Because I love you, I am giving you some candy for Halloween. Man-candy, that is!
Charley Davidson
If you haven’t tried the Charley Davidson series from Darynda Jones, you are absolutely missing out. I love, love, LOVE these books! Smart? Check! Funny? Check! Sexy? Oh yeah!
Charley Davidson is a Grim Reaper living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She’s a snarky, vulnerable hot tamale with just a few issues, like being the Light. Yes, THE LIGHT. As in, “step into the light.”
People often want to know if I wanted to be a writer my whole life. The answer to that question is no.
“If there’s a book that you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” –Toni Morrison
These are the words that made me a writer. My story is that simple. I am a lifelong voracious reader. I read everything. I would read every word on the cereal box while I ate breakfast as a child. It never occurred to me that I could be a writer. Writers were special, crowned in glory, gurus on the mountaintop. I was a reader.
Did you know that in 1815 a 3-volume novel cost the equivalent of $100 today? Such a price placed a novel beyond the reach of most people. Then, as now, circulating libraries provided a place to gather, relax, and engage in leisurely pursuits.
That being said, I’m headed to the library to return the T’ai-Chi For Dummies book I’ve checked out and renewed three times. I just have far too much writing to get done!
You can read more about the circulating libraries in Regency England [here].
It amazes me to see the rate at which advances in science and technology change our lives on an almost daily basis, and yet at the opposite end of the spectrum, some of the fashionable accessories popular during the Regency era are still with us today.
Have a look for yourself. [Read more]
Long gone are the days when handwritten letters were all the rage. Truly, it is a lost art, or perhaps craft is the better word.
We have learned to condense our lives into a mere 140 characters and share it with the entire world in short bursts of self-disclosure.
AAMOF, I GTM when I realize we now communicate with IM’s, tweets, and Facebook status updates. Though, IRNCOT in depth. I will say, our FTC with glorious written words is quite sad. ISSYGTI. Hope you enjoy the post. BBFN!
[English translation]: As a matter of fact, I giggle to myself when I realize we now communicate with instant messages, tweets, and Facebook status updates. Though, I’d rather not comment on that in depth. I will say, our failure to communicate with glorious written words is quite sad. I’m so sure you get the idea. Hope you enjoy the post. Bye bye for now!
Well, it’s finally here! Love Between the Covers is releasing a film documenting a fun, honest look at the romance community!
I am so thrilled to have been a part of this wonderful project and am so excited about helping to get the word out to you about the film! You can find it here on Amazon.
There are even going to be fun prizes you can win here. Enjoy!
Like many creative people, I do not truly understand my own brain.
Case in point: My backyard had gone to the dogs over the summer–quite literally. My two bored dogs had trashed my container garden, pooped copiously and torn up various pilfered items.
The mess was so daunting that I stopped going outside. Deadlines loomed, negotiations distracted, family drama boiled over.
On National Dog Day, I decided to do something about the problem. I hired a poop service.
Then miracles happened. By the simple act of having a SINGLE chore removed from my life, I found myself able to attack the dead plants, the litter, and exercise my poor bored fuzzy ones.
I could have done those things at any time during the last two months. Bathing a dog takes 20 minutes, max. Replanting a pot takes 10. A game of ball will have a dog panting in 5.
But I suffered from Overwhelm. When matters degraded past a certain point, my brain and will and inborn compulsiveness melted down and I was paralyzed by the simple act of THINKING about the back yard.
I felt like a glitchy Roomba, repeatedly butting against the wall, forgetting how to turn and tackle things from another angle.
Now, the way in which this tale of poop and vacuuming robots pertains to writing a novel:
I have written 20 full novels and some other stuff, too. However, it never fails that in the beginning of a book, at some point I will stare in terror at that blinking cursor and think, “500 pages. 500 EMPTY pages. I can’t fill that! That’s a whole goddam ream of paper! NOBODY can fill that!”
“Who the hell do I think I am???”
Paralysis.
Fortunately, I am neurotic, but teachable. I have learned over the years to do a few basic things. I back up and come at things from a different angle. I plot. I make notes. I draw characters. I daydream (so glad to get my pretty patio back!). And then, slowly, tentatively, I begin to write. I try to do so without judgment or editing. After all, it’s just “practice.” I probably won’t use any of it, I tell myself. If I don’t like it I can toss it.
Sometimes, in the depths of the deepest paralysis (which has only happened a few times, thank heaven!) I write longhand–just to prove to myself that it doesn’t matter. Crayon is very convincing in this instance. Or chalk on a chalkboard might do well. I will keep that in mind. The ephemeral nature of paper and pen convinces my panicked consciousness that it doesn’t “matter.” If it doesn’t matter, it can’t fail, right? Or worse, perhaps, succeed?
Then I warm up. The characters start to show up. The settings become real rooms, real landscapes in my mind. The movie starts to play.
Suddenly, I am impatient with the plotting and the notes and the pen and paper. Words are pouring out and the only way to get them down efficiently is to sit down at the computer and make that damned cursor my bitch. I often don’t even realize that I’m doing it until I finish and look around and realize that I am in my office–remember that place of dread and fear and imminent, hideous public failure?–and my hands are tired and I have to pee. And there, filling page upon page that shrink the blinking cursor into pallid insignificance is Chapter One. Or maybe the climactic end scene. It doesn’t matter. I never write in order.
I write because that is who I think I am!
TWICE THE TEMPTATION…DOUBLE THE DESIRE!
After years of being a quiet, dutiful wife, the recently widowed Mrs. Miranda Talbot is finally free to se she pleases. As an attractive woman of independent means, Miranda is suddenly turning heads all around town. When she meets the dashing Mr. Castor Worthington, she is swept away by his passion. Is he too good to be true?
I love this trilogy–and I love poor mixed up Madeleine especially! There’s something about someone who lies in a good cause–and then gets stuck with those lies!
SOPHIE & GRAHAM!
Sophie and Graham are one of the most popular couples I have written–for good reason! This book wrote itself, as if it couldn’t wait to find out what happened any more than I could!
DUKE MOST WANTED – Heiress Brides Book 3
In the game of love
Sophie Blake’s grandfather willed his fortune to the first of his granddaughters so marry a duke. Since her cousin, Deirdre, will seal the deal any day now, the quiet bookish Sophie can sit back and enjoy her time with the only man she truly adores: Graham. No matter that the part-charmer, part-scoundrel has absolutely no designs on her! Sophie is content to engage Graham in lively conversation, beat him at cards . . . and probe at the darkness hiding behind his rakish smile.
