Contest Winner

I took all the entries and wrote the names out. Put the slips in a bag, shook it up and drew. The winner of the copy of Seeing Me and the deck of Ellora's Silver Screen playing cards is:

Molly Daniels!

Congratulations Molly. If you'll email me at jae@jacquelineroth.com and let me know what format you want your book in and what address I should mail the cards to, I'll get them out to you.

I am surprisingly unsunburned today. I have very fair skin that matches my sandy brown hair and blue eyes. I can (I swear this to you, I did it just last week) burn through the car window. I'm fairly close to vampire status where sun and flaming skin are concerned. But aside from a bit of pink on the back of my neck, the one place I was assured I did not need more sunscreen, I am only a pink tinged person at the moment.

We spent the morning at the Georgia Renaissance Festival. Today was the last day and we had to miss the festival last year because I had a dislocated knee. Not something I recommend to anyone. I love looking at all the crafts and vendors shops. We have our own costumes that we use for other things throughout the year, but we always decide not to dress for the actual festival and I always regret it once we’re there.

What could we possibly use them for during the year? Well for me it’s the introduction to fairytales, folktales, myths and legends that I do for my students. I have a light blue over dress, shift and a big floppy hat that I use to dress as Mother Goose for the opening of that unit. Even at the middle school age they get a kick out of it. I also have a costume for the start of Greek Mythology that dresses me in a chiton. I’m still looking for a gold oil lamp to complete that costume as if I have to dress as a goddess I’d prefer to be Hestia. She’s my favorite of the Greek pantheon because she’s so devoted to just helping people. She never gets involved in their wars or battles. She’s sort of like the divine Switzerland. I have a WIP that includes her as a minor character.

Every year we go past the swords and staffs and every year I really want to buy one of the staff’s that has the blade on one end. I’m going to do it eventually because it’s going to be the weapon of choice for a character that hasn’t been given a story yet. She has to wait a while before she can be “born”. I also prefer the staffs in general for myself. My stepfather was a military man. He believed all of us girls should be able to defend ourselves. He taught us not just your basic self defense moves, but he also taught us to use things like throwing stars. And I learned the use of the staff from him. If you know how to use one, you can find a suitable substitute almost anywhere. That’s probably why my heroine in my first “battle scene” used a staff.

Oh, and he also taught us all how to take down a man with one finger. There’s this pressure point that if you can hit it… crying on their knees, my friends. But for legal reasons I’m not going to tell you where it is. All I need is for someone to hurt someone because they read my blog. And no, it’s not where you think though he always taught us to go for that if we could. He was very nervous about having several teenage daughters. This is the man who dragged out his knife collection and started sharpening them the first time a boy who wasn’t family or part of our neighborhood gang came over to my house. He wanted no question as to his position on things.

We did buy some interesting things today. I bought a print of Azriel-The Angel of Death. It’s this gorgeous black and white print by Ruth Thompson. She does a whole series of the Arch-Angels. My SO was more practical. Drawing on the “Catch the Reading Bug” theme of the 2008 summer reading program for libraries we ended up with a pendant and a bracelet that contain actual bugs. The bugs are enclosed in clear acrylic and have natural cording or leather straps. They are sure to be a hit with the kids this summer. I also raided the natural tea shop and stocked up for the year. The flower tea they sell is wonderful and the company doesn’t have online capability so I have to wait for the Ren Fest every year.

Taking a break from excerpts today and I don’t have any new reads to recommend. I’ve been spending my free time working on a couple of bibs. And I keep getting shot down on my suggestions for painting the new dresser. I like painting the base white to match the walls and then painting each door front a different primary or secondary color. This from the person whose house was done in purely black and white before I moved in and started mussing about and adding…gasp…color!

Two more days of contest time

Two more days left on the contest to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of my usual writing spurt. Summer is when I get most of my writing done. So, I will put the names of everyone who responds to my blog this week into a hat and draw. I’ll give the winner a copy of Seeing Me and a deck of the Ellora’s Cave Silver Screen playing cards.

I’ve had a reviewer and a couple of readers comment recently about the hero in Seeing Me. You see he doesn’t have a name. At no point in the story do I give the actor in question a name. My decision seems vindicated by the response I’ve gotten which all came from people who got why I didn’t name him. I wanted the reader to be able to see whoever, whatever “type” they found most appealing into the role. Are you a Harrison Ford lover? See him in the part. George Clooney? Yep, could be him. Johnny Depp? Orlando Bloom? Or even my friend Llew’s favorite Sean Bean? Yep, could be him.

Who did I see in the role? That I’ll never tell.

