men in real life enjoying this)(there might be straight people who like it but I've never met any).

So I went to some gay friends and asked "Have you ever kissed someone after rimming them, or been kissed by someone after being rimmed and did you make them clean their mouth first?" I asked multiple men. The answers were the same: kissing after rimming is normal and acceptable.

Nobody rims a dirty asshole. Showers and cleanliness are de rigeur. If a fella smells funkiness down there, no tongues are going to go visiting. Therefore everything is clean, kisses are cool and one should understand the sexual practice before judging it.

I know it's weird that I was bothered by that review. But it just felt so wrong to me because if you don't mind the idea of the sexual practice, understand it before you get upset by an aspect that you're clearly wrong about.

And on a personal note.... ewwwwww to the whole thing anyway. More power and pleasure to those who enjoy it but I'll take a nice vanilla cone for my tongue instead.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Talking Romance

Our banner reads in part "Talking Romance", so let's talk some Romance.

I've been pondering why I turned to reading romances, other than the guaranteed HEA, and I've decided it's for the heroes. Romance heroes know all about the BIG GESTURE. Or even the small gesture. They routinely do things that would have a modern day, real life male going "WTF, you're kidding, right?"

I always turn to romance books when I want the BIG GESTURE - Christian in Flowers from the Storm anyone? Battling his body's weaknesses to fight for the woman he loves -  I come all over funny as the saying goes everytime I read it and just melt.

And at the other end of the pendulum - Curran in the Magic books feeding his potential mate and all the meaning behind it. Doesn't matter that Kate's furious because I know that deep down inside she's entranced and fascinated and well on her way to falling in love.

So, I've made a partial list of real life romantic gestures that might go unnoticed in all the hurly burly of day to day living. They might not even be considered romantic. They're mostly all small gestures, but then it's not the size of the gesture that counts. Heh.

* If he fills up your car unasked because he knows the pumps hate you ... he might be a romantic.

* If he eats peas you've sugared instead of salted without complaint ... he might be a romantic.

* If he listens to you vent about your horrible day, then hugs you and takes you to bed ... he might be a romantic.

* If he rubs your back or feet without being asked ... he might be a romantic (and hoping to get lucky too, lol).

* If he's a good husband, father and lover and follows the 'look but never touch' rule ... he might be a romantic. He for sure has his priorities straight.

My brain is stretched. Or perhaps that's empty. Can you all think of any others? Some of these have happened to me, the rest I made up. But I want to make it plain: I have never sugared any peas!

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Let the Story Do the Talking

I'm having a wonderful time with my newest WIP (work in progress). It's not writing as fast as I wish but then my strange need to play agame of Free Cell after every 50 - 100 words might have something to do with it. Also the fact that my daughter needs help with her homework, someone has to do the dishes and Survivor is on and I never miss Survivor (sorry Lea, my addiction is not a reflection of anything but my addiction to that one show).

However, the one thing I'm adoring about this book is that it has a story to tell and it's telling it the way it should be told. Does that make any sense? Well probably not put that way.

I do realize that I'm writing the story and it's not some strange automatic writing through spirit or whatever. Considering the amount of editing going on, the automatic writing would be very welcome on this story.

But the thing is... the story has a rhythm in a sense, a map of sorts to get from point a (boy meets girl) to point z (boy and girl in love and happy). So as I write, things suddenly seem very clear in the progression 'why look, here's where the brother shows up' to the sudden ''I think they're about to make love' and it feels like the story is making the decisions and not me.

I was trying to get a sense why it felt that way and thought that perhaps its because I've read so many books and the rhythm of the stories have made their way into my writer's conscience. So the natural flow of the story is just that: natural.

It's one of the first times I've ever had a story that needs so little telling because it has the path of how to be told. I love love love writing it.

Monday, April 23, 2012

First Page Wreck

This weekend on dear Author was a First Page that was a study in OMG!  First Page is done every saturday morning when an anonymous author puts up a first page of a WIP and the DA community comments on it. The idea is to offer critique and help an author make it better.

Saturday's page was a disaster. The author didn't know the fundamentals of writing so the punctuation was a mess, attribution a mess and the story just didn't work for a million reasons.

Does that mean the writer cannot write? No. It means the first page was a mess. It doesn't mean the writer is illiterate, a non English speaker, short, funny looking, or any of the other choices that were offered by the readers.

