Having my academic background in animal behavior gives me a very clear impression on what the alpha male means. The smartest, toughest wolf, the biggest silverback gorilla, or the ram with the biggest horns. When it comes to people though, the definition can vary. Are we talking about the captain of the football team? The class president? The corporate raider or the military officer?
I’ve written several books with traditional “alpha heroes,” but even more with heroes who for one reason or other aren’t. Alpha implies a very social hierarchy. So by definition, the wounded loner isn’t an alpha. I also write a lot of geek heroes, who rely more on brains than brawn. And if you’re setting up a series with a group of men, say a SEAL team or a family of brothers, then by definition only one can be the alpha. But the others…oh, yeah, they can be heroes too.
When we talk about alpha, I think we’re really just talking about ideals. Men with strength and honor and brains and courage. Men who, as Anny said, can wield a frying pan or a hairbrush as well as a gun or sword or baseball bat if necessary. Men who are protective and willing to lay down their lives for their woman, but would rather live for her and with her. He might be a little bossy, but he’s always there for her and willing to subordinate his needs for hers.
Are the heroes in our books realistic? Sometimes. There's a little fantasy mixed in, but there's a lot of truth to a good character too. There are a lot of good men out in the world who may not always have those eight-pack abs, but still have what it takes to make a woman smile. They bring home paychecks, cook meals, and some of them even bring home roses when they know their wife had a crappy day. (Thank you, love!) And yes, they’re still flawed. Goes with being human. And sometimes those flaws are what make us love them all the more.
Showing posts with label Cindy Spencer Pape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cindy Spencer Pape. Show all posts
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Three For All
Hey, everyone, here's a little taste of my newest Ellora's Cave release.
Three for All
By Cindy Spencer Pape
Out now from Ellora’s Cave
Blurb: In her 600 years, elven reporter Eislinn has had two great loves in her life—paranormal police officer Callum, another elf, and Lothan, a demon enforcer. One hot summer night the three of them come together, and Philadelphia practically explodes with the passion.
Note: This book contains male/male and male/male/female sexual acts and light bondage.
Excerpt 3: BSDM/ménage ADULT
Callum lifted the satin blindfold Lothan had set on the floor by their feet and fitted it into place over Eislinn’s eyes. She wriggled happily and panted. Callum didn’t think he’d ever seen her so turned on—or himself for that matter. Lothan’s dark, smooth body was hairless and marked by a line of silver runes that ran from his left nipple up over his shoulder and down his back to his right butt cheek where it curled around his hip to circle the base of his cock. A row of tiny silver barbells dotted the underside of his cock from tip to scrotum. The whole package was so blindingly sexy that he could have made a jellyfish hard and Callum couldn’t wait to have that thick dark cock in his mouth—or his ass. Preferably at the same time as his own cock was fucking Eislinn.
Lothan turned her around and bent her lengthwise over the bench, until she rested on her belly. It was exactly the right length for her willowy torso. Her pert ass jutted into the air at one end while her hauntingly lovely face was turned to the side on the far edge of the vinyl cushion. Her long chestnut hair trailed across the hardwood floor and she obediently lifted her hands to the small of her back, as if anticipating the handcuffs that Callum snapped into place around her dainty wrists. Lothan fitted a spreader bar between her ankles, wrapping the soft leather cuffs around her ankles with tender care. Oh yeah, the demon knew Eislinn’s tastes as well as Callum himself did. He pushed aside a twinge of jealousy. He and Eislinn had called it quits over a century ago. He loved her but there had always been something missing in their relationship. He hadn’t been celibate in the interim. He had no right to mind that she hadn’t. And looking at Lothan, he could definitely understand the attraction.
“Ready?” Lothan stood after testing the ankle cuffs.
Eislinn wriggled on the bench. “Ready.” Her thighs were slick with cream and Callum couldn’t resist leaning down for one quick taste. He swiped his tongue along her slit, then straightened and brought his hand down hard on her sweetly rounded ass. Lothan smacked her other cheek at exactly the same time.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Eislinn.” The demon’s low bass rumble sent a tremor of arousal from the base of Callum’s spine straight to his taut and heavy balls.
“And naughty girls have to be punished, don’t they?” Callum smiled over at Lothan, letting all his desire for both of them show in his gaze.
The look Lothan gave him in return was smoldering. As one they both slapped Eislinn again. Her squeal held a trace of pain but a wealth of pleasure. The spanked her again, their movements timed as perfectly as if they’d been doing this together forever.
“You frightened us, dearling,” Callum reprimanded. Another spank. “You need to learn not to do that.”
“When there’s danger, you call us, damn it,” Lothan growled. Eislinn’s creamy white ass was turning a lovely shade of pink. Rivulets of fluid were beginning to trickle down her thighs as her arousal heightened with every stroke.
“You don’t fight demons on your own.” Callum finished.
“Y-yes.” her words and breath were fractured but she nodded her understanding.
“Yes what, sweet thing?” Lothan reached up and fisted a handful of her reddish-brown tresses. He pulled hard enough to make her bend her neck back.
Callum ran a finger along the curve of her spine. “Use your words, Eislinn.”
“I promise. I’ll call next time.”
“Not good enough.” Lothan and Callum spoke at once and brought their hands down again.
“You don’t go into situations like that alone,” Lothan told her.
“One of us knows where you are at all times,” Callum added. He was surprised how easily the words, “one of us,” had slipped out but they felt right. He’d trust Lothan to take care of her, in a way he’d never trusted another soul.
“O-okay.” She panted. Callum could see her body tense. She was so close to coming she couldn’t get the words out easily. His cock pulsed in response.
He and Lothan locked gazes again. With a joint nod, they each brought their hands down again—harder this time. Eislinn screamed and went over the edge. They both leaned forward to stroke her back as her body convulsed. Since Lothan held her hair, her face was turned to Callum. He couldn’t resist the opportunity. It had been a hundred long years since he’d kissed her.
Have a good week!
Three for All
By Cindy Spencer Pape
Out now from Ellora’s Cave
Blurb: In her 600 years, elven reporter Eislinn has had two great loves in her life—paranormal police officer Callum, another elf, and Lothan, a demon enforcer. One hot summer night the three of them come together, and Philadelphia practically explodes with the passion.
Note: This book contains male/male and male/male/female sexual acts and light bondage.
Excerpt 3: BSDM/ménage ADULT
Callum lifted the satin blindfold Lothan had set on the floor by their feet and fitted it into place over Eislinn’s eyes. She wriggled happily and panted. Callum didn’t think he’d ever seen her so turned on—or himself for that matter. Lothan’s dark, smooth body was hairless and marked by a line of silver runes that ran from his left nipple up over his shoulder and down his back to his right butt cheek where it curled around his hip to circle the base of his cock. A row of tiny silver barbells dotted the underside of his cock from tip to scrotum. The whole package was so blindingly sexy that he could have made a jellyfish hard and Callum couldn’t wait to have that thick dark cock in his mouth—or his ass. Preferably at the same time as his own cock was fucking Eislinn.
Lothan turned her around and bent her lengthwise over the bench, until she rested on her belly. It was exactly the right length for her willowy torso. Her pert ass jutted into the air at one end while her hauntingly lovely face was turned to the side on the far edge of the vinyl cushion. Her long chestnut hair trailed across the hardwood floor and she obediently lifted her hands to the small of her back, as if anticipating the handcuffs that Callum snapped into place around her dainty wrists. Lothan fitted a spreader bar between her ankles, wrapping the soft leather cuffs around her ankles with tender care. Oh yeah, the demon knew Eislinn’s tastes as well as Callum himself did. He pushed aside a twinge of jealousy. He and Eislinn had called it quits over a century ago. He loved her but there had always been something missing in their relationship. He hadn’t been celibate in the interim. He had no right to mind that she hadn’t. And looking at Lothan, he could definitely understand the attraction.
“Ready?” Lothan stood after testing the ankle cuffs.
Eislinn wriggled on the bench. “Ready.” Her thighs were slick with cream and Callum couldn’t resist leaning down for one quick taste. He swiped his tongue along her slit, then straightened and brought his hand down hard on her sweetly rounded ass. Lothan smacked her other cheek at exactly the same time.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Eislinn.” The demon’s low bass rumble sent a tremor of arousal from the base of Callum’s spine straight to his taut and heavy balls.
“And naughty girls have to be punished, don’t they?” Callum smiled over at Lothan, letting all his desire for both of them show in his gaze.
The look Lothan gave him in return was smoldering. As one they both slapped Eislinn again. Her squeal held a trace of pain but a wealth of pleasure. The spanked her again, their movements timed as perfectly as if they’d been doing this together forever.
“You frightened us, dearling,” Callum reprimanded. Another spank. “You need to learn not to do that.”
“When there’s danger, you call us, damn it,” Lothan growled. Eislinn’s creamy white ass was turning a lovely shade of pink. Rivulets of fluid were beginning to trickle down her thighs as her arousal heightened with every stroke.
“You don’t fight demons on your own.” Callum finished.
“Y-yes.” her words and breath were fractured but she nodded her understanding.
“Yes what, sweet thing?” Lothan reached up and fisted a handful of her reddish-brown tresses. He pulled hard enough to make her bend her neck back.
Callum ran a finger along the curve of her spine. “Use your words, Eislinn.”
“I promise. I’ll call next time.”
“Not good enough.” Lothan and Callum spoke at once and brought their hands down again.
“You don’t go into situations like that alone,” Lothan told her.
“One of us knows where you are at all times,” Callum added. He was surprised how easily the words, “one of us,” had slipped out but they felt right. He’d trust Lothan to take care of her, in a way he’d never trusted another soul.
“O-okay.” She panted. Callum could see her body tense. She was so close to coming she couldn’t get the words out easily. His cock pulsed in response.
He and Lothan locked gazes again. With a joint nod, they each brought their hands down again—harder this time. Eislinn screamed and went over the edge. They both leaned forward to stroke her back as her body convulsed. Since Lothan held her hair, her face was turned to Callum. He couldn’t resist the opportunity. It had been a hundred long years since he’d kissed her.
Have a good week!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
He does what? With who? Is that supposed to be a comma?
First off, since several of my critique partners read this, I have to be nice. Snicker.
Right now I have two sets of critique partners who are each invaluable in their own way. I have an on-line group, including Anny and former Grip staffer Regina Carlysle, who are erotic romance authors, with not only my primary publisher, but my same editor. They read the kind of stuff I write, so they know the genre and the business. So if I do something that doesn’t work from a romance point of view, they are there to catch it. And if I need help with a hero, a situation, or yes, a sex scene, they’re there to provide ideas. Gotta love a group that can have a conversation about finding a unique position for sex in a faculty office, or whether a given angle is physically possible. Finally they can be turned to when I’m feeling crappy about my writing, to tell me to quit whining, yes, I can write, and to get my fingers back on the keyboard.