Today’s excerpt comes from the July release Lovers’ Stone. Luke Ursine is the brother of Mark Ursine whose story was told in Mating Stone. Luke is your typical bad boy, a full on alpha male who loves to play the Dom. While standing watch for a family member who was searching for his mating stone in the clan’s sacred caves, Luke falls asleep only to be awakened by the sound of someone calling his name.

EXCERPT: Caution. Some adult language and content.

Luke rose and walked slowly to the archway and stopped. Each of the other twelve corridors led to rooms that held stones. A male picked the path whose stones corresponded to the birth stone of the female he hoped to mate with. Only one stone in the tens of thousands that filled this mountain would support the mating of a particular couple. Supposedly if the mating was not meant to be, he would not find the stone. Wade had searched through hundreds of gems to find the right one. He’d told Luke it had sung to him the minute he touched it. Wade said it had glowed and the face of his future mate had appeared in its depths. More, it had vibrated in such a way that he’d become instantly aroused and his need to join with his mate had burned like a fire in his body.

But this center corridor, this thirteenth passage was one that was never used. It could not be entered except by those who were called. And to Luke’s knowledge no one had been called down this path in so long what lay at its end had become legend. An oasis of lovers’ stones the lore said. A collection of stones from each of the caves but they were more than just simple mating stones. These stones were for those Weres who were tied to another by destiny. The two bound by a lovers’ stone were destined for more than mating bliss. Theirs was to be a great life-long love. To Luke it sounded like more than legend. It sounded like bullshit.

The mist swirled around him and Luke’s legs carried him of their own volition through the arch and down the narrow tunnel. There were no torches here, only the glow of the golden fog lit his way. He heard the voice call again. “Where are you? I can’t see you.” It was a woman’s voice.

He heard nothing but the voice. Not even his inexplicably bare feet made a sound on the stone floor. He took turn after turn following the light that pulled him along. Abruptly the fog rose to the ceiling just in front of him taking the shape of a doorway through which he could not see. He heard her calling again. She was looking for someone. She was looking for him. The realization lifted something inside him. He stepped through a large bank of the golden mist and found himself in a vaulted chamber. In the center of the room was a shimmering pool surrounded by large low pallets filled with cushions and pillows. Directly across from him an identical doorway had formed. Before it, watching him with large frightened eyes was a woman. Her long black hair was loose and flowed down her back. The blue eyes glowed so brightly for a moment he considered that she might be a succubus but dismissed the thought. No creature could have gained entrance here except those who were like him. Only another Were could have entered the cave, let alone this most sacred place. Or that was what they’d always been told.

The woman was dressed in a long, red satin nightgown with thin straps that barely contained the full breasts that threatened to overflow the bodice. Her hips curved in a way that made a man long to run his hands over them, to hold tightly to them as he thrust inside her. The pull she seemed to be exerting over him was stronger than any desire he’d ever felt. Screw mating stones, just looking at this woman was making him hard.

[…]

He opened his eyes slowly and they focused on a large vaulted ceiling painted with gold and silver celestial patterns. He was instantly awake. He wasn’t in the outer room. He wasn’t sleeping on the bench. He remembered in a flash of panic. He was in the inner chamber lying on a soft pallet of cushions. The forbidden inner chamber. He lay there listening to Rand’s voice but not hearing it. Because beyond the inconvenience of being in a chamber that was supposed to be off limits, beyond the fact that he was lying there naked was the fact that he could feel something cool and hard clenched in his left hand.

Luke sat up slowly and lifted his hand. He opened his palm. In the center lay a rough cut, bright red stone. It glowed and vibrated in his hand. The pulse that moved through him made his body stir. He heard a voice in the back of his mind whisper his name. Lifting the roughly heart-shaped gem he looked into it and saw a raven-haired siren with bright blue eyes gazing back at him.

“Oh shit,” Luke closed his eyes. This was not happening. This could not happen. That stone. He’d not come here seeking it but there was no mistaking it. He felt her somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt her body against him though she wasn’t there. He smelled her on his skin. The woman had been real and in his hand lay the proof of it. In his hand lay his mating stone.

Him? The man his own brother referred to as Lucas “screw the whole world and everyone in it” Ursine? And that was when he wasn’t pissed at him. But how? To whom? He had to see the Oracle. The Oracle would know. He looked at the stone again. A ruby? He searched his mind for an explanation. Why was he holding a July stone? Bears didn’t give birth in July. As Weres—shapeshifters whose bodies were tied to the animal whose spirit they shared, in their case the bear—they too had “seasons”. Late fall and winter were the birthing months. Spring and early summer the months of conception.

This meant only one thing. She wasn’t one of his people. There were few species in this world with whom a Were could mate. They could mate with the angelus, winged creatures humans often mistook for divine beings. Though rare, they could also join to the fey, a varied group of little creatures that humans called faeries or gnomes. And humans. And since the woman who had just given him the most intense orgasm of his life didn’t have wings and she had full, lush, mouthwatering curves it could mean only one thing. His destined mate was a human.