It was a serious disaster to read the comments because the level of assumption was appalling. I mean instead of critiquing the writing, the readers were critiquing the author instead without any idea of who the writer was.

Did I make an assumption? I did. I assumed that the writer is young, possibly high school or junior high. Am I right? no freaking idea. I sure as hell didn't think it was appropriate to assume on the author's piece of writing.

People were crazy rude in their critiques and it was an embarrassment to read. I felt terrible for the author to have to read all that was said and assumed.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

The Witness

I'm reading Nora Robert's newest, The Witness. I'm about 50% into it, and I'm reading with tears in my eyes. I love this heroine. I want to hug her. She's so needy and she doesn't know it. Her strength covers it up.
When his arms came around her, she squeezed her eyes shut and the emotions rose so fast, so hard and fast. To be held like this on a cool spring night by someone who cared.
It was like a miracle, even for someone who didn't believe in them.
I'll post again when I finish the book, but I had to share this excerpt because, you see, I never cry

Friday, April 20, 2012

Random Friday Nonsense

1. Have you ever had sex in a swimming pool? I've had sex in a hot tub and that was no big whoop but I'm writing pool sex right now and I'm not sure it's really do-able. Any ideas?

2. A group I belong to is on a rant about Dear Author and their mean reviews. I don't think they're mean but then again I'm a snarky bitch. Does anyone out there find them especially mean?

3. I'm writing a book and my libido is starting to go into overdrive. I wonder if writing and menopause should be banned from being experienced together.

4.  I've stopped cooking. Quel horror. Someone send me a new recipe I must try!

5.  I lost my thumb drive (he was in the shape of a ninja and I called him my ninja drive). I had one novella on there that I have nowhere else. I feel fucked. And not in the good, gonna do it in a pool with my hero kind of way.

6.  Hi Lea ::waving::

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


I was planning on posting an excerpt from the only WIP I've got going at this time, but Lori called and we starting 'what if-ing'. It appears our WIP (for which we both have different titles, lol, mine is Here be Dragons) is fixing to undergo a significant change, just as Greece did several times during its incarnation.

Now, that's exciting, I find that very exciting, because if it worked for Greece, it'll work for Dragons. Anyway, here's a pre-change excerpt. :-)

I, or rather Ezekiel, discovered Wyn’s secret hideaway.

I could hardly catch my breath after I’d clawed my way up to it. I stood on a small plateau, trying not to pant too hard, and stared at the huge double doors towering above my head. They fit snugly into the sheer cliff that surrounded them. At first I thought they were made from wood, but when I inched forward and touched them, I discovered they were metallic and covered in etchings. They’d been forged in dragon fire and embossed with pictographs, the history of a race. In the middle of the left door was the story of the Wind Maiden, at the top of the right, the Massacre at Caer Din. The space under my hand was empty but above it was an image of Rivon Landerth, as he fought his last battle.

Wyn’s history was almost finished, and then so would be Wyn.

The doors were not locked or barred and for all their size moved smoothly when I tugged them open. Weak sunlight spilled into the cavern they protected, igniting the bier within with sparkling pinpoints of light.

The rock walls were covered with images and portraits of people Wyn had known in his long life. Dragons, witches—even humans; I recognized Sol Muller, who had worked with Wyn all his life, until old age had taken him.

Painted on the wall at the foot of the bier was a woman who looked suspiciously familiar. Stylized, idealized--I’d never been that beautiful. Ever. I’d never been that serene or looked so confident. In one hand I held a bouquet of lavender. A small dragon perched in the palm of the other. It would be the last thing someone lying on that bier would see.

I was looking at Wyn’s tomb.

It was like being punched hard in the belly. My lungs wouldn’t work and I felt so helpless. He was determined to do this horrible thing and paid no attention to anything I said. It made me feel weak with terror. I’m a selfish woman and I just couldn’t imagine my world without Wyn somewhere in it.

Then I got mad. I can’t remember ever being so angry. How dare he go off and leave me behind? How dare he!

“I wondered how long it’d take you to find it. You’re a natural snoop, Andy.”