I have another group, a local gathering of authors, that is not primarily a romance group. This is the one I turn to for technical advice and face-to-face social interaction. Both are extremely useful. I read a lot of SF&F so I enjoy reading their stuff, and as a few of them are making inroads into the paranormal romance arena, I think I have something to offer them as well. What I can’t get from them is a heads-up when I’ve broken one of the unwritten rules of the romance genre, or when I simply have a hero or heroine who doesn’t measure up. They also don’t quite get that in, especially in short romantica (TM), plot is a very secondary thing. I love working with this group, which is split between men and women, because they refuse to let me get lazy and they force me to be a better writer. We also laugh ourselves stupid, and sometimes you need that.
Are critique groups always good? Nope. One thing I urge is that, even if you don’t write exactly the same genre, you have to be willing to read the others’ stuff. One of my very first critique partners was a lovely woman and an excellent writer, but she wrote emotionally intense women’s fiction of the very grim variety. Frankly it was painful for me to wade through every month. And my sex scenes had her picking up the manuscript by one corner and going, “ick.” This was not a critique relationship destined to be helpful to either one of us. After about a year, two of the women moved away and the group quietly and rather relievedly, fell apart.
Finally, if I have doubts about a manuscript, I have a couple of other friends I can call on to say, as Dakota put it, either “Great, send it in,” or “Really? You sure this is going to work?” It’s not the same as critiquing, but it has its place as well.
One caveat. It IS very easy to over-critique a manuscript and lose your own voice. Be wary of that. You can’t please everyone, so you have to please yourself. Catching typos or plot holes isn’t the same as turning your story into a generic piece of dreck. My first book for Wild Rose Press, The Cowboy’s Christmas Bride, suffered heavily from this. Many of the changes my editor made were thankfully to put it back the way it was in the first place. A good critique partner has to be very careful not to impose her own voice on her partners’ manuscripts.
Writers come to their critique partners for many reasons, and it’s important to connect with a group, or groups, that meets those individual needs. Mostly? I think sometimes we need to be around other people who understand what it’s like to have voices chattering away in your head.
Right now I have two sets of critique partners who are each invaluable in their own way. I have an on-line group, including Anny and former Grip staffer Regina Carlysle, who are erotic romance authors, with not only my primary publisher, but my same editor. They read the kind of stuff I write, so they know the genre and the business. So if I do something that doesn’t work from a romance point of view, they are there to catch it. And if I need help with a hero, a situation, or yes, a sex scene, they’re there to provide ideas. Gotta love a group that can have a conversation about finding a unique position for sex in a faculty office, or whether a given angle is physically possible. Finally they can be turned to when I’m feeling crappy about my writing, to tell me to quit whining, yes, I can write, and to get my fingers back on the keyboard.
I have another group, a local gathering of authors, that is not primarily a romance group. This is the one I turn to for technical advice and face-to-face social interaction. Both are extremely useful. I read a lot of SF&F so I enjoy reading their stuff, and as a few of them are making inroads into the paranormal romance arena, I think I have something to offer them as well. What I can’t get from them is a heads-up when I’ve broken one of the unwritten rules of the romance genre, or when I simply have a hero or heroine who doesn’t measure up. They also don’t quite get that in, especially in short romantica (TM), plot is a very secondary thing. I love working with this group, which is split between men and women, because they refuse to let me get lazy and they force me to be a better writer. We also laugh ourselves stupid, and sometimes you need that.
Are critique groups always good? Nope. One thing I urge is that, even if you don’t write exactly the same genre, you have to be willing to read the others’ stuff. One of my very first critique partners was a lovely woman and an excellent writer, but she wrote emotionally intense women’s fiction of the very grim variety. Frankly it was painful for me to wade through every month. And my sex scenes had her picking up the manuscript by one corner and going, “ick.” This was not a critique relationship destined to be helpful to either one of us. After about a year, two of the women moved away and the group quietly and rather relievedly, fell apart.
Finally, if I have doubts about a manuscript, I have a couple of other friends I can call on to say, as Dakota put it, either “Great, send it in,” or “Really? You sure this is going to work?” It’s not the same as critiquing, but it has its place as well.
One caveat. It IS very easy to over-critique a manuscript and lose your own voice. Be wary of that. You can’t please everyone, so you have to please yourself. Catching typos or plot holes isn’t the same as turning your story into a generic piece of dreck. My first book for Wild Rose Press, The Cowboy’s Christmas Bride, suffered heavily from this. Many of the changes my editor made were thankfully to put it back the way it was in the first place. A good critique partner has to be very careful not to impose her own voice on her partners’ manuscripts.
Writers come to their critique partners for many reasons, and it’s important to connect with a group, or groups, that meets those individual needs. Mostly? I think sometimes we need to be around other people who understand what it’s like to have voices chattering away in your head.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Show Me the Money
Okay, here's one for all the writers, readers, and writers-to-be. Contests. We are in a very strange industry, boys and girls. One of the main criteria on which our works are judged by readers, publishers, editors, and each other are contest wins. Big, little, and in-between. Now actors have the Oscars, the Screen Actors Guild Awards, the Golden Globes, etc, but writers? we have literally HUNDREDS of contests. And you have to pay an entry fee to enter almost all of them. I'm speaking mainly to romance, as that's my genre, so those of you in other areas may not know these names. But I'm thinking that a lot of the same applies throughout the publishing industry.
To start with there are the RITA's. Big splashy award given every year to romance novels at the RWA National Conference. They claim to be the best of the best, honoring the very cream of that year's romantic fiction. My problem with this? You don't even get considered if you don't shell out the 40 or so bucks for each and every book you enter. AND you have to hand over 3-5 copies of the finished book. With a 15 dollar trade paperback, that's a lot of cash. Not the publisher, either. The author. This is a nice way of limiting the number of small-press entries. You know how everyone loves it when a little indie film beats out the big boys at the Oscars? Don't see that a lot in romance. There also is NOT a category for erotic romance, though inspirational gets its own. But I wasn't even planning to get into that debate. And yes, they only accept books available to the public in print. So no e-books.
The same goes for the innumerable chapter contests...all kinds of names familiar to most of us. Each requires several copies of the book and 25 to 50 bucks. There are a few authors of small press who can afford this. One of my publishers dotes on one particular author who has won or finaled in several. I suspect she is independently wealthy, and though the book is, in fact, excellent, it is far from the only excellent book at that house. But because she is able to enter so many contests, she is able to win, while other books, perhaps just as wonderful, are utterly ignored.
Partially for this reason, I treasure my "finaling" in The Romance Studio's Cupid and Psyche award (CAPA). Curses was one of the top five erotic paranormal romances of 2007, in their reviewers' opinion. It didn't win, but the coolest thing about it was I didn't have to "enter." The nominees were pulled from all of their reviews throughout the year. So it was a surprise as well as a pat on the back. And yes, almost every review site now has annual awards, so it's become quite diluted, but it's still nice to be put in a category with Jory Strong and Charlotte Boyett-Compo. Kind of takes the sting out of losing. There are also those that require reader voting. Honestly? Those bug the crap out of me. I go nuts when everyone is on-line begging for votes every week. It seems getting the masses to go vote from every possible email address is far more important than the book itself, and that just stops holding any validity for me.
So that said, do I enter contests? Quite rarely. I did support my home RWA chapter by entering theirs--and found out afterward about the FIVE copy thing. Won't again, unless I have money to burn. I am entering the EPPIES: The Electronic Publishing Internet Connection's (EPIC) annual contest. There's still an entry fee, but at least I can submit the pdf and not have to fork over another sixty bucks for copies. I can't enter all of my books, but maybe one or two of my favorites. I also like to support this organization as I think it is really there for ebook authors. So I can tell myself the money is well spent.
What are your thoughts and takes on contests? Do they matter when you choose a book to read? Do you enter them? Judge them? Am I the only curmudgeon that has issues with the way this industry works them? Let us know!
To start with there are the RITA's. Big splashy award given every year to romance novels at the RWA National Conference. They claim to be the best of the best, honoring the very cream of that year's romantic fiction. My problem with this? You don't even get considered if you don't shell out the 40 or so bucks for each and every book you enter. AND you have to hand over 3-5 copies of the finished book. With a 15 dollar trade paperback, that's a lot of cash. Not the publisher, either. The author. This is a nice way of limiting the number of small-press entries. You know how everyone loves it when a little indie film beats out the big boys at the Oscars? Don't see that a lot in romance. There also is NOT a category for erotic romance, though inspirational gets its own. But I wasn't even planning to get into that debate. And yes, they only accept books available to the public in print. So no e-books.
The same goes for the innumerable chapter contests...all kinds of names familiar to most of us. Each requires several copies of the book and 25 to 50 bucks. There are a few authors of small press who can afford this. One of my publishers dotes on one particular author who has won or finaled in several. I suspect she is independently wealthy, and though the book is, in fact, excellent, it is far from the only excellent book at that house. But because she is able to enter so many contests, she is able to win, while other books, perhaps just as wonderful, are utterly ignored.
Partially for this reason, I treasure my "finaling" in The Romance Studio's Cupid and Psyche award (CAPA). Curses was one of the top five erotic paranormal romances of 2007, in their reviewers' opinion. It didn't win, but the coolest thing about it was I didn't have to "enter." The nominees were pulled from all of their reviews throughout the year. So it was a surprise as well as a pat on the back. And yes, almost every review site now has annual awards, so it's become quite diluted, but it's still nice to be put in a category with Jory Strong and Charlotte Boyett-Compo. Kind of takes the sting out of losing. There are also those that require reader voting. Honestly? Those bug the crap out of me. I go nuts when everyone is on-line begging for votes every week. It seems getting the masses to go vote from every possible email address is far more important than the book itself, and that just stops holding any validity for me.
So that said, do I enter contests? Quite rarely. I did support my home RWA chapter by entering theirs--and found out afterward about the FIVE copy thing. Won't again, unless I have money to burn. I am entering the EPPIES: The Electronic Publishing Internet Connection's (EPIC) annual contest. There's still an entry fee, but at least I can submit the pdf and not have to fork over another sixty bucks for copies. I can't enter all of my books, but maybe one or two of my favorites. I also like to support this organization as I think it is really there for ebook authors. So I can tell myself the money is well spent.
