Am I the World's Best Blogger?

Um…no. Not even close. It’s the 4th Wednesday of the month. Today is my day. I have a month to think of something witty, pithy and charming to opine about, right? I wonder if I had a century if it would matter. Sometimes topics won’t come to me, and today is one of those days. I’m going to bet that no one cares about my review of the new Get Smart movie. (It was surprisingly good, in case you actually do care.) I’m also going to guess that no one wants to hear a rant from me about the fact it’s already 100 degrees in my neck of the woods, which is going to make for a really hot summer. There’s a lot of that going around the U.S., so I’m sure you’d only ask me if I want some cheese with that whine. I doubt anyone wants to hear about the new PC game I’ve been playing…sometimes when I should be writing. I’m going to make my deadline–I think–so this is just a little recreational stop on the long drive to The End. Before I typed this, I started a blog about what makes a good romance novel hero. But I found myself writing why I seem to like dark, tormented guys who have a hard time sharing themselves (yet oddly, I disliked Graham from the Bachelorette 4 for that very reason). I don’t write guys who are walking Hallmark cards and want to show you their sensitive side. Some readers love that, and I wish I could connect. But I digress… What was the point? Oh, yeah. There really wasn’t one. Damn it.

I know! I’ll apologize profusely for having lame brain today, promise that I’ll try to do better next month and leave you with something I know you WILL want.

Think he needs help? Happy hump day, everyone!

Helping Out

Received via email…

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“One of our own, author Jo Leigh (aka Jolie Kramer) lost her husband on June 13 after he courageously battled cancer. If you don’t know their story which is the stuff romance novels are made of, you can read it here and see their wedding picture here.

In addition to being a fabulous friend to so many and a mulit-RITA nominated author who has written for Harlequin Blaze, Temptation, Intrigue, Special Projects, Silhouette Intimate Moments and Meteor Kismet, Jo is known across the country for the amazing writing classes she teaches, including one on plotting that is incomparable. She has been incredibly generous to so many in sharing her knowledge and expertise.

Unfortunately, Jo has been left with a lot of medical expenses she will be struggling to cover as they had no health insurance, and we would like to help her out by holding several fundraising auctions. If you have items to donate – books or book baskets/collections, critiques, ARCs of upcoming releases, mentoring opportunities, web or promotional material design work etc., please email the item description to the following email address: fo********@***il.com. This is the address we’re using to organize the items.

Thank you in advance for your generosity.

Alison Kent, HelenKay Dimon, Larissa Ione, Stephanie Tyler

**edited to add – We’ve been asked about monetary donations – please email me via my contact page and I’ll email you the paypal address, if this is how you wish to help Jo.

We’ve already covered a lot of loops and groups, but if you’d like to post it where you haven’t seen it, or put it up on your blog, that would be wonderful.”

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Happy Friday the 13th!

Growing up, I remember being told of the Friday the 13th superstitions. My mom would kiss me before I left for school and tell me to take extra special care that day. I recall it being a big deal among my elementary school friends, and we’d dare each other to do silly things on Friday the 13th, things to tempt the fates into smiting us down for thumbing our noses at whatever might befall us on such an unlucky day.

As I got older, I took delight in being different (yeah, not much of a surprise there), so I decided that Friday the 13th was going to be my lucky day. Only good things would happen to me. Whether my beliefs were just that strong, or this was a self-fulfilling prophecy, throughout the years Friday the 13th is always the day wonderful things happen.

It started small. I got high grades on tests I took on Friday the 13th. Since I was normally a good student, it wasn’t really a leap that I’d get good grades on tests taken that day. But I chalked it up to my personal good luck day. I found $20 on the ground one Friday the 13th. Good luck for me, not so much for the poor sap who lost it. I’ve won contests on Friday the 13th. I’ve found items I’ve wanted on sale for practically nothing, again on Friday the 13th.

On a Friday the 13th a couple years ago Ashleigh Raine signed with our first agent. Coincidence? Nope, I believe in my personal Friday the 13th good luck fairy. She hasn’t let me down yet.

So what am I doing this Friday the 13th? I’m starting my vacation. When I began making my vacation plans a year ago, I looked at the calendar and knew I had to start my vacation full of good luck, so what better day than my favorite day? I’ll be spending the day driving up the California Coast, then spending the night exploring the haunts of the Winchester Mystery House, on one of their special Friday the 13th tours.

And I think I’ll buy a lottery ticket too. 🙂

So what are you doing to celebrate Friday the 13th/good luck day?

Shoes, Salsa and Margaritas

Why yes…. yes, they do have something in common.

Friday night, I was in Cincinnati at Lori Foster & Dianne Castell’s yearly reader and writer get together.

