Boo!

If they're not scary, I don't what is. Happy Halloween!

Oh, and mini candies don't have any calories.

Adventures In Babysitting

For all of you who hate those blogs where people go on and on about their kids/pets/whatever, go read some porn instead because I feel the need to share with you my experience from last Saturday night.

This weekend a friend came to visit, so we made plans go to Adele's with him and a bunch of other folks. I made the reservation. I called a babysitter one week before the event and she agreed to come to my house at 6:00. Everything looked peachy.

5:00 Saturday night I start the routine: fancy dress, sparkly make-up, CFM shoes (a fact, I assure you, that did not escaped Mr. Manroot's notice). I even transfered my license, lipstick and cell phone into a teeny-tiny bag. I was ready to go.

Six o’clock came around with no sign of the babysitter. One thing I’ve learned in the past 22 months: if a babysitter is late it usually means she ain’t comin'.

I called her up.

“Hiyeee!” she says.
"Um, where are you?” I ask.
“Oh, I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours but the line’s been busy.”
“Really? That’s weird. No one else has had any problems.”
“Huh.”
“Sooo, are you coming?”
“Oh, no. Sorry.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No, I can’t make it. Sor-reee!”

What the fuck? I was seriously pissed. I had a wonderful evening planned, at that moment several people were in the bar awaiting our arrival, and this babysitter just flakes with no explanation? Grrr. Grr! Our friend who was visiting from San Francisco (no children) just shook his head and looked at us with pity in his eyes. I hate that look. It's the life is so much better without rugrats look.

I'm not willing to admit that yet. Furthermore, I had on my CFM shoes, dammit. Not to mention the really small diaperless (Kate Spade!) bag that I never get to use. And my grandmother’s vintage fur coat from some sort of animal I cannot identify. (Hold your spray paint-I inherited the damn thing and can I help it if it's fabulous?)

I got on the horn, called every person I know and finally found a teenage boy from around the corner to come babysit. He did a great job. All was good.

Oh, except my girlfriend had to dash away home because her 5-year-old was vomiting. Sadly, she received the phone call just before the main course was served. But thems the brakes when you have kids I guess.

On that note, enjoy this video.

Use CONDOMS

The Silver

I'm the kind of person who’s never cared much about winning. I was always the last person to finish running the mile. I’ve never won Trivial Pursuit. I’ve never entered any sort of competition before.

Before August, that is. Last August I entered the On The Far Side competition, and today I was notified that I took 2nd place. Of course I’m really happy, but I'm also a little disappointed. I wanted 1st place—and for some reason I kind of expected to get it. Is that wrong? I feel like a brat. I keep reminding myself that 1) This is my first erotic story, 2) This is my first contest ever, and 3) EC has already bought this story. Not to mention, I re-wrote a lot of those first 15 pages and they’re much better now.

I’m disappointed in myself for not being totally happy with 2nd place. I know I should be—so why am I not?

Fabio gets kinky

Fabio

Maybe TV Isn't So Bad

Long ago I made the goal of writing a book that required Fabio to model for the cover. I think I was around 15 at the time. So, yesterday, when I heard the man of my dreams was going to be on television shooting an actual romance novel cover, I made sure to throw my kid into Mr. Manroot’s arms and send them away. I wasn’t about to miss this.

Did you see it? No, he wasn’t in the kitchen. He was showing those folks at Americ's Next Top Model how to make a romance novel cover look amazing. I got a huge kick out of watching the process. So what if it wasn’t a real cover. The end result certainly looked authentic, in an 80's Fabio kind of way. Also, I was happy to see the crew really get into the make-up, hair and costume without being condescending.

So, each girl was given a theme, like secret lover or secret baby, and they really did a nice job of working their given premise. Fabio, of course, stole the show with his sultry eyes and wavy blond locks—you can tell that man’s used to having a fan blowing in his face. In my opinion, Melrose did the best job of capturing the romance novel spirit. I wouldn’t be surprised if, after the show, he sprayed her with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.