I whirled around and squinted at Wyn. The sun behind him spun a halo around his body and shadowed his features, but I knew him. I would always know him. That didn’t mean, however, that I’d cut him any slack.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Some medieval knight sighing over his lady love? Dying for love, Wyn? Why don’t you try living for it!”


“Don’t you talk to me! There’s no way you can explain this to my satisfaction.”

“Then I won’t.”

“Why? Why? I think if you do this, I’ll die too.”

“It shouldn’t matter to you, Andy, you walked out on me long ago.”

I leaned back against the cold stone of the bier and folded my arms. “I’m surprised you noticed I was gone. I figured if I meant anything to you, you’d come after me—for an explanation, if nothing else. But as always your painting came first. I heard nothing from you or about you. I told myself it didn’t matter. If you didn’t love me then I didn’t love you. When I finally gave in, you’d gone, moved on. That’s just fine, I told myself. If that’s the way he wants it, that’s how it’ll be. So all I did was pin point your general location and let you get on with your life by yourself.” I looked him up and down. “Appears I made a bad decision.”

“You left me,” he repeated, as if I’d said nothing at all.

“You left me first,” I snapped. What was the matter with him? Had he forgotten his English?

His throat worked as if forming words was difficult but his determined expression announced he meant to have his say. “I didn’t leave you. Why is it you don’t understand? I’m a dragon and dragons are obsessed with their hoards. My paintings are my hoard. When I’m deep in thrall to them you’re supposed to distract me somehow, change my focus, get me interested in something else. Surely your teachers told you this?”

“Not that I can recall. The covens were thinning out even in my day. So, I was supposed to hit you over the head with a two by four?”

“That would probably have caught my attention.”

“You’re saying it was all my fault.” My temper spurted, because he was right, it was my fault. Ignorance was no excuse. Witches are supposed to know dragons. “For Goddess’s sake, would you get away from that damn opening? I’m getting a headache.”

Obligingly he moved into the tomb, angling toward the wall opposite the portrait. I blinked away tears. “My eyes thank you. Wyn, does it make a difference to know I left because of a defect in my education?”

Manlike, he shrugged. “What’s done is done. There’s no undoing it.”

“Was my leaving one of the reasons for this?” I waved a hand around the tomb.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know that ‘enjoy’ is the right word. It’s a serious thing when a man—or a dragon—plans to end his existence. But you see, Wyn, it’s a one way street. There’s no coming back from death if you find out you were wrong. You’d best be certain you know your facts before you take any action.”

“You might have been part of it,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

I moved slowly toward him. “I didn’t leave because I’d fallen out of love with you. I left because my heart was broken. It hurt too much, to be so close to you and not allowed to touch, to not be able to sink into you and you into me. It broke me, Wyn.”

I reached him and moved slowly behind him. My breasts brushed his back. As usual, he wore a thin, flannel shirt that did nothing to hide his heat. My nipples perked right up and got themselves ready for action. His long back muscles tightened under my hand.

“I couldn’t touch you like this.” I leaned against him and laid my cheek against his spine. My hands stroked his sides. He stood rigidly, his head high. I drew back and circled around so I could face him.

“You wouldn’t touch me.” I picked up his unresisting hands and brought them to my breasts. “See how I’m ready for you? But you didn’t want me. Not then. How about now, Wyn? Do you want me now?”

He lowered his gaze to mine. “I’ve always wanted you.” His voice was raspy with emotion. “What I couldn’t stand was being your ‘project’, something it was your duty to guard and protect. Your job. I used to wonder where you’d be, what you’d be doing, if you weren’t chained to me. I’ve always wanted you,” he repeated almost viciously, his hands tightening on my breasts. “There was never anyone before you. There’ll never be anyone again.”

“Not if you have your way, certainly.” I tried to sound blasé but my goddess, I was shaken! He had the look of a fierce raptor, and it was obvious every word he said hurt him, but he said them anyway because that’s just the way Wyn was. Honest to a fault and no matter what it cost him, he freely admitted his mistakes.

I moved closer, forcing his hands to slide down to my waist. “You smell so good, how do you always smell so good? You smell like new copper, all bright and clean.” I rose on my tiptoes and nuzzled his neck. “Hmm—spicy. Spicy, coppery, I love the scent of you. Eau d’Wyn. I love you, I always will.” He tasted of salt and skin and Wyn. “You were never just a job to me. How could you not know?” I cupped his face between my palms. “Don’t leave me,” I whispered. “We can run away, to someplace no one will find us. We can live our lives without dragon masters and all the hatred they spew. Please. Please don’t do this thing.”