Several other AM authors were there…Anya, Lauren, & Beth, but the event was so crowded, I didn’t have much chance to talk with them.

I kept running into people I haven’t seen in ages.

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Like the owner of these shoes, Nikki. I ran into Nikki and Ann, friends I met a few years ago through KYRW, my local RWA chapter.

I haven’t hit the chapter meetings too regularly and more or less lost contact with these ladies. Then I see Nikki, recognized her right off. Didn’t recognize Ann so easily, hair was different, she looked like she’d lost weight. 🙂

That Friday night, we ended up over at the restaurant across the street, because some evil soul told me that they have margaritas. By the pitcher.

Yes. The pitcher.

Have I mentioned I love margaritas?

And salsa? Totally love both.

Anyway, we spent about…uh… three..maybe four? hours there. Some reader friends of mine, Ang and Diane, and then one of my best friends, Anni (who was late), Sue with Borders, Tina, Ann and of course, the shoe queen, Nikki.

(Nikki has this thing for shoes that is almost scary.)

We talked books. A few people complimented my hat. (No, I didn’t steal it from Lora, she gave it to me). We ate lots of salsa, I drank too many margaritas. We talked taekwondo, we talked books, Nikki talked shoes, we talked books. We ate more salsa, drank more margaritas. More or less closed the place down.

It’s fun reconnecting with friends. 🙂

Now…of course, I could also tell you about Saturday. How Bad Barb threw coffee on me**, then some of us, including some very nice ladies from a book club in Indianapolis, closed down the restaurant again. 😉 Much fun was had…

Picture of Nikki’s shoes found via Barbara Vey’s PW blog here.

**Yes, Barb did throw coffee on me…sort of…but…well, it was an accident. It’s just more fun to tell people she’s abusing authors again, since she so loves to do it.

For a chance to win one of the three prizes, just check out the link.

da prizes

(three winners)

  • One $50 GC to Barnes & Noble

  • One $15 GC to Barnes & Noble

  • One $10 GC to Mybookstoreandmore.com

Details here.

Through the Veil releases today 6/3/08

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~*~

Here’s an excerpt…

Her body ached.

It wasn’t anything new. Although Lee was only twenty eight years old, she already felt ancient. Exhausted even upon awakening,with stiff aching joints, and bruises that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Lee slowly flexed her muscles and tried to hold together the fragile wisps of the dream. But as always, it faded away, out of reach, out of mind. He faded away.

She didn’t know his face. But each night he came to her. Each night, they found each other again. He would look at her with eyes that made her burn and want and wish and for that brief period of time, she felt whole, complete and that sensation lingered with her as she drifted from sleep into awareness, but the minute she opened her eyes, all memory of her dreams started to fade. All that remained was an ache in her chest, a knot inher throat and a body that felt as though somebody had tried to beat her death.

Today, the ache was worse. The memories were fading fast although she tried to hold onto them. Like smoke, though, they faded away even as she grabbed the notepad by her bed and started to scrawl down what little she remembered. She didn’t look down while she wrote—instead she clenched her eyes tightly shut and focused on him. Even if she couldn’t remember his face, she could remember how he made her feel inside. Focusing on that instead of trying to recall the dream made the words flow easier.

Blood. Screams. Smoke. The cries of the wounded. Ugly snarls and fetid breath. People clamored around her and they had needs that she couldn’t even begin to understand. And him—

Always him. Everything seemed to revolve around him and everything inside of her yearned for him. As much as Lee dreaded closing her eyes and facing the weird dreams that assaulted her while she slept, she yearned for them as well. Because her dreams led her to him. He would make her laugh, even when the dreamswere dark as death. There was a warmth in his presence that filled an empty ache.

But not this past night. There had been distance, anger, and disgust. He’d yelled at her. His fury had been so great even now she felt chilled with it.

She opened her eyes and stared at the notepad in front of her. She hadn’t just written words. She’d sketched out faces of people she’d never met and monsters the likes of which she’d never seen.

She stared at each of the faces she’d drawn, studying their features for something that would trigger her memories again. The notebook was filled with sketches and none of them meant anything to her. Allof them set against twisted, scarred landscapes.

Some of them appeared more than others, like the old woman and the two guys. Even on paper, the woman’s smile had a decidedly mischievous bent to it, as though she was laughing and Lee had no idea why. The men were polar opposites, one pale, one dark. One looked like an angel and the other had the devil’s smile. Both of them were enough to make a girl’s heart skip a beat but if the man she dreamed of was one of them, she didn’t know which one he was.

Furious with herself, Lee hurled the pad of paper across the room and watched as it hit the wall. It slid to the ground, several of the pages bent and crumpled. With a scowl, she climbed out of the bed and stalked to the bathroom.

