So right now I'm in Deadline Hell. And it's a hell of my own making, I'll freely admit that. But it still doesn't negate my manic mindset or the guilt that overwhelms me when I'm eating--or sleeping--without writing in between. So I figured blogging and searching for something to blog about wouldn't mire me down in shame. And what better subject than....ta-dah-dah! Writing! And funny things about writing too!
I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. -- Douglas Adams
A blank piece of paper is God’s way of telling us how hard it is to be God. -- Sidney Sheldon
Being a writer is like having homework every night for the rest of your life. --Lawrence Kasdan
If you can't annoy somebody, there's little point in writing. -- Kingsley Amis
Let's face it, writing is hell. -- William Styron
The best time to plan a book is while you're doing the dishes. -- Agatha Christie
The first draft of anything is shit. -- Ernest Hemingway
Always avoid alliteration. -- Author Unknown
Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. -- Gene Fowler
Proofread carefully to see if you any words out. -- Author Unknown
When male authors write love stories, the heroine tends to end up dead.” -- Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing. -- Margaret Chittenden
Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up. -- Ernest Hemingway
I am a drinker with writing problems -- Brendan Behan
Okay! Back to writing! And I'm damn sure in a better mood!
Anyone who meets me for the first time will probably find out three things about me within the first ten minutes of conversation: my father is a pastor, I have a grand *cough! obsessive* passion for Vin Diesel and I abhor spiders. I'm very, very proud of my father and value his wisdom and guidance. That's not going to change. My love for Vin has endured for ten years...Hey, if I still adored him after Babylon, A.D., I'm gonna always be down for him! And my hatred and fear of spiders? Well, that's been around for the last three decades and still holding strong! Not. Gonna. Change.
So when I come across something that makes me not question one of these three tenets but presses my "The Hell You Say!" Button, I'm shocked. You know what "The Hell You Say!" Button is... The Maury Show is nominated for an Emmy. The hell you say! They're recalling NyQuil for too much alcohol. The hell you say! They're making a remake of Dirty Dancing. The hell--See? I threw you a curve ball on that one. That's the "No, the Hell They Didn't!" Button. Subtle difference but different all the same... But you get my point, right?
Well, this weekend, an author pushed my "The Hell You Say!" Button. While cruising the free books on Amazon (hubby has placed me on a "No Book" moratorium for a few days) I came across a book entitled A Hint of Frost by Hailey Edwards. I enjoy reading new authors and Ms. Edwards is new for me. And when I read the blurb it sounded really interesting! I'm like, cool. Probably about gods and ice (y'know, frost) and some awesome new mythology. So I downloaded it. Aaaand about five minutes into the book I realized, this ain't about gods...the characters are based on freakin' SPIDERS!!
Honestly, I did close the book. Shut off the Kindle. But then, a short while later, I had to open it again. The writing, the heroine's voice, the author's description of this world drew me into the story like...well like a spider would lure it's dinner into its web! Now I know what you're thinking! Get a grip! It's a book! It's not like they're are pictures! But see, that's where you would be wrong. Hailey Edwards' writing is so vivid and strong that she creates images with her words! The characters don't shift into spiders but their natures are like the arachnids they represent. I couldn't put it down! I even had my husband google the different clan names to see if Ms. Edwards had really based them on the abominations that haunt my dreams...and they are. He found it totally fascinating, by the way... The author accomplished what Tolkien and E.B. White were unable to: Make me read anything having to do with spiders! I bow down to you, Ms. Edwards! Because if anyone had told me as late as last week that I would read anything regarding those eight-leg freaks I would've said--all together now!--The Hell You Say!
When the head of the Araneidae clan is found poisoned in her nest, her eldest
daughter, Lourdes, becomes their clan’s new maven. If her clan is to survive,
she has but one choice: she must marry before her nest is seized. All she needs
is a warrior fierce enough to protect her city and safeguard her clansmen. Such
a male is Rhys the Cold. Born the youngest son of an impoverished maven, the only things Rhys has to
his name are his sword and his mercenary reputation. His clan is starving, but
their fondness for the flesh of fellow Araneaeans makes them unwelcome dinner
guests. Torn between loyalty to his clan and fascination with his future bride,
Rhys’s first taste of Lourdes threatens to melt the cold encasing his heart.
Amid the chaos of battle, Lourdes’s sister disappears and is feared captured.
