I have a date!

A release date, that is.

Dance of the Plain Jane will be released digitally and in print on March 21st as part of the first anthology from the 2007 Ellora's Cavemen series.

Sqeeeee.

It occurs to me that now would be a good time to post a blurb, and I happen to have one right here:

Shy Jane Holliday has loved sexy Navy SEAL Michael Sky from afar for over a year, keeping her secret close to her heart. But one night the sultry beat of an exotic drum loosens her inhibitions and empowers her to seduce her dream lover.

It’s the wrong time and place, but the instant Michael spots the veiled dancer weaving her sensual magic he’s stopped dead in his tracks. His hands itch to touch not just the curve of her undulating hips but every spot on her enchanting body.

Who seduces whom isn’t important as Jane’s erotic fantasies are fulfilled by this loving virtual stranger. But waking up alone after revealing her deepest, darkest desire reminds Jane that in the light of day, she can only trust herself. Even that trust is challenged when her inner Goddess demands Jane consider Michael’s seductive offer to bind them together forever.

In Your Eyes

As most of you know, I love movies. If I were so talented, I'd attempt a screenplay, but that is not my forte, so I'm sticking with romance novel writing. However, whenever I'm in a "mood" or I'm stumped, I pull out one of my old favs, plop my ass onto the sofa and attempt to get motivated by brilliance on film. I simply cannot imagine living without film at my fingertips, because it provides such a remarkable amount of inspiration for me.

So, when I discovered that my friend who shall remain nameless owns a DVD player, but has yet to hook it up, I felt compelled to bribe her into making it work. In exchange I promised to send her some of my favorite flicks.

Hmm. Thinking, I put my finger to the side of my mouth, looked to the sky and began pondering. What to send? What are my absolute top, most beloved romantic movies of all time?

Well, here’s what I came up with in under five minutes, in no particular order (I’m sure most of which are fairly predictable).

French Kiss (Kevin Klein has the biggest hands)
Lost in Translation (I love Charlotte; I identify with her more than any character in a movie ever)
It Happened One Night (Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert, need I say more?)
Punch Drunk Love (my favorite sex scene in a movie ever)
Harold and Maude (see what the Bay Area looked like 20 years ago)
Sixteen Candles (Jake and a cake!)
A New Leaf (see previous blog)
Bridget Jones’ Diary (I like you just the way you are)
The Sure Thing (I think John Cusack was like 16 in this movie)
His Girl Friday (awww)
Singles (Mat Dillon with long hair, sigh)
Shopgirl (as good as the book)
Pride and Prejudice (The A&E version, duh)
It’s All Gone Pete Tong (simply fantastic and shot in Spain)
Annie Hall (amazing)
Gross Point Blank (An assasin with a heart of gold? Be still my heart. Plus, it has THE best movie soundtrack ever)
Say Anything (I’ve had a thing for trench coats ever since )


Okay, I’l stop, although I know I’ll wake up tonight around 2AM with ten more titles. Please, trashy peeps, tell me what gets your motor running (and tell me why, if you feel so inclined). I’m dying to know!

An interesting video about spiders.

I know I'm still a teenager (in my mind) 'cause I think this is very amusing.

I'm a bad, bad girl.

I'm staring at the huge mess that is my new house.

I'm one of those people who starts a project and then kind of . . . sort of . . . flutters . . . away. The current result of this personality trait is that I now have a lot of semi-completed projects making a muddle of my house.

Examples: Each room in my messy house is only partially painted (note to self: drinking wine while faux-painting walls late at night turns out to be one of the many things that doesn’t look nearly as good in the morning). I changed the hardware on my kitchen cabinets, but only 3/4ths of them (bright orange knobs don’t look so good next to amethyst knobs, by the way, but all that scrwedrivering was hurting my wrist, so I had to stop). I've unpacked some dishes, but haven’t' broken down the boxes (I’m hoping the box fairy will come and take them away, but the bitch has yet to make an appearance).

My kid’s in school today, which means I have a few hours to finish up some of these projects. I’m looking at my entryway, which is part white and part yellow. The paint can is just sitting there, looking bored. I should go open it up and finish those walls. Really, I should. I should catch up on work for my other job. Really, I should. I should start that writing prompt that Robin sent, me. Really I should.

I shouldn’t go to World Market and look at rugs. Really, I shouldn’t.

I know. I'm a bad, bad girl.

Bringing Paxil Back!

It's like they made it just for me!

Sooo, yeah #2

You know how it is. Life gets in the way of writing, you close down that book you've been working on and before you know it you haven't written anything worthwhile in over a month.

Or two months.