My only wish was that they had more of Fabio on the show. I would have liked to have seen him on the panel and heard his thoughts on the girls’ photographs. Oh well. Maybe he had to get back to his gondola. Or his suits. I heard he was designing some leisure suits. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.



Did you see it? What did you think? If you didn’t catch Fabio, are you sad you missed him?

Remember When?

I love fall. Autumn colors, pumpkins, sweaters, Thanksgiving. All those things are nice, but, being a shallow kind of person, what I look forward to most is catching the new television line-up. I’m a self-confessed TV addict, and all summer I anticipate what exciting new shows are awaiting my discovery. I still remember the first episode of Friends. I sat on my brown futon, I wore a green turtleneck sweater, and I’m pretty sure I had a banana clip securing my long, blonde hair. And that show made me very, very happy.

That was before TV starting sucking. For the past few seasons shows have gotten progressively less interesting. I miss Friends and Frasier and Must-See-TV. I once looked forward to Thursday night. I realize it’s a little pathetic, but when we moved away from civilization I derived a lot of comfort from the fact that I could always depend on an evening with my “Friends” on specific nights of the week. I’d drink wine out of blue glasses with Monica and Rachael. I’d drink Cosmos right along with Carrie and Miranda.

But then everything good went off the air and some new phenomenon called Reality TV ruined everything.

So, what inspired this little rant? Well, I was flipping through stations tonight and caught two old episodes of Frasier. TV is so bad now I had forgotten how good it used to be. Not long ago there was good, old-fashioned romance on television. Shows like Friends, Cheers, Frasier—they all nailed sexual tension. I can’t think of any show right now that has such a charming storyline as Niles and Daphne. It was so funny and clever and well done—bittersweet. A good romance is always bittersweet right up until that moment when they kiss and succumb to their happily ever after. I want that on TV again. I don’t want Celebrity Duets.

Am I wrong? Am I missing something? Or is it true that TV just plain sucks?

Mmm. Hot dogs!

So, how many of you work at home, writing or otherwise? If you do, you know how hard it is to stay in shape. Hey, I can walk across the hall in my pajamas, my husband brings me my coffee, and I’m pretty much set for the day. So, ever since I’ve been seriously pursuing writing I’ve been sitting on my ass for large portions of the day. I’m not lazy. Really. I’ve just never had to work so hard at being active. Up until now my lifestyle included lots of running around. At college it wasn’t unusual for me to walk at 2-3 miles per day just getting from class to class. We lived in San Francisco, I didn’t have a car, and those hills were much more efficient than a Stairmaster. I was 25 and I had buns of, if not steel, an overcooked dinner roll.

Then we moved to the country. And I had a baby. (Yes, almost two years ago! Shut up!) I weighed, well, a lot when I delivered him. Let’s just say I gained 60 pounds during my pregnancy. Have you ever had a baguette-spaghetti sandwich? Well, I have. Several, in fact. Sometimes, several per day.

Well, I lost it! I lost the weight in about nine months. Yeah! (Breastfeeding a 10 pound porker rocks!)

But here’s a little something about motherhood nobody warns you about: Plate Finishing. Yup. Here’s how it goes.

“Mama, hungry.”
“Okay, my little Love Pumpkin! How ‘bout Mommy makes you some yummy-wummy mac and cheese!”
“Hungry.”
“Just wait ten minutes and Mommy will—“
“Cheese!”
“Okay—“
“HUNGRY!”

Well, you get the picture. I make the mac and cheese, he takes two bites and then runs off to watch Shrek. I, then, am left all alone with a big pot of warm, cheesy pasta.

Did I mention I like pasta? A lot?

I’m sure you see where this is going. So, to overcome the Plate Finishing phenomenon (you’d be surprised how tasty the Gerber lasagna is), I’ve had to plan low-cal lunches for myself. Now, instead of running to the kitchen during a lull over at Romance Divas and gorging on my kid’s leftovers, I’m going out of my way to make something healthy instead. I'm being a Good Girl.

