This Monday and Tuesday gone would have been Carnival Monday and Tuesday in Trinidad. Probably the two most glorious days of any year. I was supposed to be there playing ‘mas (as we Trinis refer to it) and, more importantly playing J’Ouvert. I thought I’d give everyone a taste of J’Ouvert. The words are French, a contraction of jour ouvert which translates into day open. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from D is for Desire. I am mourning my lost Carnival.


The pickup rolled to a halt, and the engine died. Early rising birds chirped a melody intermingled with cicada warbles. A white sign with black letters displayed the painted words, ‘Trinidad and Tobago Zoo,’ and the wood creaked as a gentle breeze blew across the asphalt road.

“We’re here.” Michael vaulted over the edge of the tray. “Damn, the music trucks are starting up. Did anyone tell our driver what time to pick us up?”

“He’s meeting us for eight in the morning.”

“Good. Come on. Make haste women. Let’s find the bathtubs.” Michael trotted away.

“Here, Alex, take a swig. You need to loosen up.” Jake passed a bottle of Black Label Scotch to him. “It’s not single malt, but it’ll do.”

Jake forced Alex into the tub.

He point-blank refused to take off his t-shirt.

“The less the stuff gets on my skin, the happier I’ll be,” Alex grumbled as he lowered himself into the mud bath. To his utmost surprise, the hot glaze prickled the surface of his skin and enhanced every sense, making him aware of the sweet, frangipani aroma dusting the small park, the sable sky dotted with twinkling diamonds, the low rhythmic pounding of African drums combining with his escalating pulse.

“For someone who didn’t want to get into the tub in the first place, you sure look as happy as a clam in there.” Michael prodded Alex’s shoulder blade. “It’s my turn. Get up. The trucks will leave soon, and the liquor cart. We can’t lose the liquor cart.”

The cold morning air hit the mud coating Alex’s skin, and it dried in slow, tight stings, curing into patches of chill, crisp flakes;. Sexuality thrummed through him like a living, breathing creature, and all his fantasies converged into one: Dee.
.
He jumped when Daphne curled her arm around his waist. “Come on, sweetie, you’re in my hands for wining and chipping instructions.” She handed him a wineskin. “Have a swig, and we’ll get started.”

Obeying, Alex chugged the liquid in the wineskin. Tequila. He refused to think about tomorrow’s hangover, or was it today’s?

“Here we go. Position yourself behind me.” Daphne guided his arms around her waist. “Now this is wining.” She ground a slow, sensual circle with her hips pressing her buttocks over his arousal. A tiny groan escaped his mouth.

“Are you sure Michael will be okay with this?” Alex whispered in Daphne’s ear, knowing they were a married couple.

“Course, sweetie, anything goes at Carnival time. It’s all good fun once we don’t take it too far. Think of it as harmless flirting loaded with sexual tension.”

Daphne changed direction and circled to the left. She leaned forward, bent almost double at the waist, and ground against his organ making smaller, rapid movements with her hips.

“Crap,” Alex said. “Does everyone walk around at the point of climax?”

“Hopefully, you do climax at some point in time.” Rosie inserted her arm around Alex’s waist from behind. “Shall we give him a Trini sandwich, Daph?”

“Why not? We’ll get him off to a good start.”

Rosie’s long copper-hued arms lifted his damp t-shirt and snuck around the heated skin of his stomach. She matched Daphne’s rhythm, circling her hips around his from the back as Daphne ground her bottom into his shaft from the front.

Sweat broke out on Alex’s temples. “Crap, no wonder you guys rave about Carnival. This is heaven. Christ, I’m a Trini sandwich. This may be my first Carnival, but it certainly won’t be my last.”

“Now chipping is basically shuffling your feet down the road in this position keeping my bumsey plastered over your pelvis.” Daphne arched a look back at Alex
.
“Bumsey?” he queried.

“Trini word for bum,” Rosie answered. Her fingers drifted to the tip of his arousal.

Alex captured her hand with his. He let it drop to his side. “How long do we do this for?” He wanted to ask Jake if none of the women objected to a stranger’s blatant erection.

“For J’ouvert, until around eight. Then we go home, shower, eat, sleep, wake up, and come out to play pretty Mas in the sunshine.” Rosie rubbed her palm across Alex’s bare belly. “He’s got a definite 6-pack, Daph. You need to show Michael, just to rile him.”

“Jake, pass me the Scotch, will you?” Alex asked.

The two women lifted his t-shirt and busied themselves examining his chest and stomach. Rosie tweaked one of his nipples. Horrified, Alex grabbed her hand and clasped it in his.

“Don’t manhandle the poor boy, ladies.” Jake smirked at Alex and slapped the bottle into his hand. “Drink up. You look like you need it.”

The DJ blasted into life, splintering the low conversational hum of eight hundred bodies dancing and twirling in the darkness of the early morning. Daphne and Rosie disappeared, immediately replaced by a couple of slick, skimpily-clad, voluptuous, coffee-colored women. They sandwiched Alex and ground into him, a mound on his rear end, a bottom rubbing his throbbing erection. He drifted with the flow, letting the women dictate his direction. Steel band music thundered along the cool morning breeze. Moisture hung heavy and thick, coating sweaty bodies with cool dew.

Michael passed him the Black Label bottle. “I can feel the rain coming. It always rains on J’ouvert morning. Take a shot. It’ll ward off the chill. This is the best part of J’ouvert coming up. The rain makes all those gorgeous nipples hard. Luscious bubbies with their pointy nipples. A man can’t ask for more.”

Alex noticed Dee a few yards away. Her platinum curls glowed in the faint lights from a nearby café. Across the wide path, their eyes met, tangled, promised. A five-deep circle of tipsy females all bent on sexual pleasure surrounded him. She turned her back on Alex. His fascination with Dee bewildered him. Alex wondered what her ‘special abilities’, Tee’s PC term for witchy talents, were, and whether they included inciting uncontrollable lust in unsuspecting men. Dee seemed made for Carnival, sexy, rumpled, abandoned, prancing to the blaring music.

Two bikini-clad women wearing burlap loincloths and scarlet halter-tops led the band into the street carrying a large banner proclaiming their theme, ‘Vikings’. Crude but effective, he decided, and searched the suffocating crowd for Dee. He caught a glimpse of her white-blonde curls in a random stream of moonlight.

Compelled like a gnat to a flame, Alex elbowed his way through the crowd and came up behind Dee.

To the right, Jake and Tee chipped to the music. Jake’s linked hands draping his wife’s bare waist, her hips plastered to his.

Bittersweet envy strung through Alex in response to the couple’s Kodak moment, the easy intimacy hard to stomach in the face of his recent, callous decision, which he already regretted. His gaze swept to Dee, and something tugged at his soul.

Carefree mother earth goddess, hands thrown up in the air, forefingers pointed, eyes closed, sensuality personified. She bent her knees and did a rapid stripper’s roll, circling her hip to the left. The burlap flap fell away as her bottom lifted, and Alex got a ten-second glimpse of a high, rounded, naked cheek. A slash of scarlet slashed its edge. Dizzying desire lanced lightning bolts, and primordial instincts wrestled away any remaining veneer of civilized man.

His hands snaked around Dee’s narrow waist, and he locked them together. Dee jerked to a halt becoming un-pliant in his embrace. Alex pulled her back to his chest. Her head popped around, and she didn’t seem surprised to discover it was he. Dee let him hug her, but Alex felt her doubt in the rigid tension of her spine. He loosened his hold letting a few inches separate them. Gradually, she began moving to the music, hips undulating. Alex drew her closer in small increments until they chipped forward together.

A large man bumped into Alex’s shoulder, warm liquid from the bottle in his hand sloshed over Alex’s arm. Sparks lit the dark morning to the right of them, and the pungent aroma of marijuana battled those of rum and perspiration for dominance.

“Here comes the rain.” Michael materialized at Alex’s side. The music halted for a moment, and his shout resonated over the shuffling of feet. “The bubbies, here comes the bubbies. I need some whiskey and a woman to wine on.”

A smattering of stinging, cold raindrops assaulted Alex’s skin.

Michael passed the bottle of Black Label to Dee. She twisted out of Alex’s arms to get it, took a swift swallow, and plopped the bottle into his hands. He took a sip of the fiery liquid and gave it to Jake.

Alex’s eyes were drawn inexorably to Dee’s breasts. Sure enough, her nipples had hardened under the chill torrent of raindrops, tightening into stiff, round points. His lips dried out, parched, thirsting. His mouth burned with the need to suckle, sip at those nubs. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and took another long swig, trying to eradicate the flood of lust threatening an embarrassing release. When he encircled her waist again, Dee relaxed, snuggling into his arms. His shaft grazed the small of her back, feeding on the slight friction. A fierce breeze whooshed down the six-lane road, puckering flesh.

Dee’s petite form shuddered, bursting into a series of little shivers. Alex touched his mouth to her ear. “Cold?”

Dainty hands came up to cup her shoulders, and she nodded.

Planting his feet wide apart, Alex shouted, “Stay there.” He braced against the crowds milling at his back, hooked his t-shirt over his head, and offered it to her.

The crowd jostled Alex along the length of a blaring music truck. A man wearing black spandex cycle shorts sang into a microphone under the fluorescent lights of a canopied music truck. He warbled a calypso, equal parts Rap and Soca, his bluesy voice climbing above the crowd’s sing-a-long and the rain’s drumming. The moment proved intoxicating in the extreme. The scent of musky coupling and sweet rum filled the air. The music wove into Alex’s brain. Pelvises gyrated friction, from the front, behind, and at the sides.

As individuals, they held no goals, no direction. As a united crowd, bent on sensory pleasure, music, elation, touching, grinding, the scent of heated arousal, a sugary, languid, soaring excitement with one end in sight: climax, the poignant fulfillment of a bacchanalian dawning. J’ouvert, the day opening, the literal translation of the term.

Drunkenness stole over Alex in time to the rising red ball of the sun on the horizon. They crossed the Savannah Stage at six o’clock. The band refused to leave the wide wooden podium, even after some self-important official pleaded with them over a megaphone to let other bands have their turn.

Hi! I’m a new member of the group and am delighted to be among such talented women who are going places in the publishing world. I like the idea that we all write something a little different and can, thereby, add our own texture to the tapestry being woven by us.

