No. Really. Sucks. Hurts. No Blog. Going to crawl back into dark hole. Scroll down and read about contest.
Mating Stone releases tomorrow. Blog hunk tomorrow will be star of said Mating Stone, the sweet and sexy Mark Ursine. www.ellorascave.com
Very, very sorry.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Him
Contest First!
Eternally Yours Contest
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
Now, back to my guys.
Up next?
Him (or whatever you want it to be)
Human
Profession: Actor
Age: (as old as you want him to be)
Story: Seeing Me by Elyssa Edwards from Ellora's Cave
Yep, that’s right, Him. No, that isn’t his name, but that’s all you get as you read this story.
He is an actor. He has paid his dues and now makes the big bucks and rakes in the offers since he started playing the lead in a series of films based on the books of a famous scifi/fantasy writer. The blockbuster films have made the writer, the studios and everyone else a great deal of money. And he’s not doing too badly himself. His face and the luscious body it tops are used to sell. Sell tickets. Sell books. Sell whatever anyone wants to sell. But he’s not pretty Ken doll. He has a mind, a soul and a heart just like any other man. Only sometimes the world forgets and he doesn’t fight them on it.
Now he’s been booked by his studio to appear at a conference. The largest scifi/fantasy conference in the Southern United States. It’s all a part of the biz. As long as they pay the room, the speaking fee, the limo and the plane ticket, he’s fine with it. Until it starts. The same sanctimonious shit he’s used to hearing again and again from self righteous writers who think they are writing the classic tomes of the future. They denounce the “Hollywood Machine” and staunchly declare they’d never sell out. And as usual, he sits there with his frozen smile until a lovely young woman at the end of the table suddenly blurts out:
“Are you crazy? You’d sell your left testicle if someone wanted to make a movie from one of your books with that kind of budget.”
And when he finds out who she is, this conference takes on a whole new importance.
Excerpt:
[Cara] shook her head, “It’s an honor to be asked to meet you, it was an honor to be on the panel with you. But…” Her words fled her again. You’re a writer for Chrissakes, get a hold of yourself. You are supposed to be a wordsmith, you make your living with words.
“But?” When she didn’t continue his smile broadened encouragingly, “Come on over and sit down. Let me take your bag.” He moved toward her quickly, then stopped and reached hesitantly for the large canvas bag she carried. She pulled it from her shoulders and he took it from her hands. He smiled down at her almost shyly and moved away to place it on a nearby chair. “Please, won’t you sit?” He backed away and sat down on the edge of the large overstuffed white sofa. “Is it Ms. Ellison, or may I call you C.J.?”
“Cara actually,” she had no idea where the answer came from as it sounded in her own voice. “My agent suggested my initials so it wasn’t mistaken for a girlie book.”
She saw him roll his eyes, “Agents, can’t live with them, can’t do business without them.” His gaze shifted quickly back to her and he suddenly seemed to be examining her face intently. “Cara,” he rolled the word off his tongue as if he were tasting it. “It’s Italian, but you don’t look Italian.”
“I’m not.”
“It means expensive,” he grinned at her, “did you know?”
“No,” she looked up at him puzzled. “I thought it meant darling or something like that.”
“No. It’s often used that way,” his eyes seemed to almost sparkle with mischief, “but it means expensive, like a fine bottle of wine. Something to be treated gently, reverently.” He paused and she felt his gaze move over her, “Something to be savored.” He patted the seat next to him. “I promise I don’t bite.” The wicked grin on his face spoke the words his lips didn’t. Unless you want me to.
As she walked toward him she tried not to notice him. Well not so much not notice him, as not notice how he looked. The white shirt had been traded for a black one and the heat rising in her face betrayed the fact that she noticed he hadn’t buttoned it. It was tucked in and only the first button or two above his waistband was closed. A healthy expanse of golden skin, nicely detailed pectoral muscles and a hint of the washboard abs he was famous for were visible. He must have followed her eyes because he began to apologize.
Eternally Yours ContestWhat could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
Now, back to my guys.
Up next?
Him (or whatever you want it to be)Human
Profession: Actor
Age: (as old as you want him to be)
Story: Seeing Me by Elyssa Edwards from Ellora's Cave
Yep, that’s right, Him. No, that isn’t his name, but that’s all you get as you read this story.
He is an actor. He has paid his dues and now makes the big bucks and rakes in the offers since he started playing the lead in a series of films based on the books of a famous scifi/fantasy writer. The blockbuster films have made the writer, the studios and everyone else a great deal of money. And he’s not doing too badly himself. His face and the luscious body it tops are used to sell. Sell tickets. Sell books. Sell whatever anyone wants to sell. But he’s not pretty Ken doll. He has a mind, a soul and a heart just like any other man. Only sometimes the world forgets and he doesn’t fight them on it.
Now he’s been booked by his studio to appear at a conference. The largest scifi/fantasy conference in the Southern United States. It’s all a part of the biz. As long as they pay the room, the speaking fee, the limo and the plane ticket, he’s fine with it. Until it starts. The same sanctimonious shit he’s used to hearing again and again from self righteous writers who think they are writing the classic tomes of the future. They denounce the “Hollywood Machine” and staunchly declare they’d never sell out. And as usual, he sits there with his frozen smile until a lovely young woman at the end of the table suddenly blurts out:
“Are you crazy? You’d sell your left testicle if someone wanted to make a movie from one of your books with that kind of budget.”
And when he finds out who she is, this conference takes on a whole new importance.
Excerpt:
[Cara] shook her head, “It’s an honor to be asked to meet you, it was an honor to be on the panel with you. But…” Her words fled her again. You’re a writer for Chrissakes, get a hold of yourself. You are supposed to be a wordsmith, you make your living with words.“But?” When she didn’t continue his smile broadened encouragingly, “Come on over and sit down. Let me take your bag.” He moved toward her quickly, then stopped and reached hesitantly for the large canvas bag she carried. She pulled it from her shoulders and he took it from her hands. He smiled down at her almost shyly and moved away to place it on a nearby chair. “Please, won’t you sit?” He backed away and sat down on the edge of the large overstuffed white sofa. “Is it Ms. Ellison, or may I call you C.J.?”