And every Tuesay I’m going to share my Good Girl recipes with you. Here’s your first Writer's Lunch:

Spicy Tofu Wrap

4 oz. firm tofu
a little olive and soy sauce
1 tomato basil wrap
fat-free mayo
spicy chili sauce (like Siracha)
shredded carrots
chopped cilantro
1 Tbs. peanuts

Sauté the tofu in the olive oil and 1 tbs. soy sauce. Meanwhile, mix the mayo with the Siracha sauce. When the tofu is nicely browned, put it in the wrap with everything else, roll it up, and you have a tasty little healthy lunch. A side of snow-peas would be nice, too.

Well, what do you usually have for lunch?

“I don’t want you to have a pickled vagina!”

Warning: explicit talk about sex and the movie Pretty in Pink follows.









Who else loves Talk Sex with Sue Johanson? She looks like your grandmother, but you can ask her anything. And I do mean anything! Last night a 60 year-old lady called in because she was concerned about the fact that she had urinated during her last three orgasms. Ms. Johanson suggested that perhaps the woman hadn’t actually urinated, but maybe she had experienced female ejaculation. The woman’s response was, “I’m 60! Its about time!” Another woman called in asking if douching could tighten her vagina. Sue’s response was, “Do your Kegel exercises and skip the vinegar! I don’t want you to have a pickled vagina!”

The best part of the show is when she reviews a sex toy. Last night she gave 4 little flamey things to the Head Honcho. She called it “Better than a blow job!” I’m not going to go into detail about this handy little tool (girls, you'll see what I mean), but have you ever seen a senior citizen enthusiastically stick her lubed-up fingers into a clear silicon vagina? It’s a visual not to be missed. If only we could all be this comfortable discussing sex.

Anyway, had a lovely weekend. Kicked it off with my bookclub meeting on Friday night. We managed to perfectly fit the stereotype of a bunch of chicks getting together to drink wine, eat and pretend that we’ve read something cultural. I usually don’t bother pretending I’ve read the book, but I’m the one who plans the whole bookclub thing so they have to keep me around. Then all the moms get drunk and start debating things such as who paid the least for their expensive new coat and the merits of private school uniforms (surprise! I’m the only one who thinks they’re lame, and I used the example from Pretty in Pink as a case in point as to why each child needs their own form of self-expression, but no one seemed to understand), and we stay up until past midnight. Past midnight! We're crazy that way.

So, I drank a ton of wine but I didn’t manage to write a word all weekend. You? Did you catch Sue Johanson? If not, what was your highlight over the past two days?

It Happened One Night

This movie starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert is one of my favorites and provided me with lots of inspiration for my current WIP.

Here's the blurb:

A spoiled rich girl escapes from her millionaire father, who wants to stop her from marrying a worthless playboy. En route to New York, she gets involved with an out-of-work newsman. When their bus breaks down, the bickering couple sets off on a madcap hitchhiking expedition.

What movies inspire you to write?

Mr. Manroot

Day before yesterday, deep in the throes of procrastination, I decided it was time to leave my cave and take a jaunt to Borders. It was fun. I meandered around the bookstore with new perspective, looking at the front tables, noting which publishers had shelled out the big bucks to have their authors displayed right up front. I got a little thrill when I saw writers whom I have met in person, like Jane Porter, who gave an awesome workshop in Seattle earlier this month.

On the other hand, I used to have this idea that writers were these majestic beings, penning brilliance from their lairs while beatnik waiters silently brought them coffee and wine on Art Deco trays. Well, I’ve met several published writers over the past six months, that while they may be majestic beings, many still have day jobs. I thought about this as I looked at all the beautiful covers.

So I wandered over to the romance section and was delighted to discover it had been expanded since my last visit. I hadn’t actually been down the romance aisle in several months, and I was thrilled to discover a whole new row of trade paperbacks including several Ellora’s Cave titles-including The Caveman Anthologies!