My invitation, through the kindness of Pam Varnado and Mary Marvella and the others in the group, has made me realize once again how unique writers are. Pam, Mary and I are all members of Georgia Romance Writers. I moved to Florida in April. Still…we’ve kept a unique connection because we’re writers striving for the same thing. And in Florida, I became a member of the Spacecoast STARs, another RWA group whose members support and encourage each other, and met Cyndi from Alabama Arkansas.

It is this generous spirit of reaching out, helping others, encouraging others that makes writers, as a group, so unusual. Writing with an eye to publishing is a horrible business. Most writers will readily admit it. In what other field would a person work diligently to create a “word baby” so that she can be told how ugly that baby is? And, yet, it happens to us all. And most of us go on to thank the viewer for pointing out every little flaw.

Yes, we writers are a unique group. Think about it. We sit alone, work alone, come out of our caves to socialize with each other occasionally and yet there is a sense of team, of being a part of a special group that can’t be found anywhere else. And though we technically compete against each other, there is a sense of accomplishment in learning of someone else’s success, even though we might wishfully be thinking, “next time, let it be me.”

I’d love to hear about some of your experiences—good and bad.

Joanne is usually our "Deal of the Day" to-go gal, but I found this today and thought I'd pass it along.

Westinghouse 26-inch Widescreen 1080P LCD Monitor

$239.99
PLUS $0.00 SHIPPING

From New Day New Deal

Immerse yourself in the largest and most stunning monitor from Westinghouse to date 26" LCD monitor L2610NW. This captivating monitor delivers beyond 1080p quality with 1920 x 1200 resolution and a dynamic contrast of 3000:1. With a 2ms response time, this monitor is a perfect fit for gaming, watching TV and DVD and surfing the Internet. This sleek LCD monitor features an impeccable industrial design accentuated with a piano black bezel.

Features
Maximum Resolution 1920 x 1200
Manufacturer Westinghouse Digital Electronics
Color Black Cabinet
Actual Screen Size 26"
Standard Warranty 1 Year
Dimensions 20" Height x 23.9" Width x 8.3" Depth - With Base
Widescreen Yes
Manufacturer Part Number L2610NW-SP
Weight 15.2 lb - With Base
Manufacturer Website Address www.westinghousedigital.com
Brightness 350 Nit
Ports 1 x HDMI-HDCP Digital Audio/Video
1 x 15-pin HD-15 VGA
1 x Audio Line In
Green Compliance Yes
Product Name L2610NW Widescreen LCD Monitor
Pixel Pitch 0.287mm
Green Compliance Certificate/Authority Energy Star
Maximum Response Time 5ms
Aspect Ratio 16:10
Product Type LCD Monitor
Horizontal Viewing Angle 170
Vertical Viewing Angle 160

Black Swan is the story of lovers separated by differences greater than fear of commitment and fear of abandonment. Tristan is a vampire, and Carol is a Black Swan, mortals who willingly submit to the vampire to experience the euphoria of the Kiss. She knows what he is and loves him anyway. Match made in Heaven? Hardly. After 11 months of bliss, Tristan runs away from Carol, looking for himself and trying to resist his nature. Can he control the beast within? Will he leave the woman who loves and understands him? Can Carol resist the music of the night?

A Black Rosette, Black Swan, a spicy vampire tale with a difference, released today from The Wild Rose Press. To purchase, follow this link: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/black-swan-p-1164.html?zenid=a92814a9715df6c03859aa2000af4bd5


Or the link may be found on my web site at: http://www.lindanightingale.com/

Borrowed from another forum:

Landsend.com has a 20% off of everything sale today only. Winter coats are on sale, so check there first.
Promotion Code is SAVE20 and PIN is 00002138.

If you are signed up at Ebates, you'll receive an additional 3%.

Happy shopping!

Many thanks to Mama Mary for this deal--one penny books!

http://www.bookcloseouts.com/default.asp?N=0&rid=dworsky

INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT NOT DRINKING WATER

75% of Americans are chronically dehydrated. (This likely applies to over half of he world's population).
In 37% of Americans, the thirst mechanism is so weak that it is often mistaken for hunger.
Even MILD dehydration will slow down one's metabolism as much as 13%.
One glass of water shuts down midnight hunger pangs for almost 100% of the dieters investigated in a University of Washington study.
Lack of water is the #1 trigger of daytime fatigue.
Preliminary research indicates that 8-10 glasses of water a day could significantly ease back and joint pain for up to 80% of sufferers.
A mere 2% drop in body water can trigger fuzzy short-term memory, trouble with basic math, and difficulty focusing on the computer screen or on a printed page.
Drinking 5 glasses of water daily decreases the risk of colon cancer by 45%, plus it can slash the risk of breast cancer by 79%, and one is 50% less likely to develop bladder cancer.

Lack of water will adversely affect our skin and trigger, cause or aggravate most common skin problems. Water or lack of it has recently been shown by scientists to be an 'extremely important factor' in Psoriasis (see below).
Hydration starts from within

Many health professionals including dermatologists and GPs will acknowledge that water therapy (hydrotherapy) is important to the health of our skin and, indeed there are numerous water treatments (Sea water, Dead Sea, M-Folia Bath Oil etc in which the body is soaked or bathed) which are recommended. However, until recently, few have focused on the obvious - that hydration starts from the inside and that our skin is equally or more profoundly affected by the amount of water we do - or don't - drink than by the amount we bathe in or put onto our skin.

Scientists at the Department of Dermatology, Seoul National University College of Medicine, examined 70 psoriasis patients and found that without exception, there was very poor hydration. The study demonstrated that lack of hydration of the skin is a extremely important factor in the health of our skin. The report concluded that 'the degree of dryness in psoriatic skin lesions--which we presume to be one of the aggravating factors of psoriasis--seemed to be related to disease severity.'(1)

What water does

Increasing our consumption of water has been shown to help relieve allergies and skin disorders like eczema, psoriasis, dry skin, wrinkles and spots. Keeping the skin hydrated both externally and internally also delays signs of aging and helps maintain healthy skin especially for people already having dry or maturing skin. Bathing the skin in warm water thoroughly cleanses, gently exfoliates, and hydrates. This is why many skin creams are water-based that help to maintain the elasticity of the skin. Sunken eyes and under eye circles are signs that water consumption is low. Eyes sink because there isn't enough water to keep them suspended in the eye socket. Under-eye circles are due to lack of fluids that causes thin skin which is easily bruised.
Water helps the body to flush out toxins and wastes from the body and repair the damage that is caused due to daily wear and tear. Changing the amount of water you consume will affect your blood volume and the hydration in the body cells. This is why the consumption of water must be consistent to allow the body to function optimally.

How much water should I drink?

The amount of water you should drink is determined by your body weight. 70% of our bodies are made up of water. A good rule of thumb is to calculate the amount of water you need to drink by:

(a) finding your weight in lbs
(b) divide in half
(c) convert to fluid ounces

e.g. if your body weight is 200lbs, you would need to drink 100 fl oz of water a day. This may seem a lot to begin with, so gradually increase the amount of water you drink and you'll see a huge difference in your health & your skin.

What water should I drink?

The purer your water is, the better. We would recommend that you use a good water purifier at home to eliminate the impurities (heavy metals, bacteria, hormones etc) and also consider supercharging it - by that we mean, adding ionic minerals and alkalising it - more info

I have posted about restaurant.com before, but wanted to post again as they are at 80% off.

Go to the website and type in your zip code. A $25.00 off of a $35.00 meal is a substantial savings. These certificates normally cost $10.00, but with coupon code DINE, you will pay only $2.00 for a $25.00 certificate.

My family uses these certificates all time. In these tough economic times, it's fun to still be able to enjoy going out to a restaurant.

Hope you enjoy!

Linnea, you were wonderful and we Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers thank you from the bottoms of our hearts!

Our lucky winners!

Admiral Micky won the FOLLY tote & Scarlet Pumpernickel won the cup. Please let me hear from you so we can get your prizes to you!

Mary
MMARVELLAB@aol.com

Chicken casserole:

Boil 3-4 chicken breasts and shred when cool. In a casserole dish, mix in 1/2 cup low fat mayo and 1 can of cream of mushroom or cream of chicken soup. Add 2 bags of boil in a bag rice. Add sliced, cooked broccoli and bake for 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Sprinkle shredded cheddar on top.
Great make ahead dish.

Enjoy!

After having an influenza ridden winter (and I got a flu shot) I’m pondering what herbs might make a healthful tonic. I surely could use one, along with about half the country. Hack, cough, sniffle, sniff, honk…

Sassafras comes to mind and figures prominently in my American historical romances due out this May. I love its varied mitten shaped leaves and distinctive, aromatic scent. My mother has a sassafras tree growing in her yard, but I’d have to head into the mountains to get my fix. *Note to self, plant sassafras trees. Maybe if I put in an entire grove some would survive. Our challenge is the cows which occupy much of our land and eat anything not protected behind secure fencing. Saplings are among their favorite delicacies.

You might be interested to learn, as was I, that Christopher Columbus is said to have quelled mutinous seamen by the sudden sweet smell of sassafras which indicated the nearness of land. Not only did it aid in the discovery of the New World, but was an important export to Europe in the early days of colonial American, even exceeding shipments of tobacco.

Wine made from the darkly blue berries has been imbibed for colds. During the spring flowering period, the blossoms were simmered to make a tea for reducing fevers. A blood purifying spring tonic was and still is imbibed from a tea made by brewing the roots. A tea distilled from the bark was believed to aid in the treatment of bronchitis, respiratory ailments and tummy upset. Chewing the bark was thought to help break the tobacco habit, a problem even in the early days of this country. The roots were distilled and the oil from them used to flavor many products including ginger ale, sarsaparilla, cream soda, root beer, toothpaste…

A poultice made from the leaves and laid on wounds was used to stop bleeding and aid in healing. Native Americans steeped in the many uses of sassafras passed their knowledge along to European settlers in the colonial frontier. A tea from the bark was also thought to be beneficial in the treatment of venereal disease, needed by both Indians and colonists alike. If you wonder what ailments afflicted folk in the early days of this country, you need only read what they were most interested in finding treatments for and cancer doesn’t made the top ten.

How to make sassafras tea: One method is to vigorously scrub several roots, a couple of inches long, and use the whole root or cut them in into pieces and bring to a boil in three pints of water. Reduce heat and simmer for fifteen minutes. Remove from heat, cover, and steep for another ten minutes before straining and serving. Yet another method is to drop several roots into a quart of boiling water, remove from heat and steep then serve. A pound of roots will make 4 quarts of tea and can be used several times before they lose their strength.