“He isn’t real,” she told herself as she turned the hot water on full before turning to tug off her t-shirt. “He isn’t real.” He’s not, her mind insisted, even though something inside her heart argued.

Her reflection caught her eye and she stilled, fighting the impulse to turn and look. Damn it, she was going to take all the mirrors down. She couldn’t not look, when the mirrors were there.

But every time she saw a bruise, a chill ran through her. It was no different this time. Her eye was black, swollen, raw looking it. It had been fine last night. And today,she looked like she had a bruise that had been healing for days. Her mouth trembled as she tried to make sense of what she was looking at.

The doctors had tried to tell her she was doing it to herself. They had even done a sleepstudy, and watched her all night long to determine what caused the bruising.

The study had revealed nothing. And everything.

For when she walked out of the room where they had monitored her body all night, her ankle was swollen, twisted and discolored. It had been fine the night before.

The tape of the study had shown her laying quietly on the narrow bunk, never once rising in the night. She didn’t toss. She didn’t turn. The only weird thing was a blip in the middle of the tape that lasted no more than a few eye blinks. For that brief span of time, the bed was empty. But she hadn’t gotten out of thebed. The probes and lines weren’t long enough to allow her to leave it without one of the attendants disconnecting them. They hadn’t done it.

Odder still, an attendant had been in the room during theblip. They could see him at the edge ofthe screen. But he’d never seen her move. She hadn’t done any more studies after that. Even though the doctors tried to urge her to agree, it had simply unsettled her too much. So no more studies. She’d just deal with looking like the loser of a boxing match.

Lee leaned forward and probed her eye, touching it gently,wincing at the tender flesh she encountered under her fingers. The eye itself looked fine, which was a relief. There had been one morning when she woke up and her pupil had been blown. Her vision had been blurred and the sickening pain made her think she had a concussion. By nightfall, though, the pupil had returned to normal and her vision was fine.

Today, her eyes seemed a little more bloodshot than usual and the red looked unnaturally bright against the nasty mottled blue. Almost festive, the red, white and blue.

There was another bruise on her knee, like she had fallen down. The flesh was sensitive and each step she took sent pain shooting through her knee. Much as the knee hurt, it was actually a rather light night. Lee knew from experience, though, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Light nights seemed to be followed by bad ones.

Her gut churned as that thought circled through her head. Bad ones came with concussions,broken bones—even burns. It had been awhile since she’d had a real bad night and it was like a little mental clock was ticking away the time. It wouldn’t be much longer before she woke up one morning hurt so bad that she’d wish for death, just to get away from the pain.

Even if she did heal fast, pain was still pain and she was tired of feeling so much of it.

“Morbid, much?” she muttered as she turned away from her reflection. She climbed into the shower with one goal in mind. Shower…then caffeine. With caffeine, she could face almost anything.

* * * * *

Through the Veil, Kalen could see her. Stubborn little bitch. He could still just faintly smell the sweet scent of her skin and his hands still itched to feel that satiny skin under his hands, to feel the silk of her hair brush against his body. The vivid bruise on her face infuriated him,even though her rapid ability to heal was already lessening the vivid color and the swelling.

The demon that had attacked her was dead. Dust in the wind. Not that Kalen had anything to do with it. Lee had taken damn good care of it herself. She was good at that. Always had been. Scowling, he wondered if maybe she was a little too good at it. Good at taking care of herself, good at rationalizing away problems, good at everything.

Clenching his jaw, he turned away from the Veil and prepared himself to face the coming day without her. It was a frightening thought. But it always had been. One never knew what the day might bring. Not in this world.

There had been another demon attack, this time high up in the mountains, striking the small settlement of families living there. They had refused to come down into the valley. Too close to the Roinan Gate. It was as if they thought a few miles would protect them. They had been wrong, terribly wrong and Kalen had to live with the guilt of not trying harder.

Raviners had killed the few men and taken their time with the women and children. It brought back memories too ugly for him to dwell on, staring at the their remains. He couldn’t even take a little bit of comfort in knowing that his men had slaughtered the Raviners. If he had taken them down himself, filling their bodies with the dangerous power of the pulsar he carried at his hip, it wouldn’t have been any comfort.

They were losing a little more ground every day. The demons were breeding in his world now and they didn’t just have to wait for the Roinan Gate to open for more of their numbers. There had been a time when finding a clutch of demons had been a rare occurrence and they were killed quickly, if not always easily.

They might have a ghost of a chance if they could shut down the fucking Gate.

Order

You can read a Dear Reader letter & a nice long excerpt here at Berkley’s site.