Luke glared angrily at the red stone. “Just my fucking luck.”

The Decline of...Something

I’m still offering a contest to celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of my usual writing spurt. Summer is when I get most of my writing done. So, I will put the names of everyone who responds to my blog this week into a hat and draw. I’ll give the winner a copy of Seeing Me and a deck of the Ellora’s Cave Silver Screen playing cards.

I have to admit that in recent times I’ve been very happy about my quiet little life. But I’ve also become very worried about what is happening to our society and the way that we are showing increasing disrespect toward our fellow human beings. I’ve been more and more sickened by the feeding frenzy that seems to surround individuals who choose to entertain others as part of the way they make a living for themselves and their families.

Yes, I know that when someone becomes a celebrity there is a certain amount of give on the degree of privacy you can expect. If you’re at a public event, someone is going to take your picture. But I’m fairly certain that no where in the contracts of the actors, actresses and musicians of the world are there clauses that say that they give up the right to be human beings and have real lives. They have jobs. Jobs just like the rest of us. I teach children. My dad manufactured cars. My mom was a nanny. Some people carry the mail. Some people fix our cars or computers or sell us things at the local grocery store. None of us gives up our rights to privacy because of our jobs. For the celebrity, their jobs are to make a product that we can view or listen to that will bring entertainment.

Recent photographs of Angelina Jolie have made news because they were topless. But the way I heard the story the woman was inside off a balcony of a house she was staying in when someone caught her with a high power telephoto lens. Excuse me. She wasn’t outside at a topless beach. Then, feel free to click away. She was in the confines of a house where she had an expectation of privacy. If Joe next door took his telephoto lens into his back yard and took pictures of you as you undressed in your own home he’d get arrested. The photographer who photographed Jolie gets paid.

Why do we find it acceptable to strip away someone’s right to be treated with dignity and respect (and trust me there are a lot of other people I’d rather be making this argument on behalf of than Jolie)? I’ve seen two partial episodes of the television show TMZ while waiting for the next program to begin. I was sickened and horrified. During one segment, again on Jolie and her partner Brad Pitt, the photographer was filming them with their sons getting into their car. One of the men present could be clearly heard to call the boys “adoption lottery winners.” That is crude, cruel and crass. Now it’s okay to make their small children the butts of our jokes and to demean their family?

I worry about what this says about our society. How little respect we seem to have for each other’s humanity.

STORY BIT FOR TODAY…

In honor of the blog topic above it just seems right to post another excerpt from Seeing Me. Seeing Me is the story of a new author who is attending her first convention. She is pleasantly surprised to be on the panel with Him. He is a box office star who finds himself under attack by one of the writers on the panel. Cara jumps to his defense and finds that she has his attention along with the attention of everyone in the large ballroom.

When she’s asked to come upstairs for a private signing, she’s stunned to find out it’s for Him. But a slip of the tongue just may ruin any chance she has of getting to know Him better.

EXCERPT;

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.

He stepped toward her. “The truth is I asked you up here for two reasons. One, because I did read your book and I liked it. I was thrilled when I learned today that you’d be on the panel. I hoped at some point during this conference you might sign it and maybe we could talk about it. I decided to ask you up here to do just that because of what you said down there. Not that you took my side, but that you called the guy out for his hypocrisy.” He let a slow grin slide over his lips, “That and the fact that those were some of the most original metaphors for sex I’d ever seen. Not to mention the accompanying illustration.”

She hadn’t believed it possible, but she flushed even more and he lowered his head. He looked down and then lifted his eyes to hers. The move gave his face a sweet, naughty little boy expression that stirred something inside her. “What do you say? Now that we’ve already had our first fight, do you think we could sit down and talk about your book?”

Contests, excerpt, ranting and raving.

Okay, to make up for my ranting and raving as well as to celebrate the last week of school, I’m going to offer a contest. I will put the names of everyone who responds to my blog this week into a hat and draw. I’ll give the winner a copy of Seeing Me and a deck of the Ellora’s Cave Silver Screen playing cards. As most of you know, I write under another name for my more mainstream fiction. I will be combining the comments on both blogs for the contest.


EXCERPT FROM SEEING ME

“And then you come…”Cara jerked her head up at the sound of the words. He gave a short harsh cough, took a sip of water and continued. “Sorry, and then you come to the pivotal moment in the story and if you aren’t focused you can ruin what needs to be the payoff for the viewer.” He cleared his throat again, “That’s why it’s important to me to be able to commit myself to one project at a time. It makes having a personal life of any kind hard, but there are often sacrifices you have to make.”