For the bark, especially used as a spring tonic, cut or grind a teaspoon of bark and steep in a cup of boiling water for ten minutes, strain and sip. The tea from either root or bark should have a yellowish red hue, rich smell and pleasing taste. It can be thinned with milk or cream and sweetened. I would add some honey, but those of you who like it plain, enjoy.

And good health to us all.

Physically, my heroes often resembles someone I know, an actor or a person I met. But let’s talk about their characters. Who are the heroes we like?

In my books, the characters are a complete work of my imagination. In general, I like the alpha hero and the strong heroine who can stand up to him and ends up taming him.

While we often assimilate with the heroine and consider her the major character in a book, I prefer to concentrate on the hero. The man in her life. And mine.

In TO LOVE A HERO, a story sizzling with passion and set in a Russian country, Major General Sergei Fedorin is the ultimate alpha hero, strong, generous, dedicated to his country and his cause. He is a man of action, a respected hero, a general used to be in command, an officer no one would dare to question or disobey.

He is single-minded, sometimes arrogant and oozing self-confidence. Men admire him and women adore him. He knows his status and would selfishly protect it. Being used to adulation, he doesn’t know how to act with the independent and so different foreign scientist. For the first time in his life, he is torn by the conflict between his heart and his mind. The American woman he loves doesn’t understand his mission and deep beliefs.

I fell in love with Sergei while writing my book and reassured my husband that he was the model I used for Sergei’s character. Although he is a contemporary hero, Sergei reminds me of the historical heroes of Kathleen Woodiwiss and Heather Graham

SIMPLY ROMANCE REVIEW: Outstanding Read. Mona Risk's TO LOVE A HERO is a wonderful love story complete with deception, conceit, stubbornness and the love of a lifetime for two people who couldn't be more different.

In FRENCH PERIL, Count François is an aristocratic playboy, wealthy, gallant. He uses his charm and status to get what he wants and manages to walk out with his heart unscathed from any situation. But when he have to deal with a spirited American architect who doesn’t take no for an answer François put aside all selfishness to protect her.

I have known many French friends in my life and used their vivacity, courtesy and charm to create Count François the ultimate French aristocrat, romantic, determined, and very protective. He reminds me of the hero of French Twist by Roxanne St. Claire.

Night Owl Romance Book Reviews: RECOMMENDED READ. Mona Risk will pull you in with her amazing characters and in-depth twisting suspense. She takes armchair travel to a whole new heights as her characters travel to their heart wrenching and spine tingling doom.

In addition to militaries or aristocrats, I love to deal with doctors who struggle to save lives but don’t know how to protect their own hearts.

In BABIES IN THE BARGAIN, coming to The Wild Rose Press, Dr. Marc Suarez is a Puerto-Rican doctor, used to respect and adulation by his meddling family. He’s not an alpha hero, but an easy going, fun-loving man, fiercely attached to his own freedom. His dedication to his patients and his medical expertise earn him respect and admiration. But he is a man who wants things done and wants them done now, and wants them on his term.

When a tragic accident transforms the carefree playboy into a dedicated but novice father to his nephew, he will turn to the woman he loves for help and finally commit for better or worse.

These are the heroes I like, the heroes I fall in love with while writing my stories.

Who is your favorite hero, in real life or in books? The man who will make your heart flutter and stay in your mind long after you close a book or type the END to a story. The man you love as a whole, with his qualities and the flaws that derive from his qualities?

Are you an alpha hero lover?
Do you prefer the easygoing fellow who will make you laugh?
Come on, close your eyes and tell us of your dream hero.

I will pull a name from the comments. The winner will win a copy of my romantic suspense and ebook FRENCH PERIL.

Travelling in Third World Countries

A business trip to Guyana in South America was my first trip to a third world country

About ten minutes before our plane landed, the pilot announced that the lights at the Guyana airport were malfunctioning and we would be returning to Trinidad.

I was on a pro bono trip to Guyana to teach senior members of the UNDP a weeklong course on computer literacy, and someone from that organization was supposed to pick me up at the airport. I silently offered the individual apologies for a futile journey, as it was around ten o’clock on a Sunday night.

Ten minutes before we were supposed to land at Piarco Airport in Trinidad, the pilot announced that the lights were now functioning in Guyana, and we would be returning there.

So, I land in Guyana three hours late. It’s near midnight.

Now bear in mind, Guyana has its own currency only available if you are in the country (ten thousand Guyanese dollars would not pay for one night’s hotel stay), and I had been advised not to travel with US dollars because of the crime. The UNDP assured me they would handle all of my expenses.

We land.

I stand in line for immigration, and watch all the locals head to the front of the line with a ten dollar US bill in their hands, which they give to the officer. He waves them on without glancing at their passports….interesting…

Surprisingly, I did not have a hard time clearing either immigration or customs, (I think the UNDP documents must have cleared the way), but most of the other passengers were not so fortunate.

Exiting customs was akin to entering a Freddie Kruger nightmare.

A narrow pathway was the only way out and crowds of enormous men surrounded the path, all yelling and screaming, “You need a taxi? I’ll take you into Georgetown.”

Only the pathway was lit, everything else was pitch black.

The person who was supposed to pick me up was nowhere in sight, and paging him resulted in nada.

Think about it, I have no money, I have to get to Georgetown, which is over an hour away, and I must pick one of these hulking men to drive me there….

Two fellow passengers approach me, obvious foreigners, a middle-aged, short, wiry Caucasian man wearing a slightly askew toupee, and his companion, a tall, black man about a decade younger. They ask me if we could ride together and I gladly agree.

Now, how to pick who will drive us there?

Through the hordes thronging the roped-off area, I spot a man my height with keys in his hand (I’m five foot nothing). I point to him and say. “You’ll take us into Georgetown.”

On the way to the taxi, my fellow passengers, Englishmen on an Eco-tourism adventure, question my choice. I explain by saying, if he jumped us or pulled a weapon, between the three of us, we could probably subdue him. The Limeys turn green.

Thirty minutes into the ride after chatting with the taxi driver, I realize he’s harmless and simply trying to make a living. I relax. Not so the Englishmen.

You know the song, ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head?’

Literally happened.

It started to pour, not a gentle rain but one of those soaking downpours. The car’s roof, which we couldn’t really check out in the pitch black, turned out to be more holes than roof. The taxi driver handed us a tarp to put over our heads….and this was only four hours into the trip.

Wait until I tell you about teaching a computer literary course when electricity runs for maybe 3 hours a day, and you don’t know which 3 hours it will be from day to day….continued next blog.

I’m thrilled to have a guest blog gig at PFS on the third Wednesday of every month. When Cyndi D’Alba invited me, she asked what theme I wanted to use. At my other blogs, I write whatever interests me -- almost always something to do with writing or the writing life or books. But I didn’t have to think of what I would do here. I knew.

One of my favorite writing books is Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook by Donald Maass. I’ve read it at least three times, but I’ve never done the exercises at the end of each chapter. Writers who have taken his weekend-long workshops have raved about how much they’ve learned and how much better their books are. The exercises Maass took them through opened up new ideas and possibilities.

I’ve been having a hard time writing my wip, mostly because I keep stopping and starting to do promotion for the American Title V contest. For months, the contest has been on my mind instead of my wip. The contest is worth it, and I’m not complaining. I already know how to get my writing mojo back. I’m going to conduct my own breakout workshop by doing the exercises on the back of every chapter of Maass’s Workbook. When I’m finished going through all 34 chapters, I should know the characters better than I know myself and the plot better than my own life journey.

So that’s my theme. Once a month, on the third Wednesday of each month, I’ll blog about what I took from each chapter, and then talk about the one question at the end of each chapter that resonated most with me.

My original plan was to summarize a chapter and ask Maass’s questions at the chapter’s end. But my CP, Michelle Diener, said even though I was urging everyone to buy his book (the urge is coming!), asking every question could be copyright infringement.

Here’s my urge: If you don’t own this workbook, buy it. Maass uses examples from published breakout books in the chapters, and his explanations are motivating and instructive. There’s a reason why writers love this book, and that’s because it’s so good.

If you already own the book and have done the exercises, I hope you’ll stop by and share what you've learned. Or else consider this a time to renew your knowledge and use it on your wip.

If there’s ever a time to read the breakout novel, it’s now. In the book’s Introduction, Maass said because of changes in the publishing business he saw that opportunities and sales were shrinking for most writers. But not all. Many writers were getting ahead. He studied their work and wrote the results in his 2001 book, Writing the Breakout Novel.

He used the information with his own clients, and said “The results have been dramatic. Stalled careers have been turned around, agency revenue is way up, and many clients tell me that they are writing with new joy.”

He started his weekend workshops on Writing the Breakout Novel, which led to the Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook. He says, “Writing a breakout novel is the hardest work you will ever do. But it can be done, and done by anyone with basic fiction writing skills and the patience and determination to take his fiction all the way to the highest level of achievement.”

One writing problem I’ve worked on is putting tension on every page. For the last two years, I have "RAISE THE STAKES" taped on my computer. Maass pounds this into the reader. He pounds everything in.

What’s the biggest problem with writing that you need to work on? If you don't have any now, what was a problem you had before and how did you turn it around?

And if you haven’t voted this round on the American Title contest, please take a moment and vote for your favorite.

Shy folks who don't comment lose the chance to win one of Linnea's generous prizes.

Please welcome Linnea Sinclair, Award-Winning Science Fiction Romance Author.

Her awards include the RITA©, Sapphire, and PEARL awards. Linnea Sinclair's current booklist with Bantam/Random House includes FINDERS KEEPERS, GABRIEL’S GHOST, AN ACCIDENTAL GODDESS, GAMES OF COMMAND and THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES, and scheduled for release in 2008-09, SHADES OF DARK and HOPE’S FOLLY. She is also a John W. Campbell award nominee.

She has been compared to Dianna Gabaldon and Judith McNaught.
Linnea Sinclair books promise kick-butt heroines, science fiction action, steamy romance, and a good dose of fun.

Linnea, how long have you been writing and was it difficult getting your books
published?