I just about jumped for joy when I plucked that book off the self. A proper looking gentleman who happened to wandering by (probably to buy Plato's latest) gave me an odd look when he saw how happy I was to be holding an erotic romance paperback, but I couldn’t help it. Next year I'm gonna walk into Border’s and by a book with MY NAME on the cover! Me!

Yeah!

Now another topic all together.

My husband (see photo above) doesn’t care for any of the terms I've been using to refer to him by in my blog. Not Mr. Feisty, Mr. Coffee or even Mr. Lilly. Instead he requested I refer to him as Mr. Huge Man Tube. I refuse to type three separate words in place of his name, so instead I’ve decided to henceforth refer to him as Mr. Manroot. It’s a nice compromise, don’t you think?

Do you have a pet name for your Mr. Manroot?

First drafts are so not sexy

For the past two days I've been experiencing some major writer's block-I just can't seem to get this sene to move forward! I've used up all my procrastination techniques: I've been to all the forums, read a ton of blogs . . . I've even looked at the news. So, I decided to do what lots of writers advise which is to write through the block. Just write anything that comes to mind, and eventually something good will come out of the crap. Yeah, not so sure about that. Take a look:

“Ooh! Starbuck’s.”
“Didn’t you have coffee before we left?”
“Hello? You picked me up at 6:00 AM. I didn’t have time to make coffee. Did you?”
“Of course. I’m organized and I plan ahead. Also, I don’t like to make unnecessary stops because I have a schedule to maintain.” And also I’m really, really good looking.
“Oh, pretty please! I really need some caffeine if I am going to endure hours in the car with you.” I’m spunky and cute.
“Well, okay.”
He pulled the Jeep into a Starbuck’s drive through. A distorted yet perky voice came through the little black box asking what she could get for them this fine morning. Abby leaned across Nick’s hard, muscular, sexy sexy body to address the speaker. She couldn’t help but smell his clean scent and she took a deep breath-so deep, in fact, that his soapy fragrance burned her nose and she started coughing.
“What the fuck? You just got germs all over me!”
She looked up sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“I’m going to have to change my shirt now.”

Hmm. I wonder if there are any new posts over on RD.

What's wrong with this picture?

Anyone? Anyone?

Three Dogs and a Baby

It’s just the kids and me for a few days because Mr. Feisty is in San Francisco on business. Except for the kid staying up until 10:00 last night, everything is going smoothly. But there wasn’t anyone to make me coffee this morning so I had to go to Starbuck’s. You see, my lovely husband makes me a cappuccino every morning on his fancy espresso machine. I know! I’m very spoiled.

Anyway, I got the kid off to school and then I did something I haven’t done in a long time: I went to the gym. My girlfriend talked me into going to a step aerobics class. I flailed around for 45 minutes and now I’m wondering what to have for lunch despite the fact that it’s 10:30 AM.

If I believed in diets I’d officially be on one. I’ve gained five pounds since Atlanta, and now it’s time to Stop The Insanity! Or at least the egg roll consumption. But the weight does say one thing: I’ve been writing like crazy. Which means I’ve been sitting on my ever-spreading ass for a good part of every day. Still. Five pounds in four months?

I can’t be the only one out there with this problem. Any tips? How do you stay in shape?

On Being A (average) Woman

Every person with a blog seems to think it’s their duty to enlighten the masses with their brilliance. I’m no different, and because this seems to be National Shit On Romance Week, I feel compelled to add a little something about the genre.

As you know, The Ad did not particularly offend me. I doubt many people riding the Metro saw it and spent the rest of their day laughing and ridiculing romance readers and their “average” intelligence. If they did, well, they really need to get a life. Besides, I have a seven-inch tattoo of the word “MOM” across my back and I guarantee that provides a lot more fodder regarding my intellect than the fact that my favorite book is “Lord of Scoundrels.”