Looking down she realized she’d actually sketched the body of the nude male, no face, but his hands were definitely…

She felt the heat wash over her cheeks and lowered her head letting her hair fall across her face. She flipped the page over on the table and continued her list. She should choose a safer topic, but right now she doubted her mind could focus on anything else.
The questions continued from the audience and she thought she noticed Him grow a bit uncomfortable. True ninety-nine percent of the questions were for him, but that was something she was actually grateful for. God help her if someone asked her a question right now.

She was up to twenty on her new list, having just added the delightfully archaic “deflowering,” when she heard the voice of the angry writer from earlier denounce the idea of film representation of his books as a bastardization of the art, as selling out for the money. “No screenwriter, no director, no actor can do justice to a well written story or character without cheapening it, without robbing it of some essential element that a given reader holds dear,” he’d practically sneered. “So there’s no chance I’d ever sell one of my stories to the commercial Hollywood machine.”

“Are you crazy?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she had spoken them. “You’d sell your left testicle if someone wanted to make a movie from one of your books with that kind of budget.” She waved her hand at the actor and author who were being criticized.

There was an undercurrent of laughter and she suddenly realized everyone in the room was looking at her. He was looking at her and wearing that wickedly seductive smile that had put him in the pages of many a magazine. Her face flushed hotly and she looked down at her hands. I can’t believe I said that, she moaned silently. The moderator quickly swung the conversation back on track. A quick glance down the table saw that indeed, the offended writer was glaring at her in disgust. Great, just great, she thought. He’s got a twenty times my sales, we share the same agent and I go and piss him off. Well, it was nice while it lasted. My agent is going to kill me.


And so on and so forth…..

If you want a really good blog, go check out some of the folks on the left. They are much better at this than I am.

More Lonely Than The Maytag Repairman?

Last September I attended Dragon*Con in Atlanta, Georgia. Those who know me know I love this particular convention. They draw upwards of 40,000 people each year for the Labor Day weekend gathering. It is a terrific way to feed a science fiction/fantasy appetite. There are tracks celebrating every imaginable fandom including the major movie and tv franchises, Gothic (horror), anime, music and almost anything else. The thing about Dragon*Con is that if you can imagine it, it will be there. I even set my Quickie from Ellora’s Cave, Seeing Me, at the event.

They started a YA track about four or five years ago mostly surrounding the Harry Potter craze. It has now expanded to include a wider variety of YA lit and authors including Holly Black who wrote Tithe and The Spiderwick Chronicles. And it’s something that Black said at the appearance that has me thinking today, many months later. Black said that writing was the loneliest of professions. She talked about how hard it can be to be sitting alone at your desk or in your office and just write. How you can’t meet someone for a break at the water cooler or just stick your head over the cubicle to remember that other people actually exist or get feedback.

As I sat and listened to her I thought how very right she was. Most of us write our stories in isolation or at least in a temporary isolation so we can focus on our characters and hear their voices. She talked about the importance of first readers, people who see your work before any editor does. These are the people who keep you honest. They don’t let you cheat. She encouraged people to find writer’s groups to work with for first readers or for critiques.

I agree with most of Black’s comments that day, but I’ve come to believe I missed her point originally. I have to admit, now, several months after my first book was published, I feel differently. I think writing can be the loneliest profession but that it shouldn’t be and it can’t be if it’s good writing. We cannot create in a vacuum and expect it to connect to a reader, let alone many readers.

Writing my first manuscript over five years ago was a very lonely experience. I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it, not even my SO. I did it one summer as I had all day free every day since I was on summer break from school. I hid what I wrote away and no one saw it until I had completely finished it. And you know what? I wasn’t very good. It actually was rather bad. It was a fanfiction filled with every terrible cliché of the genre. It should probably be burned to save mankind from ever reading such a horrible thing again. But I learned from the experience. I learned that I could do this.

I also ended up finding a community of people among the fanfic group that I still have very close ties with today. Many of them comprise my current workshop group and they will be positively honest about my stuff and tell me when I miss the mark. Having a community is also an empowering experience. Once I “came out” as a writer, it was a relief. When someone said, “What did you do last night?” my answer was no longer, “nothing.” I can proudly say, “Oh, I wrote last night.”

I started thinking about all this today as I wrote the final battle scene for my current WIP. I have no military experience and I have no clue how to go about planning a battle. My step dad is ex Air Force, but this was a land battle and he’s a bit busy lately with my mother being ill. But about couple of weeks ago I was thinking ahead to this scene as I sat at lunch. I realized then I had a military expert sitting next to me at the table. Eddie is the teacher all the kids like. He has an affable personality, he’s quick with a joke, and the kids know he always fair. He is also in the Army Reserve. He’s served in Afghanistan. He comes from a military family. Here was this perfect resource, but to use it I had to reach out and admit that I needed help and why. So I did.