Lourdes and Rhys pursue their enemies into the southlands, where they discover
an odd plague ravaging southern clans as it travels north, to Erania. Determined
to survive, Lourdes will discover whether she’s worth her silk or if she’s spun
the thread by which her clan will hang.
In hindsight, this blurb takes on a whoooole different meaning...
Bring your "Hallelujah" fans, avaricious appetite for books and your sense of humor! Five of romance's steamiest writers are bringing the heat to a Barnes and Noble near you! Well, depending on where you live at, it may not be sooo near you, but...I digress! Kira Sinclair, Debra Glass, Carla Swafford, Kerry Freeman and me, Naima Simone, are going to be signing books, selling 'em and most likely telling inappropriate jokes on February 16, 2013 at the Patton Creek Barnes and Noble in Hoover, Alabama. Admit it! You want to come! Well give in to the desire...for books!
Find us at:
Barnes and Noble
Patton Creek Shopping Center (next to the Galleria)
171 Main Street
Hoover, AL 35244
Yes! *fist pump* Under His Wings, Book One of the Dark Judgment Series has a release date! January 23, 2013! I'm so excited and can't wait to share Nicolai and Tamar's story with you. Here's a sneak peak!
Blurb: Warrior, lover…savior. A winged avenger with
chocolate feathers and lavender eyes haunts Tamar Ridgeway’s dreams—her erotic
escape after surviving a horrible plane crash and enduring years of painful
physical therapy. But fantasy becomes terrifying reality when she’s attacked by
a mythical creature from her darkest nightmares. Now her sexy warrior is vowing
to save her, whether she wants his protection or not. Nicolai Abioud, judge and executioner of the
hippogryph, is stunned when the woman he rescues is the same who submits to him
nightly in his dreams…and a replica of his dead wife. He’s fascinated by her
beauty and spirit, consumed by the craving to touch…to take. Yet he lost his
one true bondmate five-hundred years ago. And falling for a human—no matter how
beautiful—is a foolish risk. But the choice to love may be snatched away.
Danger is closing in. They must conquer their enemy and fears. Or be doomed to
lose the love of a millennium. Excerpt
Dusk bullied its way
across the skyline, the rolling bank of gray and black clouds forcing daylight
to pick up its ball and go home.
Nicolai Abioud studied
the fast-moving mass as several stories beneath him the denizens of the dark
stirred and crept out of their hiding places, ready to go about their business
of the encroaching night. The rundown five-story building he crouched on top of
probably hosted all manner of illicit activities. Drug addicts and prostitutes
peered out of windows as jagged as their souls, scouting the dirty,
garbage-littered streets for patrolling cops or predators more vicious then
they.
He was such a predator.
Only he had bigger prey
to bag.
He scanned the obsidian
alleys, his raptor’s eyes sighting even the smallest scurry. Below, a scantily
clad woman led an old man down the passageway. As she maneuvered him behind the
large dumpster, she glanced toward the sky as if sensing the hunter who perched
above her.
Even if she could spot
Nico, her concern would’ve been misplaced. Her wariness was better reserved for
the other who stalked these streets.
“Nico.”
He didn’t glance over his
shoulder as the low, sandpaper-over-gravel voice echoed inside his head. The
heavy strokes of wings against air had reached his ears several moments ago.
“Yes?” he asked aloud.
The prostitute had finished her transaction and was headed toward the mouth of
the alley. Either she had a blue-ribbon-talented mouth or the man had a
two-second fuse. Nicolai was betting on the latter.
“There’s no sign of him,”
Lukas Gallo reported along the telepathic link they shared. “Maybe he’s
moved on.”
“No.” Nicolai met the
steady, ice-blue gaze of his second-in-command and one of the three males he
led. Tonight Lukas hunted with him. The other two warriors—Adon Laskaris and
Dorian Zarides—searched for traces of their prey on the east side of the city.
Together the three males formed the krinos, the select, highly trained fighting unit that served under the
Dimios, their people’s
executioner. Or Nicolai.
On the rooftop, Lukas’
obsidian plumage, wings and body seemed to swallow the shades around him, a
worm hole sucking the shadows into his huge bulk. Only his arctic gaze and the
distinctive three white stripes across his back relieved the midnight feathers,
equestrian hindquarters and tail.
"This is prime hunting
ground for him. He’s not finished,” Nicolai murmured.
A sigh whispered down
their connection. “We were almost too late to cover up his last kill. Even
Evander wouldn’t risk the exposure another would bring.”