Okay, so maybe that's just me. I know some of my friends (Shelli, Emma, Lacy, the bitches) have aching fingers from all the writing they’ve been doing.

My fingers, however, are cramp free.

Remember NANO? Well, so do I. I remember it as this great goal that I failed to achieve. I plotted it out on my shiny white storyboard, had my Post-Its all ready to go with chapter numbers and character traits and all kinds of lovely little color-coded plot points. I even wrote down my daily word count goal in pink dry-erase pen.

And it was great for the first week or so. Lots of impressive pink numbers. And then. . .

And then. Chair dancing in Pebble Beach. Thanksgiving. Moving. Christmas. Moving again. Total emotional upheaval. Life altering decisions.

Time gone. No writing done.

I opened up that story tonight, read the first few pages. Don't you love it when you pick up some old MS and think, "Wow! that was really good. I do have some talent!"

Yeah, that didn't happen. I picked up that NANO book and thought "Wow! That is complete shit!"

But I’m going to fix it. I like this book, regardless of the shallow writing and huge plot gaps. I love this hero. He can throw knives and has a really cool car! And, I don’t think I need to mention that he is really, really good looking. Also, he’s a good listener. I just discovered that. He hangs on to every word that comes out of my heroine’s mouth. What more could a girl want?

And the sex. . . I’m jealous of them.

So, I’m writing. Creaking along. I’m targeting this book for a NY pub. We’ll see if that ever becomes a reality.

Sooo, yeah.

Nice weather we're having.

Read any good books lately?

Is that your partner in the chipper, there?

Okay. I'm trying to get back into writing and blogging and writing and. . . yeah. Sooo. Um.

Looks like rain, don't ya think?

01-07-07

Two years ago today I pushed an 8.5-pound baby boy through my velvet love canal.

It was a surprise. No, it wasn’t a shocker the day I actually delivered him. I mean, the 60 pounds I gained and ugly shoes I was forced to shove my swollen feet into gave away the fact that I had an alien growing inside of me long before the doctor pulled the watermelon-headed kid through my aforementioned velvet love canal.

In fact, the kid started surreptitiously messing with my body the minute he became a tadpole.

I remember making pizza, and looking down at my stomach and wondering why the midsection of my dress was covered in flour. And then I went away for weekend to a friend’s house at the beach along with Scary Carrie and her mother. That night, after the long drive, I didn’t feel so hot, so I plopped down on the sofa in my pajamas. Carrie’s mother scowled at my protruding belly and demanded, “Oh my God, what’s wrong with you? You’re stomach’s huge!”

I looked down, started crying, and wailed, “Nothing! I’m just fat!

Well, turns out I wasn’t just fat. I mean, it’s not like anyone’s ever called me Twiggy or anything, but my tummy was just out of control. Suddenly every time I prepared a meal I had to wash my shirt ‘cause of all the food accumulation around my middle.

The night we got home from Pebble Beach I still didn’t feel so hot. So, I poured myself a glass of wine (I’m of Irish descent—my grandmother taught me spirits cure all), looked down at my tummy and began to wonder. Noooo. It couldn’t be. My husband and I had been married ten years, and never tried for children. We liked to travel, liked our freedom, and we were very aware of the fact that neither of us were equipped to competently handle a toddler’s meltdown in a grocery store. Still, we had never said outright that we were Never going to have children.

Yet, we Never tried very hard not to have them, either.

While I was drinking my wine and eyeing my protruding belly, and thinking that the wine tasted just a tad off, I thought about the EPT test under the bathroom sink, shoved behind the teeth whitening kit that I never use and the toilet bowl cleaner that I also never use.

My husband was obliviously watching some show about surviving in the wilderness with nothing but an airplane wing and Fritos as survival tools, and I moseyed on past him, went to our bathroom, dug out the pregnancy test, peed on the stick and watched it instantly turn into the color that said, “Hey! Put down that wine!”

Now, two years later, I have this kid, this person in my house who demands things and wants things and refuses to sit still in a restaurant. I still look at him and wonder who he his. Who will he be? Why does he want to go to sleep with a train clutched in his hand? Why does adore he macaroni and cheese so much? Why does he think I have the answer to so many questions?

So. What’s my point? I don’t really have one. Just that two years ago today I delivered a living thing into this world. And now this little person runs around, hugs me, bites me, says, “No!” a lot and looks at me as if I know Things. He says sentences, and likes guacamole. He’s an individual.

And, for all my opinions about parenting, the only thing I was right about was the fact that I am, indeed, ill-equipped to competently handle tantrums in grocery stores.


Mexico, May, 06

We can do it 'till we both wake up!

I Wanna Sex You Up - Color Me Badd

And now a dick in a box!