I’ve been writing for so long I honestly can’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing. I’m an only child and making up stories in my head was a favorite pastime. I began putting them on paper in junior high school. In my twenties, I was active in Trek fan-fic. But I never took the plunge to write fiction full time until I’d completed successful careers as a news reporter and a private investigator. I sold my detective agency in 2000, which was also the year my fantasy novel, WINTERTIDE, was accepted for publication by LTDBooks, a small Canadian publishing house.

Getting published in small press wasn’t that difficult for me. Getting a major NY
publisher to acknowledge that science fiction romance was an up-and-coming hot genre and that my small press books—and talent—could make the jump to the big time was considerably more difficult. But it was a jump I was determined to make and I concentrated, not only on winning awards with my books, but on promoting my books so that my name was “out there” in front of the reading public. My agent later told me that when Bantam bought me, they commented that I was the most well-known unknown they’d ever heard of.

I suppose it might have been easier if I’d decided to write in a different genre; mystery, perhaps, or pure romance. But science fiction romance is where my heart and soul is. I write what I love, and what I’d love to experience. For that reason, writing is an intense, personal experience for me and I try to bring that same experience to the reader. I have to write what I love, or I couldn’t write it.

How would you define science fiction romance (SFR) and what elements does the reader find in SFR that she can’t find in other stories?

Science Fiction Romance is, at its core, a science fiction/speculative fiction novel that has—equally at its core and in its theme—the romantic question between the main characters. It's written so that if either core element—science/speculative fiction or romance—were removed, the story would collapse. Or at the least, not be the same novel.

That means if the story's setting could easily—and without noticeable changes—be swapped from Port Rumor in Gensiira to Port St. Lucie in Florida, or from the bridge of a Zafharin huntership to the decks of a Carnival Cruise Line's ocean liner, then it's not SFR. And if the emotional relationship—and its eventual HEA— between the main characters could be removed and the plot would not be affected at all, it's not SFR.

The combining of the two genres sometimes boggles people. I'm not sure why. After all, the concept is not all that different from a chocolate cupcake. In order to something to be considered a chocolate cupcake, it must 1) contain chocolate and 2) be in the size, shape and form of a cupcake. Science Fiction Romance is just like that, only less fattening.

I don't know if SFR necessarily provides readers elements not found in other stories as much as it presents two (or more) elements they enjoy in one place. Tastes great and less filling, you know? The reader then doesn't have to sacrifice one favored plot element or genre for the other. Two for the price of one. If I think of any more bad clichés I'll let you know, but that's the gist of it.

Linnea, alpha women in space seems to be a recurring theme in your books, including Finders Keepers and Gabriel’s Ghost. What’s the appeal of the “kickbutt” heroine? Are you living vicariously through your characters?

Is there any other kind of hero in commercial genre fiction other than one who takes charge, forces things to happen? I suppose there is but for the kinds of things I want to read for fun, there isn't. Since everything I've written has to first please my reading tastes, then yes, my readers are always going to find themselves in cahoots with heroines (and heroes) who eventually grab the universe by the, uh, fruit basket and take control.

The appeal? Writing gurus like Dwight Swain, Jacqueline Lichtenberg, Jack Bickham, James Frey and others have long pointed out that readers read to experience tension,
conflict; to participate—at a safe distance—in the resolution of a seemingly irresolvable problem. Our cultures' ancient myths and legends have featured powerful female figures (Hera, Freya, Quan-Yin, etc.). The female whose actions can change the outcome or resolve a problem is nothing new. In commercial fiction, it or rather she did go on sabbatical for a while. However, she's definitely back (and in more than one case, pissed!).

So I feel the appeal of the strong female protagonist is something deep inside many of us.

As for my living vicariously through my characters, let's see, I've been an investigative news reporter and a private investigator. Have I ever shot footage in a hurricane? Yup. Put my career on the line for a story? Yup. Forged through the Florida swamps for a story? Yup. Done live television (okay, not life threatening but definitely nerve-wracking when you're doing a live news feed and you're being attacked by wasps...)? Yup. Have I ever received death threats, threats to ruin me financially, illicit propositions, and faced the business end of a loaded gun? Yup.

So, do I live vicariously through my characters? Uh, no. Rather my characters and I share a similar adventurous attitude and a strong desire to survive.

What advice do you have for fledgling writers?


First, read. Read as much as you can in the genre in which you want to write.
Second, realize that writing is both an art and a craft. Yes, the muse must speak to you. But it’s up to you to put that creative inspiration in a grammatically correct form, or you’re wasting your and the muse’s time. Study and understand plot structure, characterization, conflict and dialogue. For all that fiction is freewheeling creativity, it’s also rules and regulations.

There are plenty of books out there to help you do this. My favorite is Dwight Swain’s Techniques of the Selling Writer. When I teach writing, I tell my students that if they can buy only one book, buy that one. It’s essential. Almost every published author I know has a dog-eared copy. From there, look for the how-to books by Jack Bickham, Nancy Kress, Debra Dixon and Renni Browne/Dave King. These books work no matter your genre.

Then find a writers’ group—locally or online—that has at least one published author in its ranks (preferably more than one). Get your work critiqued. Learn to give critiques in return.

Writing a publishable novel is hard work. Blessedly, it’s also a tremendous amount of fun. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing—except, perhaps, piloting a starship.

Please tell us a little about your upcoming 2009 release.

In February 2009 Bantam will release Hope’s Folly, which is the third book in the Dock Five series that started with Gabriel’s Ghost. Folly is Admiral Philip Guthrie’s story. Philip is Chaz’s ex-husband, and while in Gabriel’s he straddled the fence between being a hero and being an obstacle, in Shades of Dark he has quite a lot happen to him, and as one blogger noted, is starting to sport his hero duds. He’s blossomed into a take-control, very sexy man and in Folly, he faces one of the toughest challenges of his life.

It's an impossible mission on a derelict ship called HOPE'S FOLLY. A man who feels he can't love. A woman who believes she's unlovable. And an enemy who will stop at nothing to crush them both.

Admiral Philip Guthrie is in an unprecedented position: on the wrong end of the law, leading a rag-tag band of rebels against the oppressive Imperial forces. Or would be, if he can reach his command ship—the intriguingly named Hope’s Folly—alive. Not much can rattle Philip’s legendary cool—but the woman who helps him foil an assassination attempt on Kirro Station will. She’s the daughter of his best friend and first commander—a man who died while under Philip’s command, and whose death is on Philip’s conscience

Rya Bennton has been in love with Philip Guthrie since she was a girl. But can her childhood fantasies survive an encounter with the hardened man, and newly-minted rebel leader, who it seems has just become her new commanding officer? And will she still be willing follow him through the jaw of hell once she learns the truth about her father’s death?

By the way, Romantic Times just gave Folly 4-1/2 stars and named it a Top Pick!

website: www.linneasinclair.com
FYI,
Linnea divides her time between Naples, Florida and Columbus Ohio.

Ask away ladies.
Comment for a chance to win the tote or cup pictured above!

PFSW reoccurring blogger EDIE RAMER is one of the final four remaining contestants in American Title V with her manuscript DEAD PEOPLE.

Vote for Edie’s entry by sending an email to votes@romantictimes.com with DEAD PEOPLE in the subject line. (One vote per person.)

Help Edie achieve her lifelong dream by voting for Dead People.

I signed up for this blog weeks ago, should have had it ready by now, but kept putting it off. There were always so many other things I needed to do! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a cleaning freak or compulsive about how the socks in my lingerie drawer should be aligned.

Nope, not me, I can live quite happily amid my clutter and stacks of this and that. But there are times when I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am in procrastination mode. Usually these revolve around something I should be doing now. In particular it concerns my writing goals. You see, I very rarely get a day off during the school year and look forward to it eagerly when I do. At last I’ll have time to write!

Then the P mode sets in and I get side-tracked. The closet really needs cleaning and reorganizing. The kitchen cabinets should be less chaotic. The laundry has to be done. If you know me, you know I’m procrastinating. I'm not always the enabler in my procrastination, often the family puts roadblocks in my way. The DH needs me to go to Home Depot with him. The DD wants to go shopping, “You never go with me anymore. Besides, it’s my only day off.” This usually translates to “I saw this really cute sweater or shoes or whatever, and I want you to buy them for me.” I’ve learned over the years to spot P mode, but I haven’t learned how to avoid it, turn it off, or escape it. The recognition part is easy. Anytime I think of anything even remotely connected to housework, I’m procrastinating!

Solving the problem is much more problematic. I haven’t hit upon a solution yet. What about you? How do you handle the dreaded P mode? What do you find yourself doing instead of writing?

Marius Andresciu is a vampire, born in 1752. Jaded and ancient, he's seen it all, done it all. In 1968, he wanders the streets of Paris...bored...hungry... He sees a young girl--Caity--an American from New Orleans...an art student...and falls in love, something that isn't supposed to happen to his kind. He poses for her. She creates a masterpiece which will bring her fame and fortune.


"He'd begin to be touched by something which had never before been a part of his long and varied life...conscience...and it was a markedly unpleasant feeling--especially since he began to listen to it.

The longer he was with the girl, the more he wanted her--her body, her blood, her soul--and the realization was slowly coming to him that he had to do what his desires were telling him--and very soon--or leave her forever. Marius didn't want to do either, for he'd discovered something for Caity that he'd never felt before and in that moment, it burst fully upon him, leaving him slightly breathless.

I love her!

. . . and on its heels came another thought . . .

Oh, cherie, I have to leave you!"

The night Caity finishes her statue, Marius disappears from her life.

In 2009, Marius is living in New Orleans. He owns The Gallerie, a studio known for its exhibitions of artwork by famous and soon-to-be famous artisans. He discovers Caity's masterpiece in a New York shop, buys it, plans to display it. Cousin Timon and brother Val argue--the statue looks just like him; people will ask the wrong questions. He shows the statue anyway, tells them the model was his father who supposedly had an affair with Caity when she studied in France.

The next day, an invitation comes in the mail...a letter from Caity inviting the son of the man she loved to her home. He thought her dead--humans are so fragile--

Should he go? Can he bear to see what the years have done to the woman he knew forty years ago while he has remained as youthful as he appeared on the day he met--and loved--her? A better question would be: Can Caity accept the love of a man who seems to be half her age?

The answer is one neither expects.





"Sometimes Love Returns" will appear in the February, 2009 (#4), issue of Sounds of the Night magazine. Another story of the Clan Andriescu--"Love, Vampire Style"--is available as a Black Rosette from The Wild Rose Press.