“No?” Nicolai arched his
eyebrow. “He’s a rogue, Lukas. By the very definition, he doesn’t give a fuck
about rules. And he damn sure doesn’t care if he reveals us to the human world.
It’s a game to him,” he rasped, returning his gaze to the streets that grew more
active, teemed with more people…more quarry for the kill. “Us. Them. We’re all
pawns in this screwed up version of Clue
to which only he knows the rules.”
Lukas remained silent at
the words that sounded bitter to Nicolai’s own ears. Evander Agnew, the latest
of his people to go rogue. Over the last four months, he’d cut a bloody trail
through Europe and now here to North America. The kills had been spread out and
Nicolai, Lukas, Adon and Dorian had worked swiftly to cover them up. But
Evander didn’t show any signs of stopping. The humans had no idea a monster out
of their mythical lore—and their worst nightmares—had been unleashed on them.
And Nicolai had trained
the sadistic bastard.
As the Dimios, the race’s judge, jury and
executioner, it fell to Nicolai to hunt Evander and bring him down just as
Nicolai had done all other rogues who’d gone off the proverbial reservation.
Hunting his brethren,
executing them and preserving the secrecy of his people’s existence were
Nicolai’s responsibilities—had been for eight-hundred years. As long as the
hippogryph had been in existence, they had those who’d gone rogue for one
reason or another—resentment over the restrictions governing their exposure to
the world, exile or bloodlust.
Whether they were angry,
power hungry or deranged, he’d pursued them all. Yes, he experienced regret
over some of the punishments, but it had never been personal.
Until now.
Until Evander—an elite
warrior Nicolai had trained and a trusted soldier he’d commanded—betrayed him
by preying on the weak and defenseless.
Until four months ago
when Evander had started his rampage with the murder of Nicolai’s best friend.
Grief writhed in his gut
like snakes on a Gorgon’s head. Nicolai, Lukas, Adon, Dorian—they accepted
their deaths were possible every time they pursued a rogue and engaged in
battle. But Bastien hadn’t signed up for that. He’d been a healer, not a
warrior. Yet Evander had targeted Bastien because he’d been Nicolai’s friend.
Just to hurt Nicolai, Evander had stolen the life of a good man.
For that the betrayer
would die. If Nicolai had to track him for the rest of his existence, he would
destroy this rogue.
"Nico, let me take this
one,” Lukas urged. “You’re too personally involved—”
“Forget it,” Nicolai
snapped. A loud crack rent the air and he glanced down, startled his black
talons had stabbed the edge of the roof. Fine fissures zigzagged over the
railing and chunks of cement littered the ground. Lifting his head, he met
Lukas’ censorious gaze. Juveniles half-shifted as they learned to dominate
their beast. For an adult—especially a nine-hundred-year-old warrior—to do so
meant a loss of control. Dangerous for one whose duty required he discipline
not just himself but an entire race of people. “Forget it,” he repeated, voice
grim. He eyed his second-in-command until Lukas lowered his sleek black head, a
sign of the male’s submission. “We hunt here tonight. And we’ll keep on until
we find the demented bastard and take him out.”
The cold, grim words
echoed in the night air as Nicolai leaped onto the high narrow ledge, landing
in a crouch. He splayed his fingers on the rough concrete, maintaining his
balance as he reexamined the murky expanse of sky. The dense blanket of
pollution hid the twinkle of stars and obscured the moon’s pearlescent glow. A
shaft of longing for the clean, fresh air of his home pierced him. If he
breathed deep, he could almost taste the rain-scented breeze that blew over the
private peninsula off the Washington state coast. There the stars glittered
like bright diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth by a celestial hand.
As different from this
place as shit from shine.
“Lukas.” Nicolai squinted
at a sizeable, dingy cloud sailing at a slightly faster clip than the others.
Something about the odd shape…and when the moon’s beam struck it…
“That’s him,” he growled.
Not waiting for Lukas’ reply, he dove off the ledge, arms outstretched, head
thrown back. Magic sizzled from the soles of his feet, blazed a path up his
legs, thighs, to his gut and chest and shot to his shoulder blades and legs. It
consumed him. Bone snapped and popped, muscle and tendon contorted. His head
rounded and formed a large, high-arched beak and shaggy crest as feathers
sprouted along his arms and back. Two pairs of legs—the front pair talon-tipped
and the back hoofed—stretched and kicked as his wings beat hard one, twice, and
the hippogryph’s powerful, magnificent body climbed high into air. At the same
time he cast a gyges,the
magical net rendering him invisible to the human eye.