What are your thoughts and takes on contests? Do they matter when you choose a book to read? Do you enter them? Judge them? Am I the only curmudgeon that has issues with the way this industry works them? Let us know!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Too Much Sex?
How much sex is too much in a romance?
I suspect there are as many different answers to that question as there are readers. I write both erotic romance and mainstream romance. Both have lots of sex, both have it fairly well spelled out, but there are differences. I use certain words much more frequently in the erotic. The ratio of sex to other plot points varies dramatically. The sex in the erotic romance tends to be a bit kinkier, a bit, well, rougher. And yes, it happens much earlier in the story.
I've had reviewers complain that some of my short stories are nothing but sex. Well, in ten thousand words for an erotic publisher, I'm sorry, but you're not going to get much else. I'd strongly suggest not picking up a story labeled "Quickie" or "Lust Bite" if that isn't what you want. On the other hand, those are far and away my best selling books. So I'm guessing there must be readers out there who like that. Honestly? I've got no problem providing that if that's what my publishers and readers want.
On the other hand, I've had people complain my mainstream titles have too much sex. For my cowboy series, which are labeled "spicy", that means usually two to three scenes per book. Hmmm. That publisher has a rating system, folks. You want sweet, buy the ones labeled sweet. If you want HOT buy those. Seems pretty easy to me.
Of course that doesn't mean I want my teenage sons to hand my books over to their female friends. I keep waiting for their parents to come after me with pitchforks and torches. (Yes, we are talking about the spicy cowboys here, not the erotic menage, for example. But still...) On the other hand I think it is a bit hypocritical for them to get bent about my romance with a bit of lovemaking when they LET their kids read some of the anime and manga titles out there. Really. I can learn stuff from those books. Yowza! But parents are not always rational, so until they're all in college, I'll keep telling my sons no when they want to pass my books out to their friends.
There are segments within the romance industry that claim erotic romance is ruining the genre. My response to that is a more politely phrased, WTF? Please. If some of the drivel that's been out since the 50's didn't manage to kill the industry, I doubt my sexy romances are going to do the trick. And I DO get pissy when someone implies that with 20 contracts under my belt, I'm still not a "real" published author. Yes, e-publishing is still the new kid on the block. Doesn't mean we're not the wave of the future. I mean where's the problem with E-books AND print-on-demand. Seems like that way we don't have warehouses full of dead trees, but those who want paper books can still get them. Wouldn't be surprised if that was where the industry eventually ended up.
So what do you think? Is there such thing as too much sex? Not enough? And do you like pixels or paper, or a mixture of both? Where do you see the romance industry headed in the future?
I suspect there are as many different answers to that question as there are readers. I write both erotic romance and mainstream romance. Both have lots of sex, both have it fairly well spelled out, but there are differences. I use certain words much more frequently in the erotic. The ratio of sex to other plot points varies dramatically. The sex in the erotic romance tends to be a bit kinkier, a bit, well, rougher. And yes, it happens much earlier in the story.
I've had reviewers complain that some of my short stories are nothing but sex. Well, in ten thousand words for an erotic publisher, I'm sorry, but you're not going to get much else. I'd strongly suggest not picking up a story labeled "Quickie" or "Lust Bite" if that isn't what you want. On the other hand, those are far and away my best selling books. So I'm guessing there must be readers out there who like that. Honestly? I've got no problem providing that if that's what my publishers and readers want.
On the other hand, I've had people complain my mainstream titles have too much sex. For my cowboy series, which are labeled "spicy", that means usually two to three scenes per book. Hmmm. That publisher has a rating system, folks. You want sweet, buy the ones labeled sweet. If you want HOT buy those. Seems pretty easy to me.
Of course that doesn't mean I want my teenage sons to hand my books over to their female friends. I keep waiting for their parents to come after me with pitchforks and torches. (Yes, we are talking about the spicy cowboys here, not the erotic menage, for example. But still...) On the other hand I think it is a bit hypocritical for them to get bent about my romance with a bit of lovemaking when they LET their kids read some of the anime and manga titles out there. Really. I can learn stuff from those books. Yowza! But parents are not always rational, so until they're all in college, I'll keep telling my sons no when they want to pass my books out to their friends.
There are segments within the romance industry that claim erotic romance is ruining the genre. My response to that is a more politely phrased, WTF? Please. If some of the drivel that's been out since the 50's didn't manage to kill the industry, I doubt my sexy romances are going to do the trick. And I DO get pissy when someone implies that with 20 contracts under my belt, I'm still not a "real" published author. Yes, e-publishing is still the new kid on the block. Doesn't mean we're not the wave of the future. I mean where's the problem with E-books AND print-on-demand. Seems like that way we don't have warehouses full of dead trees, but those who want paper books can still get them. Wouldn't be surprised if that was where the industry eventually ended up.
So what do you think? Is there such thing as too much sex? Not enough? And do you like pixels or paper, or a mixture of both? Where do you see the romance industry headed in the future?
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Qualified Yes
Series can encompass a variety of different things. As a kid growing up, I loved the teenage mystery series—Trixie Belden, Donna Parker, the Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown, heck, even the horribly dated Bobbsey Twins. Nancy Drew was the one exception. Never could stand her. These books followed the same characters through a variety of adventures, hopefully learning a little something with each episode. I graduated to Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple and the Mrs. Pollifax books when I was a little older, and those are much the same, except with adult characters and situations. Then I discovered fantasy and science fiction. The Narnia books, Lord of the Rings, Robert Aspirin’s Myth Adventures, and so many more. Still the same concept though—same main characters, different stories.
But in romance, series usually don’t work that way. For a romance to be a romance, you have to take two (or sometimes more) characters from not being together, to their happily-ever-after. That’s pretty final. Although I have read a few great books where the romance continues to grow and evolve in a second book, (Jayne Ann Krentz has a couple good examples of this) that’s about the limit if each story is really a romance. So a series takes a different turn. Usually it’s a common world, town, family, or group (a Navy Seals team, perhaps) that have overlapping stories. Each book of the series features a different character finding that HEA. So each book as a unique hero and a unique heroine. One of the great features of this kind of series is that you get to peek at the HEA of earlier couples. It can be kind of like catching up with old friends.
From a reader’s standpoint, I love series. I love seeing that couple A is still together a few years later, maybe with children, or still helping to save the world. I still have the first romance series I ever collected, Roberta Gellis’ fabulous Roselynde Chronicles. She broke a rule in this series, too. The first two books had the same heroine. Yep. Her first HEA wasn’t so ever-after. Husband number one was much older and died while the heroine was still in her 30’s, leaving her to remarry a man much closer to her own age. I’m not sure you could get away with that in today’s market, but as Ms. Gellis was one of the founders of the historical romance genre as we know it, she did. I had the chance to meet her at last year’s RT convention, and practically genuflected at her feet.
Series have problems though. They can go on way too long. Then they run the risk of being repetitive or jumping the shark. There are a couple of very big names that I used to run right out and buy on release day. Now I get them from the library if I bother at all. I totally respect author Linda Howard who said she wasn’t writing any more books in her MacKenzie (sp?) family series, because she didn’t want to have to kill off the parents. Sometimes, you just have to let go. And who knows? If she hadn’t, we might not have had all the NEW wonderfulness she’s written since.
As an author, I am learning about the pitfalls of series. Writing the last of my Crazy H trilogy was hard. There was a lot I’d written in that couldn’t be changed, so I had to write around a lot of things I might have changed if they hadn’t been set in stone by previous books. I had to really work to make this heroine different from the other two—can’t have them all blending together. Even names are a bigger challenge. But sales-wise, there’s a definite plus. When Always a Cowboy came out, sales did spike again for books one and two in the series. And when you’ve written a character who’s just too cool to say goodbye to, it’s nice to be able to give them their own HEA.
So yes, I’d have to say I’m in favor of the series concept, both as an author and as a reader. But if I ever drag one out to the point of absurdity, will somebody please let me know?
But in romance, series usually don’t work that way. For a romance to be a romance, you have to take two (or sometimes more) characters from not being together, to their happily-ever-after. That’s pretty final. Although I have read a few great books where the romance continues to grow and evolve in a second book, (Jayne Ann Krentz has a couple good examples of this) that’s about the limit if each story is really a romance. So a series takes a different turn. Usually it’s a common world, town, family, or group (a Navy Seals team, perhaps) that have overlapping stories. Each book of the series features a different character finding that HEA. So each book as a unique hero and a unique heroine. One of the great features of this kind of series is that you get to peek at the HEA of earlier couples. It can be kind of like catching up with old friends.
From a reader’s standpoint, I love series. I love seeing that couple A is still together a few years later, maybe with children, or still helping to save the world. I still have the first romance series I ever collected, Roberta Gellis’ fabulous Roselynde Chronicles. She broke a rule in this series, too. The first two books had the same heroine. Yep. Her first HEA wasn’t so ever-after. Husband number one was much older and died while the heroine was still in her 30’s, leaving her to remarry a man much closer to her own age. I’m not sure you could get away with that in today’s market, but as Ms. Gellis was one of the founders of the historical romance genre as we know it, she did. I had the chance to meet her at last year’s RT convention, and practically genuflected at her feet.
Series have problems though. They can go on way too long. Then they run the risk of being repetitive or jumping the shark. There are a couple of very big names that I used to run right out and buy on release day. Now I get them from the library if I bother at all. I totally respect author Linda Howard who said she wasn’t writing any more books in her MacKenzie (sp?) family series, because she didn’t want to have to kill off the parents. Sometimes, you just have to let go. And who knows? If she hadn’t, we might not have had all the NEW wonderfulness she’s written since.
As an author, I am learning about the pitfalls of series. Writing the last of my Crazy H trilogy was hard. There was a lot I’d written in that couldn’t be changed, so I had to write around a lot of things I might have changed if they hadn’t been set in stone by previous books. I had to really work to make this heroine different from the other two—can’t have them all blending together. Even names are a bigger challenge. But sales-wise, there’s a definite plus. When Always a Cowboy came out, sales did spike again for books one and two in the series. And when you’ve written a character who’s just too cool to say goodbye to, it’s nice to be able to give them their own HEA.
So yes, I’d have to say I’m in favor of the series concept, both as an author and as a reader. But if I ever drag one out to the point of absurdity, will somebody please let me know?
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A rose by any other name
Names. One of the most memorable aspects of a story. When I say Aislinn and Wulfgar, almost every romance reader instantly remembers Kathleen Woodiwiss’s The Wolf and the Dove. Names help create the character and define the era, location, and social class as well. When I was in about junior high, I for no apparent reason started a list of every name I could come up with starting with each letter of the alphabet, and kept it probably through college. I've always been fascinated by names--their meanings, origins, and combinations.