“Cara actually,” she had no idea where the answer came from as it sounded in her own voice. “My agent suggested my initials so it wasn’t mistaken for a girlie book.”
She saw him roll his eyes, “Agents, can’t live with them, can’t do business without them.” His gaze shifted quickly back to her and he suddenly seemed to be examining her face intently. “Cara,” he rolled the word off his tongue as if he were tasting it. “It’s Italian, but you don’t look Italian.”
“I’m not.”
“It means expensive,” he grinned at her, “did you know?”
“No,” she looked up at him puzzled. “I thought it meant darling or something like that.”
“No. It’s often used that way,” his eyes seemed to almost sparkle with mischief, “but it means expensive, like a fine bottle of wine. Something to be treated gently, reverently.” He paused and she felt his gaze move over her, “Something to be savored.” He patted the seat next to him. “I promise I don’t bite.” The wicked grin on his face spoke the words his lips didn’t. Unless you want me to.
As she walked toward him she tried not to notice him. Well not so much not notice him, as not notice how he looked. The white shirt had been traded for a black one and the heat rising in her face betrayed the fact that she noticed he hadn’t buttoned it. It was tucked in and only the first button or two above his waistband was closed. A healthy expanse of golden skin, nicely detailed pectoral muscles and a hint of the washboard abs he was famous for were visible. He must have followed her eyes because he began to apologize.
“I’m sorry, it was hot in the ballroom earlier and so I changed shirts, and,” she watched the side of his face as he bent his head forward and started fastening a few more of the buttons. He’s blushing! She realized in amazement. His face was filling with color. She further realized he was stammering a bit. She had embarrassed him. Great, just great. He caught you looking at his chest now he thinks you’re as big a freak as some of those women out there holding signs offering to have his baby. Yet again he had proven himself right, things could get worse.
His hands stilled and he turned his head to look at her. It was still bent and his dark hair was falling in his face, he smiled as if testing to see if she would smile back. She did. The smile widened and his head rose. “Speaking of hot, it suddenly seems a bit warm in here, too. Can I get you something cool?” He stood and moved toward the wet bar at one end of the room. “I did a stint as a bartender, believe it or not, I can make you anything you like.” The mischievous grin swept up over his face lighting up his eyes.
“Really,” she drew the word out to show her mock skepticism. She was quite certain almost anything he wanted to make her she was definitely going to like and like a lot. “Anything I’d like?”
“Yes ma’am, anything you like,” his voice had dropped slightly and his eyes were no longer smiling. The temperature in the room seemed to shoot up several degrees. Or was it just the heat he seemed to be very adept in stirring inside of her?
“White wine is fine,” she turned her head away from him. Breathe. For God’s sake don’t forget to breathe. One thing was certain; she still had no idea why she was here. The look and the innuendo, no those were just games he played, tools of the trade she told herself. He was an actor. His life was about convincing you to like him, to feel comfortable and intimate with him. That he could do it so easily is what made him so good. That he was so damned good at it is what had him infiltrating the dreams of a good number of women in this world.
He returned to where she sat. She took the glass by its thin stem without looking up at him. Instead she looked at the long fingers that held the bowl of the glass, cupping it. Fingers that slid along its surface as she took hold, fingertips dragging through the already building condensation as if they didn’t want to surrender it to her. Her heart rate had jumped and he had said nothing to her, done nothing to her. Again she began to regret her choice of undergarments. The thin lacy bra she’d chosen that morning was definitely making things a lot worse. She didn’t dare look down, guessing was bad enough, she didn’t want to know just how obvious certain things were at the moment.
He didn’t sit immediately but sat his own glass, scotch of some sort she guessed, down on the end table. Maybe she should have opted for something harder than white wine, perhaps the burn of whiskey would have settled her nerves. Or come right back up, she thought ruefully. That was one indignity she definitely didn’t need. He excused himself and went through a side door. He returned before she even had a moment to register his absence. He carried something in his hand. It was a book. It was her book.
He sat down next to her and lifted his glass. He took a swallow of the contents then leaned back. “I asked you up here because I wanted to ask you to sign your book for me.”
“You’ve really read my book?” The words and the accompanying incredulity landed between them with an almost audible thud.
He frowned. “Yes. Didn’t my assistant tell you that you were being asked up to sign your book?”
“Yes, but...”
“But you didn’t figure someone like me had read it.”
“No. I never dreamed someone like you would have read it,” she admitted. She was pulling a large sip from her own glass when he stood up and walked away toward the windows.
“I see. You’re surprised that someone like me would even attempt to read such a work. I might muddle through a script alright, but real books are something else.”
His hands stilled and he turned his head to look at her. It was still bent and his dark hair was falling in his face, he smiled as if testing to see if she would smile back. She did. The smile widened and his head rose. “Speaking of hot, it suddenly seems a bit warm in here, too. Can I get you something cool?” He stood and moved toward the wet bar at one end of the room. “I did a stint as a bartender, believe it or not, I can make you anything you like.” The mischievous grin swept up over his face lighting up his eyes.
“Really,” she drew the word out to show her mock skepticism. She was quite certain almost anything he wanted to make her she was definitely going to like and like a lot. “Anything I’d like?”
“Yes ma’am, anything you like,” his voice had dropped slightly and his eyes were no longer smiling. The temperature in the room seemed to shoot up several degrees. Or was it just the heat he seemed to be very adept in stirring inside of her?