Beside him, Lukas’ black
half-eagle-half-stallion beast appeared and together they streaked through the
sky after their prey.
“Stay back,”
Nicolai ordered through the telepathic link. Lukas’ head snapped to the side,
his arctic blue eyes glittering with shock and growing anger. Before the other
hippogryph could voice an objection, Nicolai growled, “Don’t interfere.
That’s an order.”
I love the holidays. Love ‘em! And it’s not just the gifts, music and food…well, c’mon, they are a huge part of the equation but not all. I love the beauty of the decorations—all the lights make the world look like a beautiful, mystical fairy land. Then there’s the good cheer…except for the cashiers at Wal-Mart who give you the evil eye and Judas kiss when you come in shopping on Christmas Eve at 4 p.m. Not…that I…do it… Ahem. But for a little over a month, people are kinder, happier and more giving. It’s a time for family traditions, new and old. Sigh. I love it… So here are some other Christmas favorites! Do you recognize some?
Favorite Christmas meal to prepare: Stuffed pork chops. Of course since I am domestically-challenged, it also my favorite meal for Thanksgiving, Easter and Father’s Day…
Favorite Christmas song: It’s a toss-up between the Jackson 5’s “The Christmas Song” and Bing Crosby and David Bowie’s “The Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth”. Classics!! Never fails to have me singing and in the Christmas spirit!
Favorite Christmas memory: I remember on Christmas Eve my sister and I would pile our stuffed animals and dolls around us in bed while we waited for Santa Claus. But first we would bake cookies, watch “A Christmas Carol” and write our letters to Santa.
Favorite “A Christmas Carol”: This is a hard one! I love just about every version of “A Christmas Carol” there is—from black-and-white, to musicals to “A Diva’s Christmas” with Vanessa Williams! But my favorite is the 1951 adaptation with Alastair Sim. He was one of the best Scrooges! Cold, miserly and full of contempt. But when he changed…I believed his joy in Christmas! Plus this version followed the book more closely than others! It is the best!
Favorite Christmas decoration: Hands down my Christmas village! I’ve been collecting the pieces for seven or eight years and it’s huge now! I look at it and imagine living in a place like it one day… So those are my Christmas favorites!! What are yours? Share!
Yes! Friday, November 30th, Ellora’s Cave Publishing is releasing Stroke of Midnight, the first book in my Breathlessly Ever After series! It is a re-release and I’m so excited about the new cover, the publisher and the story! Check out the blurb, excerpt and trailer!
No-nonsense, less-than-warm Rowyn Jeong cannot compare to her bubbly stepsister Cindy. But hey, everyone has their niche, right? And hers is a keen eye for business and the bottom line. Being labeled the plainer, wicked stepsister never bothered her…until Darius Fiore reappeared. Six months ago, they indulged in a hot one-night stand and the sexy business tycoon did more than just get under her skin. He branded her body like no man before. But his return jeopardizes her position at her stepfather’s company, and he’s the man Cindy has within her sights—and hands.
Behind closed doors, Darius discovered more lay beneath Rowyn’s hard exterior than the ice queen persona she presents to her family. The sultry vixen left him in a tight spot—literally. Now he’s back and understands—her family’s disregard has her hungry for love and acceptance. But breaking down her defenses won’t be easy. Especially since his presence risks everything she’s worked so hard to achieve.
Excerpt
8:15 p.m.
Shit. She was late.
The Harrisons’ long-time housekeeper Margaret opened the front door at Rowyn’s knock. When the older woman smiled and stepped back for her to pass, it occurred to Rowyn the housekeeper might be the only person pleased to see her tonight. Her mother Pamela Wright Harrison would be pissed because she’d arrived late. Daniel Harrison, her mother’s second husband and Rowyn’s stepfather, would be irritated because of the interruption her arrival would cause. And her stepsister Cynthia—or Cindy as they all called her—would wear her usual pretty smile and add a vapid comment or two.
Fun, fun, fun.
Yeah. Like a stake in the eye.
“They are in the small living room,” Margaret said, taking Rowyn’s purse.
“Thanks, Maggie.” Rowyn inhaled and released the breath in a low gust of air. She stretched her lips into the brightest, phoniest smile she could manage. “Here’s my social smile,” she murmured through clenched teeth and a stiff mouth. “How does it look?”
Margaret chuckled and shook her head. “Lovely, Ms. Rowyn.”