As an author you try to create names that fit the character and will stand out, just a bit, from the crowd. One of my publishers has a no-no list of overused names, which I applaud, even though I question a couple of inclusions. I was also a little cranky when my first French gargoyle had to suddenly change his name because I hadn’t checked the list. So Luc became Damien. C’est la vie. Luc had probably been a bit of a lazy choice, anyway. And I’d like to add Jack, Jake and Nick to the list. Sorry. All good solid names. All just a wee bit over-used.
I also use names and variations on names to show certain things within a story. In my cowboy books, the brothers are all named after famous authors, because their father was a voracious reader as well as a rancher. So CJ is named for Raymond Chandler and James Jones, Fitz is Faulkner Fitzgerald, and Trip (Triple H) is named for Robert Howard and Ernest Hemingway. The use of nicknames is an indicator of the relationship between the brothers. From the time he meets Allison, CJ calls her Allie, which no one has done since her father. That she lets him is an indication of her growing feelings for the man. In Curses, there is a similar thing with Jonas/Joe. Mel loves his name, while he’s spent so much of his life trying to be “an average Joe,” that he has totally adopted the name. Only his attraction to Mel lets him accept being called Jonas.
I’ve been guilty of using ethnic names that need a pronunciation guide. David Garvaglia, the hero of Djinni and the Geek, is pleased when Anissa (a made-up name, since I invented the existence of a Djinn language) pronounces his name correctly—Gar-VAHL-ya, instead of Gar-VAG-lee-a. I’ll admit I stole this name from a high-school friend. Cian, the 200-year-old Irish mage in Sorcerer’s Song, coming in September’s Ellora’s Cavemen Anthology, loves the way his name sounds in Lyra’s musical voice: KEY-inn, with just the right inflection.
Lyra, from the Greek for music, seemed kind of obvious for a siren, but pretty enough that I used it anyway. Marina, the selkie in Stone and Sea, is a bit obvious too, but in reality I named her for a cousin. I kind of like to slip little homages in here and there. Beth, heroine of Always a Cowboy was also named after a recently deceased cousin. I do have a couple of websites I use when I’m looking for names, especially for specific nationalities. Other authors on my loops have been helpful too. Welsh author Hweyla Lyn (Yep that’s her real first name. Isn’t it cool?) provided the names for Beltaine Bargain. For most of my contemporary characters I like names that are simple and not too far out, but not overused. I try to diligently avoid trendy. (shudder) Now fantasy and futuristic names...those you get to simply make up. Working right now on Tabrin and Zeyd--futuristic bounty hunters. Yum.
In the end naming your characters is nearly as personal as naming your children, though you're not stuck listening to them grouse about them through their teenage years. It's a fun part of the creative process and a place where you can add a subtle nudge or a tip of the hat. And if they don't work out? Oh well, there's always another story.
As an author you try to create names that fit the character and will stand out, just a bit, from the crowd. One of my publishers has a no-no list of overused names, which I applaud, even though I question a couple of inclusions. I was also a little cranky when my first French gargoyle had to suddenly change his name because I hadn’t checked the list. So Luc became Damien. C’est la vie. Luc had probably been a bit of a lazy choice, anyway. And I’d like to add Jack, Jake and Nick to the list. Sorry. All good solid names. All just a wee bit over-used.
I also use names and variations on names to show certain things within a story. In my cowboy books, the brothers are all named after famous authors, because their father was a voracious reader as well as a rancher. So CJ is named for Raymond Chandler and James Jones, Fitz is Faulkner Fitzgerald, and Trip (Triple H) is named for Robert Howard and Ernest Hemingway. The use of nicknames is an indicator of the relationship between the brothers. From the time he meets Allison, CJ calls her Allie, which no one has done since her father. That she lets him is an indication of her growing feelings for the man. In Curses, there is a similar thing with Jonas/Joe. Mel loves his name, while he’s spent so much of his life trying to be “an average Joe,” that he has totally adopted the name. Only his attraction to Mel lets him accept being called Jonas.
I’ve been guilty of using ethnic names that need a pronunciation guide. David Garvaglia, the hero of Djinni and the Geek, is pleased when Anissa (a made-up name, since I invented the existence of a Djinn language) pronounces his name correctly—Gar-VAHL-ya, instead of Gar-VAG-lee-a. I’ll admit I stole this name from a high-school friend. Cian, the 200-year-old Irish mage in Sorcerer’s Song, coming in September’s Ellora’s Cavemen Anthology, loves the way his name sounds in Lyra’s musical voice: KEY-inn, with just the right inflection.
Lyra, from the Greek for music, seemed kind of obvious for a siren, but pretty enough that I used it anyway. Marina, the selkie in Stone and Sea, is a bit obvious too, but in reality I named her for a cousin. I kind of like to slip little homages in here and there. Beth, heroine of Always a Cowboy was also named after a recently deceased cousin. I do have a couple of websites I use when I’m looking for names, especially for specific nationalities. Other authors on my loops have been helpful too. Welsh author Hweyla Lyn (Yep that’s her real first name. Isn’t it cool?) provided the names for Beltaine Bargain. For most of my contemporary characters I like names that are simple and not too far out, but not overused. I try to diligently avoid trendy. (shudder) Now fantasy and futuristic names...those you get to simply make up. Working right now on Tabrin and Zeyd--futuristic bounty hunters. Yum.
In the end naming your characters is nearly as personal as naming your children, though you're not stuck listening to them grouse about them through their teenage years. It's a fun part of the creative process and a place where you can add a subtle nudge or a tip of the hat. And if they don't work out? Oh well, there's always another story.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
What a writer's gotta do...
Like others have mentioned I long for the day when I can turn to a professional publicist and say, "Fine. You handle it." Of course I also feel the same way about cleaning my house. Turning either of those chores over to a professional isn't happening anytime soon, so like most other e-book/small press authors, I'm forced to handle it myself.
What works? Got me. My sales numbers don't give me much of a handle on that. I've tried ads in the big magazines, blogging, guest blogging, chats, myspace, promo giveaways, contests, you name it. Each time I think I'm onto something big, my sales stay steady. So I'm left shaking my head. Yes, I've had people win a copy of one book and then go buy the others in that series. Yes, I've had people leave comments on blogs and go buy the books. I've had booksignings where I sold three and others where I sold thirty. Honestly? I can't figure out any trend or pattern. And that's using my scientific analysis background. The best I can tell you is that all of it works--sometimes.
In the two years since I made my first sale, I have noticed a couple of things. Chats aren't as well attended as they once were. From an author's point of view, that's a disappointment. Even if hundreds or thousands are reading the excerpts later on digest, it's hard to keep a chat going if you have three readers show up. And if you do run a free download contest, you honestly don't wa
nt to give free books to the same reader time after time.
nt to give free books to the same reader time after time.Like many authors, my promotions budget is essentially zero. I can afford to chip in on the occasional big prize or mail out the occasional goodie. I bought magnets for RT and have another hundred or so to pass out. I do not have a software program to produce cool flashy banners or other graphics, and therefore what I do end up investing is time. And every hour I spend promoting is an hour I don't write. I do have my dragon logo. At one point I was told that he was too juvenile for the romance/erotic romance market, so his image has gotten an overhaul (above). He's still Cedric and he still shows up on my emails, but it's now in his grown-up persona.
So what works, what doesn't? Don't ask me. I'm just plugging away at it like everyone else. Of the two publishers I'm with, I will say that the one I do more promo for, I'm one of their lower sellers, while the one where I mostly let the books sell themselves, I'm sitting at #1 on their bestseller list. Go figure.
As the US inches deeper into recession, we're competing harder for what small amount of money is left for luxuries. I know a number of authors are sending promo to the Australian romance conference this winter in hopes of expanding their readership overseas, where the economy is stronger. I will probably do likewise and hope they like dragon magnets too.
Oh, and one cool note? One of our recent Saturday guests here on the grip had an email from her publisher the day of her guest appearance asking what she'd done for promo, and to please keep doing it. Thought that was a very cool testament to the whole blogging thing, and to the Grip in particular.
Anyway, promo is a part of the job description and it's not going away. We do what we can, what we have to, and what we can afford to get the word out. Why? Because there's not much cooler than having someone come up to you and say,. "Oh, I love your books!"
One last thing... Last Saturday, Lisabet Sarai offered a free download of Rough Caress to one lucky commenter. Jeanine if you would please contact Lisabet at lisabet@lisabetsarai.com to claim your free copy?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Myths, Monsters, and Morality
I do not presume to know if ghosts exist. I have no personal experience on which to base an opinion. (Though I always wanted to, darn it!) People I know and whose opinions I value tell me that they have experienced paranormal phenomena. So lacking evidence to the contrary, let's call me a reluctant skeptic. I certainly believe that there is a whole hell of a lot out there that we've yet to understand.
But genuine haunts and spirits aside, once upon a time, parents told children tales of the boogie man and other things that go bump in the night for a very specific reason. To keep them in bed where they belonged. It may seem cruel, but think about it—there was no electricity, so no night-lights. There were wild animals and open fires about. Staircases didn’t usually have hand rails. It was a safety thing. Also kept them out of mom & dad’s bed, which was quite possibly in the same room. Explained away all that grunting and bumping, too.
What boogie man tales did for the children, religion did for the grown-ups. Thinking about running around after dark? Watch out, the vampires might get you. Those shell fish that are making everyone sick? If GOD says they’re unclean, maybe the masses will stop eating them. In parts of Africa it is believed that evil spirits lurk in the corners of the house—so houses are built in circles. Also conserves the scarce wood supply, as a circle gives you the maximum area/perimeter ratio. In Thailand you build a high threshold to keep out the evil spirits that crawl along the floor. Also works on snakes. Handy, huh?
Now, again, I'm not saying that anything paranormal doesn't exist. I HONESTLY do not know. And I’m not saying that religion deliberately hoodwinks the populace for its own arbitrary or nefarious reasons. But in a pre-literate society, religion was one largely self-enforcing way for the educated minority to communicate messages to the masses, and to have them stick. A lot of the paranormal legends we’re familiar with today may have started off in just such a manner, along with the fact that every culture has a mythology, and as cultures moved and mingled, the legends spread, grew, evolved. Trolls mean one thing to one culture, something else entirely to another. Brownies, leprechauns, elves, pixies, faeries—the stories and differences are largely regional, but with a great deal of overlap. Some of these creatures featured in the teaching of pre-Christian beliefs, just as the djinn feature in Middle Eastern theology and demons in many of the Asian philosophies.