The tension left his body as his lips curved up in a smile. “I don’t know how you can say that with a straight face. You’d never leave your sisters, or turn your back on your duty.”

“I would for you. I would,” I insisted as he raised an eyebrow. “A person needs priorities,” I said primly. “And you are mine. It would be a colorless life without you.”

“You’ve lived without me for years.”

“Yes, but you existed, you were alive and well. I could find you if I needed to. You could come to me, if you only would. There was hope, Wyn, and a chance of future happiness if we could only settle our differences, and I thought I had all the time in the world. We were playing a game of chicken. I reckon we’re too damn old to be acting like that. We should have known better.”

I nuzzled him again, opening my mouth against the warm skin of his neck, indulging my tongue with delicate licks. He clenched his hands around my waist. Slowly he raised me up until my face was level with his.

“Think what you’re doing,” he whispered. “It won’t be gentle or prettified.”

“No,” I agreed and fastened my lips to his in a searing, open mouthed kiss.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Book of the Month

I keep forgetting I have a book coming out next month. Here, have another look and a link. :-)

May 12, to be exact.

And Lori - her book The Stone Crow is releasing June 18th. Yessss!

And finally, there's Letters from Greece, a book written by both of us and one that's close to our hearts. Letters is releasing July 9th. Btw, the word count is 70,000, not 39,000; trying to get that fixed.

We're a regular book of the month club. Here, have another open mouthed cover, lol.

The thing is, there's nothing after this for me. Lori is working on a wonderful contemporary, but I'm empty of words. Probably because a good many of them have run away. *grin* Sleeping is my main activity these days when I'm not at work and ideas that grab me are scarce as hen's teeth.

Lori and I are working on a paranormal on and off. More off, I'm sad to say. I need to stay in the story because I lose the 'voice' of the characters when I take an extended leave of absence.

But then, that's how we wrote Greece and somehow it got finished. Only took three years. 0.o

So, I don't despair, not yet. But I do wish it could all be fresh and exciting again, the words pouring out as they did back in the day; it was really cool. It was really special.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Word Game

Gah!!  I've discovered the worst thing about following shit loads of writers on social media is the freaking word count whores. I'm not going to mention names but they're out there every weekend bragging on their 7,000 words written in one afternoon or 23,000 words written over a weekend when I'm lucky to get 500 words sometimes.

I think the most I've ever written in one day has been under 3000 and that was a rare day indeed.

My middle finger is up in salute to them.

Thursday, April 12, 2012


I've become appallingly boring lately.

Lori's tied up with her new WIP and we've both been literally tied up with galleys and deadlines with Letters from Greece.

I need her to lead me into trouble again. Oh, yes, it's all her fault. Always. :-)

Most of the time, I'm a willing follower, but sometimes not. That's when she gets a firm hold of my ear (not so easy to do if you stand only...well, I promised never to tell, but she can look my navel in the eye) and threatens me bodily harm, particularly in the region of my ass. I'm never quite sure exactly what she means by those vague butt threats; there are a number of things that can be done to asses, but she never elaborates. Having a rather remarkable imagination, I usually fall into line relatively quickly.

However, complaining is expected and diligently applied.

It's been awhile since she's hauled me, kicking and protesting vociferously, into the future. I've got a feeling my time is up again.

Okay, I've changed my mind and I need your help. Y'all need to talk her into finishing her book before she begins to finish me. I find 'boring' to be sort of peaceful and I get lots and lots of sleep. :-)

'Night, y'all and thank you.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

How I Started Reading Romance

This morning I saw a post on Dear Author where the reviewers were talking about how they started reading romance. Most began with a bodice ripper like Sweet, Savage Love or one of those, Barbara Cartland was mentioned a few times.

I suggested to Carolyn that we should tell how we started reading romance and Carolyn said something like "Well it was back when we used to write with quills we plucked off the chickens ourselves and the wandering troubadors would come and sing for hand job..."

And she was off and running. I love me some Carolyn, I really do but man, when she starts talking about the good old days of playing in the moats and turrets, my mind begins to wander.