Note only for readers of The Pink Fuzzy Slipper Writers: I shot the pictures at a dinner party with friends---after which all but one of us came down with food poisoning.



Liz Jasper is the award-winning mystery author of Underdead and Underdead In Denial. You can read excerpts and reviews at www.lizjasper.com

Many bodies sleep in your bed? You? A Spouse? A child? In my world, it should be just me and my husband. We have a king size bed. It SHOULD be adequate, shouldn't it? Except, last night I found my leg and arm hanging off the bed. Why? I had no room. See the picture? That's my "baby." Her name is Jill. She is a Flat Coated Retriever. She THINKS she's a 9 or 10 pound lap dog. She weighs closer to 90, but does that stop her from being a lap dog? No. Of course not.

Last night, she was the bed dog. At one point, I woke up and she was using my stomach for a pillow! But look at that sweet face.

I have to be honest...she's like sleeping with a 1500 watt heater! She's great on a cold night!
Anyone else have a bed heater dog?

This is what happens when the granddaughter plays with the camera!

This little cutie is my mother! Dates from around 1923!

There are times when you just gotta grab your camera and capture a special moment! If you don't have a digital camera you can have a CD made when you process your film. Scan older photos. Note the "girls' gotta be girls" poses!

Let’s talk crisis of faith. No, not church and God. The “I-suck-so-why-do-I-write crisis of faith. There’s no reason to assure me that everyone goes through these. And it doesn’t help to point out famous authors who still bemoan their lack of understanding as to why anyone would buy their books. Get a grip. You’re a good writer. You know it. I know it. Your readers know it.

But enough about them...Moving on to today’s topic, Is it all worth it?

When you were a teen, with all that teenage angst about new love, did you and the new love of your life have “your song”...that one song that when it came on the radio made you stop and dreamily think about him or her? Sort of a theme song for your romance? I know I was always a sucker for “our theme song”, whatever it was with whoever it was. Funny, but now, I can only remember one “our song” for one high school honey.

By now you’re probably wondering if I’ve forgotten my meds and what does my crisis of faith about writing have to do with songs? Rest assured (Shayla) that I’ve taken my meds and my mind is a “sharp” as ever. But lately I’ve been asking myself if it’s all worth it... the writing, the rejection, the stumbling as you try to put the movie running in your head into coherent and clever words on a page. The continued (seemingly) daily bombardment of bad news from the publishing industry--editors laid-off, divisions closed, fewer books published, another e-publisher out of business. Is it worth it?

As I sit here and beat myself up with self-doubts and paralyzing negativism, the same song runs through my head as though on loop. How Bad Do You Want It*.

What does it take
To reach out and touch your dreams?
Are you hungry?
Are you thirsty?
Is it a fire that burns you up inside?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Are you eating, sleeping, dreaming
With that one thing on your mind?
How bad do you want it?
How bad do you need it?
Cause if you want it all
You've got to lay it all out on the line

So, how bad do I want it? Need it? I can’t answer that today. But maybe you can. Tell me about you? How bad do you want it? Need it? What are you willing to do to get it? And if you’ve “made it”, was it worth it?

*How Bad Do You Want It from Tim McGraw’s album Live Like You Were Dying. Incredible album.

Help me welcome Kayla Perrin, long time friend. So, Kayla I finally got you here. I had to drag her all the way from Canada.

Kayla is smiling at you, just so you know.

So, Kayla, what was your first published book and to whom did you sell it?

The first book I published was called AGAIN, MY LOVE and it was published by Genesis Press in 1998. That book was just re-released in 2008, so it’s been given a second life!

How many books did you write before selling one?

Well, this is an interesting question. I’ve been writing fairly consistently since I could hold a pencil, and sent my first book to a publisher when I was thirteen. It was a children’s book—not a romance. Then there were the numerous partly started but not finished books. These I all wrote as a teenager. So other than my illustrated children’s fiction, I had written one complete romance novel before I sold my first novel. And that complete romance novel was not the one I submitted (thank God!). Though I’d had children’s fiction rejected, I sold the first romance novel I submitted—which was AGAIN, MY LOVE.

I always thought you were an over-night success. How many books have you published?

I now have 33 books published—this includes 7 novellas—I think!

What themes go through your books?

One of the themes I’ve explored often is “keeping secrets”. How secrets never truly remain secret, and have a way of coming back to throw my characters’ lives into turmoil. I also enjoy writing about the jilted woman who comes into her own and gets a second (or third, or fourth) chance at love. This is such a reality today. Sometimes, we have to kiss many frogs before finding that Mr. Right.

How would you best describe your books?

Hmmm…. I’d say they are romantic and suspenseful. I love incorporating suspense into my work. Or, they are romantic and funny. And some are erotic. I’m a Gemini—something you know all about!—and it’s hard to get me to stick to just one thing. So, I can’t write in just one genre. I like to jump around. That’s why I can’t describe my books as just one thing. I will say, though, that people always tell me I write a fast and compelling read—no matter the genre. That makes me proud, because I love books that you get so absorbed in, you can’t stop reading until they’re finished.

How did you write with kids and deadlines? (Kayla has a beautiful and precocious daughter who is all girl!)

I can’t reveal all my secrets… Ha ha. Well, to tell the truth, I don’t know how. Sometimes, it’s excruciatingly hard. But I have to. I have deadlines, and that means no choice. I get less sleep these days than I’d like—that’s not good, but something’s gotta give.

Which other jobs have you had?

Being true to my Gemini nature, I’ve had several jobs. I’ve been an actress, a waitress, a film editor, a teacher, a customer service rep, a jail guard at a local police station (I kept watch over the prisoners while all the officers were out on the road). Oh, and how can I forget being a film extra? Those days were . . . well, let’s just say “fun.” Not always—but they were always interesting, and being an extra was a great way to make cash while working on my writing.

What do you love most about writing and do you not like?

First and foremost, I believe I was put on the planet to write. It’s what I’ve enjoyed doing since a very young age. So I love the fact that I actually get to do this for a living. It’s a dream come true. I also love the freedom of writing. I literally can write anywhere in the world. I love being able to travel when I want, and not having to ask for time off from work. What I don’t like—sometimes, having all the time in the world to write becomes a curse. Because you literally believe you have all the time in the world . . . so time passes you by, and then you realize that you’re so close to a deadline and you’re up the proverbial creek without a paddle. It doesn’t help if you’re a procrastinator! But, I’ve always done my best work under pressure. Writing is best for me that way. While writing a book is a hell of a lot longer than a college paper, I still get that burst of adrenaline with a deadline approaching. I wish I could change my pattern, but I’m pretty much stuck in it. A few weeks ago, when I was in deadline hell, I reminded myself that I have the best job in the world, that my worst day is better than any other day at another job—and that really made me smile. Because it’s true. And I was able to go back to the computer with a renewed sense of purpose.

What are you writing now?

Right now, I’m working on a suspense novel for St. Martin’s Press called SPRING BREAK. It’s the story about a group of college kids who head to a Caribbean island for Spring Break, and a girl goes missing. Sound a little familiar? Yes, I took the basic premise from the Natalee Holloway story—and many others where tourists have gone missing—but of course my story has its own twists and nothing is as it seems.

What would you write if you could do write anything you wanted to write?

Well, that’s easy! I’d write the next Da Vinci Code, or the next Harry Potter. Then I could retire on a Caribbean island. Heck—I could buy the island!

Seriously, though—I’m pretty much writing what I want to write. Suspense, romance, mom lit, mainstream fiction, erotica. I wouldn’t mind doing a paranormal about a psychic—but I won’t be doing any stories about vampires or werewolves.

Then again—never say never.

Why do you write?

I write because since I was a young child, there were always stories in my head. I love creating. I didn’t know until I was twelve that people got paid to write books—but when I learned that, I realized that being a published author was my destiny. At least, I hoped I could make it my destiny. Being a published, full-time author truly is a dream come true for me.

How do you write?

Ha ha ha. Is that a trick question? What have you heard? Oh, boy—now this is a tough question. I am such a panster, that there is no true method. I sit down and write, hoping my stories will come to me. It’s the only way I know how.

I do start with an idea. From there, I try to map out my story as I go. Just thinking of writing detailed plots has me breaking out in a cold sweat.

Do you write what you know?

Of course. All the hot sex in my books—I’ve tried it all! Just kidding! Truthfully, I do write what I know—at least some of what I know. Have I been jilted? Yes. Do I know football? My brother and two cousins played professionally. So, writing about the football hero is a natural fit for me. Am I a single mother? Yes. So writing my SINGLE MAMA series has been another area I know, even if I’m nothing like my heroine, who still has a lot of growing up to do.

What’s next for you?

In the fall, my erotic thriller was released by SPICE. OBSESSION is continuing to get great reader responses! My latest release is SINGLE MAMA’S GOT MORE DRAMA, a January release from Mira Books. It’s the sequel to SINGLE MAMA DRAMA, which came out in 2008. Readers need to read the books in order, as book 1 ended with a cliffhanger. The third book in this series is called SINGLE MAMA’S STILL GOT DRAMA. Stay tuned for a release date!

In the meantime, readers can check out the video trailers for both books on Youtube.

SINGLE MAMA DRAMA:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mS88pLJe20

My website is www.kaylaperrin.com.

I was supposed to post a blog on Friday. Can you believe I completely forgot?

It was noted in my calendar and in the Pink Fuzzy Slippers calendar, but I was so engrossed in editing my last book and trying to meet my editor’s deadline, I didn’t check any calendars or to-do lists. I just remained glued to my chair and focused only on my edits.

I have always heard that writers’ distraction was a legendary thing. My father was a published writer. We often teased him about his forgetfulness. I never thought I would be walking in his shoes one day.

How many writers go through the same?

Can you take this test?

1- Have you ever forgotten to go to a party you were invited to?

2- Have you ever worn two different- colored shoes?

3-Have you ever locked yourself out of your house? Your car?

4-Have you ever drove out of your garage and ten minutes later wondered if you've closed the garage door?

5-Have you ever left on a trip, and half an hour later turned around to check if you really unplugged your iron, or curling iron, or turned off the oven?

6- Do you always return your missed phone messages?

7-How often do you forget to call your mother, your friends, ...?

8- Do you respond to your emails as soon as received?