“White wine is fine,” she turned her head away from him. Breathe. For God’s sake don’t forget to breathe. One thing was certain; she still had no idea why she was here. The look and the innuendo, no those were just games he played, tools of the trade she told herself. He was an actor. His life was about convincing you to like him, to feel comfortable and intimate with him. That he could do it so easily is what made him so good. That he was so damned good at it is what had him infiltrating the dreams of a good number of women in this world.
He returned to where she sat. She took the glass by its thin stem without looking up at him. Instead she looked at the long fingers that held the bowl of the glass, cupping it. Fingers that slid along its surface as she took hold, fingertips dragging through the already building condensation as if they didn’t want to surrender it to her. Her heart rate had jumped and he had said nothing to her, done nothing to her. Again she began to regret her choice of undergarments. The thin lacy bra she’d chosen that morning was definitely making things a lot worse. She didn’t dare look down, guessing was bad enough, she didn’t want to know just how obvious certain things were at the moment.
He didn’t sit immediately but sat his own glass, scotch of some sort she guessed, down on the end table. Maybe she should have opted for something harder than white wine, perhaps the burn of whiskey would have settled her nerves. Or come right back up, she thought ruefully. That was one indignity she definitely didn’t need. He excused himself and went through a side door. He returned before she even had a moment to register his absence. He carried something in his hand. It was a book. It was her book.
He sat down next to her and lifted his glass. He took a swallow of the contents then leaned back. “I asked you up here because I wanted to ask you to sign your book for me.”
“You’ve really read my book?” The words and the accompanying incredulity landed between them with an almost audible thud.
He frowned. “Yes. Didn’t my assistant tell you that you were being asked up to sign your book?”
“Yes, but...”
“But you didn’t figure someone like me had read it.”
“No. I never dreamed someone like you would have read it,” she admitted. She was pulling a large sip from her own glass when he stood up and walked away toward the windows.
“I see. You’re surprised that someone like me would even attempt to read such a work. I might muddle through a script alright, but real books are something else.”
She stared at him in shock. “I didn’t say that. That’s not what I meant.”
“Right.” He turned to face her, the orange rays of the sun backlighting him, a golden corona forming about him. His face was blank, a calm practiced look of boredom, but his eyes seemed to be alight with something more. His voice, when he spoke again, betrayed the bitter edge of anger. “It’s fine. I’ve heard it before. Actors are just parrots, right? They look pretty and showy and repeat whatever lines they are taught but understanding those lines is beyond them. We’re just a bunch of ridiculous boys and plasticized bimbos who drink too much, party too much and make way too much money for standing around playing pretend like a bunch of preschoolers. Look, I’m sorry I got you out of your reception.”
“Wait a minute,” she stood up. “That isn’t what I meant and I certainly never said those things. It seems to me that if anyone is jumping to stereotypes here, it’s you. I’m a writer so I must be self-important and egotistical? I must be absolutely certain that every word that falls from my pen is pure genius? Someone’s ego is involved here but I don’t think it’s mine.”
He just looked at her, his brow creasing, slight confusion etched on his face. The hurt was still in those dark eyes, and it was as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was really hearing the words she was saying.
“Look when I said I didn’t expect someone like you to have read my book I meant I didn’t expect it would even be noticed by someone like you. It’s an obscure piece of drivel by an unknown author who only got invited today because she’s a local girl. Hell, if I hadn’t been a volunteer for this convention for the last few years no one here would have given me the time of day.” She wanted him to believe her. Wanted it badly. For some reason it mattered a great deal that he believe she hadn’t been demeaning his intelligence. “I can’t believe any of those people today actually took time out of their lives to read my book, let alone someone like you who has people pulling him in a hundred directions every minute of the day.”
He pursed his lips and his head dropped. Silence filled the room for a long moment as he stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a bit raw from that confrontation downstairs. You might be surprised how often I get that. Not just what that guy said, but the whole thing. I was a marketing tool today. A new and improved product. Bright and shiny, tell your friends. I was being used to sell this conference, to sell the books of every person on that panel. When you first start out it’s sort of cool, look at me and the power my face has. But after a while it gets old.” He lifted wary eyes to hers. “I’m sorry. I made assumptions that were incorrect.”
She simply nodded. The truth in what he was saying was overwhelming. He was right. Every person there today had treated him like the leggy, breasty bimbo who points to the new model of car and says, “Pretty.” Her included. All she had seen was Him. Her first thoughts, if she were honest with herself, had been about the exposure and the attendance this panel was likely to get. Okay, not really. That was her second thought. Her first thought had been that of a giggling fourteen-year-old teenager who was just told she was going to meet her idol. The great movie star whose presence seemed to turn something inside her to jelly. No, not jelly, lava. Red-hot, cascading, chocolate flavored, lava. Sudden thoughts of the possible uses for warm liquid chocolate filled her mind along with the image of herself lapping up said chocolate. Her face, and everything else, grew even warmer.
“Right.” He turned to face her, the orange rays of the sun backlighting him, a golden corona forming about him. His face was blank, a calm practiced look of boredom, but his eyes seemed to be alight with something more. His voice, when he spoke again, betrayed the bitter edge of anger. “It’s fine. I’ve heard it before. Actors are just parrots, right? They look pretty and showy and repeat whatever lines they are taught but understanding those lines is beyond them. We’re just a bunch of ridiculous boys and plasticized bimbos who drink too much, party too much and make way too much money for standing around playing pretend like a bunch of preschoolers. Look, I’m sorry I got you out of your reception.”
“Wait a minute,” she stood up. “That isn’t what I meant and I certainly never said those things. It seems to me that if anyone is jumping to stereotypes here, it’s you. I’m a writer so I must be self-important and egotistical? I must be absolutely certain that every word that falls from my pen is pure genius? Someone’s ego is involved here but I don’t think it’s mine.”
He just looked at her, his brow creasing, slight confusion etched on his face. The hurt was still in those dark eyes, and it was as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was really hearing the words she was saying.