An interesting (positive) aside of this whole thing is the little spark of discussion popping up about the fact that not all romance novels are good. Not too long ago if a romance enthusiast even suggested that maybe, just maybe, there were a few books out there that lived up to the reputation that romance novels were crap, you pretty much got burned at the stake. But I’ve always had the opinion that the reason 55% of all books sold are romances is because romance readers are so in love with the genre that they will buy however many books it takes to discover that one amazing read. But there's crap in any genre, isn't there? There always will be because satisfaction is subjective.

Anyway, back to The Ad. All one needs to do is jump right over to Smart Bitches to see that the average romance reader is anything but. If those girls are average I have no idea what my intellectual capacity would rate because I feel so incredibly stupid every time I read one of their clever posts. Yet despite the fact that the average romance reader is obviously not an idiot we find ourselves defending our intelligence again and again. Is this ever going to go away? Haven’t females been trying to convince the world we’re not dim-witted featherbrains for a while now? And it’s not just the men we’re trying to persuade about this particular issue. Other women are the first to put us down for reading romance because it’s not intellectual enough. We’re reading, but not the appropriate books.

It’s like when I had my baby. When I chose to stay at home my professional friends said things like, “You’re way too smart not to work.” Because only stupid people would be happy taking time off to actually raise their child? What the fuck? So then I went back to work and put my kid in day-care. The stay-at-home moms made barbed comments insinuating that I was selfish because I wasn’t devoting every waking minute to my offspring. Why are women constantly defending their choices?

So, The Ad didn’t piss me off but the aftermath sure as fuck did. The NY Times article was a slap in the face. What a bunch of condescending bullshit. The haughty, arrogant tone practically oozed through my computer. And while I thought this article was slightly amusing, a certain comment made me want to bitch-slap someone. Quote:

"Civility is one thing, but why should we have to walk on eggshells to avoid offending stupid people? The world basically caters to them anyway. Besides, part of what makes such mildly mean-spirited humor enjoyable is that (to quote Homer Simpson) "it's funny 'cause its true." Also, the fact that romance novels comprise 50% of fiction sales (in what market? this seems contentious) is depressing. If the add encourages one person to read Plato, it's worth pissing off the illiterate."

Okay. This stuck-up schweinehund is obviously waaay better than me and would never lower herself to indulge in any sort of pop culture. So, dear commenter, we better never see you reading ANYTHING other than a classic, never viewing a film that isn't independent foreign cinema and you better never, ever, sit your cerebral ass down in front of a television because-oh wait. Didn’t you just quote Homer Simpson. Hmmm. Oh, and I’m slightly confused by your last sentence because how do you piss off an illiterate romance reader? I can read, yet I’m illiterate. Gosh, that's just way too confusing for me-I think I’m getting a headache.

I better go rest my average little brain.

Inscription for the Ceiling of a Bedroom

Daily dawns another day;
I must up, to make my way.
Though I dress and drink and eat,
Move my fingers and my feet,
Learn a little, here and there,
Weep and laugh and sweat and swear,
Hear a song, or watch a stage,
Leave some words upon a page,
Claim a foe, or hail a friend-
Bed awaits me at the end.

Though I go in pride and strength,
I'll come back to bed at length.
Though I walk in blinded woe,
Back to bed I'm bound to go.
High my heart, or bowed my head,
All my days but lead to bed.
Up, and out, and on; and then
Ever back to bed again,
Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall-
I'm a fool to rise at all!

-Dorothy Parker

When you go to bed at night, do you ever feel like: Okay. There's another day gone. I got up, drank my coffee, fed my kid, put him down for a nap, made dinner, gave him a bath, kissed my husband, wrote a little and now I'm one day older. I'll sleep a few hours and do it again tomorrow. Doesn't Ms. Parker's poem illustrate this feeling perfectly?