The older woman turned and headed toward the hall closet, still laughing softly. Rowyn stared after her. The hair contained more gray strands now than black. The drill sergeant stride that had struck awe and fear in Rowyn’s heart as a child had slowed a bit. It dawned on her like the coming of a new day that if this proud woman were gone, Rowyn would lose the only person who had loved her unconditionally.
She’d entered this home at her mother’s side a scared and nervous eleven-year-old, trying so hard to mimic Pamela’s aloof expression. But Maggie had taken one look at her and detected the fear lurking beneath the adult mask. And through the years the housekeeper had loved Rowyn—even when she’d been unlovable.
Amusement mingled with the pang of sadness. And there were certainly times when she’d been damn unlovable.
As she turned toward the living room entrance, her humor drained away like the alcohol which doubtless flowed too easily down her mother’s throat. With her hand on the knob, Rowyn slabbed layer after layer of mental cement around her emotions and heart. A quick scan ensured no cracks existed and she twisted the knob, pushed open the door and entered.
And walked into Charlotte Bronte’s version of hell.
Daniel faced the entrance, speaking animatedly to the tall man across from him. Her mother—surprise, surprise, with a highball raised to her lips—and stepsister filled in the small circle. At the snick of the door closing behind Rowyn, all four turned to stare in her direction.
Oh. Damn.
The gasp remained trapped in her throat and the world screeched to a halt as if God had slammed his foot on the brakes of time. She sucked in a breath—a difficult task since all the air seemed to have been vacuumed out of the room. Perspiration prickled her palms and if she could have moved, she would have rubbed them against her skirt. It can’t be. She stared, her heart performing a dizzying tap dance against her rib cage. It’s not possible.
Yet meeting the bright blue eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past six months, Rowyn couldn’t deny what her gaze refused to accept.
Him.
She’d convinced herself he couldn’t possibly have been as beautiful in reality as he’d appeared in her dreams. After all, when a man gave a woman the most intense, just-this-side-of-death orgasms she’d ever experienced, she could be forgiven for imagining him larger than life. But no, as he stood mere feet away, staring at her with his impenetrable gaze, Rowyn realized her dreams hadn’t been exaggerations.
The same deep cobalt eyes that reminded her of the heart of the ocean. The same olive-tinted skin that reminded her of Italian villas perched on craggy cliffs and romantic beaches. The same beauty that, if he’d been born centuries earlier, would have had Michelangelo drooling to sculpt him for his “David.” His dark-brown, closely-cropped curls enhanced the image of a Greco-Roman work of art. And Jesus, the body…She shivered. Tall, elegant and hinting at the almost-primitive power that existed under the civilized black jacket, slacks and maroon shirt.
She’d been on the receiving end of that power, unleashed and wild.
The intense stare held her immobile and might as well have been a length of steel chains wrapped around her body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t avoid the hard questions in his penetrating gaze.
November is one of my favorite months! And not just for the obvious Thanksgiving holiday. Or the two federal holidays aka vacation days. Nope. Although those are very good reasons, the first Saturday in November is my local RWA chapter’s annual Readers Luncheon! I love this event! Every year I meet fabulous readers, visit with awesome authors I love and admire, get lotsa free goodies, win cool gifts and have a wonderful lunch. Not to mention I have the opportunity to listen to inspiring authors such as Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dianna Love, this year's keynote and introduction speakers.
Sherrilyn Kenyon and me!
For four hours we laugh, joke—sometimes cry, all depends on who’s speaking!—hug, cheer and celebrate. We celebrate each other’s careers, our milestones—I had my fifth sale this year!— and our successes. It’s a readers’ luncheon but aren’t we all readers? Like I had a total “fan girl” moment when I met Sherrilyn Kenyon. Yeah, I gushed. And so what? I’ve loved her books for years! I can’t count the number of blissful, excitement-and-escape filled hours she’s given me. Also, it’s a time when I came face-to-face with people I’ve joked and talked with over loops and Facebook.
Debra Glass and me!
And always seeing fellow Ellora’s Cave author, my good friend and critique partner Debra Glass is awesome! She is so gorgeous and, if I didn’t love her so much, I’d probably give her the stink-eye every time she passed by me! LOL! No, really. A more gracious and kinder lady a person would be hard pressed to find. And she’s just an example of the authors in attendance every year! So if you’re in the Birmingham, AL area next November, come join us! Southern Magic can promise you a good time!