“Look when I said I didn’t expect someone like you to have read my book I meant I didn’t expect it would even be noticed by someone like you. It’s an obscure piece of drivel by an unknown author who only got invited today because she’s a local girl. Hell, if I hadn’t been a volunteer for this convention for the last few years no one here would have given me the time of day.” She wanted him to believe her. Wanted it badly. For some reason it mattered a great deal that he believe she hadn’t been demeaning his intelligence. “I can’t believe any of those people today actually took time out of their lives to read my book, let alone someone like you who has people pulling him in a hundred directions every minute of the day.”
He pursed his lips and his head dropped. Silence filled the room for a long moment as he stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m a bit raw from that confrontation downstairs. You might be surprised how often I get that. Not just what that guy said, but the whole thing. I was a marketing tool today. A new and improved product. Bright and shiny, tell your friends. I was being used to sell this conference, to sell the books of every person on that panel. When you first start out it’s sort of cool, look at me and the power my face has. But after a while it gets old.” He lifted wary eyes to hers. “I’m sorry. I made assumptions that were incorrect.”
She simply nodded. The truth in what he was saying was overwhelming. He was right. Every person there today had treated him like the leggy, breasty bimbo who points to the new model of car and says, “Pretty.” Her included. All she had seen was Him. Her first thoughts, if she were honest with herself, had been about the exposure and the attendance this panel was likely to get. Okay, not really. That was her second thought. Her first thought had been that of a giggling fourteen-year-old teenager who was just told she was going to meet her idol. The great movie star whose presence seemed to turn something inside her to jelly. No, not jelly, lava. Red-hot, cascading, chocolate flavored, lava. Sudden thoughts of the possible uses for warm liquid chocolate filled her mind along with the image of herself lapping up said chocolate. Her face, and everything else, grew even warmer.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Meet My Guys
Yesterday I participated in a chat loop to kick off the Valentine’s contest. While chatting I was posting excerpts from some of my books, and enjoyed telling folks on the loop to my guys. So I thought I’d spend a few days indulging my multiple personalities and introducing people to my guys. Whether their stories are credited to Jae or Elyssa, they’re my boys.
I’ve said before that my stories are often driven by the male characters. No, not often, always. They are the ones who pop into my mind first, they tell me their stories and introduce me to the people in their lives. They whisper in my hear, argue with me, pout, fuss and sulk when I don’t get it right or don’t write for them that day and they open up their souls to my inspection. My men may not be corporeal, but each one of them is special.
Alejandro Ramirez
Half Human/Half Were-Cougar
Age: 51 (looks about 28)
Alejandro is the son of a She-Cougar and a human man. Though not the only kitten in his litter, he was the only one with human blood. When he experienced his first transformation, as is the way of the Cougars, his mother sent him out with nothing but a few dollars in his pocket and his human father’s driver’s license. A souvenir of their tryst.
Taken in by his human family, Alejandro finds a life that his human half craves, but his Cougar half can never fully accept. Male Cougars do not form families. They are solitary creatures who hunt, mate and defend their territory. When he finds himself responsible for a small Were child he has no choice but ask the Were world for help. They send him to a human. But Brie has secrets that could get them all killed.
As his human need for love and family war with his Cougar heritage, he finds that the family he really wants includes Brie and the child they are working together to heal.
Excerpt:
The man who sat in the corner booth this early afternoon was certainly no college boy. He also wasn’t one of the park staff. But he could easily have been one of the regulars. His tightly set jaw cut a clean, slightly squared line. The long hair was loose and reached his shoulders, a red bandana tied around his forehead to keep it out of his eyes. The mixture of medium brown and golden strands gave the hair the color of richly polished maple. He was a bit pretty for this neck of the woods but there was something dangerous and hard about him that warned everyone a harsh penalty would be extracted from anyone who pissed him off.
Henry continued to eye him warily until a familiar voice called out as its owner entered the door. “Hey old man, you still alive?” Henry scowled at the speaker and immediately opened a bottle.
“Haven’t you been eaten by a gator yet, asshole?” He slid the beer down the bar to where the new arrival stood grinning at him.
“Naw but keep prayin’. Between you and my ex-wife, maybe you’ll get lucky.” He picked up his bottle and stepped away from the bar.
“I’ve seen your ex-wife, Eddie-boy. Just hearing her, me and getting lucky in the same sentence is enough to make me swallow drain cleaner,” Henry snorted. Poor kid couldn’t be over thirty and he had one hell of bitch nipping at his heels.
Eddie grimaced, “Where were you with your sage advice before I said I do?”
“As I remember it, every male in the family tried to stop you and you threatened to kick the hell out of all of us,” the deep voice rumbled up from the booth in the corner.
Eddie pushed his black hair out of his eyes and his face grew serious, his voice hard. “This good-for-nothing giving you trouble, Henry?”
The bartender glanced between the two men. He’d never heard Eduardo Ramirez speak a harsh word to anyone. Even in the midst of a fight, Eddie’s smile was fixed on his face and he used his quick tongue to strike as many blows as his fists. The man stood up and Henry reached carefully for the handgun that sat beneath a stack of towels on the shelf under the bar. If this guy messed with one of his customers, he’d be sorry.
Eddie slowly approached the man who was two to three inches taller than he and much leaner. He looked like a seasoned predator, one made hard by the struggle to survive. The smaller man was broader but Henry’s experienced eye told him who would be the more deadly if trouble broke out and it wouldn’t be Eddie.
The two men stood, eyes locked and bodies held stiff. “You look like shit,” Eddie snorted reaching out and grabbing the other man into a quick embrace.
At the hard, two handed slap on the back a hint of a smile broke out on the tall man’s face, a faint curl of the lip that almost looked like a snarl. “Let go of me, cabron.” The man pulled away and sat back down.