I told Eddie I was writing a battle scene and drew it out for him. He looked at it and gave me detailed descriptions of how he would defend the position my hero needed to defend. I took notes on a napkin, listened intently to the why as well as the what. I couldn’t use all of what he gave me, but I could use the gist of it. Because I’m writing a fantasy, there are some things I don’t need to worry about.

“Then they’ll try to wade across the river,” he advised. I put my hand up and said, “No, they can’t. The river won’t let them.” “Ah,” he said, “it moves too fast here.” “No,” I assured him. “But the river won’t let them cross.” I explained it was magic and he simply nodded and went on. I’m not only “out” as a writer, but as a fantasy writer.

The important thing was, Eddie made me see I had to rethink the way I saw the scene happening. I saw it as a writer sees it. Big show downs and lots of cool speeches and comments from people. Very theatrical. But after listening to Eddie talk, I realized if I wanted anything resembling normalcy I’d have to rethink my vision of the battle. It sucks to learn you can’t use the cool scene in your head, but I’d rather have something remotely believable than something cool.

An hour or so later a second military expert crossed my path. Curtis is the kind of teacher I want to be when I grow up. He’s amazing. He always has a smile on his face and he finds a way to connect to the kids we teach. But Curtis was also in military intelligence during his days of service. So I showed Curtis the plan and asked him how he would attack. He pointed out that the mission would most likely be a suicide mission. I explained the bad guys had escape options that included magic and he blinked… then went on. But he had a point. If there was to be any direct hand to hand between my forces, it would be a suicide mission on behalf of the hunters who attack. There was no way they could survive the assault. Those who made their way into the village would have to die and would have to know they were going to die. But was this mission worth that? Was it something that people would get that zealous about? Curtis made me realize I had to tighten up the plot in that respect.

In addition to getting military advice, over the years I’ve had to seek advice on all manner of topics including more risqué issues. *cough* I also have great first readers. My SO will do proof reads from time to time. My friend Steve has been the primary first reader on my WIP to this point. I just posted the battle chapter with a nasty little cliffhanger for him so soon he’ll be ready to throw things at me. I do have that bit of a reputation, cliffies at the end of chapters.

But the community I belong to doesn’t stop with the writing process. I have also been blessed with a tremendous support system for what comes next. Llewellyn McEllis, one of my favorite writers and one day you will all know her name, has been there for me with constant encouragement. Britannia and Barb also have always had my back. Alison and Maureen have been my tireless cheerleaders. And then there are the froggies. The froggies are a talented group of writers who work with the same editor I have at ECPI. They’ve all been incredibly supportive.

Sometimes writing seems like a lonely profession. But no one can produce quality work in a vacuum. We all need the feedback and the support of others.

Meeting Carly

I mentioned a few months ago that my nephew was going to make me a great aunt. Well I was already a “great” aunt… okay, too obvious to be funny. Right.

Anyway, my younger sister’s son and his wife just recently had their first child together. He’s a stepfather to her three year old girl and a scant three months ago, they welcomed Carly Georgette. She’s positively adorable. She has a head full of dark hair, large pretty eyes and looks a good deal like her daddy.

My sister is going to spend a couple of months with them, helping with the baby. My house lies at the midway point between. So sister #1 has sister #2 bring her to my house where my nephew picked her up. And because my family can’t manage to do anything on a small scale, that means that both sisters, one brother-in-law, two nephews, one niece, one niece-in-law, one great niece and an odd boyfriend of my nieces all descended up on us.

It was worth it to get to see and hold the baby. My SO did the stereotypical “I might break her” and declined to hold the little one. This attitude will soon have to disappear as we have recently gotten the wonderful news that we are in fact expecting our own little one soon.

But I ask you, is there anything more enticing, more soothing and touching then the feel of a baby in your arms? The soft smell of baby powder and Johnson’s baby bath soap? Any thing sweeter than the sleeping face of a baby with the little lip that quivers as she dreams? Nope. And that’s why they are so dangerous. They can make you forget just how big of a responsibility they are and how difficult being a parent really is.

I still worry about what kind of parent I’ll be. I have very strong ideas about what is and isn’t acceptable in terms of how parents parent. Fortunately, my SO and I have yet to find a point upon which we disagree where this is concerned. I’m sure there will be many we just simply can’t foresee.

In other news, Seeing Me got a nice review from The Good, The Bad and The Unread.

“I wasn’t sure when I began reading this story if I was going to like it or not. “Him” is never given a name, which at first was I thought was a little strange. I have never read a book in which the hero didn’t have a name and I wasn’t sure how this would affect the story. But as I read, I found that I rather enjoyed how Ms. Edwards allowed me, the reader, to pick my own “hero” to imagine.