Now, if you want to know how I think these religious aspects, or even whether or not you believe in the existence of the paranormal, should relate to modern paranormal romance, you might be in for a shock.
I don’t.
Not one little, teeny, weeny bit.
I write FICTION. Stories. Faery tales if you will. They have nothing whatsoever to do with reality—especially politics or religion. I'm not confirming the existence of anything, or denying it. And as to religious beliefs, well, I try very hard not to mention religion at all, though now and again the context of a story forces it in. When it does, I try to be as vague as possible, and most importantly, not to offend any particular sect. Why? Because I don’t want to get into a religious debate. That’s simply not what my romantic fiction is about. If your beliefs have a problem with the existence of a werewolf, or a living gargoyle, or a half-dragon cop, that’s fine. I don’t believe in singing purple dinosaurs either, but I let my kids watch Barney, even though he bugged the crap out of me. Because even when they were two, they got the concept that THIS IS NOT REAL. Watching the show has no bearing on whether or not they believe in purple dinosaurs, just as reading one of my books should have no bearing on your belief in ghosts or djinnis, or sexy cowboys.
If however, you have a problem reading about magical creatures, you should
probably not read my work. And that’s okay, too. I can recommend some wonderful authors who do bring their faith into their fiction—everything from Wiccan to Jewish to Catholic to Baptist to Buddhist.But in my stuff? Whether it's about dragons or cowboys, it's all just fantasy. So kick back, forget reality for a while and have some fun.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
mostly a pantser...
Trying to nail down the writing process for me is like trying to make goldfish march in formation. I'm really truly all over the place. It depends on so much--starting with the length of the story and whether or not it's erotic. If it's an erotic short, no, I don't outline. I just start with a premise and an ending in mind and figure out how many different positions I need to include to get from point A to point B in the proper number of words.
For a longer story, I do sort of outline. It's rough. Usually I just start writing. I get down the first chapter or three which introduces the important stuff: characters, setting, conflict. Then I decide if that's going to work, and where I'm going with it. Then I figure out the length I'm aiming for--say 70 thousand words. Then I figure out how many chapters that is. I run about 5000 words per chapter. So I've got about 14-15 chapters. I try for about 3 main scenes per chapter (though it rarely works out that way,) and sort of do bullet points. They get fleshed out as I go, and often the later chapters are blank until I figure out what needs to happen.
Here's a sample, from a work I started long ago for a publisher who no longer exists. Maybe one day I'll finish the thing...
Chapter 1:
Ø Witness drug deal, shooting, boat destroyed
Ø Jake’s transformation, sees shooting, rescues Heidi
Ø Heidi wakes up on Jake’s boat
Chapter 2
Ø Heidi’s shower, goes above, propositions Jake
Ø Love scene
Ø Jake’s regrets
Ø Coast guard-cops believe Heidi is involved in Brad’s disappearance
Ø Heidi’s apartment is ransacked. She asks Jake to help find killers
Here's a couple of snippets from that same work, tentatively titled, Fins.
Excerpt 1
Jake felt the tingles coursing through his skin, knew midnight was near. He dove, naked, off the rear deck of his boat, slicing cleanly into the calm dark waters off of Ensenada. Eyes adjusting easily to the moonlit night, he surfaced, inhaling great gulps of the warm salt air. He reveled in the feel of the gentle waves caressing his skin. They felt like—home. He dove deep and swam out toward the horizon, away from the boat and the lights of the town.
A pod of dolphins had been frolicking in this area all day, that’s why Jake had anchored so far out from shore. He’d planned to duck into town for supplies, but he hadn’t been able to resist watching the show. There was always hope—but it had been so long since he’d heard from anyone in his family. Still, the dolphins would be welcome company on his midnight swim.
He’d gone a few hundred yards when he felt the change come over him. His leg muscles stretched and morphed, feet fusing together as his spine lengthened. He drew in deep, deep breaths to fill the air sacs that now nestled below his rib cage. Then, once the transformation was complete, he allowed himself one joyful breach, leaping clear out of the water before diving below the surface and using his powerful tail to propel him through the night.
Excerpt 2
Heidi woke to darkness and pain. The last time her head had felt like this had been the morning after her one and only frat party as an undergrad. She wondered what idiotic stunt she’d pulled this time.
She reached out a hand for the bedside lamp, then whimpered in additional pain when her fingers slammed into something hard. Like a wall. The bed beneath her was hard, too. Hard and wet. Where was she, and why couldn’t she remember?
“Ssh. Relax. You’re going to be all right.” The words were gentle, the voice deep and soft and soothing. Fingers touched her brow, smoothed her hair. Heidi drifted back to sleep.
When she woke again, there was light. Sort of. She recognized the dim glow of an incandescent bulb. When her eyes cleared she could see that two lamps were on, reflecting off burnished pine paneling. Outside the small window, the sky was still dark. The bed beneath her was bigger, softer than where she’d been before. And it rocked. Ah. She was on a boat.
Boat! Heidi jerked into a sitting position as the memories cam flooding back. She remembered the plane, the cigarette boat, the drug deal. And then she remembered the shooting. She screamed, forgetting for a moment that she might be a captive of the drug-runners, that she might want to feign continued unconsciousness.
The door opened and a man stepped inside. He was tall, taller than Heidi, he had to stoop to enter. He was also one of the most gorgeous males she’d ever seen, with wavy black hair and eyes as dark as sin. There was a chipped black mug in his hand.
“Thirsty?”
Oh, God, was she ever! She studied him for a moment, trying to remember if she’d seen him on the cigarette boat. She couldn’t be sure, she hadn’t seen them that clearly. She should refuse. Of course, if they’d wanted her dead, they could have just left her in the ocean. And she really, really wanted the drink. “Thanks.” Her voice was hoarse and cracked.
He walked closer, handed her the mug. He must have seen her hands shaking as she tried to grasp it, because he eased it into her grip, then wrapped his own hand around hers to help her bring it to her lips. She ignored the tingle she felt at his touch.
The tea was lukewarm and very sweet. Heidi hated sugared tea, but she drank it, recognizing that her body needed the fuel to fight off shock. She sipped slowly till she’d consumed half the mug, then pushed it away.
“My partner,” she asked again, her voice a little stronger this time. “Did you find him?”
“The man who was with you in the boat?” His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and mesmerizing. She felt like she could look into them for hours. And she saw the flash of regret in them even before he answered. “I’m sorry. I searched for about an hour, but I only found you.”
“Not even…” She hated to say it. “A body?”
He shook his head and the long, shaggy black waves tumbled around a face that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. Empathy poured off him in waves. He couldn’t be one of the dope runners. Could he? She really wanted to trust him. “No. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Why? Did you shoot him?”
For a longer story, I do sort of outline. It's rough. Usually I just start writing. I get down the first chapter or three which introduces the important stuff: characters, setting, conflict. Then I decide if that's going to work, and where I'm going with it. Then I figure out the length I'm aiming for--say 70 thousand words. Then I figure out how many chapters that is. I run about 5000 words per chapter. So I've got about 14-15 chapters. I try for about 3 main scenes per chapter (though it rarely works out that way,) and sort of do bullet points. They get fleshed out as I go, and often the later chapters are blank until I figure out what needs to happen.
Here's a sample, from a work I started long ago for a publisher who no longer exists. Maybe one day I'll finish the thing...
Chapter 1:
Ø Witness drug deal, shooting, boat destroyed
Ø Jake’s transformation, sees shooting, rescues Heidi
Ø Heidi wakes up on Jake’s boat
Chapter 2
Ø Heidi’s shower, goes above, propositions Jake
Ø Love scene
Ø Jake’s regrets
Ø Coast guard-cops believe Heidi is involved in Brad’s disappearance
Ø Heidi’s apartment is ransacked. She asks Jake to help find killers
Here's a couple of snippets from that same work, tentatively titled, Fins.
Excerpt 1
Jake felt the tingles coursing through his skin, knew midnight was near. He dove, naked, off the rear deck of his boat, slicing cleanly into the calm dark waters off of Ensenada. Eyes adjusting easily to the moonlit night, he surfaced, inhaling great gulps of the warm salt air. He reveled in the feel of the gentle waves caressing his skin. They felt like—home. He dove deep and swam out toward the horizon, away from the boat and the lights of the town.
A pod of dolphins had been frolicking in this area all day, that’s why Jake had anchored so far out from shore. He’d planned to duck into town for supplies, but he hadn’t been able to resist watching the show. There was always hope—but it had been so long since he’d heard from anyone in his family. Still, the dolphins would be welcome company on his midnight swim.
He’d gone a few hundred yards when he felt the change come over him. His leg muscles stretched and morphed, feet fusing together as his spine lengthened. He drew in deep, deep breaths to fill the air sacs that now nestled below his rib cage. Then, once the transformation was complete, he allowed himself one joyful breach, leaping clear out of the water before diving below the surface and using his powerful tail to propel him through the night.
Excerpt 2
Heidi woke to darkness and pain. The last time her head had felt like this had been the morning after her one and only frat party as an undergrad. She wondered what idiotic stunt she’d pulled this time.
She reached out a hand for the bedside lamp, then whimpered in additional pain when her fingers slammed into something hard. Like a wall. The bed beneath her was hard, too. Hard and wet. Where was she, and why couldn’t she remember?
“Ssh. Relax. You’re going to be all right.” The words were gentle, the voice deep and soft and soothing. Fingers touched her brow, smoothed her hair. Heidi drifted back to sleep.
When she woke again, there was light. Sort of. She recognized the dim glow of an incandescent bulb. When her eyes cleared she could see that two lamps were on, reflecting off burnished pine paneling. Outside the small window, the sky was still dark. The bed beneath her was bigger, softer than where she’d been before. And it rocked. Ah. She was on a boat.
Boat! Heidi jerked into a sitting position as the memories cam flooding back. She remembered the plane, the cigarette boat, the drug deal. And then she remembered the shooting. She screamed, forgetting for a moment that she might be a captive of the drug-runners, that she might want to feign continued unconsciousness.
The door opened and a man stepped inside. He was tall, taller than Heidi, he had to stoop to enter. He was also one of the most gorgeous males she’d ever seen, with wavy black hair and eyes as dark as sin. There was a chipped black mug in his hand.
“Thirsty?”
Oh, God, was she ever! She studied him for a moment, trying to remember if she’d seen him on the cigarette boat. She couldn’t be sure, she hadn’t seen them that clearly. She should refuse. Of course, if they’d wanted her dead, they could have just left her in the ocean. And she really, really wanted the drink. “Thanks.” Her voice was hoarse and cracked.