Eddie laughed again and looked over at the older man whose tension was almost tangible. “It’s okay, Henry. Alejandro has been calling me a lot worse for years.” Eddie slid into the booth, “Still a friggin’ ray of sunshine aren’t you, hermano?”
Sunglasses lowered to reveal golden brown eyes only a shade darker than the man’s hair. “I’m sitting in a dive in the middle of the Everglades and you know how much I hate the Everglades,” he glanced up to see the bartender standing close enough to hear, while trying to seem as if he weren’t hanging on every word. Both of the old man’s hands were now visible above the bar. Alejandro breathed a sigh of relief. He’d known there was a weapon back there and he’d have hated to have had to hurt the old man had he decided to use it. He’d have hated it but he wouldn’t have hesitated, not if it meant protecting his brother or himself. He met Eddie’s eyes and held them intently. The dark chocolate eyes of the other man widened in surprise as the next words sounded in his mind and not his ears.
Not to mention it’s not even noon yet and I’m walking on two legs instead of four. The frown deepened. So this better be good, little boy.
Eddie shook himself breaking eye contact. He squirmed for a moment in his seat as if he’d gotten a sudden chill. “I hate when you do that, man.”
Alejandro slipped the glasses into the pocket of his leather jacket, glanced back up at the bar and jerked his head toward the back of the room. “Let’s go play pool.”
His brother looked at him surprised. “You hate playing pool. Come to think of it is there anything you don’t hate?”
“Your parents,” the deep voice said briskly as Alejandro stood and walked to the back of the room. He paused and looked back toward Eddie. So unless you want to discuss this important business in front of the old man, get back here.
Eddie followed and muttered as he stepped past him to pull a cue off the wall, “You do that because I hate it, don’t you.”
“Sometimes,” came the cryptic reply.
I’ve said before that my stories are often driven by the male characters. No, not often, always. They are the ones who pop into my mind first, they tell me their stories and introduce me to the people in their lives. They whisper in my hear, argue with me, pout, fuss and sulk when I don’t get it right or don’t write for them that day and they open up their souls to my inspection. My men may not be corporeal, but each one of them is special.
Alejandro RamirezHalf Human/Half Were-Cougar
Age: 51 (looks about 28)
Alejandro is the son of a She-Cougar and a human man. Though not the only kitten in his litter, he was the only one with human blood. When he experienced his first transformation, as is the way of the Cougars, his mother sent him out with nothing but a few dollars in his pocket and his human father’s driver’s license. A souvenir of their tryst.
Taken in by his human family, Alejandro finds a life that his human half craves, but his Cougar half can never fully accept. Male Cougars do not form families. They are solitary creatures who hunt, mate and defend their territory. When he finds himself responsible for a small Were child he has no choice but ask the Were world for help. They send him to a human. But Brie has secrets that could get them all killed.
As his human need for love and family war with his Cougar heritage, he finds that the family he really wants includes Brie and the child they are working together to heal.
Excerpt:
The man who sat in the corner booth this early afternoon was certainly no college boy. He also wasn’t one of the park staff. But he could easily have been one of the regulars. His tightly set jaw cut a clean, slightly squared line. The long hair was loose and reached his shoulders, a red bandana tied around his forehead to keep it out of his eyes. The mixture of medium brown and golden strands gave the hair the color of richly polished maple. He was a bit pretty for this neck of the woods but there was something dangerous and hard about him that warned everyone a harsh penalty would be extracted from anyone who pissed him off.
Henry continued to eye him warily until a familiar voice called out as its owner entered the door. “Hey old man, you still alive?” Henry scowled at the speaker and immediately opened a bottle.
“Haven’t you been eaten by a gator yet, asshole?” He slid the beer down the bar to where the new arrival stood grinning at him.
“Naw but keep prayin’. Between you and my ex-wife, maybe you’ll get lucky.” He picked up his bottle and stepped away from the bar.
“I’ve seen your ex-wife, Eddie-boy. Just hearing her, me and getting lucky in the same sentence is enough to make me swallow drain cleaner,” Henry snorted. Poor kid couldn’t be over thirty and he had one hell of bitch nipping at his heels.
Eddie grimaced, “Where were you with your sage advice before I said I do?”
“As I remember it, every male in the family tried to stop you and you threatened to kick the hell out of all of us,” the deep voice rumbled up from the booth in the corner.
Eddie pushed his black hair out of his eyes and his face grew serious, his voice hard. “This good-for-nothing giving you trouble, Henry?”
The bartender glanced between the two men. He’d never heard Eduardo Ramirez speak a harsh word to anyone. Even in the midst of a fight, Eddie’s smile was fixed on his face and he used his quick tongue to strike as many blows as his fists. The man stood up and Henry reached carefully for the handgun that sat beneath a stack of towels on the shelf under the bar. If this guy messed with one of his customers, he’d be sorry.
Eddie slowly approached the man who was two to three inches taller than he and much leaner. He looked like a seasoned predator, one made hard by the struggle to survive. The smaller man was broader but Henry’s experienced eye told him who would be the more deadly if trouble broke out and it wouldn’t be Eddie.
The two men stood, eyes locked and bodies held stiff. “You look like shit,” Eddie snorted reaching out and grabbing the other man into a quick embrace.
At the hard, two handed slap on the back a hint of a smile broke out on the tall man’s face, a faint curl of the lip that almost looked like a snarl. “Let go of me, cabron.” The man pulled away and sat back down.
Eddie laughed again and looked over at the older man whose tension was almost tangible. “It’s okay, Henry. Alejandro has been calling me a lot worse for years.” Eddie slid into the booth, “Still a friggin’ ray of sunshine aren’t you, hermano?”