9-Have you lost a ring or other piece of jewelry for months and then discovered you have just hidden it in a safe place and completely forgotten about it?

10-How long do you look for papers you know you filed?

11-And the worst of them all for us writers, did you ever have a computer crash and bit your fingers because you forgot to back up your files?

I plead guilty to all of the above, except for #2, that was my Dad's.

Have fun and take the test. To how many did you answer yes?

At last wed to the woman he has desired for so long, Riven kan Ingan discovers that old hatreds and long ago grudges aren't absolved by wedding vows. In an attempt to protect his young wife from his enemies, he accepts a title from the Margrave, taking her away to lead the dull existence of a country noble's lady. Married life may have made Riven a love-struck fool, but he refuses to be a cuckold when he returns from battle to discover his beloved Barbara pregnant with a child he couldn't have sired. In fury at her supposed unfaithfulness, he risks the wrath of the gods and sends her to her death, only to find himself driven from his domain by a deadly curse. Haunted by Barbara's memory, Riven begins a quest to find the one who accursed him. In the years that follow, his journey will take him to the land of his birth, where he'll discover long-hidden family secrets and find himself dependent upon a barbarian woman's gentle mercy to help him rid himself of the remnants of the Blood Curse.





Blood Curse is available as an ebook and in print from Double Dragon Publications, www/double-dragon-ebooks.com/. It is the second book in the series The Chronicles of Riven the Heretic. Book One--Bloodseek--is also available.

Today, I am sharing the beginning of T is for Temptation with everyone. This is book one in my Witchy Women series set in the Caribbean. Each book features a different island, and T begins in Trinidad at the 'Down the Islands' vacation home, which belongs to my family, Eight Bells. I spent many a summer month at this beloved house, swiminng with the dolphins, surfboarding, sneaking a couple of the parents' ciggies. I'm currently running a contest for a 4 day stay at Eight Bells for a lucky couple. Drop by my web site and enter...you never know..

www.jiannecarlo.com

Here's the excerpt:

T is for Temptation

Tallulah Trent. Tee.
Island siren.
Tortuous temptation.
Recent widow of his bat-slime, criminal partner Tony Trent.
How the hell did he break the news to her?
Even as the sight of Tee deep-sixed his senses, Jake Mathews noted the three parked police cars blocking the cul-de-sac, their blue lights flashing, and the knot of angry uniformed men cordoning Trent and Mathews’ Trinidadian office. A sweeping survey yielded a television camera unit and a reporter wearing an earpiece.
He groaned.
Every muscle bunched, and dormant nerves sizzled, sending a shooting lance to the base of his skull.
Why were the police here?
He had two goals on this spur of the moment trip from his corporate headquarters; close down the local office, and seduce Tee. Already in trouble with the IRS in Florida, he didn’t need any added pressure in Trinidad, and a huddle of six uniformed cops could only mean one thing, trouble.
Imminent scandal loomed, not to mention financial catastrophe, if the pending charges against his firm had become public knowledge. Between Tee’s father’s political aspirations and the conservative, stodgy petroleum industry his business relied upon, media exposure had to be avoided at all costs.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Jake elbowed the policeman who gesticulated at Tallulah out of the way. He planted his solid form in front of her.
“And who be you?”
The man’s pugnacious, hostile tone took Jake aback, especially when his thick lips bared large rabbit teeth with their gold caps glinting a blinding reflection of the tropical sun.
If anything, Jake’s protective stance ratcheted the cop’s animosity, and the officer’s wrestler-built form angled forward, the veins in his corded neck bulging. He shook a tight, meaty fist at Tee.
“Don’t you go anywhere, Mrs. Trent.” Contemptuous malice laced the detective’s low rumble.
That did it.
Jake’s mouth curled into an automatic belligerent sneer, a reflexive action honed from an adolescence mired in defending the younger boys in his care. At thirty-four, his daily workout alternated between weightlifting, boxing, and martial arts. His obvious fighting expertise, plus the fact he topped the cop by a good six inches, made the man scowl and lean back.
He shifted right so his body blocked Tee from the line of uniformed men that materialized behind the figure he confronted.
“I’m Jake Mathews,” he said, keeping his voice even, but telegraphing promised damage should any one of the policemen decide to become aggressive.
Jake waved a hand at the house to their right, once a family residence, but now converted to a business office because of the Trinidadian oil boom and the lack of space in its capital, Port of Spain.
“This building belongs to my company. Mrs. Trent’s husband was my partner. He died four months ago. What’s the problem?”
“Oh yeah? You were Trent’s partner?” The policeman’s drawled question held derision and a gruesome anticipatory delight. He slapped his hands on ample hips. “You’re American. You can’t own property here.”
The tropical early morning sun warmed Jake’s back, and he cursed the business formality, remnants of British colonial rule, which insisted on a jacket and tie in a country ten degrees above the equator. He twisted around and shot Tee a glance, anxious to protect and shield her from the obnoxious authority figures.
As usual, the sight of Tallulah Trent heated his blood and prickled awareness across every inch of flesh, setting his randy organ into action. He swallowed and drank her in.
Seven years younger, Tee radiated a contradictory, intriguing combination of aristocratic confidence and ingénue, comfortable in diplomatic circles and with royalty, yet retaining a little-girl-lost kind of innocence. She wore a creamy halter dress in a gauzy material.
A warm wind circled the cul-de-sac, and the fabric caressed her athletic body, shaping her slim curves, and her nipples stiffened, straining delicious points against the thin textile. Long, tawny ringlets teased at her bare gold-dusted shoulders framing arms muscled from her Equestrian training. Tee’s mere presence always drew his organ to half-mast, and now his blasted wayward member saluted to military attention, aching with want, need.
His dazed mind didn’t allow the peculiar circumstances to sink in until his gaze reluctantly left Tee and swung back to the immediate problem. He noticed the revolvers strapped to the sides of the gray-clothed men crowding her from behind.
They moved forward in unison, wide-legged stances inches away from contact with Tee’s rear end. The contentious posturing drove Jake’s every chivalrous instinct to the forefront. Fury sent him into a long-legged step when one of the men grabbed Tee by the elbow and yelled an obscenity, the man’s snarling features inches away from her profiled nose.
He snagged the man’s hand, clamping a fist around flabby flesh, and squeezed. “Touch her again, and you’re a dead man. Step back.”
“You can’t do that, Yankee. This is our country.”
Even though the man shouted the words, he retreated, wrenching his forearm out of Jake’s purposeful, painful grip. He rubbed the injured area and glared, careful to maintain a wide berth.
The Trinidadian police force had a notorious reputation for avid participation in both drug running activities and local kidnappings for ransom. Once in their custody, it could be difficult to effect release.
“And you’re supposed to uphold the law, not abuse innocent women.” Jake’s growled, menacing tone gave the officers pause. He read it in their wary repositioning several steps away from Tee. Satisfied he held any threat at bay, he snatched her hand and swung around, careful to shield her with his bulk. “I didn’t say I owned the building. My business leases it.”
He faced the original offender, raking a quick assessment. The man suffered from a Napoleon complex; that much seemed clear. Short, stocky, and pig-snout ugly, his complexion darkened to an odd purple hue.
“Mrs. Trent is Mr. Henry Inglefield’s only child. I’d tread warily if I were you.”
“Yeah? We found cocaine on the premises, and that means I can take her into custody if I feel like it.” The man, an inspector by the insignias decorating his drab uniform, jabbed a finger at his own chest.
“Try it,” Jake said. “I’ll have the American ambassador here before you can blink.” He added, “And I have direct access to the prime minister.”
A blatant lie, but a knockout punch nonetheless as none of them could question his statement. Since the Trinidadian prime minister was the equivalent of the leader of the United States, and Tee’s father rumored to be the next president of the small republic, the men backed down, defeated by Jake’s combination of innuendo and vehemence.
“Jake,” Tee pleaded, and she tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s all right. I called Dad’s lawyer. He told me to leave right away and go about my normal activities.”
He glanced at her, and the concern in her light brown eyes held him entranced for a brief moment. “I’ll handle this, Tee.”
She tiptoed, cupped a hand over his ear, and whispered, “Please, don’t antagonize the policemen. They terrorized the staff, and I only just got them to promise not to take anyone into custody.”
Her warm breath streamed over his earlobe, and he had to tamp down the automatic tightening in his nether regions. They sallied back and forth, her whispering, him growling, until he surrendered to Tee’s entreaties and led her out of range of the still-quarreling police squad.
“What’s going on? What’s this about cocaine?”
Tee’s eyelids squeezed shut, and the strong line of her jaw moved. She sighed, and the rise and fall of those firm breasts mesmerized him for spellbound seconds.
“I’m sorry, Jake.”
To his surprise, she covered his hand with both of hers and met his gaze, but he couldn’t read her expression.
“I’m sorry partnering with him has done nothing but cause you problems.”
The bitter emphasis on the word him only served to reinforce Jake’s growing conviction Tee knew of Tony’s infidelities and she held no grief over his death.
On the plane ride to Florida after his visit last week, the fact she never referred to Tony by his name or with anything but revulsion had hit Jake like a hurricane. That plus their first kiss, his first taste of her sweetness, had convinced him he stood a chance, could persuade her into an affair. Hope had transformed his hunger into pulsating, fervid desire, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to return and test the waters.
Her waters and her deep, hot glove.
The thought of being inside Tee consumed him, compelled every action.
His breath hitched, and he thought of his mad scramble to cancel days of business meetings simply to have more time with her, two more days. It’d been four eternal months since Tony’s death; surely he’d waited long enough.
“And now they’ve confiscated his SUV, and Tricia’s going to be angry with me.”
Always bemused and beguiled in her presence, her words only added to his confusion. “What? Why on earth did they do that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a policeman treat me so, so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she crinkled her nose. “With so little respect.”
Unsaid words filled in the rest of her meaning. As the daughter of the possible president of Trinidad and Tobago, the authorities treated Tallulah Trent with kid gloves.
“I called Dad, but he’s up to his ears in meetings, and I couldn’t speak with him. It’s Bastille Day, and Henry and Tricia are having a dinner party for the French ambassador and twenty of their intimate friends. You know how my parents are.”
Tee rolled her cat-gold eyes.
“Tricia sent me down the islands to fetch her hibiscus crystals for the occasion. On the way there, I got a phone call about the robbery, and now they’ve taken the jeep, and I’m stuck.”
“Okay, Tee. Slow down a bit.”
He realized jangling nerves had her babbling.
“The office was burglarized?”
“Yes. That’s why the police are here. When the staff came in this morning, they found the offices torn apart. They called me and then the police and tried to figure out what was taken. The computers were stolen, of course, as were all the printers and the fax machine.”
Three puzzled lines drew her tawny brows together.
“The police chucked the staff out and taped off the area. They won’t let anyone in, so how on earth are we supposed to know what’s missing?”
She threw her hands up in the air and rolled her eyes again.
“Why did they confiscate Tony’s car?”
As time ticked by, the sun rose higher in the sky, and the growing intensity of its rays prompted him to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie. The low murmur of cruising automobiles on the busy main street fronting the quiet cul-de-sac ebbed and flowed.
“The officer said it was because they found cocaine on the premises, which is preposterous. I mean, cocaine of all things. Tony was a—”
She bit her lower lip and studied the asphalt road with a fierce concentration, and her flesh pinkened.
Everywhere.
Tonight, he promised himself, tonight.
Soaring hope and a building sexual fever drove his thoughts. Tony was a what? Did she know how despicable her husband had been? The disgust in her tone didn’t portray a woman grieving. No, it pointed to a betrayed wife.
“Those cops are coming our way.” He cupped her elbow and urged her in the opposite direction. “I have my rental car with me. Let’s get out of here. I’d prefer to speak with my lawyers first if the cops are going to interrogate us. And I definitely don’t want them taking you into custody.”
She glanced around his shoulder at the line of uniformed men bearing their way.
“Dad’s lawyer did say I should leave immediately, and I have to get those damned crystal holders. You’re right. We should go.”
Within the space of a couple of minutes, Jake edged the car onto the roadway, but the snarling, perpetual Port of Spain traffic made their getaway more of a creeping escape. In the rearview mirror, he kept an eye on the cops, and the tension in his neck seeped away when they made no attempt at following them.
During the course of doing business in the Caribbean over the last few months, he’d heard endless horror tales of illegal detentions and powerless embassies. He had enough trouble with Tony’s embezzlement charges in Florida, the last thing he wanted to contend with– was drug charges in Trinidad. He added another possible crime to his dead partner’s slate, drug trafficking, and wondered anew at his own gullibility.
“Jake?”
He swept a glance at her, and the sweet entreaty in those liquid pools of honey arrested his mind and put another impudent organ in charge. Steady, settle down, he urged his prick.
“Tee?” he replied, his brain searching for a secluded, intimate location they could be together, maybe have lunch.
“Would you mind taking me for the hibiscus crystal holders? The police said it would be two days at the earliest before they’d let anyone in the office, so you won’t be able to work anyway.”
Her telltale nervous habit of touching the tip of her delicate pink tongue to the left corner of her mouth distracted him, and memories of their kiss kept all logical thought hostage. He’d have agreed to anything at that moment.
“Sure.”
His delerious member thanked her with jerks and twitches, and Jake shifted in the car seat, adjusting.
“Which way are we headed?”
“To the yacht club. It’s at the western tip of the island. You know how to get to the Foreshore Highway. Just head in that direction, and we’ll end up there.”
Flicking on the left indicator to follow her directions, he said, “Now, explain to me what we’re retrieving and why.”
“It’s my mother. When Tricia entertains, everything has to be perfect. It’s her damned finishing school training.”
“I seem to remember her saying you followed in her footsteps?”
Jake grinned at her rueful expression, so entranced by the curve of her cheek and the long, tanned legs displayed by her short dress, that a wash of unrestrained sentimentality tempered by a powerful lust, threatened his normal discipline. He ordered his prick to behave, hang for an hour or two, and kept his eyes fixed on the road.
“Tricia would boast about that. Well, she went because she wanted to. I went because it was the only way she’d agree to let me go to equestrian college in Vermont.”
He loved the endearing way she crinkled her nose, and he relaxed, content to listen to the sound of Tee’s melodious voice, with that clipped little British edge, and enjoy her company.
“I don’t suppose you know this, and I’m certain it’ll bore you to Hades, but hibiscus flowers close at night. The only way to make them stay open is to pick them early in the morning while they’re in full bloom. Then you put them into a sealed bag in the fridge until after dusk. The crystal containers Tricia wants have a bulb at the tip for water. Just before her guests arrive, she’ll set the flowers into the chilled hibiscus holders and scatter them on her formal dining table. Most foreigners don’t know this technique, and it’s my mother’s best kept secret for impressive entertaining. She likes to hear her audience ooh and aah.”
Their worlds stood more than hemispheres, even polar poles, apart, and her resigned explanation emphasized the yawning gap between them. Jake, the product of an upstate New York orphanage run by retired Catholic priests, and Tee, the daughter of aristocratic British parents whose lineage traced to William the Conqueror.
“I see,” he said, unimpressed. “I’ve heard some of the men at the Union Club talk about down the islands. What does the term mean? Trinidad is, after all, an island. Does it refer to the sister isle, Tobago?”
They passed the impressive national sports stadium; it put any regular US sports arena to shame. Trinidad, referred to as the Hong Kong of the Caribbean, invested its surplus oil revenues in structures designed to impress the rest of the world, and its national team had made it to the World Cup soccer finals, a feat both envied and celebrated by the rest of the islands making up the archipelago.
The inside of the vehicle cooled, and Jake stabbed a button to set the current temperature. Inside a cool seventy degrees, the outside digital readout glowed ninety-two.
“Not at all. Trinidad was once part of South America, actually part of Venezuela. Most experts think a plate shift caused it to break off from the continent. When that happened several small islands formed between the two countries, and that’s what we call Down the Islands,” she said, her fingers forming quotation marks around the phrase. “Um, some families have homes on the islands. Vacation homes.”
A rosy hue warmed her skin, and she averted her eyes. Jake interpreted her silence to mean members of the old-moneyed upper class of Trinidad and Tobago owned these vacation homes. No plebes in this neighborhood.
“It’s actually wonderful. I spent most of my childhood either on a boat or a horse. Being down the islands is like having your own tropical paradise. Dad and I used to go down every Saturday and fish, either trolling for deepwater big catch or banking for smaller snapper. Fishing is so relaxing.”
Total shock had his foot tapping on the brake, and the car jerked in response. The last activity he ever imagined Tee enjoying and participating in was fishing. It didn’t go with his image of her, a vulnerable feminine puzzle, always dressed to perfection, managing to captivate and charm in a delicate way.
“You fish?”
“Yep,” she said, and genuine pleasure at his shock glistened from those wonderful eyes with their golden shimmer.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and he strained to contain the delight the sheer sight of her impishness wrought.
“I much prefer deep water, though. I like a good fight.”
He couldn’t prevent the words. “I know you’re an expert equestrian, but fishing?”
“I can clean, gut, and scale a fish faster than anyone I know.”
His eyes flew to her, and the picture her words painted surprised a chortle out of him.
“Shocked you there, didn’t I?”
A little devil lit her face, and she scrunched her nose.