He walked closer, handed her the mug. He must have seen her hands shaking as she tried to grasp it, because he eased it into her grip, then wrapped his own hand around hers to help her bring it to her lips. She ignored the tingle she felt at his touch.
The tea was lukewarm and very sweet. Heidi hated sugared tea, but she drank it, recognizing that her body needed the fuel to fight off shock. She sipped slowly till she’d consumed half the mug, then pushed it away.
“My partner,” she asked again, her voice a little stronger this time. “Did you find him?”
“The man who was with you in the boat?” His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and mesmerizing. She felt like she could look into them for hours. And she saw the flash of regret in them even before he answered. “I’m sorry. I searched for about an hour, but I only found you.”
“Not even…” She hated to say it. “A body?”
He shook his head and the long, shaggy black waves tumbled around a face that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. Empathy poured off him in waves. He couldn’t be one of the dope runners. Could he? She really wanted to trust him. “No. I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Why? Did you shoot him?”
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Bend Over
Well, a number of good points have been made by my colleagues. Interesting that this blog has evolved to be all US authors. I suspect there would be a good deal more variation if we had authors from Canada, the UK, Australia, or almost any other industrialized nation, where healthcare is not a private industry. So I guess I get to tackle the elephant in the corner: the government. Apologies in advance--this is going to be a rant.When my children were small, the dh and I were both graduate students. That translated, at that time, to uninsured. The kids had every one of their shots and well-visits and everything else, no matter what. But one of my sons has some congenital health issues, so the insurance issue was a constant nightmare. So we sucked it up and went and applied for Medicaid (that’s the US government’s pitiful excuse for indigent healthcare). Not for ourselves, but for the boys. This lasted for about a year and a half before they decided they were old enough not to count any more. Neither of us (adults) saw a doctor for any reason during that time. Only the boys.
It is abominable how badly people are treated in the US when they apply for any kind of economic aid. The assumption from the first moment you walk in that door is that you are lazy, good-for-nothing jerks who only want to sponge off the government. You must suffer through the insults and rudeness to even be allowed to apply for assistance. You must face it again every single time you show anyone the card.
When my son was about 3, it was suggested by his daycare worker that he might have some kind of hearing problem. His pediatrician couldn’t tell us anything and referred him to an otolaryngologist—an ear-nose-and-throat doctor. There was one in the town—a highly regarded one in his field. But he did not accept patients with Medicaid. Period. Never mind that a toddler couldn’t hear—this man would have nothing to do with him. And yes, he was the only one in town.
So, onto the next county. One. He accepted Medicaid patients, but only if they came from within his own county. So too bad for us. Further on in an ever widening circle. Finally we found a specialist who would see him. The office was about an hour and a quarter away, which is a long ride for a cranky toddler, but we did it. Then we discovered he had so much fluid in his ears, he was probably only hearing on an occasional basis. Somewhere between diagnosis and surgery is when the medicaid ran out. The doctor was very helpful and generous in setting up the surgery—even donated his time so we only had to pay hospital costs. It only took us about four years to pay it off. Worth every bit of it. But I tell you, if that first local doctor ever stepped in front of my car, he’d have been nothing more than a smear on the pavement.
People in other countries grumble about the slowness or inefficiency of their government’s health-care programs. But at least they have them. The US is one of the only industrialized countries that blithely allows its citizens to go without necessary treatment because they can’t afford the thousand dollars a month for their heart medication, or the hundred thousand dollars for surgery. Every time it is brought up, our leadership says “but socialized medicine is bad.”
NO IT IS NOT!
The free market system has given us some of the most advanced health care options in the world, but only for those who can afford them. Doctors expect to make 6, if not 7, figure incomes. Hospitals are often run by shareholders who expect profits. And the drug companies? There are studies that show a direct link between advertising costs and the prices charged for prescription drugs. Drugs were much cheaper when advertising them was illegal, but the drug company’s lobbyists got Congress to “fix” that little problem. They will tell you that prices are so high to cover the cost of research. But there is also a direct correlation between drug prices and the dividends paid to shareholders. The corporate structure is geared toward profit, not toward making you feel better.
The United States needs to make health care available to all citizens. Period. No doubt, such a system would be flawed, but not nearly as flawed as the current policy of indifferent neglect.
Apologies. I try to avoid political rants, but this one I just can’t let slide.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Heart of the Bear is here!
Heart of the BearGuardian Investigations Book 1
By Cindy Spencer Pape
ISBN: 978-1-906590-69-7
Available NOW from Total-E-Bound
Blurb: She can see into the minds of criminals, but can she find her way into the heart of the bear? Detective and psychic Hannah Lightfoot heads to her family’s mountain cabin to make some hard decisions about the future of her career. When she reaches the cabin she finds it already occupied—by a handsome naked stranger. Shape-shifter Evan Maddox is her brother’s friend and partner. After a night of unbelievable passion, they work together to rescue a kidnapped child. He believes in Hannah’s gifts, but can he trust her with his deepest secrets? Maybe even with his heart?
Excerpt 1:
There was something in the air that night. I sat in my grandparent’s Simi Valley backyard and tried to meditate, but I couldn’t relax. My whole body tingled and twitched, like a storm was coming, though Southern California was in the middle of a drought. I’d come up here for advice, but all I’d gotten was more questions. I had three days left to make a decision about my future, and all I knew so far was that something was in the air. I felt it coming just like most people heard a freight train roaring towards them down the track. I couldn’t tell what was looming, but I was pretty sure it was going to hit me just as hard as the damn steam engine.
“You going to stay out here all night?”
I jumped at the voice, then I smiled. Not many people in this world can sneak up on me, even when I’m moping. My grandfather is one of them. Even at eighty-eight, he still has the stealth and psychic power that made him one of the most successful Navajo intelligence operatives in World War II. He put his arm around my waist, and I leaned into his shoulder, just like I’d done since I was a kid.
“No, Granddad. No answers in the wind tonight. I think I’m going to head up to the cabin for the weekend. Maybe the spirits will have more to say to me up there.” My grandfather had moved to LA to be a cop after the war, but he’d always needed to spend some time away from the city, so he’d built a cabin up in the Sierra Madres. Any of the family was welcome to use the place when we needed a retreat. And I needed one right now—big time.
Granddad nodded. “You be careful up there. Something—someone—is coming. I’d go with you if I could, little one, but you need to face this challenge alone. Call once in a while, and let your grandmother know you’re alive.”
I nodded. We both knew it wasn’t necessary. Nana was a Romany Gypsy. During the war, Granddad had rescued her from a German death squad who’d planned to burn her as a witch. Her psychic touch hadn’t faded in all these years. But calling to check in was only polite, and Nana would expect it.
“Listen to the winds, girl. Listen with your heart as well as your ears.” With that cryptic bit of advice, Granddad turned and walked back towards the house, whistling a tune. Damn, if it didn’t sound like Aerosmith. The old man never failed to surprise me.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
popularity contest
Well, a lot of the ground has already been covered, but here’s my take on the topic of the week. There are a lot of people who like erotic romance. That’s a two word deal, or as on of my publishers calls it (this is a trademarked term, folks…) romantica. Without the romance, it’s just erotica, or literature with the sole purpose of sexual titillation. That’s not a bad thing, not in my opinion, but it is different. Just like romance without the erotic component is a different type of book. There are markets for each of the three. Magazines seem to be the primary outlet for erotica, and mainstream romance novels continue to make up a huge segment of the fiction market, but there has only recently been an open acknowledgement of the combination—erotic romance—where emotion and sex form equally important components of the story.
In the e-book market, particularly, erotic romance has found a foothold. I think there are a number of reasons for this. Anonymity of purchase is certainly one. There’s no bookseller looking down his or her pointy nose and shaking a finger. No PTA president seeing you walk out the door with “smut.” Speed of purchase is another. There’s also the fact that on-line stores can simply stock more variety of titles, so there’s sure to be something to everyone’s taste.
Yes, in the electronic market, erotic romance far outsells sensual romance. But I don’t think that’s universally true. In paperback, I think you’ll find that erotic romance, while still a growing segment of the market, is still the minority. Face it—the system was already there for mainstream romance, so the buyers haven’t felt any real pressure (other than cost) to switch. But since e-books really pioneered the erotic romance subgenre, that’s where the sales tend to soar.
Like my colleagues here, I write both, as Regina put it, hot and hotter. When I started, it was what I’d consider steamy mainstream. Dragon in the System, with Cerridwen Press is an example of that. But when the time came for the sequel, Djinni and the Geek, my editor was honest. If I heated it up just a bit more, so it could be released as an Ellora's Cave title, I’d sell many, many more copies. So I did, and yes, I did. Lots more copies. So rather than write more at the lower heat level, yes, I’ve chosen to go hotter. Am I trading my soul for money? One commenter, an author I greatly respect, asked us to consider why we write as well as what we write, and to consider how our choices reflect on others who have chosen other paths.
So I did. And you know what? I don’t think my choices reflect on any other authors in any way at all. I choose to write, and read, what I enjoy. I encourage everyone to do the same. There is room in the world for a wide variety of tastes, and I applaud that. But for me? What I enjoy, includes a pretty wide range. Right now, I’m working at pretty much the far end of it, as opposed to the middle, where I started. Do I write for myself? I guess. I’d write whether anyone was buying it or not. But yes, I’m attempting to someday make a living at this, so I will continue to attempt to write to the market. I do not, however, write anything that morally offends me, or that I am ashamed to put my name on. Since I use my real name, I think that’s critical to note.
And when asked if I try out everything I write about (sexually speaking), I have this to reply. “When my husband grows wings and a tail, we’ll talk about it.”
In the e-book market, particularly, erotic romance has found a foothold. I think there are a number of reasons for this. Anonymity of purchase is certainly one. There’s no bookseller looking down his or her pointy nose and shaking a finger. No PTA president seeing you walk out the door with “smut.” Speed of purchase is another. There’s also the fact that on-line stores can simply stock more variety of titles, so there’s sure to be something to everyone’s taste.
Yes, in the electronic market, erotic romance far outsells sensual romance. But I don’t think that’s universally true. In paperback, I think you’ll find that erotic romance, while still a growing segment of the market, is still the minority. Face it—the system was already there for mainstream romance, so the buyers haven’t felt any real pressure (other than cost) to switch. But since e-books really pioneered the erotic romance subgenre, that’s where the sales tend to soar.