Sunglasses lowered to reveal golden brown eyes only a shade darker than the man’s hair. “I’m sitting in a dive in the middle of the Everglades and you know how much I hate the Everglades,” he glanced up to see the bartender standing close enough to hear, while trying to seem as if he weren’t hanging on every word. Both of the old man’s hands were now visible above the bar. Alejandro breathed a sigh of relief. He’d known there was a weapon back there and he’d have hated to have had to hurt the old man had he decided to use it. He’d have hated it but he wouldn’t have hesitated, not if it meant protecting his brother or himself. He met Eddie’s eyes and held them intently. The dark chocolate eyes of the other man widened in surprise as the next words sounded in his mind and not his ears.
Not to mention it’s not even noon yet and I’m walking on two legs instead of four. The frown deepened. So this better be good, little boy.
Eddie shook himself breaking eye contact. He squirmed for a moment in his seat as if he’d gotten a sudden chill. “I hate when you do that, man.”
Alejandro slipped the glasses into the pocket of his leather jacket, glanced back up at the bar and jerked his head toward the back of the room. “Let’s go play pool.”
His brother looked at him surprised. “You hate playing pool. Come to think of it is there anything you don’t hate?”
“Your parents,” the deep voice said briskly as Alejandro stood and walked to the back of the room. He paused and looked back toward Eddie. So unless you want to discuss this important business in front of the old man, get back here.
Eddie followed and muttered as he stepped past him to pull a cue off the wall, “You do that because I hate it, don’t you.”
“Sometimes,” came the cryptic reply.
(Photos of Alej are courtesy of Antonio Banderas only he doesn't know it.)
Now How to Win Free Books!
Eternally Yours Contest
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Defending the Honor of the Modern Man
Contest first, rant later...
Eternally Yours Contest
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
Many of these authors will also be participating in a chat at Loves Romances Cafe on February 4th. If you haven't signed up do so now! LoveRomancesCafe-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
And now the ranting begins:
I find myself flabbergasted, disappointed and angry on behalf of the men in my life. While recently reading an erotic romance I ran across the following line:
“To men, physical love and emotional love are one and the same.”
This was the advice of a mother to a daughter when her daughter expressed her concerns that her mate had not told her he loved her and spoke of love only as an action verb. I had a visceral reaction to this comment.
I don’t say this to brag or to seem like an expert, but I’m usually spot on about guys. They seem so simple to me —not intellectually but in terms of understanding what they are thinking and saying. A friend of mine commented, after reading my novels, that my male characters are among the most realistic he’s seen and that he could identify with them even if it was a romance novel and not his usual fare. It seems I only fail in his esteem when it comes to relating the man’s thoughts during sex, which my friend says are generally very basic and not very romantic. I must admit this flaw is intentional, I'm writing for women readers as a rule.
Perhaps the writer meant that men express emotional love physically. They do. Men are very driven by the physical. Absolutely. And as women are no longer taught to fear and feel shame over their own sexuality, needs and desires, we are also becoming more rooted in the physical. Look at the skyrocketing rise of erotic romance. Such things were beyond comprehension fifty years ago. Men might sneak naughty magazines but women? Never. Look at the number of women who are openly engaged in extramarital sex, premarital sex or “no way in hell I’m marrying this dude, but let’s have some fun” sex.
Back to my point. Men are physical, and we as women understand that a great deal of how they express what they feel is done physically. Often the time men best know how to and feel comfortable expressing their love and affection for their partner is during sex or sex play. This does not mean that men don’t know the difference between physical lovemaking and emotional love. It does not mean that they are one in the same. To claim such cheapens all male/female, and especially male/male, relationships. It is this attitude that perpetuates the idea that gay male relationships are merely about the physical act of love, making it easy to marginalize their relationships and make their needs and feelings base, crude and unimportant.
It is insulting. It is insulting to men and to those who love them to say that the men’s emotional loving is the same as the physical. Can you honestly say you don’t know a man who doesn’t know the difference between a hard on and love? Look at the clichéd excuse for infidelity, “Honey, it didn’t mean anything. It was just sex.” Men understand the difference. They feel the difference. To claim otherwise demeans them.
It demeans the man who spends twenty-five years at the side of his wife. Raised to be a “man” he doesn’t show affection where anyone else can see. But when she dies from heart disease as he kneels by her bedside, the tears falling from his eyes don’t come because he is sorry he will miss her in his bed, but because his heart is breaking.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Challenged.
Challenges. From time to time writers will issue challenges to each other to come up with stories that fit a certain frame work or include certain elements, sometimes just to entertain. One such challenge produced Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.
I've answered many challenges in the past few years, often taking the rules and twisting them into something I'm not sure the issuer ever intended. Elements get worked in, but sometimes not as intended. One such challenge was issued in the fanfiction world to create a "ship," a relationship story about two characters; the pairing of which made me squeamish. But I wrote it. Not with the "ship" as was intended, but turning it into a story of respect and mutual admiration.
My upcoming Ellora's Cave release also began as a challenge. My friends and I would issue monthly challenges to one another. One of those challenges resulted in Measure of Healing, the current Cerridwen Press release by Jacqueline Roth. (The current challenge is to write a faerie story, or story about the reawakening of the earth in Spring.) One February the challenge was issued to write a story that included an amethyst, a kiss, a Mardi Gras mask and a ground hog. That story became Mating Stone.
It started out to be a joke. I was going to write a torrid romantic Were story where in the end the shifter turned into something less than impressive. Something cute and cuddly. A nice joke, eh?
Let's just say my hero was not impressed with my humor. Mark Ursine, said Were, began to take shape in my mind and the story he was trying to tell me progressed until I knew I couldn't take the funny out. This was a serious tale of love, betrayal and the kind of hate that can only form between two people who have one of the closest of all bonds, the bond of brotherhood. Twins. Besides, Mark has a real determined way of getting exactly what he wants.