Banana daiquiris and lube

Okay, I’ve finally stopped jumping around my house and screaming. I’ve calmed down just enough to sit down and write something, but I have to admit it was hard to fit my big head through the doorway of my office this morning. We had to use lube, but fortunately we keep large vats of the stuff around the house so it wasn’t a problem.

I’m an EC author. Me. I remember back, way back, to July. At the PI luncheon I sat just a few feet away from a certain editor donning a peach hat. I said to myself, “Self. You should go over there and introduce yourself.” I quenched my panic with my Banana cocktail instead. (They were really good. They had chocolate on the bottom.)

And then I went home and wrote Dance Of The Plain Jane. I submitted it to EC-my first ever submission. And they liked it! They really liked it!

I’m going to be an EC author. Maybe I’ll jump around just a little more.

I'm a writer.

I just received an email from Ellora's Cave. They want to buy Plain Jane for their 2007 Anthology. I'm shaking. This is my first sale.

Oh My God. I'm a writer.

And this one looks just right!

See that brown, blurry blob? That's a bear. In my yard. At least he's cuter than a spider.

"I'm not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I'm not dumb... and I also know that I'm not blonde."

You gotta love Dolly. I adore people who can make fun of themselves-it shows that they're confident in who they are and in their abilities as an artist, a person, whatever. Maybe I'm thinking along these lines because lots of folks have their panties in a bunch over this.

Come on folks, it's an ad, and not even a very good one. Once we start taking ourselves too seriously we become moving targets for mockery. We've chosen to write romance novels, a genre of fiction that has always been ridiculed by everyone else-it probably always will be. And that’s too bad because there are some great books over there in the romance section.

The Smart Bitches hit the nail on the head when they said people make assumptions about us based on what we read. Have you ever been to a party where people were competing over who's reading the most cultured novel? (I usually say something like, "I'm reading The Nordic Warrior's Virgin Bride.") If we're reading Plato, we're really fucking smart and if it's Nora we're dumbasses? Well, I'm a dumbass for lots of reasons and Nora has nothing to do with any of them. (Despite what I may have said in Atlanta, she did not, in fact, force me to sing Like A Virgin during Karaoke at the bar.) Go ahead and judge me based on what I'm reading. That's fair enough. After all, when I see you reading that other Dan Brown book I'm going to think you're a moron, too.

Anyway, what's the difference between most romance novels and "literary fiction?" I read both and it’s really hard to tell. The cover is one clue, although even that line is getting blurry. If you're stupid enough to think you're reading something intellectual because it has such a wonderfully arty cover, you're not nearly as smart as you think you are.

People have a lot of assumptions about romance novels, and it's gotta be more than the covers. I spend quite a bit of time on the Internet and people are obviously able to overcome bad visuals. It has to be something else. I belong to a book club and every time I suggest a Romance people are like, "Ooooh no! They're not analytical enough for us." How do you know that? Have you read one?

Jennie Crusie, apparently, is not a Romance writer.

So why are people so resistant to pick up a Romance? If you think it's strictly because of the HEA thing, you're wrong. That would be giving way too much credit the non-Romance reader. After all, most folks think Gone With The Wind is the greatest Romance ever written. Instead I think their resistance is due to an assumption that Romance novels are porn for women, and, believe it or not, plenty of ladies do not want to admit that they think about sex.

I've never had that problem. I like sex, but I like the other stuff, too. I like emotional development and action and adventure. I also want a dose of romance thrown in. No, you’ll never find me sitting on a train reading Plato. I guess that makes me average. But I’m an average romance reader and everyone around me knows it. I don't get offended by lame ads because I try not to need other's good opinion to validate what I do. Instead I live by Dolly’s advice: “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.”

Take A Trip To Rio

Raleigh in Rio
eBook ISBN: 1-59426-498-8
Published By: Phaze
Release Date: October 2, 2006
Written by: Cassidy Kent

Raleigh Campbell just learned that her five year marriage was a sham. Not only did she find her husband in their bed with a co-worker, but he has been carrying on the affair for four years! To cheer her up, Raleigh’s friends take her to Rio during Carnivale to celebrate her 30th birthday and pending divorce.