Like my colleagues here, I write both, as Regina put it, hot and hotter. When I started, it was what I’d consider steamy mainstream. Dragon in the System, with Cerridwen Press is an example of that. But when the time came for the sequel, Djinni and the Geek, my editor was honest. If I heated it up just a bit more, so it could be released as an Ellora's Cave title, I’d sell many, many more copies. So I did, and yes, I did. Lots more copies. So rather than write more at the lower heat level, yes, I’ve chosen to go hotter. Am I trading my soul for money? One commenter, an author I greatly respect, asked us to consider why we write as well as what we write, and to consider how our choices reflect on others who have chosen other paths.
So I did. And you know what? I don’t think my choices reflect on any other authors in any way at all. I choose to write, and read, what I enjoy. I encourage everyone to do the same. There is room in the world for a wide variety of tastes, and I applaud that. But for me? What I enjoy, includes a pretty wide range. Right now, I’m working at pretty much the far end of it, as opposed to the middle, where I started. Do I write for myself? I guess. I’d write whether anyone was buying it or not. But yes, I’m attempting to someday make a living at this, so I will continue to attempt to write to the market. I do not, however, write anything that morally offends me, or that I am ashamed to put my name on. Since I use my real name, I think that’s critical to note.
And when asked if I try out everything I write about (sexually speaking), I have this to reply. “When my husband grows wings and a tail, we’ll talk about it.”
Thursday, July 3, 2008
We don't need no stinking research...
I like to say that I write paranormal because there's no research involved. You get to just make stuff up, which is way less work. Of course that's not one hundred percent true. I find myself on-line or digging into my LARGE collection of research books, looking up the oddest things. Or asking friends via e-mail..."I need some French swear words. What would a Quebecois man say when he was shot--oh and he's not human so he knows it won't kill him but it really hurts." I can see this friend who, yes, used to live in Montreal and is now in Dallas, shaking her head from here. My September story involves a siren...and a 300 year old Irish sorcerer. So that meant looking up obscure Greek mythology and Gaelic phrases. Did you know that the sirens were the daughters of Achelous the river god and one of the muses? Neither did I. Then I thought, "You know, three hundred years ago in Ireland--he probably isn't circumcised." And other than brief flashes in movies I've never see one that wasn't. So off I went to Wikipedia for pictures... Accuracy isn't difficult at all, but it CAN be time consuming.
Of course there are shortcuts. Having a friend who knows a subject is one of them. I've had people ask me great questions, too. Like, "Do wolves mate for life?" (yes) and "Do baby rhinos have horns?" (not really) We all have resources like this. Use them. On the other hand, if you're just out to entertain and you deliberately and openly play fast and loose with reality--then go for it. I can can suspend disbelif and be entertained as long as I know that's what I'm supposed to do.
Two sub genres where accuracy is both more difficult to obtain and of paramount importance are historical fiction and suspense. I'm going to talk about movies, because frankly those come to mind at the moment, and I think they're more universally known. In a comment on Regina's blog the other day, I mentioned some scientific flaws in Jurassic Park that totally ruined the mood for me. There were several. Frog DNA? Please! Crocodile maybe--at least that's a reptile. Iguana I could have accepted. But frog? Nuh-uh. So forget that who-o-o-ole movie. Whereas Bambi isn't supposed to be realistic, so I can overlook the fact that Flower would have eaten Thumper in a heartbeat. Skunks are carnivores!
DaVinci Code--errors are pissy and annoying. The James Bond movies on the other hand? Nah. I don't even look for errors there. I know they're silly and just for my amusement, so that's how I take them. Historicals same way. Take an "epic" like Braveheart or Elizabeth, and I'm going to pick, pick, pick if I see any holes--or even airplane contrails in the sky overhead (a popular one, by the way). Now A Knight's Tale? Openly campy and fun. Makes no pretense at accuracy. So I can just sit back and laugh my ass off. maybe I'm just weird, but hey. It's how my strange little mind works.
So do my books contain factual errors? Probably. I'm writing for fun and there are some things I probably think I know and forget to look up. I do, freqently, make up fictional towns so I don't have to worry about messing with real geography. But once I create something, I do try to be consistent. And while I play fast and loose with the mythologies of my fairy-tale creatures, I try to give explanations, and once I make them up, I try to be consistent.
On the other hand I'm not the richest woman in England (yep--a writer has surpassed Queen Elizabeth!) so maybe by worrying about consistency, I'm really going about it all wrong...
Of course there are shortcuts. Having a friend who knows a subject is one of them. I've had people ask me great questions, too. Like, "Do wolves mate for life?" (yes) and "Do baby rhinos have horns?" (not really) We all have resources like this. Use them. On the other hand, if you're just out to entertain and you deliberately and openly play fast and loose with reality--then go for it. I can can suspend disbelif and be entertained as long as I know that's what I'm supposed to do.
Two sub genres where accuracy is both more difficult to obtain and of paramount importance are historical fiction and suspense. I'm going to talk about movies, because frankly those come to mind at the moment, and I think they're more universally known. In a comment on Regina's blog the other day, I mentioned some scientific flaws in Jurassic Park that totally ruined the mood for me. There were several. Frog DNA? Please! Crocodile maybe--at least that's a reptile. Iguana I could have accepted. But frog? Nuh-uh. So forget that who-o-o-ole movie. Whereas Bambi isn't supposed to be realistic, so I can overlook the fact that Flower would have eaten Thumper in a heartbeat. Skunks are carnivores!
DaVinci Code--errors are pissy and annoying. The James Bond movies on the other hand? Nah. I don't even look for errors there. I know they're silly and just for my amusement, so that's how I take them. Historicals same way. Take an "epic" like Braveheart or Elizabeth, and I'm going to pick, pick, pick if I see any holes--or even airplane contrails in the sky overhead (a popular one, by the way). Now A Knight's Tale? Openly campy and fun. Makes no pretense at accuracy. So I can just sit back and laugh my ass off. maybe I'm just weird, but hey. It's how my strange little mind works.
So do my books contain factual errors? Probably. I'm writing for fun and there are some things I probably think I know and forget to look up. I do, freqently, make up fictional towns so I don't have to worry about messing with real geography. But once I create something, I do try to be consistent. And while I play fast and loose with the mythologies of my fairy-tale creatures, I try to give explanations, and once I make them up, I try to be consistent.
On the other hand I'm not the richest woman in England (yep--a writer has surpassed Queen Elizabeth!) so maybe by worrying about consistency, I'm really going about it all wrong...
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Always A Cowboy, available now!
What a sense of completion, to finally finish my first series! Yep, as of Friday, the Love at the Crazy H series is officially complete. For those of you who have been waiting and prodding me for Trip's story, well, here it is: TA DA!So here's a taste of Always a Cowboy, available now from the Wild Rose Press. Click on the cover for more information!
Blurb: Trip, the youngest Hall brother had a nice career going in Los Angeles until a car-crash gone wrong destroyed his future as a stuntman. Now he’s back in Shirley learning how to walk again and learning to be a single dad to baby Trevor. He doesn’t have time in his life for a woman, especially one with a three-year-old daughter. Beth learned her lesson back in high school about Trip’s playboy ways, and she knows better than to give her heart to him again. But when a stalker targets Beth and her daughter, will Trip be able to save them in time? When old friends reunite, danger threatens and sparks fly.
Excerpt (G)
Beth Corcoran watched warily as Trip Hall approached. Tall—about six foot three now that he was done growing, she thought, and lean as ever. He was limping and it took all her willpower not to run over and take the heavy plate and bottles of water out of his hands. She’d heard about his accident—Shirley was too small of a town for her not to—but this was the first time she’d laid eyes on him since he’d moved back home last winter. In fact, since she’d been working with Rhiannon to design a website for the bookstore, she actually knew far more about Trip—and the rest of the Hall family—than she wanted to.
“Lizzie? Is it really you?” He flashed her that mega-watt Hollywood smile which showed the one dimple in his left cheek, and handed her one of the bottles of water. After he set his plate down on a nearby stump, he held out his right hand for her to shake.
She took the water, shook his hand and smiled back, trying hard to ignore the miniscule tingle that ran up her arm at such a casual touch. Just one look in those sky-blue eyes of his had her heart going pitter-pat. She tried not to notice that his wavy black hair had been freshly trimmed, though that one rogue lock still fell across his forehead—just like it always had. She’d spent all of high school resisting the urge to smooth it back out of his face.
“It’s me, all right. Though I go by Beth these days. You’re looking good, Trip.” And wasn’t that the understatement of the year?
He shrugged, his broad shoulders rippling beneath the jacket of his western-cut suit. He and CJ had stood up with Fitz, and were all dressed up, while most of the guests were in what she called “Wyoming casual”—sweaters with denim or flowered skirts on the women, while the men wore pressed jeans and bolo ties topped by either western blazers or denim jackets.
“I’m alive. I’m walking. These days, that’s about as good as I can ask for. How have you been doing, Liz—Beth?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she answered vaguely. It would be so easy to fall into those eyes and drown, to forget all the reasons she needed to steer clear of charming playboys. She chanced a look at his face, saw the new lines that bracketed his eyes, the thin white scar on his temple, and she allowed him a real smile. She was so damned glad he was here and alive. Even if he’d unintentionally broken her teenage heart, she’d never wanted him hurt. “I heard about your injuries last year. It’s good to see you up and about again.”
He nodded, giving her his trademark lopsided grin, the one that had haunted her dreams all through school.
“Thanks. But that’s the way it goes, I guess. Life throws you curveballs and you either swing or watch them go by. And if you’re smart, you learn a little something along the way. So here we are, older and hopefully wiser.”
She couldn’t stop the wry laugh that emerged as she nodded. “Yeah, that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”
“Mommy, why’d you stop?”
Beth looked down at her almost four-year-old daughter and realized she’d quit pushing the swing. “Sorry, kiddo. Mommy was just talking to an old friend.” She obediently gave Bailey’s bottom another gentle shove.
“She’s a beauty, just like her mom,” Trip offered warmly. “What’s her name?” The compliment rolled so smoothly off his practiced lips that Beth didn’t think he even knew he was doing it. Trip had always been able to effortlessly charm any woman from one to one hundred. That was what made him so dangerous. She was a grown-up now, with responsibilities. She couldn’t afford to fall under the hypnotic spell of Howard Hemingway Hall—better known as Triple H or Trip for short.
By now, though, Bailey was staring at the intruder with rapt curiosity. “My name’s Bailey,” she offered proudly. “What’s yours?”
“This is Mr. Hall, honey. He went to school with Mommy a long, long time ago.”
Trip laughed and gravely shook the little girl’s hand, making Beth’s heart twist even tighter.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bailey.” He straightened and turned to Beth. “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it? It’s only been fourteen years since graduation, but it seems like a hundred.”