We have a winner from last Friday's chat with Myla Jackson and Shayla Kersten.

Congratulations to Margaret Golla!

I'll be in contact with Margaret.

Thank you to all who visited that day.

Cynthia D'Alba

I woke up at 5:07 a.m. and panicked. My alarm hadn’t gone off. I didn’t hear the water running, so my daughter wasn’t in the shower. I flung open her door, told her to take a quick shower because it was 5:07. She said, “Okay.” morning person that she is. Then said, “It’s only 5:07. Don’t I usually get up at 5:45?

I didn’t do my workout yesterday since I was home alone. I told myself I might have a heart attack and nobody would be there to miss me. This morning I modified my treadmill workout to a fast walk at a medium incline while I read Ladies Home Journal.

I then watched the Dalai Lama explain meditation. Except my mind kept wandering because it was too hard to follow his rambling English. I think he was trying to say that analytical meditation was better than the other kind. I figured he meant concentrating on your angst and that didn’t appeal to me. I stuck with him for twenty minutes, then decided I had better things to fill my time with, like getting the laundry going again. I would prefer to read a translation of his teachings rather than suffer through his poor English. All due respect, kind sir that he is.

This DVD isn't for a beginning Yoga student. I got light headed when the blood pooled under me in my legs and had to come out of a position early. I'll be shuffling this one to the end of my workout DVDs.

Visit Sherry's Website

Hi, There! I'm here and thrilled to be part of a team of talented writers who are going places. Thanks!

EDITED by ArkansasCyndi
Since I haven't had time to add Ms. Judy to out roaster of bloggers, I wanted everyone to see what a lovely woman this is!

Do you enjoy a sexy read? Do you need to set the mood for a hot Valentine's Day? Any book by Jenna Petersen or Jess Michaels would be perfect! See my interview with Jenna below.

Jenna Petersen has taken time from her busy schedule to share with us.

Jenna, the ladies promise not to tell, do you sleep in....? Just kidding. We'll get into that later.

What was your first published book and to whom?
My first published work was the novella “Ancient Pleasures”, which was published in SECRETS, Volume 11 by Red Sage Publishing in December 2004. It was published under my Jess Michaels name and was an Egypt-set Victorian historical.

My first book was SCANDALOUS and was published by Avon in October 2005.

How many books did you write before selling one?
SCANDALOUS was my tenth book. However, I had written five or six more books AFTER I wrote SCANDALOUS but before I sold it. So… like 15ish? A lot. Bigger than a breadbasket.

How many books have you published?
As of today, eleven, but with twelve, thirteen and fourteen scheduled for publication in 2009 and fifteen contracted and in the process of being written (probably a 2010 publication date).

You have been one busy lady!

Jenna, what themes go through your books?
I think my most pervasive theme is probably the healing power of love. I write a lot of dark, rather brooding and damaged characters, mostly heroes. But in the end, they grow and are healed by loving and being loved by the heroine. I think that’s a theme that most people can relate to.

How would you best describe your books?
Dark, highly sensual and emotional.

How did you write with deadlines?
Since I set my own deadlines, it’s not been a problem. There are definitely times when I’ve wanted to tear my hair out, but one of the best things I ever did for myself before I published was learning exactly how much I could write and putting deadlines on myself that I stringently kept. That taught me how to write to deadline and it wasn’t much of an adjustment when “the call” came.