So Mating Stone turned into an erotic romance. Mark showed me the error of my ways and revealed himself not as some cute cuddly little fellow, but as a powerful and fierce Bear. It's hard to argue with someone who is several hundred pounds bigger than you and has large claws and fangs.
Excerpt:
The night they met had been her birthday. She’d let her sister and some friends talk her into going to a club to celebrate. “Come on Sarah, it’s February 2. It’s your twenty-eighth birthday, so do what all good little groundhogs do and get out. Even if you see your shadow, at least you had fun before you run back and hibernate some more,” her sister had teased until she’d agreed.
She’d not met Mark at the club but afterwards on her way home. Hitting a pothole had blown her tire and while she could change a tire herself—hell, like any good ol’ Minnesota girl she could change a tire, put on her own snow chains and knew how to use the jumper cables in her trunk—she just didn’t relish doing it in the short skirt her sister had talked her into wearing.
Resigning herself to ruining her stockings and probably the new skirt, she’d been hauling the jack and donut from the trunk when a motorcycle had roared up behind her. The headlight had almost blinded her but not as much as what stepped out into the light. Pulling a black helmet from his head the man had been devastating. His black jeans and leather jacket completed a monochromatic feast for the eyes.
Flashing her a smile almost as bright as his headlight he’d insisted he couldn’t let a lady like her change the tire. He’d made short work of the flat even if she did stand there like an idiot and chatter way. By the time he was done he knew it was her birthday and where she’d been. If it had taken any longer she’d hated to think what else would have come bubbling out of her mouth.
He packed her jack back into her trunk and asked her allow him to follow her home since he didn’t have much confidence in the small rubber tire. When she’d hesitated he’d pulled out his driver’s license and a credit card. He put them in her hands. “Hold on to these. If you get spooked at all you know who I am, where I live and can either call the police or charge a fortune for yourself in compensation.”
When they’d arrived at her place she handed them over and smiled nervously. “Thank you just doesn’t seem like enough,” she nodded down to the damp patches on his knees where he’d knelt in the wet snow alongside the road.
“Then have dinner with me tomorrow,” he’d flashed an encouraging smile and she felt as if her bones melted. “That’s all the thanks I need.”
She agreed and had started to walk away when he called out to her. He was pulling something from the storage compartment under the seat and walked quickly up to her. His long legged strides held her so transfixed she didn’t see what he had in his hands. He stopped in front of her and hesitated. She looked up at him. He suddenly seemed shy and uncertain, grinning up at her through the hair that had fallen over his forehead.
“Happy Birthday, Sarah.” He placed a single red rose in her hand. His quick kiss to her cheek was so soft and so fast that she almost missed it.
By the time her fingers rose up to touch where he had pressed his lips to her skin, he was back on his bike, turning it and roaring away. Odd but only now did it occur to her to question where on earth he’d gotten the rose.
Eternally Yours Contest
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire?
Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line,
"My darling I could spend eternity…"
on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
I've answered many challenges in the past few years, often taking the rules and twisting them into something I'm not sure the issuer ever intended. Elements get worked in, but sometimes not as intended. One such challenge was issued in the fanfiction world to create a "ship," a relationship story about two characters; the pairing of which made me squeamish. But I wrote it. Not with the "ship" as was intended, but turning it into a story of respect and mutual admiration.
My upcoming Ellora's Cave release also began as a challenge. My friends and I would issue monthly challenges to one another. One of those challenges resulted in Measure of Healing, the current Cerridwen Press release by Jacqueline Roth. (The current challenge is to write a faerie story, or story about the reawakening of the earth in Spring.) One February the challenge was issued to write a story that included an amethyst, a kiss, a Mardi Gras mask and a ground hog. That story became Mating Stone.
It started out to be a joke. I was going to write a torrid romantic Were story where in the end the shifter turned into something less than impressive. Something cute and cuddly. A nice joke, eh?
Let's just say my hero was not impressed with my humor. Mark Ursine, said Were, began to take shape in my mind and the story he was trying to tell me progressed until I knew I couldn't take the funny out. This was a serious tale of love, betrayal and the kind of hate that can only form between two people who have one of the closest of all bonds, the bond of brotherhood. Twins. Besides, Mark has a real determined way of getting exactly what he wants.
So Mating Stone turned into an erotic romance. Mark showed me the error of my ways and revealed himself not as some cute cuddly little fellow, but as a powerful and fierce Bear. It's hard to argue with someone who is several hundred pounds bigger than you and has large claws and fangs.
Excerpt:The night they met had been her birthday. She’d let her sister and some friends talk her into going to a club to celebrate. “Come on Sarah, it’s February 2. It’s your twenty-eighth birthday, so do what all good little groundhogs do and get out. Even if you see your shadow, at least you had fun before you run back and hibernate some more,” her sister had teased until she’d agreed.
She’d not met Mark at the club but afterwards on her way home. Hitting a pothole had blown her tire and while she could change a tire herself—hell, like any good ol’ Minnesota girl she could change a tire, put on her own snow chains and knew how to use the jumper cables in her trunk—she just didn’t relish doing it in the short skirt her sister had talked her into wearing.
Resigning herself to ruining her stockings and probably the new skirt, she’d been hauling the jack and donut from the trunk when a motorcycle had roared up behind her. The headlight had almost blinded her but not as much as what stepped out into the light. Pulling a black helmet from his head the man had been devastating. His black jeans and leather jacket completed a monochromatic feast for the eyes.
Flashing her a smile almost as bright as his headlight he’d insisted he couldn’t let a lady like her change the tire. He’d made short work of the flat even if she did stand there like an idiot and chatter way. By the time he was done he knew it was her birthday and where she’d been. If it had taken any longer she’d hated to think what else would have come bubbling out of her mouth.
He packed her jack back into her trunk and asked her allow him to follow her home since he didn’t have much confidence in the small rubber tire. When she’d hesitated he’d pulled out his driver’s license and a credit card. He put them in her hands. “Hold on to these. If you get spooked at all you know who I am, where I live and can either call the police or charge a fortune for yourself in compensation.”