The chemistry between C.J. and “Him” is sensual and hot, but I also enjoyed watching the love story between the hero and heroine unfold. There are two very hot “fantasy” scenes where C.J. imagines both her and the hero in the scene. At first I wasn’t sure if they would impede the flow of the story, but they didn’t. In fact, they added to the story, especially since the heroine of the story is an author. Both characters were well written and the story flowed well and kept you interested. I didn’t want to put the book down.”

I’m glad the reviewer found it a positive that I hadn’t named the hero. As I was writing it, I was thinking about how a certain friend of mine and I disagree on the attractiveness of men. What is my type, isn’t hers. I wanted “Him” to be like the actor who fires the reader’s imagination. If that’s a Brad Pitt, an Orlando Bloom, a George Clooney, or whomever, that’s who He is like.

Excerpt from Seeing Me (Adult Content) :

It was all coming together. Everything she had worked for, all the years of secret dreams and fantasies, all the hidden aspirations and ambitions had come to fruition. Little Cara Jo was now C.J. Ellison, published author. The last time she had felt this rush of adrenaline had been the moment she held the signed publishing contract in her hands and stared at it in amazement.

Now, as she slid into her chair behind the long table, it was all very real. She was part of a writer’s panel. Her. Two years ago she had been one of the event’s attendees. A hopeful writer and lover of this genre of storytelling. She’d been one of hundreds of wouldbes and wannabes in a sea of painted and costumed faces at Atlanta, Georgia’s science fiction/fantasy convention that drew people from all over the country. If anyone knew how many old badges she had from this convention tucked in a drawer at home her rating on the Geek-ometer would break the gage. And now she was on a panel with some of the best known writers in the craft. As her nerves tied her stomach into knots, she wasn’t sure whether to bless her agent or curse him.

It was the big room, the grand ballroom of all places. It would be easy to swell with pride and ego except for one sad fact, or maybe it was a fortunate one. Anything she had to say would be superfluous. In fact anything any of the writers on this panel said would be virtually ignored. It was standing room only and they weren’t here to see them. They were here to see Him. One of the other writers had said it clearly as they were shepherded into place. When the conference staff had reminded them to speak into the microphones placed before them he had laughed bitterly and remarked, “It doesn’t really matter if they even turn these on. We could sit here, pick our noses and finger paint and no one would notice while the sex god himself was here.”

And He was here. There were few women in the world of any generation who didn’t thrill to the sound of his voice. Who didn’t entertain at least the briefest of fantasies about what was beneath that crisp white shirt, open at the neck, and the jeans into which it tucked. He’d taken the classic, shirt undone, bare chest peeking through look and made it his own. After he first appeared on screen in the ensemble, no other man ever looked as good in it. Even one of her lesbian friends had commented on him earlier today. “He’s pretty, all right. I don’t exactly want to sleep with him, but I do like to look at him. And with that voice he could talk to me all night.”

Cara sat in her place to the far right, the newest and least known of the group. He sat in the middle along with the author whose stories he had been translating into action for a few years now. And the show started. She was introduced and received a polite applause as did everyone else. But when the questions began, it was crystal clear the other writer had been right. These people were here to see Him.

She began doodling on the paper before her, drawing pictures and playing a word game she often played when bored. It had started between her and her giggling girlfriends in the back of a boring world history class in college. How many synonyms could she find for… In honor of the man of the hour, and the ambitions of most of the women present, she chose the word fuck. How many ways could she find to say fuck?

Being sure that the older woman sitting next to her couldn’t see the legal pad that had been provided for her by the setup committee, she started jotting. Make love…have his way…ravage…plunder… The longer the list got, the more crude it got.

Ride…fill…drive into…do…screw…bang…

Boredom numbing her brain, she was just about to hit an all time low when a particularly wheezy voice that was faintly familiar caught her attention. The thin, balding man with glasses that was standing at the microphone asking a question was a familiar face. He’d been a regular at this convention and was a frequent volunteer on the track dedicated to the legendary science fiction television and movie franchise that was so famous it need not be named. A bad Scottish accent crying out, “I can’na give ya more power Cap’n” was all that was needed for recognition. And that was one of the more obscure lines. He was also an arrogant, know-it-all jerk. What idiot gave that asshole a microphone? She brooded moodily. And since when is he into fantasy?

And damn, but the man just three places down the table from her was one to spark any woman’s fantasy. She looked down, half listening as she contemplated her list. She began to sketch absently in one corner.

“In the first installment of the series, the part that took place in space before your character became a stranded rogue mage, we were introduced to the hand held photo-plasma emitter. A friend of mine is an ex-cop and he says you handle your gun so masterfully that you must have gotten a lot of training in handling hand held weapons. Did you do any special training?”