If only he knew. Some of those years had dragged like centuries. But Beth pasted her polite social smile back in place. “I think Harper is trying to attract your attention.” She pointed across the park to where Trip’s oldest sister was collecting up members of the Hall family for the photographer. “It was nice seeing you again, Trip. Bye now.”
He grimaced and picked up his plate. “You too, Beth. See you around sometime.” He turned and limped away.
She muttered beneath her breath, “Not if I see you first.”
Find out more at www.thewildrosepress.com
Or www.cindyspencerpape.com
Thursday, June 12, 2008
What the ....?
Well I’d been waffling all week about what to write for this topic. I’ve had a variety of vacation experiences in my life, from the fabulous to the horrific, but nothing was leaping to mind. Then on television tonight I heard a word that made it easy. Yep, this one sent the stupid-meter soaring higher than the price of filling up the gas tank.
STAY-CATION
The media has decided that this is a great new thing, to bring families closer together and encourage participation in our communities.
Bull Puckey.
What it means is, “We’re too broke to go anywhere, but we can’t get cash for our vacation days. So we’ll take the time off and stick around home. We’ll do some local stuff so it only sucks little rocks instead of big ones.” Don’t even get me started on the other word they used, “home-tel.” That one’s just too moronic to contemplate. I was dashing to the bathroom when I heard that and I really hope it was a spoof.
So I guess my summer plans are suddenly trendy. Last summer was a big vacation, and this year, with astronomical gas prices, there’s just no hope of getting the hell out of Dodge. So, yes, we’ve talked about ways to make the summer suck a little less. Our kids are teens, so their idea of entertainment revolves more around friends than around anything else anyway, but yeah, we’d decided to make it a point to take in a couple of small Renaissance Fairs, and a few local museums that we’ve overlooked in recent years. Maybe let each of the boys drag a friend along, just so they have a good time too. And to think, we figured all this out without knowing there was a word for it. However did we manage that?
This is a new word for a very old concept. It’s called making do, people. And it’s how ordinary folks always have and always will cope with reality. Obviously, the pundits and politicians who are telling us how great this is never had to sit on the back porch with a homemade margarita and pretend it was the beach. Or convince a couple of kids that the sprinkler is as much fun as the water park.
STAY-CATION
The media has decided that this is a great new thing, to bring families closer together and encourage participation in our communities.
Bull Puckey.
What it means is, “We’re too broke to go anywhere, but we can’t get cash for our vacation days. So we’ll take the time off and stick around home. We’ll do some local stuff so it only sucks little rocks instead of big ones.” Don’t even get me started on the other word they used, “home-tel.” That one’s just too moronic to contemplate. I was dashing to the bathroom when I heard that and I really hope it was a spoof.
So I guess my summer plans are suddenly trendy. Last summer was a big vacation, and this year, with astronomical gas prices, there’s just no hope of getting the hell out of Dodge. So, yes, we’ve talked about ways to make the summer suck a little less. Our kids are teens, so their idea of entertainment revolves more around friends than around anything else anyway, but yeah, we’d decided to make it a point to take in a couple of small Renaissance Fairs, and a few local museums that we’ve overlooked in recent years. Maybe let each of the boys drag a friend along, just so they have a good time too. And to think, we figured all this out without knowing there was a word for it. However did we manage that?
This is a new word for a very old concept. It’s called making do, people. And it’s how ordinary folks always have and always will cope with reality. Obviously, the pundits and politicians who are telling us how great this is never had to sit on the back porch with a homemade margarita and pretend it was the beach. Or convince a couple of kids that the sprinkler is as much fun as the water park.
On the other hand? It IS kind of cool to rediscover forgotten treasures in your own part of the world. Detroit has a world-class art museum, and my kids have never seen it, at last not that they remember. It’s free one day a month. Guess which day we’ll be going? Minor league baseball is pretty cheap, and it's actually more fun to watch, because it isn’t so slowed down for television. And when you come down to it, time is a bigger investment than money, anyway. Doing something, anything, makes more memories than sitting by the pool and having someone bring you pretty pink drinks.
Or so I will be telling myself all summer long.
Or so I will be telling myself all summer long.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Hero
She is pregnant. He had just saved her from a fire in her house, rescuing her by carrying her out of the house into her front yard, then he continued to fight the fire.
When he finally got done putting the fire out,
When he finally got done putting the fire out,
he sat down to catch his breath and rest.
A photographer from the Charlotte , North Carolina news-
A photographer from the Charlotte , North Carolina news-
paper, noticed her in the distance looking at the fireman.
He saw her walking straight toward the firefighter
He saw her walking straight toward the firefighter
and wondered what she was going to do.
As he raised his camera, she came up to the tired man who had just saved her life and the lives of her babies and kissed him just as the photographer snapped this photograph.
As he raised his camera, she came up to the tired man who had just saved her life and the lives of her babies and kissed him just as the photographer snapped this photograph.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Guest Blogger: Anita Birt
Today the Oh Get a Grip! crew welcomes guest blogger, Cerridwen Press author, Anita Birt! ACCIDENTAL AUTHOR
I've been a reader since I first learned how to sound out printed letters and link them into words. I was also a devious child. I had and still have a very good memory. My mother thought I was reading from a children's story book but I was pretending. I had memorized the whole thing. It had pictures and text and that made it easy to remember.
How and when did I decide to write seriously? Here's how it happened. My husband and I have known the Franciscan Sisters of The Eucharist for years. Their small convent is located at Bridal Veil, Oregon close by the Columbia River. I was walking the grounds with Mother Mary Michael on one of our visits and I said. "Someone should write the history of this house." And Mother Michael said. "Why don't you?" I had never written a book nor done the kind of research required to put together the history of the house. It was built in 1917 as a summer home by a wealthy couple. Little miracles happened along the way that helped me fill in the history.
If you wonder how two Canadians living in Toronto met the Sisters you'll have to read my book – or ask me! My book is called The House at Bridal Veil. Used copies are available at Amazon.com and ABE books. Check my web site if you're interested in seeing the picture of the house, (it is gorgeous) a little blurb and a map.
Having written a book, what should I do with my idle computer? I decided to try writing romance. Looked easy. I wrote a fantastic story, sent it off to Harlequin and waited for the check to arrive in the mail. My book was rejected but nothing daunted I joined Romance Writers of America and the local chapter. I attended conferences, workshops and joined a critique group. Yes, I learned to write and have had five romance novels accepted by Cerriwden Press.
What keeps me motivated when sales suck? I am fortunate. I'm not trying to earn a living from my writing so when sales suck one month, they usually are better the following month. I don't expect huge returns on my writing investment. I write because I want to. I like creating stories. But it would be nice to hit the New York Times Best Seller List. Dream on, Anita.
I've never suffered writer's block. My present work in progress is a historical romance.
I have decided to take extra time with it. I know where it's going and how it will end. Getting there is half the fun. I'm into the middle now, a critical point. I also have two contemporary romances finished and ready for revision.
TOO YOUNG TO DIE
When Ellie Paxton accepted the position of Nanny with Computer Skills to care for three month old, Nicki Blesnicoff she cheerfully moved to her employer's mansion located deep in the Cascade Mountains in Washington. She'd save money, rescue her sinking bank balance and revive her credit cards. Private re-hab to treat her shop-a-holic problem.
What she hadn't factored into her new job were threats of rape, torture and death by armed thugs who invaded the mansion during the absence of Nicki's parents. A city girl not given to feats of derring-do, Ellie wrapped Nicki in a soft blanket and escaped with him into a dense, terrifying forest. At midnight.
As dawn light filtered through the trees, Jack Merano and his two tracking dogs found Ellie huddling with the baby. A nanny and a baby. What could be more innocently appealing? Rescuing her and the bay from the dangerous forest was the easy part but soon enough Jack learned there was a price on Ellie's head and a master criminal stalking her.
Too Young to Die is out now at Cerridwen Press. Click here or on the cover above for more information.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
What Bucket?
I have always been a firm believer that the more you do, the more you see, the more you try, the better. So many items on my list are kind of open-ended. I don’t really expect to see every square inch of this planet, but until I have, there’s always more to see and more to do, new activities to try, new music to hear, new foods to taste.
So the list, such as it is:
#1: live to a ripe old age, firmly ignoring the existence of said bucket for as long as possible, with my husband by my side, surrounded by kids, grandkids, even great grandkids, and just as importantly, friends.
#2: I’m a mom. Of course I want to see my kids grow up to be happy, productive members of society, happily mated with families of their own.
#3: Travel. Like I mentioned above, I’d like to see it all. England, Scotland, Ireland for starters. The Mediterranean, the Amazon, Egypt, the Great Wall…
#4: Swim with dolphins, take the Orient Express, ride a camel in the desert, an elephant in India, and a Land Rover in Africa. I don’t want to just see places from a sanitized tour bus and hotel room, I want to really experience them. Surfing was on my list until last summer when I got to try it. Was horrible at it, but who cares?I tried it.
#5: As a writer, I’ve got to echo a few ideas mentioned earlier in the week. I’d love to have an NYT bestseller. I’d love to have one of my books made into a movie. I’d love to hear some of my favorite authors say, “Cindy? Yeah, her stuff is really good.”
#6: Make a difference. I want to be remembered by someone, somewhere as a person who did at least a little bit to make the world a better place.
I’m sure there’s more. I’m a greedy little thing when it comes to experiences. There are at least a zillion places I want to have sex with my husband, just for starters...
So the list, such as it is:
#1: live to a ripe old age, firmly ignoring the existence of said bucket for as long as possible, with my husband by my side, surrounded by kids, grandkids, even great grandkids, and just as importantly, friends.
#2: I’m a mom. Of course I want to see my kids grow up to be happy, productive members of society, happily mated with families of their own.
#3: Travel. Like I mentioned above, I’d like to see it all. England, Scotland, Ireland for starters. The Mediterranean, the Amazon, Egypt, the Great Wall…
#4: Swim with dolphins, take the Orient Express, ride a camel in the desert, an elephant in India, and a Land Rover in Africa. I don’t want to just see places from a sanitized tour bus and hotel room, I want to really experience them. Surfing was on my list until last summer when I got to try it. Was horrible at it, but who cares?I tried it.
#5: As a writer, I’ve got to echo a few ideas mentioned earlier in the week. I’d love to have an NYT bestseller. I’d love to have one of my books made into a movie. I’d love to hear some of my favorite authors say, “Cindy? Yeah, her stuff is really good.”
#6: Make a difference. I want to be remembered by someone, somewhere as a person who did at least a little bit to make the world a better place.
I’m sure there’s more. I’m a greedy little thing when it comes to experiences. There are at least a zillion places I want to have sex with my husband, just for starters...
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