When they’d arrived at her place she handed them over and smiled nervously. “Thank you just doesn’t seem like enough,” she nodded down to the damp patches on his knees where he’d knelt in the wet snow alongside the road.
“Then have dinner with me tomorrow,” he’d flashed an encouraging smile and she felt as if her bones melted. “That’s all the thanks I need.”
She agreed and had started to walk away when he called out to her. He was pulling something from the storage compartment under the seat and walked quickly up to her. His long legged strides held her so transfixed she didn’t see what he had in his hands. He stopped in front of her and hesitated. She looked up at him. He suddenly seemed shy and uncertain, grinning up at her through the hair that had fallen over his forehead.
“Happy Birthday, Sarah.” He placed a single red rose in her hand. His quick kiss to her cheek was so soft and so fast that she almost missed it.
By the time her fingers rose up to touch where he had pressed his lips to her skin, he was back on his bike, turning it and roaring away. Odd but only now did it occur to her to question where on earth he’d gotten the rose.
Eternally Yours Contest
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire?
Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line,
"My darling I could spend eternity…"
on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Participating Authors:
Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Eternally Yours ContestWhat could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.
The prizes –
1st prize--5 books
2nd prize--3 books
3rd prize--2 books
Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.
Elyssa Edwards -Mating Stone
Mona Risk -To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin -Tribute for the Goddess
N.J. Walters -Seduction of Shamus O'Rourke
Amarinda Jones -Shades of Gray
Sandra Cox -Silverhills
Bronwyn Green -Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape -Stone and Earth
Anny Cook -Honeysuckle
Kelly Kirch -Time for Love
As a special treat these authors will be participating in a chat on February 4th from 1pm-8pm at Love Romances Cafe. Stop by and meet these wonderful writers.
Confession time! I am so jealous. When Anny sent me this list of prizes my response was to pout and say "But I wanna win these book!" This list has some of my favorites and some new authors I've been waiting to read. This list of newer releases should warm up even the last desperate howls of winter.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Six Random Things About Me.
Okay my friends, I've been meme'd three times over. For those of you who don't know what this means, it means I've been "blog-tagged" and have to give out six random facts about myself. Well, you're only getting six, not 18 because...well...frankly, I'm not that interesting.
2. I'm a nerd. Yep, I can nerd-out with the best of them. I get excited about diagramming sentences, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and even more embarrassing things which I refuse to reveal. I have multiple costumes not used for Halloween but for things like Cons and Ren Fests. (YeeHaw folks, an excuse to have picture of Spike two days running makes me a happy girl.)
4. I know several children's books by heart. The SO is a Youth Services Librarian and I am often the practice dummy for story times. So certain phrases have been altered in our house. "I don't care," must be immediately followed by "said Pierre and so the lion ate him then and there." "Me too," must be followed by "said the chick." And the word "terrible," cannot be said in isolation but must be followed by "horrible, no good, very bad day. Mom says somedays are like that, even in Austrailia."
6. I live in a zoo. We own four dogs, a cocker spaniel named Shiloh who is literally insane, a Brittany named George who thinks he can cook and subsequently almost burns down the house about once a week, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Gracie Sue who is unaware that the breed standard says "not for rough play," and a miniature dachshund named Wendell who believes he is human. We have two birds, a blue parakeet named Pip and a green and yellow one named Green Bird. We have three neon tetras who do not have a name except for fishies and a snail my SO now has us all calling Snailie-po.
1. I love peaches. I will consume almost anything with this flavor. Tea most especially but certainly not excluding alcoholic drinks. Imagine my delight when I discovered a sparkling peach wine to celebrate at New Years. Yummm
2. I'm a nerd. Yep, I can nerd-out with the best of them. I get excited about diagramming sentences, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and even more embarrassing things which I refuse to reveal. I have multiple costumes not used for Halloween but for things like Cons and Ren Fests. (YeeHaw folks, an excuse to have picture of Spike two days running makes me a happy girl.)3. I'm afraid of alligators. No, you don't understand, not just afraid--phobia afraid. My SO is from Florida and I hate going to visit the in-laws. Not because of the in-laws, but because this requires going to the land of the alligator. I tell you they are lined up at the Georgia/Florida border waiting to get me.
4. I know several children's books by heart. The SO is a Youth Services Librarian and I am often the practice dummy for story times. So certain phrases have been altered in our house. "I don't care," must be immediately followed by "said Pierre and so the lion ate him then and there." "Me too," must be followed by "said the chick." And the word "terrible," cannot be said in isolation but must be followed by "horrible, no good, very bad day. Mom says somedays are like that, even in Austrailia."5. I have OCD and ADD so I HAVE to lose interest in what you're saying... (I so need someone to make that into a tshirt. I'd buy one for every day of the week.) I can loop on things until my darling one looks at me and asks if I've taken my medication. This OCD manifests itself most particularly in my books. I have books on my shelves and they are organized by author and then in chronological order of the series. If one of my books is out of order I must fix it. Right now. The SO will torment me at times by moving books on the shelf. If a book I haven't read yet is on the shelf of books I have read I must fix it. NOW!
6. I live in a zoo. We own four dogs, a cocker spaniel named Shiloh who is literally insane, a Brittany named George who thinks he can cook and subsequently almost burns down the house about once a week, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Gracie Sue who is unaware that the breed standard says "not for rough play," and a miniature dachshund named Wendell who believes he is human. We have two birds, a blue parakeet named Pip and a green and yellow one named Green Bird. We have three neon tetras who do not have a name except for fishies and a snail my SO now has us all calling Snailie-po.I have delayed in resonding to my meme'd stated because I cannot think of six people to tag in return. I do promise to do so, but that must come at a later time.
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