This is your weapon, this is your gun. One is for shooting, the other for fun. The line popped up from somewhere in the depths of her pop culture awareness and she bit down hard on her lip to stop her giggle. Her eyes shifted to Him clandestinely when she thought she heard a faint chuckle in his voice as he answered.

“No,” He drew the word out slowly. Cara stared at the yellow paper and listened to the answer he gave. “I can only say that it’s important to be very familiar with any prop you’re going to be using, especially a gun. You have to practice with it, hold it, let it take over and guide the movements of your hand. If you aren’t comfortable with the feel of your own gun, then you won’t be able to handle anyone else’s well.”

A nervous twitter fluttered across the ballroom. She’d love to see him handle his gun. Staff…rod…lance…penis…length…manhood…

She grinned quietly to herself. Oh, fantasies could be fun, a lot more fun than this. His hands handling his …now that would be a sight. She looked down the table at the hands that rested on the table. The white of the tablecloth blurred in her vision until all she could see were those hands. Long fingered strong hands that…

Recent good reads:

Daffodil by Anny Cook: Part of the Flowers of Camealot series, Daffodil has everything. It’s laugh out loud funny. It is Hot with a capital H. And it pushes the envelope for this series just a bit farther. Daffodil has always been incontrol, even of her submission. But when Prince Gareth awards her to the butler Raulf as payment for something her sister Honeysuckle actually stole, she learns that she really enjoys letting him be in control. Daffodil is full of steamy sex, fairies, dragons, political intrigue and the entire contents of an adult toy store.

Sticky And Sweet by Ashley Ladd and Alicia Sparks: Two stories in one. Ladd’s American Beauty is very funny. Macho Casanova police officer must pose as a gay man complete with evening gown and feather boa to rent a room from a woman who just might be living next door to the local chop shop. But when his landlord and her boss decide to see who can seduce him first, he just might blow his cover and lose his job. Sparks’ Better than Ice Cream has a fascinating premise. Ryan doesn’t buy that Laura’s family’s ice cream provides female customers not just taste delights but orgasms as well. But he needs to cut a deal with her for his family’s sugar and Laura needs the deal to take her business to the next level. But the idea of ice cream as a substitute for sex doesn’t sit well with Ryan, he’d rather show Laura just what she’s been missing.

The Great Escape

Seeing Me got two nice reviews.

One from Simply Romance Reviews said: "...the heroine who at times exhibits a remarkably strong case of “foot-in-mouth” disease that is charming. The erotic scene is poignant for its sweetness. The hero for all his hype and reputation is endearing for his modest, almost shy personality in private. Seeing Me is an enjoyable read for those that aren’t looking for kink, but instead a satisfying romance."

And Romance Reviews TodayErotica rated it multiple O’s (which has to be good) and said it was: "An enticing short story, ..." Seeing Me is a Quickie from Ellora’s Cave.

The Great Escape.

No, I’m not necessarily talking about my escape from headgear bondage…let me rephrase that, from my medical bondage…that doesn’t work either…ah hell, I don’t mean getting this thing off my head. Though I’m counting the hours to freedom and dreading the drive back home to wash the gunk out of my head. I have my trusty hoodie ready to go. I tried a scarf, but I look like I’m smuggling something and I really don’t want to meet the Cobb County drug dogs.

By the great escape I’m referring to a tactical error I may have made yesterday. Okay, I’m not the world’s best housekeeper. I have four dogs, there is dog hair on my floor. I have paw prints on my carpet where the red clay has stained it. I don’t dust nearly as often as I should. So I got a little behind on the bird cage this week.

Yesterday I took the cage outside to clean it really well. The birds were still in it, and I cleaned it while they sunned themselves. The only problem is I think they liked their taste of freedom a bit too much. Now they are plotting escape.

No I didn’t bump my head and I haven’t received a nasty shock from my battery pack. I know the two criminals are plotting their escape. Don’t be fooled by their innocent look. Every time they think I’m not looking they start testing the cage for signs of weakness. Even now, when they think I’m busy making the clacking noises, I can see them. Pip, the blue one, is climbing the wall of the cage and pecking at the wires with it’s beak. Green-bird, yes that’s it’s name, is standing on the food dish pecking at the little door that slides up to take the dishes in and out. Earlier I saw them hanging to either side of the door pecking at it.

I’m telling you they tasted freedom and now they want out. Next thing I know they’ll be dragging their little metal bell across the bars screaming, “Let me out you stinking screw.” (Yes, my mother watched Cell Block H when I was growing up.) In fact right now Pip has started wrestling with the bell. I tell you one of them is a little birdie MacGyver who is figuring out how to blow the door off the cage with bird seed, a small metal bell and a mirror.