My first foray into romance was actually through Harlequin category romances in the ld, old days when there was only Brits writing them. Swear to God, that day really existed. Which indicates how very fucking old I really am.

Anyway, someone as a joke signed me up for a Harlequin book club and I got 4 Harlequins every month in the mail. I'd like to say I loved them but I didn't. Back then the heroines were all proper English girls and the men were all older and moderately brutish and they pissed me off. I kept wanting a heroine to do something besides blink in amazement and flush in either panic or passion.

God, they were spineless!

So I stopped reading the damn things. Years later I read a review of Absolutely Positively by Jayne Ann Krentz and it sounded good. Oh yeah, it was good. The heroine wasn't spineless, in fact nobody in the book was. I inhaled JAK books for awhile until I discovered her early Mira books and then I had to stop because the heroines were spineless and the heroes were brutish, stalkerish alphaholes.

And then came Crusie. Jennifer Crusie who wrote Welcome to Temptation and Crazy For You (my all time favorite romantic read) and Anyone But You and oh my god, that woman blew my mind.

And then I met Carolyn who pulled a reluctant me into trying historicals and now I stalk Loretta Chase offering to bear her love child or mop her bathroom floors and then the poor Meljean Brook whom we follow online and leave scary fan girl messages on Facebook to... and well, the list is endless.

Anyone else want to tell their story?

Monday, April 9, 2012


We have a great publisher, one who takes care of her writers and makes every effort to help the books sell.

Renee Rocco received less than enthusiastic responses from reviewers regarding the original cover for Letters from Greece, so she made us a new one. :-D

We have to remember, we're writing for a romance publisher and the covers don't have to be classy - lusty is more like it, lol. I think Renee accomplished both those objectives with this new cover.

I can't believe I beat Lori to the punch!

Anyway - what do you all think of it?

Friday, April 6, 2012

Random Friday Shit

I'm over at the Lyrical Press blog today talking about writing with Carolyn. Lyrical Press Blog

We're working on edits for Letters From Greece and I realized that one of the great things that's happened with writing this story and all we've done with it is that we've learned so much. From all the rewriting, the different editors who have given feedback and now even in the last edits: this story has been a learning curve all its own.

Other things going on... there was a kerfluffle with the gayer than you group on one or two blogs. Which leads me to a question: when a woman says she's trans and identifies as a gay man, what exactly does that mean? If she identifies as a man then does she have vaginal sex? And if so, would that be then kinda pretty much as just saying she's a woman who likes to wear comfortable shoes?

I'm lumping all this stuff as silly shit at this point.

Kids are on spring break so today I have two mini WWE wrestlers in the house.

Writing on the new book is going well.

And dare I mention that a week ago exactly I had a terrible day and came home to a Kindle Fire? Day was suddenly blooming in sunshine and roses. And it was all the cause of a very generous, loving friend.

By the way, the Fire is fucking amazing.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Falling in Love Again

It's been so long since I felt this way. The fluttering feelings of excitement at the thought of him. The wish to spend more time with him. To know him better. To get inside his head and his heart.

It's a shame he's fictional and I'm writing him.

Years and years ago when I first started writing I fell in love with a character and I swear it was the best relationship I'd ever been in. I found him swoon-worthy and loved writing him and creating worlds around him. Nothing there was publishable but it was a good feeling and I've missed it.

I've written characters since but none have given me the same rush of feeling. Until now.

I don't know why this character is so delightful to me. He's pretty standard romantically and he doesn't sport a 16 inch tongue or 20 inch penis. He's not a mega-billionaire and he doesn't have a drop of Latin blood in him.

But he's exciting to me and I love writing him.I like how he's crazy about the heroine. I like that he's not really handsome and his body is too developed. I like his intensity and the fact that as much as he desires a woman, he's refusing to take advantage of her.

I love writing this guy. I look forward to returning to him daily and spending more time with him.

This is the best of the best when it comes to writing for me.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Who Did YOU Fool Today?

Happy April 1, y'all. Did you April Fool's anybody?

These Old Farts never even thought of it. Energy is running low and the urge to sleep running high. :-) Besides, we sort of celebrated early when we had the fight that fizzled, lol.

Since DA and Smart Bitches are participating in the day, I think I'll go and read a book. Or even write something. Now, that would be a change!