Little does she know that her soon-to-be ex has cheated his company more than her. Private investigator Cristo Santiago has been assigned to watch Raleigh’s every move in search of twelve million dollars of embezzled corporate money and that’s landed him in the hot waters of obsession. His love for Raleigh is sealed under the starry Rio sky, but can he find the missing money without losing Raleigh’s trust?

Back from Seattle

Carrie, Me, Shawn, Shelli
Divas At The Space Needle

I got in late last night from my trip to Seattle. What an amazing conference. Those ladies did a fabulous job coordinating everything. I learned a ton of great stuff, and I returned totally inspired and ready to kick ass, with a new plot floating around in my head. And it's a good one. A great one. But it won't be just in my head for long. Thanks to the AMAZING Cherry Adair, I rushed out to Staples, bought $100 worth of Post-It notes, and now I'm starting a plotting board that is going to be a life-saver. When I saw how excited Cherry was about buying office supplies I knew that I had met a soul mate, and now I, too, will be spending the next few days creating my colorful plotting board. Why? Because she said so. It has a legend and everything. I've been so intimidated by the thought of finishing a full length, 100,000 word novel-but now, thanks to the AMAZING Cherry Adair, I'm full of confidence. Plus, I told her I would have this thing finished by March of next year and let me tell you something: you don't want to let down the AMAZING Cherry Adair. It makes her cry.

Of course, I didn't spend my entire weekend stalking Cherry. I only did that a little. In my spare time I met up with an RWA Online chaptermate, and got to see her gorgeous baby. Then the next morning it was time to hook up with the Divas, (I know-trouble with a capital T!) and Shelli, Shawn, Carrie and I did a little sight-seeing, starting at the Space Needle. We then hit Pike Place Market, had some amazing chowder (and watched Shawn eat some nasty salted prunes-yuck!) and then it was off to the conference. For more on the conference, and the AMAZING Cherry Adair, check out Shelli's Blog and see for yourself how fabulous and generous this lady is. Oh, and she drops the F-bomb all the time. Almost as much as I do!

Wow. Conferences like this make me realize how lucky I am to be part of such an amazing community. Romance writers rock!

Finally!

U.S. Trendsetters Go On Strike

This used to be our playroom

but thanks to my amazing husband I now have a beautiful office (see picture). We moved out the TV and the toys and Mr. Feisty then spent his entire weekend building me things so I could have a nice place to write. I love him! That's why I wrote this for him! It's inspired by a beatnik poem and So I Married An Ax Murderer, one of his favorite movies.



The God Of Building Things From Ikea

You are the baguette
And the olive in
My oil
You are almost
Extra Virgin

You are not a film
Or the most annoying sound
In the world
I think you have no feet

This kind of dog runs backwards
And this love
Is as sweet
As venti-half-calf-soy-mochas

This is not the night
For crossing paths
(the silver Volvo has no
air conditioning)

I think
You shouldn't drive so fast
This isn't the autobahn
The next 40 years will shine
And shine
Like the Spanish sky
And wine
And fritattas

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

Last Friday I had seven hours all by myself in my car, so of course I spent the time listening to all the music my husband cannot tolerate. I'll tell you What I Want, What I Really Really Want: My Humps. Hey Ya! You think I'm kidding? I'm Burnin' up for the Humpty Dance and let me tell you My Hips Don't Lie! Because Girls, U Can't Touch This! Oops, I Did It Again, I brought Sexy Back. I just want to Shake That!

Ahem.

Okay, I get the naughtiest little thrill out of hearing Justin Timberlake sing the word "fucker." Whenever he says it I want to put my hand over my mouth and giggle. As if that weren't enough he also says:

Dirty babe
You see these shackles
Baby I'm your slave
I'll let you whip me if I misbehave
It's just that no one makes me feel this way

Justin Timberlake. He's so hot right now.