You know, that was two television references in the space of a single paragraph. Odd if you consider the fact that I haven’t really watched television in almost five years if you don’t count occasionally watching American Idol. I am hooked this season. I love little folksy Brooke with her whole Carol King-ish persona and David Cook. I like that he causes controversy and think he’s actually very talented. Chris Cornell can shut up. The dude from Crowded House was doing an acoustic version of Billy Jean way, way, way back.

But the hometown dude Michael Johns, the Australian who claims to be from Buckhead (not the town, mind you-this is a neighborhood in Atlanta) has got to go. He’s the guy who ends up singing on the Love Boat because he can’t get any other gigs. He annoys the crap out of me and if he tries to do one more Queen song Freddie Mercury is going to rise up out of his grave and smite the dude.

Anyway. If I think about it, it’s odd that I don’t watch television any more. My family could not function without a television. It was the center point of our family. Tonight we watched this, tomorrow night it was that. And heaven help us on the nights the Dukes of Hazzard was on because you had to tiptoe around so my stepdad could hear it.

Even now the tv runs night and day as long as someone is awake. It is a constant drone in the back ground. Recently on a visit it was driving me crazy. Everyone was in the dinning area playing cards so I turned it off. About ten minutes later someone looks up and says, "What's that noise." I swear it was straight out of a sitcom. They actually made me turn it back on even though no one was watching it. My mom said the quiet was creepy. I know I'm so adopted.

My stepdad and I bonded over television. We were both Trekkers, the only thing we had in common back then. We could sit down in peace and watch reruns of the original series and The Next Generation. This was our truce, our neutral territory in the war. A war that lasted until we both realized that in fact we were pawns in a much more devious game. Neither of us were generals, we were hostages in my mother’s Machiavellian quest for supremacy. Divide and conquer.

It worked until we saw through her plan. Together we now make her pay for her treachery. It’s amazing how much damage a second universal remote can do. Not to mention technology she can’t figure out. “You want to watch what, Mom?” I say innocently. “Well I know the tv guide says it’s on, but look for yourself, this is the right channel it’s not here.” *evil laughing ensues*

Don’t feel sorry for her! Do you have any idea how many times she’s made us watch the Barbara Streisand version of A Star Is Born? Do you know how many Elvis movies she’s tortured us with? I get nauseous just thinking about Charro.


Friday is the deadline for the contest. I’m looking forward to going through the entries. The contest is to celebrate the release of Mating Stone by Ellora’s Cave. The hero of Mating Stone, Mark Ursine is a Were-Bear as is his twin brother Luke the hero of the upcoming July release, Lovers’ Stone. The Ursines present their lady loves with stones rather than engagement rings. For Mark and Sarah it’s an amethyst. So to win the 17” freshwater pearl and amethyst necklace here’s what you need to do. Write a brief answer to the following question and send it to ElyssaWrites@aol.com with “Mating Stone Contest” in the subject line. I’ll pick the best response as the winner, and two honorable mentions to receive smaller prizes. The winning entries will appear in my blog on April 13th.

In Mating Stone, Mark falls in love with Sarah. Sarah, a young human woman who has no idea that Were’s even exist beyond novels and movies. Strictly fictional. As a human woman, how do you react when Mr. Yummy tells you he’s the one with claws and may just leave fur on the sheets? So tell me: What type of Were is Mr. Wonderful and how does he break it to you?

Better Late Than Never

I was recently bemoaning the fact that I hadn't thought to have a contest related to my first Ellora's release Mating Stone. Well, better late than never. So to mark the release of Mating Stone a bit late and the release of my upcoming Quickie, Seeing Me, I've decided to hold a contest anyway. Seeing Me is the story of two people who are finally able to see past the hype to who the other really is.

The Contest:

The hero of Mating Stone, Mark Ursine is a Were-Bear as is his twin brother Luke the hero of the upcoming July release, Lovers’ Stone. The Ursines present their lady loves with stones rather than engagement rings. For Mark and Sarah it’s an amethyst. So to win the 17” freshwater pearl and amethyst necklace here’s what you need to do. Write a brief answer to the following question and send it to ElyssaWrites@aol.com with “Mating Stone Contest” in the subject line. I’ll pick the best response as the winner, and two honorable mentions to receive smaller prizes. The winning entries will appear in my blog on April 13th.

In Mating Stone, Mark falls in love with Sarah. Sarah, a young human woman who has no idea that Were’s even exist beyond novels and movies. Strictly fictional. As a human woman, how do you react when Mr. Yummy tells you he’s the one with claws and may just leave fur on the sheets? So tell me: What type of Were is Mr. Wonderful and how does he break it to you?