Many writers have other jobs while they build their writing careers. Which other jobs have you had?
Actually my mother and I were talking about this the other day. This is it. In college I had some retail gigs, a little mystery shopping, the usual… but writing is the only post-school, full-time job I’ve ever done. When my husband and I talked about it and I decided to pursue my dream, we decided that if I was to work a full-time gig and then at some point wanted to write full-time, we knew we would miss the money I was making. So instead, he said to go for the writing and we’d just make it work on one income until I succeeded. So yay for supportive spouses. There’s no way I’d be where I am now without him.

What do you love most about writing and do you not like?
I love the actual writing. It’s an amazing release and safe place for me. The things I don’t like are almost all publishing related. They are out of my control, infinitely frustrating and often depressing. LOL I love being published and having my work out to the world where readers can find it, don’t get me wrong. But parts of the process of it can be upsetting.

What are you writing now?
I’m currently working on a full-length erotic romance that is untitled. It features characters from my “Albright Sisters” series that started with EVERYTHING FORBIDDEN and SOMETHING RECKLESS. I’m guessing it will be out some time in the first quarter of 2010 (though that’s just a guess).

What would you write if you could do write anything you wanted to write?
What I’m writing now. Honestly, I love writing Regency-era historical romance that is very sexy and emotional. I don’t get many ideas outside of that genre and nothing that I’ve ever been driven enough to seriously pursue.

Why do you write?
Because I’ve tried to stop and I can’t. Honestly, I love writing and I feel “off” when I’m not doing it.

How do you write?
I’m a plotter, so first I create detailed character sheets (you can find an example at my site for writers, The Passionate Pen http://www.passionatepen.com). Then I write a detailed synopsis which I turn into my editor for approval. Once that is done, I’ll start doing what I call “scene sketches”, which is really a pre-writing process where I lay out the bare bones of every scene in the book. Often that will include dialogue that pops into my head and exactly what must happen in that scene to drive the book forward. I generally do about half a book’s worth of scene sketches before I get so excited that I have to start writing.Then I sit down and usually spill out a first draft in 6-8 weeks, let it sit a few weeks and then edit before I turn it in. That seems to be the process that is best for my creativity, sanity and work

Do you write what you know?
Emotionally, sure. I think everyone has felt pain or desperation or passion or love. I just put those deep feelings into a story. Now have I ever lived in Regency England? No. Posed as a courtesan? No. Been a boxer in the underground until my twin tragically died and I took his place as Viscount? Not really. So as far as “knowing” those things, no. But the feelings, I understand and know. And those feelings are what I think readers connect to more than the situation itself.

What’s next for you?
Well, I have four books out in 2009. In January, I had a story called “By Valentine’s Day” in the A RED HOT VALENTINE’S DAY anthology. That was under my Jess Michaels name. On March 31, my next Jenna Petersen book, HER NOTORIOUS VISCOUNT, will be on shelves. Then just a few weeks later in April 21, my next full-length Jess Michaels book, TABOO, will be out. Finally, in November 2009, I’ll start a new Jenna Petersen series called The Billingham Bastards with the release of WHAT THE DUKE DESIRES. So I’m very busy getting ready to see all those books hit shelves. I’m very excited and I hope readers will be too!
In addition, this entire year is very busy for me because my site for writers, The Passionate Pen, is turning 10 years old. I can’t believe a decade has gone by since I first put the site up, but somehow it has. Every month we’re celebrating with terrific industry guests, top ten lists and HUGE contests for writers (and readers). January my winner got a first three chapter read from my literary agent Miriam Kriss.

This month the interview is with Harlequin editor Mary Theresa Hussey (who is amazing and fabulous) and the contest winner will receive ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) for life of my Jenna Petersen books. So there is something for everyone. And the site has all kinds of resources for writers beyond the anniversary, including a publisher list, agent list, articles for writers and my diary toward and beyond publication. I hope everyone will come by and check it out at http://www.passionatepen.com

And to find out more about my upcoming and backlist books, you can go to http://www.jennapetersen.com . I’m also on Facebook and MySpace (http://www.myspace.com/jennawrites) where I answer questions from readers and writers on a weekly basis.

Thank you so much for having me here at the Fuzzies! It’s been great fun!!

This is what I used to watch my grandfather do. I will admit to cheating with dried parsley or ready chopped garlic. He would tell me I was lazy, but what the hey. Any questions, ask and I will help.

Sauce

Two cans of Italian imported plumb tomatoes with puree, the better the tomatoes the better the sauce.
One small-can of tomato paste
One medium small onion chopped finely
Fresh parsley, (or dried, I'm sorry grandpa)1/2 cup or so
Garlic, garlic, you know garlic.
Two or so tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
A cup of good Cianti, (drink some if you like, the old Italian relatives did)
A little sugar to taste, (some people like a sweet sauce, some don't like to add it at all. It's up to you, but it cuts down the acid of the tomatoes).

Empty cans of plumb tomatoes into a large pot. With your hands squeeze tomatoes until they are broken up in small pieces, nice to squish feels (gucky).
In a small frying pan cook chopped the second onion in the olive oil until soft, (not browned, but almost),€ and sweet.
When finished,, take the can of paste and put in with onions. Lightly fry it. You will know it's ready when the paste takes on a slightly different golder color. (I know, but you will see what I mean). Add two and a half cans of water using the empty plumb tomato cans. Add paste and onions to the plumb tomatoes and stir well. Add Cianti, add more later if you want. You will taste and taste after adding S & P, so if you'd like to add more, go for it. Turn on low to make a slow simmer.

Meats to add:

Meatballs

One and a half lbs. ground chuck
Two large or three small, mild or hot Italian sausages, depending on the size and your taste for hot or not. Open casings and put the sausage meat in with the hamburger. My grandfather added ground veal, but I don't. Veal is mild and veal is expensive.
One cup of Italian flavored bread crumbs
One large egg
One finely chopped onion, (small-medium)
Fresh or dried parsley 1/2 cup
Cheese, Mmmmm good Romano only! I use almost a cup of grated fresh Pecorino Romano

Mix with your hands well and shape into meat balls, big ones if you're lazy.
Fry meatballs in a small amount of olive oil till brown all around. Then eat one, yummy. Add to the rest to the sauce.

Lightly brown a piece or two of cheap pork and add it.
I make Braciole, and add it sometimes after browning. But that's another recipe for another post.
Got any leftover beef, throw it in. One of my sisters adds leftover chicken. I don't usually, but hey, whatever turns you on.
Brown another few sausages (leave in casing), and add to sauce too.

Simmer and stir, simmer and stir. It will take awhile, hours, but the pork will get soft and pull apart and then you will know you are there.

Taste, and add salt and pepper till you're happy, put on whatever kind of spaghetti you like. I like Fusilli or Rotini, the sauce gets all into the crevasses. Top with fresh grated Romano and eat.
Mangia!

To begin with, those keen observers who say 'that's not a groundhog, that's a puppy,' you are absolutely correct. The pesky little woodchuck scurried away before I could snap his pic. Besides, this is my chance to show off my new grandpuppy, Grady, far cuter than a groundhog, though equally as chewy.

As for the big day, each winter the quaint town of Punxsutawney, PA is host to thousands of visitors. For those of you who missed the two hour wait in line for the 3:00—6:00 AM shuttle to Gobblers Knob, let me fill you in. Yep, that furry little marmot, Punxsutawney Phil, saw his shadow—again. And being easily alarmed, likely due to those overdressed guys snatching him from his snug home and jabbering to him in ‘groundhogease,’ he has scurried back inside. This may come as no surprise to the folk who can't even find their cars in all this snow and mutter, 'we wish,' when told there are six more weeks of winter and have visions of the white stuff lasting into June.

But I digress. So, what does the famous Phil have to do with weather prediction? Groundhog Day is a direct descendent of Candlemas, an early Christian Holy day to bless and distribute candles, especially popular during those long dark winters. Somehow along the way, these cynical celebrants decided that clear skies on Candlemas meant a longer winter. Which I never understood, as I’d think one would be more inclined to hopefulness than if standing in a blizzard. But, oh well. By the time this tradition reached Germany, the groundhog and his shadow had entered the story. When the Germans came to Pennsylvania, they brought their traditions with them. Ever seeking an excuse for a party, these jolly folk came up with what we now celebrate as Groundhog Day.

That still leaves us with how Phil comes into it. According to the official website of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, "in 1887, a spirited group of groundhog hunters from Punxsutawney dubbed themselves "The Punxsutawney Groundhog Club." One member of the club was an editor of Punxsutawney's newspaper. Using his editorial clout, he proclaimed Punxsutawney Phil, the local groundhog, to be the one and only official weather prognosticating groundhog. He issued this proclamation on, appropriately enough, Groundhog Day. Punxsutawney Phil's fame began to spread, and newspapers from around the globe began to report Punxsutawney Phil's Groundhog Day predictions. Today, 20,000 fans come to Punxsutawney on Groundhog Day to experience this unique—and fun—tradition. For more information about the evolution of Groundhog Day and the story of Punxsutawney Phil, visit Punxsutawney's official Groundhog site "

For a special treat I recommend watching Groundhog Day with Bill Murray. I loved that movie.
"Rise and shine woodchuck chuckers, it's Groundhog Day! And don't forget to put your booties on cause it's cooooold outside."

By Beth Trissel

Invited to a Super Bowl party but don't like football? You can still enjoy yourself. Here's ten ways:

10. Get lost on the way and blame it on your navigation system.

9. Help the host/hostess: See how many chips you can stack into a bowl before they collapse.

8. Be a thoughtful guest: spend a few hours in the bathroom scrubbing the tile clean with your fingernail.

7. Root for the other team and see how long it takes for them to ask you to leave.

6. Bring your cell phone and type the great American novel, one text message at a time.

5. Bring running shoes and sneak off for a hike. If the party's any good, no one will notice.

4. Two words: root cellar.

3. Park yourself by the Super Bowl cake and see if anyone notices the frosting's licked off on one side.

2. Use this opportunity to help sea creatures by using your teeth to gnaw through the plastic rings holding the six-packs together.

1. All the good seats taken? Sneak into the kitchen and eat bean dip with a serving spoon. By halftime, you can gas your way to a good in time to watch the commercials.


Liz Jasper is the award-winning author of Underdead and Underdead In Denial. Visit her website at www.lizjasper.com for excerpts, reviews, the whole hoohaa. And have a great Sunday, however you spend it!!